Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect or any of its characters. They are products of BioWare, EA and certainly not me. This fan fiction is for entertainment purposes; no profit or intrusion of copyright is intended.
Note: Special thanks to Sigyn2011 for the help to edit this chapter.
Shepard pressed his palms into the top of the table, the holographic blueprint of the Cerberus facility flickering as it drew on the remaining emergency power reserves. He divided both teams to make a forceful push upon the facility, trusting both Garrus and Miranda to lead their squad and complete their objectives. However, the communications had been hazy for the last fifteen minutes - likely the fault of the rogue VI in the station. He was initially going to go to the VI core and attempt to override or at least reset the computer, but communications with his team grew spotty, his priorities changed.
Garrus led one squad into the power core to restore full power to the facility. The initial push appeared clear with no complications until ten standard security mechs guarding the entrance activated. Forced to retreat and regroup, Garrus attempted to flank the mechs. The plan backfired, and currently, Garrus's team sat pinned in a dangerously narrow corridor with no cover. Communications ceased; the static from the VI blocked any further report from Garrus.
Miranda led a second squad towards the life support and environmental control system and were in the loading bay between Shepard's location and the life support systems. Until Garrus fully restored power, Mordin couldn't override the security console to deactivate the mechs attacking them.
In order turn on the environmental controls, the power needed to be restored. Odd how the VI only altered the environmental controls and not other life support systems. The air was breathable. Multiple tests from Shepard and Mordin's omni-tool proved it. But Shepard didn't trust it to last. Even though he could breath the air, exposure to frigid temperatures over an extended period of time would be deadly. All systems needed to be restored as soon as possible if they were to survive the night.
Should he help Garrus or Miranda? Rationally, he knew the power systems were top priority, and nothing could be done without full power restoration. He yearned to rush to Miranda's side and ensure she survived but resisted the temptation.
"Garrus." he paused, allowing time for the turian to respond. A dull static echoed over the communications, a haunting reminder to the disconnected team. "Garrus, respond," Shepard demanded, fingers tapping in rhythmic succession over the table. Accepting that any communication with his teams was silent, he assessed the best route possible to reach Garrus's point.
But the VI core was just as important as the environmental controls systems. Once power was restored, it was imperative they stopped the VI before it could override any progress Shepard's team made. "Legion," Shepard peered over his shoulder at the geth. "How long will it take you to override the VI and take control of the facility?"
The metallic mandibles of the geth twitched, opening and closing as if processing thought. "Three point four minutes with 87% chance of success."
The answer surprised Shepard. A suspicion nagged in the back of his mind. Legion scouted, followed Shepard's trail, but Shepard wondered about Legion's true purpose. Was it really curiosity for information or more along the lines of reconnaissance? The doubt was palpable but was it justified? The conflict with the geth was years ago; yet to Shepard, the timing was mere months. He wondered how many geth were hunted and destroyed in the blind extermination following Saren's failed coup.
The main question in his mind, however, was could geth lie? Did he believe Legion's explanation of the geth war, a division between Saren's followers and other geth. A programming error - if it could be called an error. Programming difference. And what if there was more than one geth? They became stronger and computed faster in greater numbers.
Could that difference spread to other members of the geth? And what if one willingly decided to choose a differing answer. Or was it a program? If it purposefully chose an incorrect answer, is that a lie? Could a program lie? Were the geth still only programs or were the sentient beings?
Shepard sighed and focused on the pulsing red points on the holographic map indicating the location of his team. He wasn't smart enough for this kind of philosophical debate. His team didn't have time for his hesitation and they needed help now. The main question was could he trust Legion with the systems of the Cerberus facility? Did he want to hand over the control of the facility to a geth?
He didn't have a choice. "Legion, go to the VI core and once power is restored, I need you to access and override the system."
"Acknowledged," Legion responded and left.
Shepard pressed his fingers to the side of his helmet. "Joker, come in."
"Hey, Commander," Joker drawled, sounding bored.
"How are things up there?" Shepard asked as he secured his gauntlets, tightening the straps before picking up his shotgun from the table.
"Oh, you know. Peachy. Just floatin' around. Waiting for you."
Shepard rolled his eyes and moved quickly down the corridor with Mordin to Garrus's last known location. "I meant with the upgrades? The reason why all of us are down here?"
"Going according to plan. EDI's magical countdown says … uhm … four hours fifteen minutes. Plus or minus, you know," Joker answered.
"Alright. We might be stuck down here," Shepard said. "Looks like Jacob was right. The blizzard's hitting us head on. Keep me posted on your progress. Shepard out."
Miranda swallowed hard, pressed firmly against the cylindrical containers in the loading bay. She turned her head away, eyes closed reflexively as two mechs fired upon her position, the rounds ricocheting off the metallic casings then the loading machines. When the mechs stopped firing, she waited and listened to the creaking and grinding of their metal joints as they scanned the facility for movement, then walked towards her. She glanced around quickly, eyes narrowed as she spotted Kasumi climbing a yellow crane and leap onto a grated catwalk.
The mechs stopped at the very faint sound of the thief moving and with feet fixed, pivoted so their guns tracked towards the sound. Samara peered out from behind a wide metallic pillar, her eyes calm as she evaluated the battlefield. Blue biotic energy pulsed in one hand and she clenched her fingers, gathering the energy. Bracing for balance, she thrust the biotic energy outward, the blue field swirling around and surrounding the closest mech.
Hearing the distinct sound of a biotic reave, Miranda gathered her own biotic energy, charging until her right arm nearly shook with the intensity. Lifting up onto her knees, she threw the twirling ball of biotic energy at the biotically charged mech then ducked as the biotic fields clashed and exploded, staggering the mech. Its shields stuttered and trembled.
The mech turned towards Miranda and fired again, the operative diving low to dodge the spray. She covered her head with her arms and squinted at the sparks springing from the metal. Bullets pierced the cover, shaving off the tops of the cylindrical barrels and one fell back onto Miranda. She grunted at the impact to her shoulders and head then shrugged the barrel half off of herself.
Kasumi balanced along a crossbeam towards a suspended crate and crouched. Programming her omni-tool, she aimed towards the mech focused on Miranda and fired. An electrical spark shot from her omni-tool and landed on the back of the mech. Sizzling, crackling, and sparking, the mech stuttered and twitched as the electrical current temporarily overloading the machine. "Run, Miranda!" Kasumi called as the second mech turned to the rogue, trained its guns towards Kasumi and fired. Miranda fled her cover, racing around the barrels.
A third mech fired as well at Kasumi's back, draining her shields. The rogue cursed and swayed upon the crate then took two steps and leapt off the crate towards a stationary fork lift. A bullet grazed her thigh then calf before she cloaked. Clenching her teeth, she grabbed the crane arm, swung her legs then landed behind a set of crates. Her wounded leg collapsed and she rolled, slid, then slammed into the wall.
Samara gathered energy and cast another reave towards the shorted mech, stretching its metallic seams. The biotic surge tugged at the bolts from the metal, cracking the plated armor. The second mech turned and lifted a massive crate overhead then hurled it towards the fallen rogue. Without panic, Samara outstretched a hand and biotic tendrils shot from her palm and grabbed Kasumi. With a yank, Samara pulled the unconscious woman away.
A swirling white ball of biotic energy surged from behind the crane, slamming into the reaved mech and exploded. The mech toppled. Samara gathered Kasumi into her arms and crouched low, pushing the thief underneath the stationary forklift, hiding her beneath and away from the battle. Miranda slipped around the crane, and waited beside Samara. The operative peered under the crane at Kasumi then glanced at the asari, a question in her eyes. Samara simply nodded.
IMiranda tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling as she released a deep breath. Both listened and Samara pointed to her right then around Miranda's left as if to signal where the two remaining mechs searched.
Kasumi hummed softly as she slowly roused from unconsciousness. Miranda reached out quickly, covering Kasumi's mouth with her gloved hand. The rogue tensed as her eyes popped open and she scanned her surroundings. At Miranda's stern and warning expression, Kasumi offered the slightest of nods. Miranda removed her hand then leaned forward slightly to peer around the back of the crane. She tugged a medi-gel pack from a compartment on her utility belt and handed it to Kasumi.
Kasumi shifted carefully and took the medi-gel pack. She fumbled with the packet and finally tore a corner off. She squeezed the contents of the packet into each oozing wound on her leg. Her teeth clenched at the cold, the fizzing then the burning as the gel disinfected and effectively sealed the minor wound. The lights flickered then brightened. Kasumi hooked her fingers into Miranda's belt and tugged, queuing the operative to slide under the fork lift.
Miranda ducked down, sliding under the heavy machinery. When Kasumi tried to coax Samara to hide, the asari shook her head and stood, pressing against the cool metal. Biotics flared from her hands as she waited.
Miranda peered out from under the forklift, her gaze following the patrolling mech. When she shifted to slip out, Kasumi's hand stopped her and the rogue shook her head then pointed to her wounded leg. Miranda checked the wound then rested a hand on Kasumi's thigh in camaraderie. Handing Kasumi the submachine gun from her hip, Miranda slipped out from under the forklift and crept into cover behind a stack of ten foot high crates.
"Miranda," Shepard's voice crackled over her earpiece. "Miranda, do you copy?"
"I'm here, Shepard," she whispered and quickly peered around the side of her container to spot the two roaming mechs. "Can't talk."
"Do you need backup?"
Miranda waited to answer until the patrolling mech passed before answering. "Not if you shut down these mechs."
One mech paused beside the forklift under which Kasumi hid. Remaining stationary, it pivoted 360 degrees as a red fanned laser shot out from a single point at the center of its chest. Miranda ducked behind her crate to hide from the scan. Her head throbbed, her eyes ached and she swallowed down the nausea, focusing on a single point across the room.
She heard the familiar pulsing of biotic energy, and the mech spun then fired upon Samara's location. Miranda conjured her biotics, hand fisted until the white energy swirled in a tight circle. She peeked out quickly then threw the ball of energy at the staggering mech. She ducked back quickly as the impact exploded around the mech. It ignored the forklift and turned on Miranda, firing at the crates.
The wooden crates burst and exploded, shards of the planks flying into the air as the weak and empty crates offered little cover for the mech's suppressive fire. Miranda scrambled away, a bullet puncturing her side through her armor before she could flare her biotic shield. She pressed a hand to the puncture on her left side, clenching her teeth as she dove behind a metallic pillar. Breathing heavily, she sat with her back to the pillar, eyes closed to protect them from the sparks and ricocheting debris. Sweat dripped down her neck and back.
Assault rifle fire followed then another reave as Samara drew the mech's attention away. Miranda pressed her hand against her left side, slender fingers easing into the bullet hole on her armor to find warm oozing fluid. She hissed, slamming her head back against the pylon and involuntarily shivered as the wound sizzled and tingled.
She exhaled sharply and forced her eyes open as she turned her head to the side and tried to quickly spot the mechs. Both focused upon Samara, following the asari away from Miranda and Kasumi. Kasumi, fully cloaked, pulled herself out from under the forklift. She pushed carefully to her feet, heavily favoring her wounded leg. She limped away from the forklift and tapped on her omni-tool. Extending that hand, an overload charge sparked from omni-tool and splashed at the back of one mech. The mech trembled, electrocuted. She quickly ducked behind a stack of metal barrels.
Unable to stand yet, Miranda aimed down the sights of her pistol, firing successive rounds at the back of the electrocuted mech, aiming for the red glass sensors. Once freed of incapacitation, the mech spun, firing upon Miranda. She ducked behind the pillar as the rounds impacted the floor and the metallic pylon. The rounds suddenly stopped. She waited.
Silence.
Miranda peered out from behind the pillar. The mechs stood unmoving from their positions, no light glowing from its sensors.
"Miranda," Shepard called over the communications. "We have control of the security. Are you alright? Any mechs or turrets should be off."
"We are clear here, Shepard," Samara answered.
"Samara, is everyone ok?" Shepard asked.
Samara walked across the bay towards the pillar behind which Miranda sat. The operative leaned against the pillar, her legs outstretched and eyes closed. Blood and scorch marks marred her armor, the red fluid leaking freely from the a burnt hole. Samara crouched and touched the blackened metal then examined her blood soaked fingers. "Incendiary ammo," she noted. "Can you stand?"
Miranda's eyes opened and though the pain of her injury was apparent in her dilated eyes, the operative nodded. "Just give me a minute. Where is Kasumi?"
"Not far," Kasumi answered with a small smirk as she limped around the pylon. Two clean holes were torn through her pants. "Warp rounds." Then pointed to the nasty charred wound at Miranda's side. "Not as bad as that."
"We need to get the environmental controls back online," Miranda said and shivered.
"Samara," Shepard called again, more urgent. "Is everyone ok?"
"You need to stay here," Samara said, calmly. "You are not ready to move yet."
"I think she's right," Kasumi said. "Miranda, you're shaking. I think you're going into shock." The thief crouched at Miranda's side, quickly working at the fasteners of the operative's armor. "We need to put medi-gel on that."
"I'll be fine," Miranda answered confidently then addressed Kasumi. "Go with Samara. You have to bring the environmental controls back online. Or we'll freeze in here through the night."
Kasumi hesitated but Samara stood and crossed to the far door to exit the bay. "Shepard, Kasumi and I are continuing on. Miranda is staying here. She is wounded."
"We're coming," Shepard responded.
Kasumi knelt beside Miranda and handed her the submachine gun. "Just in case. And thank you. It looks like I owe you again. We need to stop trading favors like this."
Miranda managed a small smile. "Go."
Still, Kasumi hesitated a moment before nodding. She activated her cloak and limped towards a waiting Samara.
Miranda clenched her teeth and tugged at the fasteners for her body armor, loosening them at the side. Once they relieved their hold, the pressure of the armor released and she moaned, head lulling forward as fluid poured from her wound. She swayed, her vision hazing. Breathing heavily, she pushed the pauldron from her left shoulder then yanked open the body armor a little wider, exposing the wound to the cold air.
Miranda pressed harder at her side to stop any bleeding as she fumbled at her leg to pluck her last medi-gel from the small compartment on her thigh. Tearing the tube open with her teeth, she pulled at her catsuit beneath the armor, ripping away the fabric from her wound before squeezing the cooling gel into the scorched and pulsing incendiary wound. She hissed at the icy sensation of the gel plus the chill in the air. The wound burned and pulsed as the medi-gel began to clog the bleeding.
She quaked, trembling from the cold against her skin and the shock of her injuries. Darkness enveloped her and she slumped onto her side.
Shepard raced down the corridor to the loading bay, his armored boots pounding against the grating. Garrus and Mordin followed close behind. As he ran, Mordin tapped continuously on his omni-tool. "Operative Lawson vitals … in distress."
"Miranda," Shepard said. "Miranda, answer me."
Silence.
"She may be unconscious, Shepard," Garrus stated.
Bursting through the door to the loading bay, the three stopped as eyes scanned the carnage. "Miranda," Shepard called. When no response came, they spread out in search. Shepard dug through the flayed metallic barrels, clearing away the largest piece with a low grunt.
"Shepard, here," Garrus called.
Shepard rushed from the metal pile and his eyes widened at the sight of her. She lay partially against a metal pillar, nearly destroyed by bullet rounds. She was slumped to her side and blood pooled at her hip. He murmured her name and fell to his knees at her side. "Can we move her?" he rasped and swallowed his worry.
The vents overhead buzzed, whirled and knocked as the environmental controls came back online. Heat blew from the vents. Mordin scanned Miranda with his omni-tool, quick but thorough. "We need to get her back to the medical lab. Bleeding has stopped for now. However, critical condition."
"Go, get it ready," Shepard ordered and carefully slipped his arms under her legs then around her waist. "I got ya, Baby," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "I got ya," he grunted as he stood. She was heavy with the armor but his adrenaline surged.
He followed Mordin from the loading bay. Her head lulled back against his arms, and she lay limp, unresponsive. The longer the distance, the more he jostled her. Moving her risked reopening her wounds. She needed immediate medical attention, more than could be administered on the floor of the loading bay. He quickened his pace.
Rushing inside, Mordin shoved stacked towels and some debris from one of the beds. Shepard lay her gently upon it and he blanched. Blood gushed from her reopened wound. Red coated his armor, warm and sticky. Mordin worked quickly. "Help, Shepard." He unfastened the clasps of her helmet and carefully took it off.
Shepard yanked the gauntlets from his hands, dropping them to the ground with a loud crash. He fiddled with the remaining ties of Miranda's armor and peeled the breastplate from her body. When pauldrons, gloves and chestpiece were removed, Mordin used the blade of his omni-tool to cut away her catsuit near the throat, tearing it open and tugging it down her arms. Shepard eased her hands free and jerked the skin-tight suit down to her waist. Blood continued to flow from her side; her skin paled, nearly translucent.
Mordin rolled a towel and shoved it against the wound. "Hold," he commanded and turned from Shepard, trusting his order to be obeyed. Shepard pressed hard against the towel. Vicious bruises marred the perfect flesh around her waist and on her shoulder.
Shepard wanted to roar with rage and he trembled with barely contained fury. "Hold on, Baby," he growled into her ear through clenched teeth. "You hold on. Do you hear me?" He heard the heavy blast of the disinfectant spray and looked up at Mordin.
Mordin clamped an arm-like contraption onto the medical bed. He twisted the joints of the arm until it hovered just over Miranda's waist. He walked away a moment then returned with a tray upon which were a variety of surgical knives, two syringes and a circular tool Shepard never saw before. "When I say. Release," Mordin said. At Shepard's curt nod, Mordin gathered two tubes of medi-gel and cut them open. Standing next to Shepard, Mordin picked up the first medi-gel tube and exhaled a controlled breath. "Now!"
Shepard released and stepped back. Mordin tore the towel away. Blood oozed. He squeezed the medi-gel into the wound, emptying the first then the second packet. Using long, bony fingers, Mordin pressed the medi-gel fully into the wound, ensuring it coated every pocket. Blood-soaked hands then tugged the robotic medical arm within an inch of Miranda's body and he flicked a switch.
Searing red light burst from the wand and penetrated Miranda's wound. Her body bowed, trembled in involuntary pain as the light seared the medi-gel, cauterizing the wound. Shepard's stomach dropped and he gagged. Every muscle in her body clenched as she arched off the table and her mouth opened in a silent cry. After ten excruciating seconds, Mordin turned off the light and she flopped back onto the table, limp. She panted softly, sweat lining her brow. The medi-gel in the wound bubbled.
"Holy shit."
Shepard turned at that, his eyes crazed as they focused upon the other medical bed. He didn't even notice it was occupied. Jack watched the procedure with wide eyes as she held a damp cloth to her shoulder. He swallowed hard and turned back to Mordin, a question on his tongue. He was unwilling to interrupt.
Mordin pushed the medical wand away and leaned close to inspect the wound. With a relieved sigh, he leaned back and nodded. He placed the wand back into position and changed its intensity before turning it back on again. "Still critical. Need time." He picked up one of the surgical knives then paused and looked back over his shoulder at Shepard. "You may not want to watch this."
"Why?" Shepard licked his parched lips, eyes unwavering from Miranda's face.
"Must remove dead tissue before healed." He held up the scalpel. "Quickest way."
"Just do it," Shepard commanded and watched intensely. But the moment Mordin cut into the flesh beneath the red light, Shepard looked away and closed his eyes. Clenching his teeth, he stormed from the medical bay. Tapping on his omni-tool on the small table, he hailed Joker on the Normandy. "Joker, it's Shepard. Do you read me?" He paused for a few seconds. "Joker, respond."
Silence
He frowned, pausing in his stride. Fiddling with the omni-tool, he re-calibrated the communications frequency. "Joker, do you read me?"
No response.
"Tali, I can't reach the Normandy," he said.
"I'll check into it, Shepard," the quarian answered. "The storm just started. Jacob and Zaeed are on their way in from the shuttle."
"Keep me posted," he said and glanced back over his shoulder at the medical bay. Stepping up to the large window, he peered inside. His guts knotted at the sight of Miranda upon the medical bed, bloody, bruised, and nearly dead. His fist clenched, his arm trembling at the tension, and he turned away walking to the loading bay.
Miranda slowly grew aware of her surroundings. She lay upon a cool metallic table, her signature suit pulled down off her arms and chest to settle around her waist exposing her black bra. Her left side tingled, the skin stretched tight and a stiff. Her eyes fluttered open and she squinted at the offending bright florescence overhead before peering down her body. Her wounded side was mostly healed, heavily bruised, and covered in blood but the scorch marks and the hole were gone. A thick metallic wand hovered a couple of inches over the injury and with each pulse emitted, she felt the tingling intensify then still.
Her eyes wandered around the room then settled upon the neighboring medical bed. Jack lay upon it, a medical wand hovering over her shoulder. Her eyes were closed and she appeared at peace, younger and even innocent. "What are you looking at, Cheerleader?" Jack snarked, her lip curled.
Miranda sighed and she struggled to keep her eyes open. "Where are we?"
"Med lab," Jack barked then turned her head to look at Miranda a long moment before asking flippantly. "What got you?"
"You actually care?" Miranda inquired, cooly.
"Hmmf," Jack scoffed and glared. "Whatever. Just don't want you dropping before I have the chance to warp your throat out."
"I cannot wait to see you try."
"Hah!" Jack shook her head and closed her eyes again, though she was more amused than hostile.
After nearly a minute of silence, Miranda glanced at Jack. "Mech," she offered, watching the other woman cautiously. "You?"
For some time, it appeared Jack would not answer or that she had not even heard Miranda's response. When Miranda turned away to relax again, Jack responded. "Turret."
Mordin entered the bay and inspected Jack's wound, then tapped his fingers along the console to adjust the intensity of the healing ultrasound wand. When he turned to Miranda, she opened her eyes to watch him. He recoiled slightly in dramatic fashion. "Operative, good to see you awake." He pushed away the wand from her waist then bent over, his face within inches of her flesh as he inspected the wound then prodded at the pale edges of the thin scar. "Improving greatly. Another three hours. You're very lucky." He put the wand in place then circled the bed.
He picked up a long cylindrical tube and light illuminated from the tip. He hovered over Miranda and held the light up. "Follow the light. Yes … left. Good now up … down …" he shone the light in her eyes and she flinched slightly but tried to focus. "Concussion probable. Need time. Rest. Minimum three days. With treatments."
"Hmmf," Jack grinned. "Pussy."
Miranda glanced to the biotic then quipped. "Not in your bloody lifetime."
Jack turned quickly, narrowed eyes focused on the operative and she sneered when Miranda watched her calmly. As Miranda arched a single brow in response, Jack growled. "You wish. Like I'd touch your biotic cock holster."
"It's unsurprising that you would make such an insipid offer," Miranda replied coldly and relaxed back into the medical bed, eyes closed. "Not interested."
Jack glared for a long uncomfortable pause then growled. "Fuck you, bitch." She closed her eyes and settled as well. "Fuck you."
Miranda passed out.
When Miranda awoke again, it was to the sound of hushed voices in the room. Her eyes fluttered as she tried to rouse but her head throbbed and she was just so tired.
"I can take her to sleep in a room. It'll be more comfortable." Shepard said, softly.
"Cannot recommend that," Mordin answered. "Her injuries are just healed. And her concussion may be severe. Not sure. Human physiology not my specialty. Normandy communications still down. Cannot reach Dr. Chakwas. It is better Operative Lawson remain here. I can reassess every few hours. Ensure she wakes up. Medical equipment immediately available."
"I can keep an eye on Miranda," Shepard replied. "I know concussions. Just can't sleep too long, and as long as I can wake her up, she's fine. You need to sleep too. We will be just down the hall and if there is anything wrong, I can get you right away." He turned to the bed and carefully ran a hand over her stomach to rest on the pale pink area of the newly healed wound. "You said she's stable. She'll be alright."
Miranda shivered at the touch, his hand calloused and warm. She felt him slip an arm under her knees as the other slid under her back and he lifted her easily, cradling her against his chest so her head pillowed near his shoulder. He wore no armor. She wanted to fight him, to resist but he was so warm, strong and familiar. She was comforted in his arms and that both exhilarated and frightened her.
"I promise," Shepard tried to reassure Mordin. "We won't be far. And we have at least another twelve hours until this storm is over. We aren't going anywhere. If she's concussed, she doesn't need the bright lights in here."
Miranda sighed at the sensation in his arms as if surrounded by him. His throat and chest vibrated with his words, the rumble of his baritone timbre threaded through her and settled in her stomach. She hated how just his voice could make her coil with desire as if dousing her in awareness of him and memories of everything they shared. She hated how helpless she felt in his arms, hardly able to wake and completely vulnerable as if entirely bendable to his will. And she despised that deep down, a part of her liked it.
As Shepard left the medical bay, Miranda opened her eyes. Groggy and a little dizzy, she sighed, sliding an arm up his chest to cup the side of his throat. Her suit was still pulled down around her waist and she felt chilled and exposed. He tightened his hold on her and lifted her a little higher as he readjusted his grip.
He carried her into an empty dormitory room and gently laid her upon the bed. In the near darkness, she forced her eyes open to watch him. He closed the door and privacy screen then returned to her side. He smiled at her and knelt. "Hey, Beautiful. How's your head?" He brushed thick fingers over her cheek then trailed that hand down to help pull her suit off her hips and down her legs. Her boots removed long ago, he had no trouble peeling the damaged suit from her body and he tossed it to a chair in the corner of the room.
"Dizzy … and I'm just really tired," she answered softly.
"Yeah, Samara said you took a nasty hit to the back of your head." He slid his fingers through her hair to gently massage the back of her neck. "And Kasumi said you saved her life."
"Samara saved her life," Miranda clarified. "I just helped keep her hidden while the medi-gel healed her. So why are you undressing me?" Her glazed eyes flickered with amusement and she hummed contently, muscles melting at the firm ministrations of his fingers on her tense neck.
"Well, that should be obvious," he matched her teasing. "I prefer you naked in bed." At her chuckle, his gaze slid down her body and his large hand followed, caressing from her neck to her stomach. "You scared me." His eyes skimmed her face then focused upon the discolored bruises on her arm and shoulder.
"Now you know what it's like."
He scoffed and shook his head. "Doesn't mean I like it. This was way too close." He searched her glazed eyes and desire punched him at the sultry drowsy expression. Though he rationalized it was from the concussion, his body did not know the difference. He kissed her softly and sighed when she cupped his cheek.
"What happened?" She whispered when he pulled back. "I remember telling Kasumi to go with Samara then getting my armor off to put the medi-gel on. It was cold," her brow furrowed as she tried to force the memory. She sighed. "But nothing after that."
"When Samara checked in and not you, I knew something was wrong. Garrus, Mordin and I were on our way by the time she told us you were hurt. When we got to the hangar bay, Samara and Kasumi were gone. We searched for you, but you didn't respond to our calls. Garrus found you near some exploded crates and metal rubble. I carried you back here. That was maybe … ten hours ago."
"Ten hours," she frowned, eyes distant as she tried to remember then she glanced down at her side and pushed his hand down to her hip so she could see where the wound once was. "How is Kasumi?"
"She's alright. Bit of a limp, but she's ok. Said you took the brunt of the fire. It's a good thing they were able to get the environmental controls on," Shepard said. He leaned down, nuzzling her exposed stomach then swirled his tongue teasingly along her navel as he peered up at her. At her sigh and the fluttering of her eyes, he brushed his mouth towards her wound to kiss the freshly healed area. "Mordin said that another fifteen minutes and the cold in the hangar would have …" he trailed off and eased back to stare absently at her abdomen, fingers tracing a circular pattern near her hip.
She brushed her chilled fingers along the back of his neck. "You're not angry."
He shivered at the touch and kissed down to her hip. He teasingly tugged at the band of her panties, running his tongue along her lower abdomen and under the band. He grinned when she stiffened. "I was angry 9 hours ago. I'm over it."
Her stomach dropped at the feel of his tongue and she trembled when he moved lower. Despite the coiling inside her, she stopped him. "You're improving. A few months ago, you would have exploded at me."
"Oh, I exploded," he grinned and slid a hand lower along her thigh. "You just weren't conscious for it. And all the mechs in the loading bay might be scrap metal." His eyes raked down her body to focus on her waist then hips. His fingers toyed with that tantalizing band and he affectionately nuzzled her stomach. So smooth. Soft.
He was shocked she did not stop him. At other times during the last months when he would kiss down her body, she always stopped him. Her hands would grip his shoulders and try to tug him back up or she would push him aside to straddle him instead. It was as if she was unable to let him fully explore her, to let him pleasure her. Her hesitance was not a deterrent. He craved her, hungered for her. He needed to feel her give in. He wanted her to release the tight reins she fiercely clenched and let him guide her to oblivion. "I need to taste you," he growled, his voice husked with unadulterated lust.
A swift expulsion of air escaped her at the admission and she nearly came undone at the hunger in his eyes and his rugged tone. "Shepard..." she trailed off. Was that her voice? Never before had she experienced the intimate act he craved because she never gave that much control to her lover. She hated losing control. How could she let someone dictate how and when her body reacted to a stimulus?
But would it really be so bad with Shepard? Shepard proved his unswayed dedication to her multiple times over the last few months. She trusted him implicitly. That was a new revelation.
"Are you cold?" He teasingly fiddled with the band of her panties, eyes focused and intense upon the sleek black covering as if by simply staring, the fabric would disappear.
She peered down her body as he carefully pulled a sheet up her thighs. Her mind raced with a vision of him buried between her thighs and her stomach knotted, her core clenching. A new fantasy? She was torn between begging him to do it and hating him for her weakness. "No," she shivered at the sensation of his stubble tickling her sensitive lower abdomen.
His eyes darted to hers at her purr, and he groaned at the dazed desire in her eyes. He cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb over her full lower lip and he hummed when she pursed her lips against the pad of his thumb. "God damn, you're so sexy," he whispered and his Adam's apple bobbed. "You have that 'Come here, John, and ravage me' look." He grinned, eyes glimmering when he teased, "But it might be the concussion."
She arched a single brow at him, unimpressed and stoic though need laced her voice. "I see. So are you insinuating that I am not usually sexy?"
His lips parted in a shaky sigh as he stared at her luscious mouth. "The last time you looked at me like that, you nearly sucked the tongue out of my mouth."
"Oh really? When was that?"
Shepard tickled a single finger down her throat and arms before he lifted her hand, examining the long delicate fingers. He adored her hands. Too often, she wore gloves, and even during some of her amazing biotic massages, they remained on. He craved the feel of her skin, her body and especially her hands. When her hands were free of her gloves, it was because nothing else was between them. No fears, no barriers, no walls. "We were in my quarters and I was kissing you. You needed practice, after all." He kissed the tip of her index finger then pressed his lips to the center of her palm. "And you knocked me onto my back." He flicked his tongue and his chest puffed in triumph at her shudder. "And your biotics flared."
She chuckled and curled her fingers, the tips brushing under his chin. "I knew you loved it. You always like me on top." She blinked slowly, struggling to keep her eyes open. "John," she whispered and when he paused to look up at her, she smiled softly. "As much as I want you right now, I don't know if I can keep up."
His heart swelled and he kissed her, sweetly. He loved when she used his first name. It was a rare occurrence but happened more often lately, usually during passion, comfort or when her walls receded. "I know, Baby. It's ok. Sleep. I'll be right here." When she stopped fighting her exhaustion, she succumbed immediately. Her muscles released as tension leeched from her and she relaxed into the mattress.
Extracting his hand from hers, he pushed to his feet and walked to the other side of the room so not to disturb her.