Loyalties:
Mass Effect Trilogy is a Bioware game. For any reference to the Official Game All rights are owned by Bioware. The Fan Fiction "Mass Effect At Dawn Again" is fruit of my imagination and my work, it is a free tribute, passionate and personal to a great video game. It is not allowed any use partial or total for profit and not.
Chapter 24
Specific marks: the frozen heart
(uncontrollable urge to love)
… Miranda's eyes carelessly glide on the glossy pages of a pretty old fashion magazine. She is comfortably lying on the bed, in her room, alone. She wears cozy sports clothes. Her athletic black leggings, with a pretty tight-fitting white shirt, which uncovers her navel. Her ample bosom emphasized by a generous square neckline.
She is waiting for dinnertime. She will have dinner with Liara. Today is a quiet day. Even yesterday it was. "It's really incredible that after a very quiet day, another very quiet day may follow!" Miranda thinks. She was no longer used to this kind of luck for the last ten years, at least.
"Ah, finally!" She sighs, as her eyes quickly return to browse the next page. She does not want to admit it, but there something is starting to gnaw inside her. They are tiny seeds, very easy to handle, for now, but day after day, they are starting to grow dangerously.
Something in her stomach is biting. There is a slight anxiety that creeps, secretly crawling, and gradually goes up, more and more, until it grabs her heart, making it hurt. "Ugh, those boots are really horrible!" She thinks, while the discomfort climbs a bit higher, reaching her throat, making sigh.
She immediately hastens to turn the page, trying to focus on that lovely intimate outfit, which immediately attracted her eye. The black bra, is completely made of extra transparent lace, with very thin straps, which seem to caress the shoulders. It is a special material, which can make it look like the delicate embroideries directly drawn on the breast. The same goes for panties that wrap the buttocks with a sinuous motif, both light and elegant, as much like a soft nuanced tattoo.
"Wow, very sexy!" She thinks. However, the tiny seeds grow again. This time they seem determined, not to be ignored. Miranda tries to kick out the thought far away, focusing on those so tight pants, as to be breathtaking. "I must get identical ones," she thinks. Her gaze lingers back on the bra, while the feeling of dismay, become discomfort, and she cannot help but think, "What an asshole!"
Definitely, with all this leisure is becoming difficult. When she worked for Cerberus, she had just an hour a day to eat. Running off after Shepard, aboard the Normandy, but not even that! Everything ran away so fast that, there was no time to think of the soul ... to let it speak!
"I must be insane!" She thinks. She has to admit that sometimes, she misses that life! She feels nostalgic for adventure, with the combat excitement. She misses the intoxicating sensation of well-being, flowing in her veins, coming back from each mission. That vague idea of success, able to puff out her chest. The audacity that always pushes forward. She misses the gratifying feeling of satisfaction that floating in the air for hours, filling the spirit, inducing to believe that you are taking risks that always worth taking!
She misses Shepard! Her affectionate presence. As a kind soul she was. Miranda felt important because of the way of doing of Shepard, and appreciated as a person ... understood! Her memories run to Freedom Progress, and linger on the Shepard's words uttered just before landing. Miranda remembers how deeply she was troubled herself with the loyalty of Shepard's voice. With her bright eyes, so piercing and fair: "I don't like who thinks to be judge and jury! Even less who fails to control their own reactions. So, if we want to work together, Miranda, you will need to learn this basic rule, and ... you want to make it fast!"
She did it, and she has learned lots more with her! "Shepard has a gift!" She thinks. "She's able to easily read, what people don't know how to disclose." Miranda has always found it fascinating the Shepard's so special way, to look inside people. She owes her a lot. The good example set by Shepard led Miranda on a better path. She just wants to see her go back!
However, that damn gnawing is bothering Miranda. It suddenly explodes, and it cannot be ignored, anymore. Love! When he touched her face, after rescuing her from that bastard Torthak, her heart heard it. Jacob looked different! "An ancient knight in shining armor!" She teased him, but for a minute there, she believed that. Miranda tries desperately to avoid the memory, but to hold on tight another page of an old magazine, it can no longer be enough.
In her eyes, comes on suddenly, the image of that night. The one and only time they were in bed. They want each other! Frantically, they rip their clothes off. Miranda feels explode with desire. She is in dire need of the lips of Jacob ... she is dying for a kiss! But, Jacob has no time to kiss her. He is too interested in taking over her body. Voraciously, in a rush, before they even reach the bed. Her voice is just over an incredulous sigh. "No! ... Wait! ... What do you …?!" Too late! ... It is all over, before it even starts!
She knows well that unmistakable gaze into the eyes of Jacob. It is the face of someone who has just earned his own trophy. Miranda feels a seedy and painful blade to cut and penetrate deeply through her stomach, once again. But, the excited voice of Jacob, which resounds like an echo in her head, it is what hurts more. "Sorry Baby! Wow, you're too gorgeous, you don't ask a man to stand up to! Well ... next time... maybe!"
"Fuck it!" She thinks. "I was a lot more bitchy than he was! ... Sex for sex! I always found exactly what I was looking for! ... You've been nothing but a shag, Jacob Taylor. The worst fuck of my life!"
She was no more than a little girl when she has learned this. If a man looks at her, he just wants her body. So, he fatally ends up throwing in the mud, even his most shining armor. Miranda has met many men, has slept with a lot of those, but she has never had anyone. "All the same!" She thinks. "All except ... Niket!"
He was very important. Maybe, that's why sex is never went into their relationship. Miranda has become a woman together with Niket. But, with him, she could continue to feel like the "little Miri". "I'm sorry!" She thinks. While a turmoil of thoughts rises inside her head, as a flight of tears takes turns menacing, hung on the edge of her eyelashes.
"You stupid blockhead! I just wanted to protect you! ... I miss you!" Niket was the only one to take care of her, without strings attached. The only one, to hold her tight when she was shaking in fear. Niket was the only small light in her life. Thanks to which the night, sometimes seemed a little less gloom. Then, the tiny Oriana came. She was so sweet, so helpless. Miranda had to learn to be strong for her. To protect her from their father, she had to carefully hide her heart into a mantle cold of ice.
Miranda looks up, and the blue of her eyes is swept by a wave. Tears slide, drawing the outline of her beautiful cheeks. "Oh shit!" She thinks, as she forces herself to turn another page, struggling with her own heart, not to let herself go.
The large photo, that stands out in the centerfold, completely catalyzes her attention. A little girl, who may not get to three years old, is sitting in the rubble of a battlefield. Desolation around her. The thick smoke rises from small fires still burning behind her. The black sky of the night cannot completely hide the poor remains of the fallen. They stay like petrified in their last scream of terror.
The small human creature is so beautiful! Her dark hair arrive almost to her shoulders. But, they are unkempt and ruffled up. Her enormous green eyes wide open in a blank look, seem lifeless. She has chubby cheeks, but dirty, and crossed by rivulets clearer, left by old tears gone dry. The little red nose looks like a button, place guarding a tender ajar little mouth, which remained frozen in its unbearable consternation.
The little one is barefoot, and she is wearing just a slight nighty torn off. The modest abrasion on her legs redden her skin, emphasizing the darker patches, embroidered with dirt. She is sitting motionless on a piece of concrete, embracing tight a big teddy bear, also this one very dirty, with just one eye, and a torn off ear. Below the photo, a big yellow text. Only three, unsettling words: "I need you!" The contact information for a Children's Home following to.
Miranda feels a pang, a sharp pain that stings her eyes, making them scream. She does not want to look at it. "Thank heavens the war is over!" She thinks. However, the number of orphans is impressive. Hundreds of thousands of boys and girls, of all species have lost everything. They are alone in the world! "Who knows where that little one is!" She thinks. In the last decisive battle, the Reapers almost completely razed London to the ground. Very few buildings are left standing. "Who knows if the orphanage still exists!" She is wondering.
Miranda gained many credits, thanks to the years spent with Cerberus. She believed in an ideal. Sometimes, she did good things. However, many other things weigh heavily on her conscience. "There is no possible justification!" She thinks. Miranda is not proud of certain points from her past, and more and more often, it still burns. "I was wrong a lot!" She admits. "Not even a single mistake can be erased nor forgotten!" She thinks. However, crossing the Omega 4 Relay, helping both Shepard and the Alliance, it makes the regret a little easier to take.
The more time passes, the more she feels in debt to her conscience that, day by day is becoming bigger. Since the war is over, Miranda never gets over it, and her soul has an ever-growing need doing ... something good!
She cannot look away from that little girl. Her maternal instinct is turning her stomach in knots. Miranda's empathy with that fragile creature is crushing her heart in a painful vise. It is not just compassion. It is an uncontrollable urge to love!
Miranda throws the magazine on the bed, while she is looking for the location with her omni-tool. Then, she says to herself, "It's not so far from here ... I gonna take a look!"
… The Victorian style mansion is ancient, and it looks having seen pretty tough times. Some shutters are reinforced with wooden planks, even these battered. The edges in the front, are heavily damaged from top to bottom. The walls are crossed by several cracks, and the heavy entrance door is all patched up. The perimeter is completely enveloped by a lightweight structure, as it comes up to the roof. Builders are working, feverishly occupied in the heavy work of restructuring.
Miranda approaches the door, but there is not a soul around. She walks in. The long corridor is empty and silent. She recognizes unmistakable several bullet holes, on the walls. A slight shiver runs down her back. "I hope it's not too late," she thinks. The elevator is out of order, a notice warns of danger. Miranda goes up the stairs, surrounded by a wobbly metal railing. Her steps resound, and bounce against the silence, keeping the rhythm on the old worn steps. On the second floor there is a direction indicator: "Hospitality Room".
… The man dressed as a painter is back turned. He is painting in yellow the wall opposite the door. The room is very spacious. The warm light of the afternoon spreads copious through the large windows, mingling in the warm glows of the walls, while a sunny pleasant atmosphere scatters around everywhere.
In the middle of the room, there is a desk full of the most disparate objects, carefully covered with a protective coating. Some sheets of nylon, wrap the chairs nearby the walls, as well as an old overstuffed couch. Miranda has the feeling that the place is deserted, probably evacuated to allow the restructuring.
M: Excuse me ...
The man immediately stops painting, and turns to the door. His biggest brush still holding. It is a good looking man, athletic and with a smiling face, but with a bit embarrassed look. He has dark blond hair, wavy and flowing. Hair adorn the wide brow, and generously get down below his ears. The nose is small, and well drawn, the high cheekbones caress to full-bodied mouth. A few days' beard gives him an air a bit mysterious. This is accentuated with a magnetic sparkle, spreading from his nice green eyes, large and light, passing through his gaze, bursting with light. The man smiles...
A: Good morning. How can I help you?
His voice is kind and captivating, with low tone and deep, but very polite. Miranda is intrigued by his discreet look. "Pretty cool!" She thinks, as she speaks in a gentle voice ...
M: I was hoping this place was still standing! Can you tell me if there is anybody here? Maybe, you know where I could find someone in charge ...
The man puts down his brush into the bucket. He then backs off a rag from his belt. He quickly cleans both his hands. Finally, with an embarrassed smile, shakes hands with Miranda ...
A: Oh, right! Excuse me! My name is Alan Foster, and even if a thousand difficulties, I run this "Hospitality House for Little War Orphans". As an infancy and adolescence psychologist, my biggest wish is to heal the soul's wounds of these children, making them smile again! We want each one gets, as soon as possible, a normal life, in new families, where forget the war will be really possible!
Dr. Foster smiles cheerfully, shrugging innocently, while he adds ...
A: However, in my free time, I try to bring down the restructuring costs! Although ... I'm afraid with questionable results!
A warm shiver shakes of Miranda's hand, runs down her arm, disorienting her heart. She senses an unfamiliar feeling of embarrassment, like a sort of confused astonishment. However, Dr. Foster, has not yet started to undress her with their eyes, and Miranda cannot help but feel... flattered! She smiles back, while her voice becomes less formal, her tone more and more affable ...
M: Well, I'm not so expert in restructuring projects, but this color here conveys such a good feeling. There's a ... joyful light that envelops this room! I think this yellow is beautiful, a really excellent choice!
Dr. Foster widens his pleased smile, trying to hide the faint blush that spreads slowly down his cheeks. A flash of satisfaction goes through his eyes, while he boldly lingers in the Miranda's seductive ones. His voice is animated by an aura of fervor, when he starts to explain ...
A: Oh, I'm very glad you get this impression! Actually, the yellow color is not a coincidence. It works as a stimulating psychological element of the mental activity. It conveys some confidence and security, simplifying the relaxation. Children who have experienced high levels of anxiety, tension and fear have a real need of a peaceful environment capable to only stimulate the opposing emotions. Absolutely nothing in our house should bring their minds, not even remotely, in the dark and scary atmosphere, which children have experienced during the terrible moments related to their trauma.
Miranda feels increasingly impressed with this man so interesting. With his passionate tone, and the enthusiasm which shines through every gesture, and each word. She likes the humble way how he behaves. Miranda feels pleasantly attracted with his innocent smile, with those eyes so full of light, like two tiny suns shining. She appreciates people who deeply believe in what they are doing, able to make easy the damn complicated things. Miranda's tone is very supportive, as she responds ...
M: Of course! Yellow is associated with sunlight. It can decrease stress levels, thanks to a positive "buffering effect."
Alan also seems very impressed, and pleasantly surprised by Miranda skills. Although he tries to hold off his enthusiasm, in responding ...
A: Oh, but then, you are a psychologist!
Miranda smiles, hoping to keep the conversation in the spontaneously created pleasant climate of sympathy ...
M: Oh no, I'm just a former swot!
Dr. Foster bursts into laughter. Then, he kindly says ...
A: Very funny Miss Lawson. But, please, tell me ... what brought you down here?
The pleasant sensation of surprise still grows in Miranda's chest, who winces. She cannot help but feel more and more distressed to hide a strong sense of fulfillment. She looks at Dr. Foster as stunned while she exclaims ...
M: So, we've met before! ... And yet ... I'm sure I'd remember!
The Alan cheeks' redness, this time, becomes even more evident than his all too evident embarrassment. But, he is a psychologist! He perfectly knows his reactions, and even knows how to control himself, better than the others. He forces himself to think that, his shyness has almost never been a flaw, yet. He must admit being fascinated with the look of Miranda, who reminds him of a stormy sea. Alan tries a spontaneous sympathy towards her. An inexplicable mental harmony, which draws him. He has the distinct feeling of being in front of someone very special, as deep as the sea. His heart plunges into the waves, answering ...
A: Well, not in person. However, you are a celeb! When you got through the Omega 4 Relay, along with Commander Shepard, I was doing a wild cheering for you both! Holy smokes! It must've been ... incredible!
Miranda has always thought, her reputation as Cerberus terrorist, was the only image that people knew of her. Thanks to the admiring eyes of Dr. Foster, she finally may feel just a little less guilty. She cannot explain why, but this respectful attitude is making her feel more and more at ease. However, when her memories linger on the Normandy, on the suicide mission ... on Shepard, the Miranda's look got serious, her voice becomes poignant, as in the memorable tone, she adds ...
M: Well, yeah! Any adjective that comes to mind, it sounds reductive indeed! Stopping those damn bastards it was horrible, but … terrific! However, I think, the most impressive thing has been getting out of this still in one piece! Maybe, had someone else could get the Collectors destroyed. But, for sure, no one but Shepard would be able to get everyone back home! She has always been the best shot for humanity! But, not only this! Shepard has been our priceless ray of hope in all these years. I think, every still able to breathe "thinking brain" in this galaxy, should know that the damn fire is not extinguished for eternity, just thanks to an amazing woman called Commander Shepard!
The warm voice of Dr. Foster, caresses the Miranda's restless heart ...
A: oh, yeah, but ... thankfully, she has never been alone!
Miranda keeps her most intense gaze, firmly stuck into Dr. Foster's bright eyes. They remain silent for a long moment, during which they seem to keep talking. Until, Miranda winces. She extracts from her pocket a carefully folded magazine page. She opens it, showing it to Dr. Foster. Her voice cannot hide the emotion while telling ...
M: I hope with all my heart, this little girl is still alive!
Dr. Foster's reassuring smile caresses the heart of Miranda again, as his fatherly voice and proud sweeps away every fear ...
A: Oh, our little Aurora! Sure, don't worry, she's much better! The little one has already started to talk, and to smile too! She is grown. Aurora is three years ... well, nearly three and a half years old. I guess the last thing we need to do, is get her to wash Milo, her beloved teddy bear!
Miranda smiles while her face glows with sweetness. The joy spreads all around her senses. However, she suddenly cannot help but say something that she does not remember having ever told before. The wistfulness, gradually grows in her look. Until, the smooth-talking voice of Miranda spreads, mingling with the warm glow of the room ...
M: Oh, that's wonderful to hear! Well, this little one looks a lot like my sister Oriana, when she was that age. Oh, it's pretty funny indeed! When I had to leave my baby sister for a few days, she used to say, "You can't go, Miri! Because today I need you!" Then, Oriana widened her little arms, with the mouth wide open, drawing in the air the largest amount that she could, saying ..."And tomorrow, I need you … more!" Well, I don't know exactly why I'm here! I suppose that these words written in yellow have triggered something. I came here because ... I really want to help out!
For several minutes Dr. Foster's heart is stubbornly trying to get out of his chest. He supposes to have such an ember color face. He feels his pulse galloping in his neck, and would want to jump up and down like a child, and squeal for joy. However, he is a psychologist full-grown, in spite of, he can barely contain himself. It is forced to swallow a couple of times, before responding, trying in vain to get a veneer of moderate normality ...
A: Oh, that would be great! ... I mean ... we are in great need of whatever help. Besides, these renovations are making us crazy. That would be great if we can count on your help, Miss Lawson!
Miranda is absolutely aware that her stomach is reacting in an unusual way. Her heart, from time to time, skips a beat, in a definitely abnormal way. She feels confused, is sensing a myriad of non-standard sensations. Miranda has felt often attracted to a man in the past. However, it was more a physical desire, an erotic hustle and bustle, dragging her cravings and temptations.
She realizes that she is not at all thinking about sex, now. It is something very internal. A kind of magnetic harmony, as a continuous mental attraction, which turns into an intense emotional arousal that overwhelms her body, exploding like a bomb inside her. Her senses respond to something up in the air. Something made of soul, with no reason, with no rational, but it is capable of driving her heart totally crazy, making her feel with an uncontrollable urge to love!
M: My pleasure!
Dr. Foster cannot escape the Miranda's stormy eyes. He feels as dragging by the wind, and thrown on the rocks by tumultuous waves. He feels as pushed out of his breath. It is a very pleasant feeling that fills him with new energy. He does not pay any attention to his crazy heartbeats, allowing the influx of the hurricane. Until, he takes away the brush from the bucket, and kindly offers it to Miranda, while in a very affable voice he says ...
A: I guess, the renovation of this room, is about to get as substantial as unexpected improvements! Please, choose the areas that you prefer Miss Lawson, while I'll get another brush.
Miranda picks up the brush from Dr. Foster's hands, as a light bewitching shines on her face, and she says ...
M: Well, I suppose that, if we are sharing the same brush, Doctor ... you can start to call me Miranda!
To be continued …