Author's Note: Back again! Writer's block began crumbling with the announcement of DA Veilguard, but my brain is perversely gravitating toward ME; I'm currently lining up the Legendary trilogy on my PC, and this one shoved its way to the front of the line after playing hard-to-get forever. That said, I do have several of my DA stories queued up, including a new Cauthrien post-Blight AU.
The medbay was empty, but a set of folded scrubs had been left lying on the next bed. Miranda pulled them on, testing her strength; definitely still weaker than she wanted to be, but her legs would support her. Steeling herself, she stepped out of the medbay into the world she had left behind a year ago.
The galley and mess were deserted; she looked across to where her former berth was. Evan had said that Liara was there now, and she felt an indefinable twinge at the thought. She didn't want to see the changes that had been made; the room and the life that it had been a part of were hers no longer. Instead, she made her way to the lift and headed up a level.
The Command Deck was as busy as the Crew Deck was deserted. Every station was occupied, and the air was alive with voices as people called to each other, transmissions were received and responded to. Miranda had been on this end of enough ops to decipher the meaning of all the talk: combat was raging somewhere close, and the Normandy was in the thick of it.
It was no real surprise that Shepard was not at her post in the Combat Information Center, but neither was it a welcome discovery. Miranda's gaze shifted to the station to the right of the star map, feeling a resurgence of the old guilt at the absence of Kelly Chambers. The psychiatrist had admittedly been on the quirky side, but she hadn't deserved what had happened to her. None of them had.
"Traynor!" Shepard's voice crackled over the comm. "We're pinned down next to a sealed door! Can you find us another route?"
"On it, Commander." Miranda drew closer, watching as the young woman's hands danced across the haptic interfaces, brown eyes intent on the schematics that flashed across the heads-up display. Additional components had been integrated into the console. "Got it! Sending to your omni-tool!"
"You rock, Sam!"
The satisfied smile on the specialist's face shifted to surprise as Miranda entered her field of vision. "Oh! Ms. Lawson, I didn't realize you were up and about! The commander will be so pleased!"
"You don't have to tell her yet," Miranda replied hastily. "Or Dr. Chakwas."
"No, the commander definitely does not need to be distracted at the moment, and as for the good doctor -" Traynor sent her a conspiratorial little grin and wink. "My lips are sealed. She's in the shuttle bay getting ready to receive our wounded, so as long as you're not actively bleeding out or losing consciousness, you should be able to escape notice."
Miranda decided that she rather liked this young woman. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she offered, feeling uncomfortably adrift after a lifetime of knowing exactly what it was she needed to be doing at any point in time. She wanted to be in the thick of the fight, bringing down the organization that had betrayed the ideals that it had encouraged her to devote her life to. Wanted to be there when Shepard came up against Kai Leng, stand with her lover against the murderous bastard, but she'd be more hindrance than help in her current condition. She wanted to do something!
Traynor edged sideways and offered her a comm headset. "Take over this set of channels," she said, nodding toward a bank of flashing lights. "Blue are Alliance, red are Cerberus. Keep them from scrambling ours and wreak as much havoc as you can on theirs."
"I think I can manage that." Miranda accepted the headset gratefully and settled it into place. It had been several years since she had been on this end of an op, but the memories slipped into place quickly, and while Cerberus cells operated independently of each other, she knew enough of the common jargon and tactics to wreak very satisfying havoc on their communications. It kept her from thinking too hard on the risks that Evan was taking; she wanted to be the one guiding her lover through the maze of Cronos Station, but she knew well enough the frustration of having an outsider blunder into a smoothly running op.
She lifted her eyes to the holographic projection of the battle in the space where the galaxy map was usually visible, the massive space station dwarfing the dreadnoughts, cruisers, and carriers, but plainly taking damage from their guns and smaller craft from each side engaged in pitched dogfights. In all her years with Cerberus, she'd only been on the station a handful of times, traveling to coordinates transmitted to her at the start of her journey, and knowing that when she left, the station would be relocated.
She'd seen it then as humanity's version of the Citadel: a fortress to safeguard the ideals that had carried the species into the stars and allowed it to rise in a galaxy that was at best indifferent to its presence. Had it ever really been that, or had it always been what it was now: a monument to one man's hubris and arrogance, and a wedge driven between humanity and allies that were desperately needed at a time when a common threat should have united them?
She was drawn out of her chagrined musings by a sudden burst of activity and chatter across the Command Deck, and her heart stuttered in her chest at the sight of explosions blossoming across the station, the structure beginning to buckle from the damage that had been dealt.
"Evan!" her cry was all but lost in the whoops and cheers, but a warm hand covered hers, squeezing lightly.
"Steve's got them," Traynor assured her. "They're clear and returning to the Normandy." Her smile shifted abruptly to a scowl. "But the Illusive Man got away, damn it," she huffed, turning back to her console and peering intently at the readouts. "None of the escape shuttles that launched made it past our fighters, but all of them had multiple passengers. He doesn't strike me as the type to share."
The slight uplift to her voice on the last word and a single arched eyebrow turned the statement into a question. "No, he's not," Miranda confirmed, shaking her head. For all of his grand proclamations of his dedication to humanity, the leader of Cerberus had regularly sacrificed individuals on the altar of the greater good – as he defined it. From Akuze to the assault on the Citadel, the claim of advancing humanity's interests had grown ever more tenuous. If she had opened her eyes sooner, could she have stopped it before it had gotten this far?
"We never would have found this place if you hadn't managed to plant that tracker on Kai Leng," Traynor told her. "It was incredibly brave of you."
"It would have been wasted if you hadn't tracked him from Thessia," Miranda replied ruefully, giving the younger woman a smile and feeling that the respect in those brown eyes was decidedly undeserved. "I'd have been dead and my father would be gone with Oriana." Her stubborn insistence on going it alone had very nearly cost her sister her freedom.
"The Commander would never have let that happen," Samantha asserted confidently. "She loves you too much." There was the faintest twinge of wistfulness in her tone, but Miranda couldn't detect even a hint of jealousy. A romantic, then … something that Miranda herself had never been. And yet, here she was, her heart beginning to race like a twitterpated teenager when Traynor went on, "The shuttle should be docking any minute now, if you'd like to go meet them." She gave her console a baleful look. "I'm going to see if I can figure out when the Illusive Man jumped ship and where he went."
Briefly, Miranda wondered if she should stay and assist, but then realized that she could offer nothing of substance. Like the rest of his underlings, she had known nothing of the Illusive Man apart from the carefully cultivated facade that he presented. Not even his true name. The secrets that she had been privy to would have been long since protected: assets relocated, contingency plans altered, access codes changed.
"Thank you." She turned toward the elevator, turned back. "And not just for saving my ass, Specialist Traynor. I never thought I would have the chance to take down Cerberus after I left; Evan is damn good at what she does, but we wouldn't have done this without you. I owe you."
The younger woman looked shyly pleased by her words, but said only, "You're a member of this crew, Miranda, and we take care of each other. We've got Cerberus on the run … and now it's the Reapers' turn." Brown eyes shone with a confidence that only one person that Miranda knew could inspire, and she was caught between a fierce pride in what Evan had accomplished and a devout hope that it would be enough. So much depended on so many others …
"That it is," she agreed, calling on years of practice on behalf of Cerberus to match the younger woman's certainty as she headed for the elevator.
By the time she reached the cargo hold, the shuttle had docked and its passengers were disembarking in the boisterous manner that marked a successful op. Dr. Chakwas moved among them, keen green eyes appraising each in turn, but most injuries appeared to be minor, and she instructed them to either report to the medbay for treatment or to use medigel. Some she was familiar with: Garrus, Tali'Zorah, Liara. Ashley, EDI, all of them calling greetings to her. Others she knew only from the research she had done on the names that Evan had mentioned: the burly young man would be James Vega; his less muscular but still fit companion must be the pilot, Steve Cortez; and of course, Evan had managed to find and recruit the last prothean in the galaxy.
She and Jaavik were the last ones out of the shuttle, deep in a conversation that broke off the moment she saw Miranda. The green eyes sparked with something that made Miranda's breath catch in her chest, and then Evan was giving Jaavik a friendly clap on the shoulder and striding toward her.
She didn't seem to have any major injuries, Miranda noted gratefully in the moment before strong arms caught her up in an embrace and a fierce kiss drove any other thoughts from her mind.
"If you ever do that to me again, I'll kick your ass," she threatened when they drew apart enough that she could speak, though being breathless likely diluted the effect of her words.
"I'll let you," Evan countered, shifting easily so that one arm curled around her waist and guiding her toward the elevator. As they waited for the others to finish crowding on, Miranda looked Shepard over: her armor had sustained no major damage; she had a bruise blossoming on her left cheekbone and crusted blood in a gash that split that eyebrow. She reached up to touch it gingerly.
"Headbutt," Evan explained with a shrug, tipping her head slightly to allow Miranda to explore the wound.
"Kai Leng?"
Vega answered for Shepard. "He never got close enough," he bragged. "Lola pulverized him with her shotgun while Blue squashed his biotics. He wasn't so tough."
"Lola?" Miranda looked around the lift (not an easy feat, as they were packed in like sardines), wondering who she had missed.
"That's me," Evan explained with a crooked grin. There was not a trace of guile in her expression, so Miranda ignored the twinge of jealousy and resolved not to ask … yet.
Level by level, the elevator emptied, with most exiting on the crew deck, where the showers and medbay were located. Even as more space opened up, Miranda stayed close to Shepard, head leaning into her shoulder, savoring the solid reality of her. As the door closed behind EDI on the CIC deck, leaving them alone, Evan shifted, pressing Miranda gently against the cool metal and kissing her: slow and tender, with an underlying promise that made her knees waver.
Shepard? For a moment, Miranda wondered if she had only imagined EDI's departure, then she realized that the AI's voice was coming through the comm system. Dr. Chakwas has asked me to remind you that Ms. Lawson should not be engaging in any strenuous activity.
Evan chuckled, and the warm tickle of her breath against Miranda's throat stilled the retort that was on the tip of her tongue.
"I think we can manage," Shepard murmured, drawing back and sliding her hands downward until her fingers laced with Miranda's, leading her off the elevator as the doors opened. Inside the captain's berth, Miranda stopped short as the doors closed behind them, struck by the sudden realization that she had not been here in more than a year.
Very little had changed. Evan had never been the type to care about décor, and her living space had always been very nearly Spartan in its simplicity. No art on the walls, no ornamental touches. The clear display cases over the desk held the battered N7 helmet that Shepard had recovered from the crash site of the original Normandy on Alchera; the dog tags of the few fallen crew members who had no families to return them to; pictures of Kaidan Alenko, Mordin, Zaeed, and Thane; and a few other items that Miranda didn't recognize. Beside the computer terminal on the desk was a framed photo of Miranda that she didn't recall posing for.
There were new fish in the aquarium, along with what looked to be an automated feeding unit, which meant that these residents might enjoy a longer tenancy, but it was the memory of Evan pinning her against the heavy glass and kissing her until the last barrier to her emotions crumbled that made her eyes linger and her cheeks flush with sudden warmth.
Shepard followed her gaze, the faint smile that touched her lips fading into an expression of concern. "Hey." She stepped closer, one hand lifting to turn Miranda's head until their eyes met. "What is it?"
"I'm going to wake up any minute, aren't I?" she asked softly. She had dreamed of being here so many times over the past lonely months that it seemed impossible that it could be real now. Her world suddenly seemed as fragile as a soap bubble about to alight on the edge of a razor.
There was nothing fragile about the arms that enfolded her. "When you do, I'll be right beside you," Evan promised before claiming her lips in a slow, deep kiss, hands gliding beneath the loose scrub shirt on paths that made Miranda's knees go weak. She leaned into Shepard, more than willing to lose herself in the other woman, but the armor posed a definite barrier.
Evan laughed softly at the frustrated sound that escaped her and willingly assisted her in removing the barrier, but she remained a soldier to the bone: each piece was placed in its proper position in the armor cabinet, which was then closed and activated to clean the armor and scan it for damage or wear.
Fortunately, Shepard was not nearly as meticulous with the BDU's that were beneath the armor, and their clothes were left to lay where they fell in a trail that ended just outside the shower. Miranda took her time washing her lover, examining her inch by inch as she cleaned the sweat away, relieved to find nothing worse than bruises and minor contusions. She could feel Shepard's eyes on her, but the other woman didn't make a move until Miranda shifted to seductive caresses.
"Doctor's orders," Evan reminded her in a playful tone, but the arm that looped around her waist and drew her snugly against the strong body was firm.
"I'm not an invalid," she pouted, but she couldn't deny that leaning into Shepard felt good, her own muscles wearier than she wanted after so much time on her feet.
"Just hold on." Evan's words ghosted along the line of her jaw, fingers slipping into the fall of her hair to cup the back of head and draw her into a kiss. Miranda obeyed, wrapping her arms around her lover's shoulders and hanging on, abandoning herself to pure sensation as fingers, lips, and tongue mapped lazy paths over her skin beneath the flow of water.
Real … this was real, not a dream, and that understanding raced along her awareness like wildfire. She angled her head insistently until Evan's mouth met hers again, the kiss fierce and demanding and so very, gloriously real.
"Now," she breathed, drawing back just enough to look up into eyes the green of a summer forest. "Now, Evan." They could luxuriate in each other later, but months of denied desire was currently demanding to be sated.
Evan's answering smile made Miranda's heart catch in her chest. The Spectre remained gentle as she pressed her lover back against the support of the shower wall, but her focus became relentless. Lips, teeth, and tongue alternated between kisses that made her forget to breathe and tender assaults on the soft flesh of her throat that had her gasping out Evan's name. Her hands – God, her hands! - had lost none of their sensual skill; fingers followed the paths of water across her skin, then began to improvise erotic patterns of their own over breasts, belly, thighs, until she was writhing against her lover, one leg hooking around the trim waist, hips rocking, needing, until she grabbed one of those hands and thrust it between her legs in a wordless demand that Evan acceded to with a low laugh.
Her body was keyed to such a fever pitch that the first thrust of fingers, the first sweep of a thumb over that taut bundle of nerves shattered her completely, but Evan drew her climax out further than she would have believed possible. Slow, deep thrusts and caresses that knew just the right amount of pressure kept her teetering at the pinnacle of ecstasy until starbursts were flaring behind her closed eyelids and her vocalizations had to be audible on the command deck, but she didn't give a damn, and evidently, neither did Shepherd, for she kept up her attentions until Miranda's cries had dwindled to moans and the irresistible surges of pleasure that gripped her body eased into languorous shudders.
"Still think you're asleep?" Evan teased her, nuzzling along the line of her jaw.
"No," Miranda retorted, still breathing hard, "but I think I may be dead." Perhaps Dr. Chakwas' warning against too much exertion hadn't been excessive caution, because she was quite certain that the only thing holding her upright at the moment was the press of her lover's body. A few years and another lifetime ago, being so utterly spent and vulnerable in the arms of a lover would have been unthinkable and likely impossible; she could never have let her guard down so completely. But when her legs wavered as Shepherd stepped back, she willingly gave herself into the other woman's supporting arms.
"I'll bet I can revive you," Evan murmured, lifting her easily and grabbing a pair of towels as she carried Miranda from the shower to the bed.
"I have no doubt of that," she replied, sighing happily at the luxurious sensation of being toweled dry, "but when do I get to return the favor?" She was – with good reason – quite confident in her own lovemaking skills, but there was no denying that she was several long months out of practice.
"As soon as you feel up to it," Shepard told her, taking the second towel to her own skin.
If Miranda had had her own way, that would have been immediately, but her current state of loose-limbed lassitude made even helping Evan dry off a challenge, and when the Spectre maneuvered them both into the bed and drew the sheet over them, she immediately felt herself drifting toward slumber.
"It's all right," Evan breathed, her kisses and caresses calculated to soothe, rather than arouse. "I'll be here when you're ready. We have all the time in the world now."
All the time in the world. It was a concept that was completely alien to the way she had lived her life to this point. Always there had been a deadline, a goal that would slip away if not pursued aggressively, but Evan's easy confidence was infectious, and she allowed herself to be lulled to sleep, fully intending to awaken her lover in the most erotic manner possible.
But they were awakened together by EDI, bearing the unwelcome news that the Illusive Man, rather than making good his escape, had stolen the whole damned Citadel, with the aid of the Reapers.
She had to hand it to the bastard: nobody had seen that one coming, including herself.