A/N: Hey guys, I'm back-ish. I'll be going away from the 4th to the 11th so that sucks, but I promise that I'll be really back after then. I was sorta in hiding for awhile, but I've gotten over myself so that's good. Besides messages I haven't really been on this site and WOW has there been a flood of new stories huh? It's crazy how fast things change.
Anywho, I struggled a bit with the flow of the chapter. Here's the deal. More action-y things are happening in the plot for a bit, but my initial vision for this story was to focus on the conversations between two characters. I still want that, and I wrote the following chapter in such a manner. However, if you guys feel I'm leaving too much to the imagination in way of "and then they walked here and did this…" "and that happened so they walked over there and punched this dude…" please let me know and I'll add more action/descriptions in. I tend to put more stock in characters, so I don't want to see my preferences make the chapters less enjoyable.
Anywho, sorry if this chapter is boring and/or a disappointment. Hopefully the stuff coming up will be interesting/occasionally funny. happy reading.
Shepard woke up gasping for air just as she did every night. Her thrashing had certainly gotten less violent, but her dreams were no less vivid. As always, Miranda stirred at the disturbance. There was a time when there had been a routine to follow Shepard's awakening. Miranda, voice thick and slow with sleep, would ask her if she was okay. Shepard would answer in the affirmative and apologize for her continued weakness. Miranda would brush the claim aside, and then soothe Shepard to sleep.
Now though, it had been so long, they were so accustomed to one another, no words were shared between them. Shepard would jolt awake, breathless and trembling, and Miranda would slowly regain consciousness, never hesitating before snuggling into Shepard's side, pressing their bodies so firmly together Shepard's frantic heart was lulled by the steady beat of her own.
"We're not going tonight?" She had asked just a few hours prior as Miranda had bafflingly checked them into a hotel as soon as they had touched down on Earth. "Wouldn't that be safer? In and out. Less time for anyone to find us suspicious and start snooping." Shepard had shaken her head, genuinely perplexed. "We could be halfway across the galaxy by this time tomorrow."
"No, it's a two day wait until the weekend," Miranda had maintained. "That's all. You'll survive until then, Shepard. We're keeping a low profile."
She shrugged at that. "As long as you don't try and stick me in a dress I'll do whatever you say."
Miranda's brow had furrowed. "A dress?"
"Yeah," Shepard had pressed. "You know, rich people infiltration spy stuff. Dress up and sneak into the fancy party to strike when they least expect it."
Miranda had merely rolled her eyes in response. "We're not attending any parties. Liara sent us intel on father's schedule. He will be halfway across the country by Saturday afternoon; it merely makes for an opportune time to strike." She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then turned on Shepard. "Have you ever worn a dress?" Try as she might, she couldn't picture it.
"Of course I have," Shepard had replied almost defensively. "I merely do my best to repress the memories of such occasions." She crossed her arms. "So is the place going to be pretty much empty or something?"
That had earned a scoff. "Of course not," Miranda had replied airily. "If anything security will be heightened."
That had raised a whole host of other questions of course, but Miranda had made it clear that the subject was to be dropped. And as Shepard currently lay beside her, watching her drift off to sleep once more, she wondered if perhaps Miranda would rather challenge hundreds of armed men thirsty for her blood than find herself face to face with Henry Lawson once more.
Shepard felt almost giddy in her nervousness as they neared their destination. She had never completed such a mission before. There had been a little tact at times, but for the most part her job had been storming into buildings, guns blazing. This was different, this was new. At least she no longer answered to anyone and wouldn't have to suffer through any paperwork.
Who was she kidding? She answered to Miranda, and the threat of paperwork was very much a real possibility.
For her part, Miranda appeared completely at ease with the nature of the mission. She wore her old black uniform – sans Cerberus insignia of course – as it was one of the few items of clothing she deemed worthy to travel with that was dark enough for their purposes. Both women had few clothing options to choose from, as their current lifestyle didn't really leave room for much range. Luggage was a luxury they could scarcely afford.
They had gotten in a long debate before arriving, as Shepard's attire proved to be a problem. She had nothing but casual civilian clothing on hand, which was fantastic for keeping a low profile on overcrowded alien planets, but offered little in way of protection. The Alliance hadn't been kind or dimwitted enough to leave her in possession of her armor, and even if they had it would likely have to be left behind. They were returning to Earth as civilians, not armor wearing mercenaries.
Though Miranda knew they had to be cautious of catching any attention or arousing suspicion along the way, she still felt incredibly uneasy about allowing Shepard to follow her lead with little more than dark fabric to protect her.
Still, Shepard was an incredible soldier, and was apparently graced with the luck of whatever gods existed. She would have to put her faith in that, as Shepard had made it painfully clear she would not be left behind.
The going was slow, almost painfully so, which didn't help her racing heart. She wasn't afraid of what was happening, or of what she intended to happen, but what may happen. Shepard had allowed her to hoist herself up through the narrow passage first, and then had crawled in after her dutifully, correctly claiming that although she was used to taking the lead, the woman with the plan should be the one heading their little expedition.
Shepard was being nothing but honest in her intentions of course, but it didn't take Miranda long to note that Shepard wasn't exactly complaining about the view she received from trailing a couple lengths behind.
Miranda mulled over their trek in her mind. She had expected proficiency of course, it was her and Shepard, they were the definition of proficient. And yet, their escapades thus far had been unsettlingly simple. Hacking into the surveillance system on the outer wall surrounding the estate had been a breeze. Multiple scans of the area had betrayed no signs of alarms or pressure sensitive triggers. They had yet to even run into any human security or sentries. It had merely been a dark and quiet hike across the shadows of an empty lawn.
Perhaps she was over thinking the situation however. After all, this was a personal home. The only security measures necessary would really be against simple thieves looking for a chunk of the Lawson fortune. She was one of the few who knew Henry was more than a man with a simple good head for business, and most of the others who did had already been permanently disposed of. It would really be his working facilities that would need the true protection, wouldn't it?
Not to mention Shepard had not made a comment about their lack of trouble since they had arrived, and when she wasn't emotionally compromised, Shepard was rather good at picking up on such things. She was quick to spot a trap long before it was sprung on most occasions.
To ease her mind, she paused in her steady crawl forward to peer back at her companion. "Has this felt a bit easy to you?"
In the dark of the tight shaft it was impossible to tell, but she imagined Shepard's face scrunching up. "I dunno," she whispered back quickly, "I've never broken into your father's mansion before."
Miranda straightened out and resumed dragging herself carefully along, fighting a soft smile. As much as she had resisted, she as glad she had not faced these dark corridors alone.
It was just when her back was beginning to throb in silent protest, and her arms began to grow stiff, that she saw the light of her destination just a few paces ahead. She slowed, alerting Shepard that they were close.
Light from the room beneath them shone up from the slotted sections of the metal grate. Miranda dragged herself close enough to peer down, assessing the layout of the room. It was the surveillance room, just as she had desired, but she was surprised to find it manned by a single employee. She craned her neck to view as much of the surrounding area as she could, keeping a look out for any surprises.
There was nothing to be found however. Merely a single young man dressed in a plain dark uniform, sitting on a chair in front of the many screens that were fed from the cameras hidden throughout the compound. He leant back in his seat, wearing headphones of all things, with the music turned up loud enough that Miranda could faintly hear it even from her distance. A packet of crisps rested on the desk in front of him, along with an opened can of cheap beer.
Apparently things were rather lax around the Lawson mansion when the boss was away.
She relayed the information back towards Shepard in a hushed whisper before deciding her move. Both she and Shepard had only brought small pistols along with them, the nature of the mission being what it was. Her's being equipped with a suppresser made things a lot easier. She needed to get the grate out of the way, which would be a simple enough task as his music would likely mask the sound, and then she would have a clear shot to the back of the head.
Unfortunately, her intentions were predicted. "Woah, wait a minute," Shepard whispered up at her harshly, "I didn't sign up for slaughtering the hired help."
Miranda's brow furrowed, and she shifted her weight carefully so that she rested on her side and could look back at her companion. "We don't really have a choice," she muttered as quietly as she could while still allowing Shepard to catch her words.
"I'll take care of it," Shepard insisted, pulling herself slowly along the narrow passageway once more. Miranda would have loved to argue, but each word they uttered was a word closer to the moment somebody heard them and they ended up captured, or perhaps even taken out. Reluctantly she leant back into the side of the vent, leaving Shepard just barely enough room to wriggle past her to the grated opening just a few lengths ahead.
Shepard moved up towards her, and then along her more slowly than was strictly necessary. Miranda grit her teeth as Shepard dragged her body past, fighting to retain what little patience she possessed.
They were face to face when Shepard paused in her journey. "Or, you know, I wouldn't mind just hanging out like this for awhile."
"Would you focus?" Miranda hissed.
"Yes, ma'am," Shepard replied dutifully before continuing along her way. When she reached the grate she observed the scene, her eyes trailing from the man to his beverage to his headphones to his late night snack. It was almost too easy.
She propped herself up on her elbows and began working on the grate, freezing when the rusted metal groaned a bit in protest, and sighing in relief when the noise was evidently not loud enough to be heard past the thrumming asari club music droning in their foe's ears. When the grate was removed she grabbed onto the edge of the vent opposite her and gracefully slid out legs first to drop softly onto the ground.
The boy didn't even flinch as he bopped his head along to the beat. It was nothing for Shepard to creep up behind him and wrap her arms around him, choking the air from his lungs. He struggled immediately, but Shepard effectively blocked any attempt he made to cry out, and he only managed to get one good hit in behind his head before unconsciousness overcame him.
Satisfied with her work, Shepard straightened up and began getting him upright in his chair once more. She slouched him back in his seat, and made sure the headphones were properly situated over his ears as Miranda dropped into the room behind them.
"And what about when he wakes up and sounds the alarm?" she questioned.
"Working on it," Shepard replied airily as she reached into his bag of chips, stealing one for herself before crushing a few others in her palm and sprinkling it over his uniform. Then she reached for his drink and poured a generous amount of alcohol over his top. She saved a bit in the can, which she then manipulated into his right hand, resting the can on his knee.
"There," she said proudly after tipping his head back against the chair to give the impression of deep sleep, "when he wakes up he'll think he got a bit too complacent on the job. And if not, he'll be running through the building screaming about intruders and reeking of beer."
Miranda raised an eyebrow. "You won't let me shoot him, but you're perfectly fine with destroying his credibility and career and making him appear incompetent in front of his coworkers."
Shepard glanced from Miranda, to the man, and then back to Miranda once more. "Yup," she responded cheerfully, looking almost smug.
Miranda decided to ignore the childishness and turned her attention on the surveillance system. She had planned out the route she would take by studying the blueprints Liara had managed to cook up for them, all that was left was to view the cameras and see just what was waiting for them. What she saw made her cold.
It was nothing.
There was no one. No staff or security moving about. There were a few darkened rooms with obvious figures asleep in beds, but beyond that it was as though they had broken into a normal home. Everyone was asleep, and they could easily make their way to her desired destination with little to no trouble.
Was that really it? A single man in a room keeping watch over a few cameras? She knew her father was selfish of course. She didn't know who the people sleeping in the rooms were to her father, but she knew he would never value their lives over his own. Any security measure in the mansion would likely be to keep himself safe. Perhaps he had merely taken his staff along with him when he travelled. That was possible.
Or perhaps they were walking into a trap.
Miranda drew her weapon and turned to face her companion, only to find Shepard smirking as she pulled up at the waistband of the man's pants, gleefully sliding his hand that wasn't occupied with drink beneath it.
"Are you serious?" Miranda groaned, exasperated.
Shepard took a step back from her victim, hands in the air. "Okay, sorry, I'm done, I promise."
"Look," Miranda started, trying to hide her agitation, "we have a clear shot if we move quickly, just be prepared for anything."
For her credit, Shepard sobered up quickly and drew her own weapon in response, something Miranda was grateful for. "Okay," she continued quietly, "if we ever have to split up-"
"We're splitting up?" Shepard cut her off quickly.
"I said IF," Miranda amended swiftly, her tone sharp. "IF we ever have to split up, don't try to contact me over a link unless it's an absolute emergency. There could be a system in place to pick up on any unregistered activity. I prefer to leave without alerting anyone to our presence."
"Okay, boss," Shepard replied softly. "Let's just get whatever we're doing over with…"
Miranda glanced over as Shepard trailed off, and she caught the woman staring at the surveillance footage. "What's wrong?" she pressed urgently, scanning the screens herself.
Shepard's brow furrowed. "I thought I saw…" And then she shook her head, tearing her eyes away from the screens. "Sorry, it was nothing."
"Shepard, if you think you saw someone-"
"I didn't," Shepard cut in quickly. "I swear," she added when Miranda offered a skeptical look. "Let's head out."
"Wow," Shepard mused quietly as soon as Miranda had hacked her way through the final doorway that barred them from their goal, "very old school."
The room was small, and certainly looked out of place next to the rooms full of blinking tech they had passed through thus far. Rows of simple filing cabinets lined the far wall, and a cheap wooden table sat squarely in the middle. Miranda ignored her and headed for the ancient looking cabinets with confidence. Although it wasn't as though they had gone through hell to reach this room, she was confident that there would be no traps here, especially considering it was a place her father likely frequented. He was an intellect, not an athlete. Locks would be their only advisory from this point on.
"For a man so rich," Shepard continued as Miranda knelt down in front of the bolted cabinet doors, "this is certainly a bit underwhelming."
"The universe is overrun with technology," Miranda supplied distractedly. "In this day and age," she continued as she pulled out a long metal file and slid it into the keyhole of one of the cabinet drawers, "everything is on a system." She maneuvered her fingers skillfully, waiting patiently for the familiar feeling of pieces locking into place. "This is just paranoia. After all," she sighed in relief as she felt herself succeed in her task, "the right person can hack into any automated system."
Shepard chuckled quietly. "Well apparently the right person can manually break into any cabinet," she pointed out. Miranda took only a moment to glare up at her companion before turning back to the task at hand and pulling the drawer open "With someone like you on his tail I think he might be paranoid for good reason."
Miranda hardly acknowledged the comment as she reached into the cabinet and pulled out an armful of papers and folders, turning to dump them on the table. "Bit inconvenient though, I'll admit," she mumbled more to herself than Shepard. "This is why we could not simply ask Liara to get someone to hack into his servers. I hate to admit it but my father knows what he's doing."
It was a hastily done process, but Miranda began shifting through the folders efficiently, clearly completely certain of what she was searching for, unlike Shepard, who hung back rather uselessly, keeping an eye on the door in case trouble decided to burst on through. After tossing the papers around the tabletop for a moment, Miranda groaned in frustration and turned around to pry open another cabinet drawer.
"Are we sure there's no alarm system in here?" Shepard questioned uneasily. It was quiet. Too quiet for her tastes. Usually by this point in a mission she was blowing stuff up.
"No," Miranda replied bluntly, "but there shouldn't be. There is nothing much of any value here, Shepard." There was a click and she leaned back to pull the drawer open. "Nobody in their right mind would head here first after successfully breaking in. What we're looking for now is simply a floorplan." She lifted out another batch of dusty papers. "The layout of a building."
Shepard's nose crinkled up in confusion. "You mean the layout that you had already electronically pulled from his systems and memorized?"
"No," Miranda amended quietly, dumping the pile in her arms onto the table gracelessly, "it should be for a completely separate facility."
"Uh, okay? So, um, what does it look like?" Shepard questioned, ready to offer her assistance.
"Just wait. I'll only be a moment."
Huffing at the dismissal, Shepard shuffled around the room a bit. She hated feeling like a waste of space, even if she recognized that Miranda was simply used to shouldering all of the work herself. Her omnitool lit up suddenly, startling her.
Miranda's head shot up from her work, and her eyes narrowed. "Liara?" Since they had purchased the new device, only Miranda herself and the Shadow Broker had been trusted with having Shepard as a contact. Shepard glanced down at the device, and then nodded. "Remember what I said," Miranda continued, before diving back into her task, "wait until we are out of here to open it and respond."
Grumbling her assent, Shepard thumbed through the files Miranda wasn't currently occupied with absently. After all, she could hardly be of any use in her partner's search when she still was yet to understand just what it was that they were looking for. She stilled her hand as she caught sight of a familiar face glaring up at her and repositioned the folder on the table for a better look.
"Woah," she drawled out quietly, genuinely taken aback at the sight. "You were blonde?"
"Hmm?" Miranda glanced over at it, obviously disinterested as her eyes scanned the photo for a mere second before quickly returning her focus to the papers in her own hands. "For a time I had to be, yes," she explained hurriedly. "The Illusive Man wanted me…" her voice slowed as actual comprehension of what she had just witnessed sunk in, "…undercover…" her heart sunk, that picture shouldn't exist, shouldn't be in her father's possession, "…for over a year….to get…"
"Oh," Shepard replied, still staring at the picture in her hands, unaware of the rapid shift in Miranda's mood. "You look really different," she mused.
The clearly younger Miranda in the photograph was rushing through a crowded street, expression dark and eyes narrowed in irritation. Angrier. She remembered the passing comment Liara had made once, one she had dismissed at the time, 'you have no idea how much you've changed her'. Looking at the expression the Miranda in the picture wore, it was no longer as difficult a concept to imagine.
"Shepard, give that to me." Miranda's voice was even and her hand steady as she held it out, but her eyes betrayed her obvious agitation.
"Something wrong?" Shepard questioned as she handed the picture over.
Miranda ignored the inquiry as her gaze scrutinized the younger version of herself, preserved on paper. "Where did you get this from?"
"This file here," Shepard responded dutifully, picking it up gently. "It had your name on it."
"Let me see."
Without question she did as asked, and Miranda dragged a long finger over the papers before her as she rapidly took in the words. Curiosity overwhelming her, Shepard peered over the woman's shoulder, skimming the information written.
"Biotic control continues to improve," she read aloud quietly, "though power appears to have peaked. Exceptional only by human standards, improvement needed for further subjects." Letting her eyes trail further down the paper, Shepard absorbed the reality of what she was looking at. It was a mission report, the kind she had spent her entire military career filling out. Except this one didn't exclusively pertain to the mission, it was an evaluation on Miranda herself, as though she were being studied.
Miranda shoved the paper aside, scanning another. Missions, all of them, everything she had ever done for Cerberus, splayed out before her. Writing, pictures, reports. Things that her father shouldn't have, things he couldn't have. The Illusive Man would never be so careless. He would never allow someone to tail their actions. Only he would have access to such things, he would never let such information out of his grasp.
Unless of course he had done just that.
She wasn't the first daughter her father had made, merely the first he had kept. But she had been too strong willed in the end, too rebellious. And so had come Oriana. But Oriana had taken time to create, and Miranda had not even dreamed of running until the day she realized another was arriving to take her place. Until she realized that meant her use had expired.
Because even when Oriana was in the process of creation Miranda still had held use. She was the trial data, a way for her father to study which traits he wanted to see in Oriana and in which ways he wanted her to be upgraded or changed.
Oriana was never a simple clone of Miranda, she was an improvement, and Miranda had always known that.
But this?
She had never been free. She had never gotten away. The one thing she had truly prided herself on for all of those years was taking Oriana and escaping that man. And now she knew it was all a ruse.
Miranda wondered briefly, bitterly, what the price had been. She could imagine it now, the scene playing out in her mind. Her father demanding the Illusive Man turn her over, have her destroyed, and the head of Cerberus sitting there, calm and cool and collected and suggesting that perhaps there was a way they could both benefit from the turn of events.
Her father could observe her, could watch and discover her every strength and weakness, determine what areas needed improvement. The Illusive Man keeping Oriana 'safe' would ensure she gave everything her all, that she would pour every ounce of herself into every task. She would willingly give her life for Cerberus if it was asked of her, a loyalty her father had certainly never earned.
The Illusive Man had a soldier. A second in command he could trust undoubtedly, and feeding some of her personal information back to Henry Lawson? Well, that was an easy price to pay.
And all that time she thought she had been free, she had only been a puppet, a guinea pig. Nothing but a toy. She had been utterly manipulated, utterly used. They had taken her rebellion and twisted it into their own imaginings, and had done so flawlessly.
That's what Miranda absolutely despised about her father. The man was a genius. He was brilliant, inventive, and resourceful. Perhaps, even on some levels, his intelligence outshined her own. And that's what killed her, because no matter how cruel and sadistic and manipulative he was, some small part of her had always admired his brilliance.
"Hey."
Miranda barely registered Shepard's voice, and didn't looked up until the woman's hands were gently pulling the folder from her own, closing it up tightly.
"Let's not," she started before taking a deep breath, "let's just put this back."
Miranda let her do as she liked, but offered no response. She felt hot and cold, like her stomach was dropping and her heart had leapt up into her throat. Every inch of her skin felt itchy, as though coated in some disgusting substance she had no name for.
"Miranda?" Shepard said gently, reaching out a tentative hand.
Miranda turned to face her, but had trouble truly connecting to the present. She felt too hollow, too empty.
"I," Shepard paused for a moment, licking her lips. "I might not be able to imagine how this feels," she tried softly, placing her hand carefully at Miranda's waist, "but I know how brilliant you are, and I have so much respect for what you've done."
With her free hand she reached towards the table and tapped the folder with steady fingers. "Whatever was going on here, their arrangement, in no way invalidates what you've done because he didn't let you go. You escaped, and you rescued your sister. All on your own, and you made him have to adapt to your actions because you took control. And that has led you here. No one can ever take that away from you."
Miranda leaned into the touch, but didn't meet her gaze. "Was there," her voice wavered, and she cleared her throat, "was there one for Ori?"
Shepard winced at the question, reluctant to answer. "I think so."
"I want to see."
"Miranda-" Shepard tried to dissuade her, knowing that looking through it would only upset her further.
"Shepard," Miranda insisted firmly, "I want to see."
With a heavy sigh Shepard took a step back from the table, allowing Miranda to search where she will. She knew there was nothing she could do to stop her, to shield her from the hurt. It was out of her hands, and she was certainly out of her depth.
She waited with a heavy heart for Miranda's reaction as she moved the piles around to get to Oriana's information, but it never came. Instead, Miranda froze, her face twisting up into a puzzled look. She was silent for a moment, and then she whispered a word, a name, as though it felt odd on her tongue.
"Dawn?"
A/N: Things will be explained more in depth in the chapters to come, sorry if it's dumb. The next chapter is about halfway done. I'll try my hardest to get it out before I leave, but no guarantees.