"Adam's Apartment" from Deus Ex: Mankind Divided / "Call Out My Name" by The Weeknd

XLVII. Earthborn

(Miranda)

Hazing in as gold, this late-evening darklight rayed through the open blinds of the windows. Pale rays dusting over me, misting across my body covered only in this black lace of my nightdress. Comfort, security, sensuality. Yet not quite feeling as such, standing before this view of Shepard's hometown. Heightened above that darkening horizon, I watched the city's sections lit up to varying degrees. All the same hue. All the same mood of a dull richness, tempering itself in humility and modesty. All the same truths as a brightly-lit contemplation, shining brightest as the night approached, dimming the day away.

Existing here alone in Shepard's living room, I felt a similar contemplation within me.

Just yesterday, she had given me such a magical time at the beach. Opening herself to me more. Willing to live her life more freely with me. At last embracing the steady wonders of our romance, all while expecting nothing in return. Today felt different. Today, I felt the finally. The crash she'd no doubt experienced, away from me. Isolating herself in her bedroom. Leaving me to stare out at these brooding buildings alone, without her, knowing how and why she herself brooded. I knew, because I remembered last night. How we'd tried to sleep in her bed after our day and night out at the beach. How Shepard had tossed and turned. Nightmares more than likely. Night-terrors. Terrorized by those particular memories.

Really, I'd expected her to do just that—before. When we were here together the first time, months ago. Still, Shepard hadn't allowed herself this type of mourning. Now that she'd taken my advice—remembering, letting these feelings affect her—I knew we would find Liara the next time we entered Insomnia. The infinite possibilities there continued to charm me. I could only wonder what else awaited.

Yet all of a sudden, I had the strangest sense. As if something wasn't right. As if Shepard wasn't just brooding in her bedroom, mourning in solemnity as anyone might have done. No, there was more here.

Even so, I felt shackled by my own care.

Shepard had her bedroom door closed. Not locked, as if trying to not show weakness.

But also, perhaps, as her way of letting me in. Indirectly. Leeway as an invisible hand held out to me.

Tentative, I made my way down the hall. To Shepard's bedroom. To her closed door.

The green of that light, her allowance—the door slid open, allowing me inside. Into the calm radiance of her quiet space, glimmering in the evening's tide. This quiet enhanced, not disturbed, by the sounds of the shower water running in the adjacent bathroom. That door, Shepard had kept open. Fogs of heat misting within, occasional sounds of movement from the shifting waters. Cleaning off the sorrows from her day.

Shepard had left her bed undisturbed. Sheets tucked in, duvet folded neatly, pillows arranged perfectly. Military habits of cleanliness endured throughout her room.

Still, this couldn't have been normal.

Bracing myself, I snuck closer to the bathroom. Sneaking, for what, I didn't know. Sneaking around in a master infiltrator's home. I knew how pointless it was, yet I did it anyway. Heightened senses: I had the awareness now to realize something was off about the bathroom. Shepard had left the lights off. Yet I could still see the heat of the shower's mist hovering through, as the room had just enough light from the day's end. Just enough to allow me to see the full state of things.

Shepard had left her shower open. Open, and yet she wasn't standing inside, washing herself clean.

Still in her white, sleeveless undershirt, and a pair of black boxer briefs—I found Shepard sitting on the shower floor. Soaking in the heated water. Camouflaging her crying that way. Silent, so silent. Holding herself in to keep from making a sound. Head lowered. Completely despondent, deadened. Defeated.

"Shepard!"

I hurried over to her.

Leaving the water on for fear of freezing her if I turned it off.

Kneeling at her side, soaking myself completely—I didn't care. The moment I held her to me, Shepard leaned into my touch. These warmer cascades from her eyes weren't at all from the shower. Shielding her from the pelleting water, I held her tighter. Rocking her, to calm myself more than anything. For us both. Because the second she shivered in my arms, sounding just like a wounded pup, I could've faltered. I could have, should have broken down; burst into tears on the spot. Yet I forced it all back.

Instead, I cradled her drenched head to my chest. Hoping, praying I could somehow make this better.

"Shepard, talk to me," I begged, willing my voice not to break. "Please… What's running through your mind? Whatever it is, I want to know. I need to understand you. How are you feeling right now?"

"…abandoned," she muttered.

Not by me, I knew.

I remembered—"Losing Liara… Like being an orphan, abandoned out on Earth's streets again. Is that it?"

Shepard exhaled harder over my chest, shuddering more.

Trying to remember more, I acted on instinct. I touched Shepard's face. Activating my biotics through my hand, blues and whites swirling. Calmed enough, Shepard breathed a little easier. But this didn't quite have the same euphoric, religious effect from Liara's efforts in the past. That fetish was their own.

Steadying more, Shepard reprimanded herself: "It's my own fault… Don't know why I'm upset like this."

"You had no control over that," I soothed. "It isn't your fault. You did nothing wrong."

She didn't seem to believe that. Yet she also didn't have the energy to fight against it.

I recalled last night—"Did you have nightmares about this? While we tried to sleep before."

"Constantly…"

"What happened during your dreams?"

"I kept losing her," anguished Shepard. "It was the same thing, over and over again. We were in some kind of hospital. Out in the hallway, with these darkened rooms everywhere. Liara wasn't doing well. I carried her in my arms, trying to get her somewhere. Trying to get her some help. Then, out of nowhere, these other asari came by. Tearing at Liara in my arms. Dismembering her. Trying to cannibalize her. Nearly killing her while I tried to get her the hell away from them. The whole time, Liara was screaming my name. Begging for my help…for me to not leave her like this. Like something out of a horror vid. Every time I thought I got her to safety, those attackers showed up again. I couldn't save her at all."

As much as her pain pained me, I had to know: "And what do you think that's meant to symbolize?"

"I should've been there for her. Before. I made too many mistakes. I chose another woman over her. I left Liara behind. I left her behind even while she kept begging me not to, suffering in silence. Liara lived her life fucking suffering for me! She died in terror because of me! This is my fault. It's my damn fault."

"You keep blaming yourself," I noticed.

"I don't know what else to do…"

So I asked her, "What else is wrong? You can tell me anything. No matter what it is, I won't judge you."

Shepard told me, "I made those promises to you. I hate feeling like I'm inconsistent. Or like I have double-standards. I know what you need from me. And I said you'd have that. I feel like I failed you. Not just you. I failed Tali. I failed Liara, obviously. Maybe Ashley, too—I should've kept my distance from her instead. I failed all of you. Taking responsibility is the only way I know how to deal. It's really all I have."

"Shepard…even if that were true, you shouldn't keep falling on your sword. You have other options. You have me. I'll never leave your side. So you can choose to keep pretending you're infallible, and suffering like this, or you can share your frustrations with me. I would never scorn you for your emotions. But I do expect you to keep your responsibilities to me. You know exactly why I'm choosing to use these words."

Pragmatic as ever, even in her sorrows, this promise of logic helped steady Shepard's breathing at last.

Moving as carefully as I could, still holding onto her, I turned the water off.

I situated us out of the shower. Onto the hard floor, over a towel Shepard had set out beforehand. I pulled down a couple of other towels just nearby. Insulating us both in this warmth, I had us sit here. My back against a wall. Shepard still leaning into me, listening to how my heartbeats had slowed for her. By now, she had to know that I would do anything for her. And if she didn't, then I'd just have to fix that.

"How do you feel about seeing Liara again? Once it's time."

Shepard sighed into my cleavage, heating me. "It's…disquieting."

Disquiet and quieting, with this future between them so uncertain.

I kissed atop Shepard's head anyway. She had my support. I knew how awkward she felt in this moment, leaning on me the way she did. Figuratively, literally. Still, her appreciation shone through regardless. She muttered her thanks for my care. Not quite admitting how she needed me. Not really needing to say the words. I understood her current state. Going through another transition, in this imperfect way, on this uncomfortable stage while I watched and held and supported her. She felt the pressure to perform.

Some of that stage fright made Shepard recede from me.

She decided where we would go tonight. She would at last show me what that 'something' was, here in her hometown. The location, or the memory, or both—whatever it was that made her hold back with me, receding in this way. Receding, retreating to the guest room to get dressed. Once again, as before, she allowed me to use her bedroom and bathroom to get ready instead. Such a perfect gentleman, even in these imperfect circumstances. She had to know how much I appreciated her gestures as well, always.

As I returned to Shepard's bedroom, alone, I was about to go to the holo-closet. I still had mine linked here from before. Before I could check my wardrobe, something else caught my eye. Something I'd failed to notice when I'd entered the room before. Something on the nightstand closest to the door.

Walking over there, I found that Shepard had placed a picture frame over the surface.

For a brief moment, I worried that this was the photograph of her and Liara together. Because of what it would mean. That specific symbolism. This was where she'd had that picture of her and Ashley, after all.

Once I saw what this actually was, I couldn't stop my reaction.

This sharp gasp. Quickly covering my mouth with my hand. Trying to stifle these sudden sobs of joy.

This photograph…was of us. Shepard with me. From the beach yesterday. At ease. So happy together.

Tali must have taken this in secret.

Even so, I couldn't stop these reactions of mine. Clamping my hand over my smile only did so much. Really, after everything, having this added validation only bolstered me more. These promises I knew Shepard would never break. Unspoken. Non-verbal. Implied and understood as we both knew by now.

Bolstering me more, so unexpected—I received an email from Oriana.

I read it over with this same joy swelling within me.

From: Oriana – Hey, sis.

Miranda,

Is that what I should call you now? Just your name. Maybe you're not too into nicknames. But you are my big sister, so I'd like a bit of leeway sometimes.

I know it hasn't been that long since we spoke. I think about you a lot. Our conversation. What you said. What you didn't say. I wish I could come with you on your mission. Of course you wouldn't allow it. I miss you, that's all. I suppose email will have to do for now. Until your mission's over. I hope you'll come see me again once you're back home.

I hope Commander Shepard comes along, too. She's incredibly sweet behind that hard demeanor of hers. I think you two have that in common. It's no wonder you fit so well together. Be sure to take care of her.

-Oriana

I smiled all over again.

Clairvoyant in this way, my sister knew what to say. Urging me to take care of Shepard.

Not the other way around.

After sending off my reply to Oriana's message, I went to take a proper shower.

All the while, I remembered my time with Shepard in here, just a short while ago.

I wished she'd let me dust her off. Put her back together again. In a way, I had. But I wanted to do more. I always wanted more with Shepard, with everything. Especially this. I took some solace in the fact that she was better off now, caring for herself in the guest room. Even then, I recognized the acute source of my worries. It was that time of the month for me, so of course I felt more protective than usual. This need I had to ensure Shepard's well-being went beyond our romantic relationship. The source of this need, we acted out each day in the dynamic we had with one another. Her youth, her boyishness. How susceptible she was to pleasing me, catering to me. She'd first given me this joy two months ago now.

Much had changed since then.

I finished up with my shower and handled my usual routines, remembering those yesterdays.

Not knowing what else to wear, I settled on my Cerberus uniform. I knew Shepard intended on taking me to the 94 afterward. So this would at least be appropriate for the club.

I sat down over Shepard's bed, lounging atop her pillows. Waiting for her to get ready, passing this time, I decided to see what the team was up to. I had already sent James his welcoming email. Actually writing to him in an official capacity had made me feel strange. Awkward. But I'd leaned on my professionalism as needed. James had quickly sent back some tortured response with his thanks. Tortured, as much as he refrained from speaking to me as casually as he wanted. He knew that was out of the question.

Garrus had invited James to the chat room last night. Samara and Thane were also present. As far as I knew, they chose not to speak to anyone. I knew they paid attention to my important announcements for the team, which was really what mattered. The others did more than enough socializing for them.

[19:23:09] Joker: Yeah, we're back in San Diego now. Vancouver was pretty fun, too. Had no idea they have as much seafood as SD does. Think I'm gonna get spoiled on all this shrimp and salmon!

[19:23:34] Kasumi: I have to say, I'm enjoying the sushi selection here. It's almost like being back home. These California rolls are no joke.

[19:23:53] James: Hey, Kasumi. Which part of Japan are you from? I was stationed out in Okinawa for a while. You from there? What about Osaka? Or maybe good old Tokyo.

[19:24:13] Kasumi: A good thief never reveals her base of operations, Vega. Try again next time.

[19:24:29] James: Oh, come on. I'm just trying to get to know you better. "Where are you from?" is like the basics of the basics! Like you obviously know me and the commander are from here.

[19:24:48] Kasumi: That would be true in any normal circumstances. But I'm under strict orders not to cooperate with you. I'm forbidden from saying anything more.

[19:25:03] James: WHAT? Orders from who?!

[19:25:21] Jack: Who do you think, asshole?

[19:25:28] James: Ah, shit…

[19:25:35] Wrex: You kids sure are funny

[19:25:50] James: Whoa, it's Wrex. Heard a lot about you, man. Honored to meet you.

[19:26:13] Garrus: See that, Wrex? You've gained some street cred from hanging around us.

[19:26:44] Wrex: I know, huh. If only I could turn it into something useful. Heard a thing or two about you too Vega. Think you'll fit in just fine here

[19:26:59] James: Wait, you knew about me before?

[19:27:28] Joker: Yeah, we've definitely heard about you. Didn't know your name at the time. We only had your description to go off of. As soon as I saw you at the Marine Room, I knew exactly who you were.

[19:27:36] Garrus: Same here.

[19:27:40] Kaidan: Yup.

[19:27:55] James: Hey, hey, hang on! What are you guys talking about?

[19:28:23] Tali: A certain someone from the past wasn't shy about her descriptions of you. From that military nightclub here in the city. I think it's called the 94.

[19:28:40] James: Oh…you mean her. Holy shit you even muted her name from the chat?!

[19:28:45] Joker: Uh-huh.

[19:28:49] Kaidan: Unfortunately.

[19:28:53] Tali: We do not speak of her.

[19:29:34] James: Damn, Tali. That's stone cold. Then again, I'm reading over this report now… And, uh—I get it. Like, I wasn't sure if I was allowed to bring it up. I'm kinda shell-shocked, you know?

[19:29:49] Tali: I wish I could sympathize with you, James. Sadly, I can't.

[19:30:24] James: Nah, I see where you're coming from. You and Dr. T'Soni were real tight. Maybe it doesn't mean anything, but I'm sorry for your loss. Wish I knew you guys while you were in town before. Would've liked to take you both out sometime. You know, wherever.

[19:30:31] Kasumi: Oh, dear.

[19:30:45] Joker: Uh…James. What the hell was that?!

[19:30:59] Tali: Please tell me this is just some sick joke.

[19:31:53] James: No way! Look, like I said, you and Liara were pretty close. You both seem chill. I mean, I've seen Liara's picture too and she's—she was—you know. Real cute. I'm sure you are too Tali, underneath that mask. And I wouldn't mind taking you both out like that. There's nothing wrong with it. Good company and all.

[19:32:22] Garrus: Quite frankly, I'm at a loss for words right now.

[19:32:43] Kaidan: I mean, what could you even say to something like that…

[19:33:00] Me: James, that's the most inelegant apology for the deceased I've ever seen. Do not use this chat room to flirt with Tali or anyone else. I won't allow it. If you pull anything like this again, I'm banning you from the room immediately. No questions asked.

[19:33:15] Joker: Oh, shit, Miranda's about to drop the ban hammer?!

[19:33:22] Wrex: Someone's busted

[19:33:27] Tali: Thank you, Miranda.

[19:33:29] Garrus: This is exactly why I gave our XO those admin privileges. Just what we need.

[19:33:32] James: I just—uhh…

[19:33:40] Jack: Say another word and I'll rip your fucking muscle-brains out

[19:33:53] Wrex: Now that's some good old fashioned moderating

[19:33:59] Tali: Jack…please don't. I know you're serious.

[19:34:10] Garrus: You know, all this conflict and tension is getting me nostalgic. For back in the day when it seemed as if we all got along. Like the first time we were here for shore leave before Virmire.

[19:34:32] Tali: No, Garrus. There's a lot I didn't tell you during those days. You were too naïve.

[19:34:50] Garrus: You're calling me naïve? Did I hear that right? From our sweet little Tali?

[19:35:11] Tali: You can keep thinking I'm like that. It won't get you anywhere.

[19:35:50] Garrus: Okay, I'll bite. You came this close to telling me the real truth back then. While we were at Dark Goddess, then once more during our hotel stay. Even while you were drunk and ranting, you just kept hinting around whatever serious drama was going on. What didn't you tell me at the time?

[19:36:05] Kaidan: Huh? What serious drama? What happened?

[19:36:20] Joker: You're still out of the loop, huh?

[19:36:32] Wrex: Hey I want to know too. What was it

[19:37:05] Tali: How excited I was to attend your Ultimate San Diego Party, as you called it.

[19:37:21] Kaidan: Aww, what a letdown…

[19:37:33] Garrus: Well, aren't you a tease? You got me there, Tali.

[19:37:57] Wrex: I think about that party a lot you know. Had to practically beg Liara to come along. Bribed her with that expensive Thessian wine and everything. I miss my precious blueberry. Even miss when Liara would get mad at me for trolling her. Always fun to make her react like that. She said she was busy that time I was bugging her in chat. Before the party. Tali do you know what she was busy doing

[19:38:13] Tali: No, Liara never told me. I wish she did. I would have liked to join her. I miss her, too.

[19:38:17] Joker: HOLY SHIT

[19:38:21] Tali: What?!

[19:38:25] Garrus: Huh?

[19:38:30] Joker: DUDE

[19:38:36] Kaidan: Joker, what's going on?! You're about to give me a heart attack!

[19:38:43] Wrex: Don't keep us in suspense you pyjak

[19:38:56] Joker: I just checked the old chat logs in the archives! I know what Liara was doing! I know why she wasn't at the freaking hotel the whole time we were there!

[19:39:09] Tali: Really?! Then where was she? How did you figure it out!?

[19:39:30] Joker: I seriously CAN'T say it right now. You guys need to meet me at the monorail station by the Alliance base. I'm done checking on the ship. Let's get the heck out of here and I'll spill what I know.

[19:39:59] Kaidan: Oh, okay then. Are we going out for the evening?

[19:40:28] Joker: Abso-freakin-lutely! I wanted to see if Shepard would get the call from the Council. If she hasn't gotten it by now, then we're free to party anyway! She can't blame us for hitting the town late at night. Just like last time! Remember we told you?

[19:40:43] Kaidan: Of course I remember. Pretty hard to forget…

[19:40:54] Garrus: Sure, I'll meet you guys there. Just finishing up my last checks on the new main guns.

[19:41:04] Tali: I was going to have an early night. But this sounds like an emergency, so I'll make an exception. Where are we going?

[19:41:23] Joker: Yeah, this IS an emergency! I'll tell you at the station! Bring those dancing hips, Tali!

[19:41:36] Tali: Well, it's not as if I can't bring my own hips with me, wherever we're going…

[19:41:43] Wrex: Guess I'll go back to my rocks on Tuchanka

[19:41:56] Garrus: We'll fill you in later, Wrex. That's a promise.

[19:42:24] Wrex: Fine by me. All I know is, this ends once I'm back on the Normandy. Too awkward

Awkward indeed, the chat summarily ended once the usual group stopped speaking.

More and more lately, this room had become a place to spectate on the old team's current goings-on.

Zaeed had all but stopped speaking in chat, as preoccupied as he was with his brooding. Mordin was far too busy with his current project, learning how to develop that simulation game for us, with Legion and EDI as his mentors. I surmised Samara and Thane would never deign to actually use the chat room for anything resembling socialization. And Jack and Kasumi only spoke from time to time, as they did today.

Still, I knew everyone at least read the logs. They were all connected together—listening —even if they didn't interact closely from day to day. Perhaps James would follow suit. That was more than enough.

Soon afterward, I spotted Shepard in my periphery, entering the room.

I figured she'd taken a bit longer than usual, needing to straighten her hair again. Not that I minded.

Much to my surprise, she had on a rather boyish short-sleeved red button-down shirt, fit with a fine collar. The black long-sleeved shirt she had on underneath, her loose-but-not-too-loose black jeans, and her black combat boots gave her such a distinctive edge. She had her sidearm over her hip as well. I had never seen her wear anything like this before. It wasn't quite casual, but this look was definitely for…

"The streets," said Shepard. "I know." She gave me a once-over. "I forgot to mention. Where we're going…you can't wear blue. You should change out of your uniform. Wear something else."

Rather alarmed, I returned to her holo-closet. "Oh…all right. I'll follow your lead, then." Searching through my wardrobe again, I asked, "Should I wear red, then? Like you."

"Gray or white," she recommended. "You can wear your boots if you want. But don't bring a gun. If something goes down, don't activate your biotics. It'll make you a target. Just let me handle whatever."

I followed her suggestion, changing into a white blouse, and black boot-cut jeans. With my usual boots underneath. I trusted her to stay armed for both of us. Even still, I worried about the need for all this.

Going over to her, I inquired, "Shepard, why are there so many rules? Where are we going?"

Shepard gave me a look, practically longing for my innocence on the matter.

"We're going to where I used to live," she supplied. "Back when I was a kid. Back when I used to dream of joining the Alliance to escape everything. The exact neighborhood isn't the same anymore. Gentrification took care of that. It's the area a few blocks down that hasn't changed. These are just the rules of engagement. I'll explain more once we're there. Once you see the place for yourself."

"Well, as I said, I'll follow your lead…"

After the week she'd had, I was glad to see Shepard back to her old self.

Though I still wished I had been the one to dust her off and put her back together. More thoroughly.

Going over to her, I couldn't help this vulnerability about me. Something in Shepard's stare magnetized me. This strength about her. This conviction, this care, simultaneous. Because she only reserved this look for me. No one else. Even as I stood before her, staring up at her regard of me, I wondered what was on her mind. This intensity of hers seemed at once gentle and focused. Soft and stern. Tempered for my sake, yet not at all lacking in her typical confidence and attitude. My Adonis, forever and always.

As I held her in my arms, Shepard groaned—low, guttural.

She returned my hold, but the depths of those sounds from her had me wanting.

More so, I felt the sudden surprise from her own want. Right between me. Right against me.

"Shepard!" I exclaimed, nearly jumping in place. "Are you…wearing something? Beneath your jeans."

She reminded me: "A while ago, you asked me to wear one more often. Not during missions. I'm finally doing what you requested. What you said you wanted. Unless you've changed your mind since then."

"No, I just…"

This hellish temptation—I hovered my hand over her. Precisely over, without touching. Without letting myself go that far. Because if I did, I knew I would ruin our plans. I would ruin myself. At this time of the month, we absolutely couldn't. We could not. But I still settled my hand over her, this hardness of her.

Deeper Shepard groaned, pulling her arms around me. Surrounding her arms around my back. Inundating her hold over me, within me, everywhere. As if she could have leaned down and bent me over at any moment. She certainly thought about it. I sensed the shapes of her thoughts, as curved and ready as she felt beneath my hand. This simple, subtle act of touching her here, all while she reacted and reacted beneath her jeans: she gave me this magic, letting me stimulate her in simplicity. With my mere proximity. With just this promise of me. This allure of me right in front of her, needing her like this.

Forcing her self-control, Shepard let go and stepped away from me.

Her request. Her needs. Her requirements, her conditions.

We needed to take this trip first. Before anything more could happen. I respected her wishes.

Shepard stressed to me, "I was lucky to get out when I did. I need you to understand that."

"Shepard, I do understand…"

Such a strenuous smile she gave me. "You will, babe."

During this drive to the far side of town, I sat in the passenger's seat of Shepard's car. Nighttime endeavors. City lights, highlights in the night; headlights and brake lights from other cars lining the highway. As ever, Shepard's wonderful features lit up in the lights of her dashboard. She blasted her music for us, without blasting at all. The loudness as more of a dull comfort, of her sound system surrounding us, everywhere. The dark sensuality of her alternative R&B and soul, bass simmering, vibrating all around. Cerebral as she was, as we both were together, our hands interlaced as she drove us along. This raw emotion and experimentalism in the lyrics, instrumentation: it all kept her calm.

This masculine edge about her—the angling lean of her body in her seat; the sharpened ease she carried herself with, her mannerisms. I couldn't help feeling she'd learned all of that from here. From our next destination. Everything at Shepard's roots, her foundations had originated from this place. Even the artificial cinnamon of her car's air freshener, those origins also resided in this city, of Shepard's specific weakness for this sweetly taste, this sweetly scent, manufactured so. This exact flavor of her masculinity I'd always loved and coveted about her—I expected to see those beginnings in this next part of town.

After some time, Shepard exited the highway. Rounding the smoothness of this path, the rest of San Diego's bright and brooding industrialism fell away. Those contradictions fell away to this halfway point. Buildings not nearly as tall as elsewhere. Not many overhead lanes of skycars. Mostly ground vehicles traversing the streets, surrounded by these rundown, battered locations.

Battered and broken as they appeared, these places certainly didn't lack for company.

Plenty of people were out and about that night. Brightened, at least, by the street lights shining down—though only some remained in working order. These people dressed similarly to Shepard, in similar colors and styles: they traversed the sidewalks, heading from location to location, from bar to bar, shop to shop, nightclub to nightclub, liquor store to liquor store. Elsewhere, several other groups simply stood around, their assault rifles and shotguns hanging from their hands. These groups seemed to stand vigil over the neighborhood as vigilantes, but I couldn't get a close enough look at them from here.

Not a single police officer in sight. Yet I'd spotted at least a dozen security cameras on one block alone.

Knowing my curiosities, Shepard parked her car. Not really anywhere near the neighborhood. Instead, she set her car down in the gentrified area just close by. I waited for her to turn her car off; to come around to my side, and help me out. Upon opening my door, Shepard offered me her hand, chivalrous as always. But I knew she saw the questions in my face. Why didn't we park in the actual neighborhood?

"Babe, I don't want someone trying to shoot up my car. It's as simple as that."

I should've known…

Even still, I remembered my time in a similar neighborhood. In my youth. Back in Brisbane.

The area where I used to live with Niket—it was nowhere near as bad as this.

Shepard held my hand, walking us back to our actual destination.

We soon returned to the same area as before. Experiencing it from the ground, from this lived perspective, helped me understand more. Seeing these building blocks of Shepard's own perspective, I wondered how best to apply them to her. How they'd formed her, broken her. Made her into the woman she was. How did this melting pot of different ethnicities influence her identity? These multiple languages my translation programs picked up on, other than regular English—Spanish and Vietnamese, among several others. These varied persons walking about, in their reds and blacks as signs of strength and belonging, of the in-group, the tribe. How they jostled one another in roughness, displaying more strength in their stature, their posture. How they threw around a certain word with one another I could not repeat, having reclaimed and repurposed the word between them, mainly for brotherly affection.

A number of those individuals spotted Shepard with me. They recognized us both, though they chose to focus on her. Seeing Shepard's colors as well, they made strong eye-contact with her. Giving an upward nod of their heads as a stern, respectful greeting. Making a point, Shepard returned their gestures. She did so, looking entirely stunning, as if she was from a different world. These occasional brights from the street lamps punctured her severity. This thick smell of old-fashioned cigarette smoke billowed in the air, reminding me of the Illusive Man. Being in his office. Listening as he blew out his smoke as he spoke, before sipping his alcohol, ice clinking within his glass. The smoke here surrounded Shepard without really meeting her existence. She existed beyond everything around us. These streets didn't define her.

Still, Shepard's presence seemed to increase everyone's morale, their moods. They were much better off for having seen her on this night. No matter what else they had going on, they appreciated her.

And we passed by a number of ground cars in the streets, hip-hop and rap music blasting. Several groups of men and women congregated around the cars, having a social hour together. Just nearby, other people filed in and out of this bar, smirking at the ongoing festivities, or paying them no mind.

Shepard leaned closer to me, to explain:

"We're in my territory," she specified. "The red and black, they're gang colors. Anyone wearing these, you know they're part of the family, so to speak. They protect everyone in the 'hood. The police never bother coming down here unless there's a 'real' problem. So we have to take care of our own."

I asked her, "Did you wear these colors all the time when you were younger?"

"I couldn't go anywhere without them. Not even to school. They all knew I was in a gang."

"Then, when you told me I couldn't wear blue…"

"Anyone wearing blue is the enemy. These are our uniforms. These are our allegiances. This is how we know who we belong to. If anyone's foolish enough to roll up here wearing blue, you can expect a shootout in seconds."

So naïve, I needed to know—"Well, what about the Alliance? What if a soldier came by, not knowing?"

"That soldier would end up bleeding out on the pavement."

"No one would make an exception…?"

Shepard shook her head. "These rules have been in place for centuries. Way before the Alliance even existed. We couldn't change the rules just because it was convenient. It was way too late by then."

"Then…how did this all start? Forgive my ignorance. I wish I'd known more."

"I don't blame you," she forgave, with ease. "But it's a long, long story. We weren't allowed to live in the so-called safe neighborhoods. Not for the longest. Even after the laws changed to allow it, someone always found a loophole. Segregation by a different name. Packing us into these places. Refusing to invest enough resources into our schools, our local governments. They gave up on us without giving anyone a chance, leaving us to fend for ourselves. We eventually split into our own tribes like this."

"Was it always so contentious? After the split."

"Not always," supplied Shepard. "There were little things here and there. Those smaller incidents snowballed over time. Someone would get stabbed in a fight. Then shot. Then the families of the deceased would want revenge. They shot up whoever killed their brother, their cousin. Revenge after revenge. That constant cycle of violence. Blood enemies. The kind of grudges that don't just go away."

I tried to imagine—"Did you ever take part in any revenge shootings?"

"There were plenty of times when I wanted to. Getting revenge for my own friends. I lost a lot of good people to the enemy when I was younger. We all had a more common foe with the skinheads. If they took out my friends, then it was the only time I'd get payback. I was really only in a gang for protection."

At Shepard's mention of those foes, I noticed the looks we received.

Not from anyone overhearing our conversation.

But for the simple fact that Shepard and I were an interracial couple.

I fought back a shudder, wondering what would've happened if I'd come here on my own. Without her.

"Protection, you say?" I asked. "From what, exactly?"

"The street cred kept anyone else from fucking with me. You're seeing it now, with the way most people respect us. And even if they don't respect us, it doesn't matter. They know you're my woman, so they won't try it with you, or me. Back when I was in school, my friends actually felt safer with me around."

No wonder she was so protective.

"And how far would your credibility extend? Just within this territory?"

"Pretty much," replied Shepard. "Our territory isn't nice and neat. Sometimes we gain more ground, or we'll lose it over time. We always had to keep track of the boundaries. Someone could get shot at just for going to the wrong liquor store, while wearing the wrong colors. Even if they're not in a gang at all."

I glanced around, noticing, "Well, everyone seems to be doing all right. Or is that not true?"

"I'd say it is. This isn't as bad as it used to be…a long time ago. There are a bunch of charities in my name. Some of them go toward helping out these neighborhoods. Subsidized housing. Better school supplies and libraries. Food banks and free clothes. Things like that. But everyone still sticks to their territories for tradition's sake. Keeps any old wounds from getting infested; getting worse. You know."

And I expected nothing less from Shepard's legacy. Paying it forward.

Leaving this packed area, she took me to a lone building farther off. Tall, abandoned, half-built, half-destroyed. I gathered this had been some development project gone awry, subsequently abandoned. Perhaps an experiment from the gentrification efforts several blocks down. Either way, this place seemed to hold much significance in Shepard's eyes. I felt the way her demeanor changed, right as she took me inside to this defunct lobby area. As if she'd returned home again after a long journey.

Again I smelled such distinct cigarette smoke in the chilled air around us. As I did, I stared up at the collapsed ceiling. Several floors ran overhead, winding and winding. Broken windows leading outside to the night. Numerous open vents that spanned throughout the walls. A veritable amusement park of hiding spots and escape locations—ideally for a young infiltrator-in-training.

"I can feel the meaning around us, Shepard. What's the story behind this building?"

"This is where I learned my trade," she confirmed. "Before joining the Alliance, I mean. This is how I knew I wanted to be an infiltrator. More than anything, I felt that need inside of me. When I was a kid, it was such a powerful emotion. I might've been in love with the idea, actually. Then it came true."

"Mmm, and how did you train here?"

"Not on purpose. It was an accident. At least at first. One day, my enemies chased me in here. I was on my own. No backup. Nothing. It was the last time I remember being afraid for my life. But I managed to slip out of sight. I crawled into one of the vents. Disappeared into the shadows. I could hear my attackers looking for me. They were so loud. Clumsy. Stupid. There was no way they could fit in the vents after me, let alone think to look in one. So I hid away until they gave up. That's how I survived."

"How resourceful of you," I praised. "Though I can't say I'm surprised. This must've turned into your hunting ground. You found your success in this building."

"Yeah, I did. The whole hide-and-seek element helped make up for my weaknesses. My enemies used to underestimate me before then. I was always pretty tall for my age, but never weighed that much. Still hasn't changed. So people assumed I was weak. I got away with surprising them in other ways before. That stopped working after a while. So I started luring enemies through here. If I couldn't beat them down with raw force, then I outsmarted them instead. Every time, I'd crawl through the vents and disappear into those shadows. Stalking my enemies. Watching them lose their minds, freaking out. If I wanted to take someone out, I only had one shot to do it—before giving myself away. I would focus on the headshot. Concentrate. Then fire. That's how I learned my aim. The skills I have now. All from here."

I smiled over this tale of her origins. "And how would you escape?"

"I'd jump out a window. Then I'd run off; escape into the night. Think I gained a reputation for it. Ghost."

"Of course. I'd assume nothing less. I'm happy to see how consistent you've been over the years."

Shepard paused in such a specific way. As if there was a moral of this story as well.

"What is it?" I asked. "I want to know. You know I do."

Downed and downcast, Shepard stared down at our interlaced hands. Our love. Our emotions, linked.

"Miranda, what I'm trying to say is… Out in these streets, emotions are a liability. They're a weakness. They're the difference between staying focused and staying alive—and losing your cool and losing your life. I got lucky that time. When I was scared. Afraid of dying. My survival instincts kicked in. But I could've easily panicked and left myself vulnerable instead. So I learned, really learned to harden myself after that. I had to be hard. I had to be emotionless. I had to be that stereotypical man, a thug. No excuses."

"I understand that," I sympathized. "Really, I do. I know exactly what you mean. I can never see this Earth from your eyes, from your perspective. But you know I'm looking out in the same direction as you. That direction is forward. It's always forward. You have such a deep, sensitive soul. You have no idea—no clue how much I love that about you. How emotional you still are, despite your efforts. It's beautiful."

As much as she wanted to avert her eyes, Shepard made herself stay with me. Staying present with me.

"Babe, I get what you're saying…"

"Well, I'm not pressuring you to do anything, either. I would simply like to have your heart in mine."

After everything, I knew.

Shepard had forgotten how to do this. Just like saying those three words to me. Lost and left behind. We'd both had to suffer consequences from those ashes, after all. And as much as it made me bleed, more and more, this apology in Shepard's eyes nearly scathed me. Bloodletting in this critical hour. Falling and falling, just as this building could have done any day now, any time now, inevitably so from now in a loud, loud cascade of memories, destroyed. Lost and left behind, but not forgotten—not least by the love of my life gazing at me so, unable to give me this one thing. Unable, as compromised as she was. Unable, as compromised as I was, for reasons I could never fully explain. She couldn't know.

Perhaps as a mistake, she couldn't know this about me.

Certainly, Shepard had resolved to not keep secrets between us.

This one thing remained at the back of my mind, creeping in and around.

Creeping and crawling around, more, as Shepard walked us back to her car—

My private frustrations that I could never blame her for. But I could certainly do something about them.

Back to the so-called safety of Shepard's car, in the so-called safety of this gentrified neighborhood, she'd parked along this ground level. Relatively removed from the rest of the vehicles, most of which looked quite high-end. Never matching Shepard's taste levels. Never matching her luxury, her privilege. Never could I imagine her with anything less than this ambiance about her car: calmed, quieted, waiting.

Just as she waited for me, holding the door open for me. To the backseat. Not the front as I expected.

Following her lead one more time, I went to the backseat. Situating myself over the fine leather; regretting the need to pollute her seats with this smell of outside. That lingering smog of cigarette smoke that had taken over our clothes; faint traces of alcohol that had hazed out from the many bars we'd walked past. Shepard followed suit after me, sitting here in the back of her car at my side. She quickly busied herself by turning on her music at a low volume. That gentle buzz of the bass vibrated through the system, through her car, massaging my back. Sensuality of this song, romance and raw emotion crooning in passion—Shepard punctured it only by searching around in her glove compartment. Spraying a bit of her cologne around, dispelling that smell of smoke. Makeshift as this was, it did the trick, blending in with that artificial cinnamon smell of her car's air freshener. This would just have to do.

As this last, Shepard removed her sidearm. Setting it elsewhere. Keeping it in her view. For our protection.

We stayed like this for a while. In complete silence.

Darkened by the shadows of the night.

Lit up in dimness from the faint street lights shining through the windows. Those lights dimmed more once Shepard thought to darken her windows, selecting that setting with her omni-tool. And once she finished with this, she sat back in her seat. Sitting at my side. Not quite meeting my eyes, angling hers away, brightened as they were as that lighted brown. Forever glowing as night vision in these illusions.

Illusory as they may have been, I felt my frustrations brimming. Quiet as private riots within me.

Certainly quieter than Shepard's growing worries, showing in the absolute paradise of her face.

She felt my emotions, even if she couldn't decrypt them in our shared silence.

My emotions—my frustrations coming up now, realizing how much I may have had to compete with her memories of another woman. Not my frustrations over Liara specifically. No anger directly toward her, never, as I still had the utmost respect for her. It was simply this general thing. This general reminder of my own mistakes. If I had just contacted Shepard before, years ago, then perhaps none of this would've happened. I wouldn't need to put her back together after someone else had broken her heart. I wouldn't need to languish over this unrequited need, all because my old enemy had shattered her.

I didn't want us to have any problems.

I wanted the two of us to exist separately from other people. Other women. Others, others, others.

I knew how unrealistic this was, how unfeasible it was—impossible—yet I despised the issue anyway.

More so, especially so, because of how naïve I had been. Certainly, my relationship with Shepard was set in stone. No matter what she did, no matter what I did, we would stay together. We would never allow anyone else to come between us. I knew that—no naïveté needed.

Shepard finally looked at me. This beat from her music still drilling at our backs. Drums and snares, traditional, old-fashioned. Keys of a piano unlocking such melancholy. Lyrics begging without begging; declaring such pride in a broken love, in insulation, in trying in mania. Anger over the past, over such a willingness to die for that love. So darkly romantic, as dark as these shadows around us, golds raying in.

And her voice smoothing through me. The depths of her voice another source of thrumming, throbbing:

"Miranda…what are you thinking about?"

Here we remained at this juncture.

Here we existed at this crossroads, with my thoughts. Thinking about this as I told her I would do.

I could remain complacent, merely assuming Shepard would keep her true focus on me. I could grow content to sit on my throne, assuming all would be well. I could assume she would never, ever feel that dangerous pull toward this other woman I respected so much. I could assume and assume and assume, losing my own edge in the process. Losing the energy I'd had all these years, needing her to death.

Or I could do what Liara never did, and actually fight for her.

Stoically startled, Shepard asked, "Babe, why are you looking at me like that? You seem—different."

Answering her with words felt pointless.

Settling my hands over the leather between us, I crawled over to her, closer. Nearing all the way.

No distance between us whatsoever.

"Miranda—"

Urgent I kissed her, needing. Needing her. Needing this crisp, deep aroma of her cologne this close.

Needing, needing; needling this new thread knifing at us both. Even as she struggled to speak against me, words interrupted muffling against my lips, I found my rhythm. My rhythm in this moment, taking charge. Sitting astride her lap. Her curving, pointing, hardening beneath me—exactly as I wanted. Sitting over Shepard like this, sitting on this throne she'd given me; this throne I had taken for myself, for reasons deep down that had all been too selfish. Selfish and selfish, as hard as I moved into her, harder and harder to shape her as I wanted, as I needed, over and over again. So selfish, craving exactly this.

Tipping her off-balance, leaning her back against this backseat.

Pushing her off-balance, gripping at her shoulders as my only strength, my only foundation.

Pulling her off-balance right with me—holding her face in my hands, pulling, pulling her into me, more.

Uncharacteristically at a loss, Shepard didn't know what to do. She let me kiss her. She let me pull at her as I needed. She reacted beneath me beyond her control, controlled by me. Under my spell as she was, I guided her as I wanted. Gripping her hands; putting her touch over my hips. Making her grab me as she should have. And that single motion encouraged her. Reminding her of where we were, what we were.

Mimicking this meaning, she lifted me without physically lifting. Lifting me up in her regard. Lifting me in elevation and esteem, emotionally so. Lifting me for all the galaxy to see that I was hers—or at least this backseat of her car. This meaning back here, of how she had me. How she could have paid me for this, propositioned me for this. How she could've used me like this, taking and taking until her time was up.

Cutting this piece of myself for her life, I found my empowerment.

She took my shirt off, as the start of this taking. Setting my blouse aside. Taking my bra off, with only one hand in her deftness. Snapping it off, setting it elsewhere. Leaving my jeans on, my boots on. Freeing this top of me to the perfect temperature of her car. Freeing me to the perfection of her touch, her hands running up my back, bare and bared for her. Shaping my spine, my shoulders as hers. Snaking her hand up my scalp, soothing. Shifting her fingertips through my hair, massaging, cradling, comforting me so. Reaching up, into me, keeping me over her. Over and over she strove to stroke my body, my ego.

I found my sharper control, reaching down between. Reaching to the mean of Shepard's jeans. That black denim shadowed beneath me, barely holding her in. Undoing, unzipping. Unable to wait anymore.

This deeper growl drilled through Shepard's throat, mirroring the bass all around us.

This lower baritone of her voice nearly penetrated me—"Babe, I thought—thought you were on your…"

"Yes, I am," I whispered in her mouth. "But I want you. I need you—right now. We have other options."

Closer than before, unzipped, I felt her now. I felt Shepard beneath the tightness of her boxer briefs. Shaping just so for me, insistent and needing. I smiled over that insistence. I smiled more so over this look in Shepard's eyes just beneath mine. This look, still off-balance, still out of her element, still so beyond her own control and firmly in mine. Firmly in my hand, slipped right through the folded opening of her boxer briefs—right at attention for me through her lowered zipper. For me, for this shape of my hand over her, for this weakness of hers, simply from my hand, by my hand. Knowing it was me; feeling me wrapped around her. Shortness of my manicured nails. Softness of a woman's touch, of my touch.

Long, and not too thick. Wider at the base, more so beneath her jeans. The exact fit for her body type. Exactly what I had always imagined of her allure after all these years.

Barely doing anything just yet. Stroking, softly, up and down. But it was enough. Just enough to make Shepard lean her head back against the seat. Enough to fog her eyes honeyed by the street lights, sweetening more with this sugar of my sight, my body astride her. Shadowed precisely in my image.

Inhaling Shepard's thinning breaths, I added mine to hers, asking, "Will this one have a mess?"

"No," she forced out. Somewhere outside, blaring police sirens passed us by. "I figured we wouldn't get anywhere near sex tonight. Not in the back of my car… Not where I used to live. I—I wasn't expecting this."

"Good."

Stroking Shepard more, harder, tighter, I did as I wanted to her.

Shaping her in my hand, thickening these veins of her, this curve of her. Curving just more at the tip, most sensitive, blood rushing to this spot. Hardening more and more with my touch. Curving my wrists to circle around her, fully in-control now, I watched these changes painting before me in the night.

Shepard did her damnedest to hold back. Holding her breath to keep from making a sound. Remaining reserved. Tensing her body; gatekeeping her truest reactions. Trying to stop this; trying not to let go. Even as she practically kept growing in my hands, she refused to let me see her in any raw purity. Alternating between biting down on her back teeth; biting down on her lower lip, to shutter any curses from escaping her mouth. Pushing the back of her head against the leather of the seat, angling and angling her chest: curving, concaving with her harder exhales, again and again. She wouldn't look at me.

As unprepared as she was—and as shy as she was for our first time—I supposed I couldn't blame her.

I still didn't want this.

Keeping one of my hands going, still stroking, I made up my mind.

My other hand, I used to reach behind Shepard's head. Pulling her back to me, back underneath me, with this leverage, this slight height I had over her.

Kneading my fingers through the sheen of her hair, I gripped her scalp just so. Keeping her here. Locking Shepard in place with me. Giving her every single one of my private frustrations without a word—translating them just so through my eyes, into hers, locking her gaze to me equally as well. Laser-focused on my face, everything about me here, I felt Shepard scrutinizing me now, all without meaning to. Focusing, focusing. Picking out every single detail about me, about this beauty I had spent so long coveting of myself. Coveting more, I felt Shepard noticing more. Vulnerabilities accepted by the painstaking efforts I made to be perfect for her, to be beautiful for her, to be worthy of her. Breathless by the clarity of my skin. The dark shine of my hair. The intensity in my eyes. By even the finest facets of my lashes, brushed and blackened with the smallest amounts of mascara, all to hold her gaze like this.

Satisfied for now, I gave Shepard a break—emotionally—breaking our stare. Moving my lips closer to her ear, her own breaths heating down my face, down my neck. Still stroking her, seamlessly, I wanted something else this time. Something I expected her to give to me. No eye contact. Going easy on her.

"Say my name," I begged. She let out a low, rumbling growl; hardening more in my hand. "I want you to stay right here with me. I don't want to wait any longer with you. I'm done taking my time. I'd much rather take you, just like this. So I'm asking…for you to say my name. Give me this comfort." Holding me closer around my waist, around my back, Shepard wouldn't let go. She hummed out that first sound of my name instead, those hums elongated by her quieted groaning. Elongated, longer and longer, keeping me on top like this in my pride. "Call out my name, Shepard. Let go with me—and call out my name."

Gently I kissed her neck, tasting those hums still vibrating through her throat. Surrounded by her music as we were, no one else would hear us. She had no excuses. Yet this shyness of hers remained. Well on her way to coming for me, Shepard needed a little bit more. Or a lot more, considering I'd never done this before. Never had I deigned to lower myself for anyone like this. But for her, I would do anything.

Lowering myself, getting down on my knees—I settled down on the floor of her backseat.

Plenty of room to work with. Plenty of ways to kneel before her, with the loose black denim of Shepard's jeans before me; the thickness of her combat boots between me, shadowed in the full dark below us.

Sharp as ever in my intensity, I glared up at Shepard's surprise. Holding her upright, holding her in this suspense, I licked my lips, once, signaling what I wanted. Holding her hand, I guided her touch to my neck. This grip of my collar—I made her grip it right back, tauter in her tender strength. Reminding Shepard of my loyalty to her. My allegiance to her. Undying, unyielding, she had me tonight. Absolutely.

Taking her into my mouth, this first heated breath of me made Shepard buckle. Hardness candied as her skin, she throbbed hardest around my lips, as far as I could go. Shaping the top of my mouth as this curve of her; sculpting my tongue with the grooves of her veins, thickening, thickening. This slight pain in my jaw, already, made me moan against her, muffled and blocked by her sole privilege, her permission.

Paining more, I gave her this labor of love, blowing her growing; sucking everything of her I could reach.

Paining deeper from the dullness of Shepard's nails against my neck, along the bend of my scalp, controlling me. Even in her control, she let me move at my own pace. Steadily enough, slowly enough—just enough meaning, never rushing, never wanton or waning. This same rhythm, pacing, pacing. This same cadence of easing down, down to inhale this cologne-touched friction of her jeans; and back up to suck along her tip, these soaked popping sounds tempered by my repetitions, back down to her. Down to these growing pains, growing with her, growing toward her, growing and never slowing, never showing Shepard anything less than my complete adulation for her. Farther down to these deeper pains of knowing her without a word, knowing of my fate, of forever chasing after her, keeping her inside me.

This pain was well worth Shepard finally giving me what I needed.

"Miranda…fuck. Fuck!" Her restricting efforts, blown away, blown away. "What are you doing to me…?"

Everything I possibly could.

To keep her with me, holding her close to me.

To keep the both of us from growing complacent.

Reminding her of what we had, of what we'd yet to have.

Proving to Shepard that she hadn't made a mistake in making me hers.

Endlessly, my work began to pay off. Breathless, Shepard panted out my name, shuddering in place. That low cadence of her sounds, colored at once as feminine and masculine, as both, as neither. No designations, such a loss of control. Calling out my name from the depths of her soul, fulfilling every part of me, validating. Soaking me, stroking me, spreading. Steadier and steadier, reliable as ever, I kept on like this. Kept on keeping on, even as Shepard finally broke as I craved, as I'd spent years wishing for, crying over, bleeding over, nearly dying in anticipation over. Over she went, over the edge. Edges of her nails digging into me, staying with my movements, never forcing me one way or another. Craving this repetition, needing this security from me, Shepard breathed out harder, harder in this marathon, this solid rise I gave her. Lifting her as she lifted me each day, I savored this throbbing flavor of her release—without the mess—but just as satisfying. Satisfying in physicality, feeling that pent-up strain leave her body, replaced with this surging euphoria only I could give her. No one else knew her the way I did.

Removing myself from her, catching my breath, I gave Shepard a moment. Still kneeling before her in obedience, I watched as she leaned back against the seat. Shallow breaths; legs spread wide to accommodate me; sweat rolling down the sheen of her skin. This softened curve of her flattened down over her shirt, over her stomach, moving with her movements, moving with her breaths. Engorged of her, I watched this majesty about her. Mesmerized. Enamored with this example of her power, leading my attention by the power of her example. This very obvious measure of her energies, of her wants, her cravings, her satisfaction with me—I licked my lips, cleaning off these remnants of her, swallowing them.

Staring up at the ceiling of her car, breathing steadier now, Shepard had mostly found her bearings.

She could have drifted off to faraway lands. Floating away on that high. But she reined herself back in.

Growing harder, bit by bit, jolting almost—she had other ideas in mind for us.

Shepard reached her hand out, pawing at my shoulder. Steadily finding her awareness again.

"Miranda…come here."

Sitting beside her this time, right next to her, I felt this shift in her aura.

Facing her, I clasped my legs together. Prim and proper in my patience. Waiting for her next move.

Shepard angled her head toward me. Gazing at me with glassy eyes. Glancing me over: the freedom of my skin, shirtless and braless as I was for her. That glass of her stare trembled in admiration at this sight of me, focusing on the shape of my slowed breaths, the slopes of my breasts. Down, more, she fixated on the shape of my jeans over my thighs. And the sight of my heeled boots: domineering as they should have always been, instead marking me in submissiveness to her. All the while, her music continued to insulate us, isolating us from the world, from everything past the golden dark of this protected getaway.

Surprising me, Shepard removed her outer shirt—the red of her gang colors. I watched her movements, how deliberate she was. How her impossibly long hair shifted and cascaded with this removal, freeing. She did the same with the black of her long-sleeved shirt. Entirely generous, she bundled her shirts together, setting them on the seat behind me. Behind me as this intended pillow, perfectly so as she moved into me. Moving in, breathing in, giving me this sweat-coated taste of her lips; leaning me down, down to the seat, lying me down over her bundled generosity. Her care, her consideration. Coating me with all of it, more, in this patience about her. Patience, as she understood what I had conveyed before.

Adoring her adoring me, I wrapped my arms around her back. Softness of her skin, and the deceptive sinew of her biceps, her shoulders—angled by her white undershirt, sleeveless, and by her sports bra beneath, both structures shaping her sinew well. This sweet pressure of her weight on top of me. Sweeter still of her hair shadowing me more, blinding me to all but her, just as she had done to me last in my bedroom, back in my apartment what felt like an age ago. But this time, she gave me what I'd longed for before. This time, Shepard gave me the heated relentlessness I'd dreamed of from her. This time she relieved me of any other thoughts, any other desires, commanding my sole focus on her. She reminded me of what else she had to offer me—this specific insistence of hers between us, pressing against me, between me, blocked only by my jeans, and the inconvenience of our timing this month.

Not at all discouraged by the inconvenience, Shepard burned her lips down my neck. She heated my breasts with her breath, pushing, suckling, owning me—making me react past my own boundaries, already. I had no place to hold back. Not with her giving me this rawness about her, at last unfiltered and unmitigated. Burning, branding me in her pressured energy. Pressure and pressure, exerting her love, giving it to me, giving it to me giving it giving and giving and giving, down my hips, down my thighs, suffocating herself against my skin for seconds at a time in her strength over me—acupressure upon me.

Freeing more, I felt a sudden swell of emotion—more once Shepard unbuckled my jeans, undoing them. Unzipping as I had done to her before. Paused only because I still had my boots on. Obviously in the way. Temporary, only temporary. She moved down, all the way down to my leather. As tall as she was, she managed this somehow, in her own grace here in her car, fluid in this plentiful space around us.

I expected Shepard to simply unzip my boots as well. To remove them straightaway. To set them aside.

Instead, she swelled me more. Taking her time, taking her time.

Lowering her legs, her knees to the floor of this backseat, as I had done. This time to stroke my boots, synthesizing her touch over my leather and over my skin all at once. Slipping her lips down to this curve of my boots, taking care to handle my heels with such precise need. Unexpected from her, completely devoted from her—I didn't recognize my own reactions, breathing out for her. Sounding out this swelling in my heart, raising and raising, cascading up and up as a rising waterfall. All from the way she worshipped me, the leather over my legs and farther down to my soles. Handling me. Taking me in this specific way. Kissing my boots as this fetish of ours, growing and growing. Somewhere in this dark, I saw the way Shepard grew and grew, hooking that much harder between her legs as she did this for me.

"You're too sexy like this," she murmured over an arch of me, reverberating all through my body. "I'm obsessed with you. How perfect you are. How I feel your emotions calling out to me." Of course she knew. She always knew. "Everything about you right now…you're my absolute ideal. Still real, though."

Doing this, continuous—spreading her lips over this leather of me, staying here. Remnants of the earth, of Shepard's roots and foundations all remained beneath my soles. She kissed all of me with that soul, as soulful as her music thudding through her car's sound system, still going, still going. Darkened in this paradise, lost for nothing, for no one: already she sent me so much higher, subbing this space for us.

Somewhere between my haze, Shepard took off my boots. One at a time. Taking her time again, more. Taking off my jeans; taking off this last of me, allowed for now. Leaving only this last between me, of a fabric and style less sexy than I could've prepared for. Yet I spent mere seconds worrying about it, before Shepard pulled my attention right back. Always, this authority of her touch, of her movements, of the way she handled me—Shepard could've done anything to me, anything, and I would still be this moaning mess for her, having completely forgotten myself.

Messy as this was, on the verge of tears for no fucking reason.

Or for the simple reason that Shepard had gotten back on top of me.

And I opened my legs for her immediately. Right on her silent command. Never needing to say a word.

Even so, Shepard knew what had started in me. She slipped this curve of her right against me, knowing everything. She groaned in control with my movements, with the way I locked her between my thighs. I needed more, and she gave it to me. She gave me this preview. She indulged in me, rocking herself, easing within this tightened friction of my legs. Hypersensitive. Seeing the obvious pool over my eyes, reflecting the haze of this faint light around us—absorbing the truest light from her directly. Everlasting.

Purely focused on me, Shepard could mimic this thrusting between me, stimulating herself, stimulating us both—all without losing too much. Never losing her real attention on me. Never losing her strength, of her arms angled over me in power, locking me in the most euphoric cage of her weight over me. Steady, reliable, she gave me what I'd given her earlier. Mirroring this security, she comforted me with this sense about her, these movements about her. Curving between me, curving and curving, lighting me up even with this last piece blocking her full access. Right now, she didn't need it. She gave me more than enough, controlling, controlling. Encouraging this verge of me to fall, even as she continued, giving more. Encouraging more. Pulling this mess out of me, even as she stayed slow and steady for my sake.

"Miranda," she breathed, on beat with her efforts. "Baby—tell me what you're feeling. Tell me, please."

Hypocritical, I tried to look away from her.

Shepard held my face in her hand. Touching me. Stroking my skin. Leaning down and into me, closer.

She took her turn to beg: "Don't pull away from me. Not now… Not after everything. I want you to stay."

Giving it to me more, she put her lower back to use, curving into me in a practiced rhythm. Undulating that small of her back; gaining this absolute access to me. Getting right at this spot of me, stroking with this whole of her. And the second she heard this helplessness from me, whimpering, I switched on every single setting about her that I'd always needed. This one thing highlighted her gaze. This one sound from me shaped her heart as mine. The one, continuous need from me, expressed, pushed her deeper inside.

Lowering herself to me more, Shepard breathed harder. Her face closer to mine. Practically parallel.

So many words I wanted to give her.

Too many words.

Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions of words, and they would never suffice. They would never be enough to tell Shepard how much she meant to me. Never enough, but she deserved them anyway.

They dissipated away, dissolving into this sordid mess of emotions fumbling around in my stomach.

Still giving me her love in motion, Shepard gave me the exact words I'd needed from her for so long:

"Babe, you just don't know…how crazy I am about you. I try and hold it back. I do my best to keep that image of mine. But it doesn't fucking matter right now. Tonight, that's gone. I'm not letting it get in the way. I need to tell you this now. If I don't, the words will slip away…and I might never get them back."

Shepard welded our eye contact together.

Not letting me look away.

Not letting me go.

Completely serious, her movements against me, between me heightened that much more, blissful—

"When I woke up again, the moment I first saw you—I knew. I knew you were the one. I knew I needed you. I fell in love with you that instant." So mindful of me, she paused only to kiss me. Kissing this sudden pouring down my face, wetting my hair, her bundled shirts beneath my head. Quietly, gently, with no less conviction than the truth of her words: "It's been this unspoken secret between us. Worst-kept secret, I should say…but you know. You filled in these gaps in my mind. You mended my broken childhood. You're everything I wished I had before. Everything I lacked; and that lack ruined my life. But you—you're the perfect woman for me. Perfectly nurturing. Perfectly patient. So, so patient with me…"

This meaning in her eyes melded with her physicality. This pause about her encapsulated my patience.

I held her closer to me.

Needing her closer—needing to listen, needing to know, needing to feel her. Locking her between my thighs tighter—loose enough to not constrict; tight enough for this desperation she'd sparked in me. In her impassioned control, antithetical nevermore, Shepard held this haze of my stare. She inspired this nearing in me, closer and closer to all that I'd only arrived at on my own, bringing myself there by my own hand. Thinking of her every time. Needing her every single time. Imagining this exact moment.

This reflection of me shimmered in her eyes, right as she brought me up, all the way. Kissing her emphasis into me, as this dream come true—"I love you, Miranda"—ruining me softly, ruining me higher. Destroying me in her tenderness, knowing we could never go back. Never, ever, and still she reasserted: "I love you…and this'll never stop. I can't stop. I can't, I can't."

Non-stop in this forever, she kept giving herself to me.

Immortality through time. Through these emotions she continued threading for me. Not knowing or seeing all that I'd sealed away, on purpose, even with this gentle destruction. And I would never be the same. Never the same person I was before this night. Before these hours Shepard spent staying on top of me, staying at this pace, staying at this rhythm. Staying at this dedication of mending my hurt feelings from earlier in the night, from well before then. Still giving me this brightness, this sunlight oncoming and coming at me, continuous and continuous. She held me together through my unraveling.

She never let me go, not once. Not even once she received that ill-timed message to her omni-tool.

No doubt from the Council.

Shepard tried to keep going anyway. I wouldn't let her. Half as an excuse to find my own bearings again. Half as some effort to put the mission first, despite this found paradise she'd given me for hours on-end.

We had to round up the team.

We had to begin the overnight flight to Eden Prime.

We had to prepare to push ourselves on the battlefield against the Collectors again.

I had to prepare to see Aria again, knowing even the slightest favor Shepard held for her. Jealousy burning a hole in my heart. Possessiveness flaring within me as I watched Shepard send off her emails. Replying to the Council. Notifying Aria. Such a horrifying change went through me as I watched her do this. Such a mind-shattering fear gripped at me, all from the reality we now had to return to. This reality that other women wanted the love of my life, just as well, and my love for her was not enough to stop it.

This obvious, obvious reality of how fragile I truly was. How dependent I was on her, far more than ever.

She had these delicate shards of me clasped in her hands. Close to her heart. Any sudden moves, and she would drop them. I would fall and shatter. Permanently. Forever broken. Forever irreparable.

Never the same, never the same.

Finishing with her messages, Shepard sighed. "So much for going to the 94 tonight… Then again, it's way past midnight. We should've gotten there earlier. We'll have to go next time instead. Didn't mean to lose track of time." She looked to me lying over the seat, still. Needing her, wanting her still. Forever and always. "Seems like you have something on your mind. What are you thinking about?"

What had bothered me earlier. Briefly.

What continued to bother me, more so.

What I worried about privately. Unknown to anyone. Barely even myself.

Shepard understood enough. "Okay, babe. I'm just saying, if you ever wanna tell me, I'm here to listen."

I nodded my head. Acknowledging her care, her devotion to me, fully expressed now.

And I watched her dress herself again. Watched Shepard attempt to return to normalcy, for the mission.

But there was something about this faint, faint smell of cigarette smoke around, reminding me:

That conversation I'd had with the Illusive Man, months ago. The tears I'd shed. The fears I'd expressed without words; the ones my boss had known without a word. How fraught I had been—and still was now—over making a mistake. Making more than one mistake. Falling short in my duty to Shepard as her protector. Not doing enough, not being enough to meet the worst moments in the war ahead. Especially now that she had given me her heart. Now that she had given me her body, her truest trust. Now that she had taken me, and taken me, as this precursor to my full breaking.

Remembering my inspirations, I couldn't help thinking of Liara at a time like this. Missing her, really.

And though we were off to Eden Prime without her, Liara would still be with us somehow.

With us in heart and in mind. With us in spirit. Waiting for a little while longer.

During my own waiting, I recognized where I'd gone.

Right at this time, at the juncture of my private fears, my own possible failings.

I knew for a fact that Liara and I would have no conflicts. No problems with one another. I still hoped to have her friendship at some point. Because she and I, the two of us—we existed as these mirrors of one another, adjusted at this slanted angle, with her missing certain qualities of mine, and vice-versa on my end for her. Her gentler kindness not quite there with me; my pragmatic ruthlessness not quite there with her. We were both the unrealized versions of one another. And so, as Shepard dressed me anew, before driving us back to her apartment, I considered. I truly considered the possibility of sharing this confession with Liara, with the woman I had always wanted to be. This confession of my fears. Hoping she would understand me through my own eyes, our hearts and minds rhyming with one another. Slanted as we were, this glass would never shatter.