Requiem of the Goddess Chapter 29: The Middle of the World, a mass effect fanfic

"The Middle of the World" from Moonlight

XXIX. The Middle of the World

(Miranda)

Comforted in the cozy warmth of Shepard's bed, my nerves accosted me as I awaited her return.

Sitting up against her pillows, still comforted in the reveal of my tight nightdress, I stayed underneath the linen of her sheets, and the soft weight of her comforter. Lights off throughout the apartment in the night, and in the bedroom, only the large television screen hanging from the ceiling lit the area. Golden hues and tones of brown as the sun permeating her bedding, her colors covered my legs that I couldn't quite keep still. Fidgeting and fidgeting, pulling at my freshly-manicured hands, I stared at the television instead of watching it. I had spent an absurd amount of time on my manicure, earlier, to pass the time. To pass this excruciating time with Shepard away and on the road, shopping. Cuticles trimmed, nails rounded around my fingertips as mirrors, and a simple, clear sheen of polish that shined from the misting gold in here. Perfectly clean. Obsessively so, hiding away the obsessions in my thoughts at the time. Yet those thoughts had nested in my mind once more, stronger now, now that I could only wait.

Watching-but-not-watching this final day of events for New York Fashion Week, I half-immersed myself in this ambiance of the ongoing rainstorm outside. Rumbling thunder and flashes of lightning searing through the darkened skies, the rain should have soothed me. But it was precisely the rain that caused me such distress.

And Shepard's unusual lateness.

She had never taken this long before when going out to fetch whatever she had in mind to stock the kitchen with. I also knew for a fact that she was aware of all the secret roads and shortcuts to avoid the worst of San Diego's awful traffic. Even in the rain.

What in the world was taking her so long?

Re-reading our brief chat exchange from around 5:00pm, I fidgeted more. Resisting the urge to message her again. Hating that I hadn't come out and admitted that I did actually miss her. Quite a lot. But I felt so foolish over it. More so as I took note of the time—nearly 7:20pm. I couldn't help imagining the worst. This stubborn downpour from the rain at night muddied my imagination. I trusted Shepard's driving abilities, but I didn't trust other people. I kept thinking that some idiotic driver had crashed into her. Or that she was in fact stuck in traffic, and I wouldn't see her again for hours and hours.

I couldn't keep sitting here, thinking of the worst.

I needed to focus on something else.

And I decided: if Shepard wasn't back in ten minutes, by 7:30pm, then I would…just message her again.

Because that was all I could do. I had already dissolved the band of Cerberus agents that had tried their best to shadow Shepard whenever she was at home. I'd stopped looking—or trying to look—into her communications with others. I'd ended all of those associated activities. I couldn't continue with them anymore. Now that I had sworn my total honesty to Shepard, giving her anything less would have felt like a betrayal. So I simply had to deal with these unknowns. Waiting and waiting. Out of my control.

Not having eyes on her at every minute of every hour of every day…I felt blind all over again.

Glancing around Shepard's bedroom, I noticed a new detail. One that seemed quite out of the ordinary.

Emerging from her bed, I ambled over to one of the windowsills. This same windowsill where I'd noticed something similar over the years, whenever I'd visited. There had been a picture frame here, face-down. Not wanting to be rude or nosey, I had never chosen to investigate the frame. To see what the picture was, and to possibly discover for myself why it had been face-down. But now it was right-side up again.

Seeing the photograph for myself…I understood why it had been face-down before.

And I assumed the worst as to why it was now right-side up…

Shepard and Liara together. On the Presidium. Smiling at one another in an easy fondness and care.

I looked around the bedroom again. That other photograph of Shepard and Ashley together, on the nightstand closest to the door—it was no longer there. Shepard had hidden that one away. But not this one. Not this one of her and Liara. All over again, my assumptions grew worse and worse, as pure chaos.

Taking this frame in my hands, I couldn't help this mist of emotions blurring my eyesight. What only felt like yesterday—I remembered seeing so much of myself in Liara, in studying her. Researching her, before we'd actually spoken together. I had felt eternally drawn to her patience and understanding. How devoted she had been to Shepard, even in the shadows. Unnoticed. Forgotten and left behind in some sense, yet Liara had never once allowed her love to waver. She had placed Shepard's well-being above her own to such extremes. Enough to scheme, to nearly kill, and to make another being suffer the way she had.

In many ways, I had idealized Liara's self-sacrificing style of love. I'd used it to find solace in my own scheming, in my own shadowing. I'd set Liara's manner of romantic tragedy as a guide to follow. All to help me accept my decisions, my choices. And to ease me into the now-defunct reality that Shepard would never notice me, or care for me, or want me in any way whatsoever. I would have gladly continued with my self-sacrifices in romance, and in tragedy, wishing Liara the best in her relationship with Shepard. I would have been eager to simply have Liara as my friend… Filling yet another void.

The praxis of Liara's love for Shepard—how she practiced and applied her feelings—I had wanted to learn more of it, through her friendship. But it had been a foolish wish, as was always the case for me.

The only real friend I'd ever had in my life was dead.

Two decades ago, before I'd joined Cerberus, he had chosen to sacrifice himself for me. To protect me.

Since then, every other friend I'd tried to have, they had also died. Liara and Ashley. Both of them.

The other people in my life had only been my acquaintances. My coworkers. My clients. My enemies.

The Illusive Man was…my mentor. My very enigmatic, father-like mentor who inspired the best in me. Usually.

Shepard was entirely different. She was…so much more than I was used to. She was everything to me.

As my one and only, even though I wasn't hers, my paranoia about her came back up again. About her dying, again. As if she would die, all because her life was now out of my hands. Out of my control.

And so was her heart.

Moonlight hidden behind the harsh black of the night's clouds, again. Once again, Shepard's favorite type of weather had obscured her hometown. Once more, I stood here in the blend of golden mist and the sight of San Diego's cityscape, wondering where I fit in the world. Wondering where I fit in Shepard's world, now that she had invited me to stay with her in this way. Now that I had earned my place by her side, serving as her second-in-command as I had longed for. Now that I had this photograph in my hands, paranoid all over again that I would never truly have Shepard's heart here in my hold. Worrying that her truest affections would be forever out of my reach, as if she longed for this woman instead. This wonderful, brilliant, patient woman whom I felt as if I could never live up to, even though she was dead.

Pure serendipity:

As soon as I began to worry in earnest about Liara, about Shepard possibly still being in love with her…

That soothing voice sounded from the VI, in the living room—"Welcome home, Commander Shepard."

Out of respect for Liara and Shepard both, I set their picture back on the windowsill. Still staring at it, gazing at the photo as the lightning flashed outside, I waited. Waiting, while I listened to Shepard in the kitchen, setting away her shopping that had taken forever. Judging by how quickly she finished putting everything away, she hadn't purchased all that much.

Regardless, most of my anxieties had left me by now. Leaving my body with my breaths. Leaving more as I listened to Shepard pottering around in there, glad that she was all right. Though I breathed some of this unease right back in as the storm grew worse beyond the windows. Raindrops battering against the glass, I couldn't even hear the nearby television anymore. So Shepard had returned home just in time.

She also made her way to the bedroom right on time.

I couldn't hear her footsteps, muffled by her socks along the smooth wooden floor of the hallway.

I merely saw Shepard's reflection through the glass. Her echoed beauty lit up and exposed by the bright golden lights shining in from the city's buildings in this view. Her black N7 hoodie, her hair flowing down her front, and her purposeful stare, with her night vision finding my eyes through our reflection.

This all felt familiar. But not quite the same as last time.

Footsteps muffled more by the clean carpet in the bedroom, Shepard approached me.

Coming closer to me.

Finding me in the comfort and vulnerability of my nightdress, not at all meant to entice her for sex.

Shepard stopped only a few paces behind me. This whole time, she had kept her eyes to mine. Not once allowing her sight to wander over my body. Yet I almost wanted her to be more forward in her desires, needing to see that she found me attractive. That of course went against my other needs, for her to go at my pace. We couldn't rush this…though I still longed to know that she actually liked me first.

She could've at least given me a hug, after having kept me waiting for so long. As a start.

Considerate in her tone, Shepard spoke to me, "My clothes are still a little damp. From the rain."

"I can see that, yes," I replied, noticing that dark dampness through our reflection.

"Do you want me to hold you anyway?"

Still staring at this picture, I breathed out more of my worries, my anxieties.

Stepping closer to me, Shepard did as I wanted.

Dampness of her clothes dissolving in the warmth of her care, she held me around my waist, so much like she had done before. This time, with me wearing so much less, she made me feel this difference. Slight wetness of her hoodie pressed against my back; of her jeans pressed against the backs of my thighs, my legs; and the soft cotton of her socks just near my bare skin. Shepard welcomed me farther into her hold. She stood tall behind me, the side of her jaw pressed just near the top of my head. Such a disadvantage without my usual heels, though I found myself enjoying this difference between us. All from this added protectiveness I hadn't expected to want, to need, to bask in as I leaned back, into her.

Quiet breaths, with her nose above my hearing.

Quieter contemplations, with the delicacy of her perfectly-thick lips just along my ear, nearer.

I saw Shepard staring down at that picture.

I felt her sensing me, reading me. Learning me, knowing me through this rain, this thunder and lightning.

But first, she apologized, "I'm sorry I kept you waiting, Miranda. Didn't mean to take that long."

"I know you didn't," I forgave. "You're home now. You're safe. That's what matters most to me."

As an answer to my worries, my anxieties, this lightning surged between us. So much like when she had welcomed me to the team properly, shaking my hand. That exact feeling permeated us both. Surging more, permeating more: all from the way Shepard held me in her confidence. How she knew enough of my concerns, of my worries, of what I fretted about. Especially since she had found me here. Right here.

Letting me go for now, for the right reason—Shepard picked up the picture frame with her and Liara.

As the next answer to my anxieties, Shepard then left the room. I followed her. Following her down the hall, I stopped in the living room. But Shepard continued on, through to the guest room. From here, I stood and watched as she set the photograph in there. On the desk, by her terminal and her textbooks in that neat stack. Disappearing into the guest room, more, Shepard rummaged around for something in there. Something in the drawers from the dresser, by those opening and closing sounds of shifting wood.

Shepard returned soon after, carrying a pillow from the bed, and a snug-looking violet blanket. She reached me here by the couch, with such a gentle smile. Setting the pillow near the arm of the couch, and placing the blanket down, she appreciated this surprise about me.

"We'll have a talk," she decided. "After I take a shower. For now, why don't you get settled here?"

I smiled at her. "You're very sweet, you know."

I liked that she actually smiled more, instead of trying to hide it.

While I sat up against the pillow, facing the windows, Shepard returned to the kitchen. I settled beneath the soft, slightly-weighted warmth of this blanket, comforted more as I lay over the couch. Pleased here, insulated here, I listened as Shepard prepared some tea, filling the kettle with water and heating it on the stove. As she waited the relatively short time for the water to finish boiling, Shepard simply stayed in the kitchen. She seemed to be ruminating about something in there. Thinking. Wondering. Deciding.

Not long after, the high-pitched whistling from the kettle interrupted her thoughts. I smiled to myself as Shepard grumbled over the fuss, the noise, adding to this sense of nostalgia I felt from everything. She quickly dealt with the issue, ending the whistle. I listened as Shepard poured the water into one of the special mugs she had bought for me. Just enough honey, just enough sweetness—she had quite the talent for knowing exactly how much I wanted. She'd even gotten it right for me the very first time.

Shepard returned to my side, carrying that Virgo mug in both of her hands. Surprising me in the best way possible, she knelt down as she offered me my tea. Kneeling with such purpose. Such heat steamed from my face; I almost couldn't believe my eyes. More heat steaming up from the lemon scent in her hold, this look in Shepard's eyes spoke such volumes. All of the ways she had grown to cherish me.

"Thank you, Shepard," I accepted, taking the tea with both hands as well. "You're incredibly thoughtful."

Standing with her thoughtfulness, Shepard leaned down to me this time.

She rested her lips along the top of my heated forehead. Cherishing me more, she placed her hand along the back of my head. Savoring me. Learning me in this way, with her palm so perfectly rounded over me, over my hair. And I loved that Shepard lingered here, thinking more; continuing on with her thoughts from the kitchen. I loved curling up here beneath this blanket, with this warm lemon and honey scent drifting up to my nose in an easy relaxation. I loved that she made me feel this special, so unexpected.

Shepard's deep voice reverberated through me. "We'll talk more when I get out the shower."

"Of course," I replied. "I'll be right here."

"Did you want the TV on?"

I shook my head beneath her lips, her breaths over my hair. I enjoyed watching the rain like this.

"Then I'll be back soon."

Once Shepard returned to her room, this thunderstorm kept me company. I sipped my tea in peace, savoring this flavor and care and heat warming my core. Though I felt myself growing more worried about the severity of this storm. The winds had started howling, racing the trajectory of the raindrops off to a steep angle over the windows. Violet lighting of the clouds holding the lightning—the city's many skyscrapers beyond seemed like rods close to conducting too much attention.

So, some twenty minutes later, when the lightning flashed hardest, I wasn't surprised:

Flickering lights from the city, dimming and fizzing out—everything soon faded to a full blackout.

Somewhere in the bedroom, I heard Shepard cursing over the inconvenience.

I simply smiled to myself, finishing the last of my tea.

The violet of the clouds kept enough light through the windows, here in the apartment. So we weren't in complete pitch-darkness. Since the lights had already been off anyway, I didn't notice much of a difference. Aside from the entire city in my view having gone dark like this.

When Shepard returned in her tank top and sweatpants, looking quite grumpy, I found myself amused.

She didn't say anything at first. Too busy with her task: finding a few scented candles to set nearby, and lighting them. One on the long table with her old sniper rifles, and another along the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. As soon as she lit them, the sweet, sultry chocolate scent reached my nose, blanketing me all over again. This glow from the candlelight added a gentleness to the room. One that I thoroughly enjoyed—especially once Shepard returned to me, her skin alight in that soft glow.

Noticing that I'd finished my tea, she retrieved my cup, setting it on the nearby coffee table.

Shepard then sat down on the couch. Right next to where I had my legs curled up beneath the blanket. Facing her as I faced the windows, the rain, I adored getting to see her like this. As light as they were in color already, her eyes seemed even lighter somehow—heated from the candles, from the flavor of her thoughts that continued to run through her mind.

Oddly meek and unassuming, Shepard regarded me in her thoughts.

Then she said, "I'm guessing there's something you wanna ask me."

I had many questions. Especially about what was on her mind.

Yet I settled on the obvious, "Are you still in love with her? With either of them?"

Shepard gave me her honesty: "No, I'm not actively in love with them. Not anymore."

I both appreciated and feared her answer, her honesty.

"I get it," she noticed. "You're worried that it could happen with you, with us. This is different."

I wondered, "How so?"

"After everything I went through with them…it would make sense for me to keep holding on. To brood and pine after them. To beat myself up over my mistakes. If only… But I don't have that luxury, Miranda. I trusted them, and they kept secrets from me. They lied to me by omission. They never trusted me in the ways I thought they did. So I can't keep holding on. Not when the rest of the team feels as strongly as they do about this. I have to set the example. If they see me moping around, then that'd cause too many doubts. Too many issues. I had to protect them. I had to protect you. It's as simple as that."

Glad for her leadership, I could accept this without necessarily worrying in my selfish way.

"You will always love them, though. Somewhere. Somehow."

Shepard couldn't deny that. "Yeah. I will. Again, it's just not an active thing. I have to look forward."

"What else helped you decide this?" I asked.

"I remembered an important lesson one of them taught me."

"Which is?"

"That I need to stop running away," shared Shepard, in earnest. "Stop running from my feelings."

How fascinating. "So your decision to move on…this isn't about you burying how you truly feel?"

Shepard promised, "I'm not burying anything. I finally feel like my own person. Like I can live for myself. I don't think I've ever had this kind of clarity before. I actually feel grounded. For once in my life, the earth is right beneath my feet. I shouldn't let it go to waste."

"Yes, I have noticed that about you lately. You seem to have grown into your own. As yourself, with your identity. I'm not entirely certain if you're now free from anyone influencing your personality. It could be the case that you are yourself because of those types of reasons. We'll have to wait and see."

"That's true—we'll see, then," she said, smiling a bit. "Is there something else you're curious about?"

Since she was so willing to be honest with me, there was one thing in particular that I wished to know.

I used my finger to beckon her closer.

Eyes growing wide, Shepard did as I pleased. She closed the distance separating us—mostly. As much as I would allow. Too much of a risk as it was, I didn't allow her anywhere in between my legs. Instead, I kept my legs together, arching them around the side of her body. Still hidden beneath the blanket. With her knuckles pressed firmly at either side of me, supporting her weight, she could stay close like this.

Close enough for the natural flex of her bare arms to entice me.

Close enough for her to press her navel along the backs of my thighs, as this barrier between us.

Not too close, to keep her from kissing me just yet.

But close enough for me to smell this new, intoxicating body wash of hers, from her recent shower. Aromatic with the smell of wood, and so distinctly masculine, almost like cologne: Shepard saw the way my face and neck reddened from this surprise. Roguish, she smirked at me in an unintentional sexiness, only making me redden more. Needing a moment, I collected her cascading hair in my hands. Draping it back down her shoulders, down the white of her tank top.

Softly, she prompted me, "What is it?"

I whispered my concern, "Perhaps it's too soon to bring this up…"

"Miranda, don't worry about that. We're supposed to be honest with each other. Remember?"

"That depends on how honest you truly want me to be…"

Shepard merely gave me a look, encouraging me to speak my mind.

Deciding to trust in her, I brought up, "We've gone over your initial feeling with me. When you first saw my smile when you woke up. But there's something more I want to know…" Even though Shepard regarded me in such patience now, she hadn't before, at this point: "During that time after you woke up, when we spoke on Lazarus Station, and while we were on the shuttle—what did you think of me?"

A bit crestfallen, she didn't seem to want to answer my question.

That in itself told me all that I'd feared. Though I still wanted to know the rest.

"Shepard," I said, firm. "Speak your mind. Be honest. What was your other first impression of me?"

Apprehension passed through her eyes, staggering as quickly as the bolts of lightning in the sky outside.

Sugary sweet in her innocence, candied as the scent of the chocolate candles lit around us: I saw the way she didn't want to offend me, or hurt me in any way.

Needing her truth more than I needed her sugarcoating, I waited.

Then, Shepard explained, "I could tell that you were stressed out about something. Knowing what I know now, you had every right to feel that way. I'd just met you, so I wasn't able to give you the benefit of the doubt. Especially once we had that disagreement about you being passive-aggressive with me. If not for my actual first impression of you, I would've thought that you were fake. And full of yourself."

"Go on," I requested, finding that this wasn't so bad after all.

Diplomatic as ever: "I wasn't in the best state of mind at the time."

I simpered over the obvious. "Yes, Shepard, I know. Now give me the rest."

"From the way you kept…switching, I figured that you were a spy. I assumed you took advantage of Ash to get to me somehow. Like you wanted to fuck her over to get me to fuck you instead."

"Well, I would be lying if I said I never thought about it. I just didn't think that it was…feasible."

Something in Shepard's eyes darkened. That black sun, taking me in whole. Darker than this blackout.

"Why not?" she asked. "Why didn't you think it was feasible?"

"You were very much in love with her… It does still frighten me that you're able to set that aside. That you did it so quickly. That you did it at all. I wasn't sure if you ever would. Even if you did take an interest in me while she was around, I imagined I would have to compete with her. That was realistic to me."

"Then what did you want to happen? Even if it was unrealistic. Unfeasible."

Enthralled by her, my focus distending and constricting around her, I opened my legs. Covered and blocked by the blanket between us, Shepard couldn't feel me completely. But even this was more than enough: pulling her into me as fully as I could. Watching the way her sight simmered in this heat of me, eternally respectful even in her growing wants. Growing and showing, I held her face in my hands, adoring her so with my touch. Clairvoyant, or simply attentive to details as always, Shepard seemed to appreciate this refinement about my hands, as if she knew of my manicure, my efforts. As if she knew of my own attention to detail, my obsession with it. As if she sighted my very own obsessions with her, and she wished to know and devour them, given all that I had tried to do to hide this from her.

I had her attention.

I had her burgeoning passions, her swelling fixations on me.

I had her admiration as much as she had access to take me here and now. After so long.

"This. This is what I wanted, Shepard. What we're doing now. What you're finally giving me, right now."

Concentrating on this shape of my own focus, she noticed, "You've been through a lot, Miranda. Haven't you? And I don't just mean from the past couple of weeks since we met. You've been on your own. Dealing with everything yourself. Handling your own problems, alone. You work pretty hard at not letting people get close. Not in the same ways I do. You're a professional at this."

"That sounds about right," I shared. "Old habits. Paranoia. Not wanting to seem imperfect for once, even though I don't feel perfect at all. Anything I have, I feel like I never earned it on my own."

Rather charming, Shepard raised her brow. "Not even me?"

I laughed a little. "You're not mine. Not yet. Or maybe you never will be. I don't know."

"I think you're only saying that to be reasonable."

"Mmm, yes. You don't want to see me when I'm unreasonable. Especially about this. With you."

"Well, since we're putting all our cards on the table," figured Shepard, "You might as well tell me why that is." She seemed to have something specific in mind when she asked: "Who are you at your worst?"

From her memories, so referential, I understood her intent in asking me this right here, right now.

Perhaps she didn't intend on following through on anything tonight. But the possibility was there.

"My absolute worst," I clarified. "Is that what you're asking? You want to know who that person is?"

"Yes, Miranda. That's what I'm asking. I'm going to meet this person eventually. I need a preview first."

"Shepard, you've already seen her. Almost. What I did to your ex. That was nearly it. In this case, the only difference would be…my reasons. My exact justifications. Had I set out to destroy her specifically to have you to myself, then that would've been it. If my main goal was to steal your heart away…then that would be me at my absolute worst."

"You did say that you thought about it," she brought up.

"I did more than that… I used to fantasize about this. This very moment with us. A lot. All the time. It's the only thing that kept me going on some days. I felt monstrous. But still incredibly satisfied."

So much like before, Shepard saw right through me. Almost.

"You're the possessive type. Aren't you?"

Analyzing me with this sharpness about her, she couldn't quite see everything. I wouldn't allow it.

"Yes, that's true," I breathed out. "Though it's nothing you need to worry over. You'll discover what this means for me in due time."

Softly, softly, I continued speaking with Shepard throughout the rest of this blackout. Speaking to her in pleasure, finding her weight over me, between me, more than intoxicating. Holding her closer to me without doing anything more. Without letting her kiss me. Without letting her touch me any further.

My thoughts began to press at me, more and more urgently. Pressing, now that Shepard and I grew closer like this. Pressing more, now that we were on the precipice of a deeper connection. Pressing hardest now that I'd had this taste of her intimacy; now that my own insatiability had begun to form.

Possessiveness for her, wrapping and tightening and coiling around Shepard's psychology like a snake.

Constricting.

But, for now, Shepard appeared entirely unaware of what went on beneath the surface. For now, she and I could enjoy these blossoming times between us. While I observed her for the time being.

After falling asleep at some point for the sake of it, I awoke sometime the next afternoon. Light rainfall drizzling outside, and power restored throughout the area, everything appeared as normal. I found that Shepard wasn't here on the couch, though she'd left the television on for me. Today was apparently the first day of London Fashion Week. Their iconic streetwear and government protests were on display just now. Victoria Beckham's current successor would be up for their runway show right after this one. Burberry was scheduled to be on sometime later this evening. I was of course looking forward to it.

Though I had admittedly lost track of the days. Rainy afternoons and evenings blurring into one, all I knew was that it was still February. I recognized that I'd desperately needed this break. Before Shepard had brought me home with her, I'd never really allowed myself any time to breathe. Not even when I would take time off during the project. Still focused on what to do next when I returned to work, even during my sanctioned breaks.

Not this time.

I folded the blanket and set it over the couch, with the pillow. As I did this, I smiled over the long night Shepard and I had spent talking together. That blackout had turned into a convenience for us.

Wandering into Shepard's bedroom, I discovered that she wasn't in here, either.

Had she left somewhere? Again?

Not wanting to seem overbearing, I decided to wait before sending her a message. I took a shower first in her bathroom, as allowed. Although, I hoped Shepard would do something about that broken mirror in the guest room. I remembered the first time I'd seen it. Knowing right away that Shepard herself had likely caused such destruction. Understanding how angry she used to be, years ago. Angry at the world, at everyone. So I had wondered, then, how things could have gone between us if I really had met her earlier in life. While she had still been that angry. If she would have taken her anger out on me, similarly.

I had wondered if I would have stayed regardless, trying to fix her. Trying…to love her anyway.

In my depravity, my desperation, I had decided then that I would have stayed.

Disordered thoughts of mine, coalescing back into my consciousness:

No regard for my own safety. Sacrificing myself for her. Unable to give up on her in any way whatsoever.

I set that aside for now as I finished with my shower. Using Shepard's holo-closet linked to mine, I put on a fresh set of clothes—or rather, another one of my nightdresses. Black again, and more or less the same design, as I enjoyed. While I was about to start with my skin and hair routines, I decided to send Shepard a message. I was surprised that she answered right away. So I continued writing back and forth to her in between my moisturizing and such, determined to get to the bottom of her strange behavior.

[16:59:02] Me: Shepard, where are you? Did you leave the apartment again?

[16:59:30] Shepard: I'm in my car.

[17:00:40] Me: What do you mean, you're in your car? You're in the underground parking lot, here in the building? Or are you out driving somewhere?

[17:02:04] Shepard: I'm in the parking lot in the building, yes. Sitting in my car.

[17:02:29] Me: Why?

[17:05:10] Shepard: Making up my mind about something.

[17:07:01] Me: Shepard, this is all incredibly vague. You could have left me a message about this. I don't like not knowing where you are. It stresses me out.

[17:10:20] Shepard: Sorry, Miranda.

[17:12:50] Me: I don't want an apology. I just want an explanation. What are you making up your mind about? And why did you need to leave to your car to do this?

[17:15:18] Shepard: I have something to give you. It's here in my car. I'm not sure if you'll like it.

[17:17:02] Me: Something to give me? Do you mean…a gift?

[17:20:29] Shepard: Yes.

[17:22:03] Me: Oh… That's kind of you. Thank you for thinking of me. But is this why you took so long to return home last night? You weren't really stuck in traffic. That was only a white lie, wasn't it?

[17:25:44] Shepard: Yes.

[17:27:03] Me: Well, judging by the time you keep taking to respond, you must be nervous. Perhaps shy as well. As adorable as you are, you don't need to feel this way. It's only me.

[17:31:10] Shepard: It's because it's you that I'm nervous. Like I said, I don't know if you'll like what I bought. I didn't get one thing. There's more than one gift.

[17:32:01] Me: You'll never know until you show me. Unless you'd rather ask my opinion ahead of time.

[17:34:20] Shepard: I don't want to ask. I've made up my mind. I'll give them to you.

[17:34:58] Me: Mmm, you should. I'm certainly in no position to turn this down. I'm very curious.

[17:36:22] Shepard: All right. I want you to wait for me in the living room. Sit on the couch, facing the windows. Away from the door. And close your eyes when I tell you to.

[17:37:02] Me: As you wish. I'll be waiting for you.

[17:38:20] Shepard: I'm on my way back now. I won't be long.

Dealing with this silly grin on my face, I returned to the living room. As instructed, I sat down on the couch. Sitting with my back to the door, against the armrest. Settling beneath the blanket again, legs crossed. I stared out the window during this brief wait. Noticing that the rain had stopped. Clouds thinning away to reveal the nearing sunset, the skies brightening in a blaze. Such immaculate timing.

More immaculate and impeccable than all, Shepard returned home. Her VI welcomed her as usual. Beneath the sounds of that artificial voice, I heard something shifting in Shepard's arms. As if she held a number of items. Absolutely more than one gift for me, then. Each one well-thought out, as I expected.

But why? What was the occasion?

Since Shepard was nervous, there had to be a reason for these gifts. Otherwise, she wouldn't have taken this route in choosing to court me. Whatever this was about, it sounded as if it was out of her comfort zone. She wasn't in her element. Though that only made my heart swell all over again in excitement.

Nearing me here on the couch, she ordered, "Close your eyes now."

Grinning more, I did as I was told. "Yes, all right."

For added effect, I covered my eyes with my hands. Just to show her that I wasn't cheating.

Listening to her gifts shifting and shifting in her hold, it sounded as if Shepard walked around to the other side of the couch. Sitting opposite me. Facing me. And settling her presents behind her. Out of my view for when I opened my eyes once more. I listened more closely as she sat there. Gathering the last of her courage to do this. Then I heard even more shifting, like a gathering of items held together. Quite a few items, whatever they were. Rustling a bit as she brought them in front of her.

That remarkably rich, rosy smell…

"Open your eyes."

My hands that had been over my eyes: I placed them over my mouth instead, over my gasp of surprise.

Such a bountiful, boundless, beautiful bouquet of violet roses she held out to me.

Thorn-free stems held together at the base, by Shepard's hand as she offered me this gift from the bottom of her heart. Perfectly-curated in rarity, every single bloom of each petal smiled out in a sultry confidence, with purple as regality. Purple as violet, in that specific purpose that Shepard had no doubt picked up on. Violet as she saw me. As she liked me. Wanted me. The same shade of violet as this blanket covering my legs. The very same color as her video game controller sitting on the coffee table. And not just any roses.

Everlasting.

Marked as such by the endless scent each flower gave off, as if freshly-cut from the garden. Brand new.

Accepting this gift, Shepard's thoughtfulness in my hands, I smelled this forever-aroma up close. Closer, bringing the heady weight of these roses to me, I fell in love with them more. The soft purity of the petals almost tickled my bare skin exposed by my nightdress. Rounding off this perfection, Shepard gazed at me in such a look of completeness. As if she found her one true purpose in pleasing me. Cherishing me. Making me feel this special, as only she could do. Finally validating all these years I'd spent longing for her, for this romance.

Completely speechless, all I could do was stare at her.

"It's Valentine's Day, Miranda. I wanted to surprise you."

Valentine's Day…

The one day of the year I had made great efforts to banish from my mind. Not wanting the reminders. Not wanting to experience the shame, the regret of my eternally single life. Not wanting any other reason to remember that I'd only ever connected with others through sex. Or by dominating them.

Magical in her own efforts, Shepard managed to wave away all those reasons for my selective memory.

All the shame, regret, and hurt, gone.

Replaced with her generosity, in offering a second gift to me:

Reaching behind her, Shepard presented me with a golden box filled with about a dozen Godiva chocolates. Belgian chocolates. Finely-crafted chocolates. The very same chocolates that I used to privately scorn whenever I would pass by the Godiva store in a mall or someplace else. The exact same that I would want and crave on my own…but only if someone gave them to me. As a gift. To admire me.

Setting the roses down over my lap, I accepted the box in my hands.

Feeling a bit less nervous now, Shepard asked me, "Do you like milk chocolate?"

Still quite unable to find my voice, I only nodded.

Handsome as ever, she smiled at me anyway. Not minding at all.

As she reached behind her back for a third time, I heard something unexpected. As if Shepard's short nails came into contact with glass. And then she procured a bottle. A glass bottle. A dark bottle of wine.

Red wine.

A bottle of Pinot Noir from here in California. One that had likely cost her a fair bit of credits.

But I thought…

Shepard noticed, "You already know I'm not a fan of red wine."

"Well…yes," I whispered. "If anything, I figured you'd have purchased your white wine instead."

"I get the feeling you like red wine more than white."

"Of course I do… I enjoy this one in particular as well. I'm surprised you knew."

So simple: "Then I'm willing to try something new with you, Miranda."

I laughed a little with that simplicity.

Still holding the wine, Shepard wished to know, "I was wondering…if we could drink this tonight. Not here at home." More than interested, I wanted her to continue on. "I know we haven't been able to go anywhere because of the rain. And because we needed time. Moving past everything that happened. Now that we're okay again, I'd like you to come out with me. On a date. To dinner. Just the two of us."

Adoring her directness, her candor, I replied, "I'm very impressed, Shepard. That doesn't happen often, if at all. You've truly blown me away with all of this. So my answer is yes. I'll join you. Absolutely."

"Impressing you is the bare minimum with me," she said, confident in her charms.

Brow raised in intrigue, I asked her, "Is it, now?"

"I don't do anything halfway."

Laughing in absolute delight, I couldn't help how much she'd captivated me. "Apparently not. Though I do appreciate that about you. It goes a long way, as I'm sure you know."

"I figured as much," replied Shepard, setting the wine on the coffee table. "I hope you're in the mood for seafood, then. Since we're in San Diego. It's only fitting." I smiled, letting her know that I was in the mood. Yet I noticed some lingering hesitations about her. "Technically…I bought one more thing for you. It's what ended up taking me the longest last night. Driving around everywhere to find what I was looking for. But at the same time, I wasn't even sure if you'd like it. Doesn't seem like it's your thing."

"Well, if you really aren't sure," I said, "Then why don't you wait first? Try giving it to me later. Another time. There's no pressure. No rush. You'll probably feel more certain about it after a while longer."

"All right," she accepted, sounding relieved. "I'll save it for now. Maybe for a rainy day."

A little disappointed, I went with her decision. "Mmm, if you say so." Noticing that Shepard was still rather withdrawn, I reached over to her. "Come here. Let me thank you properly for the presents. You didn't have to go through all this trouble for me. You've made this day incredibly special nonetheless."

Reaching across the gorgeous flowers, and the box of chocolates, I pulled Shepard closer to me. Smelling of roses herself from sitting in her car earlier, I adored this feeling. The way she almost buried her face against my neck. Too shy to look at me. But bold enough to meet the swell of her lips to the slope of my neck, once, savoring; enough to rouse me all over. Trying not to react too much, I stifled the low sigh I let out, knowing what I could've done to her. Knowing what I could've inspired in her. Knowing the same, Shepard groaned, controlling herself. Chain reactions to one another, back and forth as they could have gone—I controlled myself just as much. Finding my admiration for her instead.

"Shepard," I made myself say. "Thank you for doing this. I'm not at all used to anyone treating me this way. It's standard fare for others to be too intimidated to even try what you've done. I'd grown quite cynical about this day. I'm sure you can imagine why. So I'm glad you were able to prove me wrong."

"And I'm glad I could make you happy," she shared. "Why don't you get dressed? You can use my room. I'll go in the guest room instead."

Pleased by her, I asked anyway, "You're positive about this?"

"Yes, Miranda. I am. Go ahead."

"Then I'd like some kind of idea of what I should wear. I don't want to be over or underdressed."

Shepard explained, "Wear whatever you're most comfortable in. You don't need to get dressed up or anything. Besides, no one will notice either way. It's more about the atmosphere than who's watching."

Beyond curious now, I questioned, "What do you mean, no one will notice? That sounds rather cryptic."

She smiled against me, satisfying. "You'll see."

While getting dressed for the evening, I couldn't stop smiling. Perpetually. Brightly. Even sprightly.

Almost, almost.

But it was enough to signal a true change in me. Not that I'd start smiling all the time. When thinking about Shepard, yes. When wanting her, yes. When putting on my clothes in her bedroom, since she was such a gentleman, allowing me in here while she took the guest room—yes, absolutely. I actually caught my thoughts ahead of time: of how I wanted to throw myself so completely into this new situation. Not rushing anything. Not changing my stances. Simply living in the moment for once in my life. Showing Shepard that I trusted her as much as I did. As much as I believed in her. As much as I…felt for her.

Making these sacrifices worth it.

Wearing what I was comfortable in—a normal blouse, normal, fitting pants, and normal heeled boots. Black and white. More of my midnight-scented perfume, which was not particularly normal. Trying to draw Shepard's senses to me, even more, without letting her touch me yet. Only to tease. But the rest was simple. Very simple. Very…normal. All the while, I had to keep tampering down on my hormones. My emotions wouldn't agree. My feelings kept me in this euphoric state, as much as I controlled my outward expression. Smiling only. Only smiling. Trying to remain in control. Trying to restrain myself.

Restraining even more, I kept my collar on. To tease Shepard's mind instead. Making her fantasize about me. Submitting to her while she submitted to me, to please me, as I wanted in mental superiority. Controlling her from underneath her body. Making sure she knew I wanted her to own me. Possess me.

Recalling this much, I remembered to send someone an email. An old acquaintance. A previous client of mine.

Getting his confirmation.

Deciding for myself that I wanted to be as transparent as possible with Shepard about this. About my past. About the situation I was involved in before, and how that bridged throughout the rest of my life since then. I wanted and needed to tell her everything. Everything and anything I could think of. She hadn't even gotten me in her car yet to drive us to the restaurant, but I already wanted to do this:

To: Taylor, Jacob – Permission.

Jacob,

It's almost that time.

You and I had an agreement about confidentiality. Your exception with Commander Shepard. Would you still like me to share the details with her? Or have you changed your mind? I need to know.

Respond in a timely manner. Or soon, rather. Not at your earliest convenience. You're on my time again.

-Miranda

From: Taylor, Jacob – Re: Permission.

Miranda,

Already? That was quick!

You sure do put in work. Then again, I'm not surprised. I bet the commander took one look at you and saw what's what. I told you. You should've listened to me instead of stressing out all the time. I'm telling you again now—she wants the prize. She was always going to want the prize. And she's going to want it even more once you're honest with her. I want to take some credit for helping you two get together.

So yeah, go ahead and tell Shepard whatever you want. Show her, too. I got nothing to hide. No regrets.

You gave me some of the best times of my life, Ma'am. This is the least I can do to repay the favor.

-Jacob

Glad that that was sorted, I gave myself one last look-over in the mirror:

Makeup touched-up. Lashes perfectly fanned. A bit more perfume for added effect and allure. And ensuring that my hair was perfect—not a strand out of place.

All exactly how I needed it to be.

All enough to continue helping me look in-control even though I was the complete opposite on the inside. Even walking past Shepard's bed to leave the room, I almost wished that we could have skipped all this and gotten straight to it. But I had to keep reminding myself that everything would've failed if I allowed that. So I left her bedroom, exiting down the hallway, to escape that possible failure from me giving into her just like that. Heels clicking along this hard floor, I knew that this was the best path for us.

I needed Shepard to do as I wanted. I wanted her to give me what I needed.

And I had to be responsible with my power as we went about this.

No repeats of the past.

Ridiculously punctual, I heard the flatter, heavier, dulled clicks of Shepard's more masculine leather boots along the floor; the faint chiming from the zippers up her ankles. Heavier chiming from something else about her, on her person. Lighter brushing of her long, long hair behind her, swaying along the back of her shirt as she walked. Leaving the guest room. Meeting me halfway here in the living room. Her full presence and her concentrated stare, both alight in the sunset glow filtering in through the windows.

All-black in her presentation, I adored the military-sharp creases over her long, button-down shirt: along her sleeves; along her trousers. Shirt tucked in as expected, the silver of her belt buckle made a subtle statement. Standing out along her pocket was a pure power play. Quicksilver from a chain looped there—matching her buckle—hanging from her pocket to one of her belt loops.

Shepard's gaze remained fixated on my collar. Twisting the power dynamic between us all over again…

Smooth as ever, she reached me and leaned down, murmuring in my ear, "You're beautiful, Miranda. I love the way you put yourself together."

Blushing profusely from her tenor, her nearness, her crisp cologne, I murmured back, "Thank you…"

Lingering in her romance, she kissed one side of this red of me, reddening me more, almost maddening.

Shepard held my hand, interlacing her fingers through mine, over mine.

For the first time—without any gloves or such in our way. Purity of her skin over me, warming and heating in how well she fit me; how well I fit her. Locking, like the very bones of her thin, limber touch aligned with my own, with the tip of her thumb simply admiring the smoothness of my manicure.

Linked to Shepard like this, linked to her momentum, I was all too ready to follow her lead. Letting her lead me out the apartment, and down the elevator. Down to the underground parking lot, to her car.

Eternally fulfilling, Shepard made a point of walking me to the passenger's side door. Automatic, she opened the door for me. Holding my hand up, she let me in first, guiding me in her manners. Making certain that I was completely settled in the seat, she then closed the door for me. Watching Shepard walk around to the driver's side, I basked in this smell of roses that had overtaken the leather seats, the slightly-chilled interior. She really had hidden my gifts in here to keep me from spotting them too soon.

Smiling to myself, I wondered what that last present was supposed to be. The one she was so shy about.

Watching Shepard start her car, the lights of her console shining through the dark, I realized how much I'd longed for this. How much I had yearned after this reality now, of her holding my hand anew as she drove through the city—her hometown. How long I'd spent wishing that I could be here like this, enjoying the novelty of Shepard picking out her own music—her sultry, creative, moody trip-hop and alternative R&B, chopped and screwed in loveliness, always—and playing it through her car's speakers, with the bass thundering through my limbs. Ever trying to put it all out of my mind: the ache had been real, no matter how realistic this may or may not have been to imagine, to hope for, or to dream of. I would of course attempt to write it off as frivolous nonsense. Impossible, improbable things that I shouldn't have wasted my time on at all.

Yet this view of the dusk settling through the windows, heating Shepard's already-intense aura, almost like a blazing halo:

I accepted that I had spent years attempting to downplay my desires. Softening the blow. Lessening the sting. Easing the ache and the yearning and the longing, to perhaps curtail them. Although, I had only incubated those feelings, at best. And now they began to heat back up in me, heating my heart and heating my skin twice as much, thrice as much as it all normally would have by this point. Staring out the window past the faint traffic around us in these skies, past the city's metropolitan sights looming well overhead, I felt so acutely aware of how I felt. At last, there was no escaping it. No more denying it.

As deeply as Shepard's taste in music reached through me, I knew how much I wanted her.

And I knew that I had to control myself—to some extent. To keep from overwhelming her too soon.

The last thing I needed was to turn her off like this…

Although, once I caught sight of our likely destination, I began to rethink my stance.

Glittering blues of the seas next to a harbor, filled with various yachts and steel ships next to the pier: at the center of it all awaited a single building. Rising up at a decent height, the place was nonetheless a seaside establishment, not too far-removed from the level rise of the water just nearby. Rows and rows of windows there, I could barely see inside to the restaurant itself, with numerous chairs and long tables covered with pure white cloth. Though I wasn't able to see much more, since Shepard drove her car directly to the building's roof. Parking her car here, even while the actual lot nearby remained filled to the brim. She seemed to ignore all of that completely, finding this special permission for us instead.

As she parked, I spotted a fine sign nearby—Top of the Market. No doubt the name of the restaurant.

Turning her car off, Shepard waited a moment.

Stroking my hand with the outline of her nail, tantalizing, she regarded me.

Acutely aware of my quickened pulse, I instead stared out to the embers of the horizon, breathtaking.

"Miranda," she said, her baritone easing through our silence. "Just so you know, I've always wanted to bring someone here. Specifically for a first date. I was never able to before. Somehow, it didn't feel right."

I curled back my smile. "And it feels right with me, does it?"

Shepard lowered her lips to the back of my hand, warming me. "Yes, it does. With you, it really does."

"Then what makes me different, I wonder?"

"You're my biggest weakness. That's what."

Intrigued, I gave her a sidelong glance. "Oh? What is this weakness of yours, then?"

"I sense everything you're holding back," revealed Shepard, throwing me off. "But it's okay. I can't blame you for how reserved you are." Keeping her lips along my hand this time, she breathed there in thoughtfulness, choosing her words carefully: "It's the shape of your possessiveness. How shameless you are. How you can't help yourself—and yet you still need to be fair with me. I have a feeling you're going to challenge me in ways I won't expect. On top of that, you are incredibly gorgeous, intelligent, and ambitious. You know exactly what you want—and you see it in me. So I want to show you what I'm about. No strings attached."

As Shepard exited the car, walking around to my side, I felt the impact of her words.

And of how much she truly didn't expect anything from me. No angle, no long-term plan behind her kindness, her gestures, her gifts or this date for that matter. No strings attached, just as she had said.

Shepard didn't open my door for me like this for a reason.

She didn't help me out of my seat with some ulterior motive in mind.

She didn't walk with me down these steps to the restaurant's rooftop entrance for some other reason.

She hadn't chosen to take me out on this date, expecting sex by the end of the night.

Shepard entered this building with me, allowing me through the door first…just to be chivalrous. Explicitly to show me what she was about. To set the bar, to set the standard—already surpassing what I had come to expect from any other of my so-called suitors before her. Embarrassing, lingering traumas and terrible experiences from my father, above all—of how there had always been some hook, some angle, some strings attached whenever he would shower me with gifts, largely to keep me under his control.

Beyond my father, even, I had always felt this way. With the Illusive Man. With acquaintances, clients.

For the first time in my life, I didn't see any of this through that old, traumatizing lens.

Wiping the fog clean, more, Shepard took me by complete surprise all over again…when I saw that we were the only people in this entire building. The smooth, clean décor of the restaurant, with the slick wooden surfaces from the bar, and the endless illumination from the bottles of alcohol gleaming in the sunset. White upon white elsewhere, I had the distinct sense of walking through an actual yacht, of how clean and exacting everything was, yet still able to breathe from the open windows everywhere.

Completely free to the sights of the sea stretching out, endlessly. Not another soul around us, anywhere.

Shepard had bought the place out, just for our date.

Just for the two of us.

And on Valentine's Day, of all days!

Barely, I realized where Shepard had taken me. Guiding me along with her hand over my lower back, she brought me to an area marked as the North Deck, for private dining. Even though we were already alone. Alone in solitude, in complete privacy, making a point of the magnitude of her gesture. Glass walls wrapping along the perimeter of the area, this location had an open air deck for us. Such a spectacular view of the impossibly blue San Diego Bay, of the long, impressive steel of the USS Midway along the harbor, right next door to us. All softened in this glow, this lighting of the approaching night.

Our table faced out to that glass, that blue, and that glow, perfectly encapsulating the ardor of this city.

Hanging from the other walls were a few TV screens, already turned on, with the sound remaining on mute: London Fashion Week once more, in between sets, with Burberry scheduled to appear quite soon.

Shepard had brought that bottle of wine for us as well, setting it over the table, next to the wine glasses.

"Do you like this place?" she wondered, pulling out my chair for me.

Sitting down at the white cloth, I told her the obvious, "Shepard, of course I do… I love it. This is stunning! How could you think otherwise?"

Taking her own seat adjacent to me, she justified, "I try not to assume anything with you. That's how."

I let her see my smile this time. "You know, I think you've earned the right to make a few assumptions."

"A few, huh?" she charmed.

"Maybe even more than a few," I teased. "You've exceeded my expectations. Well above and beyond."

Shepard returned my smile. "I'll definitely keep that in mind."

"So, what's the story behind this place?" I had to ask. "Why did you want to bring someone here for a first date, specifically? I can certainly see why you'd want to. But you know me. I'm curious about you."

Getting comfortable in her seat, she reminisced, "Back when I was out on the streets, I used to pass by this area with my friends. Sometimes we'd come by and watch the people eating in here. Wishing we could afford it. For me, it was never really about the money. I was more caught up with the meaning. Actually coming back here with someone, without any doubts. Without needing to worry. No real fears."

That did sound quite meaningful. "Hmm, a completely blank slate, then?"

"Not completely," amended Shepard. "I'm here with my past. With everything that brought me here."

"As am I…though I'm still surprised by this. There isn't a single doubt in your mind about me?"

Completely serious: "None."

"How not?" I doubted, worried. "Are you sure you aren't just—caught up in the moment with all this?"

Shepard opened the bottle of Pinot Noir for us, explaining, "Miranda, that's not my thing. I'm more likely to resist a good possibility instead of accepting it right away. I did that already when we first met. I'm choosing not to resist anymore." Pouring that burgundy red into my glass first, and then hers, she continued on, "I think we've both spent enough time holding ourselves back. Aside from not rushing ahead, I'm perfectly fine going with the flow. I'm guessing it's not exactly the same on your end."

Taking my glass in-hand, I shared, "It would be nice to completely let go… I wish I could. I wish I wasn't at all concerned about how I come off, how I appear. Moving too quickly. Too slowly. For the most part, I seem to worry too much about every single detail. I appreciate that you're the opposite. Barring how much thought and effort you put into all of this. The gifts you gave me—and our date now. I see you."

The way she smiled this time, I saw the sentiment spread over her expression: of how she only wanted me to see her. How she only wished to be seen by me.

Surprised by her yet again, I took to sipping the wine. Such a wonderful earthy taste, leveled and layered in a measured dryness, at once direct and subtly sweet. So much like Shepard herself, influenced by me. So much like this look in her eyes as she kept mine to hers, sipping from her own glass. Mirrored through her irises was the show playing from across the earth, across the country, across the Atlantic to the United Kingdom, with my favorite designer's runway splayed across the television screens around us. Rooted and reliable, she truly did appear fixed on this new path with me. Immutable. Believable.

That wouldn't stop me from worrying. Obsessing. Fretting.

At least, not any time soon.

Shepard seemed to know this, to accept this. Not minding my worrying, my obsessing, or my fretting. Instead finding reasons to soothe me, to prove to me that all was well, and that all would continue to be well between us. Inviting me to lean on her relaxation, her certainty. As certain as she could be with me.

Knowing that I hadn't eaten anything all day, she still asked, "Are you hungry yet?"

"I am, yes," I replied. "Seafood is clearly on the menu. Yet something tells me you're having a salad."

"That something of yours is right," confirmed Shepard.

I had to laugh. "Of course you are. Never one to experiment—not even with your food. I know why."

"Well, I haven't actually been here before," she defended in good-humor. "I'm at a disadvantage. Even more of a reason for me to stick to what I know."

"Considering your recent revelations with me, don't you think it's rather hypocritical?"

Shepard smirked at me. "Not everything is symbolic, you know."

"Even so, I want you to pretend. At least for tonight. It's your turn to step out of your comfort zone."

"Okay then, I'll try something different," she conceded, bringing the kiosk over. "Any suggestions?"

"Get us both the same thing," I directed. "Whatever you think I'll like. Show me. Surprise me."

Browsing through the selection, Shepard didn't take long at all to find something.

"I think you'll like the salmon," she decided. "Icelandic salmon. It's not too heavy. And it'll go with the wine. If you're in the mood for dessert later, we can have that, too."

"You chose well," I agreed.

Shepard placed the orders for us—and in seconds, the center of the table opened, revealing the plates there, cradling the fine, succulent cuts of salmon that she'd so described. She brought my plate over first, before reaching for her own. Not willing to let too much silence pass between us, Shepard also noticed that I had my eye on the television, watching the ongoing runway.

"You know," she said, "I'm still thinking about what you mentioned, with New York. That mystery you left behind about your time in college there."

Smiling, buying some time—delectable as this dinner was, rich in herbs and very light, as described.

Knowing what I was up to, Shepard merely watched me with a clued-in smile of her own.

I fully intended on telling her everything tonight. Mostly everything. There was a time and place for the rest.

"Well, what about you?" I suggested. "I find it interesting that you have your degree in criminal justice. Not that I'm surprised. It only makes sense, given your background."

"More like putting that GI Bill to use," noted Shepard. "I wouldn't say it was anything special. No real story behind the choice. It fits with my background, like you said." She gave me a moment longer. Taking her time to eat, and studying me. Studying me with such thoughtfulness; I felt safe enough to divulge the rest to her. "So, are you going to tell me which degree you went after?"

Expecting to shock her, I revealed, "I have my undergraduate degree in music." More than relaxed now, I laughed in delight once Shepard's eyes widened at me. "Paid for out of pocket, after I joined Cerberus. Specifically the violin. Classical. Think the adagio movement of Nielsen's Fifth—that's my style."

Shepard knew. "You went to Julliard, didn't you? In New York City."

I smiled more. "Perhaps I did."

"Of course you did," she reasoned. "It's the best of the best for artists. You're the best at whatever you set your mind to. I'm pretty impressed."

"Why, thank you. Though I should emphasize that it was more of a…passion project. My father had allowed me to learn how to play the violin. As an outlet. Even still, I knew that I wasn't the best artist, so to speak. My professors were always quick to point out that I was often too stilted in my form. I didn't know how to let go—I was too prepared, all the time. But I earned my degree in the end, even if I never went anywhere with it."

Shepard asked, "You didn't plan on playing professionally?"

"I considered it," I told her. "I honestly did. Maybe in an orchestra. Carnegie Hall was always a big standout for me in the city, since I would've loved to play there someday. When I was younger, it used to be a dream. My life didn't end up going in that direction. Looking back on things now, I accept that I'm better at appreciating art than creating it myself. That includes fashion. Even your video games."

Nodding in her own appreciation, she then gave me my first test with our trust: "I take it you have your master's degree, too?"

"Yes, I do," I affirmed.

Shepard noticed my sore spot, yet she followed up regardless, "Tell me more."

"I pursued a double major in medical science and biology."

The single question I'd never allowed anyone to ask me: "Why'd you go from music to medical studies?"

Sipping my wine, buying a little bit more time, before trusting in her. "I…had a scare once. A possible medical scare, where it looked like I might have been sterile. Not because I had tried or anything. Far from it. This was something that came up one day. But it was only that—a scare. One powerful enough to push me into medical sciences and biology. This eventually led me to heading the Lazarus Project."

I understood that Shepard had had some variant of this conversation before. Learning that whichever woman in front of her had thought about these things. Wanted these things. Making this clear. Even when Shepard herself had never spent much time thinking about it. Not all that seriously. She and I both had our own private reasons against having children. I'd certainly had my own doubts, years ago, due to my upbringing… Yet that had all changed in an instant once I had discovered that I might not have had the ability. The chance. The opportunity, even. And so my whole perspective had shifted accordingly.

Something in Shepard's eyes told me that this conversation, this instance felt new to her.

Different.

She didn't regard me with the same directness from moments before.

She didn't remain in silence as a way to simply give me a moment to breathe.

Instead, I sensed her own introspection. Shepard seemed to absorb this information in a way she perhaps hadn't expected. With her own changes in outlook, in perspective these days, I wondered exactly what went on in her head. As much as I wanted to know, she had every right not to tell me.

So I went on, undeterred, "It's rather silly. All of this came up when I'd seriously started thinking about having that type of future. With someone. I had a matching name picked out and everything. I was nearly devastated. Until the good news came. And then I stopped feeling guilty for what I wanted. Sort of. I went into my graduate years with that positive energy. I found myself enjoying my classes far more than at Julliard. My professors and my peers actually appreciated me. I'd say it worked out quite well."

Shepard's gentle speechlessness gave me such an unexpected comfort.

She didn't know what to say, for once. And I adored her for it.

I loved that she didn't need me to specify what I meant.

Leading the conversation now, I brought up, "You know, Shepard. I may feel comfortable enough telling you these things. Though that doesn't mean I expect you to reciprocate. I really do need us to take our time with this. I meant what I told you before. About not letting this crash and burn. I don't want that."

Still so tender: "Then what do you want?"

I gazed out to the water past the glass walls, out to the horizon.

In this transition from sunset to sunless night, the sky had shifted to the same blue of the sea, as one continuance of the world. Separated only by the city's lights gleaming along the divider, along the horizon, those reflections along the water's surface extended out in endlessness, brightening. Brightening almost as much as the actual lights shining above this table I sat at with Shepard, with her full attention on me.

This look in her eyes…

She had made me the middle of her world, plainly.

"Shepard, I want you," I stated, basking in this afterglow about her. "I want to be with you, long-term. In due time. When it's right. We can't do that if we rush into anything."

She wished to know, "What do you define as 'rushing'? Just sex?"

"More or less…"

"Then tell me what else works best for you. What you'll allow."

"Spending this type of time together," I supplied. "I would be lying if I said I didn't want you to kiss me. Especially after you've pulled out all the stops like this. And maybe…dating, if that's what we're doing now. Not an official relationship."

Languid in her latitude, Shepard agreed, "I'd say this does count as dating."

I had to bring this up, "Really? And what about Tali'Zorah? I know you like her, Shepard. Don't deny it."

Sighing, she admitted, "Yeah, but…I'm also keeping a huge secret from her."

"Oh… About your involvement," I recalled. "Right."

"I get that I'm a huge hypocrite," she anguished. "I took such a hard stance against someone lying to me, to the rest of the team. And now I can't even be completely honest with them. Tali's been through so much. Knowing what I did…I could never be in a relationship with her. It wouldn't feel right. Either way, I'm going to have to tell her eventually."

"And once you tell her the truth—do you believe she'll hate you?"

Shepard lowered her head, looking sadder than I ever could've imagined.

That told me all I needed to know.

"In that case," I went on, "I don't mind the two of you being close. I understand that she is your special princess, Shepard. I'm more than all right with you treating her that way." Subdued, Shepard hummed her acknowledgment. "As far as relationships are concerned, I'm not nearly as flexible. I won't be shared. If you're going to court me, then I expect you to follow through and commit, or to let me down gently. I don't care if other women are after you. As infinitely attractive as you are, that simply can't be helped. As long as everyone knows that you're mine, the rest doesn't matter to me."

Nodding in acceptance, she of course didn't want to say anything else about this. Not while we were on our date.

Shepard made herself change the subject, "So, are you only attracted to women, then?"

"Only women, yes," I confirmed. "As I briefly mentioned to you already—I've never let anyone touch me. No romantic dates like this, or actual get-to-know-you discussions. Just straight to the point. I used to screen potentials, checking that their medical records were clean. Then we would meet at an unadorned apartment on the Citadel. One and done. Thank you and goodbye."

"Well, since you were the dominant one…what did you get out of it?"

"Stress release."

"From fucking attractive women."

Oddly pleased by her probing, I responded, "You understand that my work with Cerberus has always been highly-stressful. Being on a break like this would have been unheard of before. I never allowed myself this sort of time. To make up for things, I turned to sex. I would fuck the women with a strap-on and go. This was the only thing in my life that was simple. Uncomplicated. I needed that back then."

Probing more, pleasing me more: "You never did more than that?"

"If you're asking whether or not I went down on them, the answer is no. I'm too much of a neat-freak for that. I don't like it."

Shepard laughed. "Okay, I'll remember that."

"Mind you," I continued, "There were no emotions involved, either. No follow-up calls asking for seconds, or messy relationships. This was purely transactional. I only ever treated them like my clients. I've since stopped doing any of this altogether. I haven't done it for at least three years or so. Despite how simple it was, this only ended up frustrating me more. The stress relief ended up not mattering."

"You were unsatisfied," she noticed.

"That's an understatement."

"Then why go down that road at all? I'm sure you predicted this ahead of time."

"Because it's what I'm used to," I explained. "I have a complicated history with this. With men, rather. Not just women. I hinted as much to your ex, before, while she and I were at the 94 together. I specifically chose not to tell her anything more. This would have disrupted my plans to continue lowering myself. The full truth would've dispelled that illusion."

Shepard puzzled, "With men? What do you mean?"

I pre-empted her thinking, "I've never been confused about my sexuality, Shepard. That isn't what I mean. It's more that I've had to use my assets in certain ways. Certain ways that haven't always made the most personal sense for me." Making up my mind, I prompted, "Do you remember what I told you, about the time before I joined Cerberus? I went through a situation. This is part of that. It's everything."

Perfectly patient: "I'm listening, Miranda. If you want to tell me more."

"When I escaped my father, I threw away everything he ever gave me. I had nothing. Hardly anyone to turn to. The only other person in my life was my best friend, Niket. He helped me. Provided me a place to stay, here on Earth. But he didn't have much, either. The area we lived in wasn't safe. I knew I could always contact the Illusive Man… I was stubborn. I wanted to try making it on my own first. I also felt like I owed it to Niket—to at least provide for him in some way. Instead of running off to join Cerberus."

At last, Shepard saw that we had some experiences in common. "Then how'd you manage to get by?"

Trusting her more, I shared, "I was only seventeen years old at the time. I had to lie about my age when I took on…an apprenticeship. In the downtown area where Niket and I lived. It certainly paid the bills."

"What kind of apprenticeship?" she asked, brow raised.

"An apprenticeship at a local sex dungeon. To become a dominatrix."

Raising her eyebrows even more, Shepard drank the rest of her wine.

Rather self-conscious, I drank the rest of mine as well.

Ever respectful in her curiosity, Shepard signaled as much by refilling my glass—and then hers.

We had long-since finished eating our dinner. The wine remained as our bonding agent, for now.

Light-headed enough, Shepard wanted me to proceed.

"Then how did your apprenticeship turn out?"

"Suffice to say, I did very well during my training. I soon took on my own clients for quite a lot of money. I was able to save up whatever I needed. Enough to put myself through Julliard, alone. Though I was surprised by how easy it all was. Keeping my emotions out of it. That seemed to be the key, anyway."

"So I've heard. What was it like for you?"

I remembered: "I wore the typical, all-black getup you would expect from a dominatrix. The hard corset to contour my body. The tall thigh-high boots. Nothing cheap. I had the best equipment as well. My clients were people of all genders. I would negotiate the terms of our scenes beforehand, discussing limits and safe words and the rest. Then, when it was time, the client would already be in the room, ready and waiting for me. Again, no emotions. I would play the part of the ice queen Domme, giving them whatever they wanted. I sometimes found a sick pleasure from the age difference. No one could ever tell that I was only seventeen."

Perceptive as ever, Shepard mentioned, "I take it you liked this a lot more than your one-night stands later on?"

"Yes, I did," I replied. "I found my own catharsis in having control like this. Especially after suffering under my controlling father for all my life. It was straightforward. No attachments. Only kinks, fetishes."

"What kinds of kinks and fetishes are we talking about here?"

"It was very thorough. Standard whipping, flogging, and spanking was common enough. Dressing them up in full latex suits for sensory play with my biotics. Or using my biotics, again, for bondage and suspension instead. Or simply stepping on their backs with my heels. Fucking them with a strap-on; pegging them. Making them worship my boots. Cock and ball torture. Anything expressly physical or sensory, I've probably done it at some point. My clients also paid me more because I'm a biotic. Human biotics are of course rare, as you know. That tingling sensation added a lot to the scene for those who were into it."

"Was there anything in particular you enjoyed the most?"

"Hmm… Any type of denial was my favorite. Orgasm denial. Chastity play. Making them beg for it. Work for it. Even for punishments. It wasn't so much a power trip as it was—reinforcement. I needed the validation that they couldn't get enough of me."

"So that's what you got out of it?" asked Shepard. "Aside from the stress relief. And the money."

"Yes, it was," I answered. "Though I only used plastic toys to fuck them. I would never use anything more realistic with my clients. Let's just say I knew I wouldn't be able to keep it up and perform. I didn't feel any actual arousal from doing this. It would've been especially awkward with the men as well."

"In that case, was there anything that surprised you about your clients?"

"Actually, yes. I was surprised by how most of my male clients were rather macho. I wasn't expecting that at first. There was more variety with the rest of my clients. You might remember that James Vega character we've both run into. Most of my male clients were like him. Down to the detail. Tough muscleheads one moment, but ready to drop to their knees and kiss my boots the next. Such submissive little boys who only acted hard to the outside world. But if they ever saw me on the street with another woman, that same client would probably view us as some sort of entertainment. It was all very typical."

Shepard did remember him; and she did understand exactly what I meant.

She also understood that I didn't quite want to divulge more about Niket at this time.

Eventually, I would. But even my hesitation to talk about it spoke enough. She knew what to assume.

Shepard chanced asking something else, "Do you still have this business of yours going?"

"Not anymore, no," I responded. "I did keep it going for a long while. I stopped last summer or so. Not long before my birthday. I only had one client throughout the Lazarus Project—up until this specific point, anyway. Again, to de-stress. He was also very specific in wanting you to know about this. He looks up to you—as Commander Shepard, of course. I suppose this particular thing is his badge of honor."

"Really? He wants me to know the details?"

"He does. We signed off on it as part of our agreement. He was quite eager for you to know the details."

"But…why?" she questioned.

"My client picked up on too much about me. Mostly how I feel about you. I never said a word to him. Not to confirm anything. He seemed to know regardless. In fact, he was convinced that I could win you over in the end. So, he figured this information would help you and I bond together."

"Interesting."

Playing the perfect host, the perfect date, Shepard ordered some dessert for me.

Perhaps as a double-meaning, or a triple-meaning, she selected a slice of brown butter almond cake. After divulging so much to her, I certainly did have another sweet tooth. And I was glad that she was kind enough to indulge me.

She then requested, "If you two signed off on it, then I want to know more. How did this play out?"

"Well, I met him not long before the project started. His name was Jacob. Jacob Taylor. He used to be in the Alliance as part of their prestigious Corsair program. He contacted me through my usual channels for anyone seeking out my services. I've since disabled those now. I gathered from our initial discussion that he was frustrated with all the bureaucracy and red tape with his job. Naturally, he needed a release. Although, I truly didn't intend for us to remain involved for so long. That happened by accident. Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I should explain first," I prefaced. "Jacob found plenty of release in letting go with me as a submissive. I suppose he even surprised himself. It's possible that I helped him deal with some sort of personal issues in his way, which was quite common. I never asked for any details about that. But after you died…that was when I cut off my dominatrix life. Or so I believed. It just—wasn't a good time for me, as I'm sure you can imagine. When I tried to break things off with Jacob, he wouldn't let it go. He went so far as to join Cerberus. He was miraculously assigned to the Lazarus Cell as our security chief on the station."

Shepard laughed a bit. "So you had to see Jacob at work every day anyway."

"Unfortunately, yes," I scoffed. "I couldn't really escape his advances. At first, I was annoyed with him for taking things this far. Though after a while, I knew that I also needed the release. The stress from the project had started getting to me, on top of my other deceptions and manipulations. And the rest. So I agreed to have that time with Jacob again, once per week. He wanted me to film our scenes."

"Did you film them?"

"Most of them. I still have copies. He offered for me to show you."

Shepard wasn't as shocked as I'd expected, having grown accustomed to all of this by now. So soon.

"I should mention," I added. "I never considered asking Jacob to join the team. He's a skilled biotic in his own right. But his name never found its way to those dossiers I gave you."

"Hmm, why not?"

"I didn't want that type of baggage following me around during the mission. It would've been unprofessional. Plus, I knew you probably wouldn't like him. He was very non-descript. Plain. Normal. There was no interpersonal benefit to bringing him on the team. Unlike the rest of the people that we could possibly recruit. It was mostly about the baggage, though. He would've made things awkward."

Grinning, Shepard imagined as much. "Yeah, I see what you mean."

"If you're interested…I can share those recordings with you. Later on. Not now, obviously."

Allowing as much, Shepard used her omni-tool to forward her personal email address to me.

"Send them whenever you want," she accepted. "I want to see what you got up to."

I had to make this clear: "Shepard, you should keep in mind…I've left that life behind me. I'm not looking for those same things with you. Anything that we might explore together, it would be purely mental and emotional. I don't need to explicitly dominate you like that. It wouldn't work." Glancing at her quicksilver chain hanging, looping from her pocket, I stopped myself from shaking. "I've accepted that I want both with you. I never trusted anyone else with this. Or even the more emotional part of my dominant side. And even then, it's much too soon to get into the details. I only want you to think it over."

Shepard promised me, "I'll think it over. Don't worry about it. There's no rush."

Thinking already, she let us fall into a comfortable silence. Finishing her second glass of wine, giving me time to finish the last of my dessert, and my own wine: Shepard seemed to have a lot on her mind. Processing all that I had divulged to her. Using the information to form a better idea of who and what I was—as well as how she fit in my life.

She had to know that there was far more. So much more that I hadn't mentioned at all, or only hinted about, at best. I liked that I didn't need to explain it. She simply knew.

Blackened blues of the sea and the sky outside—night had already fallen, with the moon shining bright.

City lights crested between darkness, and the lighting in here grew brighter, as contrasts of contrasts.

Somehow, staring out at this view, the rest of my worries began to fall away.

Knowing for certain that Shepard accepted me, I could breathe easier. Not that I'd had any doubts before. Not since our situation had changed, morphing into what it was today. I'd never let myself imagine that everything could fall into place like this. I would always try to scale back my wants, or to set myself up for disappointment. Trying to tell myself that I was only delusional for needing this type of closeness with her. Trying to convince myself that I was pathetic for even imagining it in the first place. Overcorrecting. All to lessen the blow from those few days I'd spent, watching Shepard be with her ex in-person. All to make sure I could survive that ordeal, instead of allowing my jealousy and resentment to get the better of me. As it probably would have by now, if the two of them were still together.

I couldn't let myself believe that this was all meant to be.

That just seemed…a bit too morbid. Too cruel. Too dismissive of our recent history.

And yet, Shepard's ease with me only validated my thinking. My feelings. My wishes for more with her.

Noticing what was on my mind, she stood up.

She held her hand out to me, saying, "Let's go outside for a few minutes. It shouldn't be too cold yet."

Smiling, I placed my palm over hers.

Shepard helped me up, guiding me out to the nearby deck overlooking the view.

Clear skies. Moonlight glittering over the seas. Perfect temperature, as she'd predicted—not too cold yet at all. I leaned against Shepard's shoulder as we gazed out to this distance. I began to wonder if those tall, brooding buildings had defined more of her. More of her mind. More of her perception of this city, or really, about civilization as a whole. Those streets used to be all that Shepard knew. And now she was here with me, giving me this security I'd never allowed myself to hope for.

It certainly would have been nice if I'd approached her sooner.

If we could have had this earlier. Before. First.

Being with Shepard like this now, I found my appreciation for the past. For our circumstances. She was with me because of her choices, just as I was. We were together like this today because of our decisions, our separate duties. Everything we had experienced before: it all defined our presence with one another today. Despite all that she had been through, she was still here with me. She was here with her choices, her decisions, and her experiences. All of which had crafted her into the woman she was now, with me.

I was the same, with her.

Unspoken, I felt Shepard's appreciation for what we shared; and for what we'd both endured, apart.

Turning to face me, she reinforced this feeling of mine. Staring up at her like this, adoring, I freely sensed what she sensed. Knowing what she knew. Seeing life through her eyes, and seeing me through her gaze, brightened now from the moon, and from the lighting filtering in from the restaurant.

"Miranda, I have to say…I don't think I've ever been caught off-guard like this."

"Mmm, and what could that possibly mean?"

Gentle as ever, Shepard held me around my waist, easing me closer.

"It means…you've given me something I wanted for a long time. I'm used to drawing people to me. On accident; on purpose. The rare times when it was the other way around, I knew that it was different. You've gone past that for me." Every word she gave me seemed closer and closer. So much closer as she leaned in, finding me completely malleable to her. "You need me so much…and you keep pulling me. Your energy keeps pulling me in. Drawing me, attracting me. Pushing to pull me. On your terms. What you demand. What you expect."

Breathing over my breaths, Shepard no doubt felt these vibrations. This near to me: how my heart could have thundered right through my chest.

She knew it as she said, "I want to take this higher with you. Higher, and deeper, all at once. Show me what you've been holding back all this time."

Completely unbalanced, skewed, and tilted: Shepard reached me, knowing of this imbalance between us.

Knowing, and finding me anyway, she let me taste her—this supple resolve of her lips, shaped as near-mirrors over mine. Wine lingering, I couldn't know where her pressing had reached, and continued to reach, as deeply as I kept pulling her in. Sharper than her own pushing, I felt myself consuming her. Stronger than her own leaning, I felt her staggering breaths perfuming me, all from her loss. From the way Shepard held me without holding me down, letting me grip her closer than close, nearer than near, practically inside of me already.

Inhaling her personality itself through her muffled surprise, every single one of my hesitations and concerns and worries and stresses and anxieties dissolved in the night.

Alight of her, full bright of her, I hinged myself on her, needing ever more after waiting and waiting for so long.

Feeling far more than her, I didn't care. I didn't care.

Shepard had me.

Wanting me, desiring me, as off-balance as she was: she only broke away to breathe, out of breath.

Exhaling over me, smelling of me, Shepard stared at me in a muted shock.

Hazed by her, I felt the very colors of my eyes change. Misting as much as this city, intoxicated by her—she could have done anything to me, anything at all, and I would only need her more. Needing ever beyond this moment, she saw as much through my sight. And if not for her need to breathe, I would have kept going. Nonetheless, I enjoyed this sight of her near-sightlessness, so very thrown off by me.

"Miranda…"

Perfection in the way her husked voice nearly broke.

Immaculate presentation in the way her complexion reddened beneath my touch, warming my palms.

Such flawlessness in her face, her stature over me, and the moonlight highlighting her unbridled quality. Her preeminence. Her power over me in her powerlessness. Her superiority over me in her complete subservience, in not knowing how to react to this unevenness between us.

"You know, Shepard," I murmured, glad to make her breaths far more uneven. "When you give me something like that, I can't be held accountable for my reactions. You certainly can't, either. Though I wish you would say a bit more. You sound so beautiful…when you don't know how to behave. For once."

"I'm not sure what you want me to say…"

"Tell me anything."

Averting her eyes.

So uncertain.

I smiled, enjoying this shape of shyness around her.

"If you won't speak," I allowed, "We shouldn't stay here. You've given me such a lovely evening—one I'll forever cherish. I want you to continue this further."

"Do you…want me to take you back home, then?"

"Yes, please. Thank you for taking me out, Shepard. You've changed me already."

Eager to please me, despite her daze, she had us leave the restaurant together.

She knew that there were limits. The same limits I'd already put in place. Yet I felt myself so close to disregarding those. Tossing them aside if it meant having more of her, and her having more of me. This drive home turned my needs into absolute cravings that I couldn't go without. I could hardly sit still—but I made myself do it, with Shepard holding my hand all the while.

After all, I found a new pastime in finding her, staring at her, gazing at her as she drove.

As she tried to focus on the road.

As she tried not to look back at me, well-aware of the intensity I'd found in my eyes.

Hyper-focused on her beauty as supreme, I couldn't look away from her. She had me completely captivated.

No longer overcorrecting.

Arriving back at Shepard's moonlit apartment, I began to wonder about how reserved she was. As if our roles, our moods and our situations had somehow reversed: she wouldn't say a word at all, let alone look at me. I could only guess that she'd expected us both to have certain reactions to our first kiss. And that our actual reactions ran contrary to what she had imagined. What she'd anticipated. What she had prepared for. Because of this, she chose to withdraw herself from me. At least emotionally.

So much for not running away from her feelings anymore.

Even so, she had yet to let go of my hand. She made a point of guiding me over to the couch. Having us sit together. In complete silence.

As we sat here, I focused on her. Studying the still-perfect creases along her sharp clothes. Enjoying the way her skin shined in the light of the moon. Following the deeper creases along her forehead, too busy staring at some imaginary object in a corner of the room. Studying this shape of her eyes, her expression: how she could not, would not look back at me. Possibly too afraid of what she might find.

"Shepard," I stated, squeezing her hand a bit. "Is something the matter?"

Face reddening anew in this pale lighting, she gave no response.

"If we're going to get anywhere, you'll need to use your words. I certainly can't read your mind."

She blew out a breath through her nose—steaming hot—and still said nothing.

"How the tables have turned, hm?" I mused. "As fascinating as this is, Shepard, I won't allow it forever. You more than anyone should know how important it is to communicate." Of course she knew. But she somehow couldn't respond to me. "I'll change the subject for a moment. How much longer do you plan on us staying here? We still have our mission."

Swallowing her silence down, Shepard said to me, "Another week. I made an appointment with a contractor. To fix the mirror. They can't get here until next Thursday. We'll leave when they're done."

"Thursday it is, then. Are you ever going to tell me how and why you broke it in the first place?"

Hollow in remembrance: "I was frustrated."

"Frustrated with what, exactly?"

"A few years ago, before I swore off relationships for a while, I reached my breaking point. I had gone through a string of people falling in love with an idea of me. They only liked me when I was stoic and holding myself back. The minute I showed any real emotion, thinking I could trust them, they freaked out. If it wasn't that, then they judged me for shit that I was already ashamed of in the first place. One in particular, I had known her for years. I thought she knew me. I only shared what I did with her because I thought she would understand. I thought she could relate. Turns out I was wrong. I was frustrated with myself for believing in something for once, just to have it all blow up in my face."

Noticing the reds along her eyes, I asked, "Was she afraid of you?"

"Probably," answered Shepard. "Her ego wouldn't let her admit it. So she looked down on me. I guess she was convinced she could find someone better. Less emotional. Someone who isn't crazy like I am. She felt entitled to have that, instead of trying to understand me. I wasn't worth the trouble anymore."

"How long did it take you to move on from her?"

She laughed a bit, replying, "Not long at all. As soon as I realized that she was a jackass, I let her go. I'd always had a feeling that she had fallen for some illusion, and she lied about it. That's what saved me."

I noticed, "I'm seeing a pattern here."

"Yeah, I know. I'm not angry like that anymore. I've moved on from everything. And the recent past."

"Then what's the problem now?" I wondered. "Tonight. With us. Why won't you look at me?"

Oddly believable, Shepard claimed, "There is no problem."

"If that's true, then why are you in this mood?"

"Because there is no problem."

I was about to retort, saying that her words made no sense at all…

But then I stopped.

I thought it over.

Understandably, Shepard was used to problems. Reasons to hold herself back. Perhaps now, reasons to work through, to prove that she didn't have to run away from her feelings anymore. Senses, instincts to pick up on: anything to justify that this wasn't a good thing. Anything to convince herself that the past would only repeat itself. Anything to keep her from feeling too much for me too quickly, too soon. If this was in fact the case, then I could only wonder about the rest. What she wouldn't say to me, and why.

Going into this, I hadn't expected some tale of happily ever after.

Whatever this was, Shepard needed to work through it on her own.

So I told her, "Then you don't need to say anything more. We don't have to speak. Not about that, anyway. Since we still have some free time, I don't want to ruin it with unnecessary discussions. I'd much rather enjoy this final week with you. Unless you'd rather be alone." Shepard only shook her head. Even though she still, still wouldn't meet my eyes, I couldn't mind too much. "Play one of your games for me. Show me. It doesn't have to be your usual one. Pick something else if you prefer. I don't mind."

Giving me what I wanted, Shepard reached over to the coffee table, retrieving her controller. She then set about picking a video game to show me—a story-heavy role-playing game instead. As a compromise, we stayed together in a wordless relaxation. I enjoyed watching her play and unwind. We stayed like this through the night, and across this next week of our remaining time at home.

I sensed Shepard going through the motions as she played through this story…but we really didn't need to discuss it at all.

Comforted enough, I found my own reasons not to start worrying again. Still entrenched in the feelings she had given me during our date, and from our kiss, I allowed them to hold me over. To reassure me that this was only the beginning—and yet I didn't need to doubt her at all. I didn't need to doubt myself at all, thinking that we were bound to mess this up somehow…if it would help me anticipate that grief, and to prepare for it. There was no need to anticipate, to grieve ahead of time, or to prepare for that.

And well beyond that, I fully expected this mission to challenge us. Dating her during a high-stakes operation did make me crazy. Risking myself in this way—for her—was all that I had ever wanted to do. I supposed I had prepared for this, in a way. This was all still new for her. I couldn't blame her in that case.

Whenever Shepard found her footing in this new place with me, I would be happy to keep her here.

This absolute heaven's dream she had inspired in me, deep in my heart: never could I settle for less without her. Eternally patient before her habits of chaos, I wanted nothing more than to be this for her.

I could only hope that she wouldn't run from me; that she wouldn't hurt me in the process.

But if she did, I would stay after her—I would take it, and take her right back, bringing her back to me, all over again, as many times as I had to. Indefinitely.