Author's Note: I wanted to thank TheSneakyFox for betaing this chapter and cmilano8 for motivating me to push out a quick chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it! Please Read and Review and especially let me know what you think of the story and characters thus far! Peace. - Phantom452

Chapter 3 – Rainbows and Butterflies

John stared at the letter in a mixture of contempt and uneasiness. Why? Why did this have to happen now? His grip on the paper tightened briefly, crinkling the edges as his fingers dug into the upsetting news. He thought he was done with that life – made it clear that he no longer wanted to pursue it. His eyes flicked over to his calendar and then back to the letter. What was he going to do?

Tap! Tap!

The sudden knock startled John from his dark recollections. He glared at the door briefly before realizing that it came from his screen door. His eyes instantly softened, although, a worried crease permeated through as he realized he'd have to deliver an unpleasant piece of news to his guest. Taking a much needed calming breath, he stuffed the letter in his jacket pocket before sliding his patio door open.

John was instantly assaulted with a white pastry bag to the face. "Oof!" He grunted before catching the offending bag and whirling out of the way as Miranda breezed through the door.

"Breakfast!" Miranda happily chimed as she entered John's townhouse and headed straight to the couch.

John's stomach grumbled as the smell of donuts wafted into his nostrils, instantly voting to forgive Miranda for throwing the pastries at his face. His eyes widened as he took a peek inside. "Is that a bear claw?" He asked, voiced pitched with excitement as he ogled his favorite donut.

"Of course." She threw him a smirk as she settled herself onto the couch and placed two previously unnoticed coffee cups onto the table before her.

A smile fought to John's face as he watched Miranda comfortably wiggle herself into the far left corner of the couch. It was her favorite spot – one that she always insisted on having regardless if he had been sitting there or not. "You do know that it's 10:30 at night, right?" He teased as he threw off the foreboding weight in his jacket onto a chair before sitting beside his best friend, hands already digging into the bag. For this moment, at least, he could pretend everything was alright.

"Oh? It doesn't seem that you're objecting to my choice," she retorted with a mischievous tilt of her chin. "I can take it back…" She slowly stretched a hand over him to grab the bag.

"No!" He whipped the bag away, staring at her with mock-horror as he ignored how his heart skipped when she leaned in close. "It's mine!" he whined, but allowed his eyes to dance with mirth.

"You said that you didn't want it." John nearly audibly gulped from the almost coy expression that flitted across her face. He didn't have much time to process it before she pounced from her spot to tackle him, arms reaching to grab the donuts from his grasp.

Months from now, John would still vehemently deny that the undignified girlish squeak had escaped his mouth, but in the moment, he was too preoccupied to notice it as he frantically stretched the donuts out of Miranda's reach while his other hand playfully held her at bay. "I did not!" he cried out through his laughter as they wrestled.

"Give it up, Shepard!" She beautifully laughed with him as she made a swipe for the bag. John swung his arm higher above their heads, silently mocking her attempts.

"Come and get it!" he challenged with one of his boyish smirks. He felt her body still – he desperately tried to ignore how she ended up straddling his stomach during their mock-scuffle – forcing him to freeze as he tried to gauge the sudden shift. He could feel the heat of her right hand as it practically seared itself against his chest, and idly hoped that she couldn't feel the sudden pick up of his heartbeat. A flicker of something flashed in Miranda's eyes – he had never seen that look on her before – which made him nervous and anxious all at once. "Scared Ms. Lawson?" he taunted, trying to mask his nerves and test the waters all at once.

"Cautious," she retorted with a slight narrow of her eyes. Another minute passed before she flashed him a brilliant smile.

John's mind blanked at her gesture, pleasantly numb. The distraction was all Miranda needed as she quickly hooked her right foot under his left calf and tilted to her left. John still hadn't registered the movement until he felt himself tipping off the couch in earnest. His training instantly kicked in as he felt the familiar surprise vibrate through his system. He haphazardly dropped the bag and instinctively cradled Miranda's head as they roughly plummeted off the couch and onto the hardwood floor.

"You okay?" He tried to ignore how his breath hitched as he stared down at an acutely close, disheveled Miranda.

"Mmmhmm," she mumbled and John wondered why she wouldn't look at him. He did a quick cursory inspection and deemed her fine before trying to meet her gaze once more. She still refused to look at him. What was that about? Why wouldn't she look at him? He suddenly noticed her very red cheeks.

Oh…

John instantly realized how they had landed; bodies dangerously close and intimate. She was uncomfortable with their…er…position. He flushed in embarrassment and a tinge of annoyance.

"Why'd you do that?" he asked as he gently (regretfully) pried himself off of her and settled his back against the foot of the couch. She glanced at him quizzically, making him wonder about the expression until he realized how…harsh his voice sounded. Well, could she blame him? She had placed them in that position. She couldn't do something like that if he was ever going to try and get over her. "You could have gotten hurt." He tried to brush off his irritation as over-protectiveness.

She blinked at him before sitting up. Her brows furrowed for a moment before she turned and reached behind her. "Donuts," she offered quietly, before placing the bag awkwardly onto the coffee table.

Miranda's uncharacteristic meekness softened John's anger. He quickly pointed his finger at the bag and announced childishly with a wide grin: "Split the bear claw with me?"

"Commander Shepard." A strong, but gravelly voice momentarily distracted John from the pastries in the display case. He turned his eyes away from the various selections to meet a crisply dressed naval officer. The man was nearly as tall as his father and held himself confidently, but respectfully as he held out a sympathetic hand.

"Captain Hackett." His mother's voice greeted neutrally as she returned the handshake. John hated that tone; she had been using it often these past few days. It wasn't her usual fun and carefree voice, but one that she used to hide with whenever she felt sad. Oh yes, John may only be 8, but he had learned to recognize the rare bouts of sadness. He glanced around, wishing his father could make her smile; he always did whenever she used that tone. His face fell. His dad couldn't do that anymore.

"This is John?" The naval officer smiled kindly at him, but John didn't feel like smiling. Maybe…maybe he felt sad too.

"Yes," his mother replied with a light, proud smile. She nudged him gently, making him want to roll his eyes.

"Hello," he replied quietly.

"It's nice to meet you." Captain Hackett offered his hand and John feebly shook it. He smiled once more before returning his attention to his mother and sitting down across from them. "I'm sorry about Matthew."

"Thank you."

"I know you're on leave, but Mr. Lawson insisted on meeting with you…"

John's attention returned to the pastries and the various happenings in the coffee shop as he tuned out the conversation; he wished he felt hungry. He didn't have much of an appetite since last week. Nothing seemed appealing anymore.

"I don't care who he is, Hackett; I'm done with that life. I want to be alone with my son."

"I understand your reluctance and anger, Hannah, but the Navy needs you. You can't resign just yet. You're a natural leader and one hell of a sailor. Mr. Lawson is offering an opportunity to prevent disasters; opportunities that can rectify mistakes and save lives."

Hannah remained silent, but she held a warning glare on her face.

"Mistakes like those made last week regarding your—"

"Finish that sentence and I will not be responsible for my next action, Hackett."

The Captain's back straightened at the near growl that escaped Hannah's lips. He glanced down at his joined hands before turning his eyes upward with an apologetic lilt. "I don't mean to offend, Hannah; you know that. I'm merely admitting the Navy's fault for what happened – whether they do or not. Matthew was my friend and I want to see that his sacrifice isn't tossed to the wayside."

John watched as his mother glared outside, trying to control her emotions. Her lips pursed together in an even line. He could feel her anger simmering within. He glanced away, not wanting to see this part of his mother, but knowing that he needed to do something to help calm her down.

"He's only in town for the weekend and Admiral Kahoku was insistent to get this contract. I wouldn't have come if I didn't think this was important – nor if I didn't think that you are the right sailor for this. You'll make sure that we'll get it right this time." He paused. "He's waiting outside."

"You have a lot of nerve," she snarled out, snapping John out of his reverie. He blinked up at his mother and did the first thing he could think of. She visibly calmed when he touched her arm. Her own hand consciously snaked over and patted his reassuringly.

"This is too important for us to lose, Hannah. We need the best team to helm this."

"Then get Anderson. I don't need to be involved, Steve."

His mother quietly coiled back into a neutral pose, granting John some marginal relief; he didn't want her to be angry or sad.

"Commander Anderson is unavailable." Hackett sighed. "Regardless, you are the primary candidate. We need your help on this, Hannah. I don't want to see another incident like the one last week."

John's mother was silent as she gazed outside, seemingly thinking about Hackett's words. He followed her stare and noticed that she was glowering at a man outside. He was on the phone, but John figured he was important; there were two other men standing by him in guarding poses. His eyes flitted over to a subtle movement beside the man. A girl was standing rigidly beside him, seemingly taking in the area with only her eyes. John tilted his head. She was pretty. He frowned, wondering why he thought that before he stumbled back into his seat with a startled jump.

The girl had turned to look inside the coffee shop. Right. At. Him! Embarrassed, he quickly turned back into his seat. His mother glanced at him curiously before being drawn back into the conversation by Hackett's movements; he placed his hands on the table, neatly folding them before him.

"I'll speak with him, but I won't agree to anything until my concerns are satisfied." His mother's tone brokered no argument.

"Fair enough." Hackett stood. "Let me get him."

Minutes later, the man from outside entered with Captain Hackett. He was dressed in a nice suit, but John couldn't shake the feeling that the man was anything but nice. He was shorter than Captain Hackett, but held himself like a giant; tall and noticeable. John still didn't think that impression was a good thing.

"Commander Shepard," the man greeted, but lacked the warmth that Hackett displayed. He stood in front of them before his mother nodded in acknowledgement.

"Mr. Lawson," she replied with a stern expression, before noticing the small figure beside him. "And who might this be?" Her tone was noticeably kinder.

The man – Mr. Lawson – barely turned to regard the girl that clung to him like a shadow. John could have sworn he saw a twitch of annoyance on his lips. "My eldest daughter, Miranda." Upon her name, she held herself higher and John couldn't help compare her to those snooty girls at the Navy school he went to. But John still had to admit that she did look a lot prettier than them.

"Hello, Miranda," his mother greeted.

"Greetings, Commander Shepard." John lifted an eyebrow. She didn't talk like any of the kids at school; more like the adults.

"This is my son, John." She nudged him like before and he stumbled out a not-so-elegant Hello. He nearly blushed crimson when she glanced at him funny. "Why don't you two sit over at the other table while I speak with your father and Captain Hackett?" she suggested to the young girl.

Miranda uncertainly glanced over at her father.

"I prefer it if she remain with us; I'm showing Miranda the logistics of what I do." Henry intervened.

"How old is she?" Hannah instantly retorted in a much colder voice than she had addressed Miranda with.

"She is twelve." Henry replied evenly.

"Then she'll have plenty of more opportunities to observe at another time." She held Mr. Lawson's gaze. "John," she stated after a moment – not breaking eye contact with the Nice-Suit man, "why don't you treat Miranda to a donut?" She finally tore her hardened gaze away in order to hand him 5 dollars. He took it gingerly, uncertain about the stuffy feelings he was getting from the adults.

"Okay," he simply replied as he got out of his chair and walked over to Miranda.

"Father?" Miranda pointedly ignored his approach.

"Just go, Miranda." John frowned at the harshness. His dad said never to talk like that to girls. He instantly disliked Miranda's father, especially seeing how she quietly flinched and slouched her shoulders at the tone.

"Yes, Father," she replied obediently before turning to face John with that snooty look he had noticed her walk in with. However, he did not miss the subtle fear in her eyes when she turned away from her dad; it vanished the moment she eyed him with distaste.

John did his best to not be put off by her hostility as he led her to the array of pastries. "Which one do you want?" he asked, glancing at the food, still wishing he could feel hungry. He eyed a few of the donuts, even his favorite one, but felt nothing.

"That one." Miranda pointed to the large donut after staring at the prices and choices. John frowned.

"You want that one?" he asked, feeling queasy as he stared at her choice. Why did she have to pick that one?

"Yes. It's the most expensive, is it not? I want that one." There was a pause. "Are you all right?"

John snapped his head over to her, surprised to hear the thin concern in her voice. "Fi…fine," he stuttered out.

"Is it not good?" she questioned, tilting her head curiously at him.

"No…it's the best one," he assured her.

"Oh, so you think I can't finish it then?" Defiance radiated off of her.

"No! No…that's not it," John stumbled, feeling a layer of fear from how she was glaring at him.

"Then what is it?" she demanded with narrow eyes.

"I…" He debated on telling it to her. He glanced at the donut again, feeling the sadness come in waves. "My dad used to get that for me; it's my favorite," he mumbled, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.

Perhaps something was telling in his voice or Miranda was just really good at reading people because the look she gave him was filled with a sadness that had become so recently familiar. And it was with that realization that he understood that she knew how he felt. She knew the pain he was going through; knew what it was like to wake up in the morning knowing that one of your parents weren't going to greet you anymore; knew what it was like to have even the smallest things bring up memories; knew what it was like to cry for no particular reason. She knew all of that and it made John feel horrible that she had gone through the sadness that he was feeling.

"Hey, what are you doing?" John brushed aside his thoughts when he noticed Miranda had moved up to the register and was speaking with the cashier.

"I'm getting a donut," she replied easily as they both watched the worker prepare her selection.

"But I'm supposed to pay," John nearly whined, feeling confused at her sudden change of behavior; she still held herself like the snooty girls, but she seemed, more relaxed than she had been a moment ago.

"You were too slow." She shrugged him off as she reached for the massive donut and wrapped it in napkins to save her from the stickiness. She led the way to a corner table, away from their parents and sat down smoothly.

He slid into the seat across from her in awkward silence as she carefully placed the donut down, seemingly inspecting it. The way her lips curled up and her brows furrowed nearly made him laugh as he realized that she was inspecting the donut.

"What?" she snapped at him once she noticed the light laughter in his eyes.

"Nothing," he quickly stated, but the amusement didn't leave him.

"It looks nothing like a bear's claw. Honestly, you Americans have the oddest names for things," she huffed out.

He wanted to groan. Were all girls as confusing as she was? And what did she mean 'you Americans?' Sure she talked funny, but that doesn't mean she had to go and insult everything. "Sure it does! See, here's its paw," he pointed at the center before moving up to the smaller portions that stuck out at the top, "and that's its claw."

"It's distorted and an inaccurate interpretation of a bear's claw, therefore its name is inaccurate."

John blinked. "It's what?"

Miranda sighed and mumbled something that sounded very much like "idiot American boy." His eyes narrowed.

"If you don't want it, I'll take it." He reached over; offended that she would insult his favorite treat.

"No! It's mine. I paid for it!" She slid the donut closer to her with a huff, but John could have sworn that he saw a ghost of a smile on her face.

"Only because you didn't let me!"

"You refused to be the gentleman, so I had to act."

"What? What does that even mean? Let me have it!"

"No!"

"Give it!"

"Get your grimy hands away from me!"

"I washed my hands today!"

"Once does not count!"

"Sure it does! Now give it!"

During their whole exchange, John and tried unsuccessfully to take back the donut; Miranda was surprisingly fast as she slid the donut across the table and away from his reach. It wasn't until John's stomach grumbled that the two stopped their bickering and glanced at one another.

"Fine. I'll split it with you." Miranda finally relented as she ripped the donut in half and handed it to him on a separate napkin.

John grinned widely, feeling oddly happy. "Thanks!"

Miranda grinned back, causing a warm, fluttering feeling to tickle the insides of his stomach.