Miranda sat at the vanity, applying lipstick for the first time in months. She studied herself in the mirror. There was no helping the scars on her face, so she had ignored them in favor of accentuating her remaining good features. Her hair was glossy and cascaded to her shoulders in soft waves. Mascara lengthened and shaped her lashes. The lipstick would draw Oleg's attention away from her scars to her mouth. The vanilla scent she wore was designed to subtly enthrall without overwhelming. Seduction was really just another form of war: you pressed your advantages while minimizing your disadvantages.

Her hands shook as she fastened the choker around her neck. She was being silly. It was Oleg who was coming. Oleg who had been transparently besotted with her almost from the moment they met. Oleg who had bent over backwards to accommodate her. A few experiments with the vibrator had assured her that she could still climax, and she could still please him with her hands and mouth. She hadn't been nervous fucking a stranger the last time she was on Omega or seducing John in the engine room. So why were her hands shaking now?

There was a knock at the door. Miranda inhaled and picked up her cane. Once more unto the breach, etc. "It's open."

She arrived in the kitchen/parlor to find Oleg standing just inside. He was still in uniform and seemed ever so slightly out of breath. A thin, square box rested under one arm. His free hand was occupied with smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his shirt. Miranda smiled despite herself. At least she wasn't the only one who was nervous.

His eyes lit up when he saw her, and he looked her up and down appreciatively. "Black is decidedly your color, my dear. I always thought so."

At last, some of the reserve was peeling away. "You should have said something. I would have worn it more often."

"I didn't want to take advantage. But now…" His voice was a low purr that made her shiver. "Yes, you should definitely wear black more often."

She came to him. There would be no hurry tonight. Every hungry glance, every sharp intake of breath was gold to her, medicine for the wounds inflicted on her ego alongside her leg. Her hand traced the muscles of his chest beneath his shirt. Very soon now, that power would be hers to command and use for her pleasure.

He pulled away. "Before I forget, I brought you something." He presented her with the box. "Forgive the cliché, but since wine was out of the question, I thought you might like…"

Miranda took the box. "Open it," he prompted, nervousness lurking just beneath the command.

Miranda sat at the kitchen table and did so. It was chocolate—real chocolate, not the mass-produced imposter usually sold in Omega's market. The pieces sat in their individual containers, ready to be popped in her mouth and savored as the delicacies they were. She tried to remember the last time she had eaten some. Before her injury, probably before the mission had begun. And the last time a man had brought her candy… She hadn't wanted anything that smacked of romance or affection from her iPartners liaisons. It confused the matter too much. John had preferred more practical gifts like a new sight for her pistol, and Jacob had never gone in for that "gift giving bullshit" in the first place. But Oleg had given her chocolate. Terribly old-fashioned.

She swallowed hard. "I—I don't know what to say."

"I apologize if I made a mistake. I thought you'd appreciate a small gift." His voice was soft. His head wasbowed and tension corded his shoulders. "But if you would prefer to simply begin I quite understand."

"No." She reached to cup his cheek and kissed him. He relaxed slightly and Miranda increased the pressure. He was a man out of time, with his impeccable and sometimes maddening courtesy. And he was her oldest friend since Niket had betrayed her. Of course he wouldn't be content with simply marching to the bedroom and having at it. She opened her mouth to him. Oleg was wet and soft and warm. He kissed her slowly and moved his tongue as deliberately as if he were directing soldiers on the battlefield. Miranda closed her eyes and returned the favor. Quiet pleasure meandered through her. It was a relief to simply be able to take her time and not be watching the clock while the idiot she met on the extranet undid his fly.

"I'm in no hurry at all," she said when she pulled back. And to prove it, she nibbled at a piece of chocolate. It was sweet. Better than sweet. Smooth and rich in a way that made her not so much want to eat it as simply let it sit there and evaporate in her mouth. Oleg watched her with a mixture of hunger and pleasure. "Want some?" She cocked her head to one side, pretending to think. "Or was that what you were thinking of eating?

He blushed. "Miranda…"

Miranda smiled again, glad to be on more familiar ground. "Have some. If I recall correctly, you have something of a sweet tooth." When he didn't move, she added, "Come now. It's always better to share among friends."

"Friends," he repeated, a little wistful. "We are friends."

Something clicked into place for Miranda. Was that what he was worried about? "Of course we are. Now we're just friends who are having sex. And when you get sick of me or I'm transferred to the other end of the galaxy, we'll still be friends." Really, the very idea that she would discard him was absurd. She had rescued him from slavers. He had taught her of Tolstoy and White. Sex was nothing to that.

"Have a piece," she repeated, more gently.

This time, he acquiesced. Miranda watched him. Like her, he nibbled, because like her, he knew exquisite things when he saw them. Who knew when such luxuries would come their way again? Some of the lines around his face smoothed and he relaxed a little more. If a simple pleasure like chocolate could soothe him, then what could she do? She would please him. This would not be like the last time on Omega. She would watch as the last of his control shattered. More of those lines would vanish. She would carve out a place where there were no Talons or adjutants for him or leg braces or faithless Alliance officers for her.

"Are you ready?"

He nodded and silently followed her to the bedroom. She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at him. His gaze was intent on her, filled with as much calculation as lust. "What?" she murmured.

He blushed again. "It's rather difficult to explain. I'm not accustomed to talking about such matters." He took a deep breath. "What can you do?"

"What can I—oh." Oh. "I'm still quite capable if that's what you're wondering." She looked at him, pride welling up within. "Quite capable indeed."

"Is there anything in particular I need to do?"

Of all the times for Mordin not to be on Omega. He would have found a way to slip Oleg an instruction manual the moment he even thought about having sex with her. "Don't ask me to kneel." Perhaps there was a way to kill two birds with one stone: to begin repaying him for the chocolate and to reassure him of her continued health. "Do you trust me?"

He looked at her as if she had asked him whether the sky was blue. "Of course."

"Then I think it's time to reward you for being such a gentleman. If you could lean against the wall."

"What are you doing?"

"Rewarding you," she said with a smile. "Unzip your trousers."

His cheeks reddened, but he pulled down his zipper in a quick motion. Oleg wasn't especially large. Good. More likely to be comfortable later on. A blue vein worked its way down the side of his cock. Miranda stared at it. There was a time when she would have dropped to her knees, eager to suck him off. Those days were gone, but she was creative and brilliant. And she could move things with her mind.

The power danced across her fingers and wreathed Miranda's hand in blue light. She ran her hand up and down an imaginary cock, and was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath from Oleg. She did it again. Again. His breath came in short gasps. Miranda smirked. Jack might have her beat when it came to raw power, but she had her skills. Her power spiked, and Oleg groaned. Such as knowing just how hard she could press without hurting him, and without her own sense of touch as a guide. The phantom fingers strolled up to his base.

"Miranda," he managed, "stop."

The power died. "You didn't like it?" Men usually liked it when she used her biotics on them. Surely she wasn't that out of practice?

"I liked it a little too much," he said between pants. "But this is all out of order. You're still dressed!"

Miranda laughed. Was that all? So particular. She could work with that. She patted the bed beside her. "You're welcome to do something about that."

It was his turn to smile as he sank beside her. His mouth was on her as his arms came around her shoulders. He traced her scars with his mouth, lavishing his attention on them. Miranda shivered. "No," she whispered. "Kiss me as if they weren't there."

Affection and concern flickered across Oleg's face. "As you wish." He moved over from her mouth to her cheeks and down her jawline. Pinpricks of heat shot up where his beard scratched against her. He seemed determined to cover every inch of her face in kisses. Miranda followed suit as best she could, tracing the lines of his face with her mouth. It was a kind of game: who could reach more of the other's bare skin with their mouth?

She unfastened his coat. Miranda stared hungrily as his bared chest was revealed to her. There was no such thing as an out of shape Cerberus officer, but Oleg was delicious. He was lean and athletic, more like a swimmer or a rower than a bodybuilder. She ran her fingers over his lightly-furred chest. These muscles had been crafted for work, not show. Faint scars dotted his chest, some jagged and some little more than discolored lines. This one a legacy of the week he had spent as a prisoner of the Blue Suns right here on Omega. And that one… from a gunshot wound Henry's guards had given him when he helped her get away with Oriana. She pressed her lips to it.

He pushed her away, gently but firmly. "Kiss me as if they weren't there."

"It's not the same at all."

"Isn't it? I was hurt because I chose to help you. You chose to help your men. The only difference is severity and that something finally got past that remarkable healing ability of yours." He smiled that smug, superior smile of his, the one he used when he had successfully proved that some maxim coined by Wellington or Rommel applied equally well to space battle. "So I'm afraid you'll have to choose."

Maddening, infuriating man. Kiss him as of the scars weren't there, hmm? As he wished. She rained kisses down on his chest. He groaned and Miranda laughed. So delightfully incoherent. Much better.

He groped for the zipper of her jumpsuit, and Miranda scooted to allow him better access. Said healing factor had left her torso mostly unscarred and the way Oleg looked at her as if she were a steak he wanted to devour sent a thrill through her. He cupped her breast reverently as he peeled her bra away. Sparks went through her. She'd almost forgotten how good it could feel. A pleased, pleading noise issued from somewhere in the back of her throat. He pulled her jacket away

And stopped. "Your brace. Would you, would you prefer me to remove it, or would you rather do it yourself?"

Miranda looked down at the contraption of metal and plastic that encased her right leg and laughed. She'd forgotten it. For the first time in months, she had allowed herself to forget the hot, uncomfortable symbol of her injury. Tonight would be worth it just for that. "You do it."

He slid off the bed and knelt in front of her. He undid the straps quickly and quietly and gently pulled the brace away and lay on the floor. "My squire," she murmured as she luxuriated in the sudden coolness. The Terror of New Macau on his knees for her? Her hands fisted in his hair as she leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead.

He removed her boots. "My lady," he answered with a hint of irony as a smile played across his lips. "Tell me what you want." He offered her a hand up and let her use him as support as she removed her trousers and panties. A warning twinge fired through her leg, but Miranda forced it down. Not tonight.

She settled back on the bed. "You. Let me look at you."

He stood and quickly stripped away his own clothing. After he had brought her to Cerberus and it had dawned on her that he would never take her to bed, she had thought he was a pompousfool more concerned with his rank and his books back than actually getting anything done. Stripped away the trappings of command and he would be nothing. She knew better now, but it was still a delight to see him like this. Even naked, he was a soldier, command and self-control radiating from his very posture. He met her gaze. There was nothing veiled in his hunger now. Soon, very soon.

"Just tell me what I need to do."

She grabbed the nearest pillow. "My knee and hip aren't what they used to be, but the brochure assures me that these things compensate for that wonderfully." She forced a smile, her voice filled with a seductiveness she wasn't entirely sure she felt that moment. "I'd like to test that theory." Please let this work. Please. She rolled over. "Put it between my legs. You'll have to come in from behind."

He placed the pillow as she'd instructed. She felt the mattress shift as he climbed in beside her. His breath tickled against her ear. Miranda felt strange in the unfamiliar position. She had always preferred to be on top, watching her lovers as they surrendered themselves to her. "Not how you thought it would be, is it?"

"No," he admitted. "But there are compensations." His arms came around her, and he stroked her breasts leisurely, Miranda let out a long, shuddering breath. Desire shot through her. His hands were large and slightly calloused, and she savored the feel of his roughened skin on hers. Pleasure with just the slightest hint of pain. Exquisite.

One hand wandered downward to trace the muscles of her abdomen. His breathing was as the harsh and ragged as her own. He moved lower. His thumb brushed against her clit, and Miranda gasped. A vibrator was all well and good, but it was nothing compared to a real lover with real hands. He laughed against her. His voice was strained, but as rich and polished as ever. "Enjoying yourself?"

Miranda chose not to dignify that with a response.

The pressure increased to short, smooth strokes. Miranda's world became sharper and narrower. Pain retreated. John discarding her, Rolston's death, even the constant pain in her leg, all gave way before the rising tide of pleasure. Nothing existed except his fingers touching her, his breath tickling against her ear. Miranda made a keening noise. "Now."

She felt him tense slightly. Oh no, he couldn't stop now. Not when she was so close to getting what she wanted and the ending the long months of enforced celibacy. "You're not going to hurt me." She panted. "Just put in in!"

He did. The first thrust was shallow and tentative. Miranda tried to catch it as best she could. She would never come from penetration alone at this rate. Oleg seemed to realize it too as his fingers returned to her. Strokes became circles. Miranda moaned and clutched the sheets with all the strength she possessed. "Like that. Good. More." Pressure built within her and then spilled over as if her body were a dam besieged by a flood. Oleg gave a hoarse grunt as he thrust into her one last time. She forgot how to think, how to breathe, and for the first time in far too long she knew nothing but pleasure as her climax overtook her.

When Miranda came back to herself, she was still curled up on her side. Her body, the sheets, and even the pillow were damp with sweat, but she was too lazy and content to care. Oleg had disentangled himself from her, but she could feel the solid weight of him still pressed against her. He made lazy circles on her shoulders. "Was that what you wanted?"

"Oh, yes."

There was a long pause. "Do you want me to leave now?"

Miranda frowned. He wasn't an iPartners liaison. This wasn't an engine room she had to flee before Daniels and Donnelly were back from break. And he was so delightfully warm. "Stay. Only, come around to the other side. I feel ridiculous talking to you like this."

"If I can stand," he said with a chuckle.

He moved around to the other side of the bed, and Miranda edged back to accommodate him. His smile was lazy, and there was a spark in his eyes that she hadn't seen since she came here. A smug smile unfurled across her face. She curled against his chest as he stroked her hair. "Was that what you wanted?"

"Fishing for compliments, my dear?" He smoothed a strand that had fallen in front of her face. "Yes, that's what I wanted."

"And there's still so much more left to come." She settled down against him, listening to the beat of his heart. "We're going to win, you'll see. You'll figure out a way to get those Talons under control, and I'll master Reaper technology. The Illusive Man won't even remember why he ever thought the implants were a good idea."

He didn't answer for a long time, and when he did his voice was distant. "I hope so. We're so shorthanded and I would appreciate the Illusive Man finally deigning to give us reinforcements. Though the techs have finally got a prototype of the new LOKI to show me. I assume you still want to attend that meeting?"

"Of course I do." She kissed him lightly, but he didn't respond. "What's wrong?"

He sighed. "We arrested an ardat-yakshi this afternoon. Nearly enthralled one of the men while they were attempting to take her into custody. We have her in solitary now."

"Morinth."

"Yes, that's the name. One of them. You know her?"

"John tried to entrap her so the justicar we were traveling with could kill her. It didn't work." John had been livid. Morinth had excused herself to go to the restroom while they were talking and was never seen again. Miranda wasn't sure what had enraged John more: that a murderer had gotten away or that she had somehow suspected he was working with Samara.

"I read the reports. She was on this station for four months, and Aria never raised a hand to stop her except for pointing Shepard in the right direction." His voice was sharp with anger. "All that power and the Pirate Queen of Omega does nothing to prevent the rape and murder of her subjects. It's gross negligence that I need to correct. I've already signed the execution order." His voice trailed off.

"But?"

"Walker waylaid me on the way here. He wants to turn her into an adjutant and fit her with those control implants you designed. Seems to think that her unique nervous system might be the breakthrough we've been looking for. It took me forty-five minutes to convince him that it was your department, not mine."

"So that's why you were out of breath," Miranda said, stalling. She wasn't certain any of Walker's ideas merited testing at the moment, let alone one that created another adjutant. But if anyone could ever deserve such a thing, it would be Morinth. "Tell Walker I'll oversee it myself, and that if he even thinks about coming into the lab, I will see him reassigned to the janitorial staff."

"It's better than paying that overdressed sadist who runs the new Purgatory." He twisted a strand of hair around his finger. "I'll observe. I signed the order. It's only right that I watch it carried out."

Miranda smiled to herself. Oleg was good at many things. Lying wasn't one of them. "You mean you want to be there to make sure that I don't end up like Rolston."

He stilled. "I would never presume—"

She kissed him again. "You are charming. But I'd appreciate the extra security." She pulled the cover around them both. "Goodnight."

Oleg woke with an aching shoulder. He was stiff from lying in one position all night, and there was an unfamiliar warmth emanating next to him. He opened his eyes. Miranda lay next to him, still sound asleep. Oleg propped himself on his elbow and watched the slow, even intakes of breath. This wasn't how he thought it would be. He had thought of bedding Miranda far more often than was becoming over the last nineteen years. She would be as certain and commanding in the bedroom as she was on the battlefield. She would sit astride him, and he would be as helpless to resist her as he was a typhoon.

Her injury had made her less physically dominant, but that wasn't the thing that had surprised him most. She had been playful, teasing. He chuckled at the memory of her kissing his chest with abandon. When she had had the most control, she had opted to please him with her biotics. And they had stayed and talked afterwards. They often talked, of course, but a part of him had been convinced she would insist on maintaining the strict separation between those she seduced and those she confided in. Instead, they had made plans, freely mixing sex and the more mundane aspects of life. As he and Catherine had once discussed buying new furniture or the possibility of getting Nikolai into an exclusive preschool after they had finished lovemaking. Perhaps it was better to stop that train of thought. It was as Miranda had said. Whatever he might fantasize about, they were friends having sex. Soon enough, the Illusive Man would see the error of his ways and welcome Miranda back into his inner circle. Oleg might not see her for a year or more. Asking or hoping for permanence was a fool's dream.

Miranda woke. Her eyes were bleary with sleep, but she smiled when she saw him. "Good morning."

"Good morning." He dared another kiss and she responded. Fantasies of permanence aside, he could grow accustomed to the subtle insistence of her mouth and the way she ran her fingers over his hair. "We really should get dressed. It wouldn't be proper for the two ranking officers to be late for breakfast."

"And as much as the image amuses me, I don't think I can get away with going to breakfast naked." She looked at him, suddenly uncertain. "Do you want to go ahead and get dressed or do you need a shower first?"

His body was covered in sweat. "A shower would be lovely." He peered at her. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

"Miranda…"

Her cheeks flushed slightly. "My morning routine is a little involved, that's all. And try not to use all the hot water. I hate it when my muscles seize up in the bath."

Ah, of course. The injury. Always the injury. Damn Collectors. "You go first."

Miranda gave him a grateful smile. She stood up gingerly, using the bed for support. Her steps seemed more labored, more pained, without the use of her brace and came. She muttered to herself as she walked, though whether she was cursing or whispering reminders to herself, Oleg couldn't say.

"Do you need me to help?"

"No. It's just difficult. And I'm not much of a morning person to begin with."

Oleg watched her hobble into the bathroom. Last night, he had followed her direction. He had been terrified of hurting her, of course, but he had had something to do. It had even been funny in a way, with all that business about squires and ladies. But this time, he could only watch as she twisted and turned to put her clothing on comfortably, as she encased her leg in the brace. There was nothing romantic or amusing about it. It was simply awkward looking. She hissed as her leg bent. And painful. "You're quite sure there's nothing I can do?"

She fastened the last clasp. "No." She grimaced. "I'm guessing watching me hobbling around putting my clothes on didn't figure into any of your fantasies?"

"No. It didn't." That was the thing about fantasies; they always omitted the difficulties.

The old defiance and pride flashed in her eyes, just as it had when she insisted he not hold back during a self-defense training session. He had given her a nasty bruise on her face, but it was the last time he had ever defeated her in hand-to-hand combat. To hell with the difficulties. Keeping his men and the people of New Macau safe against a foe who understood only total war had been difficult. Outsmarting Aria had been difficult. He could endure watching someone he cared for in pain.

"But on the whole I think I prefer the actual woman to my imagination."

Her smile was his reward.

Comments are always appreciated. Working on the last chapter as we speak, but I'd like to know if anyone else is enjoying.