Ch. 14: Lineage

Miranda

I blinked at the dimly lit ceiling hanging above me and squinted at the air vent installed there. Something was off, but I couldn't quite place it, especially once my thoughts wandered into the realm of I really need to get that report done. I sent the memo on proper use of the Normandy's common areas yesterday, so hopefully those problems will go away. If only Hawthorne hadn't thought of such an imaginative use for the lounge bar stools, I wouldn't even have to think about these things. I also need to ask EDI to do a quick inventory of our food and water stores. It'll be much easier to restock while we're here. Plus I need to ask Shepard...

As her name crossed my thoughts, an uncomfortable feeling sank into my stomach, and I once again found myself glaring at an air vent that shouldn't be above me. I shoved an arm under the blankets and worked to start untwisting the sweatpants that had hitched up and now strangled my thighs. Leather squeaked underneath me during my struggle, and I froze. Leather? Right. I'm on my couch, which explains the air vent. The couch that I slept on last night because of Shepard. Which means Shepard is...

I sharply pushed myself up onto my forearms and searched the room with my eyes. My bed, which sat only a few feet from me, was completely empty. The covers were made up precisely, not even a wrinkle in the duvet.

And I just stared at it, stared out how perfect it could look after last night. Shepard had come in like a whirlwind, disturbing everything, and yet the only trace she had left was this sinking feeling of disappointment. I mean what had I really expected? We aren't friends. It's not like she was going to wake me up to say goodbye. Or just not sneak out in the first place. Why am I being so unreasonable about this?

I beat my feelings into submission and then clambered up from the couch. I would handle one thing at a time, and paperwork could come first: easy, mindless paperwork. I walked towards my wardrobe and halted abruptly, double taking at a steaming cup of perfectly made coffee sitting on my desk waiting for me—just like yesterday. I eyed the plain white cup like it might reveal its mystery donor. My first thought was that it might be Shepard, but of course, that was unlikely.

I dismissed the coffee as irrelevant and pulled open my wardrobe. It took me only moments to dress for the day, pulling out my standard Cerberus uniform. I tugged at the hips, trying to get it to lay flat, but there was extra room in the suit today. I shrugged it off: I must've done something when I washed it last.

I finally settled myself at my desk, ready to tackle the final mission report for Korlus. I had written a preliminary, of course, to make sure I didn't forget any details, but I still needed to make sure all team accounts of the mission matched before composing the full report. Naturally, I would also need to update Garrus' status on the mission as well.

"Emails...nothing pressing. Budget and inventory...looking good," I murmured to myself as I worked. "Team status...just fixed and mission reports...all done. Everything looks, well, perfect."

I leaned back in my chair, and stared at the green door controls right in front of me. I should go out there. Talk to Shepard.

I really don't want to.

With a sigh, I reached for my coffee. Then, like in slow motion, I could see that I'd misjudged the distance, catching the rim of the cup with my finger and sending the coffee crashing to the side. Hot caramel colored liquid splashed out, coating the electronics on my desk before spilling onto me as well. I looked in disgust at where it was already staining the sleeves of my uniform, and I froze.

The hands in front of me were my own, but they were un-gloved, smaller, shaking. Blood dribbled from my nose, and I caught it hurriedly, wiping it on my black pants where it couldn't be seen—the badge of my shame. Father wiped at his decorously tailored sleeves and shook out a datapad, face twisted with distaste.

"Your tutors assured me that your fine control on your biotics was getting better," he intoned, cold, expressionless, "but you can't even move a cup of coffee without spilling it all over me."

"It was an accident, a..."

"A mistake," Father interrupted me. I paled. I knew very well what mistakes were worth.

"I've been training all day. I'm just tired. If I could try again tomorrow..." I protested, clenching my hands by my sides to stop the shaking.

Father stepped out from behind his desk and moved over to the window where he turned his shoulder to me and left me looking only at the dark gray expanse of his back. I dropped my eyes to the floor.

"Tomorrow is not good enough," Father finally said. "Perhaps you just do not have enough stamina. You'll go to the lab tomorrow, and we'll run some tests."

I dug my fingernails even further into my palms, fighting to calm the panicked galloping of my heart.

"Please, Father," I entreated, trying to keep my voice calm and steady. There was nothing Father disliked more than whining. "I'll be better."

He turned from the window and stared at me for a long time before walking up to me. He slowly reached out and gripped my chin, pulling my face up to look at him. He had my eyes, or, well, I had his. I always thought I might find in them some glimmer of affection, some promise that I wasn't just a project. I told myself that one day he might, heaven forbid, actually love me.

I was always wrong. His eyes held nothing but ambition and disappointment.

"Never look down in a conversation," Father said. "It lets the other person win."

I tried to nod that I understood, but he still held my chin fast, tightening his grip until it hurt.

"Perhaps you're simply distracted. You'll not see that friend of yours, Niket, until the next round of evaluations is over. They're in three days, Miranda," he said, dropping his hand; its removal left that part of my jaw feeling cold and heavy. Father turned his back on me once more: a dismissal. "Do not disappoint me."

"Of course, Father," I answered.

My hands kept shaking.

"Miss Lawson," a familiar voice sounded next to me. "Miss Lawson, are you alright?"

I looked into pale eyes framed by styled, gray hair. Dr. Chakwas was kneeling by my desk chair, her hand on my knee to get my attention. Her eyes skimmed warily over the mess of my desk before coming back to rest on me with concern.

"I...apologize, doctor," I replied with a polite smile, re-crossing my legs to remove her hand from my knee. "I must have gotten lost in my thoughts. Is there something I can do for you?"

I may have been covered in coffee and my hands still trembling, but when Chakwas straightened from her crouch, her face still noticeably skeptical, I never dropped my gaze from hers. A worried crease remained between Chakwas' brows, but she took a step back.

"I came to talk to you about some worrying results," Chakwas began. I cocked my head with interest. "They're yours."

"Excuse me?" I said. Worrying medical results for me? That wasn't possible. Breathe, Miranda. You're an adult now. He's not here. Everything is fine.

"I noticed a red flag during your latest post-mission evaluation. At the time, I decided to wait a few days, see if it was just an abnormality," Chakwas explained. "But omni scans of you yesterday did not convince me otherwise."

"Well, what is it?" I demanded.

"Miss Lawson, you've lost a worrying amount of weight in just two weeks. Now, I'm sure you don't need me to remind you of the dangers to biotics that don't keep up with their appropriate daily caloric intake," Chakwas admonished.

"There must be a mistake," I argued, cutting her short. Of course I'd been eating. I ate small amounts at a time, naturally, but I would never be so careless as to...

"Why don't we go to the medbay? I can get full body scans and double check your biotics. But you'll need to start eating," Chakwas asserted, but then her voice softened. "If there's something wrong, you can always talk to me. Or the Cerberus-provided Miss Chambers. But if things don't change I cannot in good conscience give you medical clearance for the next mission. I'll be forced to tell the commander..."

"Tell me what?" Shepard asked, entering the room with her uncanny ability to be exactly where I didn't want her to be. Shepard took in the odd scene of my coffee ruined desk and quirked an eyebrow. "Well, if you didn't like my coffee, Lawson, all you had to do was say so."

"Commander," I greeted her, slipping easily into my usual line, "What can I do for you?"

Shepard peered around the room slowly, like she was checking to see if she'd been caught on some reality TV show, until her eyes came back to rest on the two of us. I gave her an unamused stare, but I suppose I couldn't blame her for the odd response. We did look a bit squirrely.

"Lawson, tell me what?" Shepard repeated herself.

"There is...an anomaly in my medical scans," I informed her, cool, collected. I stood from my chair in what I hoped was my usual graceful manner. "Now, if you would allow me to clean myself up, I was just about to meet Dr. Chakwas in the medbay."

Chakwas nodded and turned for the door, but, naturally, Shepard did not. I breezed towards the bathroom and unzipped the top of my suit, turning slightly in the doorframe.

"Unless you plan to watch, I don't need help getting undressed, Shepard," I said pointedly. Her face grew red quickly—I loved how easy she was to blush—but she stubbornly turned her back and moved to wait by my desk.

I darted as quickly as I dared into the restroom, and then hit the door controls for it to slide shut behind me. I sank heavily against the door and dropped my head into my hands because for this moment—and this moment only—I was allowed to feel like the universe was falling apart. I was overwhelmed: stress, guilt, flashbacks. I should have known they would come back, should have known that the warning signs around Oriana would bring his face back into my dreams.

At least this flashback had been useful for one thing: a reminder that I had at least one person I trusted to help me with the threat to Oriana. The warning signs may not have been definitive, but I would rather be safe when it came to my sister. She would need to be moved, and I could ask Niket to help me.

And so I wrenched my moment of weakness to an abrupt end and pulled up my omni-tool, sending a quick message to Niket. I would have to explain more to him later, but, for now, it would have to do. Then I stepped up to the sink and splashed the water on my face. I hadn't cried—I had always refused any tears to fall because of Father—but my eyes had gotten rather red.

I rubbed some color back into my face, stripped quickly out of my ruined suit and into something clean, and then walked back into my room to see Shepard wiping down my desk chair with a cloth. She had also cleaned up as much of my desk as she could, though I wondered at how operational my electronics were going to be. I supposed it was at least fortunate this had happened when I could easily walk to a store to replace them. However, I was strangely touched by her effort.

Shepard glanced up at me. "I thought we were going to stop lying to each other."

"It's not lying. It's wishing to have privacy when it comes to my medical records," I replied. She eyed me boldly, but there was no sign of her usual animosity towards me; it seemed she was trying to take what she'd said last night seriously. I sighed in defeat. "Just come to the medbay with me. If there's something to tell, you would have to be informed anyway."

"That sounds fine. Plus I still need to get scans done to check my latest medical upgrade," Shepard said casually. I looked at her in surprise. "What? I do read your memos."

That was news, actually. I thought she'd just been deleting them. Good to know she was actually just ignoring my requests instead of not reading them.

We made it across the mess to the medbay without encountering anyone, which was lucky because I was in a foul mood for conversation. I tried desperately not to think of how dry my mouth had gone, how I couldn't keep my finger from twirling anxiously in the extra fabric of my suit. Relax, Miranda. They're just non-invasive scans. Not like...not like before.

Shepard was watching me closely, devoid of any of the hostility I was expecting from her waking up in my room this morning. She even went so far as to reach out to touch my shoulder when I hesitated to lie down on the scanner, though she pulled it away at the last moment. I tried not to think too much of it as Chakwas started the machine, which, unfortunately, confirmed everything the doctor suspected.

"It's not too severe at the moment, but I imagine your biotics to be weakened," Chakwas reported brusquely.

"Alright," I said tightly. I gripped the edge of the bed, fighting against the urge to flinch: Mistake. I'll be better. "I'll be sure to eat more and be more careful in the future." Tomorrow is not good enough.

My face never moved a muscle.

"If…" Chakwas tried.

"I'm fine," I snapped, hopping off the scanner table. I nodded thanks to Chakwas in an attempt at civility and walked briskly towards the door. Shepard took my place on the scanner table, and though I could feel her eyes following me hotly through the door, she didn't follow.

XXX

"I was hoping I could convince you to come with me to the cargo bay," Shepard stated, leaning in the doorway of my office some time later.

"I'm not really up for a training session today," I replied curtly.

"Not that. I was hoping we'd take care of that krogan tube. Docked, instead of out in open space," Shepard answered. I set the datapad I was reading down and looked into her eyes.

"You want to open it?" I asked.

Shepard shrugged noncommittally before considering me. "Preferably not alone?"

Alone. I forced myself not to drop her eyes, but couldn't get over that feeling of being so completely vulnerable, especially when it came to Shepard. She gave that weak shrug again, and I melted, the anger and frustration flowing out of my shoulders. I stood from my chair and followed Shepard onto the elevator, where we stood stiffly in silence as the elevator shuddered downwards.

"So about last night…"

"There's nothing to talk about," I cut her off brusquely, knowing she referred to her forceful invitation into my room and not her apology at the restaurant.

"I mean, it's all a bit fuzzy, but I…" Shepard continued anyway. I could see her blushing again even in the dim lighting. "I shouldn't have."

"I said it was nothing," I repeated. "It's forgotten."

I watched her from the corner of my eyes and saw Shepard watching me with curiosity, her face soft and open. Maybe for a normal person that would have been a good thing, but on Shepard, it just made me wary. The air was charged between us, almost to the point of making me feel awkward, so when the elevator doors opened, we both let out a sigh of relief.

This was so much easier when she only scowled at me.

The walk from the elevator was thankfully a brisk one, and soon we both stood warily looking at the krogan in a bottle.

"Are you absolutely sure you want to open it?" I asked. "We're not really sure how he'll react to us."

"Leaving him in there is essentially sentencing him to die. Or sending him to a life of being tested by Cerberus," Shepard replied. She fixed me with her gaze. "It's not his fault he was created by a madman."

I kept my eyes forward, face blank.

"Damn, Garrus is going to kill me for doing this without him," Shepard said and laughed. I chuckled too, imagining Garrus complaining about it for the next week while he was cooped up in his hospital bed. Shepard's eyebrows quirked up.

"I didn't know you knew how to laugh," she observed with warmth. "It sounds nice."

An unexpected rush of affection sprang up in my chest, so easily was she able to endear herself to me. I took a step away.

"I think it's less about him being present and more about Garrus being worried that you let a potentially unstable krogan loose on the ship," I said, pointedly sidestepping her comment. Goddamn it. All I had to do was say thank you.

"Buzzkill," Shepard said with a scowl. And back to normal. Great, I thought scathingly. "Let's do this."

The krogan stood inert inside the glass tubing, but I could see minute movements caused by the circulation of the nutrient liquid the container was filled with. He was, like all krogan, large, and I estimated the krogan was at least a foot or more taller than me. He had tan scales interspersed with rosette scales covering the bottom of his face and neck, which I knew would continue down under the armor to cover the softer parts of his body. The visible crest of his head, which would meld and spread across his entire backside, was covered with a tougher mass of grey. Grand muscles were hinted at underneath the large silver plates of armor.

The krogan does seem rather impressive. But as soon as that thought crossed my mind, a knot formed in my stomach, thinking of whether or not the krogan could sense us looking at him. A super soldier he had been grown to be, but floating there he maintained a sense of vulnerability. Is that what I looked like? Am I standing like Father stood, admiring his...creation? I fought the growing nausea clawing at my throat.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Shepard's hand twitch like she wanted to reach out and comfort me—was I that obvious?—but then the movement was gone, and her hand hung still by her side. She gave a quick glance at me before finally stepping up to the pod controls.

"Shepard," EDI's mechanical voice sounded in the cargo hold, "are you certain you want to do this?"

"Yes," Shepard confirmed, "let's open it up."

She punched in the authorization code Okeer had left to us, and the container activated immediately, the side panels hissing as it released the pressure and started draining the liquid out. The pod tipped forward, and the krogan's knees bent down, bearing his weight for the first time. The clear front was the last to go, popping open with a dramatic flourish to deposit the krogan outside of its confines for the first time.

He hacked out the rest of the liquid from his lungs, and then finally focused on me and Shepard. Reptilian eyes the vivid color of a blue giant blinked at us, something I'd never before seen on a krogan. For a split second I thought things might remain civil, but then he grimaced and thunderously charged forward.

Shepard was caught slightly off guard, and my heart leapt violently into my throat. I threw a stasis field at the krogan, but, like Chakwas had so irritatingly pointed out, my biotics were weakened. The krogan shook the stasis off and pinned Shepard by the throat up against the wall. She gasped at the impact.

"Shepard!" I called, reaching for my gun, but she held out a hand to calm me.

"Alright," Shepard gritted out. A smile—maybe more of a grimace—pulled back the corners of her mouth, and Shepard managed to look murderous and inviting at the same time. She gained her breath back then easily activated her biotics and put the krogan in the stasis that I'd failed. "First lesson outside of the tank: when dealing with a biotic, always pin their arms. Second lesson: Fighting me is usually a bad idea. Unless you have a really big ass gun. Even then it's more like fifty/fifty."

Shepard wiggled out from his stiff grasp, and moved over to my side. I took a step closer to her as well, relieved she was okay. I may also have done a quick scan with my omni-tool behind her back to confirm.

"Alright, I'm going to let you out of this, and we're gonna talk. You attack again, and I kill you, got it?"

She waited until she received some sort of eye movement that indicated he agreed, then dropped the field. I eyed him skeptically while his hands still clenched tense at his sides. Prudently, Shepard didn't move any closer.

"Name," the krogan gritted out, his voice still sounding vaguely watery. He worked his jaw, unused to moving it.

"I'm Commander Shepard," she introduced herself, then motioned to me, "and this is my second-in-command, Miranda Lawson."

The krogan's head rocked side to side, still watching us with violence."Not yours, mine," he panted, his eyes blinking quickly in obvious discomfort.

I sympathized with how disorienting this must be for the krogan. Grown by my father until my body reached that of a three year old's—Father wasn't one for infant care—I knew distinctly what it felt like to be released into a world where I didn't even know my own name, where my mind struggled to fit my body. Though this krogan was made by design, just like me, I couldn't decide whether his situation was better or worse. I had at least been given a childhood, short though it was, where I'd been allowed a modicum of leeway when it came to failure. For this 'perfect' soldier, failure would likely be met with death. All anyone would see is a full grown krogan charging at them with a gun.

The krogan barely responded to our continued silence—Okeer hadn't given us a name—then I watched as his eyes darted back and forth, like he was reading the pages of a book that only he could see.

"I am Grunt," he declared, looking down at Shepard and barely sparing a glance for me. "You came for Okeer, the one who made me. Instead, you got me, but you do not fight me."

Grunt never asked an actual question, but it was obvious that our behavior confused him. Electric blue eyes now watched our every movement.

"I'd prefer to save my fighting for my enemies," Shepard stated, taking the tiniest step towards him.

The seven foot tall krogan lumbered in close to Shepard again, but he wasn't attacking, and the commander didn't flinch. In fact, she broke out into another cocky smirk that the krogan narrowed his eyes at. Grunt leaned forward with his head cocked and gave a sniff.

"You are small, a human. What enemy would find you worth fighting?" he asked.

"You would be surprised," I said dryly. The better question was who didn't want to fight us.

"There's plenty, don't worry about that. And I am small," Shepard chuckled. I looked at her in wonder. The two of them were smiling away at each other, and I had no idea how this 'bonding' had even taken place. "Maybe that's why I could use a warrior as big as you to fight with me," Shepard continued.

"I am pure krogan," Grunt explained, baring his teeth proudly.

"Great. You're the perfect krogan. She's the perfect human," Shepard groaned playfully pointing at me. "Now you two can make a club."

Grunt trompped suddenly over to me. I stayed put, thinking he would just lean in and sniff me like he did with Shepard, but instead I had to hurriedly block the huge fist that Grunt slammed down in an overhead swing. The quick activation of my biotics around my arm plus my already enhanced strength stopped the blow, but I still staggered under the force. Grunt threw another punch and I dodged, not quite sure why Shepard wasn't doing anything about a crazy krogan attacking me.

I blocked another right hook, and this time I was pushed right into Shepard, whose hands settled easily on my hips to steady me.

"Alright, enough playing," Shepard said, her voice right next to my ear and sending a shiver down my back. Playing? That was playing? "No manhandling my XO."

I stepped away quickly from Shepard's almost possessive hold on my waist, even as a small pang of regret shot through me at the loss of her warmth.

"She doesn't seem any different," Grunt decided, still eyeing me curiously.

"How would you know?" I scoffed, maintaining as much dignity as I could after that spectacle. "I'm only the second human you've even met."

He leveled an austere stare at me. "I have memories from the tank," he explained shortly. For his sake, I hoped those memories were very extensive. He was going to need it.

"So will you fight with me?" Shepard finally voiced the question.

Grunt paused in consideration, eyes darting between Shepard and me.

"The tank gave me memories on how to fight, but never told me why," Grunt said. "I do not have a reason to fight, but you have enemies. I suppose fighting with you will have to do."

"It's settled then," Shepard confirmed. "I'm glad I don't have to kill you. Well, or drop you off on a random planet."

She threw out a hand to shake. Grunt inspected it, nostrils flaring, and his eyes got a faraway look. When, after a few seconds, Grunt gripped Shepard's hand in a handshake, my suspicions were confirmed: he was likely still sorting through the multitude of memories the tank gave him to find relevant information, like what a human handshake was. I almost envied him that encyclopedic knowledge. I had been a blank slate, my first memory being Father saying, "Excellent. We'll start the first round of tests in an hour." I shivered and then kicked my thoughts back into the present.

"We'll find you appropriate quarters, Grunt," I offered, mentally ticking off places that might work for such a large person.

He shook his head. "I will stay with the tank."

I looked around, disgruntled. There wasn't even a bed there, nothing in the room but the tank and a bunch of crates. Because it was a storage room. Where would I even have put Okeer if we'd managed to save him? I glowered internally at the oversight.

"Then we'll leave you to get settled," Shepard said, herding me reluctantly towards the door. I pushed the matter of a bed out of my mind for now; I would have to figure how to fix it later.

Once outside the room, Shepard spoke to EDI about restricting the level for now, keeping the crew away from Grunt until everyone had a chance to adjust. I approved, of course: The krogan wasn't exactly joining the team under the most normal of circumstances.

When Shepard and I boarded the arriving elevator, a peaceful sense of accomplishment followed us, though it only took a few moments for that to fade away. Then the humming of the elevator began to feel almost unbearably loud as the metal box clicked steadily on its journey upwards. Shepard's finger tapped along with the mechanical rhythm, and I could almost see the thoughts crowding around Shepard's head.

"Did you have a tank?" Shepard blurted out her question into the silence of the elevator.

"I'm sorry?" I sputtered.

"You said you were engineered, right? Did you have a tank?" Shepard repeated, then paused thoughtfully. "Did I ever have a tank?"

"You didn't have a tank," I answered. "But, yes, I was grown in one for a period of time."

Shepard's eyes flickered to the ground before they came back up to meet mine. "You said you would tell me about being 'engineered to be perfect,'" Shepard remarked, letting her voice trail off into a question.

"I did," I agreed, though my stomach was already twisting into knots at the thought. I wondered at the sudden interest, if it was just something brought on by seeing Grunt or something else. "You also said you would tell me how you felt about being reconstructed."

Shepard grimaced with a slight wrinkle of her nose but eventually nodded. So I took a steadying breath and began to answer my part.

"My father designed me from his own DNA, modifying his Y chromosome to be an X so I would be a female. In fact, there were several specimens designed at the same time, toying with different combinations to make sure Father would get what he wanted. I'm unsure how many he grew, but I was the only one of the batch that Father kept," I started, forcing my voice to be stoic, clinical. "I continued to undergo testing throughout my childhood where anything my father found to be wanting was surgically corrected, though apparently nothing was so far outside parameters for him to restart. The most severe of these was the implantation of biotic nodules followed by my biotic implant, since the mechanics of biotic use were discovered after my creation. All of that was supplemented with the best tutors he could buy, and here I am."

I finished my monologue to see Shepard looking at me in horror, her mouth twisted up in a way I had missed considering I'd avoided looking at her during my explanation. I would admit, however, that I didn't think my modifications warranted such disgust, and I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest.

"He...surgically corrected you?" Shepard repeated with a dangerous glint in her eyes. My eyes snapped to hers, and I realized the look hadn't been about me but about my father.

"Sometimes the ends can justify the means," I grudgingly defended. Much as I despised what my father had done to me, I appreciated my skills. My feelings on the matter were...complicated.

"Not very often. Usually that's just people trying to justify the bad things they've done," Shepard scoffed. "I'm guessing the Illusive Man approves of these modifications?"

"Naturally," I replied, quirking an eyebrow as how her mind had transitioned from 'bad things' straight to the Illusive Man. "Are you suggesting for me to refuse to use my abilities out of spite?"

"I suppose not," she muttered, shifting back onto her other leg and crossing her arms. "Is that what you did to me? Those same procedures?"

"No!" I burst out. It was my turn to be horrified now. I would never, never...well. I tried to convince myself that I wouldn't have done some of those same things to her given the opportunity, but it sounded false even in my own head. Now that I had spent time with Shepard I couldn't imagine putting her through something like that, but at the beginning? I would have done almost anything to make sure she stayed alive and was the person she was supposed to be. In fact there were parts of her reconstruction that, if she knew about them, I knew Shepard would wholly disapprove of.

There were differences, though, and not just in the techniques I had used. I had actually cared about Shepard's pain, for example, and until the moment she was prematurely woken up, I made sure she never felt a thing.

"Yours was a different situation," I continued finally, having managed to calm myself down. Shepard looked surprised at my outburst, and I internally cringed. It had revealed more of my emotions on my engineering than I had meant to let slip. "While I was created from the very beginning, we built you with what remains we had left. No tank necessary."

Silence fell, but I knew without asking that Shepard was thinking of how to answer her part of the discussion: how she felt about being brought back. She chewed on her lip for a second and then straightened to face me straight on again.

"Am I still human?" Shepard asked. I blinked at her, surprised at the question and surprised that she had been wondering that this whole time. I had thought it fairly obvious.

"Of course you are," I asserted. "If you were anything but yourself, I would have failed."

"And we wouldn't want that," Shepard remarked dryly. "Though you did call me your greatest mistake yet."

My stomach twisted at the reminder of our argument after Bekenstein. She had goaded me, but I willingly snapped up the bait.

"I shouldn't have said that," I admitted. It wasn't exactly an apology; I knew I should follow it up with more, but my mouth stayed proudly shut.

Shepard gave a nod, her chin dipping down just the tiniest amount.

"Did you…" I began, but my words faltered just slightly. I steeled myself and tried again, "Did you not want to be brought back?"

"I was dead. I'm sure I didn't want much of anything," Shepard stated bluntly. I bit my lip to keep from laughing at the dry humor, but I'm sure she didn't notice as her eyes were glued to the elevator wall.

"So then you're glad to be back?" I pushed to confirm, watching as the elevator indicated we were almost at our destination, as well as the end of our conversation.

Shepard's eyes locked back onto mine, their beautiful emerald color glittering in the neon lights of the elevator panels. She seemed to consider her answer carefully, never breaking her gaze.

"I'm not upset that I'm alive," she said. "Though I wish I hadn't been brought back by you."

Her words slipped down and landed with perfect precision, causing my emotions to claw at my chest and wrap themselves around my throat until any reply I could come up with was choked out of me. I should have expected the answer, of course—and she hadn't really said it unkindly—but that didn't prevent the hurt that burned through my trachea and seeped into my lungs. My heart warred with my brain, which was telling those fickle emotions to shut the bloody hell up. You know she hates Cerberus. Of course she wishes it were someone else.

I was lucky the elevator chose that moment to open its doors, pulling Shepard's attention away from me and whatever response I was apparently not going to say. Years of practice thankfully held my face perfectly into place; from the very beginning I had promised myself that she would never see that she hurt me, and I wasn't about to start now.

Shepard had her hand over the door to keep it from closing and turned back with a suddenness that finally drew me from my thoughts, surprising me when she cocked her head in expectation.

"Are you coming?"

The blue light of the galaxy map shone past the elevator door, and I furrowed my brow when Shepard proceeded past the map and to the airlock. I hurried up behind her.

"Where are we going?"

Shepard eyed me with a twist of her mouth. "We're going to say goodbye to Garrus before the ship leaves tomorrow morning."

She watched me with raised eyebrows like her statement was the most obvious thing in the world, like she hadn't firmly denied any sort of friendship last night. Like it was normal for her to invite me anywhere but a battlefield or a cargo hold.

"You want me to go?" I asked, warily hopeful.

Shepard shrugged, and though my heart gave an unpleasant lurch, I was careful to keep my face schooled into casual indifference. "Garrus asked for you."

Oh. Well I suppose that's nice.

XXX

Garrus

I stabbed the button to call a nurse for the millionth time, calling for an extra blanket. I rearranged the four blankets already on my lap, and, when it arrived, settled the new blanket around my shoulders before settling back on the bed.

I wiggled about, grunting when I couldn't find a good position. I fluffed my pillows. I tried putting an extra pillow behind my back, but the pillow was too big and made my back bow out. Next, I tested having a pillow behind my neck. Spirits, why is this so uncomfortable?

I lobbed the pillow to the right where it hit the window, tinted to block the eternal sunshine of the Citadel, and immediately started wheezing.

"Mr. Vakarian, you have been warned against unnecessary movement," a voice sounded from speaker next to the call button, "unless you wish to stay longer than a week, I suggest you follow doctor's orders."

I sneered at the red light blinking next to the speaker. The nurse didn't speak again.

Just when I was about to go crazy from boredom, my omni-tool chirped from the side table. I grabbed it quickly to hit answer, the orange viewing screen blinked into existence, and I was met with the face of my father.

"Garrus," he greeted me.

"Dad!" I cried, trying to angle the screen so it wouldn't show the hospital monitors I was hooked up to. "This is...unexpected."

Dad narrowed his eyes at me, and his mandibles flared. "You realize that, since you refused every marriage your mother and I tried to set up for you, I remain your next of kin. Hospitals tend to give me a call when you appear unconscious and injured in their ward."

"Ah, yes, that," I stammered awkwardly. "I'm fine really. How's Mom?"

Dad looked away, mandibles dropping slightly. "Much of the same," he said. He lifted his chin to stare directly at me, and guilt settled thickly in my throat. "Look, Garrus, I thought, after that mess with the 'contract work' you were doing, you would come back home, help with your family."

"Something came up. I've got new work. It's important, and you always said…"

"Do things right, or not at all. I remember," Dad broke in. He sighed. "It's Shepard isn't it? You're with her."

"Yes," I confirmed, wary of giving actual details.

"When I heard she was back...I should've known," Dad mused, the blue bill of his mouth pressing down while he thought. "Listen, son, I know I've pressured you to make a good match. A human in the family isn't exactly what I want, but we could make it work. You could do worse than Shepard, and if marrying her will get you to come home…"

I coughed, beating gently on my chest to try and clear it, completely blindsided by the offer. The door to my room clicked open to reveal the woman in question, running her fingers through her unruly auburn hair, followed by Miranda. I flared my mandibles in panic.

"W-what? I am not in love with Shepard," I sputtered. Shepard looked up with wide eyes from where she was settling into a chair next to Miranda, who feigned disinterest by pulling out a datapad (Does she just carry those everywhere?). "Where did you even get that idea?"

Dad frowned and looked off camera before lowly growling, "Solana."

"My sister has an overactive imagination," I scoffed. Leave it to my sister to come up with something wholly ridiculous.

There was a commotion off camera, then the whole screen was taken up by a close shot of my sister's distinct rose colored eyes. She shuffled back to a more appropriate distance, so I could see her entire silver and blue face, while effectively kicking my father out of the shot.

"It's not exactly a wild assumption," Solana retorted, her frontal plates drawing down close around her eyes in indignation. "She's all you talk about."

Shepard directed an insufferable smirk at me, and I rolled my eyes.

"Well, if you're looking to marry a Vakarian to her, you better get down here yourself, Solana," I quipped. "Shepard's type is tall, dark, and decidedly female."

Solana's eye twitched as she searched for a comeback, but Shepard was already scrambling up noisily to join me in the camera.

"We're getting married, Solana?" Shepard carolled. "And here I thought you didn't like me. I believe your exact words were 'scrawny' and 'uncouth.'"

Miranda snorted, quickly clapping a hand over her mouth to stop it. Shepard mock glared at her.

Unfortunately, Solana never had the chance to answer as my father's grave face took over the screen again.

"I see you have things to take care of," Dad said, directing a nod to Shepard. That feeling of guilt came rushing back. After all, Dad had had my whole lifetime to perfect that tone on me. I tried to brush it off. There was nothing I could do for Mother, even if I did go back. "We'll leave you be."

"Hey," I said hurriedly to stop him from shutting off the comm. "Thanks for calling, Dad."

"I'll hopefully hear from you again soon, Son," he replied, and the screen went dark. And if that didn't sound like a threat towards Shepard, I didn't know what would.

I shut down the projection on my omni-tool and watched as Shepard hopped down from the bed, and settled right back into the chair next to Miranda without even sparing a glance for the other chairs in the room,. Shepard probably didn't even realize, but I thought I could see a little smile flicker just briefly on Miranda's face.

"Miranda," I greeted, "I'm glad you came."

"Garrus," Miranda replied steadily. Her wrist relaxed, and I could see she had been reading After Dark Fashions. "I'm surprised you invited me."

"Yes, well, otherwise I wasn't going to get to thank you. You haven't come by," I said.

"I did. Once. You were asleep," Miranda said stiffly.

"She's also being annoyingly humble about the whole thing," Shepard broke it, and Miranda laughed. I was shocked to see Shepard's face soften at the sound.

"I'm sorry," Miranda said to Shepard's stare. "I just don't think I've ever heard anyone call me humble."

"Well, thank you anyway," I acknowledged. Miranda gave a small nod of her head, her piercing stare still leaving with me with vague discomfort, even after a month of working with her.

"Now," Shepard exclaimed, clapping her hands and rubbing them together in anticipation. "Who's up for a friendly game of Quasar?"

"Shepard, you do realize you don't play Quasar against an opponent?" Miranda pointed out.

"Buzzkill," Shepard accused, though I think it was playfully. Sometimes you just couldn't tell with her.

"A few rounds of Skyllian-five then," I offered, and Shepard grinned gleefully. I turned to Miranda. "Just don't let her try to convince you that she's never played before. Ruthless, that one is."

A few hours later…

"And you called me ruthless," Shepard grumbled, frowning at Miranda who had just cleaned the both of us out. Miranda continued to lightly perch on her chair, not even gloating in her victory. That woman had one hell of a poker face.

"I'm good at just about anything I set my mind to," Miranda claimed. Shepard made a face at the side of Miranda's head, and I had to stifle my laughter.

"Beginner's luck," Shepard muttered, and Miranda's steel blue gaze locked onto her with a raised eyebrow.

"I assure you: I'm no beginner, Shepard," Miranda said smoothly. Shepard blushed, and oh Spirits no. You idiot.

"Well," Miranda said, standing from her chair and stretching out her limbs while Shepard's eyes followed her movements closely. "It's late, and I should turn in."

Miranda looked like she was about to counsel Shepard to do the same but thought better of it at the last moment. Then she turned towards me one last time, hesitantly.

"Thank you for inviting me, Garrus," she said. The smile I gave was just as tentative as her thanks, the both of us uncertain where we stood with the other, but it was a start. Miranda left the room, and Shepard's gaze trailed after her.

"Quit making that face at me," Shepard said.

"I'm not making a face," I replied. Shepard leaned forward slightly and glared at me pointedly. "Alright, I'm making a face."

"I don't want to talk about it," she asserted with a surly grimace.

"You finally sat down and talked to her," I stated, looking to confirm my suspicions.

"I may have accidentally crossed paths with her last night," Shepard admitted. "I apologized for some of my behavior."

"Well, what did she say?" I asked, trying to muffle some of my excitement. It might be nice to lose some of the tension on the ship.

"She answered some questions I had. There was one moment when I thought she might, you know, apologize back, but she didn't…" Shepard trailed off before finishing, "Anyway, she can be rather opaque and hard to read."

"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black," I replied, applauding myself for getting the human expression right. Which, really, makes no sense. Pots and kettles are silver. Humans: I'll never understand them.

"Anyway," Shepard said, shaking off what was obviously an uncomfortable discussion for her. "I didn't want to talk about my problems. I was actually worried about you."

I forced myself not to grimace. I knew exactly where she was going with this: my family.

"Look, I know you're planning on coming back to the Normandy in a week, but I didn't exactly give you a lot of options when you joined me. I really just assumed you wanted to be there. So, if you'd rather go be with your family, your mother…"

"Shepard," I cut her off. "You know I would have told you if I wanted to leave."

"Yeah. Thing is, I never even asked you why you went off to Omega instead of just going home when I died. Or even back to C-Sec," Shepard continued.

"I wanted to be where I could do the most good," I tried to explain, though guilt was still ringing in my chest, trying to get my attention—reminding me of my mother that I couldn't help and my team on Omega that I'd gotten killed. I paused to think over my next words before continuing softly, "I'm worthless sitting by her bedside; she doesn't even recognize me. At least I can be doing something worthwhile."

Shepard looked at me with a curiously sharp gaze before standing abruptly and pacing shortly at the end of my bed.

"Is Cerberus paying you a salary for this?" she asked, agitatedly whipping about to face me again.

"Not that I've noticed," I joked. "I'm here for you, Shepard. And to help."

Shepard frowned lightly at that, but let it go, patting her palm contemplatively against her thigh before turning to gather her jacket from where she had thrown it across the chair.

"I'll have to see if I can fix that," Shepard said coming to the side of my bed. She gave a playful punch to my shoulder, and I swiped it away, the sudden movement causing me to start coughing again. Shepard grinned, malicious creature that she was. "I'd better get going. Try to heal fast, and we'll see you in a week."

Shepard departed the room quickly, giving me a jaunty wave on her way through the doorframe, and I collapsed back against my pillows, rubbing at my chest.

"Mr. Vakarian, if I have to warn you again…" the nurse's voice squawked over the speaker by my bed again.

"It wasn't even my fault this time!" I grumbled in protest. I rolled over to my side and tried to snuggle down into the hospital bed. It was going to be a long week.

Woah, what? A whole week without Garrus? How is that even going to work? It will, I promise.

I love that writing in 1st person POV gives me the ability to really go into the backgrounds of Miranda and Garrus, and I hope everyone enjoys my interpretations (which are based, as much as possible, in the canon background we were given). I am, however, delving into some potentially sensitive subjects (Miranda's abuse, Garrus' sick mother). I've tried to do enough research into these things to make them seem accurate, but I am open to opinions on whether I've given them appropriate justice.

Also, I commissioned a portrait to be done of my Shepard! There's a link to it on my profile if anyone is interested! It links to my Tumblr, and anyone is welcome to contact me on there as well. My url is muffledwalnut.

Thank you everyone for reading!