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.
Special Thanks: To Sigyn2011 for the help to edit this chapter.
Author's Note: Thanks for all the hits and keeping with this story. Reviews are always appreciated.
Miranda followed Shepard through the winding corridors of the Cerberus facility. Her head ached and despite ten hours of sleep, she was still tired. That symptom was courtesy of the concussion. She could only hope the symptoms would fade in the coming days so she was ready for the Collector base. She adjusted her shirt at the shoulders as well as her pants. They were too big, but she had little choice, as they were the only articles of clothing available. "Shepard, where are we going?"
"We found a room here and hope maybe you can shed some light on what was going on," he answered. "I've been trying to figure it out, but the computers have no data on them, and there is nothing in any of the labs that offer a clue."
"It sounds like it was burned."
"That's what I thought," Shepard nodded. "But it doesn't look like they finished the job. And if you were going to burn a project, would that include personnel?"
"Sometimes," she said. "Usually everyone is transferred. But it could in certain circumstances. Like if the data or facility has been compromised, say by the Alliance."
"So you'd destroy the base even though people were still inside."
"Precisely," she replied.
"But the way it was done," he shook his head. "Miranda, there were bodies torn apart that we passed coming in."
"I think that is unrelated to the poorly attempted burn job." she said. "When the mechs and turrets activated against the personnel, who knows what else happened?"
"Like that video Tali found," Shepard said. "The woman charged at those guards. She snapped and was attacking viciously."
"Exactly. And you're right about the burn job. Inept and sloppy." A large double door swung open revealing a massive warehouse. Her brow furrowed. The floor was covered in soil, dark and fertile with patches scorched by fire. Bright light equivalent to the sun shone from a six story high dome ceiling. At least a few hundred meters in length, Miranda had to squint to see the back wall of the warehouse.
Carefully stepping inside, she paused. The earth sank slightly beneath her feet. She crouched, running her fingers through the rich loam. A sprinkler system in the eastern most zone watered the soil. "Terraforming?"
"That's what Mordin thought," he crouched beside her, touching the soil. "But then why did they burn their crop?" He pointed to the western wall. "All along the western wall was a crop recently burned and they hadn't turned it over yet."
"Fertilization, maybe," she said. "Have you found any of the crops? Did you run a test on the soil?"
"Mordin is conducting the tests now," Shepard said, flicking his fingers and wiped the dirt on his pants. "No fresh food on site. It's all just gone. And what's even more strange is that nothing outside the facility leads you to believe that there are crops here. There are no silos. We didn't find a mill or anything like that."
With a thoughtful expression, she stroked the soil once more then turned her head to look at him. "Maybe there's a second facility somewhere else on the planet."
"That doesn't make sense." Shepard replied. "The planet environment is hostile. Why risk transporting your goods?"
"Hmm," Miranda wiped the dirt from her hands on her pants. "True. Perhaps everything was shipped off planet. How deep does the facility go?"
"It's hard to tell," he sighed. "Blue prints say four stories down, but we can't get there. Some corridors have collapsed and other areas are just not accessible. The circuit boards have fried doors. They're locked. There may be survivors, but it could take hours if not days to bypass the system to get down there. Legion and Tali are repairing the security camera feeds to try and take a look at the rest of the facility."
Miranda arched a single brow. "The quarian is actually working with the geth?"
He chuckled. "I know. Shocking, isn't it. If they see something, we can go in. But we don't have the time to spend a week searching for survivors." His smile faded at the realization he was abandoning possible survivors to death. When had he grown so cold?
"I read the briefing on this facility sent to you," Miranda said.
"Hacked my terminal?" he interrupted her with an amused smile.
She managed a small smile for him. "Every briefing the Illusive Man has sent you, he sent me as well." Her smile faded. "But after reading it, I looked up this facility, to see what I could find about what was happening here. This facility was part of Cerberus military divisions."
"Military divisions? Why would they need agriculture and terraforming?"
"I have no idea," she whispered and reflected a long minute. "When this mission against the Collectors first started, the Illusive Man briefed me constantly, multiple times a day. I received intel and information he did not tell you. That's changed in the last month or so. He told me nothing about this base. Not its history, what they were trying to discover, tips on some of the research. What to look out for or recover should I see it." She paused, staring across the warehouse and tensed. "He doesn't trust me anymore."
"I trust you," Shepard admitted without hesitation. "I don't know if that's a consolation." He hated watching her world and everything she knew crumble away because of her dedication and investment in him. But she was better than Cerberus, better without them. Though he worked for them, he was still uncertain about their ultimate goals. The seedy experiments and secrecy still rubbed him the wrong way. Not everything was bad about them, but it certainly wasn't good. Maybe, he could take her away from it and convince her to defect. She would be a highly valuable asset to the Alliance and he would stand beside her and protect her every step of the way. She just needed to come to that realization on her own.
With renewed clarity, Miranda stood. "Where are the blueprints for the facility?"
"Back at the control center we've been using," he answered and jumped to his feet, following her out the door. "Why? What are you thinking?" When she did not slow or answer him, he quickened his pace until he walked beside her. "Talk to me."
She entered the command center then approached the blue tinged holographic map at the far end. Pressing her hands against the edge, she leaned over the image, eyes scanning quickly. Shepard remained beside her. "Miranda," he repeated and frustrated at her silence, he grabbed her hand, squeezing it. She startled from her focused study and looked at him. Holding her gaze, he demanded. "Talk to me."
She glanced to her right, hesitating to answer with Mordin, Tali, Zaeed and Grunt in the room. His hand squeezed around hers and she sighed, exasperated and stepped closer to answer him quietly. "Every Cerberus facility has a main office where the lead operative handles all of the operations. My protocols will allow me access to the terminals."
"If they abandoned the facility, would anything still be on the terminal?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. But it doesn't hurt to check." She turned from him to study the blueprint again. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she traced the corridor from their command center and along the various turns. She tapped at a rather large office near the communications tower. "Here. It would be here."
"How do you know?"
"The layout of this base is similar to other ones I have been to before. And it is the largest office this close to the communications tower. That was usually where my office was." She pushed away from the map and left the command center.
Shepard followed through the winding corridor. He ignored her backwards glance and knew his presence made her uncomfortable. Whatever she was looking for, she didn't want him to witness. Well, he wanted to find out what Cerberus was doing with this facility. "Would all operatives be allowed to access this office like this?"
"No. But I'm Cerberus's second-in-command," she glanced back at him. "My protocols will work."
He kept pace with her, though his expression revealed his surprise. "Second-in-command? You never told me that before."
"It wasn't important," she answered, flippantly and turned down a narrow corridor. "Would it have made a difference between us? How the mission worked? Your decisions?"
"Of course not."
"Then it didn't matter," she replied. "But it matters now." She approached one of the numerous doors of the corridor and tapped a few buttons on her omni-tool. The omni-tool brightened, and she waved her hand across the door. Recognizing the omni-tool, a metallic plate to the left of the door slid up to reveal a hand scanner. She placed her hand into the scanner and pressed hard as the machine scanned her hand print from the base of her palm to fingertip. Leaning forward, she offered her eye for a retina scanner, forcing herself not to flinch or squint at the bright light. She straightened and her arm twitched slightly. Waiting a few seconds, she pulled her hand out. A spec of blood dotted the tip of her middle finger. She sucked the blood away, waiting impatiently as the hand scanner verified her DNA. The door opened and she stepped inside.
"Is that usual protocol for entering an operative's office?" Shepard asked though he did not expect an answer. He paused in the doorway, cautiously evaluating the room. It was spacious with high ceilings and a large reinforced window overlooking the icy expanse of the planet though little was visible with the wailing winds and snow outside. To his left was a large double bed flanked by a simple dresser to one side and a bed stand on the other. Two buttons were on the wall beside the headboard. To his right was a large desk with three holo-screens, the text scrolling in bright orange.
Miranda pulled out an executive style chair with high back and a comfortable seat. She slipped into the chair and spun back into the desk, eyes focused as her fingers flew over the projected keyboard. She scanned each screen, searching through the files.
"What does it say?" Shepard stepped further into the room and rounded the desk to stand behind her. He leaned forward a bit to try and read the scrolling screen but she sorted through the data too quickly. Was she reading it that fast? She reached up with her left hand, sorting through the data on the screen to her left, brushing pertinent parts to the center screen. Her head moved ever so slightly as she skimmed each document. He waited.
"Was there any food here?" she finally asked.
"What? You mean like in the mess hall?"
"Yes, did anyone eat anything from the station?"
His brow furrowed and he frowned. "I don't think so. Why? What's wrong?"
She looked up at him. "Go. Make sure. I'll tell you when you get back."
His frown deepened. "Alright," he conceded, and stepped back, suspicious. "Then we're talking and you're telling me what the hell is on that machine."
"I'll answer all of your questions, Shepard. Go. Quickly."
He responded to the urgency in her voice and raced from the room. With Shepard gone, Miranda leaned back in the chair and cued one of the operative's video logs. The image flickered onto the screen and the facility's operative settled into his chair. The man looked to be in his mid to late forties, muscular with thick black hair, dusted with grey specs along his temples and hairline. His eyes were a focused and cold dark brown, bordering on black. He spoke with a clipped tone, blunt. "December 13th. Year 2184. Preliminary tests results are positive in lab splicing of existing wheat cells. The next step of our experiments will be to alter the seeds so that when planted, the wheat will grow possessing the traits of the cyanotoxin. Field 14B will be ready to plant in the next forty eight hours." The video ended.
Miranda played the next video log; the same operative appeared. His expression was less harsh and he sounded pleased. "March 25th. Year 2185. The crop will be ready for harvest within the next 30 days. Initial testing of the grain show trace signs of the cyanotoxin. Toxicity of the grain wheat is low so more than one dosage would be required to see full reactions of the test subjects. Side effects of internal exposure would include liver and/or respiratory failure in extreme cases. Animal testing will begin shortly. We need to find the proper dosage so that subjects experience ataxia and the side effects do not compound with fatal consequences." The video ended.
She played the third video log. The operative appeared again. "May 1st. Year 2185. Genetically modified wheat shows signs of the cyanotoxin. Mice and rats both displayed expected signs of poisoning within 72 hours of multiple exposures. Based on estimations regarding size, human exposure may require longer for full effects to be realized. Seeds and processed wheat will be shipped tomorrow to Cerberus headquarters for phase two experimentation. We will continue to modify wheat seeds for potential future distributions. The next step of our experiments will consist of the full study of Asari biology. A live specimen has been obtained and research will focus on the effects of human known neurotoxins on the Asari body. Future steps will include the genetic modification of native Asari crops with neurotoxins showing a positive result upon Asari biological functions." The video ended replaced by the scrolling feed of information data.
She searched through the information on the terminal, quickly reading every report, even shipping manifests. There was no way to trace the wheat shipments as they were sent off planet for sorting and distribution. Miranda stared blankly through the holographic data monitor. Leaning to the right in the chair, she pressed her elbow into the armrest and absently brushed the tips of her fingers over her upper lip in reflection.
If the Illusive Man was already watching her, she could not search for those shipments on the Normandy without flagging her terminal again. It worried her that the information was still available in the facility. No survivors had been found and an operative's most important task was to ensure that no data was left behind. What happened to the operative and what happened inside this facility? It had to be internal sabotage. There was no other explanation for the destruction, the reprogrammed VI system, the altered environmental controls and the intact research.
So why did she hesitate to destroy the information on the terminal?
She never hesitated. In past similar situations, she walked into a project, forwarded all relative information to the Illusive Man, wiped all information and erased expendable personnel. The project did not matter. She remembered only some of them but most were just another assignment. She had already contained projects twice if not three times as disturbing as this current one. She easily compartmentalized, disconnected from what was happening and focused on the task at hand. She was always too busy thinking forward, trying to pick the best path, the most efficient course of action.
It did not matter how heinous the experiment or how many she killed to protect Cerberus and the project. She had never previously believed that shutting a Cerberus project down and destroying it was a mistake. She was doing right by Cerberus and humanity. The more she thought about all the past projects, including the ones she led, the more she wondered if all their experiments didn't cross the ethical line.
Why did the Illusive Man shut down these projects? Did Cerberus really stop their experiments with the Rachni because they were intelligent or was it because they got caught? If it was the latter, than she was damage control, nothing more.
She finally blinked, her eyes burning from dryness and she turned her focus to the keyboard of the terminal. She had to delete the files. The project was over. Files needed to be transferred to the Illusive Man and all evidence destroyed, including the facility.
What could she do? Should she send a report to the Alliance? Why should she hand over her life and everything she knew because she suddenly felt a little guilty? Just because she didn't like what she saw lately? This project was over, finished. And how would she even start to find out where the wheat and seeds were? They may not have even been distributed but were in storage at another Cerberus facility.
Why would Cerberus develop a biological weapon that was slow working and hidden in a food crop? Why not just weaponize cyanotoxin in a bomb? Why focus on paralytic symptoms? Was Cerberus trying to replicate the Collector stasis toxin used in the colonies? To what end?
In less than a week, the Normandy and all aboard her would jump through the Omega 4 relay to the Collector homeworld and likely, would not return ... so what did her change of heart matter? Just push the button, delete the data. Why hesitate?
Shepard waited inside the operative office, watching Miranda stare blankly at the desktop. He returned over five minutes ago, and she was completely oblivious to his presence. It was unlike her to be so withdrawn from her surroundings. She always knew when he entered a room and only one time since they started sleeping together did he awake before she did. She was alert, focused, and driven. What was she thinking about so deeply that her usually perceptive senses failed her?
"Miranda," he called softly. She did not appear to hear him. Frowning, he approached her, slowly, careful not to startle her. Though she was not a soldier, her biotics could kill, and he had no intention of being on the receiving end of one of her biotic attacks again. "Miranda."
She startled from her thoughts, looking up quickly at him. She watched him curiously, emotions clear on her face. Confusion and uncertainty were most apparent. After a long moment, both faded to resigned dread. She closed her eyes and pressed the backs of her fingers to her forehead, retreating again in thought.
Shepard knelt beside her, resting a hand on her thigh. "Miranda, what's wrong? Come on, talk to me."
She lifted her head to look at him, her hand partially covering her mouth as she searched his eyes. She did not answer him at first as she formulated a response and Shepard did not press her again. She finally answered, "Shepard, you have made my life so complicated."
He smiled softly, rubbing her thigh in comfort. "Just different. You've changed me too and I like who I am now. Nobody has eaten anything since we landed here, and I told them to stay away from the food of the facility. Mordin had scanned the water and it's fine." At her silence, he continued. "Tell me why that was so important."
Again, there was a long pause before her response as if she struggled with the decision to mention anything to him. "Cerberus was developing biological weapons through genetically modified crops."
"What kind of crops?"
"Wheat," she replied. "They were successful. But they were trying to find non-fatal levels. To cause things like paralysis, confusion or illness. The last entries said they were studying the effects or Earth indigenous neurotoxins on Asari."
Shepard exhaled a slow controlled breath, unwilling to show a reaction to the horrendous experiments conducted in the facility. His shoulders tensed for a few seconds before he forced the muscles to relax. "Ok. What do you have to do now?"
Miranda stared at the terminal, entirely unaware of his struggle controlling the explosive anger roiling within him. "I have to forward all data to the Illusive Man then destroy all evidence of the facility."
He held back the immediate response to bark and yell, demanding that she forward the information to Hackett or Anderson. Someone at the Alliance. They had to find the tainted seeds, had to warn the colonies and scan all the wheat products distributed throughout the galaxy.
She shook her head, growling in aggravation. "My path was clear. Black and white. I did my job, I got results and moved to the next job. And these months with you have just derailed all of that. It's like I'm willing to toss fifteen years of my life away. But I'm not." She sighed, "I'm not."
Clarity doused his anger. She had not yet deleted the data. That's why she looked so lost and unsure. She was torn on what to do. If she was starting to doubt Cerberus, he could convince her to defect. Maybe she would follow him back to the Alliance when they defeated the Collectors. This was his chance to convince her but he had to tread carefully. He needed to stay calm.
He knew Miranda would not respond to force, but he had other ways of swaying her away from Cerberus. He needed to use the right words and plan multiple moves ahead. The wrong move or the wrong words might have the opposite result. Though she was smarter, he wasn't a total idiot. Logistics, rationale, subtle strategies. He could do that. He was a master on the battlefield, after all.
Dealing with Miranda intellectually and emotionally was like an intricate game of chess. She often defeated him, but this time, he had the advantage due to her conflicting loyalties. Damn it, he wished he was better at chess.
"You haven't lost fifteen years of your life," he said simply. "Our experiences make us who we are. And you are here right now with me because you're the best at what you do."
"That's true," she conceded, staring absently at the scrolling information feed. "We're both here because we get results."
"Good results," he corrected.
She scoffed and slowly shook her head, eyeing him with an almost amused expression. "Based on whose definition?"
He silently cursed, not expecting that response and he could not predict where she was leading him. He needed to steer her towards the right decision, away from Cerberus and the crooked mission they preached. She was blinded by loyalty, devoted to a nonexistent ideal. He studied her carefully. "Our own," he offered, and when her expression grew curious and thoughtful, he continued. "In the end, it's all we have to go on. Our decisions are based on our thoughts, our choices and not on anyone else's. We aren't machines and can't be programmed. It's why we can change when life changes around us. We adapt."
"Perhaps. Shepard, picture a river." She leaned forward, twisting at the waist to face him. "The current may be gentle in some areas, steady in others. When you reach a point where the current rushes to take you around a bend and you cannot see where it leads, do you fight the current or swim with it?"
He considered her scenario carefully. "Survival instinct would come first and you'd fight the current. But someone wise would not fight a losing battle. So you'd let the current take you around the bend and save your strength for a winnable fight."
"No," she shook her head. "You use your strength to fight for the shore. Then, when out of the water, you walk the shore so you can see around the bend." She leaned back in her chair, turning her attention to the scrolling information. "Yet even upon the shore, I still cannot see around the bend. I always see around the bend."
Check. Damn it. He was losing another battle of wits with her, and he could not afford another loss. He thought he was luring her one way. But then she did something weird with her bishops, moved a knight, and suddenly he was back on his heels, reacting to her moves and instead of driving their intricate dance. He reacted to her more often than not and that strategy failed in chess as well as war. He needed to act, to lead. He needed to be on the offensive.
Shepard reflected a long moment on her words then squeezed her thigh, turning her attention back to him. "You assume there is a shore. Time does not wait for our choice. It continues whether we do something or not. Even if you could see around the bend, would it matter? You still have to go forward, so why fight against something that can't change? But every so often, the river will fork and you have a choice. You save your strength for that because you may have to fight the current then."
At her contemplative silence, Shepard stood. His message wasn't subtle but he was never a man for subtlety. Miranda needed to make a decision about Cerberus and her future. Proud of possibly one of the best pep talks of his life, he left and could only hope she distanced herself from Cerberus, rejecting the unethical extremism that permeated its core.
Shepard sat on the floor in the command center in the middle of the Cerberus facility. He stared blankly across the room, foot tapping rhythmically as Mordin and Tali attempted to repair communications with the Normandy. It wasn't promising. An explosion in the communications tower destroyed any chance the facility could communicate with the Normandy. Joker simply wasn't answering.
Was the Normandy safe? Did something happen to force them to flee the system?
He left Miranda an hour ago and had not seen her since. He wondered if she made her decision. Would she erase and forget about all the data from the Cerberus experiments? The more time that passed, the more he doubted his decision to leave the data in her hands. What if her loyalty to the Illusive Man was still intact? He never gave her the ultimatum or ordered her to do something against Cerberus procedure.
How many would die due to Cerberus developed biological weapons and to what end? Were they selling them or building an army and preparing for war?
Miranda entered, pausing just inside the door to scan the room. She wore her armored greaves and boots, a mismatched white armored breastplate - likely salvaged from the armory - and her helmet tucked under one arm. Her orange holographic visor extended across her eyes from ear to ear. She gripped a black cloth bag in her free hand, something clunky and heavy inside.
She tapped at her right earpiece and spoke softly but he was too far away to hear her. She did not appear to find who she was looking for and left the room. What was she up to? Unable to resist the nagging curiosity, Shepard stood and exited the command center.
Outside the command center, she was not within sight. Where did she go and how did she move so fast? He was only thirty seconds behind her, at most. He retreated to the dormitory quarters where he spent an uncomfortable evening in a chair far too small as she slept in a comfortable but small bed. He crossed to the far corner and put on his armor then tugged on his helmet. He activated the camera from his omnitool, watching through Miranda's visor. When the picture flickered into focus in the right corner of his view, he tweaked with the microphone to find their personal frequency. "Avoiding me?"
She stopped. "No, why would you think that?"
He smirked when she continued walking forward. "Where'd you get the breastplate?"
"Armory. Mine is useless at least until Jacob can try to repair it."
"We can always get a new one before we jump the relay."
"If we have time," she answered and placed a four inch diameter black disc atop the table in a laboratory. "We may just have to make do."
"I'd rather have my team well armored so if we have to stop at the Citadel, we will," Shepard said. "What are you doing?"
"Placing detonator charges."
He cocked a brow. "You do realize we are still in the facility, right? Possibly for the next few hours?"
"Really, Shepard?" she poorly feigned surprise as sarcasm laced her tone. "I had no idea. And here I already set the detonators for ten minutes."
He exhaled a short sigh. "I really hope you're joking."
"Yes, I am joking. That was my attempt at humor."
"We're gonna have to work on your humor, sometime," he teased, leaving the dormitory quarter. "Do you need any help?"
"No, I'm fine. There are only six more."
He hated that she was dodging him and a heavy doubt weighed upon him. If she would not openly offer her decision to him, he'd force her to answer. "What about the data?"
She did not answer right away, instead silently setting another detonator device. Placing the bag on the floor, she pulled her helmet on and attached it at the collar of the armor. "Are you wearing your helmet?"
"Yes, why?"
"Cerberus facility. Cameras, microphones are everywhere. Though our communications are down, the cameras and mics are still recording."
"The tower is destroyed. Nothing is getting off this station. It's silent."
"I still don't trust it."
"Is that why you're setting the detonators?" he asked, quietly.
"This is part of a regular clear job," she admitted then whispered. "Kasumi is downloading what data she can before I return to the operative's office in ... nine more minutes. She'll send the data to Liara. Then I'll make a copy for the Illusive Man and destroy all the data."
His brow furrowed in thought at her explanation. "Why would you let Kasumi download Cerberus data?"
"Because I can't do it," she answered, softly. "Sending information on Reaper indoctrination to the Alliance is one thing. And I can defend that as the greater good in the fight against the Reapers. This? I can't. What they're doing here, I don' know. But I can't surrender this information to anyone but the Illusive Man. Officially. Kasumi's omni-tool is not a Cerberus device, has an extranet connection and she uses encrypted channels. She's stolen information from us before and we never could track her or what she did with the data. I don't know how she does it, and frankly, it's probably for the best given the current situation."
He paused at the intersection of four hallways and glanced down the darker corridor to the west where she stood outside one of the laboratories, digging through the black bag. "You just thought of everything, didn't you," he replied with a smirk.
"It's why I'm the best."
He heard the small smirk in her voice at that and teased, flirtatiously, "I can think of a few other things you're pretty good at too."
"Mmm, and you're quite imaginative."
"So why Liara and not right to the Alliance?"
"Liara will do what needs to be done with it. The information is necessary not just for humans but for the Asari too." She entered the lab.
"Shepard," Tali hailed through Shepard's earpiece. "The storm is passing. Grunt and Samara are clearing the path to the shuttle."
"Good news, Tali," Shepard answered. "Anything from the Normandy?"
"Static."
"Is it worth taking off if we don't even know she's there?" Shepard asked. "The facility defensive scanners are fried so we can't even search for her in orbit."
"Sir," Jacob interrupted. "We'll know more on the shuttle, Commander. There is a homing setting for the autopilot. If the Normandy is out of range, it won't engage."
"Good. Keep me posted, Jacob." Shepard said. "Miranda, can you be at the extraction point within the hour?"
"I'll be there, Shepard," she answered.
Miranda stepped out of the elevator into the captain's quarters. The lights were all off except for the bright fluorescence from the aquarium. Steam lingered near the bathroom door and a white towel lay in a heap on the floor near the desk. A dead yellow and black striped fish bobbed at the top of the water, belly up and half eaten. She pressed a button on the wall beside the aquarium and a metal plate skimmed the top, clearing away the dead fish. Peering into the room, she spotted Shepard sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees. He wore only a tight pair of boxers and water slicked his body as if he only bothered to partially dry himself. He stared blankly at a spinning hologram of a Collector at the center of the table.
The holo-image was taken aboard the Normandy a few short hours ago. The crew was gone, captured by the Collectors while Shepard and his squad were on the planet trapped in a blizzard. Upon returning and hearing Joker's report, Shepard watched all the surveillance videos multiple times and from every angle available. Alone, in his quarters for the last four hours, he did not give any orders to Joker about a destination nor did he speak to anyone on the squad.
She had lingered in her quarters after a long hot shower. It felt good to finally get the tacky dried blood out of her hair. She submitted her usual reports and reread the vital information collected about the Collectors and the Omega 4 relay. She worried about Shepard. It was unlike him to seclude himself for so long and not seek her advice. Finally, five minutes ago, he ordered Joker to set course for the Viper Nebula.
She stepped down the stairs into the private quarters, the only sound was her heels clicking on the grating. Usually, he looked up at the sound, his eyes always seeking her. This time, he stared blankly as if unaware of her presence. She approached him cautiously, unwilling to startle him. A soldier, if startled, could react with deadly force.
"Shepard," she whispered. His eyes shot to hers in acknowledgment then returned their focus to the hologram.
Perhaps, he was aware of her presence after all. She sat beside him a few inches away and leaned back, arm draped over the back of the couch, legs crossed. She waited.
He sighed heavily, leaning back to rest his head on the back of the couch. He rubbed his face, humming then let his arms fall limply to his side. His head lulled to the side. "I'm going to get that scientist away from the Batarians. You and Jack still need time to make sure you're all good to go before we jump the relay. Plus Jacob's not finished repairing the armor. And if the rumors are true and there is reaper activity in this nebula, we have to stop it." His eyes strayed passed her, through her as he focused on the model ship of the Normandy in the display case at his desk.
"Alright, Commander," she answered, professionally. After a minute without a response, she stood. He quickly reached out to grab her hand. Her biotics flared reflexively and she tensed. With a slow exhale, she relaxed. "Sorry."
"It's ok. My fault," his arm clenched at the biotic burning stimulation but he refused to release her. "Don't go." He held her hand when she sat, staring at it as he brushed his thumb along her palm. "Is it the right decision?"
"Yes," she said, simply. "It is."
"Why?"
She turned her hand, giving him better access, letting him absently caress her palm. "What are you afraid of, Shepard?"
"It's not fear. Not really," he replied and entwined their fingers, clenching her hand. "When I saw what the collectors did, I wanted to jump right to the relay. To rescue them. But if we don't come back, I need to finish everything first. And you're still concussed. Jack's shoulder's a mess. Frankly, we're not ready." He sighed, "Is it the right decision? To leave them in Collector hands?"
"It is the right decision," she answered, and held his haunted gaze. "You're right. I am not one hundred percent. Neither is Jack. If we have any shot in there, we all need to be ready. We all knew coming into this mission that there was a chance there were going to be casualties."
"If we weren't all down there for the mission, most of my squad would have been captured too. It was a calculated strike," Shepard sighed and twisted to better face her. "If it wasn't for the blizzard and being stuck down there for over twenty-four hours …"
"Don't dwell on it," she cut him off with a stern stare. "Don't. We were down there and it was by some stroke of luck that we still have a shot now. We can't wait long because they may come back. But we still have a chance to win this, Shepard. You need to focus."
"I know!" he snapped then sighed and rubbed his face again. "Sorry. I know. But they're going to die. The Collectors are going to do things to them. Chambers and Dr. Chakwas and …" he trailed off. "I know that it's not supposed to be easy to make these choices. I don't like making them. Not like this."
"Shepard, it won't get any easier. When the Reapers finally get here, I cannot imagine the destruction that will follow them. Look at what only Sovereign was able to do. What will an armada do?"
"Thousands, maybe millions will die," he answered, stoically. "But we cannot give up. We can't. No matter how hard it gets." He sighed and ducked his head, eyes half-lidded as if in defeat. "It's still a lie. If the Protheans couldn't stop them, how could we?" When she did not respond, he clenched his fist in anger and pushed to his feet, stalking to the aquarium to watch the rare remaining aquatic life. "I hate feeling like this! I'm supposed to inspire hope in people, and I just don't have it in me anymore."
He threw his arms to the side in an elaborate shrug. "And what am I supposed to do? Lie to them? I guess so. I've got to lie, and tell everyone that we have a chance. That we will succeed. Bolster morale like any commanding officer would before going into battle."
She stood and approached him. With arms crossed, she leaned casually against the aquarium beside him. "We're going to die eventually. If it's not to the Collectors, it will be to the Reapers. But I have no regrets, Shepard. You helped me save Oriana. She's safe now and can have as normal a life as she can for as long as she can. I've accomplished more up to this point in my life than most do in their lifetime. There are some things that would have been nice to experience, but they were never mine to have. So I won't regret what never could be."
Sliding a hand over her hip, he stepped closer. "What would you want that you don't think you can have?"
When he stepped close to her, she uncrossed her arms, sliding her hands along his chest. "Does it matter?"
"Yes."
She held his probing stare a long moment then sighed and averted her eyes to look over his shoulder in thought. "It really doesn't matter because it will never happen. And if it did? I'm not sure I'd know what to do about it."
"Name one thing, Miranda," he pressed.
Contemplating carefully, she traced a twirling pattern along the collar of his shirt, focusing on the contrast between the grey Cerberus tee and his skin. "Freedom," she admitted softly and met his eyes. "From my past."
His hand tightened on her hip, eyes blazing with controlled emotion. "Your father," he clarified and at her silence, he pressed closer, pinning her to the aquarium. "I'll kill him for you," he pledged. "When this is over."
"No," she gently shook her head. "No, you won't. You're not a murderer. Promise me. You promise me you will not do that." Her hand trailed up to his shoulder to cup the back of his neck. "Promise."
"I could," he growled through clenched teeth. "It would free you."
"Not at that cost," she answered. "He isn't your problem. He's mine. So you promise me, Shepard, that you will not seek him out and kill him."
With a resigned sigh, he nodded and rested his forehead against hers. "There is something I want, too, that I could never have."
"What's that?" she watched him quizzically.
"Freedom from the pressure of an impossible mission and knowing that each hour that passes, my death grows closer. That's if I'm lucky." He swallowed the lump in his throat before admitting, "I can't watch you die."
She gasped, taken aback at the unmasked and fierce emotions in his expression. Unsure what to say, she kissed him softly, slowly, gently lapping at his lips with distracting teasing. He needed this, needed her. The guilt weighed heavily on him, threatening to suffocate him. She was there, as always, a buoy in a raging storm. It would consume them eventually, but for now, she was a reprieve.
Her hand abandoned his neck to unbutton one of the pockets on her high boots. She broke the kiss as she pulled out the mostly used tube of biotic gel. She offered a teasing smirk and tapped the tip of the tube on his chest. "I came here with a thought in mind."
"Oh," he watched the tube before searching her eyes, a slow grin tugging at his lips though he tried to suppress it. "And what kind of thought was that?"
"That I want to touch you," she stated. Uncertainty weighed heavily in her eyes, unguarded for him, lately.
All amusement fled from him at her stoic sentence. He bent at the knees to swoop her into his arms as he kissed her with an explosion of hunger and promise. He needed to ensure the haunted unknown fled from her. Strong, focused, severe and certain, he could not bear the sight of fatigue and hopelessness that she tried so hard to mask over the last few days. Her close brush with death forced her to face her mortality and he hated the fear reflected back at him when she completely dropped her guard.
They needed to escape, to forget. Or maybe, to remember for what and for whom they fought.
Shepard sighed heavily, relaxed, and thoroughly satisfied. He lay nude upon his back on his bed with the sheets draped up over his hips. Miranda curled into his side, her head pillowed on his chest, breath soft and slow as if in sleep. He knew better. She wasn't asleep but simply recuperating. A very small part of him felt guilty that she would be sore but she never pushed him away. She eagerly matched his passion both times they made love. That was the best description for their physical relationship. It was no longer simple attraction to her but something much more.
He still acknowledged that facing their death within the next few days sparked the nearly insatiable passion on both their parts. He craved and loved her, but he could not share those words with her. She was not ready to hear them and if he were honest with himself, he was not ready to say them.
Miranda shifted against him as if to ease away but he tightened his arm around her, keeping her pinned to his side. She chuckled softly and obliged him, staying close. Her fingers tickled along his chest, playing with the wiry hair. She did that often when they laid together and he wondered if it was in absent thought or if she liked the feel. He loved it either way. "Are you alright?" he asked, gently. "I may have been, uhm, vigorous."
"Is that what you would call that?" she quipped back and he could hear the smile in her voice though she tried to sound sarcastically unimpressed. "I would have said frantic and unpracticed."
He laughed at her crack, hand tightening on her hip, and she turned slightly to prop her chin upon his chest to look at him. She smirked at the large grin on his face. He lifted up slightly and kissed her softly. "You're lucky, you know, that you're still recovering from your concussion or I'd make sure you couldn't walk for that remark."
Her eyes drifted from his to his mouth and she reached up to brush her fingertips over his lower lip. "I should hold you to that."
He sobered, pursing his lips against her fingers as he searched her expression. If he were honest with himself, he felt guilty for other reasons, like his decision to complete Hackett's task to rescue a scientist before jumping through the relay after his kidnapped crew. What kind of monster did that make him to leave the men and women under his command to be subjected to the Collectors?
Miranda had said it was the right call, but was it really? Her arguments repeated in his head when she defended his choice. They were sound points, and in the end, he rationalized that she was correct. If a Reaper invasion was imminent, it had to be stopped even at the expense of half his crew.
Were they being tortured, dying or trapped while he lay with Miranda, making love? A part of him hated himself for enjoying the time with her when so many others suffered. The closer to the time they would jump the relay, the more he thought that this was a one-way trip. So if he was going to die for the galaxy, again, he'd enjoy a little of the time he had left.
Reaching towards her, he tucked a stray thick lock of hair behind Miranda's ear. "Tell me something about you."
"Like what?"
He smiled softly, searching her expression. "I don't know. Uhm, what was your training like to become an operative?"
She frowned, brow furrowed in thought and suspicion, an involuntary reaction. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because it made you who you are," he coaxed, gently. "Tell me, Miranda."
She was silent for quite some time and Shepard did not press as he watched the thoughts and memories race through her mind. She seemed to gaze through him as if lost in the memories. "I was a teenager when I left my father. Seventeen. I knew the name Cerberus from my time with him but had no idea how to contact them. It was a bit shocking to leave that prison for the world. So much you don't know or don't understand." Her gaze focused on him. "There are nuances to society that you learn at a young age through social interactions."
He rubbed his hand up her back then down again in comfort, waiting patiently for her to continue. She licked her lips, a little tense with nervousness. "I eventually found Cerberus. I should say that they found me. They knew who I was, my whole story and still took me in. With all new recruits, you're subjected to various kinds of tests. Physical, intellectual and psychological." She swirled a finger along his chest, drawing random patterns along the taut skin and teasing the hair. "I was in the 99th percentile results to be an operative. Training wasn't very different from any other intelligence agency. You learn how to lie, how to improvise, how to spot cameras, bugs, not only human but Asari, Turian, Salarian. All of them. You learn languages, as many as you can handle or physically speak. Though with translators now, it makes things harder to hide."
"What do you mean?"
She relaxed into him, comfortably as he pulled the sheet a little higher around them. "At one point, before translator implants, you had an advantage if you spoke multiple languages. You and I speak English to each other right now but do you really think Garrus is speaking English to you? Or Tali? You understand them because of the translator implanted in your head."
"So learning multiple languages doesn't really matter anymore."
"It can," she answered. "Translators can malfunction and some of the more obscure and ancient languages, dead languages are not in a majority of the models. Plus, we have linguistics experts that have developed a language spoken only by top Cerberus operatives. If we need to say something nobody understands, we can."
"Wait, so you could say something right now in a Cerberus developed language that my translator wouldn't understand?" Shepard slowly shook his head. "I'd like to call crap on that." When she started to speak in a language his translator could not interpret, his smile faded. The language was guttural with strong consonants mixed with bizarre schwa placements. It was harsh, aggressive to the ear. She stopped speaking and arched a brow at him, challenging. He grinned. "Do I want to know what you just said to me?"
"I said, 'I don't know why you'd doubt me about this. Why would I lie? I'm tempted to throw you out the airlock next time we're on the bridge.' The language base is ancient Hebrew as far as structure and grammatical rules. The vocabulary, however, is entirely new and unique."
He stroked teasing fingers down her spine. "You know, you're incredibly sexy when you talk trash to me." His pride swelled when she chuckled softly, her eyes amused and expression, open. Rarely was she so relaxed and he basked in it. "So, you're like a super spy?"
"I suppose you could call it that."
He absently stroked a hand up and down her back, staring at her bared shoulder in thought a moment before turning his gaze to hers. She was waiting patiently for him, observant, as always. "Is your name really Miranda?"
"Yes, that's my birth name. My aliases have been shed a long time ago," she answered.
"I see. Well, what else did you learn in super spy school?"
"Everything really," she answered. "From hand to hand combat and weapon mastery to seduction to withstanding torture. You have to know how to do everything because you never know when a job will require a certain tactic or defense."
"You've said that before," he said and brushed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. "That they tortured you so you could learn to withstand it."
"Of course. It is the only way to be sure." She tilted her head slightly to nuzzle his hand. "You need to learn to resist talking no matter what they do to you. From physical torture to certain barbiturates that could make it harder to lie."
"Have you been tortured before?" His fingers slid through her hair. "On a mission?"
She extracted his hand from her hair, lacing her fingers with his then pulled his hand to his chest to rest her chin upon it. "No. I've never been captured before. And after my first five years with Cerberus, I was more valuable alive than dead. That meant I had an advantage. I could use deadly force when others would not against me."
"You said seduction." Shepard probed, watching curiously. Though he hated the thought of her using her body like that, he was rational. He understood the logistics behind it. Use every asset available to accomplish the goal.
"Yes, seduction. But I'm sure you don't want to hear about that part."
"Why would you say that?"
"You tensed when you asked me the question." Her fingers moved under her chin on his chest and her free hand reached up to press on his shoulders, signaling the tension.
He had not realized his tells telegraphed so easily. Or perhaps she was just so attuned to him. "Maybe, but I still want to know."
She reflected carefully on her words before speaking. "Seduction is an art. There is nothing romantic about it. You don't even necessarily enjoy it while you're doing it. It's not about that. It's just about using your body to distract from something, perhaps being affectionate with a partner so people ignore you so you can disappear in a party. Or focusing your skills on an individual to manipulate that target."
"Have you done it before? In the field?"
"Yes," she replied, honestly, carefully gauging his reaction. "But not recently. I have not infiltrated an organization or agency in over a decade. Once my leadership skills were shown, I was promoted and transferred to the project divisions. Overseeing various projects, like Lazarus. Or cleaning up messes."
"How many have you seduced? How does it work?" He pressed.
She exhaled a short sigh and reached up to cup his cheek. "Shepard, I enjoy sex. But seducing a mark is not about enjoying sex. It's about getting what I want. Information. Planting a bug." When he flinched slightly at the words, her fingers trailed back to stroke behind his ear. "Distracting someone so that a team member can do something else. It's not because I'm some sex maniac that cannot help myself. There is a lot of preparation involved on all of these missions so I know exactly what the mark wants, what they like and how best to get what I need out of them. And sometimes, sex isn't the answer. Sometimes it is. The hardest part can be the act itself. Especially if you're not attracted to the mark."
"Tell me about a time," he pressed. A masochistic part of his mind needed to know what she did even though he dreaded hearing about it. He didn't even understand why he was so obsessed with that part of her life. Why did he need to know this so badly? "Tell me about when you did this to someone. Did you always sleep with them? Do you use those techniques on me, too?" A wave of jealousy surged through him at the thought of her using her biotic massage on another lover. It was ridiculous jealousy and he knew it. The mark wasn't even a lover! Not really. He didn't care. He had to know.
Miranda easily observed and identified every emotion that crossed his features through the bombardment of questioning. "It was in the past. Does it matter now?" When his teeth clenched, she reached up, drawing a finger along the line of his jaw. His whole body tensed. She paused, frowning at his reaction to her. "John, do you want me or who I've pretended to be?"
Tension slowly drained from him as he gazed at her open expression. He had not realized before but lately, she discarded her mask when they were alone. No longer did she hide behind a facade of cold, emotionless focus. She relaxed. She showed him the strong, intelligent, talented, and even vulnerable woman beneath the hardened exterior. He waited months to see her but maybe, he just wasn't looking hard enough.
Reaching lower with his arm, he hooked his forearm under her hips and pulled her roughly up his body. He crushed his mouth to hers, eyes closed. She matched his passion, fingers gripping tightly to his shoulders as her tongue tangled with his, drew him into her mouth. He groaned, his free hand raking through her hair to keep her close.
His body stirred with desire, addicted to the sensation of her biotically chilled skin pressed to his. He broke the kiss before he was incapable of stopping and searched her expression. "That answer your question?" he rasped.
"Thank you," she whispered and kissed him softly again.
He hummed when she pulled back and watched him with those probing eyes. There was so much more he wanted to know. His lips parted to ask something else but she reached out and covered his mouth with her hand. "No more." Only when he nodded, did she release him. "Your turn." Her head tilted, curiously. "What was boot camp like for you?"
He smirked, flirtatiously. "What, that wasn't in my super secret Cerberus life files?"
She waved a hand dismissively. "I know the logistics behind boot camp. The vigorous training, the impossible demands, the intense strain on the physical body and the mind. That is not what I asked. I asked what it was like. For you."
"For me," he repeated softly and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. "I joined the marines soon after I turned eighteen. You see all the commercials and the recruitment. My folks were in the military. It's all I ever knew. Though they were navy, I wanted to be a marine. I wanted to be front lines. Training? It was hard. They uh," he trailed off, lost in thought a few seconds before he continued. "They break you."
She was silent at his pause and he did not expect her to coax or ask him to expand. He knew her so well. She would simply wait for him to share what he could, what he wanted to. "I loved the physical training. Hundreds of pushups. Running for miles. Climbing rock walls or swimming rapids with heavy gear on. It was great. And it weeds out about half the recruits. It's just so demanding."
She stroked the firm muscles of his chest then up to his shoulders and over his biceps. "Do you think you could still pass the physical training?"
"Is that a crack at my stamina, Ms. Lawson?" he taunted with a wide grin. At her coy shrug, he chuckled and considered her question seriously. "I don't know. I think I could. I hope I could. For me, that wasn't the hardest part. It's the mental part. They just break you down until you don't think. You just do. You obey." He glanced down at her. "They have to though. You can't have people disobeying orders because suddenly they have an idea. You have to follow your commanding officer without hesitation. And if they told us to charge down a hill into barbed wire and a thresher maw, you do it. You don't think about it first."
"It was rough," he continued then smiled. "Hmmf, you get real close to each other. I changed so much."
"How so?"
He arched a brow, surprised she interrupted him to ask. "Uhm, well, I became harder. I wasn't as sympathetic to things. I was easier to anger. Hell, even my language. You're just there in the pit and words like fuck, shit and pussy. It all just rolls off your tongue and some of the stuff you say starts getting nasty. At least with the grunts like us. Shit shows and bug hunts. Mom got so pissed. I remember she overheard me one day and I was so used to letting it fly, I couldn't even censor myself with her anymore." He shook his head. "She never said anything to me. But she was upset. Disappointed even. I was nineteen and bursting with testosterone and thinking I was hot shit. Didn't even care that she was disappointed."
Shepard frowned and scratched the side of his head. "It's just what everyone was like. And you want to fit in. Don't wanna be that guy on the outs. A few years later before I served under Captain Anderson, I was stationed on a colony doing crap patrols and stuff. And Anderson was there doing an inspection and he came into the barracks. We were playing poker for money, talking crap and just being regular jackasses. The barracks was a disaster. Hell, we didn't even make our beds that day. Why bother? It was a dead zone. Nothing going on."
"I'll never forget what he did." His eyes dazed with the memory, easily pulling it to the front. "He took our cards and our credits. Made us all run around the compound. Ten laps. It was a two mile perimeter. Then one hundred pull ups. One hundred push ups. One hundred sit ups."
He winced at the memory. "God damn it, we were sick. All of us. Puking our guts up, exhausted. Dehydrated. It was horrible. It was the worst experience of my life. Well, other than dying. Dying really sucked," he whispered. Miranda stroked a cool hand over his chest then up to cup his neck and down again. He sighed at the touch, calming. "Anderson came to each of us after that. I don't know what he said to anyone else. And nobody ever admitted it. But what he said to me? He told me that we only have one shot at this life. And there comes a time when a man needs to decide what exactly he wants. He asked me if I wanted to be stuck as a shock trooper, thrown away on the front lines until I was eventually killed. Because it would happen. Or if I wanted to make something more of myself. If I wanted to be a leader. To use my head and my gun. To make a difference."
He met Miranda's eyes. "Did I want to follow a man to my death? Or lead men to victory. I seriously considered his words and when I answered 'Victory,' he said that I better start acting like it. Because no one would follow me if I didn't get my head out of my ass and start acting like I deserved their trust."
He scowled and shook his head. "I didn't understand it at first. We all trusted each other. With our lives. Our team? We were inseparable and I would have given my life for any of them. They would have for me too. I know it. You know when I finally woke up? The Blitz. That's what it took for me to wake … up." He trailed off, lost in the memory.
Miranda kissed him softly before easing back to rest her chin on his chest again, watching him. "That grunt marine is still in you. I see him sometimes. Hear him, more often."
He chuckled and tickled a hand along her side and taunted, "My mouth offends you sometimes? Didn't think you were so delicate."
"Please," she huffed in dismissal. "I'm not a child. And you were a marine. If you spoke like a diplomat all the time and I never saw glimpses of the marine, I would think you faked your records. Plus," she shifted up his body and kissed the corner of his lips. "Your mouth is gifted in other ways."
"Mmm, and you haven't seen everything it can do yet."
She eased back and sighed, relaxing into him again as she peered up at his face. "So, if I'm a super spy, what does this make you? Space hero?"
"Ah, I don't know. Probably just a grunt? Still feel like that sometimes. Like this whole thing is just beyond me." He motioned to the cabin with one hand. "I can't believe it. I still feel like that guy sometimes. The shock troop marine. Just the muscle, the big guns. And like this whole thing is just one big mistake."
"It's not a mistake," Miranda stated. "Shepard, you're a hero. You've proven yourself and your leadership time and again. And the fact that you still feel like a grunt marine is why people relate to you. You don't act better than them, like you're superior because of your ranking or your status."
"Because I'm not."
"And that is why they follow you," Miranda continued before he could say anything else. "Shepard, do you know why I follow you? At first, it was my orders. I was told that this is your mission and to do as you commanded. Now? I follow your orders because I trust you. I know you'll make the right decision and do everything you can to pull this team through to the end. I don't trust easily. It is quite the feat that you've managed to convince me in only a few months. It's because you consistently get results."
"Hmm, and here I thought it was my animal magnetism and our sexual chemistry."
She arched a single brow at his teasing grin and easily replied, "No, Commander, that is why I'm in your bed. Obviously, I'm not as sensible about that decision."
He laughed. "God damn, you're amazing."
"I know," she smirked, flirtatiously. "Sleep. I'll wake you when we get to the Viper Nebula."
"Stay," he said, softly, holding her gaze.
"I was planning on it," she replied and stretched out beside him on her side. She hummed contently when he spooned to her back, draping his arm around her waist to hug her closer.