Requiem of the Goddess Chapter 28: Home, a mass effect fanfic

"Home" from Deus Ex: Human Revolution

XXVIII. Home

(Miranda)

Shameless walk of shame through the Normandy to the bridge:

Walking on my own proved difficult. Ashamed without feeling shame, without that feeling really reaching me, I let myself lean on Shepard instead. Setting aside my pride for this wasn't as agonizing as I'd thought it would be. Especially since most of the crew were asleep in their rooms, instead of remaining at their stations to witness my would-be shame. And especially, more, since Shepard chose to be such a gentleman about this—letting me hold on to her arm with both of mine, bending hers over her front in support, and carrying my bag for me in her other hand. Being this close to the long sheen of her gorgeous hair shifting against me in her movements, and the still-fresh smell of her skin from her recent shower…it all kept me calm. As calm as she was in her stern strength. So much novelty hit me in this moment as well, leaning on her Alliance fatigues. Leaning on her in my Cerberus uniform as this unexpected symbol of unity.

The only one still awake at this hour was Joker, sitting in his seat at the helm.

He and Dr. Chakwas had finished sorting everything out with the Alliance in Shepard's stead.

It was done.

It was all done, and there was no taking any of it back. I never had to think about her again if I didn't want to. I never had to see her again, speak to her again. My days of manipulating her were over…and I needed to move on. I needed to reconcile with myself over what I had done. Of course, it had all been for the right reasons, as I continued to justify. But my emotions weighing me down and slowing my footsteps—they wouldn't listen to reason. I knew I needed to rest, even though my mind had automatically shifted to work, to working through my issues—to making the same mistakes she had made, instead of facing myself. I felt as if I could actually survive this now. I just…needed some time.

I had never allowed myself this sort of time before.

I would always drown myself in work instead. Or find other ways for a much-needed release. Now, it seemed quite natural for me to give myself this allowance.

Right after my call with the Illusive Man, all of this had seemed untenable.

But as soon as I'd felt Shepard's arms around me, saving me from that abyss, everything had changed.

Finally believing in someone like this. Trusting in someone like this—because I had seen inside her mind itself, knowing that I could believe in her, and trust her. Knowing that I could lean on her like this and not feel ashamed, or embarrassed, or weak. I needed my independence, but I still depended on her.

So very momentous and moving…as if Shepard had already chosen to make me the middle of her world.

Hearing the sounds of my approaching heels, Joker turned around in his seat.

"Hey, Shepard. Hey, Miranda," he said, not seeming surprised. No judgment, either, from seeing me like this. "Need to wind down after all the crazy drama? We've got clearance to stay docked for a while."

Shepard responded, "Yeah, pretty much. The mission's on hold for now. We'll treat this as extended shore leave for a couple of weeks. You're free to head out to the town whenever you want. Or just stay on the ship—it's your call. I'll let you and the crew know once we're ready to continue on."

Joker understood. "Aye, aye, Commander. Take all the time you need. We'll be here."

Leaving the ship with Shepard, we exited the airlock to a standard docking bay at one of San Diego's many transport stations. American flags hanging everywhere, tall picture windows open to the cloudy view of the city late at night, and only a few civilians wandering through: we had enough privacy out in public like this. No one seemed to pay us any mind as we walked through the night-lit station, heading to the rapid transit area. Such a large, mostly empty space that normally would have been bustling with arrivals and departures, all paused to this solemn halt. Chilled with the weather outside somehow filtering in through the windows, of the cold February night that awaited us.

After a brief ride through the rapid transit, Shepard guided me to the monorail station nearby. Even with the decreased traffic so close to midnight, I was convinced that the monorail still would have been faster the rest of the way home. And far less stressful.

As we took line two to Central Station, Shepard allowed me to sit nearest to the window. She sat next to me, of course, still having me lean on her shoulder, keeping my arms tangled in hers.

Never could I forget this view: of riding straight over the brilliant blue of the San Diego Bay. Past the near-island of Coronado holding up its set of tall, dark, imposing buildings glimmering with those golden lights, everlasting. Although, the charcoal black rainclouds overhead had me worried. I could feel the thunder rumbling through me, right as I heard the low roar of those sounds, warning of the storm. I hoped we arrived home before it started raining. I didn't want to get my hair wet. And I knew that Shepard would have hated the same, for her own hair. Already, I sensed her growing moody over the prospects.

Moody or not, quiet or not, I enjoyed being here with Shepard this time. I enjoyed her strength, so resolute in acting as this shield for me. I enjoyed her presence in general, so full and all-encompassing. Clear-eyed and focused, Shepard seemed far more aware of her own sense of self, and who she was. As if her identity had returned to her at long last after having escaped her for so long. With that solid return, she was able to be this centering force for me, and for herself, after all that had occurred.

Shepard had evolved from this ordeal for the better.

She also appeared to evolve even more, from doing all of this for me. Give-and-take, her efforts to center me and support me had reflected back onto her. Entirely mutual.

Realizing this, I felt my quickened heartbeats. Just at the right pace. Trying to find harmony with hers, through her thundering pulse I spotted along her neck. And how her skin glistened in this dulled night, soaking up every single beam of light around: Shepard knew she had my attention. Yet she wouldn't look at me, determined to remain rooted in her thoughts for the time being. Thinking about me with that handsome scowl of hers. To help her stay strong, for the both of us.

I was so used to doing everything on my own. Relying on myself. Dealing with my problems in isolation.

This was certainly a new experience for me. But I wouldn't have allowed it with anyone else.

I smiled against Shepard's shoulder for the rest of the ride, eternally enchanted by her calm, her silence.

Once we'd nearly arrived to Central Station, Shepard retrieved my jacket from my bag. Gentle in her care, even with her outward intimidation, she set my jacket over my shoulders, as black blending with the dark leathers of my uniform. I realized, then, that I should have at least brought another one, for her, since she only had those short sleeves on from her fatigues. But Shepard didn't seem to mind at all, more focused on making sure that I was taken care of.

I wanted to thank her, yet I couldn't quite get my voice to work. Not after my embarrassment earlier.

Intuitive as ever, Shepard knew.

She guided me along with her understanding as we left the monorail car, having arrived at the station.

Passing through the service tunnels, I was glad that this place was also mostly empty. This cold, colorful tile didn't have the annoying echoes of all the noise I was used to. Only the thudding reverberations from the police officers, from their footsteps as they patrolled the area. Armored as ever, with their assault rifles out in the open, they remained on-guard. Even as they recognized Shepard, nodding to her in a cordial respect, they offered me the same sort of approval, simply because I was here with her. Even though they had no idea all that I'd orchestrated in this city two years prior, fooling them with ease.

Though I did notice many of them turning to stare after us, after we'd walked away. No doubt overanalyzing the way I leaned on Shepard like this. Gossip was bound to spread at this point, but I couldn't really care about that. Not at a time like this.

As soon as we left the station to the cold chill outside, I smelled the rain in the air, looming near. I figured we only had a few minutes at best before the downpour began. The clouds had somehow thickened, blackened: billowing more of that strange golden mist throughout the immediate area, following us everywhere.

Walking the short distance to Shepard's apartment building, past the crowded police station, the Pantheon-like bank, and the closed shops and restaurants, I remembered every other time I had passed through here. Having wished that these honey-yellow lights brightening the night could have illuminated Shepard by my side, with me: I'd finally received what I wanted. Even though I felt awful, noticing Shepard's arms—the way her thin, light hairs stood up on-end, over her pebbled skin from the low temperature. But she didn't show any other reaction. Too focused on escorting me, on getting us home.

Arriving to the Chiron Building's lobby had always filled me with a gloomy sense of longing before.

I would pass through this area glittering in the light from the avant-garde chandelier overhead, wondering what it would've been like: for Shepard to actually bring me home with her. Even in this platonic way. So very platonic as we entered the elevator together, going up to the 34th floor. Platonic and careful, with so much unspoken as the elevator sounded our next arrival, out to the hallway. Cozy and scentless in this empty hall, the carpeted floor absorbed the sounds of my footsteps. Such warm woods filled me with this sense of home already. Such quiet at this hour, with everyone safely in their own apartments, completely unaware of all that had transpired on this night.

I hoped to find my own oblivious calm soon enough.

Unlocking the door to her unlit apartment, Shepard settled her hand along my lower back, guiding me to enter her home first. Pleased by her consideration, I went inside, warmed already by the clever heating system, having already prepared for us. And perfectly neat and clean, everywhere. The VI's greeting, "Welcome home, Commander Shepard," struck me as incredibly novel. I had spent all this time wishing to hear that instead. Needing to hear it. Now that I had, so much began to fall into place for me. I could begin to let go of the madness that had gone on; and that I had orchestrated, all to reach this point. More so once Shepard removed my jacket for me, so respectful in her touch and care.

Drawn to the windows, I took my time stepping down the chrome staircase, reaching the open space between the living room on my left, and the door to the guest room on my right. Darkness from outside reigning in, the rain poured and poured outside, the heavy droplets spattering against the tall, tall windows of Shepard's apartment. Hazing through in a stubbornness, the golden city lights beamed through that dark, lighting up the sheer order and magnitude of Shepard's video game collection; her gigantic television along the far wall; her display of sniper rifles that lay out on the long table nearby; and her kitchen hollowed out as another hallway somewhere behind me, right by the front door. All the while, the stark storm raged outside, thunder and lightning puncturing the atmosphere: white-hot lights flashing through the gold here. Gazing out to the sheen of the city wetted in this night, I found my own reflection staring back at me through the window. And again, I recalled the instances when I had done this before, filled with such desire for this moment. Filled with so many hopes and dreams that I'd only ever labeled as silly, as cynical, as senile… Never allowing myself the chance to believe—until tonight.

Falling into the heaven of Shepard's apartment, I much preferred her home to mine. Hers was nothing like my stylish, clinical space on Illium, in Nos Astra. But I only had a place there to keep an eye on Oriana whenever I could. Obviously, I couldn't do that anymore with the mission. I at least let myself entertain the idea of returning there someday with Shepard, when the time was right. To show her.

I spotted Shepard's reflection nearing me from behind. She appeared to float over the floor in silence with her combat boots removed, set by the door. She stopped just behind me. Right behind me. As dashing as she was in her air of mystery, I disliked that I couldn't read her expression, her reflection. Then again, Shepard seemed to do this on purpose. Holding this power over me, able to listen to my quickened breathing. If she knew how much tighter my chest felt within my leather, I wasn't sure how she might react. Ever too respectful for her own good, she made no effort to stare down at my cleavage.

The night vision of Shepard's eyes glowed more in the lights from beyond. Misting gold thickened the sunlit colors there, vivifying her stare. Unintentionally undressing me this way with her full attention.

The depths of her voice reached so deep inside of me, she could have… "Miranda. Are you hungry?"

Not for that. "No, Commander. I'm not. But thank you for asking."

"Then the guest room is yours, as I said. Take a shower. Sleep there, just to rest. You can use my terminal to get some work done if you need to. But we should take it easy while we're here."

"Of course, Commander. I appreciate your hospitality."

Looming behind me. Breathing against my hair, near the top of my scalp. Making me want to bend over for her against this windowsill, to help me forget. "You don't have to keep calling me Commander anymore. Not all the time. Not unless we're on a mission, and you decide to do it. We're past that now."

The only thing I could say: "All right."

Shepard already knew. "Is there something on your mind?"

Swirling chaos of my thoughts, of my fantasies all colliding into one, as reality before me:

For the first time in twenty years, I finally felt noticed in the right ways. Desired as I wanted. Noticed, and desired by Shepard, even in the dark depths of her power over me. For her eyes did nothing less than engorge mine through our shared reflection here, devouring every scrap of my vulnerability that she could see. Every scrap that I couldn't keep hidden, slipping from the crevices of my attempts: my attempts to remain neutral. Professional. Put-together. But my persona could only hide so much. Especially from her, as sharp-eyed as she was. Sharp-scented. Smelling blood as the predator she no doubt was, during these precious hours before my period was due to start.

Because if Shepard touched me again, my temperature would spike.

My heat would start.

And even though she had already showered, the mere recent memory of her actions was still on her. That execution was still on her. That judgment was still in her aura, her power, and her stare. I didn't sense Shepard looking at two women at once, or three: those from her past, and me. In fact, the absolute clarity in her eyes had me more unsettled. Because I'd expected her to leave me to my spiraling, my chaos. I'd expected her to leave me to fend for myself—or perhaps finding some enjoyment in my breakdowns, taking a sadistic pleasure in watching me fall into that abyss.

Yet here was Shepard, standing but a breath away from me. Right behind me.

Here was Shepard, prepared to reach out and touch me, if it would set me off.

Here she was, so devilishly handsome and beautiful and superior…and I wanted to die all over again.

"Miranda. Use your words. I can't read your mind." Really…? Sometimes, it honestly felt to me as if she could. "Unless you expect me to figure this out on my own, you need to speak up."

This rasp sanded down my voice. "I think you already know what it is."

Shepard's lips quirked ever-so-slightly. "You should say it anyway."

I hadn't prepared for this.

I wasn't prepared.

Watching this mild trembling form about me, Shepard discerned, "Then let me just say this: I thought I was done with contradictions. Needing to navigate someone's emotions that they keep under lock-and-key. Having to read their mind. Dealing with the cognitive dissonance…when they act so put-together and polite on the outside, while they're craving something else deep down. Something else that isn't nearly as polite. Something else where they end up torn apart by me. Destroyed. Broken."

Hurrying away from her, I rushed forward. Against the windowsill. Spinning around to face her, to look at her—letting Shepard see this sheer terror in my eyes. Because I didn't know how else to tell her. I didn't know what to say, or what to do. Especially when she kept standing there…still holding my bag. Maintaining this distance from me, only staring more as I fought to keep breathing.

"Shepard, wait!" I panicked. "Please, I know what this looks like… I understand. I do!"

"No, Miranda, you don't," she countered. "Even though you should. You're supposed to get it by now. I wouldn't be here at all if it wasn't for you. I owe you my fucking life! So, naturally, I'm going to start noticing you more. Picking up on the signals you give off. Learning the shape of your breaths. The way you sound. Your scent, your smell. Everything." It took everything in me to not go over to her; to not give in. "Your biology itself keeps pulling me to you. Your skin is clearer. Your voice is softer. You keep blushing around me. And you somehow assume that I don't notice. You can't seriously believe that."

Too much lust getting the way.

Lusting more and more, all from Shepard's struggles. She forced herself to remain rooted there. She forced herself not to come on to me, so soon, already! Shepard forced herself to restrain her reads on me, and from acting on them. Setting the sharp shape of her jaw, she stayed there. So tall in her stature over me, even from this distance, I wanted her over me. All over me. I needed her to tear off my uniform and tear into me, tearing right into this heat that had already turned me on. Turning Shepard's possessiveness right on, all the way up, to the maximum in her attention on me. Turning her full focus to me, in her need to please me as the people-pleaser she was—naturally—as her way of rewarding me.

In all of her attentiveness, her possessiveness, her intelligence and creativity, I wanted her.

Fuck, I needed her.

But it was too soon for any of this. Far too soon. Much, much too soon.

Not to mention, I was nowhere near prepared for her to have me tonight. Not yet. As requested, she wished to know where I stood. I couldn't leave this unspoken. Inferred. I couldn't leave her to read my mind, otherwise she might have chosen to read my body instead. I had to be clear with her, or else.

So I forced my voice to cooperate: "Shepard…listen to me. I've had my eye on you in some form or another for twenty years now. Ever since you had your start in the fashion industry. Because it's been so long, I'm…" When Shepard licked her lips, reflexive, my heart started hammering twice as hard. Three times as hard. Harder for how hard she might have been, if—"I regrettably can't control myself around you. Not nearly as much as I would prefer. With that said, I should like to remind you of what I said earlier. Back on the ship. About how whatever happens between us, it has to be real. It needs to be. We can't have that if I open my legs for you here and now. If we're going to do anything, then it must be on my terms. My terms include an actual, exclusive relationship in due time. Not just sex. If I'm going to be yours, then you have to be mine as well. I won't allow you to rush me…no matter how precise your senses are. This can't crash and burn. I can't risk that. We need to do this right or not at all. Am I clear?"

In response to my demands, everything about Shepard's aura and posture tightened considerably.

Rigid.

Firm.

Hard.

Yet her eyes softened. Softening in her acquiescence. Soft in the way she obeyed. Softer in her acknowledgment, even as her hormones and her possessiveness continued to rage on in superiority. So much more once she spotted the collar around my neck, hammering with my pulse. For her. Only her.

With her subservience toward me, I saw an opening in this dilemma of mine, of ours:

For all of my brooding and worrying before—over whether Shepard wouldn't like me, over whether she wouldn't see me as a real woman—I'd managed to have some confidence about this. Some type of light, or hope. Hence why I had lowered myself before. Presenting myself as non-threatening. Remaining incognito with her ex, given my sparks of confidence, of light and hope. Because now, I saw it before me in Shepard's own contradictions. In the way she could have lunged at me. In the way she could have devoured me here on the spot. In the way I would have let her, knowing that it would only make me resent her for it in the morning… But she managed to control herself.

Shepard controlled herself now because of my demands. Because I had made myself clear.

Because I clearly, obviously wanted her on top of me, inside of me—but I remained forceful enough to lord my own power, my own control over her in fairness and respect for what we had now. Reigning her in like this. Setting rules for her to follow. Elevating myself above her in word and in deed, even with the clear, obvious knowledge that I would remain submissive to her in physicality, in emotionality.

Mentally, in our shared, superior intelligence and capabilities, one of us needed to have the upper-hand.

If I allowed Shepard to have it outside of bed, then she would have destroyed me ten times over.

Instead, this was…manageable. Having Shepard become docile in the face of my expectations: I could handle this. Even as this soaking wet build-up continued to heat my thighs trapped in this leather of mine, I could deal with this. I could breathe. I could function, knowing that Shepard had given me this upper-hand in our power exchange. Knowing that she trusted me with this, as I had learned to trust her.

There was no turning back from this. None whatsoever.

"Shepard," I repeated. "I need your acknowledgment. Because you have a responsibility, now that this is out in the open between us. A responsibility…to not break my heart. You're the only one who could truly hurt me. It's why I'm terrified; why I keep giving you these blatant contradictions. But I do want us to move forward. I want you to do this right; to give me everything I've ever imagined with you. So I need you to get over her first. I need you to give me at least some space to breathe for a few days. And don't come anywhere near me with sex unless…unless it's for a serious relationship. Later. Until then, I need you to prove to me that you're still the honorable woman I fell for years ago. Can you accept that?"

Simple, honest, respectful: "Yes, Miranda. I understand. I'll take care of you. You have my word."

I genuinely hoped that the Illusive Man was right about her. That she was exactly what I needed. And that she could take care of me. Even though I'd never wanted or trusted this from anyone else before.

Shepard remained an exceptional exception to so many of my rules in life.

"Thank you," I expressed. Cautious, I reached out my hand. "I'd like you to give me my bag now. We should get some rest. Not that we need to sleep, with this insomnia. You know what I mean, and why."

Shepard stepped forward. One pace at a time.

She stopped at the required place. At the required arm's length space between us.

Designer, chic, well-made: Shepard handed my bag to me.

I accepted this next exchange, accepting my belongings. Noting even how she held most of the bag's weight for me, tightened in the grip of her fingertips. She wouldn't let me deal with the burden of this weight—not until I had firmly fastened the bag in my own hold. So much care, detailed. Consideration.

Yet this hardness, this dominance about her continued to build and brim.

This heat about me was about to explode. I needed to deal with this in private. Alone. Away from her.

With my bag in-hand, I circled around her.

Around, facing her.

Around, to the open door of the guest room.

Rounding with me, Shepard stayed in place. Only moving to continue facing me directly. Tracking me with her eyes: my lingering caution, my heeled footsteps. Following my every movement. Staying perfectly still while the night rain's shadows trailed down her skin, reflecting the thunderstorm. Storming so much harder, deeper, she continued to restrain herself in her respect, with that same honor I had come to expect and adore from her. No matter what she suffered, and no matter what she went through, I would never allow her to forget this part of her. Because this was her. This was her identity. Without it, she was a mere idea of a person. I knew better, since I hadn't fallen for some idea of her.

Once I made it through the doorway, I could have simply closed myself off. Closed the door and called it a night; left things at that. But it didn't feel right. I would have felt terrible, shutting Shepard off in such a cold manner. After everything we had both been through, I couldn't be that callous with her. I could instead admit to myself that I wanted to test the waters.

I wanted to see for myself if Shepard would actually let me have some type of power over her. After her experiences with her ex outright abusing that power, surely she had to be sensitive to such a thing. Or perhaps alert to the possibility that I would repeat those same mistakes.

I wanted to give her a preview: to show her that things would be different between us.

Our brand of polarity was nothing like what she was used to. And it was new for me, too.

"Come here, Shepard," I whispered. "Just for a moment. I want you to kiss me good night."

Turning my head away, down and at an angle, I restricted her access to my lips in this way.

She knew what I meant. What I wanted; what I wouldn't yet allow.

Still gentle for me, still docile for me, Shepard came closer. Nearer. Closing this remaining distance, while still remaining outside the invisible boundary of the doorway. At this angle, not meeting her eyes, I could but taste those raining shadows sweating down her forearms. Those shadows curved around the bulging branches of her veins running just underneath her saturated skin, as if drenched from the rain. I saw the shape of her hair flowing down her chest, nearest the bend of her arm, so perfectly beautiful.

Leaning down, Shepard raised her hand right beneath my jaw. Supporting the structure of my face with her tenderness, her lissome touch feathered me in firmness. Her duality, always: she brought her lips close enough to the corner of mine, with her dulcet understanding softening her ever-present strength.

She was tempted to do more. And yet she avoided it, for both our sakes.

I felt it all fluttering from her, a bit more from her lashes over my skin.

I felt it more in her deep voice over me, breathing out: "Have a good night, Miranda. I'll see you when you're ready. In the meantime, I'll be in my room. If you need anything, just send me a message. All right?"

"Yes, of course," I accepted, beyond flushed. "Thank you. Good night, then."

Shepard pulled away. Back behind that invisible boundary of the doorway.

Before I could give into my own temptations, I closed the door. It slid shut between us. Locking, red.

Yet I knew she lingered outside. I knew she was still there. I knew that I could have changed my mind at any time and opened the door, pulling her in here with me. Given myself to her, given into her. All to risk that crashing, that burning I didn't want. That resentment. That pain, that shattering of my heart down the line once things inevitably didn't work out between us.

Craving her anyway, all I could do was press my back to the door. Wishing I could at least have her arms around me again. Imagining the pleasure from her certainty: in just how she felt, shaped so insistent against me, behind me, needing me.

However long I stayed here like this, I knew that the other half of my desires remained on the other side.

In this way, Shepard took care of me, catering to me in the exact flavor I needed from her. Tasting exactly as the depravity that had driven me through her reconstruction. Drenching me in this fulfillment: that she had imprinted onto me in all the ways that I'd craved. Only time would tell if she could follow through in the way I wanted. Consistently insistent in her doting, perfectly focused on me. No one else.

(Shepard)

Taking this time worked out well. I hadn't realized that I needed a break. Not until all of this happened.

Once Miranda went to bed, I stayed up. Mostly checking around the apartment to see if anything was out of place. Oddly enough, nothing was off, or gone, or different. When Miranda and Ashley had stayed here before, it was almost like they'd used this place as a rest stop, instead of actually settling in. I assumed it was Miranda who had gone out of her way to keep everything clean for me, since she had acted as the caretaker before. It was just my room that was different. Filled with the everlasting roses I had given Ashley, back before I'd died. Before everything had changed, leading us down this path.

I spent the night-morning gathering up the roses. Gathering up anything else that Ashley had left here, which wasn't much. Unlinking her holo-closet from mine. Removing her name from my will. Going through the motions of rationalizing with myself. Letting all of this go. Upset, but without letting myself cry over what had been, and what never was. Wondering how I'd managed to fall in that deep with someone, only for it to turn out all wrong. But I knew, unequivocally, that I'd made the right choice in the end. My team needed me.

In the morning, as soon as the post office opened, I drove down and sent her things back home. Back to Amaterasu, with her mother and her sisters. I supposed the flowers would be some kind of condolences, as they'd heard the public story by now about Ashley's death. She hadn't named me in her will, since I'd obviously been dead for two years. So I had no obligations. Her family had always hated me. Except for Sarah. I already knew that they didn't want me to visit, or to attend the funeral. And now, it looked like they'd had every reason to despise me, all as that demon that had been out to corrupt Ash in the end.

Maybe I would have agreed with them.

Maybe, just maybe I would have.

But when I got back from the post office that morning, I took another look around my room.

There on the windowsill was the single giveaway. The one thing that would have tipped me off to Ashley's lying, if she had decided to go that route. The single, obvious clue that would have started that same exact argument between us on the Normandy, and that likely would have ended the same way, with her choosing her damn cowardice and self-preservation over our relationship, over her love for me:

This framed picture of Liara and me, on the Presidium. The one of us smiling at each other. The gift Liara had given me for my thirtieth birthday, while we'd visited the Temple of Athame together on Thessia.

Ashley had turned the frame face-down.

Leaving the picture that way.

Likely for the entire time I had been gone. Very likely since the night she had killed Liara.

All as a reminder for how Ash had expected me to get over this and move on with her.

Seething, I picked the frame up. Brushing off the two-year-old layers of dust. Sniffling from the dust; from the absolute disregard. From how fucking insensitive this felt to me. Like a punch to the stomach.

When I'd woken up after the Lazarus Project, yeah, I was pissed at Liara. I'd hated her. I'd picked sides.

But I had made my choices without knowing the whole story. Without seeing the full picture.

And now that I knew, I hated myself for being so blind.

I set Liara's picture back where I wanted it. Sitting it up properly this time.

Throughout that whole saga with their rivalry, I had been incredibly naïve. Too trusting. Too quick to assume that their problems with each other hadn't escalated any further than their half-drunk, half-lustful argument at Dark Goddess on my birthday. After all, Liara had kept encouraging me to be with Ash, and to be with her genuinely. To not hold back. To not have any regrets. Little did I know, Liara had known the truth. She had seen all of this coming early on. With or without the rivalry, the trauma, the drama surrounding my death, or whatever else…the truth was going to come out some day.

The heartbreaking truth that Ashley would always choose herself over me. In some way or another. Yes, she would make exceptions from time to time. For her own reasons. But from what I knew now, those reasons had always looped back to what worked best for her. Whatever was in her best interests. Whatever would keep her safe and protected. Whatever would ensure her own well-being.

As self-sacrificing as I naturally was, someone like that was always going to draw out the worst in me.

Until the moment she'd hurt me.

Until that spell had broken.

Until I'd realized that someone else had worked to protect me, to keep me from losing my mind.

Even though that should have been Ashley's responsibility.

So if Liara had been trying to protect me from all of this…then I could forgive her. As difficult as it was.

And if Ashley had been trying to avoid all of this, in prioritizing herself and her dishonesty…then I couldn't know what to think. Because it had all turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy anyway.

Behind-the-scenes, Liara and Miranda had both worked so hard to look out for me.

All while my actual girlfriend had had her priorities fucked up.

In that sense, I couldn't blame Liara for not being honest with me. I might not have listened to her.

Staring at her through this picture lit by the morning light, I said out loud, "I'm sorry, Liara. I'm sorry I couldn't see the truth on my own. I'm…sorry I didn't put you first when it mattered most. You sacrificed everything for me, loving me the way you did…even when I didn't deserve it. And now, it's my fault that you're gone. You couldn't defend yourself because of me. But if this hadn't happened, there's no telling what the outcome would've been. Either way, I can understand if you're angry at me. Wherever you are, I hope you're okay. I hope you're at peace. And if you are angry…then I hope that you can forgive me."

As for Ashley, I had already said my last words to her.

As soon as I'd made up my mind to be honest with the team, to tell them the truth…I knew this would happen. I knew she'd been in too much pain. I knew she wouldn't trust herself to live in the light, away from those lies. I knew her pain would decide this for her. So we'd already had our closure. It was done.

One last thing of hers: our picture still on my nightstand closest to the door. This picture of her and me, from Noveria on that fated day. The picture that Tali had taken of us in secret, with Ash and I looking at each other in our lust. The primary feeling and sentiment that had brought us together. Even after my initial first impression of her on Eden Prime had been a neutral indifference, spiked with my intuition. Believing, and knowing that there had been something about her that I wouldn't have been able to ignore after a while. Only for that something to spiral out to this ridiculous mess.

Taking this picture with me to the living room, I considered:

The first feeling that had reached me with Liara had also been lust. Needing to dominate her. Finding her innocence so attractive, and mouth-watering. But I'd slipped and fallen into something more with her later, after realizing that she could have been both for me. Switching like that in her command. She'd had that potential. Then everything had gone wrong, with me letting my temptations and my curiosities get the better of me. I couldn't even blame that connection between Ash and me. That was just my bad. My mistake. I knew it at the time and I fell right for it anyway. And then the rest happened.

By contrast, the first feeling that had reached me with Miranda…was pure security from her true love. Her care for me, all wrapped and coalesced into that moment. That single moment when I'd opened my eyes for the first time, and I saw her smiling down at me. That immediate culmination from feeling her in me throughout the Lazarus Project—it had created all of this today. All of this that allowed me to trust her here in my home like this. All of this that gave me such comfort, knowing she was in the guest room.

Since Miranda had the door closed, I could do this without her noticing.

Reaching my huge TV screen, I used my omni-tool to move it up and out of the way. Safe and secure, I found my silly hidey spot lodged in the wall. I had made this when I'd first bought my apartment about a decade ago. I'd thought it was such a cool idea at the time. But I only now realized that Ashley could've accessed this thing if she had thought to look here. That would've defeated the purpose of everything.

I set her picture in here with everything else: old handwritten letters, other pictures, and general reminders from the rest of my exes. Movie tickets. Data disks with logs from our extranet conversations. Christmas and birthday gifts that had been too valuable to throw out. Old-fashioned keys that were supposed to be the keys to their hearts, given to me in sentimentality and symbolism. Suit ties and cufflinks that I couldn't stand wearing anymore because they only reminded me of one of these people.

Looking around the living room, I spotted one last thing, sitting over the coffee table:

The red video game controller that Ashley had given me for my birthday.

Taking a deep breath, breathing out the last of my reservations—I picked up the controller, setting it inside this hiding place with the rest.

I then searched around my other collection of gaming peripherals, next to my display of games along the wall. Almost arbitrary, I picked up the violet controller. Glancing it over, I remembered that I had never used this. I couldn't remember when I'd bought it, or why. Only that I had been in the mood to try something different with this more feminine color.

Definitely something different now, I set this violet controller on my coffee table.

Then I returned to my old relics, my old memories in this hiding spot.

Looking at this collection of my failures, I started questioning myself. Wondering what the point was. Seriously, what was the point of loving a woman at all if things could fall out like this? And to this extent? What was the fucking point of courting her, falling in love, having a relationship, convincing myself that it was all meant to be, setting my possible resentments aside to put her first, having her declare that she wanted to marry me—if not outright proposing—and having her say she wanted to have my children, and that she wanted everything in the galaxy with me…only for it to all end someday?

You move on. Harder and tougher.

That was what I would've told myself before.

That had always been the lesson I'd taken away from my exes.

I couldn't keep doing that. It apparently hadn't worked at all.

Staring at these lost relics, I tried another approach. I changed my perspective. I changed my views:

Remembering Liara's wisest, bravest lesson—I chose not to run away from my feelings. I chose to forgive myself instead. I chose to tell myself that it was all right to feel this way. And I chose to tell myself that it was okay that I had messed up. It was okay, because I didn't regret my decisions last night, even if I wasn't proud of the choices I had made with Liara and Ashley long ago. I didn't regret putting the team first. I didn't regret taking care of Miranda like this. I didn't regret wanting to see where things went with her, despite my mixed emotions from these relics. I didn't regret anything with Miranda. Not even my initial suspicions. Because if I hadn't thought to spy on her conversation with Ashley in her office, then I wouldn't have known what to expect, going into that argument. I wouldn't have trusted my instincts telling me to trust Miranda instead. I wouldn't have trusted the choices I had made now.

I could stop running. I could stop hiding. I could stop pretending.

I could stop equating strength with the absence of doubt, confusion, loss, emotion.

And I could start embracing all of my doubts, confusions, losses, and emotions as my friends.

My friends…instead of my demons.

It was okay to feel this way. It really was.

As soon as I breathed in this acceptance, stinging my throat on the way through, I felt the change.

Like I had reawakened in this morning light of my living room, I felt my new perspective, changing me.

Strength, discipline, honor, determination, perseverance, and growth: qualities and traits that persisted in me because of my emotions. Not in spite of them. In tandem with them. Hand-in-hand with them. I'd just had no idea until now. Now that I could articulate the obvious. Now that I'd decided to stop running.

Miranda had reinforced this in me last night, on our way here.

The way she grew to trust me, to lean on me. Not in spite of her emotions, but because of them. And even the way she trusted me now, to take care of her. She trusted me with this responsibility, to not break her heart. To not jump into anything with her, only repeating the same old mistakes I'd made. To make her the middle of my world over time, swelling into that crescendo with true purpose and meaning. Anything less would've been a disservice to her, to me. And to all that had brought us here.

Miranda had reinforced this again, specifically when she'd said:

"I need you to prove to me that you're still the honorable woman I fell for years ago."

In my thoughtless need to please her in the raining moonlight, to repay her, I'd forgotten all about that.

I was glad that she'd remembered. I was glad that she hadn't fallen for an idea of me. She knew me.

I was glad that Miranda knew exactly what she wanted and needed with me. She'd been perfectly clear.

And I respected her more for being upfront. For being the better woman that I needed her to be.

With these changes in me, and with this new perspective, I closed the curtain on this hiding spot. I returned my TV back to its place. Hiding this hiding space. Staying rooted in the decisions I'd made that had all brought me to this point. Determined to press forward, smarter and better, with my feelings.

Whatever happened with Miranda from this day onward, she at least deserved my gratitude.

She didn't deserve those mistakes from me. She didn't deserve my indifference, either. Running away.

So I had to do right by her.

Sitting down on the couch, I noticed how much higher the sun had risen through the clear skies. Closer to the afternoon at this point. I hadn't realized how much time I'd spent sorting through my memories.

Finding more memories, I looked at my video game collection along the wall. I had time now. I could relax and kick back. Play something. But for some reason, I wasn't in the mood. Not yet. And I definitely wasn't up for playing my N7 game. Not even with Legion, now that I knew it was my friend. I just didn't have the heart to play that game again.

I'd noticed earlier that Miranda had likely had this quantum entanglement communicator installed here in the living room. I couldn't mind too much. If for some reason the comms ever fell in this area, the QEC would still be able to connect to someone. We wouldn't have been completely cut off in that case. And I knew that it was Miranda's idea, specifically. She thought of everything. Always prepared; reliable as always.

I opened up my omni-tool's messaging interface.

Our chat room. The Prodigal.

I knew what the word meant—extravagant, lavish, wasteful. It just didn't seem to fit Miranda at all. Not like that. Not the version of her that I was familiar with.

I made a mental note to research this. There had to be some kind of explanation, somewhere.

For now, I sent Miranda a message, to see if she was awake. She actually replied to me, writing back and forth:

[11:04:28] Me: How are you doing? Are you hungry?

[11:05:12] Miranda: I suppose I'm all right. Not terribly hungry. Thank you for asking. What about you?

[11:05:55] Me: I'm okay. I know neither of us really needs to eat that much. I'm only wondering if there's some other reason why you don't have an appetite. Something tells me you didn't eat at all yesterday, either. You sure you're all right?

[11:06:30] Miranda: It's quite sweet how perceptive you are. And I am fine. Technically. It's that time of the month for me, that's all. Today is the fifth, so I'm right on time. Nothing to worry about, really.

]11:06:49] Me: Do you have cramps or anything?

[11:07:28] Miranda: Strangely enough, they're not that bad this time. I'm used to having terrible pains and mood swings. That isn't the case today. Only a mild annoyance, but an annoyance nonetheless.

[11:07:40] Me: You have enough pain meds to deal with it?

[11:08:02] Miranda: Yes, I have plenty of meds stocked in my omni-tool. There's usually something more I want around this time. You don't have any in your kitchen.

[11:08:14] Me: What is it?

[11:08:59] Miranda: Well, you don't have any tea. You didn't have any the first time I was here two years ago, when I checked around. I was rather disappointed. Aside from how impressive and put-together your apartment is, you've quite the bachelor pad. Simple foods and bare necessities only. Other than your wines and champagnes, of course. You have more video games than decorations. Don't think I haven't noticed.

[11:09:30] Me: I don't see the point in decorating if I'm never here. I like keeping things simple. And I can go get you some tea. There's a liquor store down the street that sells regular drinks.

[11:09:43] Miranda: Shepard, that's not the kind of tea I'm talking about.

[11:10:59] Me: You don't want the cold ones in a bottle?

[11:11:03] Miranda: No.

[11:11:11] Me: What, you want the old-fashioned tea leaves instead?

[11:11:34] Miranda: Now you're just being facetious.

[11:11:51] Me: Then what kind of tea do you want me to get?

[11:12:24] Miranda: Lemon, herbal, chamomile. With real honey. No sugar. You don't have a silver kettle, either. I suggest investing in one. You won't regret it.

[11:12:40] Me: You mean the kettles that whistle when the water's finished boiling?

[11:13:02] Miranda: Yes. It's a clear sign that the water is done and ready. There's no fuss.

[11:13:12] Me: The whistle is annoying. That's a fuss.

[11:13:30] Miranda: The fuss is over when you remove the kettle from the stove. Besides, I find the sound oddly nostalgic. I don't enjoy tea that's prepared any other way. It isn't the same.

[11:14:55] Me: That's fine. I'm surprised you want honey instead of sugar. Whenever I have this kind of tea, I only like it with a bunch of sugar poured in.

[11:15:20] Miranda: In that case, you might as well drink warm juice. Honey is superior. It isn't overpowering. Not like your silly sugar. And don't you tell me that's the whole point. I won't tolerate it.

[11:15:43] Me: Okay, Miranda. I get your point. You want the bags of tea—lemon, herbal, chamomile. Honey. No sugar. With the silver kettle. I don't have any tea cups, or mugs. So I'll get some for you.

[11:16:10] Miranda: That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Shepard. I appreciate it.

[11:16:36] Me: There's a certain cup I have in mind to get for you. To make it obvious that it's yours. It's a Zodiac thing. When is your birthday? Do you know anything about what your sign is supposed to be?

[11:17:23] Miranda: This is a surprise. Though I'm very curious now. My birthday is on September 11th. I know—9/11. I'm thirty-six years old. Four years older than you. And I'm a Virgo, an Earth sign. I can be rather fussy, needing perfection in every aspect of my life. Worrying too much about details. Worrying about everything. Stubborn. Always criticizing myself. Overanalyzing all the time. Apparently we also have a bad reputation for being secretive. I suppose I can't refute that.

[11:17:43] Me: Hmm, interesting.

[11:17:57] Miranda: What's interesting? What do you mean by that?

[11:18:53] Me: Your birthday is a month before mine. Give or take a few days.

[11:19:19] Miranda: You took far too long to write such an obvious response. What's the real issue?

[11:19:35] Me: Don't you think it's weird that we're typing to speak like this? Texting, whatever. You don't want to come out here and talk?

[11:20:05] Miranda: And risk having a repeat of last night? Absolutely not. It's better that we use this to speak instead. At least for the time being. I can't be seen around you like this.

[11:20:20] Me: So…you're sequestering yourself away from me?

[11:20:42] Miranda: Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing. You know why. Let's not get into this.

[11:21:19] Me: All right. I won't bring it up again. I should go. I'll pick up what you said you wanted, and some food. I'm assuming you have a sweet tooth. I'll find something we should both like. Do you have any allergies I should know about?

[11:21:42] Miranda: That's kind of you. I do have a sweet tooth, yes. No food allergies to speak of. Thank you again.

[11:22:01] Me: I'll get going, then. I'm sure you'll hear the whistling when your tea is done.

[11:22:10] Miranda: Shepard, wait.

[11:22:17] Me: What is it? What's wrong?

[11:22:30] Miranda: There's something bothering me.

[11:22:41] Me: What's bothering you? What's the matter?

[11:23:02] Miranda: What was your 'interesting' response to what I said about my Zodiac sign? You never told me what the issue was.

[11:23:14] Me: It's not a big deal.

[11:23:37] Miranda: Well, it is to me. I won't be able to put this out of my mind. Not until you tell me.

[11:24:13] Me: Seriously?

[11:25:57] Miranda: I just told you that I overanalyze things all the time! Besides, I thought we already established this in our first exchange here. You called me out for overanalyzing you while we were on Freedom's Progress. Surely you must understand why I do this with you. Don't make me explain it.

[11:27:09] Me: Two of my exes were Virgos.

[11:27:14] Miranda: Oh.

[11:27:40] Me: Like I said, it's not a big deal. I don't put much stock into astrology, either. It's just a fun thing sometimes. The past is in the past. It's done.

[11:28:26] Miranda: You do sound quite convincing. Both with the past and with the present. I'm surprised by this as well. But I shouldn't prod you about it. I'll let you get on your way. I'll be here.

[11:29:12] Me: Do you want us to keep talking once I'm back? You did say you needed your space.

[11:31:31] Miranda: A tempting offer…

[11:31:55] Me: Who's the one taking forever to respond now?

[11:32:23] Miranda: I resent that.

[11:32:59] Me: Miranda, tell me what you want.

[11:34:34] Miranda: Shepard, you can't say things like that! Are you completely unaware of how you come off?! Especially through text! You really ought to know better… You're going to drive me up a wall with these double-meanings of yours.

[11:34:58] Me: Sorry. I'm direct.

[11:36:45] Miranda: Yes… You are. You're very direct. Hence my current dilemma with you.

[11:37:21] Me: Then what's the solution?

[11:38:13] Miranda: There doesn't need to be a solution. I'd like you to keep speaking with me. And I want you to continue initiating our conversations whenever possible. Messaging you first before was pure torture. I'd much rather avoid any repeats of this.

[11:38:40] Me: If you need me to take the initiative, then I will.

[11:40:11] Miranda: That is what I need, yes… Thank you. Though I should let you get going this time. Tell me once you've returned. I don't just want to listen for your VI, or for that whistling. Please.

[11:40:39] Me: Understood. I'll let you know when I make it back to the building. I won't be long.

Taking this new time to cater to whatever Miranda wanted: I hadn't realized that I needed this, too.

Because she was so fair with me.

More than fair.

Even though I was the one who had gone out to buy her these things, she needed me to do this. Miranda seemed to thrive off of the way I treated her, almost doting on her by doing, though without that stereotypical affection that could have gone with this. Give-and-take, I gave her what she requested and she gave me her true gratitude every time, making everything worth it. I knew she wasn't manipulating me. I knew this wasn't a repeat of what had gone on before. I knew Miranda wasn't trying to take advantage of me—because she and I were both too smart to bother with that, to fall for that, or to repeat that mistake. That necessary mistake.

So I could pick out this tall coffee mug with the Virgo sign on it, and pretend that it was a tea cup, knowing that Miranda would like it. I could buy plenty of her teas and the rest of the things from her shopping list, and everything else I'd added after the fact, knowing that she appreciated my efforts.

Messaging her after parking my car, and having her message me back right away, I felt her dependence, her need to know that I was okay. I'd assuaged her possible fears that I had gotten into a car crash—paranoid in her care as she was—but in such a sweet way. Making her tea with warm brunch for us, dealing with the annoying whistling afterward; putting this attention to detail into all that I chose to do, mindful that Miranda was well-aware of the same details, since nothing got past her…it all felt different.

I even liked that Miranda refused to go collect her food from the kitchen until after I was in my room. With the door closed. She was really serious about this whole sequestering thing. After how much I'd overwhelmed her last night, without meaning to, I guessed I couldn't blame her. She took extra care to compliment me on my cooking. Making sure I knew she enjoyed this. Making up for things that way.

So we continued messaging each other throughout the day, non-stop. Talking. Just talking.

Then late at night, Miranda would insist on sleeping, just to rest. Just to let us breathe apart.

And then by midday, I would have her tea and brunch ready. The same as before. Then I would retreat to my room with my food. Miranda would emerge from the guest room and get hers. And then we'd continue talking, messaging—about her father, Henry; about her sister, Oriana; about her genetic modifications, with hints that she felt insecure about these; and some light debates about the ethics of what Cerberus got up to, with Miranda affirming that she only focused on her own work. She wasn't loyal to the extreme ideals that Cerberus stood for. Only what she stood for—being a realist, and making hard choices in a hard galaxy, to protect humanity's best interests.

And I believed her. I accepted that.

Even though I was convinced that she was blind to the truth, it didn't matter right now. I was comfortable enough with crossing that bridge at a later time. As long as Miranda had never involved herself in those extremes—and she'd made it very clear that she hadn't—then I could live with this. For now, at least. She would have to face a reckoning someday, anyway.

We kept this up for the next few days.

Keeping up this routine without it feeling rote.

Even though we were apart like this—under the same roof anyway—I was surprised by how at ease I felt with her. Maybe because of everything we'd gone through. Or maybe because Miranda felt familiar to me, past this actual time we had spent interacting with each other. Lying in bed in my usual boyish white tank top and my sweatpants, with my under armor underneath, I actually felt comfortable enough to do this, knowing that Miranda could have technically come in here at any time. I knew that she wouldn't. Not unless I offered. For strictly platonic reasons.

In that need for things to remain platonic between us, I sensed some of Miranda's reasons for this.

The chaos brimming beneath her polite exterior, her factual tone through text: I still sensed it, even now. It was the very same that I'd smelled in her during our first night here. It was the exact same that I'd spelled out of her in her panicking, in how cautious and restrained and reserved she chose to be with me now. Needing to do this right or not at all. Needing me to prove that I was still the same person she knew, and had always known from before.

As intoxicating as Miranda's truest depths were, I couldn't go anywhere near those waters of hers.

Feeling too much like a shark, smelling her blood in the water…I wasn't supposed to be like that.

Not with her. Not anymore.

Or at least, not right now. Not any time soon.

So Miranda and I kept up our routine for about a week or so.

As we did, I knew I had to find some other way to deal. To put that part of her out of my mind.

While Miranda was busy taking a shower, I pulled up my email. I tried re-reading the messages I'd received during this past week. I'd already responded to them. I only wanted to pass the time while Miranda was busy with her hair and skincare routines, taking forever:

From: Urdnot Wrex – Alpha Victory.

Shepard,

Good to know you're back in action. Joker told me everything. Glad you took care of the problem. I was about to handle it myself. Too impatient. Too angry over the lies, the betrayal. I miss Liara. Still sad that she's gone. Wish I could avenge her somehow. She'll always be my precious blueberry. Even more since she tried to protect you. I'm not mad at her for what she did. I understand. I just miss her. Liara showed me that it's okay to feel again. You helped me out. She was the first one. Never the same without her.

That Miranda of yours is a real woman. Joker told me she likes you, heh. Figured it was obvious. She did all these things for you. To help you out. Powerful stuff. Legendary.

Know what impresses me about her the most? She took out the alpha female with her superior mind. Not you. You're not the alpha female. You're Shepard. Miranda's the alpha female now. She's deadlier than a lot of krogan I know. Respect. Heard she's beautiful. I bet you appreciate that, huh?

New journey, new connection. Can't wait to meet Miranda when you come visit Tuchanka. I owe her a lot.

-Wrex

From: Anderson, Councilor – Welcome back, Commander.

Shepard,

Thank goodness you're with us again. Still hard to believe, if I'm honest. Even though I knew ahead of time that you'd return. Losing you two years ago was difficult. More than difficult. I almost fell back into the worst. Trying to find meaning at the bottom of a glass again, especially after we ended up losing your remains. Especially after it happened on my watch. So I'm relieved that Cerberus did what they needed to do to bring you back. Hard to say that they actually gave me hope after I'd nearly lost myself. I'm a little wary about you working with them, but the Collectors are really causing too many issues out in the Terminus Systems. It's unfortunately beyond Council and Alliance jurisdiction. I hate having to play nice about this, following the rules. But if you're out there taking care of the problem, then I can rest easy.

I understand you spoke with Admiral Hackett. He told me everything about what happened. I'm not surprised by your decisions with Lieutenant Williams. You protected your team from her. As heartbreaking as this all is, I sympathize with you. The Illusive Man and Miranda Lawson were two of our most unlikely allies. And yet they were the ones who brought all of this forward, helping to keep you safe. I'm trying to count my blessings here. As long as you're healthy and doing well, I shouldn't complain.

Whenever you're able to stop by the Citadel, let's arrange a meeting with the Council. We'd like to formally reinstate your Spectre status, and catch you up on our war preparations against the Reapers. Afterward, you and I should have a talk about the rest. About how you're doing. Hackett tells me you're all right. Our discussion can just be for some peace of mind. For old time's sake.

-Anderson

From: Alenko, Staff Commander – Condolences.

Commander,

It's been a serious whirlwind in the news.

First I heard you were back from the dead. Then I saw you and Ashley out at the Super Bowl, having the time of your lives! Then I heard she was dead…killed-in-action during her first mission after making N7. It's a lot to process. I can't even imagine what you're going through. Defeating the odds to come back, only for Ash to die not long after.

I'm really sorry for your loss.

I'm still broken-up about it myself. Couldn't focus on my work. Had to take a few mental health days.

Ash was there for me the whole time, while I recovered. Sure, she was busy with her training, but she always took the time to check up on me. See how I was doing. The rest of the team did, too. Just not as much as she did. I'll never forget that. Hate that she's gone. She had her whole life ahead of her. It reminds me that I could've lost it all…if you hadn't helped me out when you did. I'm grateful for that.

Wish we could catch up in-person. Unfortunately, I'm stationed out in the Terminus Systems. Looks like a long-term assignment. I've already been here for a while. Guess email will have to do, if you'd like to talk. I know we were never all that close before. But if you need an ear, I'll be happy to listen. Whenever.

I missed you a lot, too, Commander. Despite everything…I sure am thankful that you're back with us.

-Kaidan

From: Vega, Lieutenant – Sorry.

Commander,

Hey, it's James. James Vega.

Got your Alliance email from one of my buddies. He said this is supposed to be legit. I'm really hoping it is. Sorry if this is weird. I got a few things I need to get off my chest. Sounds selfish. I guess that's the way it is. Either way, I'd appreciate it if you could hear me out. You don't have to respond if you don't want to.

I just…wanted to apologize to you, Ma'am. For disrespecting you the way I did, overstepping my bounds. Losing Lieutenant Williams like this all of a sudden, it's gotta be painful. Sure was a kick to the gut when I heard the news. I'm sorry she's not with us anymore. Personal story and all—I did look up to her a lot. She went through a hell of a time, clawing her way up through the Alliance the way she did. Gave me hope that maybe I could do the same. She was relatable to me.

You've always been my hero, Commander. We're both from the same city on Earth. And we've both seen our fair share growing up on the wrong side of town. You made something out of yourself. Something out of nothing. It's a huge inspiration to me. Got me through some tough times. That hasn't changed.

What happened at the Super Bowl opened my eyes. Yeah, at first, I was kind of upset. Wasn't expecting my idol to tear me a new one the way you did. After I'd just got back from a pretty bad mission for the Alliance, I thought I'd seen it all. You showed me that I still have some growing up to do. A lot of growing up. I'd give anything to go on this journey while serving under your command. Just putting that out there.

Good luck, wherever you are. Hopefully we'll see each other again. On better terms.

-James

From: Tali'Zorah – Re: Catching up.

Shepard,

This is rather sudden.

I heard the news about Ashley. And I know…that I'm supposed to say sorry. I'm supposed to tell you that I'm sad; that I'm crying my eyes out over this. But I need to be honest with you. It should say a lot that I haven't even created a new email chain for this message. Just replying to our current one. I understand that I'm taking a risk in speaking my mind like this. So please, hear me out.

I think Ashley lied to me while you were gone. About too much. I pretended to keep being her friend over the past two years. Hoping she would come clean. She never did. Her death feels like an escape. Like she ran away from the truth. A cop-out, as you humans say. Is that the right term? I think it is.

I tried to keep my thoughts about her to myself. I knew you were excited to be with her again. Hell, I saw how happy the two of you were at that sports event on Earth. I didn't want to ruin anything for you. I still can't get rid of this feeling that she lied about so much. Even to you. If I'm right, then I hate her for this.

This sounds so cruel, I know. I wish I could get rid of these thoughts. I can't. They're eating away at me. I nearly lost my focus during the last assignment I was on for Father, collecting these inactive geth parts for him. I have a full platoon of quarian marines protecting me out on active battlefields, making sure that I'm able to do my work safely. I can't afford to let this keep distracting me. I had to tell you how I feel. I'm sorry if this isn't helping you right now. I truly am. If you're angry with me…I won't blame you.

-Tali

Re-reading these messages, it still felt a little surreal that I'd been gone at all. That so much had changed with everyone since then. Wrex seemed to be his same old self for the most part. Poor Anderson had almost lost himself because of me. Kaidan could have possibly fallen back into his old sorrows, too. I hadn't expected to hear from that James Vega guy, though I'd still sent off my reply to him, too, basically apologizing for our encounter during the game. Now that I understood why I'd been so aggressive that day, I felt pretty ridiculous about it. I shouldn't have gotten that angry over something so…pointless.

I noticed that I'd focused on Tali's email the most. As glad and relieved as I was that she'd chosen to be honest, I still couldn't help worrying about her. She had been through so much. Ever since I'd died, it had been one thing after another for her. I hated that she was in so much pain, and that I may or may not have made things any better for her. I wouldn't know until I told her the whole truth in-person.

But I knew for myself, without a doubt:

In that moment when I'd pulled the trigger on Ashley's wrath, I'd had two specific people on my mind.

Blowing out that blood, ending that hatred and drama, I'd needed to protect everyone. To protect the team.

Protective of Miranda.

And overprotective of Tali.

Needing to keep her safe. Ready to kill for her. Ready to end anyone for her…even her own best friend.

I could never let anyone hurt Tali. Not again. Never again.

I was so sensitive to her state of mind; how it seemed like she wasn't in the best place these days.

Because, in my other emails to Tali, I would ask her two normal questions:

One, of how she'd coped over the past two years, dealing with so much loss and agony.

Two, of what she and her father Rael'Zorah had gotten into an argument about last year. It sounded like it had been pretty rough. Enough to almost ruin her again.

Tali would never answer me. She flat-out avoided the questions instead of dancing around them with non-answers. She refused to say a word about how she had coped with her grief and sadness over losing me. Not even to insist that she would talk to me about it later, or in-person. She would really only reiterate that her father had started coming back around, forgiving her for whatever they'd argued about before. Tali needed his approval and validation about whatever this was. Hence why she was on these missions to retrieve those inactive geth parts, to help with his research. As a favor to him. So there was something going on there. Something was wrong. And all I wanted to do was fix this for her. To make this right. To make up for what I'd done, in basically taking Liara away from her. The only person who could've helped her get through all this.

I felt this stronger need to protect her, every day going forward. All for one simple reason.

Tali had been with me since the very beginning.

She was all I had left.

Sniffling, wiping away the emotions that had slipped from my eyes, I realized how much time had passed. I recalled that it was still February. And I remembered:

It was almost Valentine's Day. The day after tomorrow. I wondered if Miranda was aware.

Curious, considering, I used my omni-tool to do some research. First, by looking up the origins of Miranda's name. Latin roots, like mine. Not too surprising. And this was originally the same name of a character from The Tempest, a comedic play by William Shakespeare. The prodigal virgin daughter of Prospero, courted by a prince named Ferdinand.

Perfect. Peerless. The best collection of her genes, each from various sources. Worthy of admiration:

Admired Miranda!
Indeed the top of admiration! Worth
What's dearest to the world! Full many a lady
I have eyed with best regard and many a time
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues
Have I liked several women; never any
With so fun soul, but some defect in her
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed
And put it to the foil: but you, O you,
So perfect and peerless, are created
Of every creature's best!

I am in my condition
A prince, Miranda—I do think, a king;
I would, not so!—and would no more endure
This wooden slavery than to suffer
The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak:
The very instant that I saw you did
My heart fly to your service, there resides
To make me slave to it, and for your sake
Am I this patient log-man.

These verses spelled out so much of how I felt.

How I viewed Miranda in this blossoming romanticism.

Not idealizing her, or putting her up on a pedestal. Instead, she challenged me to be gentler. More understanding than I thought I was. More patient. So I decided to do something for Miranda, for Valentine's Day. I could buy gifts for her. Ask her out on a date. Giving her a preview of that life with me.

Eyes still locked to the words of this play, the low rumble of my omni-tool went off, making me smile.

[17:43:12] Miranda: Shepard, I have a complaint. A grievance.

[17:43:35] Me: What's wrong?

[17:44:04] Miranda: The mirror in here is broken. I can't see myself properly for anything after showering. I've had to use my compact mirror instead. Why haven't you had this fixed yet?

[17:44:16] Me: Sorry. I keep forgetting.

[17:45:02] Miranda: Well, I'm waiting for a solution this time.

[17:46:30] Me: You can come stay in my room instead. The mirror in this bathroom isn't broken.

[17:49:05] Miranda: Do you mean now?

[17:50:34] Me: Yes.

[17:52:44] Miranda: Are you sure you want to see me? I'm not wearing what I normally did when I was here before. I actually have on what I'm most comfortable in. I might surprise you.

[17:53:30] Me: Then surprise me. Come in here. We can watch something on TV and talk together.

[17:56:09] Miranda: Only if you promise to behave yourself.

[17:56:40] Me: I promise I'll behave.

[18:02:11] Miranda: I'll be right there.

Belated, I used my omni-tool to open a spot on my ceiling, near the windows across from the bed. My other gigantic TV screen shifted down from the space, suspended there; covering the sunset light filtering from outside. I turned the TV on, figuring Miranda would appreciate the fashion channel. Coverage for New York Fashion Week was currently on 24/7: and right now, Vera Wang was on display, with the show featuring a wedding-like theme with the runway's visuals, this close to Valentine's Day. To make sure we could see everything properly, I halved the blinds to dim more of the light in the room, leaving the television screen to shine as much as possible.

As soon as I finished, Miranda entered the room…

As a statement like the models walking the runway, she walked around my bed, around to the other side, since I was already on the side closest to the door. In pure confidence by that striking sway of her hips, she kept her eyes locked to mine, taking in my stunned reaction.

Shaping her, fitting her perfectly, Miranda had on a black, sleeveless, solid lace nightdress. Walking the way she did with her self-assurance, she almost fooled me into thinking she had on a short, tight bodycon dress instead, with the cut reaching her mid-thighs. The V-neck along her front had just enough traditional lace to conceal her technically-visible cleavage in a smart way. At the right angle, I could see the V-back revealing the polish of her spine in this lighting.

And as Miranda circled around at last to the other side, getting into bed with me, my eyes followed her face, and her hair shifting along her shoulders, as impossibly beautiful as she was. But in my periphery, always, I caught the impeccable contours of her curves as she moved. And her thighs, thicker as she shifted. Settling in with me under the sheets.

She still had on her collar, too.

Admiring, admiring…with my mind wandering.

Miranda knew.

She grabbed one of the pillows, hitting me with it. "Didn't I tell you to behave?"

Mind still wandering, I told her again, "I'll be on my best behavior."

Miranda scoffed. "You're incorrigible."

Enjoying her attitude, I reached my arm around her smooth shoulders, pulling her closer to me.

Taking her own turn to be surprised, Miranda hesitated a bit.

I eased her over, more, having us lean back against the plush-like wall of my pillows behind us. She soon gave in with a sigh, moving into my guidance: settling her head over my chest, relaxing here. Freshness from her recent shower reached my nose, with Miranda's heady midnight scent tempting me in this new, feminine allure of hers.

Warmth from the top of her head stayed just along my jaw with us in this position; with Miranda feeling unexpectedly small and submissive in my hold, tempting me all over again. This contrast of how I stayed up at a strong angle, with her curling into me like this, with her hand along my tank top, teasing the possibility of moving into me more—all of it created this heart-throbbing sense of her security with me.

Listening to this throbbing beneath her ear, Miranda seemed more at peace with me because of it.

If we were going to get anywhere, I understood that I needed to keep giving her this sense, this feeling.

Providing this security for her.

Not my madness. Not my penchant for breaking.

To keep this going, I asked her, "Have you ever been to Fashion Week?"

Miranda sighed in regret. "No, actually," she replied. "I haven't. I really should have attended at least one show by now. There was never a good time. I was always busy with work or school. I would certainly like to go someday."

"Which one did you have in mind?"

"Paris Fashion Week is a clear draw," she noted, with a pleasant lilt to her soft voice. "There's a certain…romance in Paris, and in Parisian high fashion. Haute couture craftsmanship is very gorgeous. I also wouldn't mind attending the shows in Milan someday. But if I could only choose one, I'd have to go with the venue we're watching now. New York."

"Really?" I wondered. "That's…"

Miranda laughed softly.

"Unexpected? I know," she said. "Let's just say I enjoy New York City quite a lot. It's where I attended university for my undergraduate degree. This was around the time I joined Cerberus. I spent all of my time focusing on work and school during those years. There simply wasn't room for me to see the sights and take in the city. Not as much as I would have liked."

"Understandable. Which school did you go to? Columbia? I can see you going there."

"Mmm, no," she answered, sounding amused. "Though I did consider it. That wasn't my first choice."

"Then which university did you decide on?"

Miranda chose to be mysterious: "I'll tell you another time. The short of it is: after I ran away from my father, I didn't join Cerberus right away. I didn't even have the chance to attend the school I wanted. Not immediately. I went through a situation first. Before I attended university. Before I contacted the Illusive Man and signed on with Cerberus. That era of my life…it's extremely personal. I've never told anyone about this before. But, if you keep this up with me, you won't have to wait for too long."

"Keep what up, exactly?" I asked, respecting her privacy.

"This," she repeated, softer. "What you're doing right now. Your intentions. You've surprised me."

Heat on heat, Miranda's skin felt warmer. Her shoulder under my palm, shaped in a limber elegance. And this side of her face along my chest, from the way she might have been blushing again. Maybe without realizing it, again.

I wanted to know, "You're not afraid of me anymore?"

Miranda shook her head, with the warmer roots of her sleek hair brushing along my face.

"Are you still afraid of yourself? What you're capable of?"

"I'm mostly over that," she shared. "I did what I needed to do. Being with you like this…it helps me."

"Then tell me what's on your mind," I requested. "Talk to me, Miranda. I'm not going anywhere."

Conscientious as ever, Miranda took a moment to consider. To really think before speaking.

As she did, I discerned this new taste in my chest, already having risen from my core. The shape of Miranda's contemplation inspired this rising in me. Not an element, not a familiar sense that I could name and describe, or liken to anything else I'd ever known. Just the beginnings. But even these beginnings, this prelude was enough of a preview of the rest: peace and tranquility brimming beneath a more explosive surface. That halving point, that barrier separating and joining the two at once…that was where I was at. That churning of contradictions existing in one place, as serenity building and rising up to an endless climax of chaos—sexual in need, and in locked attachments—blanketing and embracing me.

All because of the way Miranda needed to feel this security with me.

Like her life depended on it, but she would never be that overt about it.

Not in an obvious way.

By the virtue of her lowered guard around me, when she was so accustomed to being so withdrawn—I understood completely. She didn't need to explain herself, how she felt. I respected her reservations.

Unspoken, my understanding, and my respect had Miranda moving into me more, comforting.

"Shepard, this is all very new for me," she expressed. "I know I gave you my terms, last week. About wanting a long-term relationship with you. But I've never actually been in one before. I don't think I've ever even…dated anyone, either. I've only had certain arrangements for sex—or something similar. Some long-term, though most were only one-night stands. So this is mostly unfamiliar territory."

For sex…or something similar?

As curious as I was, I had a feeling that Miranda wouldn't exactly elaborate on that particular detail.

So I asked instead, "Is this why you put that hard limit on us having sex right now?"

Miranda grumbled, "I won't be another notch on your bedpost."

"You know that's not what I'm about," I countered.

"Not initially, no," she pointed out. "Though considering your relationship history, you'll have to excuse me for being the least bit…concerned. About ending up the same way as your exes. I'm not afraid of you anymore. I'm afraid of that possibility. I refuse to be yet another footnote in your history, forgotten and discarded in your justifications. If I don't wind up dead, then that right there would destroy me. I don't want you to ever move on from me. I want to be completely special in your eyes." I could accept that. "Don't get me wrong. I'm quite relieved that you seem all right. After everything that's happened, I can't see you necessarily bringing on that type of baggage with me. I suppose it's a double-edged sword."

"Are you worried that if something happened, we wouldn't be able to work things out?"

Thankful that I'd brought this up first, Miranda replied, "Yes, I am. I'm more than worried about it. In fact, the mere idea terrifies me. Especially because I've never had to deal with that before. Whenever I was done with someone, it was all too simple to cut them off and forget about them. That's what I'm used to. Even with our previous situation. I don't want to suffer any sort of karma with you."

I reminded her, "Miranda, you have a serious advantage here."

"I don't want this to be about that. I want it to be about me, about us. Not what I've done for you."

"Okay," I accepted. "Then we'll set that aside. What do you need from me?"

Miranda shifted against me, awkward in her energy.

"A lot, Shepard. I need a lot from you."

"Such as?"

"A continuation of how things have been between us thus far. On an emotional level. Sexually as well."

I understood. "You need me to be a provider for you."

Too prideful, or too awkward again, Miranda wouldn't respond to that.

She didn't have to say anything.

"Intellectually, we have that part taken care of," I said, to get it out of the way. "Don't you think?"

"We do," she agreed. "No concerns there. Though there is something that's been bothering me."

"What is it?"

Miranda brought it back, "When I first messaged you, and we had that brief exchange…you told me that we weren't equals. As if to place yourself above me. With our chain of command, of course, I am subordinate to you. I would never change that. But is that all you meant? Or did you mean it in a more holistic way as well? I'm trying to figure out if you'd ever allow us to be equals. Interpersonally, that is."

"I shouldn't have said that," I conceded. "You proved me wrong. Regardless of the power dynamic between us, I do see you as my equal. I've only ever felt this way with you. So this is new for me, too."

"And what if I told you that I don't want this power dynamic to remain set in stone with us?"

I felt my heartbeats quicken from her sultry tone, from her suggestiveness. "What do you mean?"

"Mentally," continued Miranda, well-aware of my reaction, "I'm used to being in control. The first night we were here, and we had that encounter—I don't know if you noticed the shift between us. How I found solid ground to stand on once you handed the reins over to me. More than anything, that single moment helped to set me on this road to recovery. If not for that, I'm not sure what would have become of me. I'd probably still be locked in the other room, refusing to speak to you at all."

This sounded familiar… "Are you saying you want both with me? As in switching?"

"Yes, Shepard. Eventually. When it's right. We don't need to discuss it now. I'm only making you aware."

"That's fine with me," I told her. "Whatever the dynamic is, though, you seem happy with where we are today. Pleased. You know that I'm a people-pleaser. But that's what keeps getting me in trouble."

Miranda clarified: "I'm not out to take advantage of you. I could never do that. And I understand that I hold a certain amount of power over you. We both appear to enjoy this. I simply want you to know that I'm choosing to be responsible with my power. I will always be responsible with this. Especially with you. This is my way of returning the favor. Taking care of you, in my own way. Whatever you need. In return, I want you to continue on with what you've been doing for me. Just…more. Deeply so, with your heart."

"Then that's what I'll do."

Taking the risk, I eased Miranda even closer to me.

Bringing her over, she let herself lay on me, against me. Even as her movements slowed in her genuine surprise, Miranda allowed this closeness with us. She settled her head completely over my chest, resting here. Listening to me breathe over her hair; listening to the TV in a restful attentiveness, finding a delicate sort of sentimentality from the rest of this Vera Wang set for Fashion Week.

Guarding her like this, settled my arms around Miranda's neck, around the flow of her hair, learning more about her heat, and the way she smelled in this heady allure. Nestled in my guarding, I felt the broadening of her smile over my shirt, from the way her lips curled up in her contented mood. Comfortable and secure with me.

I knew that Miranda wouldn't let me kiss her. And I obviously couldn't touch her. Not now. Not yet.

So we stayed like this through the night. Darkening outside, and in here, with only the TV lighting us. I remained here just like this, guarding and holding her, until she fell asleep eventually. Trusting me like this. Showing that she truly wasn't afraid of me anymore. And deep down, helping me feel like less of a monster for what I had done to my exes.

Such a novel feeling, so soothing:

For the most part, I was so used to giving in relationships. Giving, giving, and giving, and never feeling sure if my self-sacrificing well had ever filled up again. Or if it had, there would somehow be too much resentment clogging the spring, bogging me down. Drawing me to anger. Drawing me to indifference, to check out from the relationship and to leave—usually in the most drastic way possible.

With Miranda, I finally saw something different. In trusting me the way she did—after everything—I felt her replenishing this spring without trying. Nourishing me. I'd never had this feeling before. I almost had. Sort of. Not quite close enough. Not at all like the way it was now, with her.

Miranda had been ready for me all these years. And I'd had no idea.

I made up my mind, then, to make up for lost time.

The next day, I left the apartment under the guise of going shopping for groceries or whatever else.

I had planned on doing that, yes.

I even got it out of the way first, just to have something to show for my time away from the house. But it wasn't my main objective.

Tomorrow was Valentine's Day.

I planned on making it special for Miranda…without going overboard this soon.

Driving my car to the store I had in mind, I felt my doubts about to get the better of me. Even with the soothing rainfall pouring down through the town, I couldn't really sit still in my seat. Blurry glares from the headlights and brake lights from the rest of the cars out on the highway: they beamed through the chilly, gloomy afternoon, with the cement-gray of the clouds looming over the decent traffic around. With my car's heater on, I felt cozy enough in my black N7 hoodie, my dark jeans and combat boots as rain boots. Though it said a lot that I didn't even have any of my music on. It wouldn't have helped me.

I focused on the road as best as I could, past my windshield wipers working overtime to keep this rain from the glass. My mind kept wandering back to Miranda—to how unexpected all of this was. My hands couldn't stop shaking right now as I drove. Because I had no idea what would happen tomorrow:

I really couldn't know what Miranda would think of this. She'd made it pretty clear that she had never been in an actual relationship before. So this type of thing must have been meaningless to her. She even seemed oblivious as to the approaching day, not caring at all. She hadn't mentioned it. Not directly. Not in passing. Not to gripe about it, or to comment about her experiences or non-experiences with all this.

Needless to say, I saw this as a risk. Another risk. A different risk.

I risked turning Miranda off in case she genuinely didn't give a fuck.

Or I risked putting her in an awkward situation, where she felt obligated to react a certain way. Pretending as if she liked my gestures, when she felt the opposite. All while thinking I was such a sap for bothering in the first place.

I would've felt terrible about it…since this was the first time I felt myself actually caring about this day, this gesture—because of Miranda, and only her. Because of how much she had started to consume my thoughts, all without trying. Simply from how exquisite she was.

There was a chance that she would enjoy this.

That I would surprise her.

That this would be special.

So I had decided to take the risk, hoping for the best.

My first stop was a local florist in Hillcrest, not too far from the downtown area.

The softly-colored, boutique-like shop was of course packed with last-minute gift-buyers. I could barely even smell the flowers in here, what with the grumpy, rained-on customers taking up almost all the space and energy in this place. I managed to skirt around them, having already prepared for this ahead of time. While everyone else settled on plain, regular old flowers that would die in a few weeks—at most—I had reserved the everlasting roses I wanted, not minding the price. These were much rarer and more expensive than the red and white ones I'd bought before. All because of the color I'd picked out.

I'd considered only getting a single rose. That wouldn't have been enough.

I settled on buying her a real bouquet of everlasting roses instead.

Not red, like everyone else. Like I'd bought before.

Not white, either. Again, like before.

This purposeful violet color, from how regal Miranda was to me. In my eyes, she was also the perfect blend of paragon virtuousness and renegade ruthlessness: blue and red mixed together. Violet, always.

I had a feeling that Miranda was very high-maintenance. Thinking about it now while I collected her flowers, I felt myself smiling over the idea, over the obvious. I actually…liked this about her. I loved that Miranda was so particular and discerning in her tastes. This gave me extra motivation to please her; to more-than-satisfy her. The place I had in mind to take her out for dinner tomorrow evening: it would definitely fit the bill. I hoped she would at least enjoy that, even if she wasn't into the gifts I gave her.

I could afford her.

I hoped that Miranda appreciated this, too.

My next stop was a wine store a few blocks away. Once again packed with last-minute customers shopping for their partners—I found my way around, again, to get what I'd requested ahead of time. In the spirit of trying something new, I settled on buying some red wine for us. Nothing too new, since I planned on having us share this during dinner together. I found a bottle of Pinot Noir from the vineyards here in California. More earthy and dry than sweet. Taking a guess that Miranda would like this, I bought it for her, for us, again skipping the lines, getting in and out of the store and away from the madness.

Driving downtown across the highway, I made my way to the store I had in mind for chocolate. So far, Miranda's roses and wine sat in the passenger's seat at my side, acting as my companions. I had a full view of the Pacific Ocean stretching onward in a perfect blue, well past the rainy horizon of the towering cityscape. This gloom, this gray comforted me more, just from the contrast against the sleek sharpness of the silver buildings rising high through the sky. These sights gave me an added memory to hold on to: of my nerves, and of why they still hadn't gone away.

After parking my car again, and putting on my hood to cover my hair again, I went into the next shop—the Godiva store for purely-crafted Belgian chocolate. Bright white interior and surfaces lit up almost like a perfume store or a café, this place was just as packed as the other shops, if not more. I picked up the sleek, decent-sized, golden gift box of milk chocolates that I'd once again reserved ahead of time.

But I lingered in the store for a bit, thinking.

This was supposed to be my last stop. Afterward, I'd planned on driving back home. Leaving the gifts in my car, for now, just to hide them. And then I'd find the courage to give everything to Miranda in the afternoon tomorrow, giving her plenty of time to get ready for our dinner date…if she accepted.

I spotted some of the other people around me, their gift bags. A lot of them had those typical teddy bears. Other stuffed animals. Cute things.

Would Miranda have wanted something…cute?

Not a bear. Not those predictable toys.

Just something else. Something meaningful. Hmm…

Pulling me out of my thoughts, that low rumble from my omni-tool went off:

[16:49:15] Miranda: Shepard, where are you? Are you still shopping for the food you mentioned? You've been gone for quite a while. Far longer than every other time you've done this. I could have gone with you had I known you'd be this long.

[16:52:03] Me: Sorry, I'm stuck in traffic. It's raining over here.

[16:52:40] Miranda: Oh. Well, don't let me disturb you while you're driving. I was only curious.

[16:53:30] Me: You can just say you miss me.

[16:57:10] Miranda: I'll see you when you get back.

Laughing over her obvious giveaway, I left the store, making up my mind:

I would go ahead and get this last surprise for Miranda, taking the chance. Taking the risk. Along with something else for myself, to signify this change in my life, in my perspective.

With this change, I felt myself hoping for the best. Hoping in a way that I hadn't done in a long, long time, if ever. Not with this type of purity. Not with this clear-eyed focus from finally knowing who I was, from existing as my own person. For the first time in my life, I could stand on my own in the middle of the world with complete certainty. Even knowing of the challenges ahead—with the mission, with the rest of my growth, with Miranda—I was prepared to face them proudly, as myself. As the only one who could see with my eyes, feel with my heart, and think with my mind: mine and only mine.

Not alone anymore.