A/N: Don't go giving me any ideas about writing Dragon Age stuff; I've been fighting the urge for weeks now. Maybe one day, my friend. For now, I'd love to actually finish something on this site for once haha

This is a pretty nonsense chapter, but I had a lot of fun with it. Based on my adventures with my Miranda and Shepard Sims 3 file (yup I'm that much of a creep) :D

"No, Shepard," Miranda groaned, "that's disgusting. Get it for yourself if you want, but I'm not eating them."

Shepard waved the package in front of Miranda's face in protest, "This is classic human food. If you are going to settle down on Earth you have to go all away. We're in America, Miranda, ya gotta go native."

Eyeing the hot dogs suspiciously, Miranda prodded the package gently with a single finger, "I don't even think that's real meat."

With a sigh, Shepard shook her head, "Now I know you had a rough childhood." When Miranda shot her a warning glare Shepard merely laughed it off, "I just mean, it must have been hard, eating caviar all day every day from your silver spoon."

Smiling despite herself, Miranda sniffed in mock anger, "It was gold, actually."

"Uh huh, very cute," Shepard tossed the package into their nearby carriage, "I'm not going to force you, but I think you should give it a try. You might be surprised."

Miranda looked doubtful, "I think I'll stick with foods that are not quite so…processed."

Shaking her head, Shepard followed Miranda as she began to direct their cart further down the aisle. Out of the corner of her eye, Miranda noticed a sly look flicker across Shepard's features.

"Oh I see what's going on," Shepard suddenly began sagely, "feeling a little homesick, huh?"

"What?" Miranda asked in a disinterested tone, she had been dealing with incessant teasing all morning, and for whatever reason Shepard was absolutely brimming with energy. Miranda guessed it must have stemmed from being cooped up in that hospital room for so long, but that didn't make it any more tolerable.

As they continued past the shelves side by side Shepard continued, "Nothing, I just, I know I could make you feel a little more comfortable. We could head back home for lunch later, and I'll throw some shrimp on the barbie."

Miranda paused mid step, "What?"

"Or you know," Shepard was grinning wildly, "bangers and mash, eh?"

With a fiery gaze, Miranda turned to face Shepard, but that only seemed to enhance the woman's fun, "Nothing like some good tucker after lot's o' hard yacka."

"Oh my god," Miranda was moving forward again, much more quickly now, "If you're going to be an ass at least use the phrases correctly."

"Oi, that's rubbish, mate."

Shepard sat in what was often referred to as the 'husband chair', trying to conceal as much of her face as possible. She had been enjoying her time back out and about in the world greatly, but was finding the amount of people unnerving. So determined was she to remain anonymous, Shepard once again donned her N7 sweatshirt with the hood up, despite having to travel through the heat of the day. A pair of sunglasses, which Miranda had oh so helpfully pointed out as being horrendously tacky, completed the outfit.

Now, the great savior of the galaxy sat on the uncomfortable little bench outside of dressing room six, feeling unbearably hot, and more than a little foolish. Of course, to make matters worse, she had been denied entry into the changing booth. Despite her best efforts, she was forced to wait patiently outside, all the while knowing that a mostly naked Miranda Lawson was just behind a flimsy curtain. Shepard had promised she would only look and not touch, but all that had earned her was a soft swat to the back of the head.

Reluctantly, she had settled for taking on the role of passing various items of clothing to the disembodied hand that occasionally shot out from behind the drape. Shepard had quickly found the job wasn't all bad however, as she soon discovered that she could get away with running out into the store front to make a few unconventional additions to the pile Miranda had collected earlier.

"Next," Miranda's hand was once more poking out from between the curtain and the wall.

"Here you are," Shepard replied cheerily, as she passed over one of her personal picks.

The hand retracted into the booth, and then immediately shot out once more, "Nice try. Give me something I picked up."

"No wait; just try it," Shepard whined, "Please?"

There was a sigh from the booth, and then what Miranda had now counted to be the third pair of flannel pants Shepard had forced upon her was pulled inside, "Fine, but I'm getting a little concerned at this apparent pajama fetish of yours."

They had returned to the apartment in the late afternoon, only to immediately turn around and head back out after realizing they needed some more food for Space Hamster. And then little realizations started cropping up, things they had never really been concerned with before. They needed dishes, silverware, glasses, napkins, pots, pans, more toiletries, towels, laundry detergent, and a host of other supplies. They needed to really start a life.

When they finally returned for good, both women were exhausted. They collapsed together on the couch, too hungry to do anything, too tired to eat, and so they chatted about a whole lot of nothing until evening.

Miranda was dozing contentedly; head slumped on Shepard's shoulder, when her stomach interrupted the peace. When her eyes reluctantly flickered open, she was met with Shepard's excited gaze.

"Time for hot dogs?"

Shaking her head defiantly, Miranda rejected the idea instantly, "Why can't we have real food?"

Shepard jostled her gently as she stood up, eyes practically glowing with amusement, "Miranda, these hot dogs are as real as the plastic used to mold them."

Miranda shot out her tongue in disgust as Shepard threw her a wink, "Come on, lady. Have an open mind."

The best part about the experience was that if nothing else, they were finished cooking rather quickly. The worst part was when Shepard held up the package in front of Miranda's face to show off the juice that had collected at the bottom.

"Meat water," She stated simply.

Miranda shuddered and turned away until the process was over.

When they were both sitting at the little round table that had been supplied for them by the edge of the kitchen, Shepard had launched into what she thought to be a very interesting lesson on the uses of hot dogs.

"See, and it's great because when I was little we would cut them up and put them in our eggs. Oh, or sometimes in our pasta when we were out of sauce."

Miranda was less than impressed as she warily appraised her plate. Now she was expected to be eating potato chips as well, as Shepard had fervently declared in the snack aisle that it would really bring the whole occasion together.

"Okay, now let me show you the right way to do this," Shepard said, rubbing her hands together in excitement.

"There's a method?" Miranda asked incredulously.

"There is if you are awesome," Shepard replied smugly with a wink, "which I am."

With a quiet scoff, Miranda watched as Shepard set about her work. She coated one side of the bun with mayonnaise, and then filled the opposite side with broken up chips, setting the hot dog triumphantly down in the center.

"That's disgusting."

"That's food turned art, my dear."

Miranda shook her head, "Well I'll just have mine plain for now, Picasso."

Shepard shrugged, "Your loss. You can eat yours separately if you like, but it's all going down the same pipe in the end."

With a roll of her eyes, Miranda laughed, "I'll keep that in mind."

The hot dog was delicious, not that she'd ever tell.

They spent the rest of the night doing the menial tasks they had never fully experienced before. There had always been somebody to clean up after them, a cook on the ship to wash the dishes or to gather up the leftovers. It was funny, how exciting the process felt when they attempted it themselves.

Miranda had always enjoyed keeping things orderly, and it surprisingly turned out to be a blessing that Shepard didn't seem to care. She put up no resistance as Miranda sorted out what went where in the many drawers and cabinets of the kitchen, and assisted without a word.

The process took awhile, and proved to be rather draining, but eventually they were satisfied with the results. It wasn't until afterwards, when Miranda was in the shower washing the day from her skin, and Shepard was trying ineffectively to teach Space Hamster to play dead for a nibble of potato chip, that Hackett himself made a call.

Shepard accepted the audio call on her omnitool, feeling rather confused, "is everything okay, sir?"

Hackett seemed to hesitate, "Yes, how are you settling in?" but before she could answer he was already rushing on, "Listen, I'm sorry to call on you so late, I was just hoping I could ask you a few questions. Now that everything is getting back to normal over here, we've been getting back to the more…political side of things. I've heard that the Cerberus agent Miss. Lawson will be staying with you for the time being?"

Shepard's stomach tightened, "She is, yes."

"I would like to speak with her, Shepard. We've been having some confusion on our side. Between the data we've collected from the Illusive Man's base, the information from Sanctuary, and your own intelligence, there's a lot of conflicting reports."

"I'm sorry," Shepard responded awkwardly, rubbing at the back of her neck, "She's indisposed at the moment. Wouldn't it be better to go through EDI? She practically lived in their computer."

To her surprise, Hackett laughed, "You mean the illegal AI that was rebuilt on one of my ships without Alliance consent? No Shepard, EDI offered us some information, yes, but she was integrated into their newest systems; she wouldn't know anything the Illusive Man didn't want her to. I need to speak to someone who has been with Cerberus for much longer, someone who might have taken to gathering information they shouldn't have been."

Shepard sighed, that sure did sound like Miranda all right.

"Please, Shepard, just give her my contact information first thing in the morning."

Despite the strong urge to reject his request, to keep Miranda far away from anything having to do with Cerberus, Shepard finally relented, "Okay, sir. Just," She hesitated, "can you tell me something about what is going on? Should I be worried here?"

He released a haggard breath, "No, Shepard. I've got it all under control, just focus on getting some rest."

She didn't feel very confident as he ended the call, and turned back to her little hamster's tank with much less enthusiasm. She was still going at it when Miranda emerged from the shower, begrudgingly dressed in her new flannel pants at Shepard's request. Funny, she had sworn she had returned them to their place on the shelf, and yet they had mysteriously turned up in her bags anyhow. Shepard assured her that she was equally mystified.

She walked up behind Shepard to observe the woman's work, as she vigorously rubbed a towel through her hair, "No luck?"

Shepard grimaced, "It's almost like all he cares about is scratching and digging. He won't even look at me."

Miranda laughed, "Oh, leave the poor thing alone for a bit."

"Fine," Shepard relented with a sigh before pointing an accusing finger at the rodent, "But this isn't over, pal."

Space Hamster took a step forward to sniff the finger carefully, and then opened its mouth to take a quick nibble.

"Hey!" Shepard shouted as she yanked her hand to safety, "You little traitor."

An affectionate smile spread across Miranda's face as she pulled Shepard towards the bed with her free hand. When Shepard complied Miranda moved back to the bathroom to hang up her towel and turn off the light.

"So what's the plan for tomorrow?"

Shepard shrugged as she pulled down the covers and snuggled down into the bed, "I dunno. Whatever we want, I guess." She decided to wait until morning to tell Miranda about Hackett. She didn't want to see the woman stressing about it all night.

"Hmm," Miranda hummed thoughtfully as she moved to join Shepard, "I don't really know what I want. It feels kind of pathetic."

Shepard laughed and pulled her close as soon as she hit the pillow, "Don't think about it like that. We'll figure it out tomorrow. For now let's just rest."

"Okay," Miranda shifted so she could turn off the light beside the bed, and then settled back into Shepard's embrace.

Her eyes were drifting shut when she felt rogue fingers dipping into the waistband of her pants. She scoffed and didn't bother opening her eyes, "I thought we were resting?"

With a laugh, Shepard let her hands trail lower, "I was trying. Maybe you should stop being such a tease."

Miranda shivered involuntarily at the contact, "I was-" there was a sharp intake of breath as Shepard moved in to kiss her neck, "I was just sleeping."

Suddenly, Shepard was above her, hands roaming everywhere at once, a mischievous tone lacing her words, "I see. It must just be your natural allure then."