"The Island" from The Last of Us Part II

XXXI. Archangel

(Shepard)

After debriefing with the team, I stayed in the comm room for another session—this time with the Illusive Man through the QEC. I hadn't spoken with him since after Freedom's Progress. Back when things had been much different than they are now. I figured it wouldn't hurt for us to get caught up with one another; to make sure that he and I were on the same page, going forward. If nothing else.

On the same page—as a technicality.

For the sake of galactic peace, I was glad that Cerberus and the Alliance had reached a truce. Because of me. Because the imminent war against the Reapers was bigger than humanity, than anything else. And, for now, I wanted to do all I could to further this peace, this truce. I wanted to enjoy a galaxy where Cerberus and the Alliance weren't at-odds with each other anymore; where I didn't have to suspect that Miranda was up to no good; where I could partially trust her boss, enough to be somewhat open with him.

No matter what I said to the Illusive Man, or to Miranda, I expected to keep some part of me hidden.

Because I knew that Miranda had a blind spot with her loyalty to him. I knew that the Illusive Man was bound to take advantage of this somehow, someway. Even if it didn't happen today, or tomorrow, the next day, or even months down the line, it was going to go down. Inevitably. Inescapably. Eventually.

This blooming sanctuary I felt deep in my heart and in my mind, all for Miranda as this ascending queen of mine—compromised by our obvious reality.

Not knowing what else to do, I'd chosen to hide away for a bit. At least until I could figure this out.

Arriving to this illusion of his deep red space, I found the Illusive Man sitting in his chair across from me.

No cigarette or glass of alcohol in either of his hands this time. He gave me his full attention.

"Commander Shepard," he stated. "It's good to see you again. On much different terms, this time."

"I can agree with that," I replied.

"I'm sure you can. Miranda gave everything she had to bring you back. We couldn't allow anyone to get in the way of that. Not even the one you held most dear—at the time, that is. There's no looking back. The same goes for you. Can I assume you've put your past relationships behind you?"

"They're done. I'm focused on the here and now. And the future."

"Good. I won't settle for anything less. Especially now that you and Miranda are involved with one another."

I needed him to be upfront with me—"What are you saying, exactly?"

The Illusive Man explained: "I will be frank with you. I can imagine that she's told you enough about her past. About her father, how he controlled her. Miranda is very much a stranger to actual relationships. I've watched her all but save herself for you. And for good reason. You've certainly had your reasons to set aside the women from your past. But if you and I are going to move forward together, then I expect you to hold Miranda close. Permanently. She'll do no less with you. I need you to reciprocate that."

"You're asking for a lot," I pointed out. "It's only been about a month. We're not rushing anything."

"I'm asking for the future."

Completely serious, the Illusive Man stared me down, the blues of his eyes unfaltering. Making his point.

I challenged him anyway, "Are you telling me this as Miranda's boss? Or her father?"

"Both," he claimed.

"Pick one."

The Illusive Man gave a wry smirk, settling on, "Fine. I'm speaking as her father. As you insist."

"So, my potential father-in-law? Is that how far you're taking this?"

"Yes, I am."

"Why…?"

"Shepard, I know you. I understand the tragedy of your greatness. You're uniquely exceptional in your capabilities because of all you've suffered. Miranda is the same as you. I fully believe that she is your equal. She is the only one who can stand shoulder-to-shoulder with you throughout this next stage of your life, and beyond. And though I may be biased, I'm convinced that you'll grow to agree with me. That is, if you don't already see what I do. Whatever happens, I want you to take care of her. Provide for her. In turn, she will do everything she can for you. She's already proven herself. She has more to give."

"You sound pretty confident about this," I noted, needing as much. Hating that I did.

The Illusive Man summarized, "I may not be aware of all the details. I can tell that Miranda's in a much better mood these days, now that the two of you are taking your time together. I simply want to make sure you'll keep this going. For her sake. Keep Miranda satisfied on her throne, and you and I won't have any problems. She deserves no less than the universe from you, Shepard. Will you give me your word?"

Even though I didn't want to accept the Illusive Man's authority—on principle—I had to set that aside. Since he chose to speak as Miranda's father, I chose to change my perspective on this. The Illusive Man only wanted the best for his presumptive daughter. He appeared to trust me with her heart, and more.

And I did trust Miranda…just not Cerberus. I didn't trust her judgment with the Illusive Man, either.

"You have my word," I vowed. "I'll please Miranda as best as I can. You're right that she deserves everything from me. That's what I will give. If for some reason I fall short, I'll do whatever I can to make things up to her. I owe her everything I have; everything I am. This is the least that I can do for her."

"I appreciate it, Shepard," accepted the Illusive Man. "Were we face-to-face in-person, I would want us to shake hands. This will have to do for the time being. I'll have my eye on you—though without any genuine suspicion. I believe you'll stay true to your promises. You would be a fool not to. After all, I didn't spend billions of credits just to bring a fool back to life. Your actions will speak for themselves."

I had to know, "What's your stake in all of this? Why do you care so much?"

"I see this as a synthesis of my broader goals," he conveyed. "You are a beacon of hope for humanity, for the galaxy at-large. We need you to defeat the Reapers. Cerberus needs you to be at your very best. As does Miranda. Therefore, keeping you alive and well kills many birds with one stone. That isn't to say I won't push you every so often. If you're going to be at your best, you can expect me to challenge you."

"Can't say I'm surprised. That sounds practical enough. As usual for you."

The Illusive Man allowed a small, guilty smile. "Commander, you misjudge me. It pains me to admit that this is a rather emotional decision on my part. I would never say this to Miranda myself. She wouldn't believe me. So I've decided to put my complete trust in you. I hope that you and I can keep this quiet."

"Why?" I questioned. "What's so emotional about these priorities of yours?"

"When Miranda first contacted me to join Cerberus, I almost turned her down. I knew enough about her from her father Henry Lawson's firsthand accounts, however warped they were. She was—and still is—too pure for this organization. No matter what she suffered in the past, it had never been enough to break or corrupt her. I worried that her work here would change that. To that end, I made sure that Miranda was assigned uncontroversial tasks, such as working with our biotic research divisions. She was able to apply herself and enrich her skills. She found meaning in her genetic superiority as well. Watching her grow into quite the accomplished woman over the years, I found myself believing in the unthinkable."

So Miranda had no idea about the worst of what Cerberus got up to. Or if she did, the Illusive Man had convinced her that it was all a mistake. Or an outlier. Or that it didn't represent the corporation at all.

I had figured as much already.

Still, I asked him, "What did you start believing in?"

"The bonds between humans. Or between all organic species, I should say. But, specifically, among human beings. In my pursuit of humanity's advancement, I'd somehow forgotten the people-part of things. How our connections and attachments—or lack thereof—ultimately shape us into who we are. When I realized this, I made a breakthrough with my research into the Reapers. That's a conversation for another time. The point is…Miranda helped me see how dogmatic I had become in my solitude. She brought much meaning to my life. And then you came along. Her angel. Or rather, her archangel."

Archangel?

"You're surprised," noticed the Illusive Man. "Our better angels are always listening to us whenever we require their aid. Archangels are supreme beings: protectors of all mankind. We cannot simply call them for help as we can with angels. They will only find us when they are ready. There is a big difference."

"Then you watched Miranda miss me over the years," I supposed. "From before she and I finally met."

"Correct. Your influence had already found her by the time she began working for Cerberus. You seemed to act as her moral compass. Especially once you enlisted with the Alliance. During those years of her young adulthood, I was more focused on how valuable Miranda was to me as an asset. I couldn't risk losing her to the uncensored truth of this organization. Though I knew I couldn't hide that truth from her forever. At least, not completely. So I would show the reality to her on occasion, insisting that these were experiments gone wrong. Groups and cells that had gone rogue. Miranda would shut them down on my orders, feeling validated by my trust. And affirming her worldview that she herself was not evil."

Not liking this at all, I pointed out, "So you admit to manipulating her. Sheltering her. Whatever."

"Unfortunately, yes. That is what I did. I suppose I still am."

"Well, like you said, you can't keep hiding this. Miranda's going to find out eventually—one way or another. Don't you think you're insulting her intelligence by not being straight-up with her?"

The Illusive Man conceded, "I know, Shepard. I know. That is why your promises today are important."

I interrogated him, "What, do you expect me to pick up the pieces once she's had enough of you?"

"I expect you to do more than that," he countered. "This is about far more than me passing the torch to you. Or giving you my blessing to be Miranda's one and only. Had I revealed the truth to her at an inopportune time, it would have ruined her. You saw how she reacted to the fallout of what happened with Williams—all due to your actions in containing the situation, Miranda's necessary lies and manipulations, and her crippling fears that she might be your next target. We can move toward the rest of the truth now that you are here. Now that she trusts you. Once again, this is all a fine synthesis."

He made this sound so clinical.

Like it wasn't a big deal at all. Like it was all part of the job. Just business.

But I saw the look in the Illusive Man's eyes, eclipsed by the brights of his blues, glowing in that eeriness.

Somewhere behind his veneer as a harbinger of ruthless pragmatism, I saw his fears:

His real, actual fears that Miranda had grown to mean more to him than anything. More than his endless ambitions. More than Cerberus and humanity's advancement. Maybe more than the Reapers, than defeating them by any means necessary, as someone like him would have probably advocated for.

I believed his emotions, if only because I believed his intelligence.

The Illusive Man knew that he couldn't fool me. And so here he was—in his rare sincerity, unmasked.

I hated having to do this.

Miranda and I had already made our own promises to each other. No more lies. No more sneaking around. No more deception, at all, except maybe little white lies here and there. For our romance.

But this was the solution to the only problem that had nagged at me since our first kiss on Valentine's Day. The singular issue that had blown through me; that I couldn't have explained to Miranda at all; that I'd already lied to her about, insisting that nothing was wrong. I'd spent the entirety of our time on Omega earlier, incognito again, hiding from her in stealth once more. If I'd spoken up, I knew she would have given me excuses. She would have shown more blissful ignorance, insisting that none of this was a concern at all. All of which could have, would have blown up into an unnecessary argument between us.

Miranda had shown more of that same obliviousness of hers, believing me without a word. Simple and easy, without a care in the galaxy. Completely happy with me—Miranda would have accepted anything I said as gospel. The same way she did with the Illusive Man, if only for different reasons. I knew that I was on the road to experiencing the same with her, for the same reasons she was already here with me.

Because in that kiss she had given me on our date, I'd somehow managed to see everything with her.

Miranda had given me the universe in that velvet blessing of her lips…with only this holding me back—

My greater, selfish worries that she might have chosen Cerberus and the Illusive Man over me someday.

One mind, one master worked both ways. She couldn't have this looming over her. Too many doubts.

"Before I go any further with this," I prefaced, "I need to know one thing from you."

"Of course," allowed the Illusive Man.

"When Miranda switched things—becoming my protector—did you know she would make that choice?"

"Not for certain," he said. "Though I strongly hoped she would. She greatly exceeded my expectations."

"No light suggestions from you?"

"None. Miranda had to arrive to that conclusion on her own. Had I forced her hand, she would have resisted, not wanting me to control her. She needs her freedom, Shepard. It is the same with this."

So many echoes of recent events:

Miranda and the rest of the team choosing to not tell me the truth about a certain someone.

Knowing that I might not have listened to reason beforehand, had they tried to intervene.

Needing me to wake up and see the truth; arriving to the correct conclusions on my own.

And now, here was the Illusive Man—the abject representation of humanity's ego and history of supremacy—giving Miranda a way out from the ruthless extremes she had aligned herself with.

For Miranda's sake, I asked her boss—her father:

"Then what's your plan with all of this?"

"I believe you understand my intentions," he noted, first. "Miranda can't stay under my wing forever. She needs to spread her own wings—with you right by her side. The problem is, she won't move on unless she sees the truth about Cerberus. That day will come. It is all but guaranteed. I'm only giving you a fair warning. Regardless of this warning, I am certain you'll notice when that day arrives. She will not. From then on, you'll simply need to let her proceed as normal, discovering what I've hidden from her."

"That sounds reasonable enough. A little too reasonable. What's the catch?"

The Illusive Man made himself clear enough: "As I mentioned earlier, you can expect me to challenge you. I will push you. I'll need you to rise to the occasion in every way possible. Not just for the mission, but for Miranda as well. She'll have to make the right choices when it comes to you. And if it ever comes down to it—as her father—I will make the decisions that she cannot. Someday, as I've said, the three of us will have to face this reality. Not any time soon, however. You're free to enjoy yourselves until then."

"And until that day arrives, I can expect to work with you to take down the Collectors. Right?"

"That's right," he confirmed. "Our working relationship doesn't need to change. When it is time for us to part ways, hopefully it will be after Miranda has made the best choices. You can count on her."

"Understood. Sounds like I don't have a choice either way. If I try to fight her on this, she'll resist me."

The Illusive Man elucidated: "Commander, you should know that this organization is more than what you believe. Cerberus is an idea. To Miranda, that idea is about making the hard choices in a hard galaxy. As a realist. For humanity's sake—and yours. This idea will die eventually. You don't have to force it."

If that was really true, then maybe I could breathe easier about all of this. Maybe.

Shifting gears, the Illusive Man procured a cigarette from a slot in his chair's armrest. Lighting it with his omni-tool, he soon blew out a mist of smoke, quickly reading something on the translucent-orange screens in front of him. After a moment longer of smoking, and scanning, he continued on:

"Miranda's already sent me her preliminary report about your time on Omega. I'm pleased that you managed to locate Dr. Mordin Solus in the middle of the plague. Aria T'Loak will have to answer for her incompetence, one way or another. I wouldn't be surprised if someone's already plotting to take her down. At the very least, the station's gangs and mercenaries will want to do something about her."

"Aria mentioned something about that," I remembered. "For now, I'm giving her some time to deal with the situation. We'll go find Archangel tomorrow, hopefully once Aria has a better handle on things."

"That sounds wise," he agreed. "If for some reason she hasn't dealt with the problem, then I'm sure she'll solicit your aid. Archangel has made quite the name for himself on Omega as a vigilante, fighting for the downtrodden and taking out anyone corrupted by power. He may decide to involve himself in the conflict. You need to be prepared for that."

"I figured as much already. I'll handle the problem as necessary."

"I'm glad to hear it. As for the Collectors, it will be a while yet before the next main mission is available. Dr. Solus should have the seeker swarm countermeasure prepared by then. In the meantime, continue recruiting new members and preparing your team. Spend adequate time with everyone; get to know them well. They will be looking to your guidance for success. Keep your promises to me about Miranda, and all will be well. I trust you to put her first from now on."

While I showered off that grime and sickness from Omega, I kept Miranda on my mind.

I gripped my arms around myself. Trying to find some comfort beyond this heated stream of water. Needing to make sense of this illegible change that went on with me, scattered across the landscape of this shower's stall. Limited space, limited comfort: trapped in my own entrapment, and completely vulnerable, I stared off at nothing. Thinking. Feeling. No longer able to judge in the same ways as before.

Indoctrination immunity or not, I remained convinced of one thing:

Miranda would have always given me this feeling. The way she cared about me, the way she held herself, and the way she had earned my trust—she embodied the archetype of what I needed in a woman. Far beyond any lust driving me out of control, drawing me to her. Far more than any powerful wants warping and twisting my priorities, driving me to the brink.

Because when I kissed Miranda on Valentine's Day, I knew.

I had seen everything with her. Everything: all the colors that I'd never fathomed before. Anything: as all the possibilities that had hidden themselves from me. Everything and anything, shaped and styled as this full arc of certainty with her. I still saw all of it now. The exact same scenarios that other women had always said they'd wanted with me. The same things that I'd never been able to reciprocate, let alone fantasize about in any real capacity. Everything that I had been too cynical or jaded to imagine at all.

My talk with the Illusive Man had only reinforced this in me.

He had said the words. I couldn't. I couldn't let myself admit the whole spectrum of this truth.

Not yet.

I definitely didn't want to get ahead of myself…

Once I finished dealing with my hair, and putting on my casual Alliance blues, I felt that low rumble from my omni-tool. Heart fluttering and all, I grew anxious over the surprise, as this lovely contradiction:

[17:25:00] Miranda: Any plans for how you'll spend your evening before the next mission?

[17:25:31] Me: I haven't decided. What about you? What are you up to?

[17:26:08] Miranda: I'm still working on our operation report. I have to say, I'm very impressed with you. Getting the cure to the environmental station without firing a single shot. And even before that, your sniper shots against the mercs were perfectly accurate. I'd like to catalog every detail I can. This should be a great help for the team to study on their own. The Illusive Man as well. So I'll probably be a while.

[17:27:19] Me: Thanks. It wasn't that difficult, though. It's not hard to sneak around a bunch of vorcha.

[17:27:32] Miranda: I know. I only wanted to tell you how I feel. Although, I also have a request. If you're not too busy, that is.

[17:27:58] Me: I'm not that busy. EDI's a big help with my duties. She's been able to summarize everything for me. All I have to do is read over her reports and sign off on them. I have plenty of free time for you.

[17:28:16] Miranda: Then I want you to come to my room while I finish with this report. I'm not sure how we might spend the rest of the night together. We can figure something out. How does that sound?

[17:28:40] Me: I'd like that a lot, actually. Let me just look over these reports EDI sent me. We're short-staffed down in Engineering. I need to figure out how bad the problem is. Once I finish with this, I'll be right down to see you.

[17:29:03] Miranda: Yes, of course. I figured we'd run into troubles now that Engineer Daniels is all by herself down there. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere.

[17:29:11] Me: All right, then. I'll see you soon.

[17:29:23] Miranda: I'm looking forward to it.

Sitting at my desk with my terminal open, these reports from EDI were about what I'd expected. Engineer Daniels was of course doing her best, but there was only so much she could handle on her own. Overall productivity was way down now that she was by herself. Not enough to compromise the ship or our operations. Just enough to make me worry about her. She hadn't emailed Miranda or me to complain at all. She'd instead decided to work much longer hours to make up for things.

"EDI," I said.

"Yes, Shepard," she responded.

"It sounds like Daniels needs some help down in Engineering. How is she doing?"

EDI told me, "Engineer Daniels has adjusted quickly to the increased workload. She has shown few signs of heightened stress or fatigue. She appears determined to make up for the crew's previous behavior toward Miranda."

"Really? Why?"

"Everyone aboard the Normandy is aware of your increased affections for her. They are very curious. This includes Engineer Daniels. Mr. Moreau was not subtle in sharing his observations with the crew."

Of course Joker went running his big mouth about us.

Then again, I guessed it didn't help that I'd started holding Miranda's hand for everyone to see.

"Whatever," I dismissed. "Send Engineer Daniels an email for me, thanking her for the hard work. And you can promise her that help is on the way. We'll have our chief engineer once we pick up Tali soon enough. I'm still considering what to do about filling the last assignment for our power engineer."

I wanted to assign Legion to take the spot. But if Tali didn't approve, then this would've been a waste.

I had to wait and see if she could handle working with a geth, on top of dealing with Cerberus.

"Email away," confirmed EDI.

"Oh—and see what you can do about getting Daniels a permanent pay raise. I'm sure the Illusive Man won't mind, since he's handling our budget. Put in a request with him."

"Requesting it now."

"Thanks, EDI," I replied, checking over another report—this time about the armory. "Looks like Zaeed's settling in the armory just fine. You wrote here that you're worried about long-term productivity. You really think he won't be able to handle the work on his own?"

EDI justified, "As a vague possibility, Mr. Massani may need assistance in the future, as we continue to recruit new squad members. He is a seasoned mercenary soldier. But he does not have formal training as an arms master. Nevertheless, current productivity within the armory is at an acceptable level. This could change once the expected workload begins to increase. More team members will mean more weapons and armor to actively maintain at once."

She had a point.

"I see what you mean. I'll try to find a solution, then."

"Very well, Shepard. Logging you out."

I glanced over the dossiers again, looking for anyone who could fit the bill to help with the armory.

Soldiers.

Arms masters.

Only one person had the experience we needed. And I was almost surprised by who it was: Lieutenant James Vega from the Alliance. That James. Seemed like he'd been following me everywhere…

'Born on Earth and raised in a rough environment, Lieutenant James Vega is a battle-hardened soldier, able to withstand nearly any onslaught. A human tank by veritable means, he views fighting and muscle gain as a means to better himself mentally. Years of service as an arms master have given Vega clear proficiency with nearly any weapon. Dutiful on the battlefield, he is only quick to question orders outside of combat, should he find his superiors remiss in any way. His distrust for authority is rooted in his family ties. An absent father who had otherwise manipulated Vega into a life of drug-dealing: the lieutenant struggles with trusting in the judgment of his betters, let alone respecting them with any genuineness. He finds it simpler to idolize those whom he respects—from a decent distance—rather than seeing them up close for who and what they are, which would realistically shatter the illusions of his venerations.'

'Malleable ideas of family and other personal attachments have left Vega emotionally stilted. Friendly overtures and engaging with others as the so-called life of the party are the extent to which he may find connections. The truest exception to his rules lie with Commander Shepard's unique greatness. Vega respects the commander as the finest marine to aspire to. The full extent of his idolizing remains unclear. As an Alliance soldier, it is likely that Vega would set aside his grievances with Cerberus to join the team. Vega would serve as a positive reminder of the commander's roots on Earth. Born and raised in the same city, in similar situations, and both entrenched in Hispanic culture and the Spanish language: it is possible for the commander and the lieutenant to establish a camaraderie between superior and subordinate.'

This sounded a little too familiar.

I spent a while longer looking into James as much as I could. He sounded perfect for the job, sure. I just worried that he might've had trouble accepting the reality of things—with Ashley, with me. I could only imagine the shock he'd feel, finding out everything that had happened. Even more, that I was dating Miranda now. The person he'd assumed was only Ashley's 'friend' back at the 94. He would have to put the pieces together and realize that he'd interacted with them right after the cover-up with the police.

I also remembered his email to me. How eager he had been—and probably still was—to join the team.

But, for now, I set his possible recruitment aside.

We could go pick him up from San Diego in due time. Not right away. Maybe after Tali joined us.

After logging out of my terminal, I took the elevator down to the crew deck, heading to Miranda's office. Readying myself to see her again. To be around her; in her presence, again. I already missed being back at home with her. Chilling out. Watching TV or playing video games while she watched me. Resting together while a thunderstorm raged outside. Having that peace with her.

The exact type of peace I'd always been searching for.

I had finally found it—with this giant red flag obscuring my sight of her endless intelligence and beauty.

The same red as that supergiant encroaching behind the Illusive Man's form, as Cerberus raging on.

Crossing through the automatic opening of her office door, room smelling richly of roses, I found Miranda working at her desk. As soon as she saw me, the concentration in her stare dissolved away to lightness. Reserved in brightness, that metallic blue of her eyes softened to a smoother hue, holding me here. I barely remembered to walk closer to Miranda instead of just staring at her. Walking around the surface of her desk. Reaching her, nearing her to tower over where she sat, to lean down to her.

Miranda simpered. "Well, hello there."

"Hey, Miranda."

Leaning more, I brought my lips to the warm fullness of her cheek. Tasting this heated shape of her face, I loved the way she tilted her head toward me for this best angle, feeling all of me. Expectant in a warm, sweet gesture: as warm as the tea in her hands, steaming within that Virgo mug she'd brought with her.

"Thank you, Shepard," she murmured, pure enough to cleanse me.

I stood up straight, asking her, "You good?"

Miranda smiled more. "I am, yes," she said. "Still drowning in work, but I can't complain. I think I actually enjoy the workload. This is…rather new for me." She gestured to the couch not too far behind her desk. "Why don't you lie down and relax? Talk with me. I've been waiting for you to come down. I'm curious."

Heading over to the couch, lying down there, I wondered, "Curious about what?"

"How your discussion went—with the Illusive Man."

Of course she was curious about that.

"It went well enough," I told her, glancing around. Perfect order. Perfect spaces. Perfect placement of her perfectly-made bed along the far wall, the black and white of that bedding tempting me. "We debriefed about Omega and discussed what to expect with Aria and Archangel. Among other things."

Multitasking with her back to me as she worked: Miranda hummed in more curiosity.

"Such as?"

"He said I shouldn't tell you. You're supposed to find out on your own. I have to agree with him on that."

Fishing for clues—"Hmm, no hints at all?"

Keeping it vague—"The Illusive Man claimed that he has something to show you down the line. Later on. Much later on. I'm not allowed to give you any more details. You'll find out what it is. Eventually."

"That sounds mysterious," chatted Miranda, still so airy and pleasant. "Well, if you're forbidden from saying anything more, I won't prod you about it. I'll simply have to keep it in mind, then. I only wanted to make sure the two of you are getting along now. For obvious reasons. I'm sure you understand."

"He and I have an understanding," I reassured her, spotting the violet roses I'd given her, on the nightstand next to her bed. Scenting the room. Everlasting. "Admittedly, I didn't trust him before. You both probably knew that. Things are different now." Miranda had the box of chocolates there, next to the flower vase. Centered at the perfect angle. I wondered if she'd finished eating them all; I wondered what she'd fantasized about with that milk chocolate melting in her mouth. "For obvious reasons."

"I agree. I'm glad that the three of us can move forward together. Not only in a professional way. I trusted the Illusive Man with my life when I ran away from my father. When I ran away from…the situation I mentioned before, with my old friend Niket. So, it means a lot to me that you've found an understanding with one another. I suppose he's become more than just my boss over the years."

I chanced asking, "Is he like your stand-in father?"

Still typing away at her terminal, Miranda replied with ease, "Yes, you could say that. The notion used to bother me before. I didn't like the idea of having that type of bond with someone. I worried that it might compromise me somehow. If anything, it's helped us find a better working relationship. I understand him, and he understands me. Surprisingly uncomplicated. I couldn't have asked for a better situation."

"What changed your mind about it?"

"You did."

Such a professional calm she exuded in her vibe, in her tone.

Miranda's sophistication reigned even in her genuineness. Simple and clean. Elevated. Astute.

Watching her from behind, taking in this shape of her as she sat at her desk, shaped by the midnight blues and black of her leather, I knew where my mind had gone. I felt my face, my neck heating up by these thoughts. I sensed my sheer serendipity, from having found this woman that held my attention in this way. Maturity and self-discipline wrapped together in a special sincerity she saved only for me.

Controlled by her control.

If I could have, I would have given in to this sense, this feeling, and this knowing.

If she would let me, then I could have gone over there. Over to her. Staying underneath the desk while she worked. Staying under her, tasting in between her legs—giving Miranda what she wanted, pleasing her—while she focused on her work, seemingly ignoring me. Letting me give her the breaths that I breathed. Enjoying the grip of my hands around her thighs up to her waist, skin on leather on skin in heated want. Needing me to do this, but never really acting like it. Only giving me the vaguest of acknowledgments: lounging her heeled boots along the slope of my back; running her manicured nails through my hair, along my scalp. Sighing, pleased. Whenever she felt like it. Wherever she wanted it.

Whatever she wanted. Whatever she needed. All as a lead-up to more, to so much more—to my atmosphere on her, to me being inside of her, deeper than gravity. Whenever she was ready.

Whenever, wherever, whatever.

Completely caught up in this image of her, it took me a while to notice my omni-tool's alert going off.

Knowing, Miranda laughed softly in her allure. "Are you going to get that?"

Face heating all over again, I fumbled to silence the alert. To check whatever this was about.

Knowing again, Miranda simply hummed in amusement this time, working away.

Opening my omni-tool, I at least caught the way she crossed her legs. Probably thinking the same as me.

From: Tali'Zorah – Re: Catching up.

Shepard,

I've made it back home after my previous mission.

I'm resting before my next and final assignment for Father. He's sending me with a team of marines to Haestrom. There's something going on with the sun in that region. I'm supposed to collect data on the problem for the rest of the admirals, while finding whatever geth parts I can for Father's research. My good friend Kal'Reegar will be with me. He's been a great squad leader for the marines. I wouldn't have been able to get my work done this quickly without him.

My Auntie Shala'Raan is over visiting my father and me. She's not related to me by blood, though. She's another admiral. She knew both of my parents from before I was born, so there's a lot of history between us. Raan knows that I intend to return to the Normandy soon. I'm expecting her to be here for a while of talking. Probably for a couple of hours, at least. Then I'm going to get ready to set off again.

I hope you're doing well, Shepard. I'm really looking forward to joining you again after Haestrom. It hasn't been the same without you.

-Tali

As a sweet gesture, Tali had attached a picture here. A picture of us together. Looked like this was from right after the Battle at the Citadel, when I'd reunited with the team on the ship. Tali was the first one who'd all but tackled me with a hug, relieved that I was okay. I smiled over the picture, taking note of the way she had squeezed me while I'd looked down at her in a gentle, protective calm, keeping my arms around her.

I could only imagine who'd taken this. Liara or Ashley, probably.

Smiling more, I decided to find a frame for this and set it in my private cabin.

Miranda's question had such a fine lilt, "So? Who was it?"

"Tali emailed me," I replied. "She's back at home for now. One last assignment to take care of."

"Mmm, that's good news. I imagine you'd like to name her as our chief engineer once she joins."

"Yeah, I plan on it. She's more than qualified for the job. I'm keeping it as a surprise. I haven't mentioned this to her yet. I'll tell her when she joins up again. Think you'll be busy for a while longer?"

"Yes, I will be," answered Miranda. "I'd like to set up a few things for Tali'Zorah now that we'll be seeing her again. Since she'll be a senior officer aboard the ship, I'll need to make certain she has the appropriate amenities in her clean room. Though the question remains as to what you'll do in the meantime."

I wrote up my reply to Tali's email, still talking, "I'll find something to do. I want to stay in here with you. I'm not just going to leave. I should take it easy."

"Playing it safe tonight?"

"I mean, it's not like we can just go out. Taking you to Afterlife for drinks doesn't seem like the best idea."

Miranda bristled. "I'd much rather avoid heading back out to Omega, if at all possible."

"Why's that?"

"The place is filthy, that's why," she criticized. "I have other, more colorful words to describe the station. Suffice to say I wasn't satisfied with the single shower I took after the last mission. I might take another one later, just to make a point. Maybe things will improve after the plague passes completely."

"Somehow I'm not surprised," I teased.

"Mm, of course not. I do appreciate you wanting to take me out for drinks, anyway. Perhaps another time. For now, why don't you watch TV in my bed? Maybe you could find a vid to keep your attention."

Looking around again, I asked, "You have a TV in here?"

Miranda used her omni-tool to forward a few permissions to mine.

"It's like the one in your bedroom at home," she supplied. "It will come down from the ceiling. All you have to do is set the task. Would you like to?"

"Sure, I'll do that. Thanks."

Resting in Miranda's bed for a change, for the first time, I started liking her room even more. Browsing for something to watch on her TV hanging from the ceiling, directly in front of the bed—I found an unexpected comfort in the coldness about this space. The window nearby, off to the side, open to the view of Omega's pale lights, and this simplistic setting, unadorned: it was a nice contrast to my private cabin. I felt pretty comfortable by the time I picked a vid to immerse myself in for a little while tonight.

Since I was going to see Tali again kind of soon, I put on my omni-tool's headphones to watch Fleet and Flotilla. That favorite movie of hers about a turian-quarian relationship. Separated by duty, war, and drama, these two characters, Shalei and Bellicus, sounded like classic star-crossed lovers. Before I knew it, I was curled up in Miranda's bed under the sheets, watching this romantic drama for the first time.

I guessed it was…sweet. Touching. Not something I normally would've picked out for myself. I definitely understood now why Wrex used to tease Tali about this being a chick flick. But I could see why Tali enjoyed this. I wasn't sure if she still did. Maybe she'd grown out of it after all these years. Probably so.

As I watched the vid, I couldn't help wondering if Tali and Miranda would get along. Not necessarily as friends. At most, as colleagues. Teammates. I remembered how amused Tali had been by Miranda back on Freedom's Progress, what with all the staring going on. Unintentional or otherwise. Then again:

Things were entirely different these days.

If anything, I knew that Tali would object to Cerberus more than Miranda herself.

I fully expected to have that conversation with her.

Even as I felt my own reservations burning away in the heat of the moment, I had to be realistic.

But more and more, I remembered those enlightening visions that Miranda had given me with her kiss.

Higher on this hierarchy, she stayed highest as this scene played out with Shalei and Bellicus on the Citadel, as they stood together on a balcony overlooking the Presidium:

"But Shalei, we can never be together. I have my duty, and you have your people."

"Not tonight. Tonight, I'm as free as the dust in the solar wind."

Resting over Miranda's pillows, breathing in the remnants of the smooth smell of her hair—I wondered if she really did know everything about me.

She saw me; just as I saw her, unable to walk away.

"I want you to see behind this mask. I want you to see who I truly am."

"I already have."

After a few hours, Miranda finished with her work.

Looking accomplished, looking fine as hell, she strode over in this direction. I kept my eyes to hers. Watching as she headed past me to her adjacent bathroom. Walking past me, Miranda made a point to be gentle, loving: stroking my face in such a sensual softness, glad that I was here with her. She then disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Locking it. Soon I heard the streaming sounds from her shower water running, misting. Strangely, this only gave me a false sense of security.

I spent the last of this time watching the remainder of the vid. Thinking about Miranda all the while.

Thinking about this place I was at—mentally, emotionally. This false, false security. Purely false. Untrue.

Wondering what was on Miranda's mind right now, given how somewhat-distant I had been lately.

Almost fearing these thoughts of hers, from the vibe she gave off. This feeling I had now from her:

Darkened.

Eclipsed.

Foreboding.

Finished with her shower, Miranda returned to me. Lights off around us—I hadn't noticed that she had enshrouded the room in this darkness, lit up only by the view of Omega's lights outside the windows. Lighting me with her body, Miranda slipped into bed with me, and turned the television off. Getting that distraction out of the way. Settling herself on top of me, straddling my waist. Topped off with her allure, wearing this nightdress of hers. Black lace ephemeral with her sex appeal. Effortless in truth. Even as I didn't know what to do with my hands. Even as I felt myself faltering, feeling the lining of Miranda's thong riding against my Alliance blues, my pants, my navel. Even feeling her weight on me like this. Staring up at her staring down at me. Gazing up at this haze in her eyes, steel blues melting just for me.

This perfect touch of her hands, her fingertips, her manicured nails, settling over my shoulder, my chest:

Miranda licked her full lips, before she asked me, "So, how was the vid?"

"It was fine," I made myself say. "Not normally my thing. I…wanted to try something different."

"You're doing that a lot lately. Stepping out of your comfort zone. Trying new things. I wonder why…"

Parched throat, parched mind; I couldn't begin to dissect the night of her tone, edged in this meaning.

Edging more, Miranda straightened her back as she stayed in place, straddling my waist just as she was.

Sharpened from her manual filing, she brought her nails to my face. One hand. Longest, rounded somewhat: her thumb nail, she edged closer to my lips. Uneven, unsteady in awe, Miranda used her nail to round along my skin. Outlining. Drawing on this imaginary makeup of her touch, making me hers. Up to her own stare, I found her eyes hollowing through mine. Concentrating. Hazing and dazing more. Engorging me, she devoured me whole without moving. Without saying a word. Only continuing to trace along my lips with her nail, jagged and jaded. Swordless as ever, she could have plunged through me with her hands instead. Her stare. Her breaths rising and falling, sharp and shallow enough to shear me.

Just as she was about to lean down to me, more, I held Miranda's face in my hands.

Stopping her this way.

Leveraging her non-weight over my palms. Feeling the sheen of her hair brushing against my fingers.

Miranda smirked. "What is it, Shepard?"

Pained, I whispered, "How do you know?"

She knew this, too. "How do I know what?"

I brought her face closer to mine, gripping a bit. "What's wrong with me."

Moaning as much, Miranda said, "We've gone over this already. There's nothing wrong with you. You and I are consenting adults here, aren't we? When the time is right—once we get into the kinks we like—you can let loose. Give me all your demons. Until then, we're going to smile. Enjoy this with me."

Nearing me, overpowering my grip—Miranda closed this distance between us.

Darkened in sight, in mood—she settled her smile over my scowl, just as dark, just as meaningful.

Lightless from her beauty eclipsing me, in and out, this light-headedness got to me. This same feeling Miranda had given me from our first kiss. This same heat prickling through my skin, my face, down to my neck, sweat seeping. All laced with her courage. All seasoned with Miranda's control, her power over me, straddling me at the top of this totem pole. Hardness from this phantom feel of me, wishing I could thrust into her for some semblance of control, even if it was all in vain. Veining veins over my arms, my hands, bulging from my blood pressure rising, as much as Miranda laughed in this genteel softness, hardened with her edge, her knowing. She roamed her hands over this bulging, of this webbing green protruding from my skin in my restraint. She knew how much I needed to buck her, to resist her. But I couldn't. I couldn't do it. She roamed more. She laughed more. She smiled, more, knowing everything.

Seeing heaven with her in this light, in this dark: her lips, her kiss sent me flying in place, fantasizing.

Ascending her importance in my mind, in my heart. Rising, as much as she rose over me, leveraging her body over mine like this. Reaching through to my lips, into my mouth with this feather-thickness of her tongue, purposeful in roaming. Completing me over and over again. Clarifying my clarity. Opening me to the universe and back, sending me higher and farther and wider each time. Pebbling my skin up to my scalp with these discoveries, chills chilling me down to my bones from how much I needed this from her, down to the marrow of me. Only breathing because she gave me this function, voluntarily. Already.

Getting ahead of myself.

Getting way ahead of myself, again with these thoughts. Again with these fantasies. This sight, seeing her as my monarch. Ruling over this domain of me, this mind of me, this heart of me. Unconditionally.

In this unconditional sense, Miranda took her chance:

Slipping her legs between mine, she opened me up to her. Opening me this way. Opening me to her wiles, to this press of herself over me, right in the middle. Halving me in this switching split, she immediately changed this atmosphere surrounding us. Miranda smirked right into my mouth, pitching me higher in this softness I never knew I had. In her infinite amusement, she kept throwing me off more—pressing harder into me. Between my legs. Against my lips. Deeper into my mouth with her tongue, this white-mint freshness of her toothpaste cleaning my already-clean teeth, sullying me with this unexpected shame. Shame from what she drew out in me; that I enjoyed it.

Miranda zeroed in on this, gripping me more.

Pulling up at my legs for leverage over me.

Leveraging herself this way in her dominance over me.

Over me, on top. Over everything of me. Blinding me in this sightlessness, until I felt this sharpness of her intentions. Of what Miranda wanted to do, but would not. Digging her nails into the fabric of my clothes, she could have taken them off of me. Getting rid of this blue. Skinning me alive to sate her.

On instinct, I slipped out from underneath her body.

I escaped the bed.

And I was about to leave the room. Not caring that I didn't even have my boots on.

Unthinking, unbound.

Making me think, making me realize how bound I was—I saw that Miranda had locked her door. That red glared there in warning. Demanding me to stay. Ordering me to remain right where I was. Standing here at this juncture, this strange intersection. Halved and halved from Miranda's office, from her room: standing near the couch I had sat on earlier, with the low table just in front. Just by me. Glass as crystal reflecting my set jaw, my controlled breaths, and the slight slip of sweat over my face, stopping me here.

Footsteps pointed, purposeful—Miranda stalked over to me. I could somehow hear the sway of her hips as she walked. Talking me down without words, exactly as her locked door did. Locking me to this spot.

"Just so you know," she murmured, nearing me more, "This isn't new for me. Far from it. At least, not in my imagination." Miranda's voice sounded so much closer. "I would always think of you. Whenever I had some other woman pinned underneath me. Fucking her that way. Trying to find some sort of stress release. Trying to find you." Sensual in meaning, she set her hand over my hair. Stroking in longing, down the length of my spine. "Perhaps you don't see yourself this way. But I do. It's far more than the warning I gave you about us switching. I want to show you what you've been missing out on. With me."

Staring at that red of her possessiveness over the door, I muttered out, "Why…?"

Miranda pressed her lips to my neck in our difference, whispering as a shadowy mist, "I need to take care of you, Shepard. You are intensely beautiful. So much that it hurts. I'm aching for you. Right now."

Desire for me unbridled, Miranda made me lie down on the couch. Closer than the bed. Closer to what she wanted—she got back on top of me, settling herself between me, just like before. Stronger than before, harder than before, she breathed this hard strength into my mouth. Sparking my heart by her touch, her insistence, I felt myself falling out of control. Gripping Miranda's waist, just to feel her—I felt how much she moved, how she shifted; how she pushed herself to push me. Eager to have me, eager to claim me—later, in due time, without rushing—I sensed her insistence testing her nonetheless, goading.

She could have lost herself in me.

She could have lost control.

She could have torn my clothes off, getting them out of her way.

She could have done anything to me…and I would have let her.

This exact same power that I was so used to giving to everyone else—Miranda wanted to give it to me, and more. And I could see it with her. I could see everything with her, all the same as her love on me. All the same, completely similar in how she rattled this cage of my emotions, jerking me. Tearing at this cage with her bare hands. Pulling at bare steel with her grip, baring her needs to me in this lightless sea of her sight of me. Rusting at this steel, this cage that I had locked myself in, even with my naïve willingness to try something new with her. To try everything with her. Absolutely everything—even this.

At this panic of my realization, I broke away from her lips, breathing hard.

Harder than before, Miranda pulled me right back. Moving into me all over again, stronger.

These muffled sounds of her insistence, moaning as her might over me—she was too close to me. Too close to getting what she wanted, even in her restraint. Too close to making me want to please her in this inverse, forgetting everything we had agreed on.

Forgetting to agree, boundaries in place: we didn't have a safe word. We hadn't discussed this yet.

This panic, panic flying and fighting and flashing before my eyes; I had no way out.

As much as I muffled my own panic against her, Miranda only smirked into me more, needing.

Spotting the lock on the door, I blurted out the only safe word I could think of—"Red!"

Miranda stopped immediately.

Removing herself from me, out of breath—she retreated to the table just by the couch. Sitting there over the low glass, the crystal. Keeping her legs together, modest in her shifting state of mind. Trying to compose herself again. Breathing in and out as she watched me do the same.

Avoiding her, I turned around. Lying over my side. Facing away from her like this. Overwhelmed.

Feeling her eyes on the back of my head, it was all I could do to breathe in this leather. Still needing her.

Miranda managed to say, "I'm sorry, Shepard."

Even with her apology, I felt how much she wanted to continue anyway. Needing to do it.

She respected my weakness anyway. Not judging me at all.

Knowing how badly she needed me, I couldn't be upset with her. Not that. Never that.

"I'm just not used to this," I admitted. "Sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," she mothered. "I'm only wondering if you'll let me make up for it."

I shook my head. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"That isn't what I mean," she insisted.

I realized what Miranda meant once she stood up, needing to guide me back to bed.

I decided to follow her.

We lay down this time, unobstructed. Miranda sat up against her pillows this time. Holding me. Keeping my head over her chest. Feeling this burning of my ear, the side of my face over her skin; letting me listen to her thundering heart, the way she controlled herself. Still thinking about more, wanting more. She couldn't help her thoughts. Even shifting on occasion; she wouldn't let herself touch me any more than she already had. Yet these lingering intentions about her had my mind spinning twice as fast.

Caring for me, after, she kept her touch soft. Gentle. Even while sighed on occasion, regretting. Regretting her own conditions about not rushing things. Finding her convictions to keep at this pace with me, again. But I understood that her view of me had permanently dimmed to this shadow. As it did, I lost another facet of my control over her. My own influence over her. My own power over her, torn. Tearing and bending as my knees could have, should have. Kneeling before whatever she wanted. Giving her whatever she pleased. Doing whatever she asked for, whether she spoke her commands out loud or not.

Miranda knew exactly why I needed this line of succession with her.

Sleeplessness, insomnia. I had let Miranda hold me through most of the night. Then I'd made out with her again after that, for hours more through to this new morning. Then I had escaped to my private cabin once it was time to get ready for the next mission. Showering again, suiting up again. All the while feeling like Miranda had once again siphoned off some part of me. Because she knew exactly what she was doing, eroding my dominance away. Twisting me into true submissiveness in every other way.

Twisting me all the way out.

Sitting down on my bed in my stealth suit, I sighed over this change. This switch. This absolute shifting that left me breathless, barely able to keep sighing to catch myself. Burying my face in my hands. Trying to breathe, in and out. Over and over again. Never really finding solid ground to exist on anymore.

Miranda had such an unsettling gift for turning me into someone else. Someone I didn't recognize.

Heart thundering, forehead breaking out into a cold sweat. Still short of breath. Gloved hands trembling.

Still trying to breathe. Trying to center myself. Trying to push this feeling away, and failing.

I slicked this sweat back into my hair as I tied my taut tail, flowing down my spine as usual.

I needed to distract myself away from this feeling.

I'd already done my research on Archangel. But I did still have some time before the briefing at 9:00am.

Just as I wondered how to spend my time, the low rumble from my omni-tool went off. Not from my chat room with Miranda, though. An actual call. Through the private frequency I'd recently made for us.

Trying and failing to steel myself, I went ahead and answered:

I kept my voice deep as I said, "Hey."

Miranda kept her voice light enough. "You ran off earlier."

Light and direct, her tone told me of this continuation from last night. Her mood, her vibe. Her aura.

"I know. Sorry. This is still pretty new for me. I don't just mean the way you kissed me."

She knew. She wanted to keep this going. Yet she still asked, "Do you want me to stop?"

"No, you don't have to stop…"

"Whether I have to or not is irrelevant. Do you want me to slow down with this?"

Not knowing how to answer that, I said nothing.

Miranda hummed in a sexed amusement. "You're such a mystery, Shepard. At times like these, I begin to wonder too much. About you. About what it is you even see in me. Do you like me, really?"

"Yeah, I like you," I admitted, thoughts clouded by how much I adored her. "I like you a lot."

"What do you like about me?"

The way she said that—needing to know—I caught her hook. My hook in her. Her absolute fascination with me. Fascinated and absolute in her feelings. Feeling everything for me. Way more than I could fathom. Even the mere idea of Miranda's totality sent my imagination on a trip. Sultry in this heat, I felt the slow simmer steaming me. Inside and out. Everywhere. Changing the cadence of my heartbeats, syncing them with hers. Even at this minimal distance. Even while I couldn't see her. Even in this silence.

Miranda could have listened to me breathe over this line for hours, for days without complaining at all.

Realizing that truth, I told her, "I like this about you. You're insistent—without pressuring me. You're expectant—without any real entitlement. You're incredibly compelling. I don't want you to stop this."

"I enjoy hearing that from you," she accepted. "But I've been thinking…perhaps I should set this particular energy aside. At least for the time being. I do worry about scaring you off."

"Something tells me you're enjoying this more than you thought you would."

She laughed softly. "Of course I do. You're making me work for it. Not on purpose. I want to earn you."

"Well, I feel the same about you," I mentioned. "Do you actually want to set this one thing aside?"

"Mmm, for now… This is more along the lines of pushing your boundaries. Even in an otherwise vanilla setting. We don't have to get into this now. I got ahead of myself. Uncharacteristic, I suppose."

"You still need this. You're thinking about it now. I know you are."

"It's no secret that I need a lot from you. That doesn't mean I should behave any differently. Not yet."

Even as she said that, I didn't really believe her.

Miranda had twisted her priorities around in a different way. Whether she chose to admit it or not.

I saw the truth—heard it in the way she breathed, harder on occasion. Without meaning to. Giving away what was still on her mind. How she kept controlling herself. So much flitting through her mind; she could have lost herself and given in. After all this time. All this suffering, without me. But she wouldn't allow herself to go that far. I almost wished she would, if only to show me those depths, down to the bottom of her depravity, so far-removed from her professionalism. Her control. Her true consideration.

Besides, we did have our mission soon…

If we kept this up, I worried that I'd lose my focus out there.

"You're awfully quiet again," noticed Miranda. "Won't you tell me what's on your mind this time?"

I picked at something else, opposite: "If we're talking about me on top, I'm more curious about that. I'm more…familiar with it. Are you willing to move toward this instead? First. Before anything else, I mean."

"I am, yes… But even still, it's not that simple. There's one particular detail that elevates us together."

"And which detail is that?"

"I want you under my control."

Sweat beading over my skin; I stopped breathing.

That image I'd thought of, back in Miranda's room, I remembered it now: how I'd wanted to get underneath her desk to please her while she worked. While she ignored me. While she got off over time, if that was what she wanted. While I stopped thinking, just to give that to her. Nonstop, if she so decided. Completely subservient. Bordering on the rest. Teasing with it. Almost getting to that edge.

"Maybe this is my ego speaking. I crave nothing more than to own you. Whether you're the one fucking me or not, I have to know that you're mine. As powerful as you are, I want you to elevate me by association. Or rather, because you're the one lifting me up. Let's just say there's quite a lot of symbolism in you holding my thighs up—while you pin me against a wall. Fucking me that way. As one example."

Asphyxiating myself without touch—this could only work for so long.

I made myself breathe. Jagged and all. Imagining precisely what she said, as she said the words. Giving her everything I had. Every ounce of my strength. Making her sound the way I needed her to, spurring me more. I had to know her. I had to find out how she sounded, how she felt. That deeply, soaking me.

Miranda knew.

She laughed a little bit more. A little cynical. A little sinister. A little fucked up. Triggering something deep in me, hard.

That was enough for her.

Just enough to signal that she would have exactly what she wanted with me.

"Of course, there will be times when you're the one in control. I admit that I am a masochist in some ways. Many ways, really. There are certain interests I have. Ones that I'd like to trust with you. However, that's a conversation for another time. We shouldn't get into that now. Not right before our mission."

I breathed out, "Not even a hint?"

Miranda hummed, thoughtful. She wanted to reward me. She had the power to do it.

"Well, I suppose one tiny hint wouldn't hurt," she allowed. She considered for me. And then: "It involves the incident that you took care of. When you first arrived to the ship. When you dismissed the crew."

"Because they mistreated you," I remembered. "You felt like you had to put up with it. For my sake."

"Yes, although there was another reason why I let it go on. I would think of you while this happened."

I might've had an idea already… "What reason was that? Why'd you think about me?"

"I'm not telling you yet, Shepard. You asked for a hint. I gave you one. Let's leave it at that, shall we?"

"Okay…if that's what you want."

That little laugh again. "It isn't necessarily what I want. I won't be responsible for you losing your focus today. For now, I should let you get going. It's almost that time. I'll see you in the comm room in a bit."

Remembering to breathe. "Yeah, I'll—see you soon. Bye for now."

"Bye, then."

Miranda said she wouldn't be responsible for this, but it was bound to happen anyway.

Thoughts chopped and screwed, revolving around those hints of hers: I couldn't help wondering about what she was into. Wondering about it, and why. Wondering how and why she could possibly be such a masochist. Finding some sick, twisted way of enjoying that type of mistreatment—but only from me. Only from this sadism I had never, ever let myself get into. Not fully. Not completely. Now, here she was, telling me that she was into that type of degradation. That type of burning humiliation. Possibly, maybe.

Finding power in those lows. Feeling safe in a safer environment. Turning those tropes on their head.

As far-off as all of that was, I appreciated Miranda's trust in me now. Today.

Even though she had my mind all over the place, I found my own freedom in her acceptance, her wants.

Nearing 9:00am, I decided to leave my room. Heading down the elevator. Around to the comm room.

Trying to remember myself.

Remembering that I had prepared for this mission, somehow…

Remembering that I was supposed to be Commander Shepard now. That specific persona of mine.

Walking from the lab to the comm room, I spotted Zaeed heading this way from the armory, directly across. Fashionably late, he gave me the bluntest of smirks, the wrinkles of his scarred, sunburned skin crinkling upward. The sleeve of his tattoo along his exposed arm within his armor: muscled in movement, he lifted his arm in greeting. Unexpected. I hadn't taken him seriously before when we'd first met, when he'd talked about his respect for me. But maybe he really had meant what he'd said.

Even more unexpected, Zaeed greeted me in his gruff voice, "All right, Shepard?"

"Zaeed," I acknowledged.

Zaeed snorted out a laugh, letting himself into the comm room first. "Just business? Can't complain. Sure do run a tight ship around here. Got your armory all nice and neat now, at least." I was almost thrown off by his lack of deference to me, at least with the door. With having to walk in after him, watching as he took his spot at the table, next to Legion. Across from Miranda and Mordin. "Gotta get used to these little meetings of yours. Who're we picking up next? That bastard merc-killer, Archangel?"

Completely oblivious in his one-sided conversation, Zaeed failed to notice the tension in the air. It looked like Miranda and Legion had been in the middle of something before we walked in. An argument or otherwise some type of disagreement. Like last time, for our briefing with Mordin—I'd felt this same tension then. And now Mordin looked to be caught in the center of it all, grimacing in awkwardness.

Not prepared for this at all, I made my way to the head of the table anyway.

Miranda frowned at Zaeed, annoyed. "If you'd let Shepard lead the briefing, perhaps you would have your questions answered properly."

Standoffish, Zaeed folded his arms. "The hell's up with you? That any way to say good morning to me?"

"Spare me your needless pleasantries," she sniped. "First you show up late, and now you're bucking authority. I don't care if you aren't used to military operations aboard this ship. I was very specific in my welcoming email to you—do not show up to our briefings with Shepard, or after she arrives. It's highly disrespectful."

"Yeah, yeah, fine," dismissed Zaeed. "Wouldn't mind admitting my fuckup on my own. Someone piss you off before I got here or what?"

Miranda scoffed, "That's none of your concern."

Zaeed called out, "Legion, Mordin! Was she terrorizing you or what? C'mon boys, come clean already!"

Legion shifted its head flaps, clearly agitated. "We do not understand the question. We will not ask for clarification. We wish for Shepard-Commander to begin the briefing. Anything further is irrelevant."

Mordin looked a little gloomy. "No comment, Zaeed. No comment."

Declaring victory without words, Zaeed gave a knowing smirk.

Aggravated beyond reason, Miranda only scoffed again, of the mind to defend herself some more.

Still turned on from last night, from a few minutes ago—and turned on more, now, because of Miranda's attitude, uncensored and relentless, I found my shortcomings. How I was again unequipped to deal with this new environment. I had felt the same way after Anderson had handed over command of the Normandy to me, once I became a Spectre. But this instance was new. Shaped differently. Scented differently. Shared differently among the team, this morning. They respected me. They looked up to me. But they could never understand this shearing feeling in my mind. All because of this illusion.

I wasn't really the one in control here. Not anymore.

If I let this tension in the air go on any longer, the team would notice how my control had subsumed.

Not looking at her, I kept my tone subdued enough. Non-accusing. "Miranda. Let it go."

Leering off to the side, she otherwise did as I told her to.

Maintaining the same tone, I addressed everyone: "Archangel is our final recruit here on Omega. He's a vigilante keeping the citizens safe on the station. His operations include disrupting shipments of tainted eezo, busting gang operations, and taking out mercenary leaders causing too much trouble with the law. Up until recently, he's had a dedicated team working by his side. Archangel lost his team to a retaliatory strike by the Blue Suns, Eclipse, and Blood Pack working together. It's possible that the mercs teamed up to finish him off. Whatever the case is, we need to find him."

Zaeed commented, "Yeah, I heard of Archangel. Stubborn, idealistic son of a bitch. He won't go down easy. Never knew whether to trust him or hate him. He took out a lot of good men I used to know. Also got rid of some real snakes I couldn't stand. He's a slippery one, too. Finding him should be fun for us."

"Agreed," I said, again, just to acknowledge him. "The mercs obviously want Archangel dead or gone. I have a feeling he may be targeting Aria now. Given her handling of the plague, a lot of people needlessly suffered under her leadership. Archangel would be the type to make her pay for something like that."

Legion summarized, "The probability of an assassination appears likely, given Archangel's inclinations."

"Yes, indeed," noted Mordin. "Watched many patients tackle ethical and moral dilemma with handling of plague. Struggled with understanding how, why this occurred. Felt that Aria wasn't doing enough. Roadblocks with cure and environmental facility were meaningless to them. More critical to witness so much pain. So much loss. Friends, family members, loved ones. No one looking out for them. No true recourse before you arrived."

Miranda wouldn't say anything. But she appeared to agree with the general sentiment, anyway. At least.

I requested, "EDI, what's it looking like out on Omega right now? What's the situation?"

EDI responded, "To summarize, there is currently anarchy out on the streets. Not everyone has been able to return to their homes due to the presence of armed looters. Several mercenaries are out in force attempting to locate Archangel. They wish to either kill him, or force him to flee his hideout. They also suspect that he has plans to assassinate Aria T'Loak. With her death, the mercenaries would be able to take her place. The Blue Suns, Eclipse, and Blood Pack have all joined forces together in this effort."

Zaeed snorted, "Never thought I'd see the day they all decided to join forces. If they're working as a team for once, then they must think they've got this in the bag. They'll tear each other apart once they've got control of the station, though. That's for damn sure."

I asked EDI, "Are the mercs recruiting any volunteers to help them find Archangel? Any help at all?"

"No, they are not," she replied. "The mercenaries appear to be taking advantage of the social unrest on the station. Aria is yet unaware of their plans to send Archangel after her. Thus far, they have remained undetected. Should they discover anyone attempting to reach Archangel, the mercenaries will respond with deadly force. It would not be wise for you and the team to enter the hideout in a normal fashion."

Finally, Miranda spoke, authoritative: "Then we'll send our infiltrator in. Shepard can cloak and get the job done that way. Simple."

"Not so fast," warned Zaeed. "How's she gonna get Archangel out with her? You think they're just gonna let him waltz on outta there?"

"I'll handle it," I said.

Intrigued, Mordin wondered, "Social stealth a possibility?"

"More than likely. There has to be a way. And if there isn't, I'll make one."

Zaeed chuckled. "Confident, aren't we? Gotta appreciate that."

Admittedly, I recognized my own thinking. Possibly disordered. Possibly wrong, and misguided.

The way Miranda stared at me—her intensity was too much. Her concentration. Her focus. Her fixation.

Part of me needed to get away from her…even if it was only for this one mission.

As unfocused as I was now, I feared the consequences of bringing her along with me like this.

Legion inquired, "Will Shepard-Commander broadcast her progress for us to monitor?"

Zaeed remembered, "Oh, yeah, like on the Citadel. Back when you took down Sovereign. The Council fleets got to watch you in real-time. Think you could set up that optical camera of yours again? Wouldn't mind giving you some pointers on how to deal with those hotheads running the Blue Suns these days."

"That's fine," I said. "Once I leave the ship, I'll link my audio and video to the helm with Joker. Everyone head to the bridge. I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

Miranda, Legion, Mordin, and Zaeed each gave me their affirmative before leaving the room.

Waiting a moment, I stayed behind for a bit. Needing this silence. Needing to breathe.

Needing to remember my focus.

Needing to keep my emotions out of my way…for now.

Needing to stop myself from worrying if I had made a mistake by giving into Miranda—at all—this soon.

Wrangling my focus back while I passed through Omega to Afterlife, I felt dissociated. Removed from myself. Not even present, all while so many people were still out on the streets. This time in a controlled rage—they complained to the so-called armed militia, the only police force around on the station. None of them could return home because of the looters and squatters everywhere in the slums. The citizens shouted about the lack of actual law enforcement. They yelled about Aria, how she didn't seem to give a fuck about their plight. They screamed about all the friends and loved ones they'd lost to the plague.

Obscured in the crowd, the mercenary groups moved along the promenade in front of the Afterlife club. The yellow and white of the Eclipse group stood out to me the most, catching my eye with ease. Hidden together, they escaped into a small alcove filled with already-open cars, driving off to another location. If no one bothered to lock the cars, then the mercs must've been in a hurry—they were definitely after Archangel, trying to get this done in the middle of all the unrest.

Glancing at the club, I thought against talking to Aria after all.

I didn't want to waste this opportunity; I didn't want to waste any more time.

As I made my way over to the cars, Miranda had to ask through the team's radio, "Shepard, where are you going? I thought you needed to speak with Aria first."

I chose to stay quiet. She wouldn't have been able to hear me over all the protests going on.

That and I was still trying to delude myself. Thinking that I had some space away from her. Even though she and the team, plus Joker, all watched my every move.

Zaeed brushed her off, "Let the infiltrator do her thing. She knows what she's doing."

When I got in one of the cars and took off, following the mercs, Miranda commented again, "This isn't what we agreed on. Where are you going? Why aren't you saying anything?"

Joker told her, "Uh, Miranda, there's really no point in freaking out like this. You should listen to Zaeed."

"I'm not freaking out. No one's freaking out! I just want answers."

"You could've fooled me. I mean, seriously, you're pacing around and everything. What's up with you?"

Mordin speculated, "Romantic involvement with Shepard possibly clouding judgment. Protective instincts? Overprotective? Loss of control in situation? Perhaps stress would be alleviated if we had accompanied her on mission."

Zaeed joked, "You're the controlling type, eh? No wonder. Explains a lot. I'd better watch my step around you, then. Wouldn't want you to tear me a new one just for one goddamn mistake. Like you did earlier!"

I couldn't take it anymore—"Another word and I'm cutting the radio off."

Everyone fell silent.

I let out the quietest breath I could, still tailing the Eclipse mercs through the skies.

Once they landed at their base of operations, I waited a while before setting the car down. Cloaking beforehand, in anticipation, I made sure that their armored uniforms disappeared from my sight. I then parked in the middle of a bunch of other cars, doors hanging open; abandoned in the mercs' haste to arrive here in time.

Past this gaggle of cars, I headed farther into the base unseen, following the sounds of gunfire. Scores of uniforms joined together in this rare unity: yellow and white from the Eclipse humans, salarians, and asari; blue and white from the Blue Suns humans, turians, and batarians; and red and black from the Blood Pack krogan and vorcha, with their varren freely wandering around the area, playing in lightness. That lightness almost distracted me as I passed through this series of rooms. The talks of strategy from the mercs fell on deaf ears for me; I was still too dispossessed from myself, at precisely the wrong time.

Discussions about sending in a gunship to scare Archangel out of hiding;

Mentions of adding in a YMIR mech for added injury, before that, to make him work harder;

If all else failed, the mercs would infiltrate the place from the basement, flushing him out that way.

I moved past it all. Not putting much stock into it. Not caring. Not needing to care. All I had to do was get Archangel out of here before the mercs could deploy any of those things. If the rest of the team were here, and we had to fight our way out with him, then that would've been different.

I would still need to come up with a way to sneak Archangel out of here. Or fight alongside him myself.

It didn't take me long to find his hideout, anyway.

Following the direction of even more gunfire, I spotted a long bridge past the man-made barricades. Across the bridge was a single loft house rising up a few floors. Like an island in the middle of the district, the building existed there at a steep drop from the rest of the station. Beyond, those ethereal lights from the rest of Omega shone on as makeshift sunrays, brightening the view, for me to make sure:

Along the second floor, I spotted the lone person defending himself there.

Turian-shaped helmet.

Blue and black armor.

Popping off headshots with a sniper rifle from his perch, like it was all a sport. Child's play.

That methodical aim at each of the mercs here behind the barricades, and out on the bridge—

And this feeling that he somehow sensed me here, invisible as I was to everyone else around me—

I could have sworn Archangel nearly aimed at me through his scope, through his helmet. Getting a better look. Maybe even finding the faint glimmer of my cloak, shining in Omega's manufactured light. But he didn't fire. He didn't shoot at me, not once. He would only take out some vorcha nearby, blood spattering along the barricade, along another wall. Then he would take cover, just to reload, before starting right back up again.

Even the booming sounds from his shots almost sounded like the ones from my old Spectre-grade gun.

Possessed by this feeling of familiarity, I made my way across the bridge.

The rest of the mercs around me fell one by one. Headshots bursting from within their helmets, they collapsed to the ground. I stepped over them or around them. I walked past them. I ignored the growing cacophony of panic from the mercs as they realized Archangel wasn't getting tired at all. They were bound to send in that YMIR mech, or that gunship at some point soon enough.

I needed to figure out an exit plan, fast.

Just as quickly, I saw the answer all around me. Inside the housing area itself, I spotted all the dead mercs lying around. Scattered along the floor, doubled-over the broken windowsills, and ragdolling across the furniture, they each bled from a single gunshot wound. Clean and simple. Crumpled over one of the leather couches was one particular turian from the Blue Suns, shot straight through the chest instead of through the helmet. With a little added creativity, that was our ticket out of here.

For now, I went upstairs.

I uncloaked as I passed through the door, finding Archangel along his sniper's perch. Right as a lull started with the mercs' assault. No doubt they were about to send in their worst—any minute now. We didn't have much time.

Pausing in this contemplation, Archangel stood up from where he was. Retreating back from his vantage point, he turned to face me. Filled with that same feeling of familiarity.

I addressed him with this feeling, "Archangel?"

He removed his helmet.

When he did, I found such old, pained emotions in him, rising back to the surface.

Garrus stared at me as if I were a ghost.

I stared right back at him. Seeing a two-year continuance from my death. Spotting what had no doubt brought this out in him: this near-hateful miasma clouding his eyes. So much change. So much devastation. So much frustration. Some of it dissolved in this moment. As much as he found me here, alive again, I sensed his loss. As if something in him had died back then, even if he was still alive now.

Not nearly the same smooth-talking, former C-Sec officer I remembered from before.

"Shepard…"

Even his voice had scarred through those filters of his. Distorting his smoothness just a little more.

Hardened as his scales, sharpened as his mandibles—his idealism had no doubt warped into this ruthlessness.

I questioned him anyway, "Garrus, what are you doing here?"

Suddenly ashamed, as if he took my tone for a scolding one, Garrus lowered his head. "All this time…I would imagine you asking me that same question. I never had an answer for you. I still don't. I'm sorry." He spotted the mechanical movements in my eyes. "You have your optical camera on. Through your omni-tool. I take that to mean you're not alone here. Not really. Is your team watching us right now?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm here to recruit you for my team. We're taking down the Collectors. Heard of them?"

Garrus seemed to lose his nerve. "I… Yeah, I've heard of them all right."

When he turned away, I knew what this was about.

He didn't want to expose himself to everyone watching. His pride naturally wouldn't allow it.

His longing to speak to me again overcame all else.

Even still, this razor-sharp change about him had me on-edge.

"Garrus, we can't do this here. There's no time. The mercs are losing their patience with you. We have to get out of this place. I have a plan for you to sneak out of here with me. We'll head back to the Normandy together. You can join the team again. Leave all of this behind. It'll be just like old times."

Latching onto my authority, he responded, "Understood, Commander. Awaiting your orders."

Turning off his thoughts, his emotions, to grab onto me this way, even metaphorically:

I understood where his mind had gone. And that it needed to be here. Otherwise, he couldn't function.

I gave my orders: "There's a dead Blue Suns merc downstairs. Put his armor on as a disguise. Put your current armor on him, on the corpse. When the rest of the mercs come back, they'll find 'you', and assume that you're dead. From there, blend with the crowd and leave. I'll follow you the whole way."

"Okay, I'll do it. Lead on."

Garrus did exactly as I said. Down to the word. Down to the letter. Needing to do this. Desperately so.

Covering the gunshot wound with the merc's gun, he was able to fool everyone just fine. We escaped back across the bridge together. Like nothing happened. Blending through the mercs' oblivious victory laps over this deception, Garrus passed through the base of operations. Even as his grip tightened over that gun, he otherwise gave nothing away. No one had any reason to suspect him. Or to question him at all. Unrecognizable face already hidden from behind that white helmet, Garrus was one of them. For the time being. I followed him to that end, as we reached that group of cars, still opened and unattended to.

I drove us back to where we needed to go. Through this beaming light in the skies, guiding us onward.

Garrus stayed silent the whole time.

Aside from his not-so-subtle glances in my direction every so often, he found his own invisibility.

Even though I had forbidden them from saying anything, the team seemed unnerved. Joker most of all. He understood what Garrus felt right now. I could only imagine the conversation they would have soon.

As concerned as I was about him, Garrus needed to know the truth.

Just before we reached the ship, I told the others to meet us in the debriefing room.

Joker, of course, stayed in his seat at the helm. Waiting for us.

Garrus almost didn't react once he saw him again.

When their eyes met, they had that non-verbal understanding. Confirming what they had discussed over the years—about the past, about the drama. About the possible lies and the rest. All true.

Scarred by this silent confirmation, Garrus stiffened himself more. Steeled.

Joker consoled him, "Hey, we'll go over it later on. It's good to have you back. Hang in there, all right?"

"Sure," replied Garrus. Stilted. "Thanks, Joker."

He walked a little behind me. Onto the debriefing room. I noticed him looking around. Taking everything in. Not appearing to object to these Cerberus changes, these Cerberus dealings. Purely focused on me—Garrus couldn't begin to object. He couldn't fathom any objection whatsoever.

For my sake, he made himself pay more attention during the debriefing. Garrus remained attentive as Miranda introduced herself, and the rest of the team. He only flinched once at her mention of being my second-in-command; otherwise, he gave nothing away about his mental state. His emotional state. By the time he learned what Legion was, Garrus had managed to control enough of his reactions. He only betrayed a natural question in his expression, wondering what Tali would think about this. And the memory of Tali, again, chained into something more for him. Remembering the rest of the team, too.

He seemed uncertain as he looked between Miranda and me. Maybe finding the same lightning that Mordin had mentioned. This odd, tangible manifestation of something more. Unwavering, even now.

I chanced asking him, "So, did you want to share what you were up to out there?"

Garrus bristled. "Not now, Shepard. Maybe we could talk about it alone. Some other time."

Mordin in particular picked up on Garrus' mood, frowning in worry.

Zaeed hummed in a mood of his own. Finding the legend of Archangel not quite matching up to the person himself.

"We'll do that, then," I allowed. "I'll let you read the reports about the Collectors, about the mission."

Garrus accepted the new task. The new routine. The new change of pace, without question.

I remembered my routine, too, and offered my hand to him.

"Welcome back to the team, Garrus."

He shook my hand, firm and needing in his echoing tremble. "Thanks, Commander. Happy to be back."

"If you're up for it, I want you to be our gunnery officer. Keep the main guns in top shape. Should be better than dealing with the Mako like you did before."

Garrus affirmed, "You can count on me. I'll get started right away if you need me to."

"You don't have to do that," I advised. "Take a few days to get settled in first. Whenever you're ready to talk, let me know, and I'll come find you." Garrus nodded in affirmation; I addressed the whole group: "We'll head for the Citadel next. I have to speak to the Council about a few things. After that, we can find something to do. Pass the time for a while. Until then, you all know what to do. Everyone, dismissed."