A dull ache crept its way up Miranda's right leg. She had known pain before—a twisted ankle or broken arm—but it had never been the constant presence that it was now. It slithered beneath the surface, sometimes little more than an irritant and sometimes a sharp lance of agony, but it was always there. Marking her. The brace rubbed against her and sweat pooled against her skin. She sighed. Another hour and she would hopefully be ensconced in her new quarters. She could be rid of her modern ball and chain and take a nice warm bath.

"You look tired," Kelly said softly, her syrupy sweet voice somehow more irritating than the brace. "Are you sure you don't want to take a nap before we land? Or I can get the Andrex?"

"God, no." She hated the Andrex. It dulled the pain, but it dulled everything else as well. Her mind felt as if it had been swathed in cotton. Food tasted strange. And everything was blurry. "I haven't seen General Petrovsky in person for three years. I'm not spending our reunion high as a kite." He'd seen her far worse, but dignity still counted for something.

"There's no shame in asking for help. I realize living with a disability can be difficult, but pretending nothing's wrong is counterproductive. "

Miranda held up a hand. "Spare me the motivational speeches. You're my personal assistant, not my therapist."

Kelly cracked a smile. "I guess I was laying it on a bit thick. But you saved my life! If you hadn't escorted us back, we'd all be dead. Helping was the least I can do." She shivered. "Those pods were so dark."

"I did nothing more than my duty." John had ordered her to escort the rest of the crew back while he pressed on. The assignment had wounded her pride. The crew was expendable. It was better for them to live than not, of course, but rescuing them was incidental to stopping the Collectors and saving millions more lives. She had never feared death, but surely she had a responsibility to die where and when it would do the most good?

But John had ordered her, and Miranda had been determined to bring all of Lazarus Cell home. After Aratoht, he had said that she couldn't help him, that all her connections, her carefully cultivated contacts throughout every level of the Alliance, were trash. It would be best if they called their affair off. Clearly there was no future here. Her protestations that the Alliance would let go after a few months because no one really wanted the Hero of Elysium in jail fell on deaf ears. It didn't matter that Miranda knew a dozen people who might have at least allowed his cage to be gilded. As soon as the mission was over, he would turn himself in. He was done with Cerberus. And her.

So she had been determined to show him exactly how much help she could be. The falling debris had been a cosmic joke.

She'd been unconscious for three days and hospitalized for three months. The doctors were unanimous; Henry's genetic enhancements had saved her life, and even then she was lucky not to be paralyzed. But she would never walk unaided again. The scars on her face and body would be permanent. She was fitted with orthotics and given a cane. They sent her to pain management classes. It was the last part that was especially galling. Pain was something to be eliminated, not managed.

And then the Illusive Man had offered her a miracle. Studies at the Collector base were already paying dividends. Project Phantom had prototyped implants that would make her even faster and more agile than before. Technology would improve upon what Henry had created. All she had to do was be willing to implant herself with Reaper technology. Like Saren. She had turned him down, and Kai Leng had been all too eager to take her place. And now, Miranda had been exiled to Omega to get a project of barely any significance back on track. Crippled and scarred as she was, her mind still had some use to Cerberus. And as long as she was of use, then Oriana was safe.

"I didn't know Cerberus could field that many ships."

Miranda hobbled forward to join her at the window. The sky was filled with ships of every type, from fighter craft to cruisers, all gleaming white and bearing the Cerberus emblem. And at the head of them all was the Elbrus, Cerberus' only dreadnought. Overseeing her construction had been Miranda's last assignment before Lazarus. She would never forget the look of pure pleasure on Oleg's face when she had shown it to him. He had waxed rhapsodic about her relative speed and maneuverability, the Thanix gun that they had stolen from the turians. And it had successfully evicted Aria. Oleg had proven her wrong. Again.

"Gallant, this is Omega Control confirming your approach. Proceed to Docking Bay 19. An escort will meet you there." The controller's voice filter vanished. "And, if I may add a personal note, it's a pleasure to have you back Ms. Lawson."

"Likewise, Hawthorne." At least she would be spending her exile among those who knew and respected her. And Oleg, who had more than respected her.

The docking bays had changed. When she had fled her father's grasp for the second time and come here, the bays had been teeming with fellow refugees. The stink of unwashed bodies had overwhelmed a teenage girl accustomed only to the grounds of her father's estate or the rarefied air of Bekenstein. But now they were all but deserted, a few uniformed guards standing sentry notwithstanding. Scratched and dented metal had been repaired and the walls gleamed brightly as if the station itself was determined to refute her accusations that it was doomed to be nothing more than a pisshole.

"I trust you'll find everything in order, Ms. Lawson."

Miranda stilled. Oleg's voice was almost as familiar to her as her own. His clipped consonants belied a childhood spent in the Ukraine or the life he had spent on Shanxi. Command was infused in every syllable, and he had never needed to raise his voice to make others obey. Even now, Miranda had suppressed an irrational urge to salute. She turned.

Oleg's dress uniform was as immaculate as ever, with its polished brass buttons and gold trim on the cuffs. He had changed, though. He had never been handsome, but new lines had been etched on his face since she saw him last and there was silver on his temples and in his goatee. Exhaustion gave him a subtle pallor and dark rings around his eyes.

And yet… No, he had never been handsome, but there was power in him, and his lean build and the tension in his shoulders. In the careful, correct way he held himself. His dark eyes looked her up and down, passing over the scar on her cheek and down to her brace and cane before settling on her eyes.

Miranda clutched the cane, more out of defiance than a need for support. She could bear the pitying glances of the doctors and nurses because they didn't matter. But pity from this man who had taught her what it was to be a Cerberus officer, who she had—it was unendurable.

But the pity never came. He searched her face, intent, as if he were cataloging every cell for future reference. His eyes grew dark as he inhaled sharply. This was familiar. She had seen it when they first met here twenty years ago, and many times since. That oh-so-carefully veiled desire he was too noble act on. Disbelief coursed through her. The accident had stolen her beauty. Slashes across her face and the limp had frightened away men who once had been struck dumb by her mere presence. She no longer met the standards of the Diamond Circle. So there was no reason Oleg should still be looking at her as if only decency and good breeding prevented him from ripping away her clothes. But he stared at her, his lips pursed in a thin line. He wanted her. Very well.

Miranda straightened and stared at him as if he were a vassal giving her due fealty. Let him stare. She wasn't some little mouse to be broken by an injury or Quasimodo who had to hide in a belltower. This was the natural order of the universe. His fingers twitched, as if he were keeping his hands at his sides with great effort. If she took a few steps forward, she might tempt him to run his fingers through her hair, to forget the protocol that made him address her as Ms. Lawson. Break through that formidable discipline and prove to herself that she still had power.

Kelly coughed, and Miranda shook her head. For now, the niceties still had to be observed. "Yes, General, thank you."

"Excellent." He nodded to the two soldiers flanking them. "See to their luggage and escort Ms. Chambers to her quarters."

The one on the left saluted. "Aye, aye."

And then they were alone.

The tension in Oleg's shoulders dissipated like fog before sunlight as he gifted her with a wide smile. "My dear," he murmured as he raised her free hand to his lips. He pressed his mouth to her palm, and Miranda shivered. She had almost forgotten his strange, quaint courtesy. He might command a dreadnought, but there was a part of him that belonged more to the world of cavalry charges than space battles.

His beard scratched against her skin as he kissed her a bit too hard for a bit too long. Oleg never demanded anything, but his desire was as obvious as the neon lights of Afterlife if one knew how to look. He had always been her superior or she had already taken a lover. But now they were unattached equals. Her lips twitched. Seduction was definitely in order.

"I've impressed you at last, I think." He released her hand and gestured expansively at the docking bay. "Clean, orderly, and no one tried to extort you. If fortune smiles upon us, someday Omega will truly be the Citadel of the Terminus: a bastion of civilization where the strong no longer do as they please while the weak suffer what they must."

"A bastion of civilization? There's never been any law on Omega, and I don't think there ever will be. Even Aria only prevented wholesale massacres."

He made a contemptuous noise in the back of his throat. "Aria was never interested in law, just in her own power and glory. You say that it's impossible to bring order to Omega? Well, what is Cerberus for but doing the impossible? There are two million humans on this station. We aren't the Alliance. Our obligations don't stop at some artificial border. I've been put in a position to help these people, and I'm going to do it."

Miranda smiled. "Such a romantic."

"And you're not? Conquering death like that. Constructing Elbrus. I merely wish to take the optimism you have for science and apply it to the political realm."

The muscles in her leg seized in protest and Miranda leaned against the nearest wall. "I've become better acquainted with the limits of science that I ever wanted to."

He sobered. "Forgive me. The car is around the corner. Can you make it that far?"

She looked. Five meters. The pain was moderate. She could stay on her feet that long. "If you're not in a hurry."

"Of course not."

She hobbled forward. Oleg didn't say anything, but walked beside her, his expression akin to a man watching as an antique piece of china wobbled precariously on the edge of the table. Miranda kept her gaze on the ground in front of her and she hobbled forward, watching for any unexpected debris or other obstacles. The pain ran up and down her leg, but didn't overwhelm her. Step by step. Deep breaths. Don't let it control you.

They got to the car, and Miranda climbed inside. Oleg sighed in visible relief as he took the driver's seat. Miranda raised an eyebrow. "I'm not glass, Oleg. I don't break."

"I know, I know." He shook his head. "I was so worried when I heard. We thought you were going to die, and I couldn't even get leave to visit you. I should have insisted more strongly."

She knew what that was like. All personal connections gave way before their duty. How many lovers had she left because her current assignment would take her to some obscure corner of the galaxy for months or years on end? He was no different from any other Cerberus officer. "You can make up for it by explaining exactly how you plan to pacify Omega."

"We've cordoned off each of the districts with the shielding technology developed at Avernus. It allows us to keep a closer eye on the population and makes escape attempts more difficult. The on-station protein vats provide food for both us and the station residents, so we're able to be almost completely self-sufficient. Curfew is strictly enforced."

"Sounds… unpleasant for the people living here."

"I don't doubt it. A guerrilla movement led by the Talon mercenary company has sprung up. The engagements have been inconclusive so far. I've asked the Illusive Man for more men, but he's made receiving the new implants a condition. It wasn't a price I was willing to pay. Nor were you, from what I understand."

"No." And it had cost her more than her leg. The Illusive Man increasingly only listened to those who had received the implants, claiming that their increased mental acuity and focus made them more trustworthy. And so she had been replaced by men like Kai Leng while others like Jacob left altogether.

"And so we must make do with what we have. The techs are studying a batch of LOKI mechs we received from Eclipse, but I don't know how useful they'll be. Stupid, slow, and with armor like tissue paper. And Atlases aren't practical for containment duty."

Miranda furrowed her brow. This was precisely the kind of challenge that had earned her her status as the Illusive Man's right hand and heir apparent: how to complete a Herculean task with limited resources and manpower. Oleg's vision for Omega was a utopian dream, but it was a challenge nonetheless. How to keep the soldiers safe and effective, to show that there was a viable alternative that didn't involve implanting Reaper technology to directly into the human body. "Let me take a look at those mechs. And the shielding. We might be able to scale it down to increase armoring for both them and your troops. And create energy-based melee weapons. Project Phoenix was doing some fascinating work in those areas before the Illusive Man shut them down."

"If you could do that… well, whether the Illusive Man meant your posting here as exile or not, I'm glad you're here. I have my talents Miranda, but they're suited to commanding a battlefield, not a city. But you've always had a talent for administration. What did Brynn say when we were all posted to Illium? You know how to squeeze a credit chit until it screams, sniff out eezo at a distance of a hundred paces, and bend the laws of physics all before lunch.'"

Miranda's cheeks warmed. Appreciation of her talents had been rarer than platinum since her injury. She was either useless, pitiful, or both. But whatever strange effect she had on Oleg allowed him to remember who and what she was. "I only slightly modified Bekenstein's First Law."

He laughed. "I have missed you so, my dear. With your help, I think we might be able to create something truly impressive. The Illusive Man wants shock troops. We'll give him that and more. An army that has truly mastered and integrated Reaper technology without indoctrination. And a city worth defending with that army."

John scowled at her. "You… Cerberus… you can't help me. If people knew I was sleeping with the Cerberus second-in-command, it would just be another reason to crucify me. We can go back to what we were. The best thing for you to do is stay away."

"Oleg, I'd be delighted to help you."

"Good." He smiled, and some of the light seemed to come back into his eyes. "And we're here."

He stopped in front of a grey tower unadorned except for a Cerberus logo. "Barracks for the science and command staff. Your room is on the ground floor. We received a copy of your medical records, and we've done our best to accommodate your injury. The entire complex is accessible by elevator, including the transit system to the command center. Handrails have been installed in your bathroom, if you require them. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "And I've promised to personally dock the pay of anyone who leaves things lying in the hall."

"Thank you." She could live and do her job with a minimum of discomfort. If her plans for Oleg went as well as she hoped, her stay on Omega might be enjoyable after all.

"I'll see you inside. Make sure everything is in order and all that. Wouldn't want your luggage mislaid." His expression was neutral, but his speech was just a little too rapid for him to completely hide his emotions. Well, if he wanted to spend more time with her, Miranda certainly wasn't going to turn him down.

Cold assaulted Miranda as she stepped into the lobby. It bit through her jacket and worked its way under her skin. Her muscles seized and clenched as her nerve endings sprang to unpleasant life. Miranda closed her eyes and inhaled as she had been taught. Ten, nine, eight… don't think about it. The cold seeped its way into the joints of her knee and him, and it was a battle for dominance between body and mind.

"Miranda!" Oleg said sharply. "What's wrong?"

"The cold. Makes my leg stiff and sore. Add in the long day and, well, you see."

"This wasn't mentioned in the file they sent me." Oleg swore under his breath. "Can you make it to your room?"

Miranda shook her head. "Not without help."

He half-dragged her to a chair a few steps away. "We did have the presence of mind to get a basic model hoverchair. Would you like me to call for it?"

Miranda nodded. Not the impression she wanted to make on her first day, certainly not to a man she planned on sleeping with, but there was no place in her life for foolish pride anymore. Oleg turned away and murmured something in his communicator. "It's on its way."

And a few minutes later, a beige hoverchair, its paint flecking off, zoomed toward her as if guided by an invisible driver. Oleg took a step toward her, but Miranda waved him away. "I can get into it." She forced herself to her feet and pivoted to sit down in the chair. The cushion was hard. Miranda grimaced. She had hoped to be done with these things once the physical therapists announced they could do no more. Well, she was getting good at being disappointed.

Oleg led her down a corridor to her right. He didn't speak or look at her, but kept his eyes firmly on the ground. Miranda frowned as she tried to block out the pain. Was the chair the straw that broke the camel's back? Final proof that she was no longer the woman he had lusted after for so long? The therapists had showered her in pamphlets; a cascade of the blind, lame, and deaf tastefully done in pastels, assuring her how her sexual and social life could continue unimpeded. Only it hadn't. It might have if she had had the first idea how to manage the small talk and pretense of interest in anything beyond sexual release that characterized modern dating. Without iPartners, without the cold, classical perfection that enthralled even the Hero of Elysium, Miranda had no idea how to proceed. Except that Oleg had seemed determined to go on being enchanted anyway. Probably.

He opened the door for her and Miranda gratefully glided inside the room. It was much as her quarters had always been when she was on assignment: little more than a bed, desk, and dresser. Her suitcase sat tantalizingly on the bed. Inside was the blessed, hated Andrex that was her best shot at relief.

Oleg watched her with the same distant, melancholy expression. He turned on his communicator again. "Authorize power reroute from sector 0579 to 0973 and raise global thermostat to 22 degrees. Yes, I'm serious. Yes, now, unless you want to be reassigned to sewage treatment. Petrovsky out."

The room began to warm immediately and Miranda let out a breath. It would take time for her muscles to relax and the pain to fade—and she'd still need her dose of Andrex—but warmth was heaven.

"Is that better?"

"God, yes." She managed a smile for him and pointed at his chest. "Angling for more medals?"

He didn't smile back. "It was my fault in the first place. We've instituted a rolling brownout to enable us to power the force fields without blowing the generators. This building is scheduled for Tuesdays. I'll reroute to exempt this building and the labs where the adjutant experiments take place. Give either me or Corporal Matthews an hour's notice if you need to travel elsewhere."

"You're using that much power?"

"An unfortunate necessity. We were unable to restrict guerrilla movements with standard containment procedures. We try to spread the power outages out evenly as much as we can. But accommodating your injury takes precedence, naturally."

Miranda massaged her thigh through her trousers. "I hope sector 0579 is as accommodating as you are." He shifted foot to foot but didn't answer, and Miranda raised an eyebrow. "What is sector 0579?"

"Does it matter?"

"Oleg…"

He cleared his throat. "It's, ah, my personal quarters and offices." His voice was often the same breakneck pace as before. "It was my mistake in not being sufficiently informed of your needs, so I must pay the price. Don't worry, I have sufficient blankets."

"I—" Miranda swallowed hard. Why did he have to be so stupidly noble, creating a dozen small debts for her to scramble to repay? She had thought she loved John, but this man who had lusted after her so openly that she had picked up on it as a teenager was the one acting like the hero of the books she had read when Henry wasn't looking. Romance was out of the question—what sort of future could there be when the Reapers could come charging in at any moment?—but perhaps she could even the score and prove she wasn't a complete invalid. "Perhaps we can discuss your chivalric streak when I'm not in pain?"

For the briefest of moments, Oleg's face wore an expression of such hope that the lump in Miranda's throat threatened to engulf her entire body. She had not guessed wrong after all. Oleg schooled his expression into one of polite inquiry. "What are you asking?"

"I want an affair." She took his hand in hers. She had known him for over half her life; he deserved more than seductive artifice. Emotional exposure to complement the physical. "I can't promise you anything. But after these past few months, I want the company of an old friend for as long as it could be enjoyable."

It was Oleg's turn to swallow. "I didn't do this so you would sleep with me."

Miranda stared. Twenty years later and he was still terrified of extorting her? No. "I'm asking, because I want this. Not because I think I'm obligated." She dared to kiss his fingers. They were rough and callused from a lifetime of holding rifles. Oleg didn't pull back, but let out a shuddering breath. Miranda had missed this, the pure power of being able to incite lust. She moved her lips over his fingertips and palm. "I want this," she repeated between kisses.

His free hand went down on her shoulder. "You're certain?" he asked with such gravity that Miranda could only nod. "God help me."

He bent down to kiss her. They had kissed many times: a kiss of the hand like the one he had used to greet her, a kiss on the cheek after a particularly successful operation. But this felt different. He did no more than press his lips to hers, but something thrummed just beneath, a power she could command for her own pleasure if only she could break through his legendary reserve.

"Here, Friday at 7:30. If that's acceptable?" he asked as if he were a schoolboy wanting to know his marks.

"Yes," Miranda said with a smile. "That's acceptable."