"The Animus 2.0" from Assassin's Creed II / "The Hive" from Deus Ex: Human Revolution
XXI. Requiem of the Goddess
(Ashley)
Violet blood pooled out over the dark carpet of this hotel room, everywhere.
Soaking there, colors indistinguishable, the blood shined in the moonlight from the windows, from San Diego's holiday lights glittering in over that darkness.
Liara lay there over her side, on the side I had shot her toward, gaping wounds flooding non-stop.
She'd stopped breathing.
She stopped.
Dead.
Waking up, waking the fuck up—I stepped away from that blood before it reached my combat boots, Shepard's combat boots.
I backed away from her.
I stopped short of backing into the wall, the same wall I'd pushed her up against all those weeks ago.
I almost dropped my gun. The same pistol I'd aimed at Wrex back on Virmire—I caught it before it could hit the ground, before it could fall into Liara's blood. I holstered it back over my hip. I put it away. I set it out of sight, knowing I could never put this out of my mind: this sight of Liara dead on the floor, fucking dead!
Breathing in and out without breathing, in and out, in, out; I clamped my trembling hands over my mouth.
"Shit," I hissed against my palms, sweating already. "Oh my God, Liara! Oh, God—oh no, oh no, no, no, no, no…!" Trying to stay quiet, trying to stay quiet, even as I was about to throw up the food she had given me earlier in her kindness, in her care. "What the fuck?! What did I do!? Fuck… Fuck—fuck! SHIT!"
Scaring the hell out of me, the tenant next door slammed their fist against the wall, knocking.
His muffled protests—he cussed me out about the noise, recognizing that it was from a gunshot. He screamed at me, demanding to know if I had killed someone; asking if I was still alive, if I had killed myself. I refused to say a word, terrified in place as I stared at Liara's corpse there on the floor. Her neighbor threatened to call the police in the next five minutes if he didn't get an explanation in time.
Panicking more in the middle of his half-worried, half-pissed tirade, I bolted from the room.
The door locked automatically behind me, the red light beaming behind my back, burning in my wake.
This darkened hall in the night, empty and bare: I left in the opposite direction of Liara's angry neighbor. Away from the sounds of other people in the hall farther down. People that could have spotted me, recognized me.
Nearby, not too far in front of me, I saw the door that led outside to the hotel's rooftop swimming pool.
I hurried toward that door as my only salvation.
Fast-walking, not wanting to draw attention to myself—I heard those other tenants around the corner, speculating in quieted voices about what all the noise was about. As a miracle, a goddamned miracle, every door, every room I passed was empty, vacant, with no one inside to suddenly come out and spot me here, figuring out that I was the culprit, that I was the murderer.
So fucking heavy, my pistol took up too much space beneath Shepard's hoodie that I had on. All-white, not a spec of Liara's blood over me. Not a drop, but if I got caught, it still wouldn't matter. They would know it was me. Any investigation would point right to me. They'd throw my ass in prison for the rest of my life. Everything I had, everything I'd worked for, everything I'd built up—all of it gone.
If Shepard came back, then she'd never want to fucking see me again.
We were all dead, anyway.
Without Liara, we were doomed. We were all going to burn in hell because of what I did. I'd wanted the galaxy to burn when I pulled the damn trigger.
I wanted Liara dead for what she did to me!
Rushing through this automated door, I sucked in a breath from the night's fresh air. Cold, so cold, the change in temperature made me wake up even more, like a splash of cold water over my drenched face. Short of breath, still, I scanned the area: swimming pool nearby, a hot tub across the way janitor's closet on the far side, and a bunch of empty lounge chairs. No one was out here. No one was out here in this non-snowing, freezing December cold. No one was here. I could think. I could think.
Five minutes counting down.
Five minutes, ticking down, and I actually couldn't think, freezing up, freezing up.
Pacing around, I went over to the swimming pool.
I could drown myself. Drown myself before the police got here.
But Shepard had suffocated out in space after losing oxygen… I couldn't. I couldn't go through with it.
I hurried over to the hotel's edge, the building's edge, right to this sharp drop. Such a harsh drop, so far, so many floors up, dozens of floors up—I saw the city's lights all merged and joined together at this singular spot. Dizzy and about to fall from this anxiety: I saw the skycars all around, their headlights and brake lights converging onto this location, clustering there where I could have fallen to my death instead. I could only fall and die. I had no other way out. But I was too scared of the pain. Too terrified of that pain of death after losing Shepard already.
I didn't want to die; I didn't want to kill myself!
Shepard wasn't here with me. I couldn't somehow use her augmentation without her—that Icarus Landing System that had saved my life once, and saved me from injury those times in the Mako. I couldn't somehow use her cloak on my own, across life and death, to just walk out of the building like nothing was wrong, like I had done nothing, like I was no one and nothing.
I couldn't hide in the janitor's closet, either, because it was locked. That would've made everything so much worse, anyway. If anyone caught me hiding, then that would've given me away.
Staring up at the cloudy skies, I tried to think, tried to think myself out of this damned mess.
I needed help. I needed someone to help me. There was no way I was getting out of this on my own!
I couldn't call Shepard.
I couldn't call Tali.
I couldn't call my mother, like some little kid in deep trouble, even though I was.
"If you need anything—anything at all—then call me."
Miranda Lawson…
I remembered the last time I was at this hotel—I'd had the feeling that someone watched us. Someone—probably Cerberus sleeper agents disguising themselves as hotel workers, keeping an eye on us. Maybe they still did now, today, and I just hadn't noticed. Cerberus had probably kept track of us this whole time, even beyond the hotel, beyond San Diego. They'd followed us everywhere, spying!
Her so-called research aside, it was no wonder Miranda had seemed so familiar with me, like she knew me already. Everything about me.
Scrambling to open my omni-tool's interface, I called the secure line she'd made for Liara and me.
"…Lieutenant Williams," stated Miranda, sounding tired, bored. "If there's a reason why you're calling me this late at night, then it had better be—"
"—Miranda, I need your help," I begged in a rush. "I need your help, I need your help like right now—I'm seriously not fucking kidding—!"
Alert now, worried now, Miranda ordered, "Wait a minute—slow down! What's the matter with you—?"
Confessing, blurting it all out at once, "I'm at the US Grant, the hotel, on the roof, and I'm about to jump off but I can't because I'm guilty and I'm scared and I just killed Liara; she's dead, she's dead, she's dead because of me, because I shot her—"
"Lieutenant, I said slow down! Repeat what you said, clearly this time. All I heard was the name of the hotel you're in, and that you're about to jump off a roof! Are you suicidal? Is that it?"
Bloodletting the words out from me, again—"I killed Liara; I shot her; she's dead, she's dead!"
"You did what!?"
"Miranda, please, please I need your help! Someone heard my gun! He's going to call the police any minute now! I need to get out of here, or else I'm going to jump—!"
"T'Soni is dead," muttered Miranda. "And you killed her… The only reliable person left on your team, and you… You killed her without knowing—oh, goddamnit, Williams, you're a fucking madwoman!"
"I know that, I know!" Then I thought about what she said. "Wait, without knowing…? Knowing what?!"
Letting out a huge sigh, Miranda explained, "Listen, if time is short as you say, then I can't tell you everything right now. According to my boss, the Illusive Man, then you may have just saved the entire human race—along with the rest of the galaxy as we know it." How…was that possible? If anything, it should have been the opposite! "And I agree with my boss, objectively…but in the end, my opinion doesn't matter anymore. You did what you did. My agents tried to handle this without waking me. It's out of their hands now. You do need my help. As much as I despise you for this, we have to move forward—together."
My head started spinning, way worse.
I couldn't grasp any of this. Couldn't focus on what she'd said. I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that I had somehow saved everyone instead. Just—how?!
Sounding like she was already in the middle of something, Miranda knew she had the advantage here.
She negotiated with me as more of an afterthought, now, with how much power she had over my fate:
"Well, you know what we have to do here," announced Miranda, so cold and direct. "Hand Shepard over to Cerberus and I'll get you out of that hotel. Give her to us, and I'll walk you through everything. Keep quiet about the Lazarus Project, and I'll make certain this all goes away. Needless to say, we've prepared for this. I prepared for this when I heard about your argument with T'Soni the last time you were here. I hoped you wouldn't be this foolish, or this reckless, yet here we are. And the one time I actually try to sleep at a normal hour, this ends up happening. Good God, this is all a damn mess…"
Not thinking, I countered, "Miranda, I can't sign off on anything from here—"
"—I know that!" she snapped. "What, do you think I'm an idiot? Of course you can't do anything from where you are! I need your word that you will sign off on the transfer as I told you to do—"
"Fine, I'll do it!" I swore. "I'll fucking do it! Cerberus can have Shepard! Just get me the hell out of here!"
"Understood, Williams. Now give me a moment. I'll have your first instructions soon."
Miranda's calm coldness, her emotionless certainty helped me find my own calm.
I waited as she continued with something in the background, listening to her forced-even breaths.
I could only guess that she'd looked forward to relying on Liara as a true ally—until I fucked that up.
"You mentioned that someone was going to call the police," spoke Miranda, her attention halved with that something, still. Probably her computer, her surveillance footage. She had eyes on this entire building thanks to those sleeper agents that had stalked us. "Was it the tenant in the room next door?"
"Yes," I said, holding on to this calm of hers, holding on.
Complete confidence in her voice: "It's handled. He won't be calling anyone any time soon. Now, I've bought you some time, but someone else is bound to put in a call. I won't be able to pinpoint them to stop it. I need you to follow my orders, down to the detail, and to do it quickly. Can you manage that?"
"Yes," I repeated, so exposed with my fate in her hands. "I promise I'll do whatever you tell me…"
"Good—now go to the janitor's closet across the way. Hurry, before anyone else decides to go out there. I would only draw more attention to your location if I jammed the door."
"Okay."
Running across, I found that janitor's closet I'd spotted earlier.
I slowed down once I saw a camera staring down at me from above the structure.
Miranda let me know, "Don't worry about that. I have it playing a useless feedback loop for the hotel's security guards. They're not aware of anything yet. Get to the closet." That red of the lock glowing over the door—it quickly switched to green. "I've unlocked it. You should find a janitor's uniform with a cap, along with a push cart with their cleaning supplies. Change into the uniform and put Shepard's clothes you have on inside the cart. There's a decontamination system inside. We can't take any chances here."
She even knew that these were Shepard's clothes and not mine? Cerberus really had been stalking us all this time…
Uneasy about Miranda's knowledge, I did as she said anyway. Rushing out of these clothes, I put them inside the cart, into the decontamination system there. I threw my pistol in there as well. Rushing into the janitor's uniform—a shirt, overalls, boots, and a pair of gloves. I made sure to grab the cap, too.
"Tie your hair up," directed Miranda. "No one should be able to tell if you're a man or a woman." No other options—I used the chain of Shepard's dog tags to tie my hair, slipping it up into the cap. "Your lips may be a problem. They're a distinctive feature of yours. If any police investigators suspect your involvement, they'll be able to spot you if they see your lips beneath the cap. You'll need to cover them up when I tell you to. For now, pull out the cart, close the closet door, and go back inside the building."
Taking a deep breath, I pushed the cart over to the door that led back inside, back into the hotel.
Shaking, I couldn't keep my hands still. I couldn't keep myself still at all. My stomach was in knots. I broke out in a cold sweat, the cap catching my perspiration before it could fall. I was seriously about to throw up this time, ejecting this food from my throat and back out from my mouth. I somehow swallowed it back, so thick in that sour gathering of mushed half-digestion, so disgusting…
"Wait. Stop right where you are."
Stopping, pausing here—Miranda must have been able to see the state I was in, about to keel over.
If someone walked through this door, I knew I'd probably throw up over them, breaking my cover.
"Before I point out the obvious, I need some more details from you."
Taking a deep breath of this cold air again, I whispered, "What details…?"
"The gun you used to shoot Liara—which one was it?"
"It was a Razer," I remembered. "A Razer pistol…"
Checking, double-checking: "The Razer line from Kassa Fabrication?"
About to die, I stared up at the sky again for help—"Yeah…that one."
"I obviously won't tell you to hand over your current pistol," reasoned Miranda. "It's registered to you, under your name. My agent has another copy of the same gun. We'll use it to fabricate a suicide. If this is going to work, then Shepard and the rest of your team need to believe that Liara killed herself. Otherwise, they'll likely suspect you. They can't know the truth. No one can know. Am I clear?"
"Fine," I accepted, as if I had a choice. "I won't tell anyone the truth, I swear…"
"My agents are moving into her room to stage the scene. They'll also clean up any evidence that you were in there. Did anyone on the hotel's top floor see you on your way in? Did you leave anything behind in Liara's room? Did you touch any surfaces, leave any fingerprints? Where were you when you fired your pistol? Did she struggle against you, or put up any sort of fight? Tell me everything you remember."
"No one saw me. I didn't leave anything behind. I didn't touch anything, either, aside from the door when I knocked earlier… And I was sitting next to her at first, on her left side. Then I…stood up and shot her before she realized anything. But, the last time I was in there, months ago, when we were arguing… She slapped me pretty hard. Some of my blood spilled on the floor. I have no idea if it's still there."
"It likely isn't, but I'll tell them to deal with that as well, just in case. Thank you for the information."
Miranda was way too good at this. Way too prepared. She was so detached and calculating, like this was all part of the job, all under her control.
Meanwhile, I couldn't stand still to save my life—literally.
Miranda surprised me when she softened her tone a bit. "Ashley, regardless of my personal feelings about all of this, you're under my care now. I'm going to get you out of there. Take this one step at a time. One order at a time. As you complete each task, it will bring you closer to the end. Focus on what's directly in front of you; imagine whatever will keep you calm. Think of nothing else. Do you hear me?"
She probably didn't mean that, about her care.
She probably didn't mean any of the sentiments behind her softened tone, either.
And she probably only did this because it was convenient for her, because she knew I needed it.
Whatever the case, I respected her cunning and her preparedness way too much to be offended.
"Yes, Miranda," I breathed out, clinging to her experience, her advice. "Yeah, okay…"
"Once you're inside, be subtle. Be discreet. Don't say a word. Avoid eye contact with everyone. And remember what I said about your lips. If there's anyone around you, or if you spot any cameras, then do your best to cover your mouth. Casual gestures only—you shouldn't outright hide anything. All right?"
"All right…"
"Now go in. Expect to see several other tenants out in the hallways. They'll be too distracted to possibly recognize your face up close. So just ignore them and get to the elevator. I'll be right here with you."
Focused on my first order—getting to the elevator—I went through the door and back inside the hotel.
Focusing on Miranda's words to me, her tone and her care, I pushed this cart through the darkened hallway. Steady, at a normal pace, I walked through this crowd of other people around. No one looked at me. No one really noticed me aside from moving out of the way of my cart. No one paid any attention to me, too busy speculating about what that noise was, and where it might've come from. No one broke away from their conversations with each other to ask me any questions or whatever else. They had no reason to care about me at all.
I was just a janitor.
I didn't know anything.
I wasn't anyone. I was no one. No one important, no one who mattered.
Stealth as anonymity in this disguise, hiding in plain sight, I kept walking.
I walked past Liara's room without looking at the door. I only heard vague sounds of vacuuming from inside.
I ignored it all, blending into the environment. I ignored those fresh memories, hiding away, hiding.
Any time it seemed like someone was about to glance at me, on accident or otherwise, I made one of those casual gestures: reaching my gloved fingertips to my lips. Rubbing the back of my gloved hand against my lips. Lightly scratching my gloved nails along my lips. I did the same on Miranda's orders whenever there was a camera around that I couldn't see.
Following her orders.
I found my own peace here, chopped, and screwed, and twisted. Twisted in these echoes of subtlety, of my calming memories; so twisted from the way Shepard had made me feel with her own orders. I knew that Miranda was in my head already, twisting my memories. Twisting everything more, bending: I kept walking, walking nearer to the common room packed with people, walking closer to the elevator with some other tenants hanging out nearby. Time reversed, rewinding, back to calmer times, back to calmer days: I could remember this single line of continuation, like I was back in those moments from the past. Like I had rewound my existence back to the time around Shepard's birthday. Like I was on my way to the elevator to go see her again, so that we could go out on a date together. I wanted us to go out on a romantic date together.
Whispers of her words, of her orders mixed with Miranda's—I made it to the elevator safely.
I pressed the down button, waiting a little longer; blending in this crowd for a little bit more.
"You're doing well, Ashley," praised Miranda. "Once you head in, don't go down to the lobby. You won't be able to walk out of the building in this same disguise. One of the other hotel workers—someone who isn't one of my agents—might try and get a better look at you. I'll need you to change clothes again."
I couldn't ask her how, or why, or even where.
I couldn't say a word. I had to stay quiet with so many other people around.
I trusted that she would have my explanation soon enough.
This chime of arrival sounded from the empty elevator. I went inside, fidgeting to cover my lips from the camera above my head. I stayed here in place. Awaiting my next orders. Waiting for the next directions to go meet Shepard for our date. Looking forward to it—Skipper. Looking forward to seeing her again—oh captain, my captain.
Miranda told me, "Head down to the 25th floor." I pressed the button—twenty-five—and the elevator began heading there. "When you arrive, make your way to room 2514. The door will be locked until you get there. This is a safe room where you can change out of your current disguise. Your next set of clothes will be waiting for you."
Clothes. New clothes. Brand new clothes for me to wear.
I imagined it all as the elevator brought me down, took me down, slow-going:
I stood here in place with my cart with Shepard's clothes inside. I stood here with Shepard's dog tags hidden inside my hat. I stood here, thinking about how Shepard had asked me out on this date—how she was so confident about it, so smooth and sexy about it. I stood here, not worried about the clothes I had on now, since she had promised to take care of me. I stood here, fantasizing about her taking me out to the mall, to buy new clothes for me to wear—expensive designer clothes that she could afford with ease, having saved up all that money from her modeling career to spend on me, her one and only.
I was on my way to meet Shepard for a date.
I was on my way to meet Shepard for a date.
I was on my way to meet Shepard for a date.
I was on my way to meet her for a date.
I was on my way to meet her for a date.
I was on my way to meet her. To meet her. To see her again. To see her again, soon.
Soon enough, I arrived to the 25th floor of the hotel. Not that many people were out here in the hallway or this floor's common room. The ones who were here just went along their way, ignoring me as usual, and as I had come to expect by now.
I was almost to room 2514.
I saw another camera close by.
"The camera nearest to the room is on another loop. You're free to go inside."
I went inside the room, the safe room.
This room, this normal-looking room.
No one else inside. The blinds over the windows were closed. Total silence.
"Change your clothes—quickly. Someone called the police. They're already on their way. You have nothing to worry about. We can work this to our advantage. Just continue on."
I found that change of clothes here in the middle of the room. Hanging from the ceiling, everything stayed suspended there, to make sure I didn't have to touch anything: another cap with no symbols or markings on it, a simple hoodie big enough to hide the swell of my chest, a bland T-shirt, normal denim jeans, a pair of plain old sneakers, and some thin gloves. All blue and gray, to help me blend into the night outside.
I changed into everything as instructed—quickly.
Miranda told me, "Put the janitor's uniform in with Shepard's clothes. We'll return her outfit to you as soon as we can." I did so. I did as she said. "Tie your hair up again and put it in your new cap, as you did before." I followed her orders. "Now, unless I tell you otherwise, keep your gloved hands in your front pocket." I warmed my hands more in this pocket, snug here. "Leave the room. On your way back to the elevator, you'll pass by one of my agents dressed as a normal hotel worker. She will go into the safe room and clean up behind you."
Leaving the room, returning to the elevator—I passed by that agent Miranda had mentioned. Dressed as a normal hotel worker, and pushing a vacuum along, so obscure. Not making eye contact, I acted like she was no one, just as I was.
Miranda's agent gave no acknowledgement.
She didn't have to.
"Very good. This time, take the elevator down to the lobby. I'll need to tailor my instructions to you by the second. I won't know enough until you arrive. You'll have to trust me."
Trusting Miranda, I took the elevator down.
Down to the lobby.
Down to the hotel's entrance, so close to my escape.
Miranda informed me, "The police are pulling up to the building. There are several people on their way out of the hotel. Blend in with the crowd. Keep your hand over your hat, like you're trying to keep it on in the middle of the chaos. Stay quiet and exit the front doors. Make your escape out to the sidewalk."
Chiming of the elevator out to that crowd, out to this chaos:
Police sirens blared through the night outside, blinking as red and blue, red and blue, out by my escape.
Blending in with the crowd, I moved with the current. I moved with them, still independent enough, since I had some room to move on my own. I kept my hand over my cap, holding onto this straight-edged stitching. No identifiers, nothing to make me stand out. No strong colors, no reason to look at me. No identity, no meaning. No rush, no rush—not even with the police outside in their armor, with their assault rifles, storming inside the building. They tried to storm through, through the crowd, but it was all too much for the cops to handle. They wanted to handle this peacefully, for now. They wanted to handle everything, control everything. Shouting orders over the crowd's screaming and shouting, no one listened. We kept moving. We kept going. We all did, as one. We all did, as this single sum of humanity, together.
As soon as we made it out to the sliding glass doors of the entrance—the exit, the escape—the police locked down their control.
Not long after my footsteps made it out to the concrete of the sidewalk, with a few rows of other people behind me—the hotel locked everything down. The sliding glass doors locked behind me, trapping everyone else in the building.
Some of the police had already stormed inside the hotel. Some of them stayed outside, patrolling; surveying the area with their guns drawn.
All of these police cars stayed here, wailing sirens lighting the night alight in this scene, in this emergency.
"Walk away from the police cars. Walk away from the police. Don't look at them. You are no one."
I walked away.
I walked down the sidewalk, jostled along a bit by some of the other people panicking around me.
I walked down the block, looking at no one.
I was no one. No one at all. No one.
I didn't matter.
I kept on walking down to the next street, and the next, away from those police sirens. Away from the US Grant, away that blare of sound, from that blare of perception of the blue and red changing this city. Away from that chaos, I found a relative calm here, absorbed in this new light of green and red this time. I blended into this new crowd of holiday shoppers with their bags, clustering in and out of the nearby department stores and indoor malls. Families, friends, and couples full of smiles, no one noticed me. No one gave a fuck about me, too busy and oblivious with their holiday spirit. They were safe from me.
Any other police cars I spotted raced right past me, flying overhead on their way to the hotel.
Almost incredulous, Miranda commended me, "You did an excellent job, Lieutenant… To be honest, I'm impressed you pulled all of that off without breaking down. You're far more resilient than I thought."
All I could do was take a deep breath, unable to say a word.
Overwhelmed, way too overwhelmed—I couldn't do anything except exist in this negative space.
"I'm sending an unmarked car to you," she went on. "It will be gray. Get in the backseat. The driver will take you to the next location. Your final change of clothes will be there in a bag. We're nearly through."
A moment later, that gray car pulled up, hovering there near the ground in waiting.
I got in the backseat as I was told.
I couldn't see the driver—there was a tinted partition separating the backseat from the front. But as soon as I closed the door, the person took off without a word, without needing to acknowledge me.
Next to me, I found that bag Miranda had mentioned.
A Prada shopping bag.
Inside was an outfit I recognized. Not the one that Shepard had bought for me at the mall. This was the one I had put together myself, the next day, from everything she had bought me with that incredible gesture of hers. This was what I had worn the first time I visited her apartment, when she'd asked me to be her girlfriend, and when we'd gone out to the 94 together as a couple: this loose white linen jacket, this tight white shirt, these black leather jeans, and these bulky, tomboyish, tanned Timberland boots.
Miranda had even included the rose-scented Tom Ford perfume I'd worn that day.
Fully understanding what this meant, I changed into the clothes, making sure to put on the perfume, too.
Still, I had to ask, "Am I allowed to talk to you now?"
"Yes, you are," replied Miranda. "I assume you want to know about the clothes."
"Unless you stole these right out from my closet, this has to be another set."
"These aren't yours, specifically. I purchased them for you as soon as we began your escape."
I needed to know, "Then how the hell did you know about my perfume from that day, too?"
Miranda wouldn't budge: "I'm not at liberty to discuss that with you, Williams. You don't need to know."
All her damn knowledge had saved me, after all.
"I guess not…"
Pausing for a while, Miranda listened as I finished changing, as I set Shepard's dog tags back around my neck.
Somehow, I was all right. Now that I had this reassurance that Shepard would be back, I was fine. Now that I had hope that I'd get to see her again—someday—I could push forward. I felt like my heart was about to explode. And my head started spinning again, all from that bombshell Miranda had dropped about me saving the galaxy instead of dooming it to hell…but I actually believed I could pull through this. Pulling through, as in twisting my own sanity, and bending it to obey me like this, forcing it this way.
I was okay.
Because Liara was dead. Good riddance. As long as I wasn't going to get busted for it, I couldn't care. From day one, whether I'd realized it or not, Liara was a pain in my ass the whole time! Fooling the team into believing she was some perfect saint. Getting everyone to sympathize with her all the time whenever she'd act all innocent and naïve. Constantly turning her nose up at me, thinking she was better than me, just because Shepard had picked her first. Then she had the nerve to act so fucking motherly with me earlier, like everything between us was back to the rainbows and sunshine from when we'd first met.
Hell, she'd tried to kill me back on Virmire.
Liara had threatened to kill my unborn child, with no remorse whatsoever.
Liara had thought she was so goddamn important to Shepard, like she was untouchable, but she was wrong. Dead fucking wrong.
I was so dispossessed from Shepard's eventual reaction to finding out. She would think that Liara killed herself. That was all she was supposed to think. She would be upset, whatever, fine—but she'd get over it. She would move on. Just like Liara had said about Shepard losing me instead.
That stuck-up bitch got what was coming for her—exactly what she deserved.
I was sick of everyone underestimating me. I was done with anyone thinking they could screw me over and honestly get away with it. I was so freaking done!
Yeah, Miranda and Cerberus had some major blackmail on me now. I'd compromised myself for life. But compared to the shit Liara had put me through? Miranda was like my guardian angel. She was my savior now—and I was a traitor to the Alliance. I just had to accept this shit and roll with it.
Because when Shepard was back, I'd finally have her to myself. To me, that was worth anything. Any betrayal.
I seriously needed some answers about Shepard's immunity to indoctrination, though. If it wasn't Liara—if Shiala, Saren, Sovereign, and Vigil had actually meant me instead…
Then again, maybe now wasn't the best time for those answers. I was still overwhelmed by everything.
Once I finished changing my clothes, back into this nostalgic outfit, I stared out the tinted window of this car.
All this traffic, bumper-to-bumper. Blending in with the other cars. Invisible here in plain sight, again.
"Ashley," prompted Miranda. "I understand that you have a lot on your mind. When the investigation into Liara's death is over, I'll see to it that you're able to speak to the Illusive Man personally. He'll answer all of your questions about Shepard's special immunity, and about your role in that process. All I should tell you for now is that you were the one strengthening her will the whole time. You were the one protecting Shepard like this, from the very beginning of your mission. Ever since what happened on Eden Prime with the beacon. Liara was involved as well, but not in the way you and your team believed before."
"Yeah, okay," I accepted, blunt. "That's way too much for me to handle right now. I'll wait until I talk to your boss before I can even let myself think about it."
"A wise decision."
"Where is this car taking me? Where am I going?"
Miranda explained, "Your driver is taking you to the 94. It's why you're wearing this outfit. You're devastated over Shepard's death, and you're returning to a place that reminds you of her—even going so far as to wear the same clothes. But before I tell you the rest of the plan, I need you to give me the rundown of what happened. After Liara and I left the apartment, what did you do? What time did you leave? What did you intend to do when you arrived at the hotel? Walk me through every single detail."
I told Miranda everything exactly as I remembered it.
Times, places, the faces I saw on the way over to the hotel—everything.
As for what I'd intended to do when I got to Liara's room, it was complicated. I'd worried that she would sense my intentions somehow and shut me down with her biotics. And then she'd just sat there. Like she hadn't realized what was going on. Or maybe there was something more that had happened, and I couldn't see it.
Either way, this wasn't over yet. I wasn't in the clear. Until the investigation was done, I had to keep it together.
If I had to destroy myself one more time before seeing Shepard again, then I would do it. No questions asked.
Miranda recognized where my head was at right now. She knew, and that knowledge softened her tone again once I finished giving her those details.
"Thank you for telling me what you remember. I'll commit it to memory in case I need the information."
"It's all burned into my brain, too," I soured.
Miranda sighed. "Yes, I suppose it is," she agreed, sounding kind of down. "You're nearly at your stop now. The driver will drop you off around the corner from the 94, close to a large, crowded brothel with several surveillance cameras outside. You want to be seen by the cameras from now on. We'll make you appear and disappear as needed, at the correct times. That will help us finish fabricating your alibi."
"Understood. What's the plan when I get inside? Go to the bar and get shitfaced?"
"No, Ashley, not that," she insisted. "Just find someone, anyone else who is drunk enough. If it's a woman who looks like Shepard, all the better. Seduce them and get them to take you home—"
"—what?! No! Miranda, there's no way I'm doing that!"
"…you don't exactly have a choice here. Your alibi needs to be airtight for the hours tonight between six and eleven. It's getting closer to 10:30. Someone who's drunk won't remember what time you came up to them or what time the two of you leave together. There's no other option."
I groaned, asking, "Where are you, then?"
Miranda admitted, "I'm currently in a backroom at the 94. I plan on shadowing you once you're here."
"Damnit, Miranda, if you're already there, why can't you be my alibi instead? Don't you have a fake identity or something you can lean on? More sleeper agents in the police force who can cover for you? This is Shepard's hometown. So this entire city is pretty much like a playground for Cerberus, isn't it?"
"Well, yes…"
"Then it has to be you," I reasoned. "Because there's no way anyone would believe I'd hook up with some random person like this! Tali, Garrus, Wrex, Joker—if anyone asked them, they'd all say how that sounds nothing like me! If anything, I'd only do that with someone I already know. It has to make sense."
Miranda went quiet, like she knew I was right; like she'd been avoiding this scenario.
Either she didn't know everything about me like I thought, or she was holding out on me somehow.
"Miranda," I said, stern. "Come on. Please don't make me throw myself at some stranger! Give me a story for how you and I already knew each other. I'm going to the 94 to meet you. Whatever happens once I'm there—it doesn't matter. I seriously don't even care right now. Just make this make sense!"
"Fine. Have it your way."
I asked the questions, "Why'd we first start talking, then? How long ago was this?"
"I contacted you after the Battle at the Citadel," she decided. "I congratulated you for saving the Council, and for helping humanity earn our long-overdue seat at the table. We stayed in contact after your promotion. We declined to meet here on Earth while you were with Shepard. So we're meeting up now, tonight."
"Why didn't we meet during those two weeks while I was here?"
"Because you and I knew that we had an unspoken attraction between us. With Shepard around, it would have been inappropriate for us to meet face-to-face. She's no longer with us. It's impossible for anyone to return from the dead. We're both lonely. We know that we're making a mistake. We're going through with it anyway. This is the only thing that will help us take away the pain from losing her."
As Miranda said the words, she sounded so convincing. Actually convincing, like she was telling the whole truth.
And not just about the attraction between us. We'd gone over that already when we talked before.
This was way different.
When I didn't say anything back, Miranda prodded me, "Will that work for you or not? I need an answer."
"Yeah, definitely," I promised, a little out of it. "Sorry, Miranda. You just sound like you're…"
"Speaking from experience?"
"Pretty much… Unless I'm losing my mind after everything that happened. I can totally believe it."
Miranda hummed softly. "Maybe you are losing it," she offered, gentle. "Let's go with that instead." I was so right about her, how she felt. "Your driver is about to drop you off near the brothel. Head to the 94 and the bouncer will let you right in. He and the club's owners are in the know, so think of this as another safe place. I'll be waiting for you to find me on the lower level. I'm not wearing the same clothes, though I'm sure you'll recognize me right away. You won't have an excuse not to."
No holiday spirit here in this red light district.
As soon as I got out the car, I found that huge brothel taking up the entire block. The place looked packed with all kinds of people going inside to have a good time. Styled a lot like the 94 from the outside with those golden lights, and the black and chrome surfaces—this place reminded me of a high-rise penthouse. Blasting synth music booming from the inside reached everyone walking out here on the sidewalk. Some good-looking people were out by the front—and even some sexbots—strutting around and convincing more potential customers to come inside. If anything, their types of customers probably hated the holidays. They hated this time of the year, and they were lonely, so they decided to get their rocks off here instead.
Considering what may or may not have been on my mind about Miranda, I was the same as them.
When I made it closer to the 94, the music from the club reached me before anything else, just like before. That familiar bass drilling through my chest, down to my bones, from the speaker system prioritizing this thundering feel—I could never forget this feeling, or this sense that I could hear Shepard through the style of music here. Smooth, steady, sexy, and that edge of ego, confidence…it was all still part of her.
Sniffling, once, I fought back my tears and pressed ahead.
There was no one in the line this time. The line itself was blocked, closed. For now, at least, to keep anyone from recognizing me as I walked in.
That same scarred bouncer in a suit was there in front of the chrome-like double doors, expecting me.
He regarded me as I walked up to him, speaking in that deep, intimidating voice of his, "Good to see you again, Lieutenant Williams. Sorry for your loss. You can go right in. Commander Shepard's private VIP spot will be waiting for you if you need it."
"Thanks," I replied, grateful for his words; glad that he pulled the door open for me, too.
As soon as I made it inside, again, that bass became me, blending with my breaths, and now my resolve.
Walking through, I stared up at that digital display on the tall, tall walls, golds ebbing and flowing everywhere as an ocean's wave. Here in the wide open mezzanine with plenty of booths interconnected in the center, I saw mostly civilians this time, sitting together as couples or dancing together near the DJ's booth. I spotted a bunch of other people at the bar, drinking and laughing.
Miranda wasn't over there by the bar.
Something told me she wasn't much of a dancer either, like Shepard.
I went over to the booths instead, navigating through the mini-maze of chocolate brown leather.
Looking for Miranda, looking around for my memories: I missed Shepard guiding me around in here instead of having to do it myself. I missed having her hand along my lower back. I missed having her pressed up behind me, so protective and caring, watching my back, watching the people around us…
In front of me, I spotted black leather, as the crossed bends of a woman's legs wrapped in a dull shine of that stretching material. Arched foot lifting and leaning, the other on the ground supporting her weight as she sat: those stiletto heels were long enough to kill. Longer, the rest of the leather stretched up to her thighs, covered by more black, more leather. Higher, her midnight blue Prada blouse made up the same color scheme from her Cerberus uniform, of that dark, dark blue and black, shining in tightness. Not quite as tight, but still drawing my eyes, she had left just enough of her shirt unbuttoned, cleavage rising and falling as she breathed, so natural. Only the styled, layered falls of her dark hair covered anything out of my way, with some of those strands vibrating in-time with the music's bass, mesmerizing.
Arms folded as her long legs were, closed-off—but the look in her eyes gave enough away. That look, so sultry, by accident or otherwise: the steel blue of her eyes held me here in an unexpected grip, deeper in how much her pupils had widened as she focused on me. And her impeccably-shaped, plucked eyebrows quirked up at me, shaped too well as thin arches down to the natural wings of her inked eyelashes, darkening her sight.
Crafted as human excellence, Miranda stared up at me in a purposeful intensity.
Knowing that she had my attention, she smirked at me with those full lips of hers, light pink as bold.
"How good to see you again, Ashley," greeted Miranda, patting the open space next to her. Just like before, that Australian accent of hers sounded much richer in-person. "Won't you sit? It's been quite a while since we've spent time with one another. I almost forgot what you looked like." Humoring her role-playing, I went ahead and sat down with her, right beside her. "Thank goodness you arrived when you did as well. I've had to suffer these thickheaded idiots staring at me ever since I left the backroom. This is why I normally don't bother with you military-types. You're too used to getting your way."
"I'm surprised none of them came up to talk to you," I told her. "Are you just that intimidating?"
Miranda scoffed, saying, "Please. It's what I'm used to. Everyone enjoys looking, but no one ever has the manners or the home-training to approach me the way I want. If they're not capable, then I'd rather they stay the hell away from me. It's that simple."
I almost couldn't believe her. "Miranda, seriously, you're so stuck-up."
"I'd rather be stuck-up and intimidating than unsatisfied and settling for less. I only want the best."
"Does that mean…you're not the relationship type?"
"Maybe, maybe not," mused Miranda, a bit coy. "I'm in my mid-thirties and I've never been married. Never had a real relationship. Just carefully pre-arranged one night stands with anyone who's attractive enough, along with those who can pass my more casual requirements, clean medical records notwithstanding. Nothing too involved."
And she sounded like a major control-freak.
"Men only?" I asked.
"That's a complicated question with an even more complicated answer."
"So you've slept with women, then."
Miranda raised her eyebrow at me again, asking, "Ashley, why are you this interested in my sex life?"
I rolled my eyes, pointing out the obvious, "Because you know all about mine. Apparently."
"I don't, actually," she countered. "I have a general idea. And I know that you're bisexual, that you struggled to come to terms with it for a long time. That's all."
"Are you gonna tell me how you know these things in the first place? Why keep tabs on us like this?"
"Information is power. Shepard is the most powerful being in the galaxy. You are the woman who sits on the throne she has forged with her power. I see nothing wrong with finding out as much information about the two of you as I can. Especially after tonight, going forward. I want to know who you truly are."
I remembered, "But I thought you hated me…"
Miranda waved her hand at me. "Complications, Ashley. Complications."
"No, Miranda, I mean it. We need to talk. The main reason I'm even functioning right now is because of you! I have to know if you're just doing this for the project, or if it's because you maybe-actually-care. I'm way too vulnerable to trust someone who's going to throw me away when I'm not useful anymore."
"That's not a conversation I'm willing to have without a drink in my hand."
Getting her point loud and clear, I stood up, gesturing to the bar.
Miranda just raised her brow at me, yet again. When all I did was frown at her, she set her hand out, expectant. When I stayed put, gaping down at her in disbelief, she had the nerve to flutter her limber fingers and manicured nails in a feminine flair—waiting, expecting.
God, this woman was such a diva…
Groaning, I grabbed her hand and pulled her up with me. "Will you come on already!?"
"So uncouth," she chided. "If we're going to do this, then I expect you to find some better manners."
"You want me to play that role? Really?"
Unapologetic, Miranda specified, "Yes, that's exactly what I want. Now either do as I say, or our discussion tonight won't be nearly as productive as you'd like it to be. You have to get me to relax and open up. I'm not just going to be as honest as you're looking for. Not right away. That isn't me."
Sighing, I sucked it up and went along with what she wanted.
But as I led her over to the bar, trying to hold her hand, we kept disagreeing:
I tried to put my hand over hers, my thumb over hers, over her warm skin, gentle and almost delicate. Then she would slap my hand away, grab mine again, and hold hers over mine instead. Then I would wriggle my hand out of her hold, doing the exact same thing she did to me seconds ago.
Back and forth, back and forth we went—until we almost made it to the bar.
"Ashley!" hissed Miranda. "Will you stop doing this?! You're supposed to be following my lead!"
I hissed right back, "Damnit, Miranda, you told me to play this role! Now you're complaining about it? Make up your mind!"
"Have you learned nothing from Shepard?! God, I don't even want to deal with you like this."
I gawked at Miranda as she walked ahead and sat down over one of the open bar stools.
Pushing at the shining chrome surface with her boot, she fidgeted like that until she found the bartender's attention. Miranda ordered a glass of Perfection, without paying for it. She claimed that her date would handle her tab—meaning me—so she was content to sit there, watching the bartender make the drink with as much strawberry liqueur as she wanted. She ignored the Alliance meatheads smirking at her nearby, knowing what they murmured about as they stared at the shape of her hot body, and those boots.
All of a sudden, it felt like I was in a house of mirrors: Miranda's reflection showing Shepard, Shepard's reflection showing Miranda, my reflection showing Miranda, Miranda's other reflection showing Liara, and Liara's reflection ending there as she stared me down from somewhere in death, glaring at me.
If I could have flipped her off then, I would've done it.
Instead, I went to sit down next to Miranda at the bar.
Without her needing to say anything, I went ahead and paid for her drink, just as the bartender finished making it. Seeming pleased enough, Miranda sipped her strawberry pink alcohol through the thin straw. Such perfect mannerisms, so elegant and mindful—she reminded me of Shepard all over again…
One of those Alliance meatheads came over and stood next to me, blurting out, "Oh, shit, Lieutenant Williams!? Is that you?"
Those huge muscles rippling through his gray Alliance shirt, and all his tattoos over his tanned skin.
Those dark eyes of his dilating as he smiled at me.
That short, stubby fauxhawk over his head.
And all of those other Alliance friends of his, surrounding him, speaking in Spanish again.
I remembered this guy from the last time I was here.
"That's me," I replied to him, acting like I didn't remember. "Who's asking?"
He frowned in disappointment, his big, kind eyes almost sagging like a puppy. "Aww, you mean you don't remember me?" he asked, his deep, nasally voice still sounding kind of boyish. "A couple months back, you were at the bar upstairs and…and I kept staring at you while I was with my homeboys. Just—just ignore how, err, pathetic that sounds, though… None of it rings a bell?"
On my other side, Miranda scoffed in a derisive sort of way, probably thinking he was pathetic.
I threw the guy a bone. "Maybe it does. Maybe I do remember you, a little bit. I was focused on other things that night…"
"Yeah," he agreed, frowning more. "Yeah, you were pretty preoccupied at the time, that's for sure…" Cringing, he tried to find the right words. "I'm sorry for your loss, Lieutenant. You and Commander Shepard sure were tight together. She was a big hero of mine. Hell, she still is. I've looked up to her for I don't know how long. She'll always be the best infiltrator, the best marine in the galaxy. Bar-none."
Something told me I was going to have to get used to this… "Thanks."
"I'm James, by the way," he said, offering his hand. "James Vega. It's a real honor to meet you, Ma'am."
Miranda almost laughed into her straw over how formal James was with me.
Ignoring her, I shook James' huge hand. "I appreciate it, Vega—but you don't have to call me that. Let's just drop rank while we're here."
James grinned at me. "All right, all right," he accepted. "As long as we're cool. Gotta respect my superiors and all. And the commander's one and only." Drinking from his glass of Rojo Loco, he eyed me, eyed Miranda beside me. "So, you're here with your friend? Looking to have a good time, forget about all that heavy stuff you're dealing with? At least for tonight, anyway. Can't imagine what you're going through."
"Something like that, yeah," I dodged, noticing how confused he was by my answer. "What are you out for, then? Here to celebrate anything, or are you a regular?"
"We're regulars," said James, nodding to his friends. "Living it up at home while I still can, too. I'm getting shipped out to Fehl Prime pretty soon. Some mercenaries are making hell on the colony. I'll be out there putting those bastards down and keeping the peace. You know—the usual."
"You know what they say about usual routine missions, Vega…"
"True, true. Just means I gotta stay on my toes! I hear my CO's supposed to be a hard-assed son of a bitch. Think I'll have plenty of chances to prove myself; make sure I don't get bored gunning down all those mercs. Once those Blood Pack fuckers see these guns, I'll have 'em running scared in no time."
I was surprised by how…easy it was, talking to James like this. Talking to someone who only knew superficial details about me. Talking to someone who was an outsider looking in, and who couldn't have possibly guessed what I had done not even an hour ago. Maybe it was because he was so laid-back, or maybe it was because I was that far-gone. Whatever the case was, I had convinced myself that I was okay.
Somewhere, deep down, I knew that I wasn't.
I definitely wasn't.
Not really. Not as much as I wanted to be.
Not knowing the same, James tried again, "So, Williams, you and your friend over there…"
"What about us?" I asked, seeing that he wouldn't leave this alone.
"Are you two, uh, getting into some trouble tonight?"
Was it that obvious? No way—"Vega, I have no idea what you're talking about. Say what you mean."
"I'm just sayin', you and your homegirl are looking pretty tight… Me and my boys wouldn't mind putting you on our tab. If you're looking to forget the past, what happened—I know a thing or two about that. I could show you, if you're interested. I bet a couple amazons like you could sure have a good time together. And maybe the two of you could show us a little something else… If you're feeling generous."
Miranda cut him a glare, shearing more with her tone, "Did I hear you right? You want us to put on a bloody show for you and your friends? Is that what you're suggesting?"
Deer-in-headlights, James held his hands up. "Err, whoa, whoa, I-I didn't mean it like that—"
"—oh, cut the bullshit! You know exactly what you meant! Just because she said you could drop rank, that doesn't give you the right to disrespect her like this—or me! You're nothing but another pig."
"Hey, look, I'm sorry… I can tell you two are hurting, all right? I didn't mean nothing by it, I swear!"
"Whatever," dismissed Miranda, leaving the bar with her half-finished drink in her hand. "Ashley, let's go. I'm done with all the riff-raff down here. This is why I hate going out…"
I gave James a look before following after her, leaving those dumb suggestions behind me; following after Miranda as she went inside the women's restroom.
More chrome surfaces, and low lighting, so empty. Leaning against the wall opposite the mirrors at the sinks, Miranda kept sipping her drink, quietly. Quiet, so quiet, it was like she wasn't even there. Like she wanted to disappear, even for a little while as she did this, needing to set aside what had happened with James and his proposition, doomed from the start.
Going over to the sink, I turned the cold water on. I threw the water over my face. Just for a breather. Just to find my surroundings again while the bass from the club's music kept booming through here, dim and distant. Just to clean off the sweat that had probably built over me from escaping the hotel earlier.
Still sipping her drink, Miranda watched me the whole time through the mirror.
Downright staring at me, almost leering: whatever went on in her head as she did this, it looked pretty intriguing, like she was fascinated. Fascinated by me, somehow.
I pulled out one of those hard paper towels from the dispenser, burying my face into this cardboard-like material. So uncomfortable, like how I should have felt with Miranda looking at me this way. So uneasy, like how I should have felt with Miranda holding on to my livelihood with how much dirt she had on me. And so uncertain, like how I knew I should have felt after everything, after what I did to Liara, after how Tali and the others were going to react once they found out…
Shepard, too.
Miranda's calm voice reverberated through the room, turning me on: "Are you stressed out at all? Anxious?"
This was so different from how cold she usually was. She probably could've been really soft and caring—when she was in the mood for it. When she wanted to be…
"Not necessarily," I responded, keeping my red face in this towel, hiding here; heat chilled against this wet cold. "I still need to have that talk with you."
"I know," she confirmed. "I didn't expect this to change just because that little boy interrupted us."
Moving the paper towel away from my eyes only, I stared back at her through the mirror. "You really don't like going out, do you?"
"It's a waste of time," claimed Miranda. "I have better things to do than to let myself be gawked at by a bunch of tasteless strangers. So when you objected to my order, I sympathized with you. I understood. And now I'm here, letting myself be gawked at while we're out together. It's even worse with boys like him who assume we're here to be their playthings or their entertainment. I honestly detest it. All of it."
I noticed that spite in her tone, like she'd had some bad experiences with this.
"I get what you're saying… Thanks for going easy on me."
"Well, you deserved it. You performed admirably. You exceeded my expectations. I should reward you."
I laughed a little, cynical. "What, by sleeping with me? Helping me fuck this pain away?"
Miranda skirted around her real answer: "I haven't decided if you're serious about it or not."
"What do you mean, you haven't decided? Why don't you just ask me if I am?"
"If it were that simple, then we would have done it by now. Nothing is ever simple with me, Ashley. I suggest you get used to it. For now, I'll give you a different reward instead. Let's go upstairs."
We left the restroom together, heading up the stairwell.
Darkened stairs, more of that golden light beaming along the way, and those tall tables next to the walls with people sitting at them: we walked by everyone and everything, heading to that balcony-like area overlooking the mezzanine down below.
Since Miranda was still busy with her drink, I didn't bother trying to hold her hand or anything.
By the time we made it upstairs, she finished her drink, throwing the cup away in the proper bin for disposal. Most people just left their cups wherever, whether they'd finished with their drinks or not. So she had proper manners, and she was a neat freak who cared about the environment. Interesting.
Miranda had us sit down on one of the couches here, off in a corner. Removed enough from the area, the darker ambiance over here gave us enough privacy to talk—and without drawing any unnecessary attention to us. Everyone else up here was busy with their own conversations, unless they were just on their way to the other bar around the corner. No one would bother us this time.
When Miranda wouldn't sit down first, I went ahead and did it, wondering what her deal was.
Playing for the cameras, or maybe she actually meant this, as my reward: Miranda sat down over my lap, draping her sexy boots down over my legs. She had her back toward the rest of the area up here, helping to keep us isolated and alone as much as possible. Completely focused on me, she wrapped her arm around the back of my shoulders, through my hair. Studying me, entirely, she used her other hand to hold my face, moving my chin around at whatever angle as she wanted, observing.
Holding her around her waist, supporting, I let Miranda do this without a word, not really minding.
"What is this scar over your lower lip?" asked Miranda, vaguely concerned. "Where did it come from?"
I admitted, "When Liara slapped me that time, like I told you about. The medi-gel wasn't enough."
Brows raised, impressed, she went on, "And me asking about this doesn't bring back any terrible memories? You're perfectly fine with all that's happened?"
"If you're worried about me losing my mind or something, you don't have to be… I'm dealing with it."
"How do you mean? I knew you were a stubborn one, but you've managed to keep surprising me. I was convinced I'd have to deal with a crying toddler on my hands. It seems I've underestimated you. Not that I'm complaining. So how are you getting through this?"
Maybe childish, maybe not, I set my head over Miranda's warm chest, listening to her quickened heart.
Not quite the ice queen I'd expected, she didn't return my hold or anything. Not directly. She didn't have to, though. The way her heated skin felt under my face, having this human contact again helped me relax, so peaceful. Quickening, quickening, Miranda controlled her breathing, but it was no use, since her heart betrayed her like this anyway. Hearing her like this right beneath my ear, I was even more convinced that I could trust her, despite everything. Feeling her like this, I let myself believe that I could hold on and be patient while she brought Shepard back to me.
Miranda and I had barely met earlier this evening, before nightfall.
I'd only hated her then, not trusting her at all. Those few hours ago, I couldn't understand why anyone would work with her.
Now that the night had fallen, and the moon was almost at its highest in the sky, I needed her like this.
I needed to rely on her.
I needed to follow her orders.
I was way too vulnerable at a time like this, getting attached to her so quickly.
I needed her to bring Shepard back. I needed my commander back with me. I needed to love her again.
"Ashley, I understand," whispered Miranda, her fine voice thrumming through her chest. "I only wish I knew why you don't seem guilty. You've shown no remorse. Not even for how this will affect Shepard when she returns. And before you ask—despite my methods, I'm clearly not all-knowing. If something like this could get past me, then it must be bigger than I realize. I'd like you to explain what happened with your former teammate."
Accepting that I had nothing else to lose with Miranda, I told her the whole story.
I told her everything, starting from six months ago: from the first time I heard Liara's breathy voice through our team's radio, and how everyone warmed up to her right off the bat. Even I did at the time. I explained the drama with Navigator Pressly and the rest of the crew; how I'd gotten myself dragged into it. I agonized over how Shepard had slept with Liara while I was shackled, while I couldn't make a move. I recalled how I'd learned about the whole thing while Shepard was in my room, with Tali sending me those private messages, and how all of it had broken my heart. How Liara had done it on purpose.
I summarized what happened with the Thorian and Shiala, how I was there at the time: how convinced Liara and Shepard were, even back then, that they knew exactly what that was all about. Even though Shiala's explanation had been super vague. Even though she'd warned that she might've been mistaken.
I told Miranda about the dream Shepard had with me, and how I'd felt Liara there, too, spying like that. How she'd intended for Shepard to just fuck me up and leave me, throwing me away once she was done. I shared the conversation Shepard had with me in the comm room the next morning before our mission on Noveria—how she'd decided to give me a chance after I begged her to. And I reminisced about the unexpected, yet fun conversation I'd had with Tali and Liara in that bar in Port Hanshan, and how convinced Liara had been that she and Shepard were so exclusive and into each other. But she was wrong. So wrong.
I mentioned enough about the three months Shepard and I spent actually getting to know each other better, and how Liara had seemed to back off, even while biding her time for something. And how I'd always start arguments with Shepard about Liara because of my resentments that had built up over time. I talked about shore leave on Thessia during Shepard's birthday, too, and the time we'd all spent at Dark Goddess…and what I could remember of the sexed, heated argument I'd had with Liara out on that balcony.
I went over how and why I'd started that next argument with her in the hotel room…telling the truth about me basically being up my own ass after Shepard had finally fucked me to high heavens, and starting drama on purpose, just to be a major bitch. I did concede to Miranda that I'd probably deserved Liara's reaction, even though I hadn't known the full extent of things, of what she'd had up her sleeve back then. Whatever the case was, I'd tried to accept that Shepard was always going to love this person. I had really, honestly tried to come to terms with it.
And then I told Miranda about Virmire.
And then I told her about Liara's threats to me in the med bay back on the Normandy.
And then I explained how I'd still, still tried to set all of that shit aside. But with the stress from believing that Liara was the one, the stress from most of my family's bullshit in not accepting my sexuality, the stress from having to pretend that everything was all right for Shepard and the rest of the team when I knew damn well that it wasn't true; and then after losing Shepard, and once those tests had come back negative after I'd told myself to hold out for that week, to hold out until I could see if I could just have this one last thing of her…
I snapped.
I had all but blacked out in that hotel room, but I was still aware, somehow. Somehow, I knew what the consequences would be, and I took the shot anyway. I took the shot because of the consequences. Because I was that pissed off and helpless. By the time I'd woken up, my gun was in my hand and Liara was dead, bleeding out on the floor. And then I'd had no exit plan. No way out of that impossible situation. Not without getting caught, or killing myself as a last resort.
Only by chance had I remembered Miranda's promise for me to call her if I needed anything, anything at all.
Now, back in the present, I was so grateful that I'd had Miranda to guide me back to safety.
I was grateful enough to sit here in silence with her as she processed everything.
I was even more grateful that she'd listened to me; that I'd finally had the chance to let all of that out.
In this silence, the DJ had turned the music up a notch at this late hour, with more people packing into the club downstairs. This had happened at some point during my story, but now it was way more noticeable. Not that many of the new arrivals had come up here. We still had this place to chill in private, hidden in plain sight all over again. Together this time.
After a little while longer, Miranda breathed out in disbelief, "I can't believe I never saw this. Any of this. Nearly everything you told me is completely new information. And yet it all makes sense. You wouldn't have left any kind of documentation behind. No trail to follow. Not for something of this nature. No wonder there were so many gaps…"
This was the perfect time to ask, "Does that mean you're gonna explain how you spied on us?"
"We often had agents shadowing your team on the Citadel, or other locations whenever you were on shore leave. Though my primary surveillance came from your chat room, of course. Team Renegade Shepard. I kept up with all of the logs from the main channel, as well as everyone's private message exchanges. It was very…revealing, to say the least."
No wonder…
"Prove it, then," I challenged anyway. "Prove you read our private messages. I want to know."
Miranda definitely proved it: "I'm aware that your krogan teammate Urdnot Wrex calls you clan chief. As in Shepard's clan chief. None of the rest of your team understands why. It's quite adorable, really."
I laughed a little, remembering how sweet Wrex was for messaging me that day while I was out for a run on the beach…
Then I went quiet, thinking about Wrex's inevitable reaction. Garrus, too. Tali, especially.
Joker already wasn't doing too well, still blaming himself for losing the ship, for losing Shepard.
If they ever found out the truth…
I didn't even want to think about that.
Forcing me to imagine it anyway, a call came in to my omni-tool from the team's frequency. We'd set it to call-only while we weren't on active duty anymore. Just to keep from possibly interrupting each other in case we were in the middle of something.
Miranda gave me a cautious look, wanting me to take the call.
Bracing myself, I went ahead and answered.
"Hey," I greeted, hoping that the club's music in the background wasn't too loud.
"Ashley," said Garrus, holding back his pain. "It's…good to hear your voice again. Are you out somewhere by any chance? Sounds like you are."
"Yeah, sorry, I am. Just…trying to forget for a while."
"No worries. I understand. I was only wondering if—if you had a minute to talk. Maybe more than a minute. Something's happened, and…and we didn't call you at first. We weren't sure how to break the news to you. But now that we have all the information, I guess we should go ahead and let you know…"
The way his normally-smooth voice cracked at the end—Garrus was honestly about to start crying. He held himself together somehow. Barely.
I could've sworn I heard Tali in the background somewhere, sobbing her eyes out…
If Wrex was there, too, he didn't make a sound. Or at least nothing I could hear like this.
Hearing the same so close to my ears, Miranda let out a deep sigh, managing to calm me again.
"Hang on, Garrus," I offered. "Let me move somewhere without all this noise. Okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, okay… Take your time if you need to. No rush…"
He muted himself.
Maybe to cry, to let himself break without me hearing.
Not wanting to drag this out, Miranda moved from my lap and stood up. However much my heart ached for everyone, I shoved it down. I shoved it all down, standing up to walk beside Miranda, leaving this area. To have absolute quiet, I brought her with me past the other bar, past the bouncers standing guard in front of the VIP area. Knowing who Miranda was already, they hadn't thought anything of me bringing her to Shepard's rooftop perch with me. And I was glad they hadn't, since I didn't need yet another reason to actually feel guilty tonight.
No guilt over killing Liara.
Staving off my guilt over how this would affect everyone else.
Not really acknowledging my guilt over wanting this new person who had helped me out so much.
We made it to the rooftop, to the canopy-like structure covering the couch here, and those cabinets filled with empty bottles of Sauvignon Blanc, that other white wine Shepard liked. Keeping her arms folded around her front, Miranda looked around in awe, in learning. Taking her time, her heels sounded soft against the ground as she meandered around, taking in the view of the district from here. She still stayed close enough to listen in to my conversation. She stayed close enough to not leave my sight.
I sat down on the couch.
Taking a deep breath, I let Garrus know, "I'm all clear now. What's going on? What happened?"
Unmuting himself, those sounds from Tali's crying were way louder.
Sniffling, Garrus stepped away, putting some distance between them, before telling me, "Well, I'm at a police station with Tali and Wrex. Some investigators called us here not that long ago. We answered their initial questions, and then they…they brought us to a morgue, to identify—" Sucking back his emotions, he forced himself to say: "It was Liara. Liara…she's dead. She's gone…"
Leaning forward, I covered my mouth with my hands, breathing hard.
I couldn't say anything.
Couldn't think of anything to say.
I hadn't prepared for this. There was no way I could've prepared.
Not too far from me, Miranda brought up her omni-tool, checking for something relevant, most likely.
All I could do was sit here and let Garrus listen to me breathe.
Garrus took that as some sort of words from me anyway, muttering, "I know… I know."
I asked the only thing I could, "How…?"
"Looks like…it was a suicide. She—she shot herself in the head, alone in her hotel room… The only reason anyone knew was because the other tenants heard a gunshot. They called the police. Then when the police called us, we arrived as soon as we could. The autopsy checked out… Liara's—reasons check out. Everything lined up with the forensic evidence. They even checked the hotel cameras for anything suspicious. Nothing came up. It's an open and shut case. The investigation's already over…"
"Garrus… I don't even know what to say right now."
"Trust me, I can't blame you for that," he replied. "You and Liara were always pretty distant, for obvious reasons. It's why we didn't call you here with us. You're already dealing with enough as it is. Besides, you couldn't have known. Liara seemed so normal. Like she was biding her time before she—"
Unable to mute himself in time, Garrus' voice shattered.
Hissing, trying to stay quiet, trying to stay reserved, he cried anyway.
As far away as Tali was by now, she sounded just as close to him, as clearly as Garrus did in my ears.
After losing Shepard already, this was too much for them to handle. They couldn't deal with it. They couldn't cope. They had both broken down, beaten and defeated.
And all I could do was sit here, listening to them cry like this.
Staring at Miranda there in front of me as she looked out to the city, I knew that this was the point of no return.
There was no going back from here.
"Garrus," I consoled, worried for him. "I wish I could be there with you. I'm so sorry…"
Controlling himself again, Garrus sniffled louder, before responding in a thick voice, "No, it's okay… It's okay. I'm glad you're still with us. I was really glad—relieved when you picked up. Liara isolated herself from us a lot of the time. She never let us see how she was actually doing. I was terrified you'd done the same… If you did, I'm not sure Tali would make it. It's…it's that bad for her."
No matter how justified I felt, how not-guilty I felt, I knew:
I didn't deserve to be Tali's best friend anymore. Or her friend at all.
"Please don't tell me she's thinking about that, too…"
"I don't know anything for certain. Tali won't say. She hasn't stopped crying since we were in the morgue… I have no idea what to do for her. I just feel so—powerless."
"Listen, I think we should get her back home soon," I reasoned. "Back to the Flotilla, to her Dad. He'll want to look after her. I'm not sure if there's anything we can do at this point…"
"You're right, Ashley," agreed Garrus. "You're right… Tali at least wanted to stay for Shepard's burial service. To say her goodbyes. We'll leave with Liara's stasis pod back to Thessia afterward. Wrex and I will keep an eye out for her the whole time. We'll take shifts sleeping if we have to. Then we'll make sure Tali gets back home…once she's ready."
"Okay, good. I'll make my way back to the base in the morning. I can let Councilor Anderson know that we should just have Shepard's funeral here. After what happened tonight, I don't want to drag things out."
"I think that's for the best… I'll tell Tali and Wrex. Joker still doesn't know yet. I promise I'll…I'll find a way to tell him. When the time is right. If there even is a right time for something like this."
"Thanks, Garrus… Try to take it easy. I'll see you in the morning. I promise I'll be there."
"Yeah… You, too, Ashley. I'll hold on to your promise for sure. See you then."
Ending the call, I had such an empty feeling in my stomach.
I shouldn't have been able to lie to Garrus so easily like that.
Sensing enough of my thoughts, Miranda finally walked over to me. She sat down here at my side. She said nothing for a while, giving me some time. Time to think, time to remember. Remembering that Shepard had taken my virginity on this same couch, in the middle of the rain beyond this structure. Bulleting rain, and that single gunshot reaching through my half-blackout, louder than the shot on Virmire, louder than everything.
Miranda believed my story.
I knew she believed me, and had started re-evaluating her beliefs.
There was no way the team would do the same.
There was no way they'd accept what I did. Not after so much grief. Not after everything.
"Ashley," said Miranda, after some time. "Your teammate was right. The investigation is already closed. This won't drag on like I thought it would have. And it pains me to say this, but after listening to your story about Liara, it looks like I've made more than a few miscalculations… I thought I could trust her. I mistrusted you. I made too many assumptions about you being dangerous and unpredictable when you were really her victim." Collecting herself, she went ahead and admitted: "I also owe you an apology. You and I got off to a bad start. Not only that. After Liara and I left the apartment together, I didn't have the nicest things to say about you. I took her agreement as a way to feel justified, like I enjoyed it. I've always been a good judge of character—in an objective sense. These sorts of nuances tend to fly over my head."
"Don't worry—I'm used to it," I reassured her, glad that she'd dropped her pride to tell me all of that. "Just comes with the territory, I guess."
"I suppose so. I should get you home, then. It's been a long day and a much longer night. You need to get some rest. I'll drive you back to your apartment in my car."
Home.
My apartment…
I asked her, "Will you come inside with me? Please? I don't think I can sleep on my own. Not like this…"
Pausing in a mild awkwardness, Miranda didn't know what to say.
Or maybe she did know.
She knew and she just didn't want to give a voice to anything.
Distant, Miranda settled on asking a question of her own, "For how long?"
"For as long as you're comfortable with," I replied. "I promise I won't throw myself at you or anything. That's not what this is. So much has happened… So much—and I don't wanna be alone right now. Maybe you feel the same way. I can't tell. And maybe that's how you want things to be. If that's the case, I don't mind. I guess what I'm trying to say is…I'm here for you, too. If you need me, that is."
Judging by Miranda's outward reactions, I couldn't know if anything I'd said had gotten through to her.
But she did stand up and say, "All right, then. I'll go home with you. I should look after you, anyway. For as long as I possibly can. I need to make sure you don't do anything foolish in your despair. You're too valuable, especially now that you know your worth. Humanity can't afford to lose you." When Miranda glanced at me, she found my half-smile. "…what is it? Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Thanks, Miranda," I responded, standing with her. "Thank you—for everything. I don't know where I'd be without you."
Saving face, Miranda droned, "In jail, more than likely." Leaving already, she had me follow after her. "Now come on. Let's get going. I'm ready to put all of this madness behind me if you are."
I let myself smile some more, glad that I wasn't alone.
Right before we went back inside the building, I stared up at the sky. Just like I had done back on the roof of the hotel. I wasn't sure if Shepard was there looking down at me…but I was pretty sure I felt my Dad there. Somewhere out there among the stars. I wasn't sure what he thought of me. I had no idea if he approved, or if he saw me differently after what I did.
However Dad felt, he made sure I knew he was there, watching over me.
Providence, sheer luck, and guidance from guardian angels…that was all I had left now.
All I could rely on until the next sunrise.