Chapter Fourteen

Arriving at the apartment, my first stop is the shower. After all my travelling across the galaxy and legwork around the Citadel, I was in a less than ideal state. I stare into the bathroom mirror, noticing the cool sheen of sweat on my face and the slight greasiness of my hair. Looking good, Miranda...

As I run my fingers gently across the spot above my forehead where Ryn had struck me, I expect to wince but instead find the bruise has almost vanished. I guess my fancy genes are good for something.

I peel away my clothes and shift positions as I inspect myself in the mirror, checking that the scuffs and contusions acquired during my escape from Therum had similarly healed over. It appears only the sore memory and an immovable accumulation of red dust in the soles of my boots remain.

Moving down, I groan at the sight of my lower ribs clearly showing just underneath the skin. I'd lost weight simply through neglect but what could I do? My increasingly-stretched funds were devoted to the hunt for my father and Oriana, and eating had felt more like a distraction anyway. Shopping for alternative outfits had become a distant dream.

Without any further hesitation, I step into the shower. The steady stream of hot water is invigorating, as I inhale deeply, feeling the airways clearing and some of the tension washing from my body. Though I can't quite shake the overbearing exhaustion I've been fighting back for a while now.

Dried and dressed, I move back into the main area and lean on the back of the sofa, gazing out the window at the sky cars passing in the distance. Common sense nags at me to sit, while caution tells me not to risk getting comfortable and falling asleep.

In the clear reflection of the glass I may look immaculate, but I don't feel whole. The ghostly woman in front of me stares back reproachfully, then despairingly. Shepard was joining the long list of people I'd used in my search. I owed him more than that. And did I really expect him to come racing across the galaxy just to see me? Even if the idea is incredibly romantic, it just isn't practical.

Arranging our rendezvous through encrypted messages from single-use extranet accounts, like I'm some dirty little secret, may appear to add a certain spice to proceedings but, unfortunately, that's all a fantasy taking place in my head. Still convinced someone probably reads his emails, I've been keeping all correspondence as professional as I can manage. Besides, I think I'd turn an uncomfortable shade of red attempting to compose anything remotely risqué - I've always been better reacting than initiating.

My train of thought is interrupted as the man himself bursts through the door, cutting right to the chase. I can't tell whether it's because he came as soon as he could or if it's just impatience on his part. That aside, I'm glad to see him safe and in-person once more.

"I got your message, Miranda. Is this about your sister?"

What do I say? It is, and it isn't. It's...complicated. Best to be blunt.

"Shepard, I need access to Alliance resources. I can't say any more." I state confidently, before staring at my feet, sounding withdrawn. "You'll just have to trust me."

Firmly, he says, "I don't like secrets, Miranda. Just tell me what's going on."

"I can't, Shepard." My hand creeps up to my neck, scratching an imaginary itch - a nervous reflex. Seems not every part of me is capable of keeping secrets, especially from him. "If that's a problem, I'll go."

It's a risky gambit and I hate to play on our relationship like this, but the less he knows, the better.

"Don't. Trust is a little hard to come by right now." At least it worked.

Politely, I agree, "Of course."

"You'll have your access, Miranda. But I don't like the sound of this."

"I know, and thank you." I feel so guilty. Clearly, he has problems of his own. When the whole galaxy's relying on you, how could you not? I turn away, uttering in a low melancholy voice, "It means a lot." Returning to my position against the sofa, my back to him, I look out the window at nothing in particular.

"That's not the only thing you wanted to talk about, is it?"

Our time apart hasn't dulled his ability to read my body language. Ever since my discovery on Therum, I had resolved to try and be more open. This may be my last chance.

"No. I need to tell you something. Confess, really. It's been eating away at me."

"Confess?"

My head drops and I sigh, "When I headed the Lazarus Project to rebuild you, I wanted to implant a control chip in you as a safeguard. The Illusive Man stopped me."

During the quiet moments, I'd found my thoughts drifting to Shepard. He'd shown me the value he placed in people, how he inspired loyalty by respecting others and taking the time to set their minds at ease, rather than expecting them to automatically fall in line for the good of the mission. Something I thought the Illusive Man had understood, until our fight against the Collectors had exposed some hard truths.

"Sounds like it would have saved him a lot of trouble," Shepard remarks. I know exactly what he's doing, trying to lessen the issue with wry humour. I wish it were that simple.

"Maybe. He didn't want to interfere with who you truly were. Something that just obeyed orders. He wanted Commander Shepard. Installing the chip might have ruined you."

"I understand why you wanted to. I was a complete unknown."

Of course he bloody understands! He's Commander Shepard, the man with the patience of a saint. I'm betting he already knows this is probably more for my benefit than his.

"I've never had to deal with that many black boxes on a project. I felt blind." I bring myself upright and look him square in the eye, hoping the mixture of stress, anger and sadness doesn't come spilling out across my face.

"Why bring that up now?"

"I fought against my father and his need to run every aspect of my life. He wanted total control over me, right down to my bloody DNA." As with every time I mention him, I can feel the rage building up. Crossing my arms helps, it's a practised measure that closes off the body language, keeping those wilder gestures inside. "After I got out of there, I couldn't stand by and let it happen to my sister. I risked my life to get her away from all that." Still was, I remind myself painfully. "Yet I didn't give a second thought to destroying your free will when I had the power."

Sounding slightly surprised, he asks. "This is what's been bothering you?"

"I told you, it's crazy."

"It's not crazy." A smirk and cheeky glance emerge on his face. "Well...maybe a little crazy."

"Shepard..." Any other time, I'd be up for a little teasing, but the weight hasn't lifted yet.

He moves in closer, speaking reassuringly, "Miranda, I lost two years of my life. You gave me back the rest of it. You could have changed me in a thousand different ways. But you didn't. I don't know how, but you brought me back."

"Thanks." Maybe I was being foolish. It's too easy to focus on the negative when that's all you've been brought up to recognise. I'm reminded of an old saying, something about a cynic knowing the price of everything, but the value of nothing. Trying to explain myself, I continue, "But with so much being uncertain, I just wanted you to know I always regretted wanting that chip."

"Miranda, we're both under so much pressure to be perfect, we never give ourselves a break."

"We can't give ourselves a break," I lament, staring off into the distance. "There's too much at stake."

He calls over, "Hey."

"Yes?"

I turn to see him sat on the bed, a hungry look in his eyes.

"Come here," he encourages in a recognisable tone. Is this what he meant by giving ourselves a break?

"Oh." I smile and begin strutting towards him, asking playfully, "Still impatient, Commander?"

"Still trying to maintain control, Miss Lawson?" he teases, knowing how to nudge me out of my shell with just enough tact.

"Trying...but failing." I lean over him, a hand on his knee, finally aware of the tension flowing from both of us.

I can't deny how desperately I need him, how every fibre of my being longs for his embrace. To feel those powerful arms around me, that gentle touch across my skin, the warm breath on my neck. To know that I'm safe and not alone.

"Good." His head tilts slightly, our eyes locked on one another now. "I'm almost out of moves."

"I'm not," I grin, pushing him down onto the sheets.

Perhaps I do get that fantasy after all.

Slowly, the world comes back into view as I wake from my slumber, the artificial sun streaming in from outside offering no clue as to what time it is. I must have been out a while because I feel strangely refreshed, all my worries dissolved. Stretching, I reach over to Shepard, but...he's not there.

I shoot upright and pull the covers over my naked body, checking nothing's happened. Then I spot the PDA and access card on the bedside table. I reach over and fetch the device, collapsing back into the bed to read the message left on there:

Miranda,

I hate leaving you like this, but you looked so peaceful, I couldn't bring myself to disturb you. In all my time, I don't think I've ever witnessed a more beautiful sight.

It seems we can only take breaks for the most important people in our lives, and even then not for long.

I won't ask what you're planning on doing, though I hope, in time, you'll feel comfortable sharing more with me. We've been through so much, nothing can possibly change how I feel for you.

And, as much as you hate hearing it, I will ask that you be careful. For me.

I love you, Miranda. I've never met anyone like you, and I couldn't bear losing you.

Sleep, get your rest, and I'll see you soon enough.

I let the PDA fall to my side and stay staring at the ceiling for a moment, lips quivering and tears welling up in my eyes. All right, I forgive you, you damn softy...

A/N: Forgive the cheesiness. Not used to writing this sort of thing...even if most of the work was done for me.

Hopefully, I haven't disappointed anyone with the direction I chose, i.e. no pillow talk.