A/N: More non-canon.

The small batarian ship was adrift. Miranda stood at Joker's shoulder as he guided the Normandy cautiously in toward it, EDI bathing it with a scan.

"Main engines are offline, however there is gravity and life-support. Some power transfer systems are offline and the helm is nonresponsive. You will have heat and air, but very little in the way of light. I am also showing a hull breach at the helm. It is rather significant, and seems to have been caused by an explosive force originating in the helm itself. The breach is sealed safely with a barrier, and there is adequate power for the barrier to sustain for quite some time."

"Infrared signatures?" Miranda asked.

"Results are inconclusive."

"Joker, lock us on," she ordered. "We're going aboard. I'll take a group in first, secure the ship and locate Shepard. I want Chakwas and the medical team through that airlock the moment we give the all clear."

Twenty minutes earlier…

The stars shone through the gaping hole in the side of the helm, glimmering as cold and steady as diamond chips beyond the faint shimmer of the barrier. One of the consoles, ripped in half, spat occasional sparks, its holographic interface sputtering and flashing an error.

A trembling pair of white fingers streaked with red pressed the reset on the cobbled together power bypass. Slowly one of the other consoles flickered back into life, its interface brightening first to amber, and then to green.

Blood pattered to the ground as a body shifted. A t-shirt, wadded around a hand and soaked maroon, shifted slightly beneath her chin as haunted brown eyes fixed on the communications interface. She managed to open a channel, pinging the Normandy's ident signature. Even as the ping went through, her shaking hand closed on a shard of metal.

Lifting it to the edge of the console she began to tap. Morse code. It was a fucking miracle she remembered any of it, but they had drilled it into their heads all through boot. She supposed she couldn't really forget it, even if she tried.

Help, she tapped. Normandy, respond. This Shepard. Aide needed.

She wasn't even sure they were receiving, and repeated the message. Halfway through, the batarian ship's VI announced an open line. A breath later, she heard EDI's voice.

"You are connected."

SOS. Need aid. This Shepard. Normandy. Need aid. Respond, she tapped. She knew that coordinates were not required…if they could receive the comm signal they could pinpoint its origin location with ease.

"Commander Shepard, this is Miranda," the Australian replied. "We need to confirm your ID. We have to know it's actually you and not a batarian trap. Please, verify your ID."

Fuck. What was her ID? Her head was swimming and thick. She was kneeling at the console as it was, her head resting on its edge even as she put all her concentration and energy into tapping. A number as familiar to her as her own name was suddenly a mystery.

Slowly, desperately, she tapped out the only thing she could think of.

Fuck.

"That's the Commander all right," she heard Garrus pipe up in the background. She sagged down into a sit, eyelids drooping.

"Hang tight, Shepard, we're on our way," Miranda replied. "We're not far. ETA about fifteen minutes. Is the ship secure? Are you injured?"

Ship secure. Need aide. Please hurry. Each tap seemed to take an eternity to produce. In all honesty, she wasn't even sure that the words she was intending to form were what she was actually transmitting. Her eyelids fluttered. Her head felt like a thousand pound weight.

I think I'm dying.

The metal tumbled from her fingers as she slumped, back against the wall. Tenuously she struggled to hold on to consciousness, her eyes moving to the gaping rent in the side of the helm, and the stars beyond. Fifteen minutes. It was an eternity, an impossibility. She shifted her bandaged hand again. She could only feel a vague heat, the rest of her seemed as cold a marble.

You're not dying here, Shepard, she ordered herself. Not here, and not like this. You have to see Liara again. You have to tell her you are sorry.

The stars watched her implacably as her weary brown eyes slipped closed.

Beyond the sickly yellow of the cheap emergency lighting strips, and the occasional glow from a console, the batarian ship was smothered in darkness. A swarm of omni-lights moved through the lock from the Normandy, the crew quickly fanning out with weapons ready.

Miranda was in the lead, but Kasumi, Jacob, and Garrus were not far behind. As the first light landed on the first batarian corpse, Garrus hummed to himself.

"This definitely looks like her work," he murmured.

"You, portside," Miranda ordered, gesturing at three of the crew. "You, starboard. We're heading straight up to the CIC. If it moves and has more than two eyes, shoot it."

Continuing on toward the helm revealed more and more batarian bodies. Most were shot. A couple looked battered around, heads laying at odd angles on their broken necks. A few dents and scorch marks lined the floor and hull where weapons-fire had missed its target. Stepping over and around the bodies Miranda broke into a trot as they neared the helm, but it was Kasumi who darted ahead and entered first.

A breath later the thief called out. "I found her! Hurry!"

Miranda and Garrus entered a second later, taking in the amazing sight in an instant.

Four batarians lay dead, scattered around the helm. So much blood had been spilled it formed small lakes on the metal floor. A good three meters of the starboard-side bridge was gone, the gaping rent showing the shimmer of a barrier, and stars beyond. Given the twists of metal and the black scorches fanning out almost across the entire helm, it was clear the breach was caused by an explosion originating on the inside of the ship, rather than without. Location said it wasn't an equipment malfunction or overload…more likely some kind of small incendiary explosion. Grenade, perhaps.

Kasumi was crouched beside Shepard, who was slumped between the communications console and the far wall. She sat with right leg outstretched, her left knee drawn up to her chest. Her right hand was limp at her side. Her left was wadded with what looked like her shirt, soaked black with blood and actively dripping. This hand was held up in an odd position under her chin.

Her torso, sports bra, and jeans were painted with crimson, and Miranda could see glimmers of metal both in the right leg of her jeans and peppered along her right side; shrapnel. Her face was flat pale, lips blue and eyes sunk in grey-brown hollows. They were closed.

"She's breathing," Kasumi said as Miranda rushed over. As she crouched as well, however, Shepard's eyelids half opened and the woman jolted slightly, her right hand slapping at her hip weakly as she instinctively reached for a weapon that wasn't there.

"Shepard, it's us," Miranda soothed. "We're here."

"Ship's clear," Jacob said from the doorway.

"Get Chakwas and the medics aboard, now!" Miranda snapped at him, then looked back at the commander. Reaching for her awkwardly held, bound hand, she blinked as Shepard faintly recoiled, shaking her head slightly.

"All right," Miranda murmured. "I won't touch it."

Chakwas and her assistant appeared only moments later, but it felt like an eternity. Shepard had closed her eyes again despite Miranda's admonitions not to, but her faint, shallow breathing did not abate.

Kasumi moved to allow Chakwas room as the doctor knelt nearby. She, too, reached for Shepard's bandaged hand. Truly unconscious now, Shepard did not recoil as Chakwas drew the limb with its soaked make-shift bandage away.

"Oh my God," Miranda heard the looming Kasumi gasp.

"Medi-gel, now!" Chakwas ordered her assistant.

A jagged piece of metal, two or three inches wide, was embedded in the Commander's neck, just to the right of her trachea. Blood was not pumping but it was spilling steadily from around the metal, and given the color and amount, Helen knew the carotid at the least had been badly knicked. The very metal shard that had caused the injury was also the only thing keeping Shepard alive. Had the commander had the bad sense to try and pull it out, she would have been dead in moments.

Her assistant popped open a medi-gel packet and Chakwas slathered it around the shard, sealing the wound closed enough to halt the flow of blood. "We need to get her back to the Normandy and into surgery, now," she ordered.

Garrus helped to lift the limp commander onto a hover gurney, Chakwas stabilizing her head so that the wound in her neck didn't tear. As Miranda and Kasumi moved to follow, the former ordered EDI to do a full data-mine of the ship's computer systems.

Under the stark lights of the Normandy's medical bay, Shepard looked even worse than she had on the batarian vessel. Normally tan with a hint toward red, her skin was now flat white and gray, blue around her lips and eyelids. The red of her spilled blood was garishly bright. Shifting her from gurney to bio-bed Chakwas immediately began directing her medical team to start fluids, medications and blood replacement. Miranda didn't hesitate to roll up her sleeves and sterilize, before returning to Chakwas's side. She had spent two years literally re-growing the woman from the ground up, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to help save her life any way she could.

Shepard planted her feet, her pistol aimed at the spot right between all of Sikilke's four eyes. The batarian woman had her hand in front of her, as if offering a gift. Nestled on her palm, thumb pressing to the safety, the grenade shimmered in the glow of the equipment console.

Shepard could not remember ever being at such an impossible impasse. The grenade was already armed. If Sikilke lifted her thumb it would detonate. In such a small space, if that grenade went off they would both be dead. It would shred through the bulkhead, so mere flesh would hardly be an obstacle to it.

The only chance she had was to talk the batarian woman down and get her to set the disarm before the grenade went off.

"We'll both die if you let go of that trigger," Shepard warned, trying to appeal to the woman's better sense.

"Do you think I have anything left to live for?" Sikilke asked. "You killed my only son!"

Your son was a murdering slaver, Shepard wanted to spit, but for the sake of her hide she didn't.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Shepard told her. "I'm sorry for your pain, and your grief…but this is not the way-"

"And what is the way?" Sikilke demanded. "You're a human hero! They only pretended to try you for your crimes, a petty farce of justice! What justice did my boy get? He gets to rot in an unmarked grave while his murderer walks free!"

"So why didn't you just kill me?" Shepard asked. "You had me, Sikilke. Drugged and helpless. Why let me live? Where are you taking me?"

"I don't want you to just die," Sikilke spat. "I want you to suffer! There are those who would pay a great deal for your suffering, those who would carve you apart alive, submit you to tortures you cannot even imagine."

"Who, Sikilke?" Shepard asked. "Who were you taking me to?"

Sikilke smiled, a cold and maddened expression. "They will destroy you," she promised. "They will destroy all of your people, wipe your filth from every corner of the stars. The death of the human race is theirs to deal but you…I'm kind of glad things unfolded like this. I'm glad I get to taste your blood for myself, even if I must die with you!"

Seeing the gleam in her eye Shepard gasped, "Don't!" even as the woman's thumb lifted, releasing the button.

Sedatives still in her system, coupled with exhaustion, shock and blood-loss, and Shepard's reflexes were only a ghost of their former selves. She barely had time to half turn, intending to launch herself as far across the helm as she was able, when the grenade erupted.

Sikilke was vaporized instantly, the blast tearing through the side of the helm. Shepard felt the slicing pain of a dozen different shards of metal even as heat and concussion lifted her off her feet. Slamming into the far bulkhead, she crumpled to the ground.

As sense slowly returned she became aware of the narrowness of her breath, a thin line of heat being drawn with every inhalation. Eyes focusing as she tried to sit, she saw blood spilling down onto the metal in far too thick a stream, and frantically groped for her neck. Feeling the shrapnel buried there she pressed her bandaged hand around it, desperately trying to stem the flow. Turning into a sit, head already swimming, she stared sadly at the rent in the side of the ship, knowing it was only pure fortune she hadn't been immediately killed.

"Don't…" the word was faint, barely an outlet of air between a pair of weakly moving lips. Kasumi straightened, peering at Shepard's face a moment before looking over.

"Helen, I think she's waking up," she said. Chakwas rose from her desk and moved over, glancing at the read-outs from the bio-bed. Her brainwave patterns were slowly spiking toward consciousness.

"Shepard, shhh," Chakwas murmured, lightly laying the palm of her hand against Shepard's cheek. "Take it easy. You're safe."

The commander's head moved slightly before her brows knit, eyes cracking open. She blinked at Chakwas, then tried to focus on Kasumi, who was smiling.

"You are officially the toughest person I know," the small thief declared. "And I know krogan."

"M'balls are bigger too…" Shepard slurred with a weak smile, her voice little more than a rasp. She winced.

"No, no talking, Commander," Chakwas ordered. "You had some very serious damage to your throat. You're beyond lucky to be alive. A few millimeters more and your carotid would have been completely severed. We were able to save your hand, as well. You'll even get full use of it back."

"Good…doctor…" Shepard mouthed.

Chakwas shook her head. "Oh no. I am a good doctor but I can't take credit for that. That one was thanks to Miranda. Well, her and those little nanites still crawling around in your system. I do have some bad news, however. You might want to brace yourself."

Shepard blinked at her tiredly, brows knitting. Chakwas smiled gently.

"I'm afraid the repairs won't be completely seamless. Shepard…I'm so sorry. You're going to have scars."

When Shepard grinned Chakwas did as well. "Get some more rest, Commander. You still have a lot of healing to do. Get some rest…and welcome home."

Shepard could feel her eyes drifting shut again. She had no energy to fight it, and soon had fallen back to sleep. Chakwas rested her hand lightly against the woman's forehead a moment, before she looked at Kasumi.

"She'll be all right. Two more days and she'll be pitching a fit that I won't let her back on duty."

"I still can't believe she ripped herself free of meat-hooks," Kasumi stated.

"I don't want to imagine it," Helen agreed. "Lazarus project aside…they just don't make them like her anymore."

Then she shook her head. "Go and get some rest, Kasumi. I chased Garrus out of here already and I have no problem chasing you out too. Go on. She'll be up to talking tomorrow for a bit, I'm sure."

"She was just a sad, angry woman who happened to be bat-shit insane," Shepard mumbled around her cigar as she jabbed at the sandbag. Right hand only…her left was still not up for punching things. "Now she's dead, and I'm fine. No use fretting over what-ifs."

"I agree," Kelly replied. She was perched on a bench in the small gym off of Shepard's quarters, but she was not the only one there. Kasumi sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, and Gabriella was busy sipping an off-duty beer, leaning on the wall near the bench.

I can't believe I'm part of a fucking 'girl's club', Shepard thought wryly, and swung another punch.

"But even though I agree with that, the long and short of it is, you were tortured, Shepard," Kelly continued. Shepard shook her head, wiping a wrist over her forehead.

"I wasn't tortured," she protested.

"Forced to pull your own hand free of meat-hooks?" Gabriella snorted. "I'd call that tortured."

"They didn't force me, I did it on my own," Shepard retorted.

"Because they left you no alternative," Kelly reminded her gently. "If you hadn't done so, you'd be a prisoner of the Collectors right now."

EDI's data-mine of the batarian ship and a miniscule dose of common sense had revealed that it was the Collectors that Sikilke was intending to deliver Shepard to. She wasn't all that surprised at the reveal. The Collectors had tried to take her body before the Lazarus project, Kuril had indicated someone was offering a large amount of credits in exchange for her delivery, and now Sikilke's attempt. One would have to be blind and an idiot not to see the connection.

Slightly more interesting, apparently they'd given her enough sedative to keep her out for twenty-four hours, but she had awakened after less than half that. It seemed her nanite buddies and her still-stimulated metabolism had the added bonus of reducing the effectiveness of such narcotics. Again, a fortunate turn.

"Why are you trying to psychoanalyze me now?" Shepard asked with a faint scowl that was only half serious. Her gloved hand swept around, indicating Daniels and Kasumi. "In front of these fine ladies?"

"Fine ladies?" Kasumi snorted with a grin, glancing at Gabriella. "Gabby? Do you see any fine ladies around here?"

"Not a single one," the engineer replied. Shepard rolled her eyes, then shook her head.

"My point is…I'm fine. I have a job to do and right now that job is to get back into shape."

She swung one more punch at the bag. Truth be told her wounds were healing just fine. Her hand ached now and again and reacted stiffly but save for an angry red line of healing scar tissue around her wrist and a couple of paper-thin ones along the back and palm of her hand, it was all but impossible to tell it had even been hurt. Miranda's muscle regeneration techniques and nerve repair protocols were top notch.

Beyond that, she had a few tiny shrapnel scars along her side, one slightly larger one in her leg, and of course the most dramatic one of all stretching three inches along the side of her neck, a bright red slash that would pale to white over time.

In Shepard's mind she had only done what she had to do…like always. She'd survived, they'd lost. She'd proven she was stronger. As she'd told Chakwas before, it was useless to go stabbing at the ocean just for being the ocean.

"Even so-" Kelly began, a moment before the door call for Shepard's quarters rang through the gym.

"We're having a regular party," Shepard grumped, before calling out. "Come in! We're in the gym."

A few moments later the door opened, revealing Miranda. The woman looked troubled, glancing from Shepard to the other women.

"Shepard, I need to speak with you," she said tightly. "If…you have a moment?"

Narrowing her eyes slightly Shepard nodded. "You heard the XO, girls," she stated. "Vámonos."

As the three others vacated the room, Shepard moved over and sat down on the bench, unlacing the single glove she'd been using to beat the sandbag.

Barely had the door closed than Miranda blurted out, "Shepard, I need your help."

Setting the glove aside and picking up her water bottle, Shepard nodded and took a swig. It still hurt a little to swallow, but not too bad. "Sure," she said, lowering the bottle. "What's the problem?"

Miranda had been weighing her options frantically for a while now. That's what she did…thought things through, weighed options, came to a rational and workable solution.

Only this time, emotion was threatening rationality, and her options were risking not only her orders, but the Illusive Man's wrath.

She knew that Shepard had yet to finish watching that call log between Liara and Nancy Salgado. Nor had Miranda yet used her virus program to eliminate it. She'd started to a dozen times, but something kept staying her hand.

For the first time in her career with Cerberus, she felt strongly in opposition to a decision the Illusive Man had taken. She still felt it would be in the best interests not only of Shepard, but of the mission in general were the commander reunited with Liara T'Soni. Right now, only her loyalty to the organization, her trust in the Illusive Man's judgment, was staying her hand.

And that's where her conundrum came in. As of now, against her own feelings, she was following her boss's directive and keeping Shepard from any knowledge of Liara T'Soni or her whereabouts…but she did desperately need her help, needed to go to Ilium.

And Liara was on Ilium.

There are ways to keep Shepard and her apart, even still. It's a whole planet, for God's sake. Liara's offices are fifty kilometers away from where I need to go. If we keep the Normandy in orbit, go directly to the transport hub in the shuttle we can take care of it and be back and on our way out of orbit before even T'Soni's network can report we're there.

She had to take the chance. No matter the risk that T'Soni and Shepard might reunite, Miranda had to help Orianna.

Unable to sit or keep still, the Cerberus operative paced back and forth, arms folded as she spoke, explaining about her father (something Shepard had only heard the beginning of) and then about her sister. As she spoke, Shepard watched her pacing and listened quietly, never having seen the usually cool woman so agitated before.

"Cerberus has already made arrangements to move her to another location," Miranda concluded. "But there is still a risk…I want to be there, Shepard. Oversee the transfer, make sure nothing goes wrong. I…I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to her. She deserves to have a normal life. I know its off-mission and…you're still healing, but-"

"This is on Ilium?" Shepard asked, taking another calm swig of her water bottle. Miranda nodded, and Shepard echoed it.

"Well then, I guess we're going to Ilium."

Miranda stared at her, slowly lowering her arms. She had honestly thought that Shepard would refuse. It's being handled, she'd say. Don't you trust your own people? she'd ask. Our mission is too important for any more silly delays, would be her excuse.

"R-Really?" Miranda blinked.

"Of course, Miranda," Shepard replied. "Listen, I may not like Cerberus, may not agree with your view on many…many things, but you saved my life. More than once. You're part of my crew. If this is important to you, it's important to me. Besides, I need to stretch my legs a bit, get back into the swing of things. Let's go make sure your sister is safe."

Unexpected emotion moved through her and Miranda actually felt her eyes heat a little. "I…don't know what to say…"

"How about you start by saying, 'EDI, have Joker put us on a course for Ilium?'"

"Acknowledged, Shepard," EDI replied, and Shepard grinned with half a shrug.

"Or, I could say it," she teased.

Betrayal.

In an occupation where you had to rely on others for your very life, one thing a marine couldn't stand or stand to see, was betrayal. Seeing the denial of it, the dawning awareness, and then the pained acceptance enter into Miranda's eyes was agonizing to behold.

When her gun snapped up, intending to erase her childhood friend from life, however, Shepard had to act. Reaching out her hand slapped down on Miranda's pistol, redirecting its muzzle toward the floor. When Miranda glared at her Shepard's eyes were stern but understanding.

"Don't," she murmured. "That's not a ghost you want to live with."

The man, Niket, finally seemed to understand what it was he'd really done. Acting with what he thought were the best intentions, he had only made a bad situation worse.

"I…I'll say she was already gone, that I couldn't find her," he offered. "I…I'm so sorry, Miri. I never meant…any of this."

Blue eyes, normally as clear and cool as ice, betrayed shimmering pools as they melted. Miranda's lip trembled, then firmed in anger and hurt before she cleared her throat and spoke again. "Fine," she spat. "Get out of here. Go. And I never want to see-"

There was the snap of a pistol as the Eclipse merc standing behind him suddenly fired, the human man folding without a sound. The one Miranda made, however, was not easily forgotten.

"Done," the merc smirked. "Now. Let's finish this so I can deliver the girl and get paid."

There was the ratchet of a dozen rifles as the Eclipse squad grinned and readied weapons. Miranda saw none of it…only her own wrath. With a scream she hauled back a hand wreathed in biotics, flinging it forward as if tossing a bowling ball. Flashes of power burst in rhythm along the ground before a bright explosion of energy tossed half the mercs from their feet.

Biotics or not, Miranda was leaving herself wide open. She'd knocked down half the mercs but only half, and the others were swiftly orienting guns on her. Shepard opened fire, driving the mercs behind cover, before grabbing Miranda's wrist and hauling her behind cover as well.

The battle was fierce, but short-lived. Shepard dropped the last merc, the final echoes of gunfire still hanging in the large hangar. Lowering her rifle she popped out the thermal clip, then glanced over at her companion.

Miranda was standing next to Niket's limp body. Her cheeks were dry but her eyes were gloss, her expression as unschooled as Shepard had ever seen it. Walking over, Shepard stood nearby, looking solemnly at the man as well.

"Why did you do that?" Miranda asked thickly, her voice trembling with furious grief. "Why did you stop me? You should have let me kill him. I could have lived with that-"

"No, you couldn't," Shepard replied. "Might have seemed fine at first but it would have eaten you up inside, driven you mad. He wasn't a bad guy, Miranda. He was your friend. He just…made a mistake. He thought he was doing the right thing."

Tears trembled on the verge of spilling. Lifting a hand, Miranda crisply wiped them away, then looked at Shepard. "I…want to see Orianna," she said. "She's safe now but…I want to make sure she gets on her transport safely."

"Sure," Shepard nodded, and wordlessly the two headed back toward the main hub. Crowded from all the temporarily stranded passengers, it took Miranda a moment of searching before her face relaxed and her shoulders tightened.

"There…there she is," she murmured. Following her eyes, Shepard spotted the girl.

Though Orianna was seventeen, the resemblance to Miranda was unmistakable. There were differences, of course…even actual identical twins had some small differences. She carried herself a bit more relaxed, seemed to smile easier. Her hair was shorter and lighter, but Shepard would have known they were sisters even if Miranda hadn't pointed her out.

Watching her as Orianna stood and spoke with an older couple, Miranda lightly touched Shepard's arm. "We…we should go."

"Go?" Shepard blinked, then shook her head. "Oh, fuck no."

Reaching into her pouch she drew out a cigar and her lighter, tucking the smoke in her mouth. Miranda frowned.

"What are you doing? We need to leave. She's all right."

"I'm having a smoke, thank you ever so," Shepard replied dryly, plucking the now lit stogie from her lips and letting out a stream of gray. "You are going over there and talking to your sister."

"What? I can't…I can't do that, Shepard."

"Why? Don't you want to?"

"Of course I want to, but this isn't about me. It's about her."

"Oh, yeah…good point. Must be a terrible fucking thing to learn you have a sister who loves and watches over you." Shepard sat down on a bench, cocking her foot up onto her knee and lifting an eyebrow as she smoked.

Miranda gaped, then scowled. As Shepard firmly pointed in Orianna's direction, Miranda's scowl turned into worry, and she half-glanced over at the girl.

Could I do that? Could I just…talk to her?

Shepard snorted a little, ashing her cigar. "I just got shot at by a bunch of mercs for that girl, Lawson. Someone is going to go over there and talk to her. Your choice if it's gonna be you…or me."

Shepard might have laughed at the look of sudden alarm on Miranda's face, if this all wasn't so serious. Firmly, she pointed again in Orianna's direction, her brown eyes unyielding.

Miranda looked toward Orianna again, then steeled herself. Before she could second-guess…again…she forced herself to walk toward the younger girl. Oddly enough, each step seemed a little easier than the last.

As she drew closer, Orianna and her adoptive parents caught sight of her. At first Orianna just glanced and then looked away, but it was only a moment before she glanced back, brows knitting a little.

Probably a bit shocked to see her own face looking back at her, Miranda thought. Even if it is a bit older. God, I can't believe I'm doing this.

"I…excuse me," she managed as she stopped only a few feet away. "Orianna?"

"You…look a bit familiar," the girl replied, inclining her head a little. Unlike Miranda, Orianna's voice wasn't coated with Australian, having left their father's household long before she was able to speak.

"I'm…there's no easy way to say this," Miranda said, then laughed a little nervously. "Not…exactly how I pictured this ever happening but…Orianna, my name is Miranda. I'm…your older sister."

The parents seemed more surprised than Orianna did. Blinking and exchanging looks between each other, it was the mother that spoke first.

"The…resemblance is unmistakable but…we were told Orianna's family were all dead."

"It's…a bit complicated," Miranda admitted. "Too complicated to explain it all now. I just wanted to introduce myself, say hello. I…I'll leave you alone."

Cheeks heating, she started to turn and leave when Orianna suddenly reached out, catching hold of her hand. "No! No, stay a little bit. We still have a little while before our flight leaves. I would like to talk to you…if that's ok?"

Miranda looked down at the hand in hers, before gently squeezing it and meeting the girl's eyes. The girl she had spent so much time and energy in to keeping safe, the girl she'd sacrificed so much for. This time, when tears welled up, she felt no shame for them, and managed a smile.

"Yeah," she replied softly. "I'd like that."