2195 CE, Tasmania, Earth (Present Day)

It was with a much lighter heart that Miranda went about her duties for the rest of the day. There was finally a sense that things were going her way after weeks of frustration and setbacks.

Banking the hovercar towards the bungalow, she couldn't help but smile and shake her head as she replayed her conversation with Oriana earlier. Her younger twin had been justified in her anger at being treated like a child. It was one of the pitfalls of being a distant protector. In her mind, Oriana remained a minor who needed crucial decisions to be made for her. It'd been such an unconscious and familiar attitude on Miranda's part that she'd felt chagrined on being called out on it.

As for the problem of their other sister, things looked far less optimistic. She had been entirely truthful when she said the outstanding questions would have to wait for Shepard's recovery.

She'd spent the rest of the day scouring the extranet, going through medical journals in an attempt to puzzle out his muscle problem. The root of it probably laid with combat enhancements dating back to the early post-Lazarus days. It would require a specialist to obtain a proper diagnosis, but muscle relaxants ought to be good for a palliative. Hence her quick trip to a pharmacy in Hobart where she could be assured the specific type was in stock.

Night had fallen and the warm glow of lights greeted her as Miranda parked the car on the landing pad. Shan and Oriana were cleaning up after dinner when she entered the bungalow.

"Hey you're back. Want dinner?"

"I've eaten at Hobart, thanks. Did John join you?"

"Yeah. He's gone back to his room though. He's been kind of glum too."

She processed that news without further thought as she went to the room she shared with Oriana to slip into a comfortable tank-top and a pair of slacks.

Shepard insisted on taking his meals with everyone else now even though being on his feet for long periods of time still drained him. She knew he was trying to return to a normal routine. He hated being an invalid, almost as much as she was beginning to tire of him as one.

More than ever, Miranda wanted to pick his brain on the new developments of their mission, but decided he really didn't need more distractions. It was her constant worry that he would push himself too far, and as she entered his room, she half-expected to find him engaging in some strenuous exercise she forbade.

To her surprise, he was sitting quietly on the bed, staring at a crumpled-looking 2D photo. He put it away as the door opened, and the smile he gave her looked forced, as though he'd pasted it on for her benefit.

"Aren't visiting hours over?"

"Not for the doctor," she said wryly, and then was worried that she was imposing her presence. This was a new development. Shepard had been relatively cheerful the whole time during his convalescence, but now she had to wonder if it was simply an act.

She lifted the box of newly-purchased pills as official reason for her visit.

"I think I may have a temporary solution for your muscle problems. Orally-applied relaxants."

Shepard frowned in scepticism.

"That simple?"

"It is temporary until we can get you checked by a specialist. The dosage and timing has to be pretty specific. If you like, we'll do a trial run tomorrow."

He looked at her, his expression indeterminate.

"You still don't believe me when I say I didn't mean to hide it, do you?"

Miranda bit her lip and took a seat on the bed. That fateful conversation the night before they embarked on saving Oriana and the catastrophic series of events that took place after came to mind inevitably. This was the first time since then that they were broaching anything related to that subject again.

"I believe you," she finally said as she gave him a direct look. "I do. The point is this needs to go both ways. It'll never work if we keep second guessing each other."

"Thanks."

He glanced down before looking up, his eyes serious and attentive. "And you're right. No more second guessing."

There was brief silence before Shepard spoke up again. "While we're at it, I—overheard your conversation with Oriana this morning. Left the window open for some fresh air, and you girls just happened to pick that spot..."

Miranda replayed the earlier conversation yet again in her mind.

"That's fine. It saves me needing to give you a briefing. Now everyone's on the same wavelength." She saw an opening here and decided she may as well give it a shot. "I've been meaning to ask actually. Do you have any input to share about Kai Leng and Cordelia?"

"I don't think I'll be much help with the genetic angle, or with Cordelia, frankly. As far as I can tell, she has no intentions of doing me any favours," he said slowly but with the equanimity of factual analysis. "As for Kai Leng, I think we've established one on one, I'm no longer a match for him. But if our next step is going to be the tower, we may be able to leverage on your legitimate access to our advantage."

"That's what I thought too. Good, we're on the same page."

He smiled at her with what came across as a pensive and sad expression.

"Relieving, isn't it? Getting the assurance that what you're doing is right?"

The change in behaviour was so decidedly strange that she was finally compelled to ask, "Is there something you want to tell me? Ori mentioned you didn't look too happy during dinner."

Shepard remained silent for a while. After a few minutes, he retrieved the picture he was looking at when she entered the room. It was a picture of a little girl hugging what looked like a giant soft toy.

"I've got a confession to make," he said softly as he gazed at the picture. "It'll take a long time to tell, but I'm hoping you'd hear me out."

His voice had that odd timbre which she'd learned to read as the edge of desperation. It was the same tone he used when he recounted how he had to sacrifice three hundred thousand batarians to prevent the Reapers from invading through the Alpha relay. Not to mention back when he'd accosted her at the space station above New Canton. This wasn't going to be some complaint about his physical condition or what-not, she realised.

"I'll listen for as long as you like, John." She moved to sit comfortably on the bed, arms going around to encircle her raised legs. "Go ahead."

It took him a few more moments to compose his thoughts. And then bit by bit, Shepard began relating the pivotal mission that took place in intergalactic space that eventually ended the Reaper War.

It soon became obvious he had no intentions to spare the details, not even the agonising portions. He kept his emotional responses to the minimal and as the account went further, his voice became more monotonous. In a way, it was a relief. The experience was painful enough from the heartrending account and the fact that he kept wringing a balled fist with his other hand.

"Towards the end, I wondered if I was in the right frame of mind to make the decision. All I could think was for it to be over. It was like a contagion, a data error—where the problems are compounded down the line once you slip up at the start. And I slipped up."

Shepard's voice broke from the emotion and the long telling as he trailed off at the conclusion.

So the dam finally breaks...

It was with some difficulty that Miranda disengaged herself from the pathos of his account to look closely at the facts. News filtered down garbled, within the Alliance command system, to become hearsay and rumours. She was used to it and usually discounted them. The generalities were well known—a full squad of some of the best soldiers in the galaxy came together for the task. Only three made it out alive—Shepard, Jacob and Legion.

It was always a given that there was more to the story, but a large part of her was so relieved that the war was over, she felt no inclination to pursue the truth from Shepard. The news that he was responsible for the death of five billion human lives was tragic, but in the end, casualties were a reality of war. There was no escaping it.

Deep silence filled the room until she shook her head.

"What you said at the start about feeling relief at being assured you're doing the right thing—," she said. "—that was a throwaway, wasn't it?"

Shepard shrugged.

"Right, wrong—they've stopped making sense." He gave a brief laugh, but it was devoid of humour. "Maybe what I need is someone to make the decisions for me."

I can't leave New Canton. I just can't. I can't even trust myself to do anything right anymore.

The signs were there all along. It was never about whether Shepard did the right thing when he delayed the issue of the killswitch. That he did was a given. The demise of the Reaper threat was testimony to that. She knew the feeling well. It was the sense of being overwhelmed, traumatised and tired beyond relief until every judgement was steeped in doubt. Her own test experiment with the indoctrination nanites had been like that. And even till today, she couldn't say how much of her decision stemmed from suicidal thoughts that came with abject despair, and how much of it was necessity.

No, she didn't need an emotional commentary. Like a lightning bolt illuminating the night sky, Miranda finally understood Shepard's method of insanity after all this time. By standing trial, he was ready to put his fate in the hands of others. He wouldn't have to decide anymore.

But was that it? After all, Shepard did make a decision—he chose to come and help her.

He'd made it amply clear that his reason for doing so was her. In her more sombre moments, it was an obligation she couldn't help but feel burdened under. But other times, it was empowering to realise that she might be the one to offer him a chance to become invested again in his personal future.

"That's been quite apparent," she said as diffidently as she could. "Have you realised I've asked several times what you intend to do after this, and you've never given me a proper answer?"

"Will you believe me when I say I don't know the answer?"

He accompanied that question with an ironic smile, seeming intent on turning the whole thing into a black comedy. It was more preferable than apathy, but not by a long shot.

You can be the one to make the difference.

The voice in her head was almost seductive in its reasoning. Once again, it came down to her in the end—if she was willing to take that leap of faith. Miranda had always known she was drawn to men with aspirations beyond themselves, men who strive to affect the galaxy with their actions and change it for the better.

It was impossible for her not to take into consideration Shepard's account of what happened at the Reaper Base, the momentous sense of what had been achieved juxtaposed by what he suffered. Simply put, she couldn't help her heart going out to him. Her reaction at the Alliance's treatment of Shepard, how they squandered his contributions by setting him up as a political scapegoat had been placed on a slow burner since his recount. And now that she'd rationalised her feelings, her sense of outrage surprised her.

But at the same time, it was more corroboration to what she had gradually made her mind up on following the harrowing days waiting for Shepard to pull through.

It had to wait, she decided.

It was difficult to imagine what he could do now that the Alliance was no longer an option. One thing was clear, Saviour of the Galaxy might be a near-impossible act to top, but the galaxy could still benefit greatly from Shepard's vision and talents.

"What about seeking asylum with the asari government, locating to Thessia?" she asked as she stretched to ease out the kinks of her muscles, her tone deliberately light. "The Alliance will never make incursions on another ally's homeworld. Perhaps you could find work as a negotiator or a consultant of sorts?"

For the first time tonight, genuine amusement appeared in Shepard's eyes.

"I got to admit that sounds as though it could work," he said somewhat noncommittally.

Miranda bit her lip. It was patchwork of hastily-assembled options she presented, but her goal was to try and kickstart his mind into considering the various options. She may be the key to making Shepard care about his future again to some capacity, but she had no desire to dictate how he led his life or come across as wanting to do so.

"I know you've more than earned the right to rest, but I also know you're not the kind to sit around. The work does sound cut out for you. And I feel you thrive on it whether you realise it or not."

"Thanks. I'll think about it. I guess... I'll just have to keep going at it till something sticks."

She'd tried her best to skirt around what she'd made up her mind on, but they were obviously going nowhere at this rate. With a deep breath, she steeled herself and took the plunge.

"I'm not planning this for you alone, John. It's for both of us."

Shepard stared at her as though he couldn't believe his ears.

"You're joking, right?" he asked weakly. "There's no option for me other than exile. We're talking about becoming outlaws in Alliance-controlled space."

"I wasn't joking. We can—"

He interrupted her, his voice growing louder.

"You'll never be able to visit Oriana on Elysium, you can never come back to Earth again, not legitimately. Is that the kind of life you want to lead?"

She made a sound of impatience.

"I was branded a terrorist most of my adult life. I've been on the run since I was sixteen. I have had so many aliases trying to stay one step ahead of my father and working covert missions for Cerberus that I've lost count. None of this is new to me."

"That was because you didn't have much of a choice." Shepard pointed out in a more reasonable tone. "I've heard what they say about you and your work in the Alliance, Miranda. They'd go down on their knees if you ever resign your commission. And not to mention the rest of the galaxy—" He sighed in frustration. "Fuck it, you can't tell me you don't give a damn about throwing all of that away."

A perverse part of Miranda was tempted to declare that she didn't care, but Shepard had struck an irrefutable kernel of truth. To call the early days of her mandatory service with the Alliance because of her Cerberus past rocky was an understatement. Distrust of her motives and abilities was never slow to rear its head around every corner. It'd been the kind of reception she had expected, not to mention all too entirely familiar with. There was nothing to do about it. Knowing full well that the war effort took precedence, she had gritted her teeth, swallowed her pride and did her job the best she could.

That had changed dramatically as her work begun to bear fruit. From pariah to war hero, the transition had been startling and deeply ironic. Most of the time, Miranda alternated between being amused and irritated by the new respect and deference accorded to her. The biggest relief had been the end to all the smothering animosity and deliberate second-guessing. Getting entrusted with more and more important tasks, knowing that she was valued and had a rightful place in the order of things—that sense of empowered legitimacy and the exhilarating sensation of sharing solidarity with thousands, all working towards a common goal—those were things she'd never thought to experience in her life.

Strange to think of all that as collateral damage now, and how she would have to return to the shadowy existence of an outcast and the constant obfuscation and paranoia it entailed.

"It's my choice," she said softly but firmly after a long while. "The same way it was yours to come help me save Ori. I'm ready to accept all the consequences that come along with it likewise, good and bad."

Shepard simply gave her an absolutely stunned look. After a moment, he looked down and began shaking his head.

"I never wanted this for you," he finally said in a tremulous voice. "You deserve so much better."

It was nearly impossible to swallow past the lump in her throat. In the end, she reached to take his hand in a fierce grip, one which he returned with the same intensity. Heartfelt words were never her forte and even Shepard, who was gifted with a silvered tongue, was content to stay silent. When he finally looked up again, there was definite hope in his eyes, tentative as it was.

"I got to say the bad really edges out the good big time for you at the moment." He said with a shaky laugh. "Looks like I've got a lot of compensation to make."

His attempt to lighten the mood brought to mind the one outstanding issue that had been in the forefront of her mind all this time. If tonight was going to be a confession session, they might as well go the whole nine yards.

"There's nothing to make up to me for, John. It's my choice," she reiterated quietly. "In fact, I'd rather you cared about what happens to yourself again."

She was met with wary puzzlement here.

"Not sure I get what you mean."

"I'm talking about the way you dispatched those mercs back at the complex, or how you took off to deal with Kai Leng. You can't keep functioning on autopilot. It's like—you've stopped caring, even about basic things such as life and death."

"I know it wasn't the best idea to run after Kai Leng that way, even though we agreed I'd be the one to deal with him..." Shepard trailed off into unconvincing silence here.

Miranda sighed.

"I hate having to bring this up, but I suspect it's the same problem. If you were your usual self, you would've sought help for your muscle aches long before this. What was going through your mind?"

He kept his eyes down, his attention focused on their clasped hands. Finally, his fingers tightened around hers in a decisive squeeze.

"You're right." Shepard confessed. "I thought nothing about it. Even though there were times when they stiffened up so badly I had to massage feeling back into them."

It was cruel, but she steeled her resolve to let him stew on the implications of the point she felt had to be made. Finally, she said, "You need to stop this self-destructive behaviour, John. We can't build a future together if you aren't invested in your own."

He released her hand to rub his face hard.

"I'll try. But it's so hard. It's like... like being cast adrift and rudderless, no landmarks in sight. I keep trying to find the shore, but all I see is water everywhere."

All that was needed to complete the picture was the literal albatross around his neck, Miranda winced mentally. She recalled saying once to Shepard that she couldn't be his crutch. But it was obvious he needed a lifeline of sorts to begin at least.

After some hesitation, she began saying, "I know the feeling. I, well—during the time I was assigned to oversee the creation of a vaccine against indoctrination nanites, I...went through one of the lowest periods of my life. Mordin had just passed away, I hadn't heard from you in months, and there didn't seem to be a way we could survive against the Reapers. When we finally engineered a prototype, I used myself as a test subject."

She drew a deep breath here, faintly aware that Shepard was listening attentively.

"I don't know what possessed me. The only thing I latched my mind on was I was the best candidate. It felt like my prerogative, like it was the only option opened to me." She gave a soft laugh. "That I survived the experience was dumb luck, really. But I just want to say I know what it's like to face the numbness beyond despair, where nothing you do seem to matter."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

There was an unmistakeable plaintive note in Shepard's voice.

"What was I to say? That I may have attempted suicide? Besides, you had more than enough problems on your plate. Then and now. And frankly, I don't want to recall that time if I can help it."

He had nothing to say to this.

"There're still abnormal levels of nanites in my body. It'd take years for their numbers to decline entirely," she looked down in embarrassment here. "That's why I pushed you away when we kissed that night back in New Canton. I'd almost forgotten about it, and then I was afraid I could still infect you."

"They're harmless now," he said quietly. "Even if they weren't, it wouldn't have mattered to me."

"Now I know, for both accounts." Miranda laughed in exasperated irony. "God, we're such a sorry pair, aren't we? I wish we'd talked about all this earlier. It would've saved so much trouble."

Shepard smiled commiseration.

"Whatever it took, here we are." Here, he glanced down before looking up again, newfound determination clear as daylight in his eyes. "And I promise you, I'll do my best to get out of this funk. You're right. I can't keep going on like this."

It was like the last piece finally clicked into place when he said that. Not knowing what else to say, she finally smiled and nodded relieved confirmation at him.

The world felt far lighter that everything was out in the open. And already, her mind was racing ahead, making plans. Miranda was glad she had the foresight to begin the transfer of her inheritance to an intergalactic bank in anticipation of trouble from the Alliance. The most outstanding issue, really, was dealing with Cordelia and finding out what was exactly in that tower that her youngest sibling thought warranted killing for access.

Hopefully, that particular set of problems could be resolved in the least messy way possible, unlikely as that sounded. She couldn't help her unreasonable optimism. It'd been so long since things had begun going her way that she felt almost lightheaded.

As if he caught her line of thought, Shepard asked with a quirk on his lips, "So when can I get rid of this damn brace and the bandages, doctor? They're hot as hell and chaff like mad."

"I'd half-expected you to remove that brace long ago," she tossed back. "But I suppose we should see how well you're recovering."

Uncrossing her legs, she shifted forward to assist him in removing the stiff cloth brace. The last of the bandages unravelled to reveal the wounds had closed nicely and a tender layer of skin had grown over to protect them. No signs of scabbing or inflammation, she saw with satisfaction.

"Looks good actually." She pressed gently against an area below his ribcage. "Does that hurt?"

He squirmed away at her touch.

"Tickles."

She continued her examination through more wriggling before shaking her head with a laugh.

"You do know I can't give a proper sign-off if you don't cooperate?"

"It wouldn't be so ticklish if it hurt, trust me. So give me that clean bill of health already, Miranda, I've got lots of things that need doing."

She sighed in exasperation.

"Fine, you're cured. Just—go easy with strenuous activities for now."

He gave her one of the most delightful grins she'd ever seen on his face.

"Don't mind me if I don't. Been wanting to do this for a long time." Saying that, he tugged at the hand rested against his chest, pulling her forward so she fell into his arms.

Her yelp of protest was muffled by his mouth covering hers as he drew her into a hard kiss that soon made clear his intention. Objections like how he shouldn't be exerting himself took all of one second to melt away. The rhythm of Shepard's heartbeat beneath her hand, the movement of muscles in his arms as he tightened his embrace—everything brought home once again how close she'd come to losing him permanently this time.

Arms braced around his neck, she lifted herself closer to him, her body replying with the same readiness he obviously felt. It soon became hard to catch their breath and she felt his deep reluctance as Shepard broke off the kiss.

"Don't mind you if you don't?" Miranda laughed, knowing immediately the source of his problem. "Looks like you're not up for it yet."

He gave her a doleful look, his breathing coming out short and fast from exertion.

"I was expecting some help actually."

"Mmm..."

She disengaged herself to sit up again, hands going to move pillows to create soft backing behind him. She pushed him back against it, so he remained sitting upright and then climbed onto his lap to straddle him on opened knees.

"Not too heavy for you?" she teased.

"Perfect."

He rumbled satisfaction from the base of his throat and moved his hands to grab her ass, bringing them more snugly together before claiming her mouth again.

His tongue slid smoothly against hers, exploring every bit of her mouth in a way that said he hadn't lost his touch. Shepard was the most skilful lover she'd ever had, but he'd always been coy over how he got to be so good. Knowing now what she knew from New Calcutta, she couldn't help but feel humbled at being given insight into a part of him he'd obviously taken great pains to hide from everyone else.

Like everything else, it was another part to the man Miranda felt like she was rediscovering this whole time, a continuous process that created a sense of connection so deep she'd never imagine sharing with another person.

Everything went to stoke her ardour to a level not experienced before, making it hard to hold back in concern for his weakened condition. He obviously didn't believe in that, and gradually she began to feel his growing erection pressing out the fabric of his shorts, pushing against her sex in a promise of things to come.

She ground against him experimentally and was rewarded by a moan that reverberated through their mouths and a further hardening of his member. Taking that for encouragement, she started moving rhythmically, kneading her lower body against his, revelling in the growing pressure.

Shepard was alternating between running his hands up and down the length of her bare back and squeezing her ass when he grasped the hem of her tank-top to remove it. She assisted him, snapping off the straps of her bra to toss it aside before cupping her own breasts, ready for his ministrations.

He responded by burying his face into her cleavage, running his beard-roughened cheeks against the soft skin while his fingers reached to squeeze her already-hardened nipples, causing her to moan in pleasure. When he finally clamped down on her left nipple with his mouth, sucking hard on it, she felt as though she could come from the sensation alone.

Abruptly, she paused her motions, causing him to look up at her in faint disappointment.

"Too fast," she gasped. "It's been too long."

He nodded understanding, his chest heaving harshly against her. He was still pushing his limits whether he knew it or not, but she didn't have the heart to remind him. Perhaps this was an irresponsible act, a challenge to fate, but above all else, it was an affirmation of life for the both of them having dealt with nothing but death and loss all these years. And if that package came along with its own set of inconveniences, so be it.

They resumed, more slowly and gently this time. Shepard brought his arms around her waist, arching her back as he rubbed his face against her neck, his tongue darting to lick the shallow depression where her clavicles met. She ran her hand through his thick thatch of blond hair, clutching it in fistfuls when he returned a hand to tend to her breast, his callused fingers making circles around the sensitised nipple, giving it a slow squeeze now and then.

Every fibre of Miranda's body screamed for immediate release. To say it was too long was a massive understatement. All the teasing between them before only served to inflame every recalled sensation. Pleasuring herself to assuage her own need all this time had been nothing to compare to this. And now with their newfound understanding, it was like threatening to open the floodgates.

But even going slowly, there was a limit. And she found hers far sooner than she'd like. Shepard had been shifting uncomfortably for a while, his erection now straining hard against his shorts. Every movement he made pushed it harder against her moist sex and she could only whimper from the lack of relief.

They took it as far as they could until they finally looked at each other in an unspoken agreement. She clambered off to help him remove his shorts. His deep sigh was almost comical as his length finally sprung free, but just as she'd intended, his attention was soon riveted by the sight of her removing the rest of her clothing at an angle that left no doubt as to how much she was ready for him.

He quirked his brow in appreciation as he braced his hands behind him and thrust his hips forward for her. It was his way of saying 'ready when you are', but this time she decided to play with him a little.

Crawling between his outstretched legs, she stopped before him, and surveyed his erection critically.

"You're not ready."

He gave her such a look of outrage that Miranda had to bite her lip to stop from laughing.

"It could be you're tired out. Here, let me help."

She'd had to shave his chest clean for the operation, but there remained a fine line of hair that ran down his midriff. She'd always like that part of him, it was like a trail that guided her unerringly as she traced an idle finger downwards before grasping the base of his shaft in a firm grip. He drew an audible breath at the contact and then relaxed.

The length of it was hot to touch and she could feel the throbbing beneath her fingers that belied her assertion. She tried not to laugh again as his expression came to mind while she ran her hand along the smooth skin until she reached the tip. Lowering her head, she placed her mouth over it.

"Oh, fuck!"

Shepard gave a strangled gasp as she began taking in as much of his length as she could, swirling her tongue around it. Gradually, she felt his fingers thread gently through her hair as she slid her lips up and down the expanse.

A low guttural moan resounded deep within his throat and beneath her tongue, she could feel him harden a little more. She smiled her satisfaction around a mouthful of him. But it'd been as long for him as it was for her and it was with reluctance that she finally released him. He gave a deep shudder that said her timing had been correct. Closing his eyes, he drew several deep breaths before looking at her.

"Almost had to stop you there."

"Don't worry, that's not how I wanted you either."

He gave a rueful grin.

"I'm entirely at your mercy, aren't I?"

It was reminiscent of their more casual lovemaking sessions where keeping tallies of who had the edge over who was a little pastime. But hearing it now was a sobering reminder of the number of times she'd felt put out by him, or how she'd tested his patience again and again, all of which he'd bore without a complaint. The time to even out that balance was long overdue.

She looked at him quietly and then shook her head.

"Not at all."

Leaning forward, she gave him a tender kiss, before climbing back onto his lap again, her eyes staying on his the whole time as she slowly eased herself onto his length. They shared a tentative smile when he was as deep as possible within her. The feel of him inside her again, stretching her passage was exquisite, but more importantly, it brought on a sense of completion, like the sealing of an unspoken pact.

She brought her hands to rest around his neck even as he kept his braced behind him on the bed. After a moment, she flexed her knees and began moving. Slowly at first and then gathering speed, she focused on the feel of his length almost sliding out of her before she drove herself down on him again.

Shepard had a look of intense concentration on his face even though he was content to let her do the work. She knew what he was doing—he was doing his best to hold back so he wouldn't spoil this first time in a long time for her. It went back again to how she'd seen him done terrible but necessary things as a soldier, experienced him at his most personally bullheaded and obtuse, but there was one thing that never changed with him—he would move mountains if he thought that made her happy.

Ever so gently, she drew his head close before tucking it against her neck, saying with that what failed for her as words. Against her, she felt Shepard's chest heave deeply as he savoured their intimacy. Their bodies were soon slick with sweat rubbing against each other, and their breathing a quick and harsh synchrony. Having gone without all this time, it didn't take long for either of them.

She climaxed with a shuddering moan, her inner muscles spasming convulsively around his length. He followed soon after, his whole body stiffening with a jolt that held true until he emptied himself within her.

Contrary to Miranda's earlier expectations, there was nothing mind-blowing or world-shattering to this particular reunion. Nothing like the excitement or sense of adventure that accompanied their first few couplings onboard the Normandy. Perhaps it was the effect of taking things slow, or perhaps it was the realisation that somehow this marked the onset of a new life and a new phase for the both of them.

They clung on to each other for support before finally disengaging to collapse tiredly on the bed. Reaching across the space between them, Shepard drew her in for a long and leisurely kiss before spooning himself against her back, those hands that once held the fate of billions in their grasp, now cradling her with a gentleness that belied their bloody history.

"It... feels like I've finally come home."

Quiet awe suffused his voice.

"It does feel that way, doesn't it?"

Miranda shifted around to face him, her fingers moving to trace his eyebrows in a lazy fashion.

Dismay slowly filled her as she noted the new lines of age and worry his face had acquired. He was younger than her, but already he looked older. Shepard had never stinted on pushing his body beyond its limits, and he'd used himself hard all these years. Even if that hadn't been the case, she knew if they remained together for the rest of their lives, she would have to watch him grow old and die while she remained relatively young. Of all the genetic gifts her father had bestowed upon her, she'd never thought of this one as a curse before.

He must have caught the minute hitch in her breathing for he asked, "Is there something wrong?"

"It can wait." She tugged at a few strands of his unruly beard to change the subject. "Do you intend to trim this, or are you thinking to impersonate a caveman?"

Shepard scratched his chin idly.

"And a couple of weeks ago, I was afraid it wasn't thick enough. I'll trim the beard tomorrow. Will need help with my hair though."

"I suppose I could try my hand at it," she allowed.

He chuckled, a slight heaving of his chest.

"I'm kind of scared to see how that'll turn out."

"Beggars can't be choosers," she huffed and shifted against him. "Unless you'd rather Ori or Shan do it. In which case, I'll do my best to ignore you for a week or so."

He smiled at her indulgently as he planted a kiss on her lips.

"C'mon, you know you're the first one I'd go to."

Miranda shook her head as they shared a laugh at their silliness. With some difficulty, she resolved to be grateful for what they would have and not dwell on the inevitable. After all, there was no knowing what tomorrow might bring—something Shepard had reminded her long ago. But now she knew unequivocally that it was worth it. He was worth it, along with the good and the bad.

This was when she became aware of a particular part of his body making its presence known again between them.

"I was wondering when you'd be ready for seconds," she teased as she wriggled pointedly against him.

"Figured I'd wait till I'm ready for thirds too," he said, grinning like a boy before the tree on Christmas morning.

"Careful you don't bite off more than you can chew..."

"Ha!" His brows twitched in response to the challenge. "Watch me."

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to say that. Not that she minded, but it certainly looked like sleep was going to be very low on the list tonight...