Miranda stared at her terminal, rubbing her temple with her forefingers as she tried to focus on the report she was writing. Frustrated that the headache pulsing through her skull wasn't going away, she got up from her desk and walked over to her bed. Flopping down onto it, she buried her face in one of the pillows.

It was a meaningless report – one that she was only writing up to occupy herself and keep her from realizing just how truly bored she was. This wasn't what she expected when she had resigned from Cerberus. She had thought that she and Shepard would be flying around the universe, taking preventative action in preparation of the oncoming Reaper invasion, but after weeks of nothing but searching for minerals and anomalies on planets, she couldn't handle it anymore. They hadn't encountered one distress call. They hadn't come across any reliable Intel that would lead to any kind of mission. Admiral Hackett hadn't even contacted them in months.

'Is this still worth it?' She thought to herself as she turned her head slightly to gaze out of the viewport in her office. 'Was quitting Cerberus really worth it?'

She propped herself up on her elbows, toying with her hands as the thought entered her mind. 'I've been on this ship for months now with nothing to do. This isn't what I wanted. I should be doing something bigger than this – it's what I was… made for. Not squandering my gifts by drifting around the universe probing planets.'

A loud ping from her terminal broke her from her angry thoughts – and the prospect of it being a lead to something interesting and exciting filled her. As she got up from her bed and rushed over to her computer, her heart sunk when she realized that it was an email from Shepard;

To:

From: Shepard.N7

Subject: Crew Leave

Miranda,

I know things have been… stale lately. This hasn't been easy on any of us. But I think I've come up with a solution; one that will help crew morale, as well as our sanity. I'm sure most of the crew is feeling the same way you and I are, so I'm going to call a meeting to suggest everyone take a two week vacation, to do whatever it is they please. As standing XO, I'd like you to be there.

As my better half, I wish for you to be there.

I'll be calling them together soon – see you in the CIC.

Love,

Shepard.

Her eyes remained on the screen long after she had finished reading. She wanted to be there for the crew - and Shepard – but something inside of her was holding her back. She was scared of the direction they were heading in and worried that showing any more vulnerability right now would only hurt them both later on.

Sighing, Miranda returned to the bed and laid back down, turning so that she was lying on her side. Her eyes glossed over the room, eventually settling on a small paint stain in the corner. As her father's heir, she had been trained by the best private tutors in every field, but her favorite subject matter had been the arts. As a genetically altered human, she had been created to be the best at everything, leaving little room for her to grow or establish herself as an individual. In art, however, she found she could flourish while differentiating herself from anyone else. Each stroke of a paintbrush could be interpreted in a thousand different ways. Every "flaw" could be made into something beautiful and unique. It was the only thing Miranda had ever encountered that actually encouraged her to put even the bad pieces of herself into. For every painting, she had to fight her natural urge to fix every mistake. She had to struggle to find a harmony between imperfection and the "ideal" she held in her head. In time, she actually found that her most imperfect pieces, the ones that held the most of her own personal discord and sorrow, were the ones held most highly in esteem among anyone who saw them.

She had shared this with Shepard one night as they lay in bed talking. She could see from the glimmer in his eyes as she spoke that he loved seeing this side to her, and knowing that made Miranda feel exceptional in a way she never had before. For that, she loved him even more.

She hadn't put much thought to that discussion until later when, on her birthday, he presented her with an easel and a collection of paints and brushes.

"I love your imperfections just as much as the rest of you," he had told her. "And I want you to be able to appreciate those parts of yourself, as well." He had pulled her close then and stroked her face with his right hand as he watched her eyes fill with tears. "So paint your deficiencies and flaws - and we can admire them together."

The memory of that moment stole all breath from her lungs. She sat up and tried to put on her unfeeling demeanor once more… but failed. She was finding that harder to do each day and was scared of what it meant.

"I'm sorry, Shepard," she whispered to herself.

'Now if only I could tell you that in person,' she thought miserably.

Composing herself once more, she stood and returned to her desk, intent on distracting herself from the pinpricks of pain she was causing her heart - her Shepard.

As her attention returned briefly to the report in front of her, the sudden sound of cheering and laughter from above her made her realize that Shepard had gone ahead with his plan – and that she had missed it. He had pleaded for her to be there – and she wasn't. The sudden pang in her heart caused her to lose composure, but she pushed it away – had to. If she didn't begin to rebuild that wall that had protected her all those years, she would lose herself – who she truly was. She was a woman bred for perfection – and she wasn't going to let herself forget that.

She drowned out the sounds with her typing, focusing purely on the report and nothing else. But as the sounds grew louder and louder, she found it a lot more difficult to remain focused. The headache returned once more, pulsing harder than before. She let out a sigh of anger, once again bringing her right hand up to massage her temple, trying to get it to go away.