Chapter Nineteen
The Sleeper Awakes
2185 CE
Lazarus Research Station
"You asked for my opinion, Miranda, and I'm giving it to you."
"With the obscene amount of credits being spent on the Lazarus Project, how can you even suggest not putting a control chip in her head?" Miranda demands incredulously. "You know what she was…is like as well as I do – she has strong values and principles. She's also unpredictable. Never a good combination. What if she simply decides not to work with us? Do you suggest I hold a gun to her head?"
The Illusive Man does not reply immediately. Instead he takes another slow drag on his cheroot. Miranda struggles to supress her irritation and impatience. Her opinion is a perfectly reasonable one, yet he's treating her like a petulant child.
"Shepard will work with us," the Illusive Man answers with undeserved certainty.
Miranda bristles. In his arrogance, he thinks he is a better judge of Shepard's character. She is the one who has lived and breathed the late Commander Alice Shepard every waking hour for almost two years. She feels as though she knows the woman better than she knows herself. Does he know that Shepard once refused a direct order because it placed civilians in harm's way? How she had skirted on the verge of being court-martialled on three occasions? Twice because of orders she thought compromised her principles and once because of a beautiful woman. And most damaging for Cerberus' cause, that she had lost friends, and even an ex-lover, in the ill-advised experiment on Akuze. Shepard's hatred for Cerberus is born from personal pain, the kind that isn't simply forgotten or brushed aside.
Unfortunately, Miranda knows from experience that it is futile to argue with Jack Harper when his mind is made up. She has better things to do with her time than engage in an argument she cannot win.
"Fine, no control chip. But I'm not taking any responsibility if she wakes up and says fuck Cerberus." That is exactly what Miranda has every expectation of Shepard doing. "That is on you."
Harper is unimpressed by her audacity. "Are we going to have a problem here, Miranda?"
We will, she thinks with deserved certainty. At the same time, her face is an impassive mask. She has had too much practice at this. "No. No problem. Is that all?"
Harper dismissively offers up the barest of nods. The conversation is over.
Only once out of his presence does she allow her frustration to bubble to the surface. However, she limits herself to a single exasperated huff. She realises that her mood has little to do with Shepard and everything to do with the way Harper dismisses her opinions. It is as though she has not spent almost half of her life working for Cerberus.
Miranda starts walking, striking a brisk pace as her thoughts race. She has always thought of herself as a trusted advisor. However, since she has been privy to the truth of Cerberus' instigation of the Yandoa 'accident' and the massacre on Akuze, she has begun to believe that this is not the organisation she thought it was. More important than reminding her that Harper will go to any lengths to achieve his goals, such actions tell her that she is not indispensable. For all her long years of service, she knows that Harper will not hesitate to eliminate her if she falls out of line. Or worse, he will ensure that her father finds out where her sister is.
The conversation has ruined what was previously a good mood. Rather than let it fester, she needs to do something to refocus her thoughts. Lazarus Station is isolated, and its distractions are limited. There has never been any possibility of taking a lover. Her lack of discretion over the whole misguided detour with Jacob Taylor has ensured such a lapse will not happen again. The fact that Taylor has been assigned to the Station simply reinforces that. She knows that Harper did it deliberately.
She has already pushed her body through a strenuous ninety-minute workout earlier that morning. That leaves the one place on the station where she knows she can find a measure of peace - or at least be reminded of her purpose.
Miranda is pleased to find the lab empty of all personnel. There's only the gentle blip emanating from the cardiac monitor and the soft, almost imperceptible sound of breathing coming from the body on the biobed at the heart of the room. That sound is a miracle. It does not require much of an imagination for Miranda to remember the body as it came to her. A blackened corpse that bore little resemblance to the woman it had been in life. Over the past twenty-three months, Miranda and her team have painstakingly restored it…her, to life. The woman lying on the bed is now instantly recognisable as the late Commander Alice Shepard. Only the vivid orange scars that criss-cross her body are evidence of her recent trauma.
Part of the reason that Miranda enjoys being in the lab is because it is the scene of her triumph. It's easy to give into her pride, to banish Harper to the back of her mind. This is her project, her success.
Shepard's eyes are closed. Her lips parted, almost as if she is merely sleeping. Miranda pauses by the bed. Out of habit, she reaches out and gently swipes a few stray strands of hair away from Shepard's forehead. The touching started a few weeks ago. At first, Miranda had not even realised she was doing it. When she caught herself pressing her palm against Shepard's cool cheek, she had snapped her hand back guiltily.
She had thought the gesture to be possessive in nature. However, she knows now that is nothing so banal. The reality is much more disturbing.
Miranda cares for her patient.
It has nothing to do with the amount of credits Cerberus has invested into the project, and everything to do with the woman lying in front of her. It is the same reason that she argues so vehemently for the control chip. If Shepard wakes and rejects Cerberus, Miranda knows that she will take the rejection personally. The thought of her creation walking away from her is unconscionable.
She crosses to a nearby locker. From within, she withdraws a small cylinder and studies it. It is not the cylinder itself which is important, but rather the tiny, intricate chip within. The control chip. It is nothing so crude and barbaric as the technology developed by the Batarians. As with the rest of the Lazarus Project, no expense has been spared on its development.
A sudden noise startles her to the point where she almost drops the cylinder. Miranda looks over her shoulder to see Shepard's body jerk suddenly. The movement is nothing unusual. Shepard began dreaming a few months earlier. Miranda estimates that full consciousness is only a little over a month away. Everything that she has worked towards, will either come to fruition, or fail miserably.
Damn Harper and his ego, she thinks as she stares at the device which could make or break the entire project. We need this bloody chip.
Miranda ponders the likelihood of getting away with disobeying his orders. She has done it before on discreet projects where he was either unlikely to find out or care what she had done. With the Lazarus project, there is the real prospect of both.
Her thoughts are interrupted again, this time by a slight disruption to the gentle rhythm of lab sounds. She casually glances to the monitors, expecting to find nothing out of the ordinary. Instead her lips part in surprise and her breath catches in her throat. Without taking her eyes off the monitors, Miranda sets the chip down on the nearby bench. The readings have suddenly shifted dramatically. Miranda interprets them in a single heartbeat. Everything is indicating consciousness.
"No, no, no!"
Her loss of composure is uncharacteristic, but what she is seeing is impossible. Or at least it should be. After a moment of indecision, Miranda moves to the haptic interface. She is initiating a diagnostic when she hears a sound that seems to make time stop.
"Where…?"
The interface is forgotten. Miranda turns around to see a pair of bright green eyes trying to focus. Pale lips are moving as the previously dead body on the bed attempts to form words.
"Where…" Shepard's voice is hoarse and weak. Her brow furrows in confusion. She is struggling, clearly wondering why it is so difficult to do something so simple. She does not know that she has not spoken for almost two years. "Where…am I?"
Every bit of her extensive knowledge is telling Miranda to send Shepard back into her safe coma before any damage can occur. Instead she is transfixed, drawn to the bed instead of the interface. Her hand is trembling as she presses her palm gently to Shepard's cheek. She then takes one of Shepard's hands in her other. The woman's fingers are as cold as ice. She cups them, trying to bring a measure of warmth.
"Alice, please stay calm. You are safe."
Shepard's eyes finally come into focus. They are vividly bright. She stares up at Miranda, her confusion deepening. "Who…"
Miranda smiles, hoping that it is warm and reassuring. No, she knows it is. She can feel the smile. The smile is not just her facial muscles moving, it has spread to her eyes. It makes her feel warm and almost dopey.
"I am a friend. My name is Miranda Lawson."
Miranda is relieved that she is wearing a jacket over her suit, hiding the Cerberus logo from view. A stressor of that magnitude would likely set the programme back months. But that is merely a business concern. Her real concern is that she does not want Shepard to be in any pain – or at least any more pain than she has already suffered.
"Miranda." Shepard says her name slowly, like she is testing the name on her lips for any familiarity. "Miranda…please, where am I?"
"A secure facility in a remote location." Miranda hopes the explanation will suffice. She is not willing to give voice to the rest of the answer. You're with Cerberus, for lack of a better word, we own you.
"What happened?" It has been less than a minute, already Shepard's voice has lost its hoarse edge. "I was on board the Normandy…and…we were under attack. The crew! Are my crew safe?"
Clearly agitated, Shepard tries to sit up. Miranda places one hand on her chest. Beneath her palm she feels Shepard's heart beating erratically. She does not need monitors to tell her that Shepard's system is not ready for consciousness. Not yet.
"Alice." Miranda tries to keep any trace of anxiety from her own voice. It's difficult when Shepard is staring up at her like she is a lifeline. "I need to put you back to sleep-"
Miranda feels the hand she is holding shift. Now it is Shepard who is holding her hand. The grip tightens, displaying an unexpected strength.
"Why?" Shepard asks.
Miranda pauses. You died. "You have been…ill, Alice. You are still recovering and to do that properly you need to be unconscious."
Shepard shakes her head. "No, please." Shepard's voice trembles and Miranda feels a lump in her throat. "I…I'm scared."
"You don't-" Her voice catches. She swallows quickly, irritated at her incapacity to remain objective. "You don't need to be afraid. I'll be here watching you…almost every moment. And when I'm not here, I won't be far away."
"What about when I wake up?" Shepard asks, almost plaintively, still clutching Miranda's hand. "Will you be here then?"
Miranda's lips tug upwards. She nods. "Of course, Alice."
Shepard tries to smile, but she is clearly having difficulty making her facial muscles work. The expression ends up resembling a grimace. "Okay." She leans back against the bed. Relaxing now, she tries to smile again and it comes more naturally. "I need the beauty sleep."
You really don't, the thought floats unbidden into Miranda's head. Inwardly, she groans. She could slap herself.
Shepard reluctantly relinquishes her hold of Miranda's hand, leaving her free to return to the interface. It's almost too easy to administer the sedative. It is what she should have done in the first instance. However, as she crosses back to the bed to watch Shepard's eyelids flutter, before sliding closed, she feels pleased that she ignored her instincts. She savours the memory of her name on Shepard's lips.
What the hell happened there, Lawson? she demands of herself. She is initially bemused by the whole event, then confused. It takes a few moments for realisation to set in.
Her creation did not reject her.
Of course, there is still the whole revelation that Shepard owes her life to Cerberus, but Miranda feels confident that this is a hurdle that can be overcome.
The control chip is still sitting where she left it. Miranda stares at it impassively for a long moment. Then, with decisive movements, she picks it up and dashes it to the tiled floor. The cylinder smashes. The control chip remains intact amid shards of glass. With the same precision she uses in all facets of her life, Miranda lifts her foot and brings her heel down on the chip.
With a savage twist, she reduces the multi-million credit device to a piece of useless junk.
2208 CE
Shepard Station, Zion Orbit, Utopia System
It used to be that Sam felt like she was coming home whenever she returned to Shepard Station. Now, as she stared up at the artificial blue sky overheard, she was acutely reminded of the precariousness of their existence. Despite the colossal mass of the station, it was still surrounded by the nothingness of space. Morbidly she wondered how death had come for the 45,000 residents of Arcturus Station. As the Alliance's former hub, Arcturus had been mercilessly destroyed by the Reapers during the War. Had it come quickly? Probably not quick enough.
Momentarily ignoring the fact that the docking station was a hive of activity, Sam dropped her seabag and closed her eyes, telling herself it was just for a moment. She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. If they entered a second Reaper War, events would not go the same way they had last time around. The deux ex machina of the Crucible had been a one-time only deal. Although the construction remained docked within the heart of the rebuilt Citadel, it was merely a monument to their victory, its systems burnt out and fused into useless hunks of metal.
"Sam?"
She opened her eyes at the same time as she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. Without looking, she already knew it was Liara. Physical contact between comrades wasn't Ashley's style. She turned and met Liara's concerned gaze with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
"Sorry, lost in thought there for a moment," Sam admitted.
"Pleased to be home?" Liara enquired with genuine warmth.
"Something like that," Sam shrugged.
It was then that she realised that Ashley wasn't even standing with them. Sam didn't have to look far. The former marine had not moved past the bronze statue of Shepard. She was staring up at it with an odd expression on her face – both fixated and disgusted at the same time. Vega was at her side. While Sam could see their lips moving in conversation, she was not close enough to hear what they were discussing. When Ashley looked over her shoulder and realised that she was being observed, she looked guilty. She turned to farewell Vega with a nod, before joining them. Vega raised his hand towards Sam, but farewells were hardly necessary on his part. He was staying on Shepard.
Ash joined them, and Sam hoped for at least a pithy comment about the statue out of curiosity. However, true to form, Ashley said nothing about the statue or the station in general. Instead, she effortlessly settled into looking bored and impatient. Sam did not blame her. They had spent almost a month in each other's company since the narrow escape on Lusia. It had been a month of frustrations, with very little information gleaned from the remnants of the Reaper. Although there had been no further attacks or incidents, they were no closer to discerning what was happening.
Sam had spent too many sleepless nights mulling over the Reaper's words to Liara. The knowledge that there might be something they could do to help, was virtually useless without knowing what exactly that help entailed. It would have consumed her without Liara's resolute patience and Ashley's blunt observations.
"I know we didn't start out on the best of terms, but I'm grateful to have had the two of you at my side through all of this," Sam announced genuinely. Although she tried to keep a relaxed expression on her own face, she couldn't help but read irritation in Ashley's expression and her confidence wavered. "Um…I'm not great with goodbyes, but-"
"This isn't goodbye," Ashley interrupted, her irritation manifested in her grumpy tone. "Okay, it is for me. I can't wait to get out of here. Ten minutes in this place is ten minutes too many for me, but-" Ashley jerked her head in Liara's direction "-she's staying."
"Oh!" Sam felt hope and relief in equal measures. She realised that Ashley's irritability had nothing to do with her and everything to do with the fact that Liara was staying. In fact, Ashley was now holding out her hand. Sam took it, but the handshake lasted a mere moment before Ashley drew her into a hug. It was over almost as quickly as it had begun, but Sam still felt the thrill of a friendship vindicated, or at least the possibility of restoration.
That was before everything was swallowed into a deep, black hole of guilt.
"Righto!" Sam banished everything beneath the veneer of purposefulness – retreating into old habits. The ever-helpful Comms Specialist. "We need to find you some quarters, Liara – somewhere accessible, but spacious, with a view-"
"I do not need anything special," Liara tried to protest.
"-And passage back to Thessia. You'll want to get back to your kids…so the soonest available?"
Ashley shared a brief glance with Liara, Sam didn't need to know them well to interpret what was said behind the glances and she felt a pang in her own gut at the thought of going home to an empty apartment.
"Soonish," Ashley replied, "But I'll need a few hours here."
Sam's personnel were efficient, and it took a matter of minutes to find a vacant ambassadorial apartment for Liara. It took slightly longer to obtain the necessary clearance to secure Ashley passage on an Asari warship that was due to depart for Thessia in two hours' time. Sam suspected that it was a discreet call from Liara that brushed aside the red tape.
Half an hour later, an exhausted Sam gratefully accepted a shuttle ride home. Usually, she'd make the short journey by station transit and foot, eager to stretch her legs, but today she needed to get home as quickly as possible.
Upon opening the door to her apartment, she was welcomed only by silence and a palpable chill earned by prolonged emptiness. Sam had already known that neither Robin nor the kids would be there, but a small part of her had hoped that it would be as it had been in the past. Excited voices would sound out from all corners of the apartment, followed by loud footsteps as the twins ran downstairs – more interested in obtaining the details of her mission than a hug. Robin would often remain in her study, waiting for the initial chaos to die down before emerging to welcome her wife home with a kiss and to cheekily ask what Sam was making for dinner.
Instead, there was only a dull thud as Sam dropped her sea bag on the floor. She remained fixed to the spot for far too long, unable to move her feet even to take her in the direction of the nearby couch or upstairs where she would find a hot shower. The same fear that had held her in its grip earlier was back. The same feeling that this was an insurmountable challenge for which they had no response.
In the end, the need to occupy herself with something drove Sam towards the study. She forced herself not to look at Robin's bare drafting table and instead focused on her personal secure terminal to check the messages that had come in over the past few hours. There were very few of any note, just one from a secure account that Sam did not recognise. The address immediately made her think of a law firm. She opened it, and her gaze settled immediately on a few words 'Divorce proceedings'.
"Huh."
The sound emerged as an observation, simply and without any malice or grief. Instead, after scanning through the pithy email and staring vacantly at the unopened attachment, Sam felt a weight lift from her shoulders. None of this was what she wanted, but it would make things a hell of a lot easier. There would be no disappointed gaze following her out the door. Her kids were relatively safe on Earth. Sam squared her shoulders as a fresh resolve settled. Her fear and indecision disappeared, replaced by a business-like efficiency.
Shower, food, a solid eight hours of sleep, then back to solving the insurmountable.
The apartment that Traynor had procured for Liara was located near one of the spokes connecting the station's axis to the surrounding ring. A curved window that ran almost the entire length of the apartment offered a stunning view of Shepard Station. It had clearly been designed to impress visiting dignitaries.
Ash propped her forearm against the window and stared out at the view. On either side of her the ring's valley-like interior climbed up into the distance. The simulated environment mimicked life on a planet's surface, complete with small lakes and an abundance of greenery. Above her, the mirrored shielding reflected a comforting artificial sky.
It all gave Ash the creeps. Not counting her service aboard the Normandy, or lengthy journeys on the Black Widow, Ash had lived her life with the solidity of a planet beneath her feet. She'd grown up in the rustic simplicity of Sirona, cut her teeth as a marine on the wild backwater of Eden Prime and was now living out her adult life amid Thessia's meticulously cultivated beauty. She had nothing against station life in general, it just was not for her. When she lifted her gaze skywards, it was real sky she wanted to find overhead rather than an artificial approximation.
From her vantage point, she could see down into a small park. There were tiny figures of children swarming over a climbing frame. It did not matter to them where in the Galaxy they were – fun was fun. Ash missed watching her own kids have fun. She then caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window and saw the trio of red scars on her face. She lifted her fingers to them and felt the puckered skin beneath her fingertips.
"I told myself I'd never come here," she murmured quietly, letting her hand fall from her face. The statement was not really intended for Liara, but moments later she felt a pair of arms encircling her waist anyway. Her bondmate nestled against her back. "But it was always about the Alliance, never about her," Ash continued. "Now that I'm standing here, it's just another station, home to thousands of people…families like ours. I think-"
Her voice caught unexpectedly, cutting short her observation. Ash closed her eyes, wanting to pass off her emotions as fatigue.
"Shepard would have approved?" Liara offered helpfully.
Ash opened her eyes and shook her head, "No…I mean, not no to that, perhaps she would have, what's not to like about all these people having a safe home? I just think that I was afraid of what coming here would mean. That it would be like forgiving them for what they did to us, or that people would know who I was. 'The infamous traitor Ashley Williams.' But no one cares – these people down there are living their lives, and I'm living mine." Suddenly weary of looking at the bright, optimistic vista, Ash spun in Liara's arms. They were now standing face to face. "That doesn't mean I'm looking to make a habit of hanging out here," she quipped, trying to lighten the moment with a smile.
"You know your legacy is not that of a traitor Ashley," Liara reminded her gently.
Ash's smile disappeared. The Alliance could not brand her as a traitor. That would have meant admitting what they had done in the first place. Instead, it had all been swiftly and efficiently covered up. The decorated war hero Captain Ashley Williams had officially been honourably discharged. As far as Shepard Station's citizenry were concerned, she was still that person – contentedly living her life away from the spotlight. The two of them had been consumed by this same discussion too many times to count. Tortured ponderings that had too often descended into heated arguments. Ash had had enough of allowing the Alliance to cloud her personal life. Faced with Liara's patient expression, it became easy to banish the thoughts to the back of her mind. To that place where one day she could deal with them completely and finally. Today was not that day.
Ash placed a tender kiss on Liara's lips. "Is there anything I can do to get you to reconsider and come with me?"
"You can order me to return home with you?" Liara suggested.
"You're not mine to order around, Li," Ash replied quickly.
"You know it will be…more efficient if I remain in close proximity to Samantha and her team," Liara tried to make the decision sound as business-like as possible.
"As opposed to making your bondmate feel reassured if you were in close proximity to her?" Ash pointed out with an arched eyebrow.
"Well-" the business-like tone disappeared as Liara stepped one foot in between Ash's. She kicked Ash's legs apart and fitted their bodies together. "-we are in close proximity now?"
Ash felt her body respond immediately to the salacious intent in Liara's tone. Her core was pulsing with desire, even before she closed her mouth over Liara's in an urgent kiss. She couldn't stop the groan of longing that followed.
"How long do we have?" Liara gasped against Ash's lips.
"Um…about fifteen minutes." Ash's fingers were already nimbly unfastening Liara's jacket.
With a growl, Liara grabbed Ash's hand and stopped her mid-task, directing her instead to the waist of her trousers. "Then we do not have time for disrobing."
Ash grinned against Liara's lips – amused by both Liara's use of the word 'disrobing' and old memories. "Just like old times…remember the observation lounge on the SR-2? All those snatched moments in between missions - fuck!" Her reminisces were cut off abruptly when Liara buried one finger deep inside her and began to thrust with intent. She had been so lost in what she was doing, that she hadn't even realised that Liara had dragged her trousers down around her buttocks. The wall behind her was cold against her bare skin. "Fuck!"
"And are you going to come as quickly as you used then to my love?" Liara whispered hotly into her ear.
There was some joke there, Ash knew, but she didn't care. "Yes…yes, yes," was the only answer she could possibly give as she ground her hips forward, her clit sliding deliciously against Liara's palm.
It was everything - the urgency, the reminder of not-so-distant youth – that propelled their fucking. The hoarse breaths and rapid movements were all that mattered in those moments. Like some sort of magic, time seemed to stand still for a precious few moments. Ash clung to every sensation - especially the feeling of Liara's azure trembling around her finger and the accompanying whimper as she came first.
Armali, Thessia
After living on Nevos for nineteen years, Miranda thought she was no stranger to the asari. However, Thessia made her feel like a stranger. Unlike Nevos, Thessia's population was almost exclusively asari. While the asari made a great show of being inclusive of other races, they zealously guarded Thessia's borders. Nea had explained, with thinly veiled criticism, how local governments rarely granted permanent settlement to non-asari. Miranda had not probed as to the reason why. As much as she cared for Nea, she was not ready to discuss living together. And she immediately doubted that any government would grant citizenship to a former member of an infamous human terrorist organisation.
She also thought she knew asari culture. After almost a month on Thessia, she realised that she had only ever glimpsed the surface of what was a very complex society.
Nowhere was this more evident than at an asari party. Nea had waited before subjecting her to a roomful of extended family and friends, and Miranda was beginning to realise that this had been for a good reason. Without delving into party etiquette or asking why some of the guests were unashamedly naked, Miranda was unnerved to realise that she was the only non-asari in a crowded room of asari. The first half an hour had been bearable, Nea had remained at her side, hand reassuringly on the small of her back.
The party was a crowd of faces and bodies. The room was filled with the vibrant hum of conversation, underpinned by the usual party sounds. The clink of glassware, laughter, and a musical accompaniment that strained to be heard. She wasn't even entirely sure what the gathering was for. Nea made vague reference to a relative celebrating their 500th birthday, but no individual seemed to be the centre of attention. From the warm, joyous atmosphere in the room, Miranda suspected that asari required little excuse for a gathering. And there was a lot of touching. Miranda tried to apologise when her hand had inadvertently brushed against a naked breast, but she had received an odd stare in reply.
"Don't apologise," Nea advised her. "She will think that you think her breasts are unattractive."
Miranda felt heat rising in her cheeks. "So, I'm supposed to stare at them?"
"An appreciative glance never hurts," Nea replied with an unconcerned shrug.
She leaned in and whispered her next question for fear of being overheard. "This isn't going to descend into an orgy is it?"
Nea laughed in a delighted manner, she whispered conspiratorially, "No doubt there is an adjoining room that has been usurped for that purpose. Would you like to discover it together?"
"No!" Miranda could not get the word out quickly enough. It took her a moment to realise that Nea was being facetious. "Oh. I am an idiot aren't I?"
"It is really not that kind of party," Nea offered reassuringly. "Another drink?"
As she was mulling this over – she'd already had two and had no desire to make a drunken fool of herself - Nea was suddenly swept away by a relative. Miranda thought it might have been an aunt, but Nea had so many it was difficult to keep track. Nea offered up a last glance over her shoulder before she disappeared into the crowd, with a mouthed 'won't be long.' That had done nothing to dispel Miranda's anxieties.
With her partner gone, something shifted in the room. It felt as though every asari in the room was now staring at her. Not blatantly of course, but out of the corners of their eyes, behind her back, or hiding behind the pretext of searching out someone else. Miranda had never been so far out of her comfort zone. The noise in the room seemed to amplify – the hum of conversation became a roar. There seemed to be twice as many naked bodies as before. Was Nea absolutely sure it wasn't that kind of party?
There were precious few places where she could escape their stares. She desperately wanted some fresh air, but there were no clear exit routes. The few doors she had tentatively tried were locked. Unless she made a scene by trying every door she could find, she was trapped in the room. The one human in a crowd of asari. Miranda settled for discreetly folding herself into the narrow space between a column and a curtain to one side of the room. Not quite hidden from view, but easy enough to overlook. The sound receded until she could hear her own thoughts again. From her spot, she could simply stand and watch the sea of interactions around her.
One voice stood out from amongst the hum. "I do believe that our little sister has caused quite the scene."
Miranda recognised the distinctively throaty voice of Piperia, one of Nea's sisters. She couldn't remember whether Piperia was the sister who had been sired by a Krogan.
"The first time Nea brings someone home, she brings a famous war hero. As much as I love her, she makes me sick sometimes," a second voice replied.
Piperia was talking to Nea's other sister, Dia. Miranda had met them both a few weeks earlier. They had been understandably eager to get to know her, as they clearly doted on their youngest sister. Their questions had never strayed from being polite, but Miranda found herself in unfamiliar territory. Business meetings she could handle, apparently meeting family was another matter altogether. Nea had rescued her on several occasions from being interrogated by the well-meaning pair.
She remembered now. It was Dia who had been sired by a Krogan. Piperia, or Pip as she preferred to be called, was Nea's full sister. They both shared the same Turian father, although had been born two decades apart.
"Famous or infamous?" Piperia continued.
"Pip!"
"Well, what do we really know about Miranda Lawson?" Piperia was nonplussed. "I read somewhere that Westerlund offered her over a million credits for an interview. Clearly she turned them down flat."
"Most of The Shepard's closest associates have remained silent about the War. And I don't believe an iota of what Zaeed Massani wrote in his book – even less so after actually meeting her," Dia replied. "She's nothing like the uptight, ice queen he portrays."
But I was. Despite her discomfort, Miranda almost smirked as she eavesdropped. Of course she had read Zaeed Massani's book when it came out. For a grizzled a mercenary, he told a surprisingly good story.
"Do you think something really happened between Miranda and Jacob Taylor all those years ago?"
Once! Miranda heard her own teeth grind. That little interlude would have been long since consigned to history had Taylor not brought it up in a drinking session with Massani. Of all the people you had to tell, Jacob.
"Why not," Dia replied. "He was certainly handsome enough…and that facial hair!"
"Perhaps," Piperia sounded less convinced. "Anyway, I do not think that this particular relationship is going to last beyond Athame's Day."
"Why not? She's exceedingly beautiful for a human. Such alabaster skin paired with raven black hair?"
"You have eyes, Dia!" Piperia hissed in a low whisper that Miranda could barely hear. "She has barely touched Nea all evening! I certainly haven't seen enough demonstration of affection to indicate that she has serious intentions towards our sister."
"What proof would you want?" Dia demanded. "For them to slip into a side room and let the sounds of their love-making permeate the whole gathering like you and your hanar paramour last Solstice?"
"When are you going to stop mentioning that? How was I to know the walls were so thin?" Piperia protested meekly.
"And that particular relationship of yours was over in the blink of an eye. You know humans are prudes, Pip. Most of them avoid overt public displays of affection. I think Miranda is not only lovely, but brave for walking into this klixen's den."
Miranda heard Piperia grunt with disapproval. "We're Nea's sisters. Any prospective partner can hardly blame us for wanting to ensure that Nea spends the next century with someone who truly cares about her."
While the conversation was both enlightening and embarrassing at the same time, Miranda did not want to continue eavesdropping. It wasn't just that they were sharing private opinions, she didn't want to overhear anything that would ruin the evening – or cause friction between herself and Nea. She ducked behind the column and discreetly moved away from the pair of overprotective sisters, making a mental note not to piss off either of them in the future.
Miranda was searching for a new hiding spot when she saw the most beautiful sight. Threading her way through the crowd, was Nea. Throwing aside all inhibition, Miranda practically pushed her way through the crowd, never taking her eyes off her lover.
Nea grinned when she saw her. "My apologies, my aunt-"
The rest of the sentence never emerged as Miranda stepped emphatically into their shared space. She cupped the nape of Nea's neck and drew her into a heated kiss. The crowd melted away, until it was just the two of them sharing a moment together. Miranda used gentle pressure to guide Nea, letting her know that she wanted this, despite their surroundings and the prying eyes surrounding them. If Miranda were being honest with herself, such a public display of affection sent a thrill coursing down her spine.
Even when they finally drew apart, Miranda remained close enough to feel each of Nea's warm breaths falling on her skin.
Nea did nothing to conceal her delighted smile. "By the Goddess. Not that I'm complaining, but what brought this on?"
Miranda shrugged in response. "I couldn't help myself."
She didn't care whether Nea's sisters had observed the kiss or not. It was too early to know how serious her intentions were toward Nea, but she knew that she loved her without reservation.
"You look a little flushed my love. Please don't tell me one of my relatives has propositioned you? Who was it? It was my great-aunt Cybele wasn't it? She has been on the hunt for a new lover since returning from an undercover assignment that lasted for a decade."
"No propositions...at least yet anyway," she shook her head with rueful smile. "It's just that…well, I'm used to being stared at on occasion, but this is different. It's as though every pair of eyes in the room is on me."
"That's because every pair of eyes in the room is on you," Nea replied. "They can't help themselves. Are you uncomfortable? Would you like to leave?"
Leaving was a tantalising prospect, but Miranda suspected that attending the party for less than an hour would not create a favourable impression amongst Nea's relatives.
"Thank you for asking, but I think I could get used to being the centre of attention." She grinned. After all, what was the use of being a famous war hero if you couldn't captivate a room? "Can you introduce me to your great aunt? She sounds fascinating."
Nea took her by the elbow so she could guide her through the crowd. "She is fascinating! Be warned though, her hands may wander!"
Almost three hours and four more drinks later, Miranda collapsed into a taxi with an almost girlish sigh of abandon. She turned to watch as Nea attempted to climb through the door. After having downed shots of ryncol with one of her cousins, Nea was having trouble making her limbs work. Eventually she managed to slide onto the seat with a crow of victory.
"I haven't had that much fun, well…ever!" Miranda admitted honestly.
"Everyone…and I mean everyone, is going to be talking about you for weeks, Miranda Lawson," Nea announced in a drawl, stabbing Miranda in the chest with her index finger. "You…were magnificent. You are magnificent."
They kissed. It was the fervent, slightly messy kiss of two people who were quite drunk. It further stoked the desire that had been present between them all evening. It very quickly became apparent that it would be difficult to keep their hands off one another long enough to avoid fucking in the back of the taxi.
"The address," Miranda whispered urgently, even as she spread her legs in anticipation of receiving Nea's wandering fingers. "The taxi's automated, but it can't read our minds!"
While dragging the hem of Miranda's dress upwards, Nea turned and gave their destination into the waiting voice receiver.
"Multi-tasking, I love it," Miranda laughed in delight.
The laugh turned into a gasp as Nea delicately raked the length of her underwear with expert fingers. The layer of thin fabric between her sex and Nea's touch felt almost non-existent. By the time the taxi left the ground and swiftly pulled away to join the stream of traffic overhead, she was practically giddy with alcohol and desire. It was that perfect stage of inebriation, when every sensation was intensified, and inhibitions were little more than a distant memory.
Nea was teasingly prying aside her underwear when an abrupt, insistent ping interrupted the moment. It took several more pings, each one sounding more insistent, before Miranda realised that it was her omni-tool. She broke off their kiss and Nea withdrew her fingers.
"I'm sorry," she whispered as she manoeuvred back onto the seat next to Nea. "It's-"
"No explanations needed, my love," Nea interrupted quickly.
As drunk as she was, anxiety had an immediate sobering effect. Miranda hastily brought up her messages, already knowing that it concerned Jack. Years ago, she'd configured her omni-tool to immediately alert her to emergencies at the Institute. Sure enough, there was an urgent video message from Dr Maida.
With no concerns about Nea being able to overhear, she hit play. Dr Maida's grave face appeared via the interface. {Hello Miranda, um…my sincere apologies for interrupting your vacation, but I know that you would want to be informed immediately of any changes concerning Jack. Despite our best efforts to convince her otherwise, Jack has…decided to stop undergoing the experimental treatment. She has subsequently refused to explain why. I do not need to tell you that without this treatment…Jack does not have long. And, I fear that is also unlikely that she will be able to resume the regime. Her body is already failing too fast. I would recommend that you cut short your vacation and return to Nevos with haste if you want to say your goodbyes.} Maida faltered, and dropped his gaze for a moment. {I hope you will understand that we did our utmost, but she made a conscious decision. Without her permission…well, we are unable to continue. I am truly sorry, Miranda. I know this is not a message you were expecting to receive.}
The message ended and Miranda was left staring at the empty space that Maida's face had previously occupied. She was only just realising that her jaw was clenched in anger in response to her initial thoughts. Why hadn't Maida and his team simply forced Jack to take her meds? And why had that stubborn idiot waited until there were light years between them to make her choice? She already knew the answer to both of course. Maida himself had reminded her that Jack couldn't be forced to continue with the treatment. And Jack had wanted her as far away as possible, because she knew that Miranda would have tried to talk her out of it. What Miranda wasn't been prepared for, was the sudden burning sensation in her eyes. She tried to bring herself under control before the burning could give way to tears.
At her side, Nea was busily and quietly interacting with her own omni-tool. "I can get us berths on the Adrestia," she announced in a focussed, alert voice. "It departs from the Ceres space port in three hours, which should give us enough time to get back to my place, pack-"
"Nea," Miranda interrupted her. She surprised herself with the composure in her voice, even though inside she felt like she was being torn apart. Nea's frantic activity came to an abrupt halt. Impulsively, Miranda reached out and pressed her hand to Nea's cheek. "I love you," she whispered in a fervent voice. "And I know that having you with me would make everything so much more bearable, but this is a trip I need to make on my own. Does that make any sense?"
"No," Nea replied with a slow shake of her head. "But…I think I know you well enough to understand, and I certainly know you well enough to respect your decisions."
Miranda kissed her again, but it carried with it none of the passion evident in their earlier interaction. It was a farewell, and a last attempt for Miranda to find a moment of peace before her life was turned upside down. When she moved away from Nea and sank back into the taxi's upholstery, she was already regretting her decision.
Nea, however, was a paradigm of efficiency. She resumed interacting with her omni-tool. "One berth on the Adrestia-"
With a gentle touch on Nea's thigh, she interrupted her. "I cannot lose three hours. I need a private ship that can leave immediately. Please? The cost isn't an issue." She paused and drew in a deep breath in an effort to keep from panicking. "I just need to get home as soon as possible."
Nea was patient and unflappable. "Of course, my love."
"Thank you." Miranda turned to stare out of the window, wishing that there was a way she could just close her eyes and be where she needed to be. She even wished that she hadn't left at all. Her prior euphoria had deserted her, and she was left feeling tired and nauseous.
Please hold on Jack. She willed her thoughts to travel across the light years between them. At least until I can get home and talk some sense into your fool head if it's not too late.
