A/N: I realise as more and more information for ME3 hits the net, my timeline has become impossibly divergent to the point that the differences can't be reconciled anymore. When I started writing this story, I came to realise that I couldn't do it without making some permanent changes, and the alternative was to wait until ME3 was released to write it. But that's in the future, and I may not even care enough for the characters and the universe by that time. Win some, lose some, I guess.
All I can say is I hope that I have convincingly created a believable and detailed alternate universe that lets this piece ring true on some level, and the trials and tribulations of the characters are portrayed in such a way that readers can identify and empathise with.
Kudos again to Ieldra, my beta-reader who helped cushioned me against all the ME3 revelations and kept my spirit up to write what is now an irrefutably non-canonical fanfic. Also a shout-out to the various gals on The Character Room forums for their feedback. Occasionally, I'd get a frantic message asking me not to abandon this story. Thank you for your obvious investment and interest. Just remember my chapters are massive by fanfic standards, so months of silence doesn't mean I've stopped writing, I'm simply pounding out a longer than usual chapter—case in point, chapter 5. :)
Chapter 5
The time between the heart stopping and the lack of blood to the brain resulting in irrevocable brain damage had been established as a three-minute window. It was a measure of how attenuated Miranda was to crisis that even as she had to mentally kick herself out of shock, her hands moved instinctively to do all the right things.
Oriana had reached out with one trembling hand to feel for his pulse. She didn't need to depend on such imprecise methods. The diagnostic program in her omni-tool confirmed without a doubt Shepard had flatlined.
"How long?" she demanded distractedly as she moved to unclasp the catches of his armour in feverish haste. On the other side, Oriana, who had begun mimicking her motions, looked up in a fluster.
"Wha-? Uh, the gunshots—about one minute ago, I think. I'd heard Kai Leng's voice. Then there was this awful grinding sound and I saw him run out that door with Cordelia slung across his shoulder."
Tossing aside the last piece of news for later, Miranda toggled the comm-link even as her hands never stopped prying pieces of armour off Shepard's torso.
"Shan, get me the med-kit and the tools John left behind in the storage facility, stat!"
"What's going on?"
"Just do it!"
She hissed in frustration as the chest portions remained stuck fast, wedged in place by the rod. It had to go, despite the fact that pulling the bloody thing out would cause more bleeding. But nothing mattered if she couldn't get his heart beating again. A hard yank yielded no effect, and she couldn't help but curse Kai Leng's strength and resolve.
"Help me brace him in place, Ori."
With Oriana doing that, Miranda augmented her strength with biotics and heaved hard. She winced at how she was making the wound bigger, but finally the rod came out.
Without pressure from a heartbeat, the blood oozed out in a trickle. A small blessing. From her belt, she pulled out a pack of medi-gel, tore it open with her teeth, and reached several fingers into that gaping hole to slather the sticky substance around the wound, temporarily sealing it. Pointless getting Shepard's heart back online only to have him bleed out.
Finally, she tore away the chest pieces, exposing the flexi-webbing that formed the underlayer of the armour. With clinical precision, she began pressing down on his chest at regular intervals, alternating with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
Come on, don't you dare die on me!
She had no idea how long she kept at it, except that after awhile she realised Oriana was trying to get her attention. She looked up to her sister's tear-streaked face in a daze.
"Let me help. I know CPR."
Mutely, Miranda moved to give her sister space as she swiped sweat-dampened hair away from her face. The time they spent working in tandem merged into one breathless eternity, with Oriana on chest compressions while she forced air into Shepard's lungs. And all she could think as she covered his mouth with hers was how this parody of a kiss wasn't something she wanted to take as her last memory of him.
She was forced to stop when blackness threatened to engulf her vision. It was only then that she took a glance at her omni-tool. One and a half minute had come and gone, and Shepard remained deathly still. Shan had arrived in the interim with the items she asked for, his face starkly sober at the spectacle before him. With that finally came the sinking realisation that she was losing Shepard irrevocably.
"Breathe, damn you!"
Shoving Oriana's hands away, Miranda clasped her own tightly to smash them down on Shepard's chest. With each subsequent blow, she increased the force until the effect would have broken the ribs of an ordinary man, and Shepard—she refused to think of it as his body, damn it—jerked from the power of her blows.
As she did this, a rush of questions rose like an irresistible upwelling. Why did the war have to come between them? Why were they forced to undergo personal hells separately? And knowing all that, why did it take her so long after to forgive him? She wished again and again she could've taken back her obstinacy. That was as far as coherent thought went. Everything else dissolved into molasses of self-recrimination and a primal despair that went beyond words.
It was only when everything swam before her eyes that she felt resistance in her arms. She blinked tears she wasn't aware of shedding and saw that Oriana had grabbed her with both hands, a frightened expression on her face.
"Miri, stop! It's not helping!"
Shakily, Miranda wiped her eyes, thrown out of the mindless rut she'd dug herself into. With that interruption came the return of cold reason. Oriana was right. But she couldn't trust herself to say anything, so she gave a spasmodic nod of thanks.
Two minutes had gone by. The only viable option was defibrillation. Except she hadn't counted on needing to do that and so hadn't purchased a dedicated unit. Shepard's ribcage was reinforced by carbon fibre weaves. It was why she had no qualms about the strength she used. And riding on the back of that thought came something that Miranda had almost forgotten.
With efficient motions, she ripped off her gloves and unzipped Shepard's flexi-webbing, stripping the final layer off him. The horrific holes caused by the shotgun as well as the rod were stomach-churning. She paid them no heed as she drew her combat knife. Pulling out another pack of medi-gel from the pouch, she applied a thin layer to the blade to disinfect it. Then she covered her hands with more of the substance before using her fingers to gauge the location of his sternum. She applied the weapon just below it, driving the implement downwards in one swift stroke. Oriana gave a gasp of shock, but Miranda ignored it as she tossed aside the weapon and plunged her hand into his body cavity.
The truth was there was never a control chip. The idea that Shepard's behaviour could be controlled was laughable, not to mention counterproductive in the animosity that would foster against Cerberus. She'd spent the better part of two years rebuilding his mind and would've never risked him undergoing a brain aneurism. Despite how playing subordinate to the 'Saviour of the Citadel', a man who spent two years as an inanimate object on her lab table, had been a bitter pill to swallow. The fact that Shepard had been amused at her attempt to goad him remained one of the most infuriating moments of her life.
Thinking back to their first encounter was such a surreal experience. How far they'd come since then. Maybe even further if she hadn't been so stubborn, or if he survived this. And she clung on to that thought like a prayer as she groped blindly around his inert organs.
Although there wasn't a control chip, there was a behavioural safeguard should Shepard become unruly. Built into his body was a microminiaturised battery with the ability to short-circuit his cybernetics by running several thousand volts through his body. She'd personally installed it, and over time, its existence had slipped her mind. Ironic that now it was the thing that could possibly save his life.
The remote that controlled the battery was destroyed long ago. She would have to prime it physically. Her groping finally bore fruit as her fingers made contact with the hard surface of the battery. Painstakingly, Miranda manipulated it until she could feel the inset button to depress it. Next she carefully removed her hand and consulted her omni-tool to locate the new transmission frequency and hack it.
"Hands off, Ori. I'm going to defibrillate him."
She warned and then fired off the command. Shepard's body arced and collapsed. But the diagnostic program still registered a flat line. There was a danger that a higher voltage may fry his biological organs as well as overload the cybernetic parts, but at this point, there was nothing left to lose. Making the agonising decision, she raised the voltage and tried again.
After what seemed like a lifetime, her omni-tool finally registered a heartbeat. With an abrupt cough, Shepard jerked and then drew a ragged breath. Followed by another and another.
It was a reflection of the emotional rollercoaster she'd undergone that she daren't trust what her eyes told her. And it was the faint sound of air whistling through his perforated lung that finally intruded on her mental whiteout and galvanised her into renewed action.
Her hands dove for new packets of medi-gel, and carefully, she slathered the substance on the cut she'd made before examining the entry points of the gunshots. Most of the rounds had passed through cleanly, but a good number remained lodged within. She realised with dismay she'd have to go in and remove every single pellet before Shepard could begin the long road to recovery.
At least one shot had torn a hole through his right lung. More medi-gel contributed its adhesive quality to temporarily address the traumatic pneumothorax problem. It was the best she could do for now.
"Is he going to be okay?" Oriana asked in a small voice.
Shepard's chest continued to rise and fall slightly, and his heart beat a faint but regular rhythm. There was no question that he still needed medical attention. Even so, cued by Oriana's question, she couldn't help her own sudden flare of hope.
"I can't say yet, but I hope so."
"I'm so sorry. I didn't think anything would happen to him. It was my fault." Oriana wrung her hands in frustrated helplessness. "I asked him not to hurt Cordelia. I didn't think it would end this way."
Miranda reached out a bloodied hand and gripped her little sister on the shoulder. Only now did it occur to her that they'd succeeded in saving Oriana—the objective of the entire excursion. On an impulse, she drew her twin in for a quick hug. A proper reunion would have to wait. And likely not before Shepard was truly out of the woods.
As she pulled back, she realised Shan was missing.
"Where are you, Shan?"
"Thought I'd make sure there're no more mercs, ma'am. All clear, I think. Is—Shepard okay?"
She could only be thankful that he had the initiative to do that. At least one of them had their head screwed on tight.
"I think he's stabilised enough to transport. I'm not going to bank on the possibility that we got them all. The faster we evac, the safer I'll feel."
Prepping Shepard for transportation by wrapping his wounds up with rolls of synthetic bandages took the better of five minutes even with Oriana's assistance. She loathed to leave his side, but forced herself to clamber to her feet and surveyed the room. A quick search produced two more of those damning rods of sufficient length.
"Shan, run back to the storage area and grab a couple of those bedsheets. Let's rig up a makeshift stretcher and get the hell out of here."
-~o~-
Extraordinary events often required extraordinary resolve to emerge with one's sanity intact. The Reaper war was one of those singular events that tested the mettle of every sapient being in the galaxy. Oriana had been luckier than most, having advance warning of impending invasions in many cases and escaping on last minute evacuations for others. Her adoptive parents weren't so fortunate, caught in a planet-side ambush early into the war.
It was a wakeup call that made her realise what her own red button issue was—the inability to change the outcome of events that affected her.
Ultimately, she'd mourned for them and moved on. Sure, the sun shone a little less bright and the shadows in the world were darker as a result, but she'd always had the knack of bouncing back up. There was no extraordinary resolve involved. Just that and a renewed determination to influence what personally mattered to her, no matter how small her contribution was.
And so that was how Oriana found herself sweating over a boiling pot in the kitchen of a bungalow in the suburbs of Queenstown on Tasmania, Earth one week later. Cook and general-purpose scullion—those were her new titles and responsibilities. Seeing what that young marine introduced to her as Shan thought of as a meal, she decided she had to take things into hand if she didn't fancy mix-and-eat synthetic pastes three times a day. More importantly, it gave her something to do and with that came a sense that she wasn't entirely helpless.
Right now, she was making gumbo for dinner, something that involved throwing enough edible things into a pot of water until a stew resulted. The original recipe called for more specific ingredients, but they had got a snowball's chance in hell of getting any of those. Even basic condiments were a problem, she was beginning to realise.
"Shan?" she called out plaintively as she searched high and low through the cabinets. "Where's the salt?"
Shan looked up from his survey of Shepard's abused armour, parts of it strewn all over the floor on a tarp. Fixing that was going to be a bitch, and silently she'd wished him luck with his self-appointed task.
"Salt?"
"Yeah, you know that white stuff that makes you feel like you dragged your tongue through the desert if you accidentally swallow a mouthful of it?"
"Umm, don't think we have any. Sorry."
"How the heck do you cook anything without salt?" Oriana muttered half to herself. She considered tossing the rest of the bacon into the pot, but held back on the reasoning that she'd need it to flavour other meals.
"Do you want me to go buy some?" Shan asked, evidently concerned that she was out of sorts.
"What? And send you out in full-body armour, armed to the gills in case Kai Leng gets a jump when you buy a packet of salt?" she teased. "It's okay. Just remember to tack it on the next shopping list."
With or without salt, it was far better than the goop they were having before. She couldn't imagine how the three of them survived on that. Miranda didn't even comment when she'd taken over cooking duties. Heck, she'd have forgotten about eating if food wasn't shoved before her nose along with a good dose of nagging. Still, it could've been worse, Oriana reminded herself as she stirred the pot.
The trip back here on the shuttle had been fraught with silence. One broken by her sister's frustrated assertion that she didn't have the right tools to work on Shepard. The man of the hour turned out to be Shan who revealed the existence of a clinic at such-and-such housing compound not far from the industrial complex, and how it may have what they needed.
Shan had dropped them off here before heading to said-clinic. Armed with authorisation from Miranda, he'd returned not half an hour later with a hovertruck in tow, transporting a portable operating theatre neatly folded up into a one by one metre box, plus a bewildering array of items like oxygen tanks and a freezer box of synthetic blood and plasma supplies.
For more than twenty-four hours, Miranda worked feverishly on Shepard, relying on stim jabs to stay alert throughout. Not having trained as a surgeon, she had to program the robotic AI to perform the trickier operations. Oriana doubled up as her assistant, steeling herself as bullet by bullet was extracted from Shepard's body, his bones reset and his internal organs sewed up.
She'd learned firsthand just how much of Shepard's original body had been replaced by cybernetics. Even his organic heart had been reinforced to pump harder and faster to sustain other high-performance augmentations. It was disquieting, but also a blessing in disguise. A normal human couldn't possibly survive the kind of abuse Shepard had undergone.
That realisation was further cemented after three days of tense waiting to see if he'd pull out of it. Oriana's response upon hearing the good news had been to burst into tears of relief. No matter what, she couldn't help her guilt over how if she hadn't asked Shepard to spare Cordelia's life, he wouldn't be going through hell right now. Her sister had consoled her distractedly, saying Shepard knew the risks. He was the professional in the situation, not her.
She was pretty sure her older sister wasn't immune to the guilt herself. After all, Shepard must have come to save her on Miranda's account.
She sighed as she dipped the ladle into the pot. A taste test said that the gumbo was as good as it was going to get. She ladled out two portions on top of boiled rice for herself and Shan. Shepard had regained consciousness, but remained on a liquid diet. As of two days ago, Miranda had decided he was stable enough to be moved to the master bedroom where she continued holding her vigil. Once Oriana was done eating, she'd bring a portion to what she dubbed 'the gloom room' and try again to get her sister out of that silent self-imposed shell.
If no one else was appreciative of her culinary efforts, Shan more than made up for it.
"Slow down!" Oriana laughed as she picked through her own plate. "There's half a pot left, and it's got your name written all over it."
"It's really good." He supplied in embarrassment as he made the effort not to look like he was going through his last supper.
"Even without the salt?"
"Umm, it's perfect, actually."
She snorted, suspecting feigned courtesy and then realised he was being sincere.
"Now I have to wonder if your tastebuds hadn't atrophied from the goop you were living on."
"I got used to it. Growing up in a colony world, you had to." Here, his voice became almost inaudible. "Although if you keep at the cooking, I'm not sure I could go back to that again."
She half-cocked her head in amused appraisal.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you're flirting with me."
To her surprise, he actually blushed, turning red to the tip of his ears. She couldn't stop laughter from bubbling up, which caused his shoulders to further hunch to the level of his head.
Shan was her personal protector, by Miranda's decree. Other decrees included excursions to the town centre being out of the question, and how Oriana had to confine herself to the row of suburban shops a few streets down and only with the marine in tow. She got the reasoning—there was a good likelihood their enemies were lying low somewhere in the same town—but there really ought to be a parental consent form to complete the experience.
She'd actually toyed with suggesting dressing up as a quarian, with a facemask and an environ-suit, in exchange for further liberties. Plus yelling "c'mon, c'mon, it's my first time on Earth!" Except that wouldn't sit well with Miranda either way. So she'd bit her lip and complied, knowing that the last thing her older sister needed was another problem on her plate.
"Enjoy it while it lasts. Chalk it down as an episode in your 'Amazing Earth Adventures'. Y'know, the part that doesn't involve getting shot at. I'll still bet your colonist friends wouldn't think they'd missed anything."
"Don't think I've got any of those left. Most of them didn't manage to make it out when Horizon got hit by the Reapers."
"Oh ouch, I'm sorry." She winced. "Uh, if you'll excuse me, I'll go get that ladle to pry my foot out of my mouth."
"It's okay. You couldn't have known."
"Yeah, I'm getting that a lot these days... Like I still wonder why didn't we head straight for a hospital with John? Why was there the need to be so secretive about the whole thing?"
She noticed he refused to meet her eyes.
"Umm, didn't your sister tell you?"
"You're kidding me, right? Half the time she walks around like she's in some limbo, the other half she looks like her best friend just died. Okay, that's not too far from the truth, but John is getting better. But I still get the impression something's...off between them."
She stabbed at chunks of carrot and potato as she unleashed thoughts that had been running amok in her head for an entire week.
"And you know how hard it is to get Miri to talk? Heck, you can set diving records with her silences. I keep feeling like I'm walking on a minefield here, and I don't know when the ground is going to go 'Boom!' under me. But no one wants to tell me anything!"
Oriana looked up to Shan's troubled face and bit her lip.
The only place she had free run of was the safehouse as they called it. Except it was a ridiculously small bungalow. With only one storey that included just two bedrooms, living room, kitchen and a dining niche, preventing the onset of the malady known as stir-crazy had been an almost impossible task.
That was until she realised how susceptible Shan was to her teasing. Their prickly introduction had begun with her dolefully presenting him with a leash as preface for their first outing. He'd stared at the offering with literal head-scratching. It was impossible to leave him alone after that. And more than ever, she wasn't going to back down now. Not when it looked like she could guilt-trip him for information.
"Spill it, Shan," she said seriously. "I know you aren't exactly part of the inner circle, but you have to know a crapload more than me."
She watched as he wrestled with his conscience before finally giving in with a faint sigh. The next twenty minutes was spent listening as he related the events that brought the three of them together to rescue her, including the reason why an Alliance marine would be tagging along on a highly-personal errand.
When she pushed for details about what exactly was Shepard trying to make up for to Miranda, he clamped up and suggested that she asked them herself. But learning about Shepard's trial was more than enough to make her blood boil. How could they even think of charging him for something as absurd as genocide?
Shan was suitably silent on that topic, and the speed at which he demolished his food told her that he wasn't enjoying it like he did before. It was now an excuse not to talk further. Far be it from her to take away the sunshine in any one's life. If anything else, this place needed a dose of lightheartedness she was singularly good at providing.
"Thanks for telling me that, Shan. I didn't mean to make you betray any confidence. John obviously can't speak for himself at the moment. And Miri—well, I think we both know what that's like."
It was the right call. He relaxed and became almost cheerful again as he finished his plate.
"Umm...can I help myself to another portion?"
She gave him the sunniest smile she could muster.
"Gosh, you don't have to ask! You're like the only person who appreciates my cooking around here. In fact, your request makes me so happy, I'll get it for you."
She returned soon to plonk down a generous helping in front of him.
"Bon appétit."
He looked at her with his mouth open and then remembered to close it.
"I can't help but think you're so different from your sister..."
"Annnnd that's one comparison I'm glad I don't get too much of. Thank god we're rarely together in one place. Don't get me wrong. I love Miri but you'd think she's my mother rather than my sister sometimes." She schooled her expression into a disapproving frown and pitched her voice low. "'No, you can't do this, not till you're one hundred and fifty years old. That's out of bounds too until you've gone through commando training.' Meh!"
Shan guffawed at her imitation of Miranda and then confessed ruefully.
"Your sister scares me actually. Like you said, she keeps to herself most of the time. I never know what she thinks." Quiet awe filled his voice here. "Both her and Admiral Shepard are so larger-than-life it's like I'm working with giants."
"That reminds me, I've got to bring food to Miri and bug her to eat." Oriana frowned. "I take back what I just said actually. Other than assigning you as my snitch, it's like our roles got reversed. It's weird, really."
Shan ducked his head in embarrassment.
"I'll, uh, let you get on with it then. Thanks again for the food, and umm, thanks for listening to me ramble."
"No problem. Help yourself to the rest of the pot if you're still peckish."
The master bedroom was dimly-lit. As usual, Miranda was sitting at her accustomed place—an armchair positioned to face the queen-size bed where Shepard was currently slumbering in. The air of distraction that she sensed in her older sister was out in force, and it was only when she called out softly that Miranda looked up.
"Thanks," Miranda said as she accepted the plate of food.
"How's John?" Oriana asked as she sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed and studied Shepard's sleeping profile. That thick thatch of blond hair and scraggly beard still took getting used to, but what unsettled her was the gauntness of his cheeks. She'd always thought he was invincible and it was sobering to see firsthand he wasn't.
"He just went under again after muttering something about being a pin cushion."
"Umm... Nice to see he hasn't lost his sense of humour."
Miranda gave a breath of a laugh.
"I guess. Although I have to wonder if he was delirious when he said that. His fever still hasn't gone down."
She picked listlessly through the plate as she said this. It was better than before where she'd just leave the food to go cold, Oriana thought. What Shan said about larger-than-life came vividly to mind. It was weird to hear someone speak of two people most dear to her in the galaxy that way. Strangely enough, their heroic personas simply highlighted their human vulnerabilities to her.
"How are you holding up?"
Miranda looked up in puzzlement.
"I'm fine. Why do you ask?"
Oriana took a deep breath. Here comes the hard part.
"It's just you seem distracted. And you haven't slept or ate much in recent days."
"Don't worry about me, Ori. I'm not the one with holes in my body." Miranda's motions slowed down, even though her attention remained wholly on her plate. "Actually I have a favour to ask of you."
"Shoot."
"Can I...bunk with you? Starting from tonight?"
"Of course. But why?"
"I think it's best if there's nothing to distract John while he's convalescing."
Oriana finally couldn't take it anymore.
"Miri, is there something you're not telling me?"
"Why would there be?" Her older twin said tiredly as she kneaded the bridge of her nose. "It'll also give me a chance to rest. You're right. I haven't had a good night's sleep in a while."
It sounded so reasonable Oriana found no way to object. But yet it was impossible for her to dispel her original gut feeling—that something remained off between her sister and Shepard. And later that night, as she lay in bed listening to quiet sounds her sister made across the space between them, she couldn't stop her mental gears from grinding.
Miranda's deep sense of reserve had always been the impenetrable wall between them. It wasn't that she didn't try. Oriana recalled her sister's heartfelt attempts to console her when she went through relationship break-ups before the war. The results were often hilarious and poignant, reminding Oriana for all her arrogance elsewhere, Miranda remained deeply insecure in matters of the heart. One setback would be all it took to send her scuttling back into her shell and refusing to emerge for years.
Familial solidarity be damned, Oriana knew how hard getting along with her sister was. Exacting standards, awkward with displays of affection, a curt and overbearing personality—it was a miracle she and Shepard managed to stay together all these years. In all likelihood, he was the best man for Miranda. And if things didn't work out between them, her older twin wasn't going to find someone else for a long time.
The whole situation had that do-something-or-regret-it kind of vibe. Especially when she suspected her resident status as the damsel-in-distress had a hand in it this time. As she tossed and turned, she made up her mind an intervention was definitely in order. But maybe this time, she should tackle the problem from the other end instead.
The next morning, after breakfast, she ventured again into the gloom room. In its defence, the place was actually brightly-lit during the day, the blinds of the bay windows pulled back to reveal a dismal-looking back garden. Shepard was sitting up in the bed, his torso wrapped thickly in synthetic bandages. His fever had broken during the night, which was another good sign that he was well on his way to recovery. His face lit up as she entered, but then he quickly schooled it into an expression of warm enquiry.
"Hey there."
"Not the version you were looking for?" she teased.
Shepard chuckled weakly.
"Perish the thought. Your sister left a while ago actually."
Oriana perked up as she took up her accustomed place at the edge of the bed. Maybe there wasn't a need to intervene after all. She'd always seen Shepard like an older brother. In many ways, he was closer in personality to her than Miranda and she never had to beat around the bush with him.
"Oh? What did you guys talk about? And how do you feel?"
"Rather like a little kid." He grinned ruefully before turning serious. "She spent the morning grilling me over why my muscles locked up. I've been having these muscle aches lately, but didn't think much about them. During that fight with Kai Leng, my body completely froze over."
And here was another piece of the puzzle. Inwardly, Oriana sighed. Why couldn't things be simpler?
"What did Miri say about that?"
"I don't think she believes me when I say it didn't cross my mind to tell her." He plucked disconsolately at his bandages. "I didn't think it'd be that serious. Anyway, she did some tests and said she'll look up a solution."
She wasn't going to get a better opening than that, she realised.
"Is there something wrong between the two of you? And don't try and act clueless. I got the whole story out of Shan."
Shepard winced.
"Cat's out of the bag, huh? It was my stupidity that got us in this mess in the first place. And I thought we were making good progress." He raised his hands to rub his face. "But this whole 'dying and coming back to life' is throwing a wrench in the works. I really have to stop doing that. The dying part, I mean."
Oriana couldn't stop herself from laughing out loud. But he took it in good humour, smiling at her mirth. She decided then she ought to throw him a line.
"Actually Miri hasn't left your side for the whole week. She's bunking with me right now because the last thing you need is distractions while you jump back on your feet."
The news had the desired effect. His face brightened up again before taking a contemplative cast.
"That makes sense." Here, he looked at her sympathetically. "If you're worried about me and your sister, don't. We'll figure it out, we always do. Probably a good idea she keeps her distance. Cruel to tempt a man when he isn't capable of push ups yet."
That was one of the things she liked about Shepard. Talking to him was never a problem, despite the fact that they rarely had the chance to talk. And hearing what he had to say actually managed to assuage some of the fears she'd felt. Although she had to wonder how much of it was it was him trying to put her at ease.
"Now I wonder what she'll do if I told her what you just said," she mused as she played along, hoping to do the same for him.
"Probably come over and kick my ass. Not that I really mind." He grimaced wanly. "Just not at the moment though."
She looked at him in worry, suddenly reminded of his recent brush with death.
"I should probably let you rest. But are you sure you don't want her to, uh, do that? With Miri, that's the best way to go sometimes."
He laughed and then moved a hand to brace his midriff.
"Ow, don't make me pop a stitch. She'll kick my ass for sure." After a few deep breaths, he said seriously, "We'll be fine, really. But there is something you can do for me. Have you told your sister what you know about that other twin yet?"
"Not yet. You were the personality of the week actually."
"That's not good." He muttered. "I'm getting better already and I don't think we're going anywhere until we get to the bottom of this. And you know how much Miranda tends to overcompensate when it comes to surprises. So help her fill the information gap."
"Don't I know it..." Oriana sighed. "I have the feeling if she could throw me into a box and lock it up to keep me safe, she'd do it. It's bordering on ridiculous. And she just refuses to tell me anything."
"Didn't say it'd be easy. But you're the one who can make a difference right now." Shepard commiserated soberly. "And can't say I blame her. Things get hazy when they're personal, especially with your sister. It'd kill her if you come to any harm."
Look in the mirror, she wanted to tell him. But he was right. There were things that Cordelia said or accidentally let slip which disturbed her now that she thought of it. And the idea that she could be more useful than a fifth wheel reassured Oriana immensely. So she bid Shepard a reluctant farewell and went off in search of Miranda.
Exactly one week later found Oriana sitting on the porch steps, looking out on the overgrown and weedy back garden. It was cold as hell, but she'd just about had it with the confines of the bungalow. Small places were anathema to her. It was one of the reasons that drew her to terraforming—wide horizons and open, uncluttered spaces eased her heart somehow.
As she'd predicted, her attempt to share her information with Miranda was met with ambiguous reception. Her revelation that Cordelia knew about the inheritance started off fine. But from there, things just went downhill. The offhanded mention that both Cordelia and herself were biotics was met with deep suspicion, one that she had to corroborate with a display. There was no way to see it other than an interrogation.
Oriana had dredged up every distasteful shred of information she could remember, including how Cordelia had called their father's enterprise a genetic dynasty and that there were other copies of them out there, copies that Cordelia undertook to eliminate until the three of them were the only ones left. Or that their youngest sister had been offered as a sacrifice in place of them because of their father's agreement with Cerberus. All that was received with a doubtful expression and little else.
Miranda's reticence finally irritated Oriana to the point where she'd just unloaded everything she knew and left in a huff. They hadn't talked much since, apart from exquisitely polite banalities like "pass the salt, please" at the dining table.
Oriana shivered and drew her legs closer to her body. Earth, what a shithole. It was a popular saying among offworld colonists. Two weeks and she had to agree with them, she was ready to leave and never come back. It was a depressing realisation, given the special place the planet had in terraforming literature and as the cultural heart and birthplace of the human civilisation.
Soft footsteps were her only cues before she felt the weight of a body-warmed coat settle about her shoulders. Miranda appeared beside her and sat down.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Mulishly, Oriana stayed silent. She had half a mind to shrug the coat off, but finally settled for good old-fashion ignoring instead. Perhaps it was childish, but she felt every right to her anger.
Her older twin sighed softly after a while.
"Ori, I know we haven't talked much. This really isn't how I imagine our latest reunion to be. And I'm sorry I didn't do more to make it easier."
It was such an understatement of the century that Oriana couldn't help snorting. To which Miranda cocked her head in gentle enquiry.
"Does that mean you'll give me a chance to explain?"
Unable to contain herself any longer, she turned around to look her twin in the face.
"It means 'does it matter when you don't believe anything I said?'."
"I never said that, Ori," Miranda said patiently. "It's just what you told me came as such a shock I needed time to think it over."
"So you actually believe me?" Her anger disappeared in a flash. "Then why didn't you say so earlier?"
"Here I am, right? And I'm still trying to get around the fact that you're a biotic," came her sister's thoughtful reply. "I can't imagine how I missed something that big in the first place. Did you undergo any invasive surgery as a child?"
"Huh? I don't think so. I remember my adopted parents panicking when they found out actually. They made me hide the fact, got me tutors so I could control my biotics and not accidentally use them. Maybe that's why you never found out."
"And you didn't think to tell me all this time?"
Oriana made a moue.
"I didn't think it was important. Heck, most of the time, I don't even remember I'm a biotic!"
A distant frown was her response this time. Miranda's eyes had that faraway look that said she was thinking furiously. But none of that was reflected in the pleasant expression she put on when she turned back again.
"I know this is your first trip to Earth, and it hasn't been the textbook definition of interesting or fun. How about when this is over, I'll join you in Elysium for a bit so we can do some catching up? You can show me the sights you keep talking about then."
"That'll be great!" Oriana brightened up and then frowned. "But aren't you jumping the gun here? We still have to solve the problem of Cordelia and her connection to this whole thing."
Guarded reservation dropped into place between them like an emergency bulkhead during a decompression episode.
"You don't have to worry about that. I'll think of something."
It was as though something went click in place within Oriana's mind when she heard this.
"You're just here to fish for information." she breathed in awful realisation. "You aren't planning to tell me anything at all, are you?"
Again with that patient sigh.
"It's not like that, Ori."
"Then what is it?" Oriana retorted bitterly. "Why don't you just admit that was your intention all along?"
With a growl of deep frustration, she rose, not caring that she shrugged off the coat in the process, and began pacing the garden.
"Why can't you talk to me? We're sisters, damn it! Why is it that I get far more out of Shan and John than with you? What does it take to get you to open up?"
It was two weeks of bottled rage finally finding an outlet, and Oriana couldn't care less that she was yelling. Deep consternation was written all over Miranda's face, but all she could think was it was about damn time.
"I was just trying to protect you," came her sister's weak rejoinder after a while. "I didn't think you needed to be saddled with problems you can't solve."
That did it. She'd seen Miranda ream subordinates out for the smallest of mistakes. Even Shepard wasn't immune to her occasional ire, as amply demonstrated. But her older twin had always handled Oriana with kid gloves, always the first to apologise, the first to give in to her more reasonable demands. Armed now with the realisation that that unequivocal love included filtering information for her 'benefit', Oriana couldn't help but see herself being coddled over. Like a child.
"In case you haven't noticed, I'm almost thirty! And you can't say this doesn't concern me. I have every right to know! This last month, I learned far more about my past than I ever did in the last decade. And all of it courtesy of asister I don't trust. While the one I've been depending on won't tell me anything at all!"
With difficulty, Oriana stopped pacing and took a deep breath in an attempt to speak in a reasonable and decisive tone.
"You can't possibly keep the wolves away forever, Miri. Please, for the love of god, stop trying to protect me and start giving me the tools to figure things out for myself."
Miranda regarded her with a stunned look. After which she looked down and began shaking her head fitfully. Her hands, which she'd clasped over her drawn up legs, were tightly clenched until her knuckles showed white.
Oriana was ready to throw her hands up in defeat and return to the bungalow interior when her older sibling finally raised her head.
"You're right. I'm sorry," she said softly, so soft that Oriana had to strain to catch her words. "It does look like I'm pathologically incapable of letting go, doesn't it? But I'll try." Miranda gave a pleading look. "Come sit over here again? I'll explain why it bothers me so much to learn you're biotic."
How does she do that? Make me feel like I'm an unruly kid even when I'm not? Oriana wondered as she regained her old place. Brushing that thought aside, she tried to bring her attention in line to receive what had been a hard earned reward.
"I'm an artificial biotic." Miranda took a while to compose her thoughts before she began. "I was born before the prenatal effects of eezo exposure were documented. So I had to be retroactively made one. I won't go into the details, enough to say that if it wasn't for my healing factor, I don't think I'd have survived the experience."
She took a deep breath here.
"The thing is prenatal exposure causes widespread genetic mutation. It's the biggest cause of spontaneous abortions and stillbirths. Even with the survivors, there are very obvious genetic markers. I've been comparing our DNA records this past week—I had a copy of yours made from when you were a baby—they're identical in every way. If you weren't retroactively made one, I don't see how it's possible you can be a biotic."
Genetic theory was never one of Oriana's favourite subjects in school. And dusting out that knowledge from the repository of her mind again took effort, one made more difficult by her twin's obvious disquiet. In the lack of information, her mind could only generate conclusions that were nothing short of disturbing.
Her older sister bit her lip and nodded at the unease on Oriana's face.
"Other outstanding questions include why did our father insist on cloning us? What was his reason for making so many identical copies? How does his idea of a genetic dynasty tie in to all this? I suspect we won't get answers to any of these until we access the files in the tower."
"What about Cordelia and Cerberus? How do they come in?"
Miranda looked at her earnestly.
"You have to believe me, Ori. I didn't know she existed until now. And I have no idea why I'm listed as the sole beneficiary in our father's will. But it wouldn't be the first or last time the Illusive Man continues to pull the strings from the grave. He told me our father severed all ties with Cerberus when I first joined. I had no reason to think otherwise."
It was like the opening of the floodgates. From a drought, Oriana felt as if she was being deluged by an information torrent. And it took some mental juggling to try and keep track of all the pieces. But it was relieving to learn that Miranda had nothing to do with Cerberus's involvement of Cordelia. Just about anything related to that organisation had been a 'do not broach' subject and the hints over the years also suggested her older twin remained deeply divided on that particular period of her life.
Be careful what you wish for.
"Cordelia's plan to eliminate all of copies of herself and take over my identity makes twisted sense actually. I don't know what disturbs me more—that she spent years understudying me or the things Cerberus did to her." Miranda continued with a headshake. "From our brief interaction, she reminds me of who I used to be. It's not surprising now that I know most of what she has on me are my Cerberus files. But the fact that I have a younger sibling out there who's been using my former self as a role model..."
"Miri, you're who you are," Oriana interrupted firmly, unable to take her sister's self-castigation any longer. "Whatever you did in the past doesn't invalidate that. Heck, you were with Cerberus when you started looking out for me."
"Easy for you to say," Miranda grimaced. "I know you're right. For better or for worse, I wouldn't be here if not for Cerberus. Anyway, we're getting side-tracked—the question we have to ask is can Cordelia be convinced to change her mind? If she's been on the course to eliminate us all this time, I'm not sure that's possible."
Thoughts raced furiously through Oriana's mind. There was no denying her sympathy for Cordelia had taken a beating, but she continued to cling onto the belief that their youngest sibling should have the chance at a normal life. The sticking point was if Miranda hadn't rescued her, it would've been herself who'd be given to Cerberus as sacrificial lamb. But she shook her head slowly, not willing to share that sentiment just yet.
"I don't know... I mean, just look at both of us, how different we are. Even after two weeks with Cordelia, I can't say I know what makes her tick. All I know is her mind is a dark, dark place." She sighed deeply. "And I don't think she's one-hundred percent on her rocker either."
"Who would be under years of torture? At any rate, I suspect the only way to flush Cordelia and Kai Leng out is to make our entrance into the tower as noisy as possible. And that's going to have to wait until John's operational again."
"How is he today?"
It was the first unqualified smile she'd seen from Miranda for days, and it was a transformation that illuminated her face.
"Doing his best to be a terrible patient. It's a good sign."
"Is he trying to do push ups?"
"Among other things. He's just not ready for strenuous activities yet."
Oriana couldn't stop laughing despite Miranda's look of puzzlement. The world felt lighter after her mirth subsided. On Shepard's assurance, she'd stopped prying into the couple's problems, and from her sister's abject relief, it seemed he'd been given a second chance after all. Cordelia remained problematic, but with things finally going their way, they were entitled to some optimism.
"It's nothing," Oriana said happily. "I'm glad he's getting better. I'm glad things are getting better." A fierce affection welled up for her endearingly awkward sibling, and impulsively, she reached across and gave Miranda a hug. "And thanks, Miri. Thanks for telling me everything."
She felt Miranda's body stiffen before relaxing as she returned the embrace. They finally disengaged, but kept arms around each other's shoulders, spending the remaining time in a companionable silence until their duties pulled them apart again.