Let me start off by apologizing. I know I disappeared off the face of the Earth for awhile, and I truly am sorry. But I wanted to continue this story because it deserves to be written, not for myself but for everyone who has been overwhelmingly supportive of it. I can't promise to update regularly, but I will continue it until its conclusion.
This story is for you.
"Miri!" It was always odd to see a younger version of herself on the vidcom, no matter how many times Miranda convinced herself she was accustomed to it. When Oriana had been a toddler, the resemblance had been harder to spot. All two-year-olds invariably looked like miniature pudgy, misshapen adults anyway. Their hair had been the same raven black then, and their eyes the same cold pale blue, but that is where the similarities had stopped.
Now that Oriana was fully grown, an adult, it was easy to see the identical genetic markers. Same mouth, same high cheekbones, same chin, same voice, although Oriana's accent was considerably less pronounced than Miranda's. Oriana wore her hair shorter and straighter than Miranda had ever worn hers, but it appeared as if she had been growing it out lately. And her smile was much less reserved, more ready than Miranda felt hers had ever been.
"Ori, how are you?" Communication between them had been sporadic at best with so many systems ravaged by the war and the rebuilding effort so intense. But sometimes, Miranda could manage to pull a few strings to have a call put through to the colony of Sill, where Oriana was assisting in the rebuilding effort.
Her little sister grinned. "I'm good. There is so much work here; I feel like we'll never be done. But I like it, makes me feel like I'm really accomplishing something." The smile faded abruptly, and Oriana's brow knitted together in confusion as she peered over Miranda's shoulder. "Where are you?"
Miranda glimpsed over her shoulder at the plaid curtains covering the window behind her, at the rustic wooden walls. The communications room had once been a spare bedroom in the cabin, converted whenever the commander and Liara took up residence. She sighed. "I'm in a cabin. Shepard's place."
"Oh." Oriana squinted at the curtains before returning her gaze back to her sister. "Don't tell the commander I said so, but those things are hideous."
"Well," Miranda could not help but smile, pleased. "It appears good taste is genetic. And don't worry; I've already told her they're atrocious."
"Is Shepard alright?" The hint of concern was unmistakable. "I mean… would you be there if she was?" Oriana worried her lower lip between her teeth, a habit they did not share.
Miranda crossed her arms over her chest, scratched her collarbone absently as she decided how best to answer. She knew that Shepard and Oriana had kept in contact via extranet messages since the whole mess on Illium, and surprisingly, it had been her sister that initiated contact. Miranda had the distinct feeling that Shepard kept in contact for Miranda's sake more than anything, because it simply seemed like something she would do. But whether or not they had been in contact recently she was not sure. "She is recovering well, physically but there have been complications. Emotionally, she is still struggling. But for someone who has died, twice almost, her third shot at life is going well."
Oriana blinked on the vidcom screen and narrowed her eyes, shrewdly, and Miranda belatedly remembered that they shared the same intelligence potential. "Then why are you there?"
"Because they invited me."
"Who are 'they?'"
"Commander Shepard and her lover, Liara T'soni." While it wasn't exactly a secret, Shepard went to great lengths to ensure her private life was kept separate from her professional life. Miranda was not surprised Oriana did not know.
"Oh." Oriana tilted her head, as if disappointed, which did not make sense, and Miranda was certain she had mistaken surprise for disappointment. "Are you settling in, then?"
"You know, I called to see how you were doing, not the other way around." Miranda smiled. Part of her had always wondered what it would have been like to have a younger sibling. She had been a teenager when Ori was just a baby, and her father had isolated her from any other children when she was younger. She supposed that this was what having a younger sister was supposed to be like, her incessant questions, her persistent inquisitiveness into Miranda's personal life.
She had settled in well, surprisingly well, and even more quickly. She had not expected it to be that way, not really. There was bound to be some awkwardness of transition as she struggled to adjust to the schedules and habits of two other people, but there was very little transition at all. She had assimilated seamlessly into life at the cabin, despite her aversion to the primitive appearance of the décor.
Her room was not specifically to her tastes, but very little about the cabin was. That was merely aesthetics, though. The bed was comfortable, even if the sheets were ugly. The antique dresser was spacious enough for all of her clothes, and she had a private bathroom with a luxurious over-sized tub. The window beside her bed overlooked the mountain, and in the morning she often saw chipmunks skittering back and forth between the trees.
She and Liara now shared the bedroom which had been converted into a sort of office. A table had been moved from another room to make a desk for her and when they worked, it was mostly in silence with occasional breaks of conversation or discussions on their respective work. Shepard rarely interrupted them, except to inform them of incoming vidcom calls or announce meals.
After working with commander for so long aboard the Normandy, Miranda had thought there would be very little adjustment between the two of them. But then she had been Commander Shepard, now she was much more… Lissa.
Commander Shepard always woke early to scan mission briefs and intelligence reports in the CIC. Lissa was up early to brew coffee and cook breakfast in bright red pajama pants and a tank top; she cooked every meal, ensuring that her lover and house guest broke from their work to eat regularly. The domestic side of the commander was something she had not anticipated but found… charming in its strangeness.
Nights were spent around the fire place that she insisted on lighting every evening. They talked, trading stories. Sometimes they played chess or checkers from an old set they found in one of the closets. Occasionally, they watched the news on the extranet, the latest on the rebuilding efforts. There were evenings when Shepard wanted to sit out on the front porch and watch the stars, almost as if she were longing for them again. They would say goodnight, retire to their respective bedrooms.
Life with Shepard and Liara was blissfully easy, as if Miranda had always been there. But she could not tell Oriana that. Oriana as perceptive as she was; it would lead to questions that she did not have an answer for. So instead, she asked Ori about work, about the colony, and hoped her sister accepted the deflection without prying. She did, and they spent the next half hour talking until they said their good-byes.
Miranda checked her extranet messages, skimming the important ones. By the time she was finished, her coffee was cold.
The grim look of concentration that painted Shepard's strong features was one that Miranda was familiar with.
It did not seem so long ago that she had watched silently from the doorway of the briefing room, unwilling to disturb Shepard who seemed so engrossed that she was completely unaware of her executive officer's presence.
Her hands had been planted on the table, and she leaned forward over the rolls of paper diagrams and schematics she preferred over digital or holographic models. She was wearing her uniform, stiffly pressed, sleeves neatly rolled to her elbows, trousers starched and creased. Whenever she wasn't in armor, Shepard always preferred to appear like a military commander, which, at first, had annoyed Miranda who was accustomed to Cerberus's loose command structure. It seemed like an unnecessary assertion of authority until she actually knew Shepard. She adopted the Cerberus uniform quickly enough, but had removed all traces of Cerberus insignia.
Her mouth was set in a thin, grim line as she scrutinized the maps in front of her, only the smoldering green of her eyes moving as they flicked back and forth deliberately. They followed something on the page and then shifted to follow another path. Creases furrowed her forehead and her eyebrows knit together, not in a frown but in an expression of utter concentration. Barely perceptible was the shift of her mouth as she chewed the inside of her cheek, which Miranda had long since recognized as a habit indicating the commander was in the deepest thought.
Shepard did not glance up at the sound of Miranda's voice, informing her that they were nearing the Omega 4 Relay. In fact, she only responded with a terse, "Very well," and continued scanning the papers in front of her, giving Miranda the impression that she knew all along that she had been watching her.
It was amazing that she could seem so completely engrossed in thought, enveloped by concentration, yet still completely aware of everything around her. Many times Miranda had caught her wearing the expression during combat, seemingly detached from the chaos around her. Her face would be smudged with soot and dirt, hair unkempt and clinging with sweat to her brow, cheek pressed against the stock of her sniper rifle. Her focus seemed so singular as she scanned for a target. The rifle would recoil violently against her shoulder, but it never seemed to phase the commander, who was already scanning for her next target and warning her squad mates to take cover because there were rockets incoming.
She had been refreshing her cup of coffee when she glimpsed through the window over the kitchen sink and saw Shepard seated on the front porch, an actual book unfolded in one hand and a pencil in the other. Occasionally, she made notes on the small pad of paper perched on her knee. Her brow twisted in the familiar way, and Miranda remembered all the times she had watched her wear that expression.
It was as comforting as it was odd. The Reapers had come and had been defeated. But not without terrible cost. Entire worlds had been decimated, others lay barren and lifeless, the ruins still smoking without anyone to put out the fires. Whole worlds had burned. Families had been torn apart, entire peoples wiped out; it would take centuries for the galaxy's population to recover to pre-Reaper levels.
And one woman had been crippled, her leg mangled so severely that not even Miranda could fix it, not even cybernetic implants or advanced surgical technology could mend it. The rest of it, the destruction of worlds, the near extinction of species, was too enormous and abstract for her to really accept. It seemed too large, too distant to let it affect her. But the suffering of one woman Miranda could witness and understand the emotional and physical toll of everything the Reapers had wrought. And it was devastating. It wrenched something in her chest every time she saw her commander falter or stumble, and the unfairness of it was infuriating. Shepard had saved the world, and yet her reward was to spend the rest of her life broken and in pain, a shattered fragment of the soldier she had once been.
But when she saw the quiet concentration written on her face, Miranda felt reassured. It was still the same Shepard, who preferred tangible paper under her fingertips rather than the clinical indifference of holographic screens and datapads. Still the same Shepard who wrote in a horrendously illegible script when she took notes. The same Shepard who would continue to drink her coffee long after it had gone cold.
Liara had slipped beside her at the kitchen sink, followed her gaze out the window to Shepard. The braided leather necklace she had worn in the city had been replaced by a collar, and Miranda admired, not for the first time, how striking the contrast the black leather was against her blue skin. She averted her attention back to the commander. "What is she doing?"
"Studying." Liara smiled and crossed behind Miranda to the coffee pot. "She says that now she actually has the time, she can continue her education."
"Education?" Miranda frowned and turned away from the window, leaning back against the counter to watch the asari pour her own coffee. She knew Shepard's dossier better than almost anyone, her professional biography, assignments, history; Cerberus was thorough in providing information on its projects. Shepard had completed an undergraduate degree in literature during her first years with the Alliance, which Miranda found surprisingly common for a woman so outstanding in every other way.
Liara nodded and stirred sugar into her cup. "She wants to continue her advanced education."
"Graduate studies?"
"I believe that is what it is called, yes." Liara affirmed, adding a leveled spoon of sugar to her cup. "I believe she does not feel she can return to duty, or does not wish to. She has not said as much, but… after everything…" She folded her hands around her mug as if warming them.
Pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, Miranda sighed. "I know, but speaking of which, I received a message from Admiral Hackett. The Alliance is placing pressure on him to obtain a more thorough debriefing from Shepard."
That was the sanitized version of a heated message exchange between the Alliance officer and the former Cerberus operative. He understood Miranda's objections, that it exposed the commander to unnecessary strain and anxiety, having to relive the details that already haunted her dreams. But no longer under the immediate threat of extinction, the Alliance wanted more details, more perspective on the Reaper invasion. And who better to give them that perspective than the Commander Shepard?
Liara blinked. "I do not understand. Why? They have interviewed the surviving crew members. They know what happened." The asari was distressed and she set her coffee mug down with a clank, the still steaming pale brown liquid splashing onto the counter. "It is not enough that Commander Shepard saved not only the human race but also the entirety of sentient life. They wish to make her endure every torturous moment of the past years?" Her arms crossed over her chest, and Liara glimpsed out the kitchen window at her lover, who still sat on the porch, oblivious.
When she continued, her voice was constricted with tears that she did not shed, and Miranda was not sure if they were from anger or sadness. "Does Admiral Hackett intend to be here when the commander wakes from another night terror? Will he hold her until she is no longer paralyzed by terror? Will he be there when the fear subsides and her sobs become so violent that she retches? Will he clean her of the vomit and assure her that everything will be okay? Will he lie to her and tell her that one day everything will be normal again?"
Unable to be an indifferent witness to the asari's sorrow, Miranda instinctually reached for her and pulled her into an embrace that surprised the both of them. And she felt, rather than saw, Liara's tears begin to flow, a wetness against her neck. "They cannot ask this of her. She has given so much already. And yet they ask more of her. Will it ever be enough?"
"I'm sorry, Liara." Miranda murmured, one hand rubbing the asari's back in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "I agree. It is too much, and I have no desire or intention to exposing Shepard to any more pain. I won't let them do that to her. I didn't mean to upset you by bringing this up. I am sorry."
Liara rested her forehead on Miranda's shoulder, did not pull away. Closeness with other people was not something she was readily familiar with. Touch was fine; she was human after all. But the intimacy of comforting another person was surprising. She was very conscious of the weight against her shoulder, the warmth of their bodies together, the steady pace of her breathing, the slight hum of vibration she felt in her body with Liara's voice. "It is not your fault, Miranda. It is the Alliance. I just cannot believe they would ask her to do this. Not now. Not when… not when it is so fresh for her."
"That is why I told him no." Although the argument had been very back and forth between the two, with many accusations and much bargaining. "He agreed to get the Alliance to let Shepard in peace if I would see if—" The former executive officer exhaled. She hated having to ask this of Liara. Some of Shepards wounds were hers as well. "if you would give an account. You're the closest one to her; you were with her on nearly every mission."
A breath passed, and then another. When Liara's shoulders shook, Miranda thought the tears had begun again, but when Liara finally pulled away, she was laughing softly. "So I am second choice?" With relief, Miranda returned her smile and dropped her hands from the asari's sides, breaking contact by taking a step back. "How can I say no if it will spare Shepard any amount of pain?"
How could any person? "Thank you, Liara. I will let the admiral know." And in turn, he could tell the rest of the Alliance to piss off for all Miranda cared. "And we can begin whenever you are comfortable with it."
"Comfortable with what?" Shepard asked, hobbling into the kitchen, coffee cup in her free hand. As she neared, she saw the streaks on Liara's face, the stiffening of Miranda's posture. "Are you okay? What's wrong?" Her brow knit together as she glimpsed between the two women. It was unlikely the two quarreled. That could not be it. But Liara was plainly upset, and Miranda refused to meet her eyes, which was utterly unlike her former executive officer.
"I'm fine." Liara wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I… I was upset, angry. Admiral Hackett asked Miranda to ask you questions… about the war, but Miranda told him it would be better to interview me, instead. I am fine. I promise." She smiled as if to prove to her lover that she was truly okay, reached out to rub her reassuringly on the arm.
Shepard abandoned her coffee mug on the counter next to Liara's, took her hand. While the war was the last thing she wanted to discuss, while the mention of it still made her chest seize in panic, she would suffer it all over again if it meant sparing Liara. She hated the idea of her lover sacrificing herself to protect her from pain. "I don't want you to do it if you don't want to."
"I would never ask Liara to do this unless she was comfortable with it," Miranda said.
"I know you wouldn't, Miranda. Are you sure you want to, Liara?"
The asari nodded, still smiling faintly. "The truth is, Commander, while no one escaped this war without scars, you bear the majority of them." Shepard found solace in the second blue hand that joined its twin to envelop her own. "I will be fine. In fact, I…" She hesitated and ducked her head, almost shyly. "I was going to ask… if I might join with Miranda, share my mind and memories with her so she could have what information she needed for Admiral Hackett without the interviews. It might also grant her a better perspective as well. But I am yours, commander. I…"
Melding was not necessarily sexual. In fact, the first few times that she and Liara had joined it had been purely for the sharing of the Cipher, for the exchange of minds, memories. It had been intimate but not erotic. Still, Shepard was surprised by the request, and still more surprised that it did not bother her in the slightest. Leaning forward, she kissed the crest of Liara's head, using her cane for balance. She trusted Liara with all of her existence, and in turn, she trusted her former second-in-command nearly as much.
Miranda shifted uncomfortably under Shepard's eyes, scratching her collarbone in that nervous habit. "It's okay, Miranda. She's not asking permission to fuck you." Shepard could not resist teasing the perfect woman a little, and met her dangerous, icy glare with a broad grin.
Liara released her hand to swat her on the arm. "Commander!"
"I know that, Shepard. Asari melding is not a completely alien concept to me." Miranda said lethally, and when her words were met with Shepard's unrepentant grin, she threw her hands up in frustration. "You… are the single most infuriating woman I have ever met. Will you never grow up?" There was the faintest tint of affection to the question, barely audible under her annoyance.
"If the past years have not caused her to mature, the answer is probably not." Liara was smiling despite the faint lavender tinge to her cheeks.
"I'm sorry, Miranda. I was just trying to… make things less awkward, lighten the mood."
"You failed."
"You're not really cross with me?"
"No. I'm not. But you are an idiot."
Their banter reminded Shepard fondly of their days aboard the Normandy. Although initially it had been less banter and more sniping, neither trusting the other and each relishing each carefully aimed barb at the other. But respect came gradually, as did trust and then genuine affection. And there was no one else that she would trust enough to join with her lover in such an intimate act, even if it was not sexual. "It is up to the two of you." Shepard decided. "If both of you are comfortable doing so, then you have my blessing."
She kissed Liara's cheek. "I trust you. I trust both of you. Now out of the kitchen unless you two want to be eating at midnight."
Several days passed before the two women managed to find time away from their respective work to conduct the "interview," as Miranda still thought of it.
They sat across from each other on the couch in the living room, the fire had faded to a gentle crackle of blue and yellow flames and orange glow of embers. Shepard had already gone to bed. The commander had good and bad days still; days when old injuries roared to remind her of their continued existence. The ache of her leg, the stiffness of her shoulder, the spasms in her lower back. She had taken a healthy dose of medicine, which usually made her exhausted, and gone to bed not long after dinner.
It was a good time to do it. It was quiet; neither was preoccupied with other work. There was ample time without disturbance. Miranda swallowed hard, unable to quell the nerves in her stomach. She scolded herself for the ridiculousness of it. She was a rigorously trained, highly skilled, lethal operative. She was a scientist. She was a biotic. She was well-acquainted with asari physiology and biology. There was nothing to be nervous about.
Besides, she was a strong woman. The sharing of minds wasn't an involuntary process. She could choose what memories, what thoughts traveled across the meld to Liara. At least, in theory. And the asari would not pry. She trusted Liara. If it had been anyone else, she would not have trusted them to have any access to her mind, her private thoughts. She would not have trusted them not to force their way past her walls, her barriers, not to shove through and plunder her memories.
"We do not have to do this if you wish, Miranda." Liara said gently, without judgment.
Miranda lifted her face, and when she did, ensured that it was schooled into a calm, careful countenance. "You are right. This can give me a perspective I could never have otherwise. And that is what the Alliance wants. Perspective. Besides. I trust you."
At that, Liara smiled that patient, gentle smile of hers, the one that reminded Miranda how pure and untainted the asari was by her life experiences. Where she felt guarded, jaded, Liara was warmth and honesty. Their hands met, without Miranda realizing she had been reaching, and their fingers intertwined. "I will show you what happened on Mars, after Shepard left Earth. Are you ready?"
Miranda nodded, forced more confidence into her voice than she actually felt. "Yes." She was pleased her answer sounded as cool and calm as she intended.
With a gentle tug of her hand, Liara pulled the human closer. Blue eyes melted… no burned into black, accompanied by the flare of blue biotic flames. "Embrace eternity, Miss Lawson."
There was a sudden sensation of falling without dropping, a shift that was barely perceptible yet jarring. She felt the softness of her own hand, marveled at the twin feelings of holding Liara's hand and holding her own. A bubble of panic rose in her throat at the conflict of sensation and emotion, but on the edge there was a calmness, a patient stillness. It took several breaths before she realized the calm was Liara, and the anxious confusion was her own. Gently, the tranquility prodded her, enveloped her.
"It's alright, Miranda." And another moment passed before it clicked that Liara had not spoken the words, but whispered them through the meld. "You're safe. With me." And there was another shift.
The shaft she was in was small, even for her. She abandoned any hope of being stealthy and scrambled as quickly as she could, half-crouching. Fear was barely tangible on the back of her tongue, but she could taste it, stronger was grim determination. She would not die here. The thump of heavily armored bodies was close behind her; she had to move quickly. She instinctually ducked at the crack of a gunshot, its echo leaving her ears ringing in such an enclosed area. Why had they followed her through the shaft? They could have easily just shot at her from the ground below. Idiots.
She moved swiftly, her heart leaping and dropping with each gunshot, each pinging ricochet that followed her. Her lungs ached for air, and her muscles burned from moving so awkwardly through the small space. Turning the corner of the shaft, her mouth dried. It was a dead end. A vent. If it was welded shut, she was dead. Sliding onto her back, she kicked. She could not die here. She would not. She kicked harder and the vent clanged open. She followed it to the ground.
Miranda saw and felt every moment of the experience. The wave of relief once she was in the open, the swirling tempest of biotics as she threw a singularity to capture the Cerberus soldiers. There was a cramp in her leg as she shot them, felt the pressure needed to pull the trigger of her weapon. They were one: Liara and Miranda. There was sweat on her brow, Liara's brow, and Miranda resisted the urge to wipe her own brow with the back of her free hand.
"Easy there, Lieutenant. She's with us." Her heart sang at the sound, a woman's voice with a slight rasp, a voice that she would recognize anywhere. Shepard. She knew her lover was there without having to turn around. Thank the Goddess… Miranda wanted to weep with relief.
After Miranda's initial apprehension faded, and she surrendered to the meld, Liara led her through the memory. It was easier than she would have believed. Joining was so intensely personal, so intimate, that she thought she might falter, but it was no different from joining with Shepard. There had been dozens of occasions the couple had joined for reasons other than sex, and this was no different than those times. It was simply with a different person.
She was not surprised to find the former Cerberus operative guarded with her feelings, defensive. But she relaxed into the shared memory as it progressed, feeling with Liara. In the security room, she felt Miranda's heart speed up in time with her own. "What if these are our last days?" She felt her own voice, the swell of dread constricting her throat. "And we spend them scurrying around trying to fix a problem we can't fix?"
She turned to face Shepard, desperate for reassurance for solace in the one person she knew she could always find it. They could flee; they could run away, the two of them. There was a lot of galaxy above them. It would take centuries for the Reapers to eliminate the entire galaxy. The rest of their lives could be spent in peace, enjoying one another loving one another. They did not have to die. They did not have to fight a war that could not be won, their last moments a scream of terror.
She wanted Shepard to take her away, far away. "Liara…" The commander's face was taut and etched with pain. That was a decision Shepard would never make. It was not who she was; she was selfless to her core, and that was why Miranda loved her. Liara blinked as the emotions became confused over the meld, but disregarded the emotion as a phantom of her own.
"I know. I shouldn't think that way." Liara said, sparing her lover. No matter how much Shepard wanted to, she could never abandon her duty, the galaxy. "I don't know how you do it. You've always stayed focused even in the worst situations."
Shepard reached for her, cupped her cheek in her hand, brushing her thumb over her lips. Liara leaned into the touch, knowing that Miranda felt the ghost of the touch, felt the callous of Shepard's thumb over her lips, shared the overwhelming torrent of affection and adoration that washed over Liara. Goddess, even after so long together, even after being separated, a simple touch from Shepard left her lightheaded. "When there is so much at stake, I think about my friends, my loved ones… what I'd lose if I failed."
Her hand fell away and Liara immediately felt the loss of it and stepped closer to her lover. "Me too."
Shepard reached for both her hands and held them in her own, looking down at them as if they were the most precious things in the entire galaxy. "We'll stop them, Liara. Together." There was no doubt, no uncertainty in that voice. It was as strong and determined as she had always known it. She squeezed Shepard's hands in her own. If she believed that the Reapers could be stopped, that was enough for her. Miranda loved her and would follow Shepard to whatever end.
This time, there was no mistaking the confusion and the memory abruptly faded. She loved Shepard. There was a fierceness of spirit that defeated even the most passionate. Dedication and loyalty and compassion were not empty ideals to her. They were not standards to which the commander held herself, but principles she embodied with every action, every word. She believed the best of everyone, even when they proved her wrong. She was selfless, not because of a misguided notion of nobility, but because she loved without reservation. It contrasted sharply with her brutal efficiency on the battlefield; it was simultaneously elegant and terrifying. Her eyes burned with liquid emerald, and her smile was ready and honest. She had lived so long convinced that genuinely good people were either liars or fools, that she scoffed at Shepard's pathetic ideas as weakness. But it was a strength she discovered. Strength without qualification or measurement that she had helplessly fallen in love with.
The emotions, while nearly identical in ferocity and conviction, were not Liara's.
There was an ache there as well, dull and constant, not quite forgotten and always lurking just under the surface. It was a resigned pain, a determination of endurance. She loved Shepard even though she could never be hers. It hurt. Dammit, it hurt so bad sometimes that it hurt to breathe, but Shepard was happy, and after everything she had done, everything she had sacrificed, the commander deserved to be happy. Acceptance was a cold consolation, but she respected Shepard too much for it to be anything else. She loved Shepard, and would always be there for her. Always. Even if it was only ever as a friend.
The living room snapped violently back into focus as the meld was broken. Neither woman stirred, blue eyes meeting blue. Miranda's eyes glistened with tears that caught the waning light of the fire, and Liara was reminded of the huge glaciers of blue ice on Thessia that melted in the summer sun. Her heart broke for the perfect woman across from her, the strong, cold woman who had held her hand through so many sleepless nights while Shepard barely clung to life.
Miranda had always been there. Not out of duty or loyalty to the commander but for love of the woman. So many times she had comforted Liara while silently suffering the same agony herself, hoping she would wake up, that she'd see those beautiful green eyes again. Miranda had given her the love of her life back not once but twice. The second time she had given Shepard back to Liara knowing that she could never be hers. Tears stung the back of Liara's eyes.
"Oh, Miranda…" She breathed.
"Oh, god… Liara—I would—I'm sorry, I—" She wrenched her hand back from the asari. "I would never…" The former executive officer ran her fingers through her hair in a thoroughly uncharacteristic loss of composure. "I…" Tears spilled silently from her eyes, streaking her pale, flawless cheeks and Liara reached for her hand again, wanting to comfort her. But the hand was jerked away, and Miranda quickly stood without meeting her eyes again. "I… I have to go. I'll go." She walked quickly towards the hall to her bedroom.
"Miranda, wait!" Liara followed her. "You don't have to go, we can…" Talk? Liara did not know what. She did not want the other woman to leave. Especially not when she was hurt and upset, but she'd know her a long time. Even before Miranda shut the bedroom door in her face, even before the lock clicked, she knew that Miranda would not talk if she did not want to. She was hurt and embarrassed and vulnerable. Miranda would never let anyone see her vulnerable if she could help it.
Liara rested her brow against the locked door, grateful for the coolness of the wood against her brow. "Miranda…" She whispered, uncertain.
Kind of an abrupt jump back into things, but there you are. Again, I apologize this took so long.