Ch. 11: Soft
Miranda
I carried the two cups of steaming coffee carefully into the elevator and deftly stuck out an elbow to hit the button that would take me to the top floor. I was feeling surprisingly cheerful about the day ahead, in spite of the fact that I hadn't had a proper night's sleep in well over a week, and my blood was probably mutating into pure coffee. But what was new? I was finally going to handle the situation with Ashley Williams, evaluate the situation with Shepard and the Council, arrange better food supplies for the Normandy, and maybe, if there's time, even get to do some non-essential shopping. Perhaps some new boots? But, no, my Cerberus issued ones were in stellar shape, and I didn't really need any more. There was just something about today that made me feel optimistic, like I could go a little crazy. Oh, I decided, I'll get a little plant for my desk. That's fun.
The elevator doors whirred open, revealing a dimly lit and, curiously enough, empty cabin. I was momentarily stymied; Shepard should be up by now. In fact, only a few minutes ago, EDI had informed me that Shepard was in her cabin. I took a couple hesitant steps in before calling out, "Shepard?"
I walked in farther, setting down the coffees on the desk before waving my hand on the wall panel to bring the lights to full strength. I could see the pristinely made bed—probably a habit from all of Shepard's years in service—but the woman herself was nowhere to be seen. A noise from the bathroom caught my attention, and I turned to face it. Bingo.
I hesitated. Bothering someone in the restroom was usually a horrible idea. Plus, I hadn't exactly announced that I would be coming up. But this was important; we needed to discuss how to turn the meeting with the Council to our best advantage. It's why I brought coffee as a peace offering. Bloody hell, I should've just had EDI tell her I was on my way up. What was I thinking? Pressing at my temples in frustration, I let out a sigh and moved for the bathroom door and, as an afterthought, activated my barriers.
Decided, I tapped a fist against the door and immediately heard the crash of something falling to the floor followed by a flood of curses.
"Shepard?" I asked again, leaning close to the door so she could hear me. "I mentioned I was leaving the ship early this morning for an appointment, but we still haven't discussed what you should tell the Council. This will only take a few minutes."
"Lawson? How the hell did you get in here?" an outraged Shepard growled through the door.
"This is a Cerberus vessel; I'm the highest ranking Cerberus officer on this ship. I have access to every door on the Normandy," I stated, easily slipping into my best business tone. Shepard gave a grunt, and I could almost feel her scowling at me through the metal sheeting.
"I don't need hand holding, Lawson. I already know what I'm going to say to the Council. It starts with 'up' and ends with 'yours'" her muffled voice came through the door. I sighed. She must have heard me because she spoke up again, "Don't worry so much. I can handle those three just fine."
"I highly doubt that. Hanging up on them when you get angry is hardly 'handling' anything," I groused. "Especially since you didn't read the memo I sent you about it. You do realize it tells me when you've read it, right?" The silence that followed informed that, no, she had most certainly not known that.
There was another noise from Shepard's side of the door, like metal banging on metal. I could hear Shepard quietly mutter, "How in the world do these damn things work?" There was another loud hammering before I was finally fed up and hit the door control.
What I saw caused my mouth to drop open in horror.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" I screeched in panic, snatching the scissors out of her hands. The teeth were open, but Shepard had been unable to disengage the child's lock, preventing the protective coverings from sliding back to reveal the sharp edges.
I probably should have thought about my next actions; Shepard had made it perfectly clear how she felt about people touching her. And,honestly, I should've just been grateful that Shepard was dressed when I opened the bathroom door or I'd likely have been brutally murdered. Before those thoughts registered, my hands were on the sides of her head, turning it this way and that so see if she had managed to take chunks out of her hair with some other instrument.
I hated how familiar it felt, her skin under my fingertips. I remembered long hours of leaning over her, my movements precise, clinical. Yet, only those few weeks ago, I had casually turned her chin this way and that, lifted an arm for a better scan or moved her gown out of the way to check that her final skin grafts were still healing properly. And if some of my touches had unintentionally lingered, on her cheek or on her wrist, well, it was all strictly professional.
Now my hands were being roughly pushed away, accompanied by a scowl and dark eyes that threatened pain in my future. A shiver ran through me.
"Stop. I'm not your experiment anymore, Victor," she snarled. Another Frankenstein joke. I wonder if she'll ever tire of them. "Don't touch me."
I narrowed my eyes at her, but nodded slightly, backing back out of the restroom. Shepard slowly followed me out, eyes scanning the area before she reached for one of the coffees I had so carefully carried up here. She grabbed the one I had already been drinking, moving too quickly for me to say something before her lips were on the rim. My nose wrinkled in displeasure, but I sighed and let it go, reaching for the other cup—black, not the perfect amount of cream and sugar that the other cup had held.
"This coffee is shit," Shepard threw out causally, setting the coffee back down and nudging it away from her. I just barely contained my huff of exasperation, briefly shutting my eyes to calm down and remember what the real problem here was.
"What's wrong with your hair?" I asked, figuring that directness would get me everywhere with Shepard.
"It's too long. The Council is already going to have trouble believing I'm actually me. I thought getting back to my old haircut would help. Damn hair always gets in my way when we're fighting anyway," Shepard explained condescendingly, like I should have guessed it.
"Then we will take you to a professional. They can cut it and dye it back to blonde for you without you making yourself look like a three year old's Barbie," I asserted.
"There's not enough time to get it fixed before the time I set to meet the Council. I thought of that," Shepard said, lips pursing together.
"Then pull it back into a regulation bun. All of your old pictures have you wearing your long hair that way. Before you cut it all off after...," I bit my tongue when I accidentally stumbled into hostile territory.
"After Akuze? Yeah, I remember," she snapped.
I braced myself for more venom—I would be professional and handle anything Shepard threw at me—but it never came. Shepard just sighed and paced back to the mirror, tugging at one of her dark, auburn tresses.
"I could help you, if you wished," I offered, trying to sound offhand like the thought of running my hands through her hair wasn't causing the fluttering in my stomach.
"I don't need any help from you, princess," Shepard spat, and it took all my willpower to keep my mouth tightly shut, the sheer effort of my restraint causing my teeth to grit unpleasantly. And of course she's come up with another irritating nickname.
I thought I had gotten used to Shepard's attitude towards me. No, I shook myself, I had mistakenly believed that she had softened towards me. The odd thrill I'd previously gotten from our verbal sparring was absent in that moment, and suddenly I found dealing with her to be tiresome, oh so tiresome. Giving a tense nod, I whisked both coffee cups away—I'd already decided I would just dump both and get a new cup—turned on my heel, and headed for the door.
"Damn it, Lawson. Don't leave," Shepard said, the sound of her voice causing me to instantly still only a few steps from the elevator.
"I have no idea how to even get all my hair in a bun, not to mention get it to look nice," she admitted with an awkward shrug.
I narrowed my eyes at her in suspicious disbelief. "You've done it before. There are pictures," I stated.
"Someone else always did it for me," Shepard confessed, her voice coming out slightly strangled, but her eyes warned me away from inquiring further. Though, now that she mentioned it, it did make a certain amount of sense. Since being on the Normandy, the closest she'd come to a hairstyle had been a crude, sloppy braid, most often replaced by just tucking her hair into the top of her armor and slamming her helmet on top. I hadn't really thought much of it; her short hair had been choppy and messy as well.
"I suppose someone had to try and get you away from the homeless orphan look you're sporting now," I tried to joke, taking in the tangled mess of red standing out in odd places around her head.
The joke fell flat—like I didn't know that would happen—as Shepard glared at me once again.
"Well, it's a look I had my whole childhood to perfect," she scowled.
I stilled again, unsure where my misstep came from this time. Shepard wasn't an orphan—her mother was well known in the Alliance—and, while she had moved often, she could hardly be considered homeless. I tried to shrug off the moment, and I moved to stand behind Shepard, somehow knowing that she wouldn't ask me for help twice.
I pulled her desk chair into the restroom and placed it in front of the mirror before motioning for Shepard to take her seat. She sneered at me before complying, following her need to make absolutely everything difficult, but, eventually, she was settled and looking at me warily. She wasn't actively scowling anyway, so I called that a win.
I started with the uneven fringe that fell across the right side of her face, deciding to french braid it into place. Once done, I pinned it securely and moved to gather her hair up into a ponytail when my fingers brushed softly against the sensitive skin behind her ear. Shepard let out the softest sigh, and I froze. Her eyes flickered up to mine in panic at the same time as me forcing my face into something normal, and a pretty blush spread across her cheeks before she hid it behind her usual scowl.
My stomach was already doing that fluttery thing again, but I pushed it aside and kept working. I knit my brows in concentration as I tamed every unmanageable hair into place, content when everything looked smooth and neat.
When I glanced into the mirror again, Shepard's scowl was gone, instead replaced with confusion, and I had to agree. This was so domestic and...weird. Sure, I had brushed out her hair before during her reconstruction, but I had never had her eyes focused on me with so much intensity. I twisted her ponytail around itself, sticking several pins in until I had a perfect bun, happy when I could pull my hands away and put some space between us.
"Done," I announced, breaking the silence with a sigh of relief.
"The braid is crooked," Shepard said turning her head to the side, her face completely serious but her tone surprisingly playful.
"You couldn't have mentioned that at the beginning?" I huffed, moving around to inspect the braid again. "I don't see it; it's fine," I argued.
"No, no. It's crooked," Shepard said, just as smug as I had been initially. "You can leave it, but I just thought you would want it to be perfect."
"I was engineered to be perfect, Shepard. That doesn't mean everything I do is perfect," I replied, rolling my eyes. "And there's nothing wrong with the braid." I couldn't help grabbing the last word.
Shepard's eyebrows pulled down, flummoxed, as she asked, "Wait, what? Did you said you were engineered?"
"Honestly, Shepard, I included a background on myself with the original Cerberus crew roster," I sighed. "No wonder you haven't made any snide comments. You never read it."
"Didn't you say you could look to see if I've opened the files you send me?" Shepard countered.
My lips might've twitched up at that. "So I did," I answered.
My omni-tool gave a beep to remind me it was time to head downstairs if I wanted to remain on schedule. I still needed to change for my meeting, and I wanted to eat a small breakfast so I wouldn't be required to stay at the restaurant with Ashley Williams on account of my stomach.
"I'm out of time," I said, frustrated. "Please, Shepard, just read the memo I sent you about the Council. I'll be in there, but it's not like I can slap a hand over your mouth to keep you from saying something stupid."
Shepard scowled at that. "Fine, I'll read the damn thing. Now get out," she ordered angrily, waving an arm towards the door.
"And don't forget to meet with Kasumi Goto today," I reminded her. I breezed past her, grabbing my coffee from the desk and heading for the door. Just as I reached the elevator, I heard her clear her throat behind me. Sighing, I paused and ventured a look behind me.
"I, uh," Shepard started uncomfortably, and I felt myself arch an eyebrow in question. "I think I'd like to hear about the whole 'engineered to be perfect' thing," she finished, dragging her eyes away from her hands to me with a now defiant gaze, as if daring me to be difficult.
"You could read the file," I observed, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm not big on reading," she stated, crossing her arms against her chest. It was a lie; I knew for a fact Shepard kept an electronic library with hundred of titles just a touch away on her omni-tool.
"I think I'd like to hear your thoughts on your reconstruction," I replied, seizing an opportunity.
"Worried about your experiment still, Lawson?" Shepard accused, her scowl and hostility returning with a vengeance.
"Did you expect anything else?" I asked simply, finally stepping across the threshold to the elevator. I hit the button for the crew deck, but kept my hand in the door, waiting for her answer.
"I guess I didn't," she replied. I could've sworn there was a flicker of disappointment, but, no, that couldn't have been. She turned her back on me, and I removed my hand to allow the elevator to close.
XXX
Ashley
Seeing the Normandy again had felt like a punch in the gut, but I couldn't help myself. After that revelation last night, I had found myself aimlessly wandering until I stumbled across the docking bay of the Normandy SR-2. So, not so aimless wandering then.
The ship was still beautiful, sleek, polished, and so familiar it could have flown right out of one of my memories. The new version was bigger and there was an obnoxious Cerberus logo sullying her side, but it still felt like a homecoming. I ached to walk on board like I was two years younger, and Shepard didn't seem like she was an ocean away from me. But two Cerberus officers stood monitoring the Normandy's airlock, their eyes honing in on me the moment I had gotten close. No doubt they had already been warned about someone matching my description.
It had taken me two hours to finally leave the dock, turn my head away and pretend like everything was fine for the dozens of Citadel citizens milling about. The clock on my omni-tool told me I was only a few hours from Shepard's meeting with the Council, so I started in that direction. One shuttle ride and a stop for coffee and a bagel later, I was lounging in the surprisingly comfortable curved chairs outside of the Council's conference chambers.
Unfortunately, my breakfast was interrupted by an unwelcome Cerberus operative stepping through the doorway.
I'll admit: I was expecting more black, probably leather. I thought her off-hours outfit would be something similar to that Cerberus uniform she'd been wearing in Liara's photo. Instead, Miranda Lawson strutted up to me wearing a blouse the color of pale sunshine. It was tailored perfectly to her, naturally, and a small ruffle went up the center to a third button that was deliciously strained. It tucked into a white pencil skirt, all above a pair of white, thick strapped heels that crisscrossed up and then circled around her ankles.
It was a style that almost made her look, well, soft with all the bright colors and feminine flair. No, that wasn't the right word, not with those legs—which, by the way, were even more impressive free from the catsuit. To top it off, when Miranda paused and bent over to adjust a strap on her shoe, I saw the bottom of what was most likely a small firearm strapped to her upper thigh. How she managed to get that past the C-Sec checkpoints, I had no idea. But, no, soft was not a word for this woman. Perhaps I could make due with describing her look as softer, at least softer than I would ever have imagined her to be.
She made her way primly over to where I sat and sank gracefully into the seat opposite me before holding out a hand with a smile.
"You must be Chief Williams. It's so lovely to finally meet you," Miranda said. Her palm was warm when I slipped mine into it, and, once again, I was thrown. What was I expecting? Ice cold? A robot? With the smile and not a trace of a Cerberus logo or color scheme to be found, Miranda Lawson was so very much like a person that I had a hard time dredging up my hard won animosity. I tried to remember all the horrible things she had possibly done, like Thorian creeper experiments or watching thresher maws kill people for research, but I really had no way of knowing if she'd been in involved in any of that. Could someone do something so horrible and still be able to smile like that?
I wondered if she had dressed that way on purpose. It's certainly disorienting, I admitted to myself. My enemies were usually in armor, carrying guns and generally looking scary and intimidating, but this woman was instead almost aggressively beautiful. The only thing I might call scary about her was the dangerous glint in her eyes, something Miranda couldn't quite hide behind a pretty shirt.
Everything was so very far from what I was anticipating. Then again, this woman could just be used to putting on different faces.
"You found me. Naturally," I replied roughly, gesturing around myself to the Council's chamber's receiving area. Embarrassingly enough, I hadn't expected Miranda Lawson to come looking for me. It was an oversight that reminded me how out of my depth I was. I usually shot my enemies, and there was a noticeable lack of talking.
"Of course, you were expecting Commander Shepard. I apologize. She is busy with other things this morning and asked that I meet you instead. I'm Miranda Lawson, Shepard's second-in-command," she explained.
"Busy, my ass," I tossed back at her. My rudeness was only met with a carefully arranged, cold smile, and it irritated me that she looked particularly unruffled. "I bet Shepard doesn't even know that I'm on the Citadel right now."
"It is lamentable, of course, that Shepard couldn't make time to see such a dear, old friend," Miranda schmoozed, "but I'm afraid it is just impossible for her to be here."
"Yeah, sure," I scoffed, slouching down in my seat. I looked like a sulky teenager, but I resented that my spite and hatred was hard to hold onto when Miranda was being positively nice. "How in the world do you people even get on the Citadel in the first place? Cerberus is known as a terrorist organization by almost every government here."
"I'm sure you'd find it disheartening to discover how very easy it was," Miranda replied haughtily, her lips curving briefly behind into a smirk before settling back into the 'pleasantly neutral' expression that she seemed to have mastered.
"Whatever. I'm here to see Shepard," I asserted. "And there's no way you're going to be able to convince me to leave."
"I don't think you appreciate the magnitude of what's happening here," Miranda responded, every word making their appearance with perfect enunciation. "We need Shepard to help us save those colonists, something your precious Alliance is unwilling or unable to do. I won't let you try and break what has so far been a beneficial arrangement between Commander Shepard and Cerberus. People are dying, Chief Williams."
"Well I find it hard to see how meeting with me for five minutes could possibly break any agreement Shepard has with Cerberus, but that's just me," I sneered, leaning forward to watch Miranda closely. I briefly considered doing something dramatic, anything really, that might serve to frazzle this woman. I was never going to learn anything when Miranda seemed so obviously to have the upper hand. I let my anger spit out the most shocking thing I had in my arsenal, "It seems even more unlikely, considering how long Shepard and Cerberus have been buddies."
I finally received a reaction, but Miranda had the nerve to look surprised, blinking slowly before her face settled into a confused frown.
"Buddies? I'm sorry, what?" Miranda scoffed, her eyebrows pulling down.
"How long has Shepard been working for you?" I spat out in question. Might as well go for the direct approach, since I really wasn't good at much else. My subtle spy skills left a lot to be desired.
"Shepard has been essentially dead for two years, and only working in conjunction with Cerberus for the past few weeks. Before that, Shepard was an Alliance soldier," Miranda said with condescension before finishing with a sarcastic, "as I'm sure you're aware."
"And we both know plenty of Alliance soldiers willing to moonlight," I growled, my hands clenching in my lap.
"I'm not entirely sure what you're accusing us of," Miranda stated. Her eyebrow quirked up in question, but the rest of her was calm. She stared back at me with the confidence of someone who had nothing to hide, or at least was an incredible liar. Wow, this is frustrating. I'm gonna get nowhere, I angrily glowered to myself.
"You expect me to believe that Shepard's fiance worked with Cerberus and she didn't? That she had no clue what the woman she loved was up to?" I shot back. I had come to the conclusion last night: Shepard had to have been working with Cerberus. How could she have missed Elise's treason otherwise?
Miranda actually laughed, white teeth flashing in amusement as she shook her head at me. If she knew something, she was skilled at hiding it. My accusations didn't even cause her hands to so much as clench. I took in every detail I could, but I saw nothing except a woman who was genuinely amused at my stupidity. Damn it all.
"Chief Williams, I assure you, I have done research into every possible aspect of Commander Shepard's life. I never came across any reports indicating Shepard's fiance worked for us. And it's just not possible that something so relevant to Shepard would not have crossed my desk," Miranda replied, the levity still carrying in her voice.
I wracked my brain, looking for something, anything, to come back with. Miranda was supposedly very high up in Cerberus, and I could hear the pride that came through her voice when she talked about Shepard. If this were me, the one thing that would irritate me would be being kept out of the loop...
"You can't have clearance for everything. Maybe the big man has some secrets of his own," I challenged. "Especially since Elise was killed by Cerberus on Akuze."
Miranda's face finally twitched. It was small, but I caught it. I must have hit a nerve, I thought gleefully.
"Shepard has never worked for us before recently, and neither did her fiance. And if you came here just to tell lies to the commander, I'm afraid you won't have the chance. You're not going to jeopardize this mission," the Cerberus operative asserted, her tone instantly aggressive. Yeah, I definitely hit on something.
"I don't see how you're going to be able to make me do anything," I growled back.
But before I could manage another word, my omni-tool was ringing, the unique ring informing me the caller was from Alliance Command. A coil of dread dropped in my stomach, intensifying when I noticed a small smirk of victory gracing the face of Miranda Lawson. This...cannot be good. And dammit I was just getting somewhere. I raised two fingers to my ear to activate my earpiece and tapped a button to link the call through.
"Operations Chief Williams," I answered.
"Williams, you're needed back on duty immediately. Please grab your necessary belongings and report to hangar E13 for deployment," the voice crackled in my ear.
"I have business to conclude. I can report in two hours," I responded, scowling at Miranda, who was trying to look like she wasn't drinking in every word.
"Negative, Chief Williams. Your orders state immediately. Your new ship assignment will be leaving in 30 minutes," the operator insisted.
I bit my lip to hold back the reply I wanted to make and said instead, "Understood. I will be there," I confirmed. My eyes shot back to Miranda. How the fuck had she pulled that off?
"This isn't over," I spat back at her, stalking towards the door.
She just smiled and said, "It would seem that it is."
My lip curled back in disgust. I contemplated yelling back that I'd see her on Horizon anyway, just to see her face, but I held my tongue instead. Knowing that Cerberus wanted me on Horizon was the only advantage I had at the moment, and I didn't want to give that up. I gave one last look at Miranda Lawson, who sat perfectly poised in the seat I had vacated.
What a smug bitch, I scoffed to myself.
XXX
Garrus
The shuttle ride back to the Normandy was more tense than I expected. Shepard sat across from me, shoulders straight and face grim, while she checked her omni-tool for the hundredth time in the same hour. I fidgeted in my seat across from her, but I decided not to bring up the subject that we were both avoiding: that she ran out on a mission without informing the rest of the crew or, more importantly, Miranda Lawson. Shepard was doing an admirable job of pretending like she didn't care what was going to happen once she got back on the ship, but I knew better.
We had been gone for over two cycles, leaving the Normandy's XO in a state of panicked fury. After the meeting with the Council, Kasumi Goto had absconded with the commander, who, in typical passive-aggressive fashion, decided to go help our new team member without informing Miranda or requesting back-up. Luckily, I happen to see Shepard try to (un)sneakily get into a shuttle and leave without anyone seeing. She did, however, leave her omni-tool in transmitting mode, meaning that I could track her. So either she was incredibly careless or, more likely, she felt a smidgen of remorse for what she was about to do and was making sure we'd be able to find her.
So I had grabbed the Normandy's shuttle and followed them to a nearby system and a planet named Bekenstein. Unfortunately, an hour into my ride over, I received a call from none other than Miranda. I should have had the common sense to let the call go to message, but I felt bad that she was probably back on the ship worried. I regretted the decision to answer the minute I heard the angry cursing in my ear. Turns out that flying off with the Normandy's shuttle and still not telling Miranda that Shepard was gone was about as bad as Shepard leaving in the first place.
I managed to calm Miranda down, or at least convince her that flying the Normandy into our system would cause more harm than good at the moment, and she had hung up in a cold fury.
Now, one ship cycle and Kasumi's blown up shuttle later, the three of us had piled into the Normandy shuttle to take us to where our spaceship home hovered on the edge of the system. We were conveniently (purposefully) scheduled to arrive in the middle of the Normandy's night cycle, but I couldn't blame Shepard for wanting to avoid the inevitable. No doubt the next few days with Miranda were going to be incredibly pleasant no matter what, and I could do with a few hours of sleep first.
Then again, I was stupid enough to believe Miranda wouldn't be tracking our every movement and be waiting in the shuttle bay for us. The shuttle touched down with a gentle thump, and I cursed when I saw her distinctive raven hair flash by the front window.
"Shit, wifey is here to tell you off, Shepard," I teased, pleased that I wouldn't be receiving the full brunt of the blame for our dash off into the stars.
"You did not just call her..." Shepard growled at me before she was cut off by the whip of Miranda's voice.
"Shepard," Lawson called icily. "I'd like a moment to speak with you."
Shepard stalked off with her, and I stood near by, close enough to interfere if needed (which I doubted would be necessary) but not so close that I could hear their conversation. They made it clear by walking away that they didn't want me to be a part of it, but I found myself reluctant to just leave. So I waited.
Miranda was talking fast but soft enough that her voice sounded like a low murmur in the expanse of the lower deck. Her spine was straight, her whole body so tense that I thought she might snap at the slightest push. She pushed her hair angrily out of her face as she continued to argue with Shepard, the emotion causing spots of pink to show on her cheeks.
"You don't know anything." Shepard's sharp retort came ringing across loudly as she crossed her arms defensively. Her eyes shot over to me and she lowered her voice again, her response biting back against whatever Miranda had said. I inched over to the weapons bench and tried to pretend like I was servicing my rifle. I'm sure I wasn't actually fooling anyone. I was out of Miranda's line of sight at least, but Shepard could continue to glare at me knowingly. My fingers kept fumbling with the parts as I continued to try and listen, my initial intentions to leave them to their privacy forgotten in my curiosity.
Miranda was obviously lecturing Shepard now, her voice getting louder and louder every time Shepard interrupted her until I could hear a clear, "It is my business Shepard. It is my responsibility. You are my responsibility." Her hand moved up and down, punctuating her statements.
Whatever Shepard said next must have been a low shot because Miranda's face grew dark and thunderous, her eyes flashing with unspoken threats. There was a slight lull in the Normandy's engines and Miranda's voice was able to roll easily over the now quieter room. She spoke with malice and intent, even as I saw the hurt in her eyes when she snapped, "Then I suppose you're my greatest mistake yet, because you cannot possibly be the real Commander Shepard."
Shepard reeled back like she'd be struck, emotions flickering over her face in quick succession—anger, hurt, vulnerability—before settling into her cold mask of scorn. She turned on her heel and strode toward the elevator, her steps not even faltering when she heard me fall in behind her. When I turned around in the elevator, it was to see Miranda turned away from us, fists balled at her sides. Shepard didn't hesitate, punching the button for deck three with unnecessary force that crunched the button into the back panel.
She was deathly silent until the doors of the elevator slid open, a hand springing out to hold the doors. Shepard looked at me, her mouth twisted and angry as she searched for words.
"Need me to give you a night alone?" I offered, taking a tentative step out of the elevator. The breath Shepard had been holding came out in a rush.
"No, no," she declined, shaking her head for good measure. "Could you, maybe, grab some food and meet me up top?"
"Yeah, Shepard, I'm on it," I agreed, already walking out towards the kitchens and not looking back until I heard the elevator ding on its way upwards.
I took it slow around the kitchen, giving Shepard some extra time when I could easily have thrown a pile of food on two trays and been on my way. Instead, I made a show of it: two trays—one red and one black—each carefully arranged with the appropriate coffee, popcorn, grilled cheese, chips, and some chocolate chip cookies. It was easy enough, barring the extra time it took to make separate grilled cheeses, each painstakingly cooked with different utensils and pans to avoid contamination. I'd never had a grilled cheese before I'd met Shepard—they were apparently a very human thing—but I knew Shepard was fond of the sandwich for her many midnight snacks, so I made her two.
I heard the elevator shuttle down and come back up, spitting out Miranda as she brushed by on her way to her room. She cocked an eyebrow at my spoils but said nothing as she disappeared into her room. The doors whirred quickly closed behind her, and my stomach suddenly twisted in remembrance of similar scenes that used to happen on this part of the Normandy SR-1. Kaidan used to stand right where I was, in this area that used to not be a kitchen. Brown eyes would watch balefully as those same doors would click closed, shutting behind a wrathful Shepard after one of their famous fights. Everyone had guessed Kaidan's feelings for Shepard, but he had also wanted her to be someone she wasn't.
His head had been full of pictures of heroes and white knights that always saved everyone. I don't think even Shepard could have lived up to those standards, not that she'd tried. Again and again, they had clashed. Kaidan wanted to help them all; Shepard knew they couldn't and made the hard calls. They had fought almost every night, even if it was just for a few seething minutes. But I knew Shepard had respected Alenko, even if she hadn't particularly liked him. In the end, I knew it had hurt Shepard to leave him behind on Virmire.
Now I could see a similar story playing out with Shepard and Miranda. I huffed in frustration as I balanced the trays in my hands and started for the elevator. If Miranda didn't have that Cerberus logo, I knew Shepard would have taken to her quickly. It never would have been like Shepard and Alenko. Miranda was the perfect second in command for Shepard. Miranda knew how to be all business and get the mission done with all efficiency, something Shepard had always prided herself on. That is, until Shepard had died and come back with a knot of anger that crackled behind her eyes every time they swept across one of the many Cerberus logos tattooed around the Normandy. I worried more about Shepard now than I had ever done.
When the elevator hit the top, I stepped out in surprise to a darkened room. The lights in the fish tank had been turned off, leaving no indication of whether Shepard's latest batch of fish had survived the past few days. The glass case that held the beginnings of Shepard's model ship collection was turned a milky opaque, and, as I descended the steps to the bottom portion of the room, I could see that the projector in the far wall was playing a video against the white surface.
Shepard herself was perched in the middle of her bed, watching the screen with wide, sad eyes, looking very small against the expanse of her covers. I placed the trays down on the coffee table before dragging the whole thing over until it was pushed up against the end of the bed. I reached down and handed Shepard the grilled cheeses from the black tray, and then I settled in next to her.
It wasn't until I had gotten comfortable and taken the first bite of my own sandwich that I realized Shepard was watching herself on the screen. A few double takes and I could puzzle out a slightly familiar, young face composed of all sharp angles and freckles tossed against bronze skin. The younger version of Shepard looked uncomfortable in an obviously brand new uniform, smiling awkwardly at whoever held the camera.
Shepard shifted next to me on the bed, then brought up her omni-tool and turned the sound on. Suddenly voices were drifting around us, reminiscent of happiness and giggles, and I found myself grinning with the younger, blonde Shepard on the screen. A pale hand reached from outside of the camera frame to fix the side of young Shepard's hair, and I almost laughed at the scowl that crossed her face, an exact replica of the Shepard I knew now.
"C'mon, Shepard, give me a real smile. It's our first day and must be documented!" a happy voice commanded from off screen.
"Elise—until I walk in, and they officially swear me in—you do not get to call me Shepard," young Shepard grimaces, though her lips still break into a smile a moment later.
"Yes, yes, Evelyn, I'll stay away from the last name. Don't want to confuse you with your mummy," Elise jokes while Shepard's face scrunches up with another round of annoyance. I jolt, not only with the realization that the woman off-screen could only be Shepard's deceased fiance, but also with the revelation of Shepard's first name. A sudden warmth alights in my chest, and—even though I know it's a little ridiculous—I feel like I've been given a rare privilege, not only with the name, but with all that this video is.
The camera bounces around, and then another face enters the view, pushing her cheek right up against Shepard as she still holds the camera a distance away with her arm. Even with my limited knowledge of what humans call beautiful, I know this human is. Her hair is impossibly dark and drawn up into the same standard bun as the Shepard in the video, and the color contrasts against the pale smoothness of her skin. Elise's eyes are a warm amber gold that are alight with amusement when she presses her lips against Shepard's cheek in a stage kiss for the camera. Shepard laughs at her, and then grabs the front of Elise's shirt to pull her in for another kiss, laughing even more when Elise mock scolds her for wrinkling her uniform afterwards.
"We enlisted together," Shepard explained in a soft whisper, eyes never leaving the screen.
They look so happy that it hurts for me to keep watching, knowing what I do about what will happen next. The two smiles remain on screen for a few moments later, before Shepard is replacing it. The beginnings of videos flicker for seconds as Shepard continues clicking forward, years going by with each push of the button. She hesitates on some, and I see news clips of Hannah Shepard being honored with her daughter standing stiff behind her. When she finally stops, it's not on a home video but a news feed, and I'm wondering where she had gotten so many records of her past. Surely her data cloud would have been wiped once she'd been pronounced dead, but perhaps Cerberus had recovered it in the same way they'd recovered Shepard herself.
Shepard tensed as the new video blared bold headlines about the survivor of Akuze, flashing pictures of a grim 23 year old with blood and dirt smeared across her face as she's surrounded by a hoard of medics. There's a short interview at the end, with Shepard cleaned up and in a hospital bed, and I can see the difference immediately. It's like the light had gone out of her eyes as she tried to smile for the reporter, giving stilted answers about what it was like to fight through the thresher maws on foot. I can't help but shudder at how that empty Shepard is more familiar to me than the golden, happy Shepard in the first video.
Then Shepard is flicking through more videos, and these I recognize. Dozens of Alliance promotional videos flash by, white teeth and dark violet eyes all I can catch before they're gone. But I don't need to see them again. They had played all the time: different videos, but the all the same face of the now famous Shepard. The Alliance touted how she'd come from a long line of dedicated Alliance soldiers, reminded everyone of her ordeal on Akuze, spouted facts about the good that Alliance was doing for humanity, and finally finished with a charismatic Shepard saying, "Follow us into the future. Join the Alliance today." I'd always wondered how they'd managed to get Shepard to do the videos—probably some persuasion from her mother, I'd wager—when Shepard had always seemed to scowl whenever one played near her.
The last video Shepard played was from after the Battle of the Citadel. She didn't play the whole thing, just stopped it on a frame that shows her standing with the rest of the crew. I was there in the picture as well, at Shepard's right shoulder as she stands tall for the reporters. That had been a great day: all of us victorious. Shepard's face was determined, but there was also a hint of a smile that made me feel better after seeing what she looked like after Akuze. I just wished that small amount of warmth wasn't light years away from the emotion she'd shown with Elise.
The silence stretched on, and Shepard fidgeted next to me, tugging awkwardly on the ends of her auburn hair.
"Do you think I should change it back? Dye my hair back to blonde and chop it off again?" Shepard turned to ask me. It seems like a simple question, but I know it can't just be about a fashion choice. I struggle to find an appropriate answer.
"Well, do you want to change it back?" I asked.
Shepard frowned, fingers still twisting in the long waves that tumbled around her shoulders. Shepard had a scowl in place when she finally looked back up at me.
"She said I was being irrational. She called me a mistake," Shepard growled with venom, and it took me a moment to catch that we were now talking about Miranda.
"Well, maybe she's right." And Shepard's eyes burned, until I hastily corrected myself with, "about you being irrational, not that you're a mistake."
Shepard was quiet so I went on. "You're angry; I get that. A lot of shit has happened to you. But you're not even mad at the right person. It's like you think that being nice to Miranda will let Cerberus win. But no one is winning Shepard, not when this grudge is going to keep us from our mission, and it will," I emphasize, trying to be gentle but also wanting Shepard to take me seriously. "You told me that you don't know why you do this anymore. But it's never been about why; it's always about for whom. You're not fighting the Collectors for a bunch of faceless people. I didn't fight Saren and Sovereign for a bunch of faceless people. I fought for you, my sister, my father, and my friends. So put your anger on the real enemy, Shepard, and remember who you fight for, or we're never going to make it through this."
"I hate her, Garrus," Shepard said vehemently, and I bit back a dark laugh.
"No, you don't, Shepard. It's never been about Miranda," I assured her.
Shepard turned away so I couldn't see her face, and when the silence stretches on a little too long, I started getting up from the bed. I gathered our dishes and herded our mess onto the trays before pushing Shepard's table back in place. When I looked back, I saw Shepard had fallen back and already passed out on top of her covers, exhausted after our packed few days. I grabbed the extra throw from her couch and tossed it over her before gently sliding a pillow under her head and leaving the room. I left the dishes for Shepard to do later. She owed me.
I finally updated! Yay! The goal was to finish this over my Christmas break, but, yeah, that didn't happen. Family and excessive amounts of sugar were my first priorities.
Anyway, what did everyone think? Did Miranda's interaction with Shepard in her cabin make you feel a little twisted up inside? Were you excited to actually *see* Elise, the fiance everyone keeps talking about? I'm aiming for the emotions here, people, so let me know how I'm doing!
As always, thank you to everyone who favorited, followed, or left me a review! Thank you to my guest reviewer from last chapter, since I couldn't leave you a message. Everything is appreciated. And, of course, hugs go out to my beta, Ablated Crayon, for bearing with me as I rewrote part of this chapter from scratch four times. I'm sure that drove you crazy.
Until next time!