We'll Be All Right
The silence drawn over the spacious apartment was peaceful, contrasting the overcrowded commotion and chaotic babble of Huerta Memorial Hospital, Commander Bailey's FOB, and every other refugee inhabited space on the Citadel.
Once host to a singularity of energetic music and friends dancing, drinking, and partying the night away, the apartment now stood in barren silence. Absent of nearly all the friendly faces once gathered there. Void of the energetic, pulse pumping music that left tingles dancing along the skin, encouraged one to raise their hands to the ceiling, pump their fists, sway their hips, or to become a bizarre and uninhibited disaster of flailing and rocking and swaying as the music slithered into their inebriated souls.
So static.
So silent.
It resembled far too keenly the graveyard stillness of a colony abducted by the Collectors.
For that reason, the soft, timid note of a piano, originating from the middle register, was akin to shattering glass, the thunderous crack of a M-98 Widow firing, or the explosion of a shuttle as it met a fiery end to a shrieking Harvester.
Miranda stilled, startled by the timid note. The pads of her bare fingers hesitated upon the ivory keys, trembling faintly as the disruption gently faded and all went still and silent once more.
It was abnormal for her to give into an impulse. For that impulse to fracture her steel nerves, reveal such a human vulnerability so brazenly…
She eyed her trembling hands, feeling the odd spasm and tremble in her torso come and go. She felt cold despite the ashen sweater she wore, which hung off her left shoulder and revealed a white tank top shoulder strap beneath the pullover.
The trembling, the cold feeling, it was strange. Bothersome. It reminded her of the Normandy crash on the Collector Base; the sudden and dreadful sinking feeling in her gut upon realizing they were stranded in the galactic core, followed by cold, quick, and harsh palpitations as death seemed certain; she hid her trembling hands by hugging her arms over her chest, hopeful no one would see or sense her weak knees before she could accept their fate and steel herself for their mission.
This feeling wasn't her norm. This was so far from what she considered normal. But then, what wasn't lately?
The second note was played just as soft as the first. Just as timid. It lived its whole life, then slowly faded, returning the apartment to silence.
Her trembling fingers slowly traced along the smooth ivory keys, climbing up a register to the third note, then pressing it down gently, as though afraid the noise might draw a thresher maw out of its nest, or disturb a sleeping toddler. Both were equally fearsome.
Again Miranda hesitated. The notes, they sprang forth from the deepest pits of her memories to the piano without effort. As natural and as normal as breathing, truly, despite her grueling labors to shut the small coffin and bury them six feet deep with the rest of her childhood.
Shutting her eyes, she exhaled a soft breath.
No matter how far I run, I can never escape…
Tentatively, she found her middle C again. Then the first three notes of the song filled the silent apartment again, joined now by solemn, lower octave chords, as her right hand slowly climbed then descended within the middle and high register.
The notes were timid and gentle in application. Not at all like her. She'd never considered herself gentle, and no one ever accused her of timidity. Her Cerberus colleagues certainly didn't deign to call her an "ice cold bitch" because they found her charming. Nor were they wrong in their assessment, she could admit.
Yet, perhaps, these timid and gentle notes were a reflection of herself. A reflection she didn't know. Or, perhaps, a reflection she tried to hide from. A reflection she concealed behind a thick smog so no one, not even her, could see the wounded stranger inside the cracked mirror.
The notes flowed from her fingertips smoothly, slowly, as though she'd never stopped playing, filling the room with soft, tangled tones and feelings of hope, sorrow, pride, and grief.
The slow tempo, the whole notes, they brought to mind a weary traveler finally reaching the end of a long journey, a journey full of conflict, loss, and heartache. There was longing deeper within. A sense that here, at the end of it all, something precious was lost—a piece of the soul sacrificed, never to be reclaimed.
Somehow, though, hope lingered on. It lingered as a small tongue-like flame flickering amidst a dark and frozen tundra, unwilling to fade. Determined to live and see the dawn come once again.
Indeed, hope lingered beneath the surface, in that insignificant, flickering flame. Hope for something better. Hope they might find what they'd always needed, here at journeys end. A small something they'd never had, but always longed for…
"I didn't know you played."
The curious observation did not startle Miranda. She heard the woman's approach over the notes, then her patient pause as she listened to the song—one of the glories of genetically enhanced hearing, she supposed.
"My father was adamant I learn," she replied evenly when the final note faded. "I haven't touched a key since I ran away. There was too much else to do. I'd almost forgotten this song entirely."
"You sound like you wish you had."
"In some ways I do."
"Why? It's a beautiful song."
"Mm." Miranda pressed her lips into a thin line.
The curiosity was sincere, benign. She didn't command an answer, nor would she pry one forth with the brute force of a calloused Krogan mercenary if Miranda chose to evade or deflect. She left space to maneuver. It had always made opening up feel less daunting.
For everything the war has changed, I'm grateful your heart hasn't, Shepard.
It was one of the few things the war hadn't stolen from the Commander.
Absently pinching the cuff of her sleeve, hoping it hid her trembling fingers, Miranda decided on an answer.
"I was trying to gain my father's approval," she began bluntly. Honesty was always easier with Shepard. "That song—it's title is what I wanted to hear from him. Yet no matter how well I played it, no matter how well I did anything, I never heard those words."
"What is it called?"
"I'm proud of you." She half-turned from the piano, smiled faintly at the Commander, and shrugged. "Pathetic, isn't it?"
Shepard's features, which hinted at her Scandinavian descent, contorted into a familiar expression; a furrowed brow, a hardening of ocean eyes, a downward turn of tightly pressed lips displaying disapproval. Those lips never moved. Yet she could hear their silent words perfectly.
How could you think of yourself that way?
How can you not, is what she wished to say. Why, Revna, why do your eyes always see something more than what is there? When I couldn't even…
Miranda's eyes fell from the ocean, past the ashen-blonde ponytail draping over her collarbone, to the right sweater sleeve striped red and white, folded and pinned at the elbow where now only a phantom remained.
"You aren't the pathetic one, Miranda. Your father was," Revna said it with such finality, it almost felt impossible to argue.
Those impassioned words made Miranda want to believe she was right. To let go of this strange, archaic shackle cuffing her ankle, this rusted hook that man still had burrowed deep in her heart.
Even from beyond the grave.
"He was," she agreed, nodding once. Then her gaze drifted back to the piano. "But I still sought his approval. His acknowledgement. His love," she added with a short, bitter laugh. "As though that man could ever love anyone except himself. Yet I still tried to be his perfect daughter. For a time, anyway."
Her hands weren't trembling as fiercely, but the cold, sinking feeling lingered. Clutched her as tightly as this archaic shackle. She couldn't shake it off. Because she knew in her heart what she planned to do. When she finally found the courage, at least.
"You're being too hard on yourself."
"Am I? I don't think I was hard enough, honestly," Miranda countered. "I lived in a fantasy for too long, trying to live up to impossible expectations, trying to be everything he wanted me to be. All in search of something that man wasn't capable of."
"You were a child, Miranda."
"I was. But I still knew better. Or I should've known better," she argued calmly. "My father never pretended to approve of me. Or to love me. He made it known how often I fell short of his grandiose expectations. Yet I tried harder to live up to those absurd expectations the next time, and the next, and so on. He had me performing tricks for his wealthy associates like a trained Varren. Like this song," she gestured absently to the piano.
"I wanted to hear him say it. If I could just be good enough…" Miranda trailed off.
She then shook her head, lips contorting as though she'd tasted Ryncol, disgusted and frustrated by her past weakness. He trained her like a Varren, and she, the naïve child, desperate for love, performed his tricks, working so hard to just be…good enough.
How pathetic.
"I was a foolish child," she said. "It took me too long to see the kind of man he was. Far too long."
"It wasn't your fault." Revna crossed the floor, closing the gap between them as she said, "A parent's love is what all kids want. It's what they need."
Miranda glanced up at Shepard when she arrived. She truly was a physical specimen, standing two inches shy of six feet and bearing the powerful and womanly contours of an Amazonian warrior.
"My father wasn't fit to be a parent," Miranda replied.
"No, he wasn't," she agreed. "But you aren't responsible for his actions."
"Yes, but…"
"You can't blame yourself for hoping he could love his own child," Revna stated firmly.
Miranda glanced away. Again Revna spoke with such strength, such finality, it almost seemed impossible to argue.
"Had you rebelled earlier," she continued, "your father may have attempted to replace you sooner. And if he was successful, Oriana wouldn't have a loving older sister to rescue her. I would be dead without you."
"I know," she admitted, reluctant to argue. Even more reluctant now to follow through with her intentions. "I was fortunate I didn't make greater mistakes than I did. But if I had just learned quicker, if I'd only seen the kind of man he was…"
"Miranda."
The Commander gently took Miranda's trembling hand into her own, then caressed her thumb soothingly along the back of it.
Miranda squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her resolve crack. Hesitantly, she lifted her gaze to meet the serene ocean again.
"You did everything you could," Revna said, believing in those words—in Miranda—with her whole being. And yet…
Had she? Had she truly done everything she could?
With a glance to the phantom, Miranda gripped the fragments of her resolve with all her biotic might and bound them together.
She had a mission here. A goal she had to complete. She couldn't compromise on it now because of her attachment to Rev—no, to Shepard. Commander Shepard. That's who she was. Who she had to be for the galaxy.
In order to accomplish her mission, to protect the Commander, she had to…
Consciously, Miranda stepped away, letting her hand slip free of Shepard's.
"I wish that were true."
"Miranda…"
The soft plea nearly stopped her retreat. The expression Shepard wore, gentle yet desperate for her to stop, to stay, pierced her heart with an omni-blade, intensifying the cold palpitations and the awful sinking feeling she tried so hard to ignore.
Once upon a time her resolve was ironclad. Now it wavered so easily with the Commander. The price of attachment. The price of falling too hard. Falling too deep in…
The price of falling too deep into something she had no experience with.
She should've known better. She should've maintained a purely professional relationship.
Now things were complicated. Their lives, the paths they had followed until this precise moment, were incompatible. It had always been that way, she knew this would be the inevitable conclusion during the Suicide Mission.
Even so she let herself become attached. And she wasn't any good at attachments.
Now everything was more complicated, more painful, because… Because what they'd shared was difficult for her to let go of.
I have to let go, Miranda thought, retreating despite its difficulty. This isn't what I wanted. This is the last thing I wanted. But it's not about what I want, it's about what's best for her. This isn't how I wished things would end. I tried to play my cards right, I did. I played them close to the chest, hoping if I only hid them from all others I might… But there's no other choice now. I have to fold and walk—no, run away. Far away. There is no other reasonable decision.
Miranda turned away from Shepard. It was easier like this. Habitual. Running was just her way.
You'll be better off without me, she thought solemnly. It's less messy this way. The Alliance and the Council will think I'm compromising you.
Drawing her fingers along the piano, she sauntered towards the big picture windows.
"The truth is, Shepard, I've made a habit of being selectively blind when it suited me. Niket wasn't lying; I did take my father's money for years. For long after I should have. The Illusive Man and Cerberus are another example. I made excuses, crafted false equivalencies, and disregarded the lines Cerberus crossed so long as humanity's interests were advanced. I laid blame on other project leaders for the most unethical experiments. Called them mistakes. All while offering if not silent support, then silent consent to all that was wrong in Cerberus.
"Who knows. Had we never crossed paths, I may have followed the Illusive Man's attempts to control the Reapers."
Pausing at the big picture window, she drew her eyes along the damaged scenery beyond. Broken signs and collapsed walls, bullet riddled surfaces, scorched streets littered with debris—the Reapers and the Crucible hadn't left a single Ward untouched.
She crossed her arms, if only to hide the annoying tremble in her hands, and shrugged.
"I didn't hesitate to demand planting a control chip in you, after all," Miranda added. "Controlling the Reapers isn't that far of a jump from there."
"You're being unfair to yourself."
Shepard was approaching, following her. Always.
"It isn't unfair. The moment I had control over your freedom, your life, I didn't hesitate to take away your free will. The apple didn't fall very far from the tree, in that regard."
"You're wrong."
"Shepard," she sighed.
Don't lie to me, she wanted to say, to chastise the woman's stubborn penchant for seeing the good in everyone.
Don't try to paint a rosier picture of me. I know who I am. I know what I was apart of, she wanted to reprimand her for allowing affection, attachment, to compromise her otherwise exceptional judgement.
Miranda never had the chance. The Commander's hand rested on her shoulder as she sighed. Gently, Shepard guided her to turn so they could look each other in the eyes.
"You're wrong," she said again.
Miranda glanced away. "I tried to take away your free will," she said, voice wavering and colored by remorse.
"But you didn't, and you regretted it. You still do."
"Regrets aren't enough to wipe the slate clean."
"There isn't anything for you to wipe clean. You gave me my life back, Miranda." Shepard's voice was soft, but full of passion. It drew Miranda's eyes back to her. "You've done everything you could to protect Oriana and provide her a normal life. You helped stop the Collectors abducting colonies, you helped us end the war."
"Shepard, that isn't…"
"It's true, Miranda," she emphasized. "So don't say the apple didn't fall far from the tree. It couldn't have fallen farther. You're nothing like your father or the Illusive Man. You're better than them."
"I appreciate you saying that. I do." Again Miranda turned away, again she slipped free of Shepard's hand. She had to. It was the only way to maintain her resolve. "But for that to be true requires your influence. You inspire the best in people—you inspire us to be better. Without that push," she walked along the big picture window, arms at her sides, creating distance, "without you challenging me, I may have aligned with the Illusive Man."
Shepard was following her again. She heard her strides, long and quick.
Miranda kept talking—babbling, truly. It was so unlike her.
"It isn't a pleasant thought. But I was an obedient officer. More or less. I believed in Cerberus, I believed humanity needed us. Implanting AI tech is an edge I may have seen the benefit of, I may have ignored the Reaper influence, too, just so humanity possessed that extra edge. It's quite disturbing, really. I imagine the Illusive Man would've eventually transformed me into one of his Phantoms, especially if I learned he was working with my father—"
A hand suddenly wrapped around her wrist, as desperate to catch her as it was when she slid off the Collector Base platforms on a one-way ticket to oblivion.
"Would you please stop a moment?" Shepard pleaded.
Against all plans, against better instincts, Miranda stopped. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She should've kept walking, kept building distance.
You need to let me go, she willed the Commander. It's what's best for you. Your career.
She should've said it. She should've spoken plainly. She hated when people beat around the bush. It reeked of cowardice, indecision, and ineptitude. Digging the truth out of someone was tedious. It wasted time, and time was far too precious a resource to waste.
Yet she didn't say a word. Silence was easier. It, too, built distance—a cowardly kind, but the methods didn't matter. Only the end result.
That's how she'd always operated, wasn't it?
"You don't have to keep running, Miranda."
She grimaced. The gentleness of that statement, and the desperation for it to reach her, cut straight through the thick walls of ice she constructed.
Some things never changed.
"Revna, I…" Miranda trailed off, sighing.
She didn't want to run. She wanted to stay, dammit. If only she had the strength to say it. If only they had been painfully boring, ordinary people, then maybe…in another life…
Cowardice and fear pressed heavily on her shoulders, it left her hands visibly trembling, and the dreadfully cold, sinking feeling refused to abate.
Miranda urged her body to move. She had to keep walking, keep creating distance. She couldn't hesitate now.
Every rationally driven part of her being commanded her to wrench herself free of the gentle grip which didn't shackle her, the gentle grip which quietly reminded the former Cerberus Officer she was here. Alive. Ready to talk. Willing to move mountains to support her.
Miranda didn't pull her hand free. She couldn't move a single step. Walking away used to be so easy in the past. Once upon a time her resolve was ironclad. But now…
The heart wanted what the heart wanted. And what her heart wanted most…
Miranda turned to face Revna, hand still held by the Commander. She smiled a weak smile.
"Old habits die hard, right?" she quipped anxiously.
"They do." Shepard caressed her thumb along the back of her trembling hand. "But compared to a suicide mission to the galactic core, an old habit shouldn't give us too much trouble."
Us. Miranda liked the sound of it. It eased the sinking feel, warmed the cold sensation flowing through her body.
"I hear habits are notoriously difficult to shake," she replied, playful in her counter.
"It's nothing we can't handle together," Shepard smiled roguishly.
Banter was familiar territory. Safe. It was somewhere easy to stand, somewhere she could hold herself up. Her trembling hands calmed, but only slightly.
"I may fall back into it at any moment."
"We'll have to diversify our tactics, then."
"Picking a new fight already, Commander?"
"You're worth fighting for, Miss Lawson."
Miranda exhaled a short laugh, stepping closer as she did.
"You're the only one who has said that, and meant it."
"Anyone who hasn't didn't know you."
"You're right. They didn't. I've kept everyone at arms distance—everyone except you. Or I would cut ties and vanish when things became too…"
"Too serious?" Shepard wondered.
Miranda shook her head. "Too complicated. I walked away before anything got serious while I was in Cerberus. You're the only exception I made. You're the only one I allowed myself to become attached to."
"I'm grateful you did."
"So am I," Miranda replied sincerely. "No one else has ever stopped me from running away."
"Is that what you were trying to do?"
"It was," she admitted softly, nodding once. "I was trying to provide logical reasons for you to let me go. If I could persuade you to see the worst in me, then maybe…" She grimaced, glancing off to the window. "Nothing has gone the way I planned it. Yet it still seems like the logical decision, truthfully."
"Mm. You've tried this before, you know. Something about a suicide mission being a hell of a time to fall in love?" Shepard recalled, the playfulness in her voice unmistakable.
Miranda exhaled an abrupt laugh. She cringed fiercely, but smiled in spite of the embarrassment.
"I suppose it was too much to hope you had forgotten that."
"Forget the incomparable Miss Lawson's first admission of love?" Revna smirked. "Not a chance."
"Wipe that cheeky smirk off your face, you ass," Miranda playfully shoved the Commander's shoulder.
Revna's giggle was warm. Sincere. It made the idea of leaving seem absurd.
Miranda's expression softened. Opening up, exposing her vulnerabilities, none of it was normal for her. But with Shepard… With Revna… It was always a little easier to do.
"…I don't want to leave."
"You don't have to," Revna replied. "I want you to stay, if that helps."
"It does. Truly. But…" she trailed off.
"Why do you feel like you should leave?"
"Everything…has changed," Miranda began after a pregnant pause.
She'd bottled these fears in long enough. Maybe it was time to stop running. Maybe this time, like so many times before, if they faced it together… Maybe they could overcome impossible odds one last time.
Miranda looked off to the big picture window, wringing her hands.
"No one wants to admit it, but we're teetering on the brink of collapse. Unless we can fix the Relay or create a new one by some miracle of engineering, this moment of peace is just that—a moment. One which will erupt into another war, except this time we'll fight and kill one another over scraps of food. Just like the Drell.
"Commander Bailey and I have spoken extensively when we've worked together. Our casualties aren't plateauing, they continue to rise as we search for survivors—both on Earth and on the Citadel. The damage the Reapers managed in their final moments…"
Miranda scowled. "The Council should've listened to you sooner. Instead they swept the biggest threat to our cycle beneath the rug until it was at our doorstep, then they wasted precious time and countless lives playing politics. They hid a Prothean Beacon, hoarded its secrets. We may have mitigated some of this devastation and loss if they'd only acted sooner. If they'd only listened to you…"
Anger boiling over, Miranda shut her eyes, clenched her hands into tight fists, and took a breath. She was preaching to the choir. And, ultimately, the Council wasn't the primary source of her frustration or her fear. They were just the easiest to lash out at.
"It will be more of the same, or worse, beyond this System," she said finally, voice calm, eyes open and fists relaxed. "The whole galaxy is teetering on the edge of a knife. We're one lunatic, opportunistic politician, or desperate cross-species incident away from another war. It'll only take one incident. One person doing something incredibly stupid for this momentary peace to unravel. Everything is too unstable. And I…"
Miranda lowered her gaze, narrowed her eyes. "I don't know if I can protect Oriana if it all goes to hell. I don't know how to fix any of this, dammit. I've been on the run ever since I resigned from Cerberus. What contacts I had left aren't of any use to our current situation. I'm powerless."
"We'll figure it out, Miranda."
"How can you be so sure?"
"We survived Sovereign, the Collectors, and now the Reapers. It wasn't without loss," Revna admitted, eyes drifting momentarily. "Our victory came with a price—soldiers, civilians, and friends… Every battle has changed the galaxy irreversibly in some way. This time is no different.
"Everything has changed. We knew it would. Unfortunately not all of it was on our terms. Some changes," she gestured absently to her missing arm, "we were powerless to control. But even if we're teetering on an edge, we're teetering there together, hand in hand. United. For the first time in our lives everyone is standing together. That's how we defeated Sovereign. It's how we survived the Collectors base. And its how we defeated the Reapers."
Revna rested her hand on Miranda's shoulder.
"We'll survive this, too. Together we'll figure out how to reconnect the galaxy, and, in time, the wounds of this war will heal. In the meantime," she lowered her hand to her side, "if there's anything I can do to help you protect Oriana, just ask. I care about Oriana, because I care about you."
"You may want to reconsider that," Miranda said, looking away.
Revna's brow pinched. "Why would I reconsider how I feel about you?"
"If the galaxy learns their hero is romantically involved with a Cerberus Officer—"
"Former Cerberus Officer," Revna corrected.
"Do you think they'll care to make that distinction? Will the Council? The Alliance?" she countered. "You've created waves, Revna. I know how you feel, but whether you like it or not you are an icon of this war. You were the tip of the spear, the person who brokered deals, saved Councilors, liberated planets. You stood against a damned Reaper on foot with a bloody targeting laser.
"Everyone who once looked to you for hope in the war, from Councilors and Admirals to everyday people, their eyes are locked on you now. Many of them are hoping, praying, you will find a way to lead us through this storm and break through to the other side, because even though you see yourself as only a solider, to them you are Commander Shepard. You're the woman who gets things done, who saves lives, who embodies strength and hope and stability in this unstable galaxy. They believe in you.
"However, there will also be those hoping you'll fail. You've become an icon, and with that status comes power and influence. Power and influence other politicians won't give up lightly. You've fulfilled your uses, now they want their status quo back. It's a story as old as time. They've already placed a target on your back."
"And?"
"And they'll use me to destroy your career." Miranda shrugged. "I won't pretend I wasn't apart of Cerberus, I won't hide from my past. But the Illusive Man's actions—the coup attempt, nearly handing our cycle over to the Reapers, that Indoctrinated fool—they'll hang that around any Cerberus agents neck. Former or otherwise. And you're too important to the galaxy to risk being taken down by backroom politics and ambitious politicians. That's why…"
"I should let you go?"
Miranda winced. It wasn't the way she wanted this to go. She wished more than anything they could've been two perfectly normal people, boring and uninteresting to the galaxy at large. But…
She glanced down at the floor. "…Yes."
They weren't normal. Far from it.
"You're worrying too much."
"Revna, they will crucify you if we're seen together. You know that."
"They'll crucify me whether we're together or not," she replied seriously. "Thessia was lost on my watch. There are already people who reject my decision to deploy the Genophage Cure. They disagree with Geth independence and reject the peace between the Quarians and Geth.
"Humans will hate me for sparing Ka'hairal Balak to gather the remnants of the Batarian Fleet he commanded, politicians will claim I'm corrupt for aiding Aria T'Loak in reclaiming Omega. God only knows what our alliance with the Leviathans will lead to. I made waves. They may have helped us survive, but they weren't without controversy.
"With everything the galaxy is facing right now, if someone wants to clutch their pearls and wring their hands over our relationship," she gestured between them, "then they're wasting precious oxygen and time. You resigned from Cerberus before they started aiding the Reapers, you went on to shut down Sanctuary. Your actions helped us locate the Illusive Man's headquarters. Without that, the entire war may have been loss."
"I wouldn't have been able to do any of that if you hadn't warned me of Kai Lang or given me access to those files. All on trust."
"More reason we should stick together. We make an excellent team."
"How can you feel that way about me?"
"Isn't it obvious?" she asked softly.
Yes, it was. And for the life of her she couldn't understand why. Not when she always…
"I always run away from you," Miranda argued weakly. "I always push you away. I couldn't even be honest with you about my father or Oriana."
"You're used to playing things close to the chest."
"I am, but…"
The Commander's fingers brushed along Miranda's hand, then gently held it.
"I missed you."
The honest confession struck Miranda's heart. Made her wince.
She missed Shepard, too.
"I know it's selfish to say," she continued. "The whole galaxy was at war. We both had duties to fulfill. The mission has always come first, it's always come before us. Even though we wished it could be different. Even so, I thought of you often. There wasn't a moment where I didn't wish you were on the Normandy."
"Revna…"
"I understand now why you couldn't join me. You needed to be boots on the ground, hunting down every lead to locate Oriana and your father. Had you been on the Normandy, you wouldn't have been able to place a tracking device on Kai Long. Without that we wouldn't have found the Illusive Man's headquarters."
She lifted Miranda's hand up, caressing her thumb along the back of it as she looked her in the eyes.
"You were integral to our success, Miranda. At the right place, at the right time. Right where your sister and the galaxy needed you."
Miranda felt herself lean closer. Felt her mission, her purpose for intruding, slip free of her fingers.
Leave it to an Alliance marine to indiscriminately shatter her defenses and destroy her well-crafted plans.
"I wouldn't be here now if you were stationed on the Normandy," said Shepard. "Your knowledge of my cybernetics and your close proximity was the difference between losing an arm and losing my life. So don't say you always run away. You found me when the war ended, when I was supposed to come find you. You saved my life, Miranda." Revna smiled that familiar cheeky smile she was known for. "And if saving the 'Hero of the Galaxy' doesn't earn you a few ribbons and medals, I'm not sure what will."
She said it with her quirky sense of humor, with the same silent eye roll at the title of hero she'd always felt.
Miranda surprised herself with an abrupt laugh.
"The Alliance or Council providing a former Cerberus Officer a medal? Think of the outrage," she jested.
"I'll be sure to recommend it to Admiral Hackett."
"Stop it," Miranda said, smiling against her intentions. Eyes falling to the phantom, she felt her smile falter. "I should've been faster."
"It wasn't your fault. They'll fit me with a prosthetic and I'll be as good as new. Until then my one woman juggling show will suffer somewhat, but…" Revna shrugged, a small grin on her lips.
"Revna," Miranda scolded, chuckling despite everything.
"Kasumi gave me that one. I'll have to thank her later."
"Why am I not surprised."
As the chuckle faded, Miranda looked upon Revna with affection.
"How do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"How do you never lose hope, even when things don't go to plan?"
"There's always hope," Reyna replied earnestly. "Hope is how we made it this far. Some things don't always go to plan, of course. And we take a loss. Like Thessia…" the Commander trailed off, gaze drifting to the window.
"I lost my fair share of friends and comrades in this war," she said after a moment. "Keeping hope in moments like those, it's hard. Real hard. Feels like being forced to chew and swallow glass. Like sitting on knives and being forced to smile and say 'thanks for the seat' when I'd rather stand. I bottled up a lot of hate, frustration, hurt, and grief. I felt it like everyone else—the pain, the doubt, the fear. Felt it all the way up to the final moment of the war."
Revna looked at her again. "Hope was hard in the war. Hoping against hopelessness always is. We still searched for it, though, for even a single glimmer of it. Just a sliver of good news, something to keep the despair at bay. And, somehow, it was always there. There were countless acts of compassion throughout the war. People going out of their way to alleviate suffering, to make a friend or stranger smile, or look after a total strangers child, regardless of species.
"With the Reapers gone, hope is beginning to blossom again. I see it daily. There are more of these stories than before. More people working together to fix what is broken so we can all begin to heal. So we can all mourn those we lost."
Revna gestured with her right arm. "Losing this was a small price to pay. It's a small sacrifice compared to those who gave their lives to end the war."
"You've always had such an admirable perspective. I tend to lose myself in the worst details," Miranda admitted, shifting on her feet.
"Do you remember when the Normandy was under maintenance? When we finally had a few moments to spend together?" Revna asked suddenly.
"Of course."
"I wish we had more moments like those."
"So do I."
The war provided too few personal moments. In that way, their relationship was as ordinary as the rest of the galaxy. They spoke predominantly over the QEC, and generally discussed the war against the Reapers.
The mission always came first. For better or worse.
She could count on one hand their in-person meetings after the Reapers took Earth—far too few, in hindsight. Even if circumstances didn't provide other opportunities.
Before the Normandy's maintenance, in particular, the longest stretch of time they spent face to face was when they met at a safe house on the Citadel. A small apartment, secluded and secure. Business again, of course; Miranda needed access to Alliance files, no questions asked.
Shepard, as always, offered that trust with minimal hesitation. However there was also something more personal they needed to discuss—an apology Miranda needed to give.
"With so much being uncertain, I just wanted you to know I've always regretted wanting that chip."
They were meant to part ways after that—the mission came first, after all. She didn't want to waste Shepard's time, nor allow her father to get any farther ahead when she was finally gaining ground. Get the files, apologize, and keep moving—that was how she planned their encounter.
As always Revna managed to get her to pause, to stop and breathe in the moment, with her.
"Miranda, it's okay," Revna reassured, slowly stepping backwards towards the bed in the safe house. Her eyes never left Miranda. She smiled warmly. "We're both under so much pressure to be perfect, we never give ourselves a break."
Miranda looked away.
"We can't give ourselves a break," she said, voice lowering, weakening, with regret. "There's too much at stake."
"Hey."
"Yes?"
Looking back to the Commander, she saw her brace one knee on the edge of the bed. Revna smiled, gestured to the bed with a nod of her head.
"Come here."
Miranda couldn't help but smile. Leave it to an Alliance Marine to be so straightforward. But, then, she wouldn't have Revna any other way.
Confidently, she turned to face the woman and strutted across the room, taking her time with every elegant step.
"Oh?" she feigned innocent surprise. "Still impatient, Commander?"
"Still trying to maintain control, Miss Lawson?" Revna teased, climbing onto the bed and resting on both knees.
You always see right through me, she thought, humming as she smiled.
She reached the edge of the bed and leaned in, nearly brushing her nose against the Commander's. Gazes locked, she felt her heart's tempo elevating.
God, she'd forgotten how it felt to be looked at with such longing, trust, intense affection, and lust.
Revna's fingertips brushed against her thighs, they glided along their outer sides and paused at her hips.
Miranda inhaled deeply, gooseflesh forming beneath her conforming armor. She gripped the zipper of Commander's sweater between her fingers and slowly pulled it down.
"Trying. But failing," Miranda added.
"Good," she smiled. "I'm almost all out of moves."
Miranda guided the sweater off her shoulders, discarded it to the floor. Revna's hands rested on her shoulders, caressed along the sides of her neck, then gently clasped behind it.
"So soon, Commander?" she teased "I suppose we're both fortunate, then."
"Oh? How come?"
With a seductive hum and smile, she placed her hands on Revna's hips and hoisted her up, coaxing a joyful and aroused giggle from the Commander—a sound which always left her heart fluttering warmly.
Climbing onto the bed on her knees, she shuffled up the mattress then settled the Commander on her back in the center of it. Miranda lay with her. She glided her hand down the woman's thigh. Revna hooked the same leg around her back, guiding their bodies closer together.
Smiling, Miranda nudged Revna's nose with her own and answered,
"Because I have plenty of moves left."
They had savored their selfish moment for as long as they could. Then parted ways, as the war always seemed to demand of them. It wasn't until Horizon, that horrible facility feeding off the desperation of the galactic community, that they saw each other in person again. Unfortunately with Oriana as her father's human shield, and Miranda in the loathsome position of playing damsel-in-distress.
Not her proudest moment. Not by a long-shot.
"I never imagined I'd be thankful your Clone attempted to steal the Normandy," Miranda said after a moment. "But interrupting its maintenance, and causing such a stir, brought us together again. Even if only for a few moments.
"Our time at the Silver Coast Casino in particular, I…" She exhaled an embarrassed chuckle, scratched at her collarbone and glanced to the big picture windows. "I've never been good at being normal. I'm a bit of a disaster at it, really. And with so much changing, we may not be able to get more practice in anytime soon. But if its somehow possible for us to stay…" she trailed off, awkward and nervous. Or, as Revna might say, human.
Vulnerability was never her strength. It led to embarrassing sentimental thoughts escaping at inopportune times.
Such as the confession of love Revna so fondly remembered.
"Miranda, I know everything has changed. Some of it wasn't in our control. I know this," Revna gestured with what remained of her right arm, "will make some things complicated. But nothing about us has to change, not if you don't want it to."
Always us. Always a team. Always giving her the freedom to choose the path she wanted.
It made trying to leave seem so foolish. So cowardly.
"I've always envied your way with words," Miranda admitted, glancing off briefly. "You always seem to know what to say to reinvigorate those around. Whether its a suicide mission, or…"
"Or?"
She looked into Revna's eyes. "Or reminding me why I would tear a Reaper in half with my bare hands if it stood between us."
Revna smiled. "My bets are on you."
"As they should be."
Her hands weren't trembling anymore. The cold, sinking feeling had released its taloned clutches, and in its place hints of her confidence and certainty slowly returned.
Miranda took a breath. "We've always known things would be difficult for us. And, frankly, I'm willing to fight the galaxy for this—for you. So, if I haven't run you off, do you…"
She hesitated, the last throes of uncertainty grasping her ankle and stumbling her. Miranda shook it off, inhaled another breath.
Now or never. No more running, no more hiding.
It was time to lay all their cards on the table.
"Do you still want me in your life, Revna?"
"Always. My feelings for you haven't changed. I'd like to spend my life with you."
"No second thoughts? This is your last chance to back out."
"Never."
Miranda lowered her chin, smiling softly. Revna didn't hesitate. Didn't need a single moment to think of her answer.
This time she took Revna's hand into her own. She stepped closer, then raised her gaze to meet her eyes.
"Then it seems we're of the same mind."
"Come here."
Gently, Revna pulled her into an embrace. Miranda wrapped her arms around the Commander, chin resting on her shoulder.
"We'll be all right, Miranda," Revna promised.
"I believe you."
All of the fears she bottled up washed off her shoulders in Revna's embrace. But of course they did.
She was home again.
Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect, nor do I make any profit off the writing of this fan fiction. Mass Effect is developed and published by Bioware and Electronic Arts. All copyrights belong to their respective users. This is merely a fan creation.
A/N: Quick note, the piano song Miranda is playing is I'm Proud of You from the Mass Effect 3 ost.
Anyway, thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed this fic!