A/N: Hi, sorry about yesterday. My only excuse is that I just didn't feel like typing at all. Also my backspace key is giving me trouble, the little bastard.

Anywho, you guys are so nice and supportive. I freak out a little bit at every review, so thank you very much. I hope that nobody minds this story being as slow as a turtle with commitment issues proposing to his girlfriend. It'll pick up eventually.

Miranda was more than a little surprised when her doors opened and Shepard stepped through, looking almost shy in her entrance. It was a bit of an ego boost, the fact that Shepard felt more comfortable discussing matters with her over Chambers. Though she was far from a kindly therapist, Miranda was not at all a novice when it came to reading into things and analyzing situations. Her own emotions were a difficult concept to work through at most times, but she found the she could handle others with far more finesse.

Though it made her somewhat uncomfortable, she was indeed interested in helping Shepard sort out her problems. For starters, she wanted as few people to know about the woman's little mishaps as possible. She was not keen for her failures in restoring Shepard to get back to the Illusive Man due to gossip, especially since that would reveal the fact she had been withholding the information from him in the first place. On a more personal level, she wanted to get Shepard on the right track for her own peace of mind. Project Lazarus had become a corrupted experiment, one she was keen to see get back on its intended course.

"Hi," Shepard shifted her weight from leg to leg as she spoke, rubbing at the back of her neck in embarrassment. Miranda took pity on her, she more than anyone knew how troubling revealing something that could be perceived as a weakness could be. Miranda was about to respond, when she caught a proper look at the arm Shepard had raised.

The commander was in the Cerberus uniform she had been given, and her bare forearms were exposing what her armor had earlier hid. There were long red streaks down the arm, shallow scrapes that nearly covered the expanse of skin. Miranda's eyes flicked to the other arm to confirm that it too carried the markings. She stood from her desk, alarmed.

"What happened there?" She made her way around the desk to stand in front of her project.

A look of unease graced Shepard's features, and she let her arm fall quickly, sliding both behind her back. "It's nothing," she mumbled. At the hard look Miranda gave her she was forced to elaborate. "I dunno," she was clearly humiliated as she spoke, "I guess it just happened in my sleep or something. I didn't do it on purpose."

"What?" Miranda's tone was sharp. She reached out to pull Shepard's arm closer, concerned by the revelation. "What happened?" Miranda cursed herself for not noticing earlier when she had found Shepard in the shower. Of course, the woman's skin had been flushed red with the intensity of the heat which helped disguised the markings, but that was still no excuse. She had been so focused on Shepard's meltdown that she had missed a crucial detail. It was foolish of her, careless.

Shepard wrenched free of the hold suddenly, obviously irritated. "Stop that," she said with a clear scowl on her face. Miranda looked up to meet her gaze, visibly taken aback. She had been helping, that was her job. "You just grab me whenever you want. I'm not just something to inspect anymore, I'm no longer a hunk of meat."

Miranda was silent as Shepard shot her a challenging glare, daring the woman to protest. She licked her lips, fighting the urge to snap in her frustration. Did Shepard think she was enjoying this? Did she think Miranda got some sick pleasure out of having to analyze her every second of every day?

"I'm sorry," she finally offered at length, though her exasperation at being challenged clearly radiated through her voice. Miranda took a deep breath, remembering the Illusive Man's words. That very morning he had given her a message, practically a warning. She was the face of Cerberus in his stead, she had to win Shepard's approval. Gently, she reached out a hand. "May I?"

It took a few moments before Shepard nodded, she was clearly still weary. Miranda studied the superficial wounds with a careful eye once she had the woman's permission to inspect them. "We should find you some shirts with long sleeves that you are comfortable sleeping in. I also want you to keep your nails as short as possible."

"Is that an order?" She looked up to find something akin to a smirk on the woman's face.

"It's a suggestion," Miranda shot back, though she found her voice contained less hostility than she had intended. She dropped Shepard's hand and moved back to her desk, motioning for Shepard to sit down in the empty chair in front of it as she did so. "I take it you were having nightmares?"

When Miranda took Shepard in from where she sat behind her desk she could clearly see the woman wrestling with herself in her own mind. She had no doubt that Shepard was less than thrilled about talking about topics as intimate as dreams with a virtual stranger. There was silence for a significant period of time, before Shepard suddenly shifted in the chair, clearly uncomfortable. "This was stupid," she said quickly. "I should just go."

"You need to talk about this, Shepard." Miranda ran a hand through her hair, trying to soothe out her own frustrations. "If you find you are uncomfortable with me then go to Kelly. Chakwas even."

Shepard gave her a pleading look, trying to convey her emotions with her eyes alone. Miranda had to know she wasn't the problem. It was the entire issue itself. It was horrible and private and embarrassing and the last thing Shepard wanted to talk about, with anybody.

"I just feel stupid," Shepard finally admitted. "Weak. You all were expecting so much and I just-" Her voice faltered suddenly, and she swallowed hard. "God," she ran her hands over her face, "I don't even know anything about you and I feel like I have to pour out my soul."

Miranda gave Shepard a hard look for a moment, and then seemed to make a decision as she leaned forward on her desk, a surprising glint of mischief shinning through her gaze. "If that's how you feel then how about this, an answer to a question earns the answer to a question."

Shepard's hands fell to her lap as she considered the offer for a moment before a wry smile graced her lips. "Are you using the tactics of a child psychologist on me, Miss Lawson?"

Offering one of her rare smiles, Miranda raised an eyebrow. "That depends on if it's working or not."

A laugh bubbled out of Shepard, unbidden. "I think it just might be." She grinned. "I'm certain you have every intention of making the first move."

Nodding, Miranda clasped her hands together on the desk in front of her. To Shepard she looked every bit the part of the stern schoolteacher. "Have you been having nightmares?" she asked again. They had spent three 'nights' aboard the ship together now, Miranda hated herself for not knowing the answer.

"Yes," Shepard replied without missing a beat. She thought for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration. It was uncertain how long this little game would last, or if they would ever be playing again. Every word counted. "Favorite color?"

Miranda's eyebrows shot up, and she couldn't fight the amused smile that spread across her face. She had fully expected to spend her time tactfully working her way out of revealing Cerberus' innermost secrets with a whole lot of careful and intricate wording.

Funny, she found no answer came to mind. "Red?" she tried rather lamely, scowling when Shepard seemed more than a little amused at her apparent indecision. Miranda quickly pushed on. "A reoccurring scenario or different situations and images each night?"

"Reoccurring," Shepard answered dismissively. "First pet?"

Miranda shrugged. "Never had any." Shepard seemed intrigued by that, as though she found it hard to believe. "Do they all involve the destruction of the original Normandy?"

Shepard glanced away, clearly reluctant to make eye contact as she answered Miranda's question. "Yes." She paused as she thought for a moment. Shepard knew exactly what she wanted to ask, she just did not know how much her XO would let her get away with. Miranda seemed to be in a decent mood at the moment, but Shepard was under no delusion that that couldn't change at the drop of a hat. If she pushed too far, she could easily wind up in trouble. Still, Miranda's expression was passive and her eyes held a light of patience. For some reason, it made Shepard feel like taking a risk. "What do your nightmares entail?"

Though her expression remained relaxed, a gleam of defiance flared in the woman's eyes. Shepard studied her carefully as Miranda seemed to contemplate just how much of her soul she felt like bearing that day. There were a few moments of silence before she appeared to come to a conclusion. "Not the destruction of Alliance warships."

Shepard smiled at the response. There was no anger in her voice, but Miranda's meaning was clear. She had better find a new line of inquiry if the discussion were to continue.

"Do you witness any deaths?"

"Only one," Shepard answered, being intentionally vague. She smirked as Miranda's eyes narrowed. The Cerberus operative was too sharp for her games; she knew Shepard was merely trying to draw the session out. For what purpose she couldn't say, she only knew that it was rather irritating. "Where do you feel most comfortable?"

Miranda considered that a moment, leaning back in her chair with careful thought. "Alone," she responded at length.

Shepard grinned. "I didn't say when, I said where."

With a guarded gaze, Miranda seemed to almost challenge the statement. "I know," she said resolutely. "Your death?"

A curt nod was the only reply the commander offered. "If I prove to be more trouble than I'm worth, would your orders compel you to dispose of me?"

Miranda visibly stiffened at the question. The directness of it had actually taken her by surprise, a feeling she wasn't used to experiencing. Her mind was torn by indecision. Shepard was an interesting specimen. Miranda found her intriguing to say the least. Every bit of her training told her to lie to the woman, to comfort her unease and tell soothing falsehoods until she was all but enamored with her employer's organization. That would definitely be the proper protocol to follow, and yet, she knew far more about Shepard than she ever had before. The woman was an honorable soldier with old fashioned values, she was looking for honesty and integrity above all else.

Miranda licked her lips nervously before answering, hoping her gut instincts were steering her in the right direction. "Yes."

Shepard turned the admission over in her mind for a few moments before speaking. Miranda was looking at her expectantly from behind her desk, as if she were waiting for the woman to stand up and bolt from the room at any second. All that Shepard offered though was an almost smug smile. "I believe it's your prerogative, Miss Lawson."

Impressed by the commander's restraint, Miranda nodded in approval. If she was outraged by the information, Shepard wasn't going to throw up a fuss about it. She recollected her thoughts for a moment before settling on the next question. "If I gave you the opportunity, would you run?"

A wide grin pulled across Shepard's face. "Undoubtedly."

An odd sort of understanding passed between them at that, and it all but forced Miranda to smile. Whatever it was that was settling between them, this rivalry, this tentative friendship laced with equal parts respect and healthy distrust, it was all rather exhilarating to her. She had never had that sort of relationship before. Since day one it had always been the same. Subordinate or superior, nothing more, nothing less.

And then there was Shepard, and Shepard was offering equality.

There was going to be no lying here, no betrayal or backstabbing. If Miranda was asked to apprehend Shepard, the commander would know. If Shepard was going to flee, it would be made obvious to Miranda.

"Birth date?"

Miranda offered a bitter smile. "None. At least not one that was ever recognized or acknowledged." Shepard raised her brow in pure interest, questioning Miranda's apparent nonchalance concerning the topic more than the actual answer itself. Crossing her arms, Miranda continued. "I was grown, not born." Miranda could tell from the look on Shepard's face that more explanation was needed. "My father designed and then created me using extensive genetic modification to dictate everything from my intelligence to my Biotic ability." She offered a wry smile. "Obviously not my choice."

Shepard nodded her understanding, though she gave little away as to what she thought about the subject. Miranda decided it best to move on, and hoped her matter of fact manner discouraged Shepard from pursuing the topic further. "Backing away from the topic of dreams for a moment, what events seem to trigger your other," she hesitated, glancing away, "incidents?"

Instantly she felt guilty for asking the question even though it was necessary, as Shepard's eyes darted to the floor, clearly in shame. "I don't know." She began shifting about in the chair again, clearly self conscious. "Sometimes it's a bright light or a loud noise. A rush of cold air or like, this little tickle right here." She lifted her hand to tap at the back of her neck. "And sometimes," she let her hand fall, "it just starts for no reason at all."

"Are there any actions you believe I could take that would help ease the burden?"

The words were out of her mouth before she had really thought about them, and the smirk Shepard was now sporting threatened to split the woman's face in two. "Two questions? That's cheating, Miss Lawson." Miranda glanced away, embarrassed. She had broken the rules of her own game. Shepard gave her a break though, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms in much the same way Miranda was. "If I knew the answer to that, I probably wouldn't need to be here."

There was silence for a few moments as Shepard tried to settle on her next inquiry. Miranda's inclination to play her cards close to her chest gave her an almost mysterious air, there were many lines of questioning she would find interest in opening. Once again however, Shepard reminded herself that Miranda was being the generous one in this situation. She had no obligation to respond to any question, and could end their little back and forth at any moment. Every subject needed to be chosen with care.

"So what did Cerberus have to do to earn such devout loyalty from a capable woman like yourself?"

Again, Miranda hardly flinched at the question, though Shepard far from missed the flash of irritation that shone briefly in her gaze. It had been a stupid move, Shepard decided instantly, it had been far too early to broach the subject. Still, the words were out there and the ball was in Miranda's court now. It had been a topic that had been bothering Shepard for quite some time. Both Miranda and Jacob were far from what she had expected as Cerberus operatives. It hadn't taken her long to figure out Jacob, he was a soldier and a good man, trying to make a difference in the galaxy before the end of his days. The rest of the crew were inconsequential; they stayed out of Shepard's way for the most part, reporting more to Miranda than the commander.

Miranda was the difficult one to figure out, the one that required a second look. She had been more than a little standoffish in their first meeting. "I'm not looking for a friend," she had said when Shepard had been first inclined to pry. Though that still seemed to hold true, here they were. Miranda had been offering her nothing but support since they had boarded the Normandy, possessing quite a bit of patience. Of course, Shepard knew what the woman's motivations were. This was a job, she was a project. Still, Miranda was being rather accommodating throughout the whole ordeal, something that certainly earned her points in Shepard's book.

There was good grace and an intriguing thoughtfulness in the way Miranda operated, a trait Shepard had not found common in the operations of Cerberus. If she were honest, the woman seemed almost out of place wearing their colors in a way that even Jacob did not. There was too much more to her, a history behind her eyes that compelled Shepard to dig deeper and deeper no matter how much Miranda pulled back.

"I find I don't care for the implication of that question." Miranda was nearly glaring at her from over the desk. Shepard had worded the question as though she believed she were being manipulated or had been tricked into doing the work that she prided herself on. It was more than a little insulting.

Shepard held her hands up defensively, though she still wore a smile. "I meant nothing by it. I was merely curious."

With a sigh, Miranda rubbed tiredly at her forehead. "Shepard, Cerberus is not as evil as many people believe and if there is anything I can say to allay your concerns then I would be happy to do so, but my personal stake in the organization is hardly any of your business. Cerberus believes in the betterment of humanity, a sympathy I strongly share. That alone is justification enough for my position."

"I simply thought that someone as intelligent as yourself would see the issue in giving a single man complete control of all resources, projects, and major decisions. Surely there must be safeguards in place to control him if things were to ever get out of hand. Checks and balances, so to speak."

Miranda sat up a little straighter in her chair, and Shepard knew her words were putting the woman on the defensive. "The Illusive Man may not be a saint, but he would also be the first to admit it. Though you might find it hard to believe, his goal has always been to serve humanity and help secure our place in the galaxy. I know for a fact that we could not have a better advocate."

Shepard listened to the conviction of the statement with a straight face, feeling a small twinge of guilt within her stomach. She had played Miranda, if only in a minor way. It had worked, and she now had a strong suspicion that Miranda's loyalty was more for the Illusive Man himself than the entirety of Cerberus. "What's his name then, if you're so close?"

The words weren't said in a cruel way, merely in a tone brimming with genuine curiosity. Shepard hadn't meant to hurt her, but somehow the question still stung. She didn't know. She had never known, and she likely never would. Miranda cleared her throat. "I do believe we're getting a bit off track. I was under the impression we were working to make you feel more comfortable in sorting through your emotions."

Shepard's lips quirked up in amusement at Miranda's poorly disguised evasion. "Of course. My apologies," she offered with a slight nod.

It was funny; suddenly a million questions were swirling through Miranda's mind. The more Shepard gave away, the more intrigued she seemed to grow. She bit her tongue however, knowing she was still on duty. Every minute she was on the Normandy, Miranda was expected to be working diligently. There was only one answer the Illusive Man would expect her to be working to retrieve at this point. Feeling surprisingly annoyed at the knowledge, Miranda let a hint of frustration creep into her tone. "There needs to be trust between everyone involved to operate efficiently during this mission. What do you need to see before Cerberus holds your allegiance?"

Shepard's brow furrowed for a moment, and then she was smiling. It wasn't one of her honest grins filled with playful energy that Miranda was slowly growing accustomed to seeing, but instead a knowing smirk. "Oh, Miss Lawson, cheating again. I'm only answering questions that come from you."

Shaking her head, Miranda glanced over at her terminal. "Clearly we're not going to be getting very far tonight." She rubbed tiredly at her eyes. "We'll be heading back onto Omega first thing tomorrow. You need to be well rested, I think it's best you head upstairs now."

Shepard laughed. The words were said as a suggestion, though the authority in Miranda's voice was hard to miss. She may be the commanding officer aboard the new Normandy, but it was clear who was really pulling the strings, if not in title or rank then certainly in attitude. Shepard found that she was surprisingly okay with the revelation.

She stood and Miranda watched her with a penetrating gaze. "Don't forget what I said before."

"I know, I know." Shepard shrugged, feeling embarrassed again. "Long sleeves, short nails." Miranda offered a hesitant smile, appreciative of Shepard's cooperation. "Do you uh," Shepard's eyes fell to the floor, "do you think we could try this again?" Miranda's eyebrows rose slightly and when Shepard glanced up and took notice she quickly backpedaled. "I mean, if you want to. Oh, er, if it's not too much trouble that is. I don't mean to keep you from your work, I just-"

"If you think it will help, Shepard," Miranda cut in, kindly saving the woman from her own rambling.

Shepard gave her a grateful smile. "Yeah, I really do."

A/N: ugh, my awkward babies. Next chapter shall be a goofy one! Huzzah, I needed a break from the more serious stuff so I decided to be immature. Whoop. It shall be up sometime tonight as an apology for my silence yesterday.