Author's Note – And another kinkmeme de-anon that I'm hoping to finish
Seven hours and twenty-three minutes.
Miranda Lawson glanced at the clock, then returned her gaze to the monitor, showing the corridor outside the captain's quarters. She'd disabled the cameras inside Shepard's cabin weeks ago, and even if she hadn't, she wouldn't have been able to bring herself to spy so blatantly, no matter how much she wanted to. She wouldn't have hesitated a few weeks ago. Things had changed … she had changed, in ways that she had never anticipated.
Her entire adult life had been dedicated to two things: her sister's safety and the ideals of Cerberus. For most of that time, the two goals had seemed inextricably intertwined and equally important. Evan Shepard had changed that, adding a third factor to the equation that had thrown Miranda's orderly universe dangerously out of balance.
She had literally brought Shepard back from the dead, a two-year project that any scientist would gladly claim as a magnum opus, but like Dr. Frankenstein, she had discovered that her masterpiece had a will all its own, and not always coinciding with the agenda of Cerberus. The irony was, that was precisely what the Illusive Man had wanted. If he had accepted Miranda's recommendation to implant a control chip, forcing Shepard to do things their way, would they be here now, mere hours from taking the fight to the Collectors with a team of the most formidable individuals in the galaxy and a real - if admittedly slim - chance of success? She didn't think so.
Evan was an idealistic fool, but she was a damned effective fool, with a knack for diplomacy made all the more potent by the fact that she actually meant what most people simply mouthed as platitudes to get what they wanted at the bargaining table. If she said she would help someone, she would do it or die in the attempt; she'd proven that several times over the course of this mission, requiring the combined skills and efforts of Miranda and Dr. Chakwas to patch her back up. It had seemed the height of foolishness to Miranda, risking the success of the greater mission to help others with their personal woes - until she had been the one needing Shepard's assistance in something that had nothing to do with stopping the Collectors, and Evan had agreed without hesitation, even after the numerous disagreements they'd had on similar subjects. She hadn't called the Cerberus operative a hypocrite, hadn't put a price on her help. She had simply charged through Ilium like a force of nature, killing the ones who would have returned Oriana to the tyranny of their father, but refusing to let Miranda kill Niket for his betrayal. Knowing what that act would do to her once the fires of anger had cooled.
Miranda had been engineered for perfection, but it was Evan who was the epitome of human potential, the ideal that Cerberus claimed to be striving for, and that shining example had cast a merciless light on the shadows of Cerberus that Miranda had long managed to ignore. Akuze. Chasca. Binthu. Pragia. Aite. The list of atrocities committed in the name of the greater good kept growing, and the Illusive Man's easy dismissals of such incidents as aberrations or rogue splinters had grown all too regular. Admitting that the organization that she had dedicated her life to had become hopelessly corrupted was an easy prospect, however, compared to the more terrifying changes that Evan had incited within her.
She had stopped allowing herself to need people years ago, after she had learned that such dependencies inevitably led to disappointment at best, betrayal at worst. Niket had been the one exception who had resoundingly proved the rule. Even in her protection of Oriana, she had held herself back, approached the task as a mission to be handled with discipline and attention to detail. Her sister had no idea that she even existed until Evan had pressed her to speak to the girl before Cerberus agents whisked her away to safety and a new life. The shy surprise and gratitude in Oriana's eyes had touched a chord in her that she had thought long dead, but the understanding and approval in Evan's gaze had incited a churning rush of emotion that left her floundering in its wake.
She needed approval from none but herself and her employer; when had that changed, and how? She'd tried to fight it; the argument with Jack that had very nearly deteriorated into a biotic free-for-all had been an unfortunate consequence of that resistance (and, if she were completely honest, her jealousy at the time that Shepard devoted to the ex-convict). She had known that her words were both vicious and untrue, but she had hurled them anyway, then stood defiantly against Evan's reproof, wilting inside at the anger and disapproval on the commander's face. The defiance hadn't broken the hold that Shepard had on her: the odd, aching yearning to make her smile, banish the darkness that plagued her. If anything, it had only grown stronger.
She was the Normandy's XO, Shepard's second in command; monitoring the well-being of the mission's leader was part of her job. She told herself that was the reason that she had come here after the meeting of the greatly reduced crew had broken up, watching as person after person had approached Shepard's door, entered and, after a time, left. It had been half an hour since Mordin had departed; he had been the last. He was back in his lab, running last-minute tests on the countermeasure that protected against the Collectors' paralytic toxin. The rest were each facing what could well be their final hours of life in their own ways. Garrus and Tali were together, as were Jacob and Kasumi, taking comfort in each other's arms. Jack and Grunt were sparring in the cargo hold, Samara was meditating, Zaeed was - doing whatever the hell it was that antisocial, semi-psychotic mercenaries did when facing probable death, which likely meant perusing old editions of Fornax while wanking off (not even remotely tempted to check that video feed, thank you very much). And Shepard was – what? She could ask EDI, but the notion of an unshackled AI still made her uneasy. Hopefully it wasn't plotting the final takeover of the ship with Legion.
She looked at the clock again. Seven hours and eighteen minutes until they reached the Omega Relay and passed through to whatever lay beyond.
It was well within the parameters of her job to be concerned, she told herself again as she left her quarters and took the elevator to the captain's room. She heard EDI announce her, and then the door slid open.
"I wondered if you were going to come by." Evan lay on her back on her bed, staring up at the stars. She sat up as Miranda entered, and a lock of tawny blond hair fell across her forehead. Miranda managed to suppress the urge to reach out and brush it back into place. Even when she'd been unconscious on a table during the revival and reconstruction process, Shepard's hair had defied attempts at control; she'd kept it in a neat bun during her time with the Alliance, but now that she was no longer military, she frequently wore it down. It softened her features, made her look almost vulnerable at times, though that appearance was definitely deceiving.
"I wanted to see how you were doing," Miranda offered, searching the soldier's face, seeing the sorrow and weariness that was rarely allowed to show. Evan had lost so much in her life: her family on Mindoir, her squad on Akuze, still more in the fight against Saren and Sovereign, and then finally her ship, many of her crew and her own life when the first Normandy had been destroyed by the Collectors.
A second chance at life was the dream of many, but from the start, Evan had treated it as a brutal necessity to be endured, slogged through. Oh, she put on a good face, joking with team members, saying the right words of hope and encouragement, but at the same time, she kept them all at a gentle but firm arm's length, letting no one get too close. The few lovers that Miranda knew of had been either casual acquaintances or semi-anonymous liaisons, though there were more than a few on board the Normandy who would have gladly shared her bed.
"We're almost there," Shepard said by way of a reply. There was no anticipation in her tone, no satisfaction, no fear. Only a weariness that made Miranda's heart hurt, an ache that deepened when she added, with a hint of bitterness, "I'll get it done, don't worry."
"I know you will, Evan. That's not why I'm here." She didn't know what lay behind the strange honesty that had grown between them, whether it was rooted in her role as Shepard's creator or in some other reason, but Evan had allowed Miranda to see the shadows in her soul that she kept hidden from the rest of the crew, and Miranda had opened up to her, as well. At first, because it had seemed only fair, since she had meticulously researched every part of Evan's life during the two years it had taken to revive her, that the other woman should be given at least some knowledge of her in return. But Shepard had listened, had not judged or reacted with scorn to her tale of running away from a life of privilege, and Miranda found herself telling her more, and more, until Evan Shepard knew things about her that she had not even revealed to the Illusive Man. That Shepard would think that her only interest was in ensuring that she finished her appointed task was not nearly as painful as the knowledge that it would have been true a few weeks earlier.
Things had changed … she had changed. Evan had changed her, was still changing her, but there were times - like now - when that change felt like being torn apart. "You've accomplished so much, Evan. You've done incredible things." You're incredible, she wanted to say. She didn't. Couldn't.
Shepard nodded noncommittally, green eyes turning up to the stars again. People who had been spaced often displayed a profound phobia at the sight of the stellar display, but Evan had always regarded it with a mixture of fascination and yearning that Miranda had never found more disquieting than she did now.
"I want you to promise me something," Evan said, her eyes still on the stars. "If I die over there, don't bring me back again."
"No." The refusal escaped her before she could soften it, borne on the swell of panic that Shepard's words triggered. "I can't promise that." Anything but that. She remembered the remains that Dr. T'Soni had brought to her, and the idea of seeing Shepard reduced to that again caused a distress far deeper than the concern of seeing two years' work and four billion credits shot to hell.
The green eyes snapped to her, anger and despair flaring up. "Why the hell not?" she demanded. "If I don't pull it off, I'm not likely to do any better the next time around, and if I do, don't you think I'll have earned the rest?"
"You'll do it, Evan. I'm sure of that, but -" She cast about desperately in her mind for something, anything that might override the emptiness in Shepard's gaze. Duty. She'd always done her duty. "But even after we've dealt with the Collectors, the Reapers will remain a threat."
She knew it had been the wrong thing to say even as the words were leaving her mouth. Evan was off the bed in an instant, stalking toward her, eyes blazing now.
"There's a whole damn galaxy of dead heroes out there, just waiting for you to resurrect them," she snarled. "Hell, some of them might even want to come back! Why does it have to be me?"
"Because you're you," Miranda countered, trying to undo the damage, find some way to make her want to stay with - to stay alive. "You're Commander Shepard: a symbol of hope. The galaxy needs you. This crew needs you. I need -" She could hear the brakes screaming in her brain, but it was too late. Evan was staring at her, anger and betrayal softening to puzzlement and an intensity that terrified the Cerberus operative.
"What do you need?" Shepard asked softly, searching Miranda's face.
"I -" She couldn't say it. She turned away, hiding from those gently piercing eyes and what they were doing to her soul, started for the door. "I need to get back to my office, send in a report before we reach the relay." Seven hours and thirteen minutes. She could hide in her office for that long.
"No." Shepard's hand caught her wrist, turning her around, drawing her back. "Tell me what you were going to say."
"Let me go!" she snapped, trying to feel angry, offended, anything but the wrenching ache of an impending loss that she was too cowardly to prevent.
"No," Evan said again, holding on. Miranda tried to twist free, but she couldn't bring herself to use her biotics, and in a purely physical contest, Shepard was definitely the stronger. The ensuing scuffle ended with Miranda pinned against the aquarium, the fish that Shepard hadn't yet managed to kill swimming by on the other side of the glass and Evan's face inches from her own.
"Evan, let me go." She was trying for her 'Ice Queen' voice and failing miserably because wherever Shepard was touching her, her skin burned with an inner fire, and her heart was racing. She settled for glaring up at the taller woman.
A faint smile and a hint of genuine amusement in the green eyes. "You're wishing for that control chip again, aren't you?" What had started as a source of tension and distrust had evolved into a running joke between them that got used whenever Evan pulled one of her trademarked Shepard stunts that no sane individual would even attempt and Miranda could only hope she didn't get her overly daring and noble ass killed in the process.
"Damn right," she snapped, wanting to smile, wanting to cry, because this teasing banter, with this brave, honest, and tormented soul that she had dragged back from the grave was what had come to make her feel truly alive for the first time in her bioengineered-for-perfection life, and in seven hours and eleven minutes, she could lose it forever.
"You don't need it." The humor faded from Evan's eyes, and what replaced it made Miranda's heart start hammering. "Just tell me what you want me to do."
She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her mouth, staring back at Shepard, afraid that whatever she said would be the wrong thing.
"Tell me," Shepard pressed, gentle but relentless. "What do you want me to do, Miri?"
The challenge had been made, the gauntlet thrown down. She could tell Shepard to release her, and Evan would let her go, let her return to her own quarters, and in seven hours and ten minutes, they would be entering a relay that no ship had ever returned from.
Time was running out.