Fair warning: the first sentence contains a major spoiler for ME3. After much thought, I've decided to use the backstory for Miranda that I created for Portrait, rather than bringing it in line with canon.

The Prothean paced the length of the cargo hold. Not the way Grunt had paced this same room: full of energy that may explode into violence born of sheer boredom. The Prothean stalked, his movements graceful and precise. He didn't look like the statues at Ilos or the Collectors. More like the batarians with his four gold eyes and dark skin. But the batarians' eyes had never been poised on the tipping point between death and life. Here was someone who ought to be dead and wasn't. Not merely the way Matt was supposed to be dead. That had been barely an interruption. His friends and loved ones were still there. Comparing himself to a man who had outlived his entire civilization seemed insulting.

His armored boots clattered on the deck. The Prothean was never without his armor, black and scarred from battles with too many indoctrinated friends. Perhaps he felt it would put the crew at ease. Maybe he felt safer. There were men who had come back from the Blitz scarred on the inside, so used to war that they were edgy without their weapons and armor. Matt's mother had told him the story of a knight so obsessed with justice that his ghost possessed and animated his armor, the better to punish evildoers. Perhaps the Prothean was the same: a construct kept alive only by his desire for retribution.

"Lieutenant Vega tells me you failed to acquire Rana Thanoptis."

"Yes," Matt ground out. "Cerberus got there first." Ever since the attack on the Normandy, Matt's luck had turned sour. Cerberus seemed determined to deny him every possible asset. And they were getting better at it. Miranda's intelligence had provided him a few small victories, but they had nowhere near the resources needed to build the Crucible. Cerberus's capture or extermination of scientists had been ruthless.

"Your mole is not as valuable as I was led to believe."

"Considering she's the only reason Cerberus hasn't completely trashed us, I'd say Miranda is doing plenty."

"She allows you to win skirmishes while you continue to lose the war. And yet you continue to expend far more energy than she warrants. A trip to the Citadel for no other reason than to see her when we should have been battling the Reapers. Conversations with no discernible strategic purpose."

Irritation simmered like boiling water in a teakettle. "I'm sorry Miranda hasn't provided the magic 'Win' button that you were expecting, but I can't spend every waking second in battle. Human brains aren't designed that way. I'm doing my job as best I can. The rachni and all the major mercenary groups are on our side. That's not nothing.

"I can feel her everywhere on the ship. Her presence is burned into the very walls. Her aura mingles with yours every time I attempt to sense you."

"Really?" Matt asked, fascinated despite himself. The Prothean's ability to sense people, even those long absent or dead, by touching objects that once belonged to them, intrigued him. It was the sort of thing that should have been magic, but wasn't. Frightening too. It made it almost impossible to lie in the Prothean's presence. "What do I look like? What does she look like?"

"You are like ice embedded in flesh. The ice is very beautifully carved, its colors shifting in the light, but the bleeding would be profuse were it ever removed." He shook his head. "Such close emotional entanglements are not good for soldiers. You must be willing to give up everything for victory. We need to win this war."

"And I need something to make this war bearable," Matt muttered. "I've sacrificed plenty." He closed his eyes. Tali had died from a suit rupture sustained in the ventilation shafts of the Collector Base. Garrus had given his life to see the crew safely back. He'd allowed Grunt to go to his death on Tuchanka so Matt could save the more valuable rachni allies. And, of course, there was the oldest and cruelest wound of all. He might have been a great artist whose work hung in galleries and museums all across the galaxy. Maybe. There was no way to know. He'd thrown away the chance before he could find out. "Plenty."

"But she is different." The gold eyes narrowed. "She should not be. You should treat her as-what is the human metaphor?—another piece on the chessboard, protected or sacrificed according to her value."

Irritation turned to anger. "You've never been in love, have you?"

At first, Matt thought the Prothean wouldn't answer. But then he said, "Another soldier in my unit. Very clever and determined we would drive the Reapers away somehow. The hope was… intoxicating. I gorged myself on him and his idealism." The weariness in his voice was gone, replaced by something sharp and bitter. "He was indoctrinated like the rest, in the end. I slit his throat last. So I know whereof I speak, human."

"I'm sorry." It was utterly inadequate, but what else could he say to a revelation like that?

"Do not apologize. Just remember that it may be your lover's throat that you have to slit someday. Every day we fight, a hundred thousand might be indoctrinated."

No pressure or anything. Miranda as an indoctrinated slave was something he preferred not to think about. Not merely for the obvious reasons. She has worked so hard to carve a life separate from her father's influence that having that independence he so loved stripped from her would degrade her more than anything Matt could imagine. Yes, he would kill her if it came to that and he hoped that she would do the same for him. As for sacrificing her for the sake of the mission, well he hadn't exactly coddled her during the assault on the Collector base. Miranda wouldn't have had it any other way; she'd been wounded while providing a distraction that allowed Matt and the rest of his team to reach the heart of the station. She was risking her life now by feeding him information about Cerberus while he sat half a galaxy away. No one could ask for more.

It was sometime later before Matt trooped up to the captain's quarters. By rights, he shouldn't have been here, but Kaidan said he felt awkward being so far away from the rest of the crew and having so much space. There were times Matt wondered if it wasn't his idea of a peace offering. He'd made good use of the space. A holographic map of the galaxy dominated one wall. Worlds held by the Alliance or its allies were in blue. Worlds confirmed overrun by the Reapers were in red. Planets or stations held by pirates or similar—those who weren't exactly allies but could be counted on to value their continued existence above all things—were green. Cerberus worlds were orange. Planets of unknown status were white.

There was far too much red and white on the map.

Matt pulled out his charcoal pencils and paper and drew. Miranda had always been a frequent subject, but even more so now that she was away from the Normandy. But this was not Miranda as she was now, but Miranda as she had been when he first met her as a teenager. She had been his biotics tutor, and had had the power to back it up. That power had come at a horrible price. Her biotics had not been the result of in-utero eezo exposure the way Matt's had been. Her father had implanted her nervous system with eezo nodules. She shouldn't have survived. As it was, she had been plagued by chronic pain and seizures. More than once, he'd gone to the house she'd rented expecting a lesson, only to find her confined to her bed. Overexertion could set her off. Hell, coffee had set her off. He'd given her a damn seizure the first time they'd had sex. New implants had curbed her power to merely above average instead of extraordinary, but they'd taken away the pain, too. When he'd met her again on Lazarus Station, he'd been determined to hate her for being Cerberus. That had lasted until he'd seen her shred a mech with her biotics. She didn't have to be careful anymore. He'd been too happy to hate her.

But it was the careful girl he wanted to capture. As exhausted and haunted as Miranda looked now, she had been worse. Things have gotten better. They would get better this time, too.

The computer beeped, indicating someone wanted to set up a private vid conversation. Matt frowned. The sender was private and the channel encrypted. Even Hackett hadn't gone to that level of secrecy when he told Matt about Kenson. Probably some warlord or someone else who didn't want it known that he was talking to the Alliance. Matt's gaze flickered to the map. Turning a green or white planet into a blue was a good thing, and it wouldn't cost him anything to find out what his mystery caller wanted.

The face on the screen made his blood run cold. It was a handsome face. High, perfectly sculpted cheekbones, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes. Everyone knew that face. Robert Eldfell was the richest, most powerful man in the galaxy. He could set the price of helium-3 with a snap of his fingers. His Arcian Foundation had jumped the field of genetics forward a century. But that wasn't what Matt thought of when he saw Eldfell. Eldfell had had three daughters. All had died tragically at a young age. The youngest, Claire, had died of a brain hemorrhage when she was sixteen. At least that was the story.

The truth was that Claire had run away and changed her name to Miranda Lawson.

Matt snarled. "What do you want?" He wasn't by nature a vengeful man. The enemy of his enemy was his friend. There were only two people in the galaxy he truly hated: Kai Leng and Robert Eldfell. They weren't merely threats to be neutralized like mercenaries or the average Cerberus trooper. He wanted them dead in the most painful way he could devise. Eldfell had nearly killed Miranda just so he could have his shiny new biotic and coated himself in so much money and influence that even a Spectre couldn't touch him.

And yet, part of Matt's mind remained calm. Miranda had said she feared Eldfell and Cerberus were negotiating a deal for the return of Oriana. This could be his only chance to find out more about that, tip Miranda off. As much as he wished he could reach through the screen and crush Eldfell's windpipe, he had to keep the man talking.

"Very well. Straight to business, then." Eldfell's voice had the same clipped, precise quality as his daughter's. "I know you don't like me, Shepard, and frankly. I don't like you. Your escapades in Nos Astra set me back considerably. But I haven't gotten to where I am by holding grudges."

"And your point?"

"I want to make a deal. My agents have noticed you seem to be collecting a large amount of resources, as well as recruiting science teams. I can only assume it has something to do with this war. I can help. EAE's resources rival those of some species. Fuel for dreadnoughts, technical expertise, genetic modifications for your soldiers. Whatever you need, I can get you."

"And what do you want for this oh-so-generous contribution to saving your own hide?" Hell, Matt might even take him up on the offer. He could bleed the man and his company dry before he disemboweled him with a rusty knife. And like it or not, his resources could be useful. Those technical experts could go a long way towards building the Crucible.

"It's very simple. I want my daughter. It was your intervention that denied her to me. That makes you the most logical person to hire to get her back."

"Not on your life."

"Be reasonable, Commander. Oriana is my daughter. Any jury in Citadel space would convict Claire of kidnapping. I only want what's mine."

"So you can implant her with eezo and give her demands no one can meet? No thanks."

Eldfell didn't even blink. "By the time Claire was twenty, she had already trained you. Flawed and defective as she is, she's had an enormous impact on the galaxy. What has Oriana done? Mooned after some boy?" He continued, his voice smooth and even, "Let's grant that I am as horrible a father as you seem to think I am. Oriana's life will be ruined. Very well. I'm offering to help you save the galaxy. You might be able to do it without me, but you might not. Is one twenty-year-old—who, as far as I can tell you've never even met—worth the lives of trillions?"

Perhaps he should have considered it. This was exactly the sort of sacrifice the Prothean had spoken of: the happiness of a few for the good of the many. Even Miranda might have considered it, had it been anyone else's little sister on offer. But memory overpowered him.

Miranda's skin was ashen, and her eyes were glazed with pain. The pillows surrounding her on the bed made her look small and frail. Matt knelt over her. This was as bad as he had ever seen her. He wondered if she even knew he was here. He brushed her lips with his own like some fairytale prince. But no miracles occurred. There was nothing he or anyone else could do. Except stay with her. So he did.

The scene shifted. Miranda was no longer frail. Her eyes shone with rage, betrayal, and disbelief as she leveled the gun at Niket. "You took his money? You knew what kind of man my father was and you took his money?"

"Don't get holy with me, Miri. You took his money for years."

No, Matt wasn't that faithless. He would give the Illusive Man the base he coveted. He would brainwash heretic geth. But this? It would break Miranda, and it would break him. "She's worth more than you'll ever be. Let me make this absolutely clear to you. Not only will I not help you get Oriana back, I will personally hunt you down and hit you with a biotic blast so strong that they will never find all the pieces of your corpse if you even so much as think about coming after her."

"So melodramatic." Eldfell made a show of checking his fingernails. "Oh, well. I'm sure there are others who are willing to make a deal. Goodbye, commander." The screen winked off.

Others? Cerberus. He means Cerberus. Matt broke into a sweat. Even if the Illusive Man believed Miranda to be a perfectly loyal operative, Matt had no doubts what choice he would make if Eldfell offered him the same deal. He'd been a fool who let his temper get the better of him. He should have strung Eldfell along. Instead, he'd placed Oriana in danger as surely as if he had kidnapped her. He had to talk to Miranda. He pulled the communicator from a desk drawer and prayed she was somewhere where they could talk.

Miranda's face was pale, but her eyes were sharp and alert. "Matt? I'm glad you called. I've got a lead for you. Kahlee Sanders. She's had run-ins with Cerberus in the past, but she's also a brilliant scientist and—what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"In a manner of speaking." He relayed the conversation he'd just had, the words coming faster and faster as he did so. Miranda listened quietly, the only sign of emotion a slight thinning of her lips. Matt finished and waited for the axe to fall.

It didn't, at least not in the way he was expecting. "He would have kept his word, you know," she said softly. "Given you everything you asked and more."

"You're not angry that I might have just pushed him to Cerberus?"

"Considering that I wouldn't have gotten half as far in the conversation, I don't think I'm in a position to judge, really." She stared at him. There was no ice in her gaze, but the appraisal still made him feel as if she could see everything about him. "I need to know that you didn't do this because of me. Because my father is right, as much as I hate to admit it: his help could make the difference between victory and defeat."

"Your father is scum." He might've actually been conflicted over handing someone else over to their abusive father, but he still would have made the same decision. Right? It was one of those things that was simply Not Done, no matter how desperate you were. Never mind that he never would have known exactly how abusive Eldfell could be if he wasn't Miranda's father, too. Never mind that he had seen Miranda's eyes shine with love and pride every time she mentioned her little sister. Never mind that he had seen what killing Niket had done to her. Never mind any of that. He'd still done the right thing. The personal connection just made it easier.

"Oh, Matt." Her voice cracked. "I knew this was stupid. You should be focused on saving the galaxy, not my sister."

"You would have done the same thing."

"Because she's my sister." She laughed bitterly. "It's funny. Everyone always talks as if love is the best thing in the world. They don't mention how weak it can make you. Letting the galaxy burn because of one girl. And I'd do it, just as you would."

"Hey! It's not weakness. It's human. Having a modicum of decency is what separates us from people like your father. And he isn't the only wealthy man out there. Most of them won't even lay conditions on saving their lives." Matt's hand hovered over the holographic image of Miranda. He wished desperately he could hug her. "We just need to convince them." Whatever the price, I'll pay it. As long as it isn't this.

Miranda shook her head, her eyes bright. "You amaze me." She swallowed. "I need to go. It won't be long before my father approaches the Illusive Man. I need to hide Oriana. And myself. Cerberus will see me more of a liability now than an asset. I just wish that I could have helped you more."

"You did plenty. If you need a place to stay, you can use the apartment on Intai'sei. Nice view. I think you'll like it. It's the least I can do, after everything."

"Thank you," she whispered.

"It's just an apartment."

"Not for that."

"Oh." He blushed. "I'll, ah, let you go. I'm sure you have a thousand preparations to make."

He cut the communicator off and slumped into the nearest chair. The map loomed above him, mocking. "Well, what did you want me to do?" Matt asked no one in particular. "Ruin her life on the chance that it would make a difference?"

The red lights gleamed in the darkness.