Shepard came by her office to check on her after their mission, just like she always did.
"Do you have a minute, Miranda?" she asked, just like she always did.
"Of course," Miranda replied, just like she always did.
But for some reason, the atmosphere between them did not feel like it always did. Something felt heavy, charged, and it was not just Miranda's complicated feelings about the last mission. More likely, it was her complicated feelings about Shepard.
She tried not to let it show in her expression, but she felt as though she were suffocating every time she got close to the other woman. It was embarrassing. Inconvenient. She was meant to be Shepard's XO, her second in command, her teammate. Someone she could rely on to have her back in a fight. Someone who needed to be absolutely focused in order to do her job. Instead, here she was, nursing a crush like a little girl.
But who could blame her? Everyone loved Shepard. That was the whole reason Cerberus had poured so much time, effort, and expense into bringing her back. She wasn't just a great soldier; she was a force of nature. She was the spark that would light the fire against the Reapers. She was irreplaceable.
And she was kind and caring and strong and smart and so, so lovely. At first, Miranda hadn't known if she was jealous or infatuated. After all, she'd never felt this way about a woman before. But then she got close to Shepard; got to know her, and there became no room for doubt. She had it bad.
And now Shepard was leaning against the window in her office, the rippling blue light from outside painting her face in cool, mysterious shades, her gaze dark and heavy on Miranda. The Cerberus officer had the advantage of knowing that she had no reservations about courting women. Her file had been plenty clear on that.
But Miranda didn't feel very advantaged right now under the scrutiny of those burning green eyes. Under the stifling pressure of her own feelings versus the demands of their mission. Under the uncertainty as to how this meeting would end. She was used to being in control, and she was floundering in its absence.
Shepard pounded one more nail into her coffin with her next words: "It's funny; I think of you as all business. Good to see that there's a person under there." Her tone was light and lilting enough that it could be passed off as a joke if necessary. The way she was looking at Miranda, though; there was nothing funny about that.
Miranda was standing before she knew what she was doing; drawn into Shepard's orbit like a piece of space debris, helpless to resist. She reached out and ran a hand over the swell of the commander's shoulder, pinned by the look in those eyes. She might be inexperienced in this particular regard, but she knew exactly what she wanted to do in that moment. She knew exactly how she wanted Shepard to react, and exactly how she wanted this night to end.
But she made herself pull back.
They had a job to do. They had a mission to complete, villains to stop, and the human race to save. They could not afford to lose focus for anything. Even anything as tempting as this.
And Miranda was no stranger to sacrifice. She could handle the disappointment.
It was still hard to force out the words, "The mission is too important to let personal feelings intervene."
It was still hard to pull her hand away from Shepard's warm, toned body, leaving a chill in her wake.
It was still hard to watch the commander smile weakly, bid her good night, and walk from the room without another word.
…
