Aww, hell.
Shepard stood outside Miranda's bedroom door long before she knocked.
Her hand tightened around the grip of her cane, the only reason she was able to make it from her bedroom, down the long hallway, to the room of her former executive officer. It was such a silly thing to take note of at a time like this. But she glimpsed down all the same. Without it, she was effectually helpless. For all the technology, for all the cybernetic implants and prosthetics, she had to rely on a roughly three-foot length of wood and aluminum for mobility.
She wanted to throw the goddamn thing down the hallway, to knock on the door, and confront Miranda as she had been. To be the woman that leapt off the crippled Normandy onto the Collector base, with her second in command close behind. To be the soldier that had leapt over a concrete barrier to tackle the biotic woman out of the way as a Blood Pack merc charged her. Hell, to be the woman who paced the decks of the Normandy in the early hours of the morning when she couldn't sleep.
At the moment, Shepard felt vulnerable and uncertain, and the aid of the cane only made her feel more so. Everything was easier in armor, she thought wryly.
It was the fear of another scar to add to the litany she had already collected that prompted her to knock finally. At first, she was afraid that Miranda would ignore her. What then? Did she shout through the door like a drunken university student? Armor would have made it easy to shoulder her way through the fragile wooden door.
But the locked turned and tumbled, and the door opened.
It appeared that Miranda had not slept; the skin around her eyes was tight. But otherwise, she appeared no differently than Shepard remembered. For some reason, since her revelation, she expected the other woman to appear different. Or, at least, for Shepard to perceive her differently. But no, she was still Miranda, her countenance still beautiful and haughty, eyes still the color of ocean shallows.
She had changed from the previous day, from slacks into a skirt and blouse, accompanied by heels that made her much taller, but not nearly as tall as Shepard. Not a strand of raven hair was out of place. For a woman who had supposedly (from what Liara had told her) been crushed the night previous, she was remarkably put together. Too put together. There was no sign of distress in her appearance. She looked perfect.
"Commander Shepard," She said tonelessly, and stepped back from the door, wordlessly inviting her in.
Shepard's heart sank. Of course. She had not known what she expected, but of course Miranda would retreat behind the guise of the ice queen. It was comfortable for her, safe and familiar. What surprised Shepard was not that Miranda fell into her old routine, but how much it hurt to feel the distance forcibly placed between them. "Miranda, I—"
"Commander, you do not have to explain yourself." Miranda turned her back on the Shepard and walked to the chair positioned under the window. She sat, casually crossing her legs. "I understand. Rendering any awkward conversation unnecessary."
Dammit, Miranda was so goddamn good at this. Shepard clenched her jaw. They might as well have been discussing a trivial disagreement over dinner plans, or worse, a business transaction. There was no betrayal of emotion, just tired indifference. Shepard limped across the room but stopped short of closeness, not wanting to violate the other woman's personal space. "Miranda. Please, hear me—"
"Commander, I understand." The operative cut her off again. "I am leaving as soon as a shuttle can be arranged. And don't try to argue and say nothing has changed because we both know it has. It saves us all the trouble of any discomfort if you simply accept the truth. We both know it, whether or not you admit it. I think we can both agree that this is best. For all of us."
"It isn't best!" Shepard said, her knuckles white around her cane. She searched her memory. Had Miranda been this insufferably stubborn when the first met? "And if you would give me two seconds to speak—"
Miranda folded her hands in her lap nonchalantly. "Then you would fill those two seconds attempting to reassure me. I told you, commander, I am fine. I understand—"
"You don't understand a goddamn thing, Miranda!" Shepard erupted, her voice dropping to an aggressive bellow, the one she reserved for shouting orders across a battlefield, the one she used for commanding soldiers. For a moment, she was surprised by the conviction of her own feelings. "And neither did I. But you will sit there, and you will listen to me and then you can decide if you want to run away again. But you will listen. You owe me that, at least."
If Miranda was fazed by her command voice, it did not show on her face. Instead, the mention of obligation caused something inside the operative to visibly wrench and snap, and she stood and stalked to Shepard, jabbing a finger at her chest. "Owe you? I have given you back your life, not once but twice, Shepard. And I owe you?" Her blue eyes were fury and fire, indignation.
"You owe me because we care about one another, Miri! And when people care about each other, they don't just cut and fucking run when things get difficult."
"So? What? Are you going to tell me that it is going to be okay? Are you going to say that it changes nothing?" Miranda was not backing down, but the loss of composure was the first crack in her cold façade. "We all know it's a lie. Is Liara going to feel comfortable with me continuing to be responsible for your medical care? Are you? Or will every touch and glance be suspect? Do we close our eyes and pretend nothing has happened? You'd be happy with that? With us all lying to ourselves and to one another? You have never lied to me before, Shepard. Don't start now." Her words were venomous, tone both accusatory and plaintive.
"It changes… it's changed everything." Shepard whispered. "You have given me my life back twice. You have been there with me every step of the way, nearly. I have always been able to count on you, for… anything."
"Shepard, please don't—" Miranda abruptly turned away and went to the window, holding her hand up as if it could silence her.
"You are brilliant and beautiful, and I swear to god you out-stubborn me on any given day. But what makes you special are all the things you try and hide from the outside world. The compassion, the empathy." Shepard plowed on and took a hesitant step closer. "It isn't the biotics or the brains or even your spectacular ass. It's that despite everything you've been through, everything your father put you through, everything The Illusive Man did, you're a good person. And I am sorry. I am so sorry that I did not see it, and I did not see you all these years. But you've been there, the whole time." She stepped closer again, until she was within arm's length of the operative. "And I just never… saw it."
"And what do you see now?" Miranda still did not face her, and her voice was thick.
Shepard smiled sadly. "I see a woman. Not a perfect woman. I see a woman who put me back together. Who has supported me through countless trials and missions and cockups. I see a woman who tolerates my bad jokes, and pretends not to laugh at them. I see a woman who nursed me back to health, who loved me enough to tell me the truth that I'll never be… whole again. I see a woman who is more comfortable tricking everyone into thinking she's a bitch, rather than let on how much she cares about others. I see one of the strongest, most determined people I have ever met. I see a woman I trust with my life and my love. I see a woman who it would break my heart to lose."
"You can't say things like that, Shepard."
"It's true."
"And Liara?"
"Liara was the one who encouraged her to say them to you." The asari padded silently into the room, moving to Shepard's side.
The appearance of Liara seemed to rattle the operative, and her composure shattered. She spun on her heel. "This is not what I wanted. Ever. I would never intrude," She pled with the asari, and then with Shepard, her eyes rimmed in red. "I would have never, ever violated either of your trust. I didn't mean—"
"Miranda," Liara said patiently, and Shepard felt a surge of pride for her lover. No matter the situation, Liara's first reaction was always one of compassion. "I know. We know. What happened last night was… an accident. No one blames you for anything. Listen to what Shepard is trying to tell you."
Inwardly, Shepard wanted to roll her eyes. Her lover had put her on the spot utterly. There was no way this could not be awkward. "I…" Miranda crossed her arms over her chest protectively, watching her. "Ironically, it took Liara to make me see what was right in front of me the whole time. I just never… had my eyes open to it. But I—"
"If you finish that sentence, Shepard, I'll kill you."
It was supposed to be simple. Not painless of course, but Shepard was supposed to accept Miranda's statement of understanding, spare her dignity, and allow her to leave without any fuss. Surely, she could see that was the easiest route. Shepard was not a sadist, at least not an emotional one. She would want to spare Miranda any pain possible. Once Shepard saw that Miranda understood her place, understood that her feelings could not be requited and did not expect them to be, it would spare them both the messy business of talking it out.
But nothing with Lissa Shepard was ever simple or easy.
"I just never… had my eyes open to it. But I—"
Miranda felt threads of biotic flames escape her clenched fists. "If you finish that sentence, Shepard, I'll kill you." She felt her eyes well up with tears and hated herself for them. "Don't you dare take me down this road to break my heart. I know you're with Liara. Don't torture me with ifs. I know where I stand, don't bloody make this more difficult than it has to be."
Dammit. Damn Shepard and her bleeding heart crap. For once in her life, couldn't the commander just let something go without having to feel it out?
It was Liara who broke the silence, stepping dangerously close to her, and Miranda wanted to push her away, to put space between them, forcefully if necessary. Didn't either of them see that she was barely clinging to whatever dignity and decorum that was left to her? Didn't they understand one kind touch, one sympathetic word would push her over the edge? "Shepard is asking you to stand with us, Miranda. Because where you think you stand is incorrect."
Normally, the asari spoke very plainly, almost as directly as Miranda did. But Miranda could not understand this riddle. What was Liara saying? She risked a glimpse at the commander who merely nodded and stepped beside her lover, took her hand.
The two lovers shared a smile as their fingers intertwined, and for a brief moment, they seemed to be the only two people to exist in the whole world, until Liara extended her free hand to Miranda, Shepard's still wrapped around her cane for balance. "I'm not saying it would be easy. Hell, I'm not saying it would even work. But Liara helped me to realize something this morning, and that is that I love you, more than I would any friend or comrade or colleague. I never saw it because I was... obviously distracted. It is true though. It isn't some manufactured feeling or pity or anything like that. And not just now, but for a long time. I love you. And if you kill me, you'll just have to put me back together again, so please spare yourself the trouble." The last part was said in a rush, as if she actually expected Miranda to kill her.
"I know Shepard loves me, Miranda. And I also know that she loves you. There is no reason for you to leave. Not without discussing it first. Openly. Honestly. Please." She dipped her hand pointedly, clearly indicating that she wanted Miranda to take it.
Shepard loved her. She said it. Aloud. In front of Liara. Liara said it as well. She felt lightheaded, uncertain with implication. It was too much to process at once, and Miranda only felt stuck numb, as if she were caught in a daydream while the real world went on without her. The words tolled in her head like a ceaseless bell, and she thoughtlessly took the hand offered to her.
The asari's grip tightened, eyes immediately black. "Embrace eternity."
Now who's the sadist? How's that for a cliffhanger.