Author's Note: Going to be making major time jumps on installments for the next few chapters.
Seven months later.
She had never seen the Citadel this crowded. The docks and their adjacent holding areas were packed with batarians, turians, salarians, humans; they huddled in little groups, anxiously queried agents at the counters about loved ones not yet arrived, or sat listlessly, staring at the floor with shellshocked eyes. There were no arguments, no conflicts; all previously existing animosities seemed to have been set aside in the face of a foe that threatened them all.
The crowds made it easier for Miranda to blend in as she waited at Docking Bay 24, watching the Normandy slide into its berth, and she ruefully reflected that the fact that she likely looked as worn and harried as the rest of them was probably useful, but enough of her vanity remained to regret it. This wasn't how she wanted to see Shepard after seven months apart.
Seven and a half, if one counted Evan's departure after Admiral Hackett sent her on a solo mission as a personal favor. Seven months and ten days, if one counted from when Shepard returned from the Bahak system, battered and haunted, and promptly surrendered to the Alliance, accepting the blame for three-hundred thousand dead batarians because the Alliance was too fucking cowardly to stand behind her, even after she'd saved their asses yet again.
Miranda hadn't seen or spoken to Evan since, had followed the coverage of the Reapers' assault on Earth, afraid to even hope until the first reports began to filter in about the Normandy and her commander plucking the turian primarch off of one of the moons of Palaven. She'd sent the message then, but hadn't dared check the account for a reply; she'd pushed her luck enough staying on the Citadel for three days. One more, and she'd have left, done what she had to do.
It wasn't as though they had made any promises, after all. They'd had barely a week together after the destruction of the Collector base until Hackett had asked Shepard for his little favor. And seven months had gone by, so much had happened. Stupid to think that things wouldn't have changed. Utterly foolish to cling to what had been a dream, and yet, she found herself waiting, day after day, watching ship after ship dock and depart until the one whose lines she knew by heart glided in like a massive bird of prey, and she felt tears stinging her eyes, because, God, she had been happy on that ship. It had been the home she had never thought she could have, with squadmates that she could trust with her life and a commander who -
Her breath caught at a flash of tawny blonde hair in the crowd, and yes … it was her. She looked tanned and fit, but serious as she strode down the ramp beside Garrus, saying something to the turian. Green eyes swept the crowds idly, and Miranda couldn't move. It wasn't just that running to meet Shepard would draw all the wrong sort of attention at a time that she desperately needed to stay below the radar; she honestly didn't know how Evan would respond to her after all this time, wasn't sure she could stand seeing those eyes turn to her with hostility, or worse, indifference. She would wait, let Evan see her, come to her -
"Commander!" Miranda stiffened, a stab of white-hot jealousy lancing her chest at the sudden smile that brightened Shepard's face and the cause of it. Who was this little tart with the velvet brown skin, dark eyes and the ludicrous Oxford accent who was running to catch up with Shepard, and why was Evan waiting for her, smiling and listening as she babbled on inanely, walking beside her and not seeming to object at the way the doe eyes gazed adoringly at her, her own green eyes scanning the terminal once more, sliding past Miranda without a hint of recognition. She put a hand on the simpering twit's elbow, guiding her in the direction of the rapid transit terminal, and then they were both swallowed up by the shifting and surging masses of refugees.
Miranda stood, eyes closed, drawing deep breaths, telling herself that she had expected nothing else. That the gut-punched feeling was nothing more than disappointment that she would not have the assistance that she had been needing. That said assistance was the only reason that she had risked coming to the Citadel in the first place. For Ori, because her sister was the only thing that mattered.
Screw it. She'd go it alone. She'd been doing it all her life, and she didn't need Evan Goddamn Shepard. Fists clenched, she turned to go and found herself face to face with the Commander.
She stared in surprise as Shepard regarded her, green eyes intense and unreadable, the dark circles beneath them and the lines of worry that touched her face giving the lie to the image of tanned health that she'd seemed at a distance. Neither of them spoke, and after several seconds, Evan reached out, took her hand and led her through the terminal. She followed, all thoughts of leaving taking a distant second place to the warmth of Shepard's hand in hers and the need to study the lines of her face each time a turn of her head displayed her profile. She wove them through the crowds without hesitation, and no one they passed seemed to recognize the legendary Spectre in their midst, let alone the former Cerberus operative.
More than half of the holding area of the docks, normally used to store cargo, had been converted into emergency housing for the influx of refugees fleeing the Reapers. Shipping containers served as makeshift dormitories, laid out in a near labyrinthine arrangement, but Evan pulled her confidently through turn after turn, the crowds growing ever thinner. They passed a turian who was slouched against a steel-walled crate, apparently engrossed in the content on his datapad, made one more turn, and then Evan sidestepped into a shadowy doorway, tugging Miranda behind her.
Miranda had barely enough time to register that this container was unoccupied before her back was pressed up against metal and Evan's mouth was on hers, fingers tugging at the fastening of her suit. Cool air swirled against her skin, but any half-formed thoughts of propriety were swept away by the heat of a palm that splayed against her belly, then slid lower. Dimly, she could hear the sounds of hundreds of people going about their lives only yards away, but they were alone here, velvet shadow hiding them, and the sudden ravishment was like oxygen hitting long banked coals, sending desire flaring to life.
She met Evan's passion, matched it, wrapping her arms around the soldier's shoulders, tangling her fingers in blonde hair as they kissed in an urgent clash of teeth and tongues. Fingers pressed into her, stroking deep and sure; she hooked a leg over Shepard's hip, spreading herself wider for her lover, and braced her shoulders against the cold steel at her back, rocking hard into each thrust.
Evan pressed forward, pinning her hard against the wall, her free hand sliding beneath Miranda's uplifted thigh and tugging it a bit higher as her mouth found the junction of neck and shoulder, her tongue flicking against the exquisitely sensitive skin there. Miranda tipped her head back, gasping, barely remembering that making the sounds she so desperately wanted to make would undoubtedly draw attention. The coiled heat at her core tightened, intensified, then went supernova, and she buried her face in Evan's shoulder, biting hard to stifle the cries that rose up, holding on tight as her climax crested, held for a blissfully tortuous eternity, then receded.
Shepard didn't draw back immediately, but her kisses became tender, brushing gently over Miranda's face. Her arms folded around the former operative, and Miranda relaxed into the embrace with a contented sigh. Not a word had yet been spoken, but for just a bit longer, nothing needed to be said.
"Been dreaming about this," Evan murmured at last, nuzzling at Miranda's neck. "I missed you," she added softly.
There was not a hint of accusation in the words, but Miranda felt her stomach twist with guilt all the same. "I missed you, too," she admitted, the words a pitifully inadequate articulation of the aching emptiness that had plagued her, the doubts and fears that had haunted her nights. She nestled more closely into Evan's embrace. "I couldn't get to you," she said remorsefully.
Shepard shook her head. "Glad you didn't try," she replied. "They had me on lockdown. Solitary confinement: no visitors, no communication, no extranet. Not a damn thing to do but eat, sleep and work out. And that was with no charges filed." Her laugh was brittle, angry. "The bastards would have loved to have a Cerberus agent to blame everything on. And now the Reapers are here, and suddenly I'm indispensable again." Her fingers glided up Miranda's sides, over ribs that were more prominent than they had been a few months ago. "You haven't been eating enough," she observed reprovingly, drawing back enough to peer into her face, "or sleeping enough."
"Staying on the move," Miranda said simply. Money was shorter than she had been accustomed to, but she had enough to buy food; she just seldom had any appetite. And when every step in the hall outside could be Cerberus closing in, you slept lightly, when you slept at all.
"Come back to the Normandy with me," Evan urged her, arms slipping back around her waist, beneath her still-open suit. "No one will touch you there. Not Cerberus, not the Alliance. You'll be safe."
God, it was tempting, though safety was the least of her motivations. She'd been alone for most of her life, but she'd never been truly lonely until these last months. How a scant week of falling asleep and waking up with arms around you could impress itself so deeply was a mystery to her, but she still woke up, her mind hazy from half-remembered dreams, convinced that she was in her lover's embrace, feeling Evan holding her. Coming fully awake and finding her bed empty left her moody and miserable for hours.
She shook her head regretfully, closing her eyes and snuggling in, resting her head on Evan's shoulder. "I can't," she said softly. "It's not that I don't want to, Evan, but … it's Oriana. She's gone."
"Gone?" She could hear the sudden alertness in Shepard's voice, feel the way the strong arms tightened protectively around her. "Gone where? How? Damn it, Liara's people were supposed to be watching -"
"Evan, the Reapers have thrown everything into chaos." It was something that Miranda was trying very, very hard not to think about too deeply. The Reapers had not yet approached the system where Ori and her family had been living, but if they were no longer there...
She felt Shepard nod. "What happened?"
"I don't know," she admitted miserably. "I haven't been able to contact her in nearly a week." She drew a deep breath before uttering the words. "It's my father. I know it." Easier to say them like this, with Evan holding her, feeling the warmth of her skin, the steady rhythm of her breath. But no easier to contemplate. "He's found her."
"We'll get her back." She'd known that the promise would be forthcoming, and it heartened her, even when she knew that she couldn't allow it. She took another steadying breath before gently pushing Shepard away enough to look into her eyes.
"You can't," she said softly, pressing a finger to Evan's lips to still the rising protest. "You have to deal with the Reapers … and I need to do this myself. I need to face him alone."
"No, you don't!" Shepard shook her head, eyes flashing, pleading. "You're not alone, damn it!"
"I know that, you ass," she replied with a fond smile, letting her hands frame the face that had haunted her dreams for the last half year, tracing the cheekbones with her thumbs, memorizing every line, saving it up for the lonely nights ahead. "But you don't have the time to waste chasing down leads. I don't even know where to start." She kissed Evan, soft and lingering. "I was going to ask if I could use your Spectre access codes," she said, hating the feeling that she was manipulating her lover, praying that Evan wouldn't see it that way.
"Of course," Evan replied without hesitation. "And I'll ask Liara to keep her ears open, set up search algorithms on the extranet and comm channels. She's taken over your old office, by the way," she added, a touch of amusement visible in her eyes. "Turned it into Shadow Broker Central." She leaned forward, lips ghosting along Miranda's cheek to her ear, the heat of her breath sending an answering ripple of fire beneath the brunette's skin. "Guess that means that you'll have to shack up with me when you're back on board, eh?"
God, it sounded so good. "Evan, I don't know how long -"
"It doesn't matter," Shepard whispered fiercely. "You do what you have to do, and I'll do what I have to do, but no matter how long it takes, no matter where you are, if you need me, I'll come to you if I have to take the goddamn galaxy apart to do it. And once it's done, I'm never letting you go again!"
Evan's body pressed her back against the steel wall as their lips crashed together, tongues twining in a frantic dance. Miranda pushed forward, straddling Evan's leg and rocking shamelessly against her hip, feeling Shepard's hands sliding beneath her suit to cup her ass, pulling her in even harder, increasing the friction by what felt like an order of magnitude as she rubbed against Miranda's thigh. She cried out, the sound caught by Evan's mouth as they moved against each other, unable to get close enough. Evan broke first, shuddering and burying her face in Miranda's neck, but Miranda was close behind, holding on tight as her climax rolled through her.
She hadn't wanted it to be like this: a frantic coupling in the shadows, clothing simply pushed aside. She'd wanted privacy, a bed and candles, skin on skin, slow and sweet and unhurried, falling asleep in Shepard's arms and waking to make love again. But this was what she had been given, and she took it willingly, lingering in Evan's embrace until long-honed instinct told her that she could stay no longer.
Shepard released her reluctantly and watched, green eyes drinking her in as she rearranged her clothing, leaning in once she was done to claim her lips in the gentlest of kisses that tested her resolve as sorely as their passion had. She let her fingers come up to trail through the sweat-damp hair at Evan's temple as she drew away. Shepard caught her wrist, pressed a final kiss to Miranda's fingers, then folded them around an OSD.
"Password is Virmire."
She nodded. "Thank you," she said gratefully.
"Remember." Green eyes held hers, and Miranda knew that the admonition had nothing to do with the password.
"I will," she promised, turned away quickly and made her way back into the ebb and flow of traffic in the holding area, merging seamlessly with the crowd and out of sight in seconds.