Purpose, Hope, and a Promise, a mass effect fanfic

Purpose, Hope, and a Promise

Rigid boundaries had long defined Miranda's life.

Her purpose, her path, her destiny, if you were inclined towards dramatics—the very lines of her existence had been drawn before she was even an embryo.

Upon finally drawing her first breath, she was not lovingly cradled in the arms of a nurturing parent. Her successful creation wasn't a cause for celebration; it was the bare minimum expectation being met, a confident presumption of her creator, who no longer marveled at creating life from his own genome.

The previous failures had robbed the accomplishment of its luster.

So, she was laid within a metaphorical unbending cage, imprisoned by the meticulous lines drawn ahead of her creation.

It had been her father to wield the pen. Indeed, Henry Lawson pored over every detail of his creation, he threw away blueprints which were ineffective, incomplete, or imperfect, stubbornly refusing to settle for anything less than perfection. The price was inconsequential. He could afford to lose credits.

As for the previous daughters, what did it matter? They were just blueprints. Conceptual sketches and outlines for his dynasty. And so he continued his demented work until, one day, he crafted what he believed to be the final outline—the perfect blueprint for the perfect daughter.

An invariably callous design, to Miranda's eyes, one crafted by a narcissist's craven need to create a flawless dynasty. That man had outlined every detail. He had predetermined every aspect of her life, all the way down to her bloody genetic code.

However, although it all began at the genetic level, by no means did the rigid boundaries end there. Henry Lawson had created an outline, certainly, but humans were unpredictable creatures. Chaotic. Children even more so.

He couldn't suffer her straying beyond his vision, walking a path of her own choosing and flushing away all of his painstaking effort, so he crafted an electric collar and leash to assert firm control over Miranda.

He crafted his impossible standards and expectations to keep her walking precisely where he wished, free to yank and shock her with disappointment and disapproval whist never leaving a physical mark for any bystander to see. Not that her father's friends would've cared if he had.

They were all birds of a feather. Vermin of the same ilk, whom she never should've been left alone with as a young girl.

Of course, Henry Lawson was careful not to push her too far away. He offered rewards now and then—gifts, a pat on the head, perhaps even a rare smile, all to keep her close. Close enough to bury another hook and maintain his firm grip.

For a long time Miranda tried to live up to the impossible standards. She strained against impossibility to be the perfect daughter, to exceed his unreachable expectations so she might hear him say he was proud of her. And, maybe if he expressed a hint of pride, perhaps she may even earn the love she sought. Someday. If she worked hard enough. If she could be good enough for it.

She went so far to learn the tricks her father wished, like learning to play the piano, all so she could perform flawlessly in front of his very important friends, as an obedient and well-trained pet does.

Thinking on it again made her stomach churn with years of repressed shame, embarrassment, and rage.

For a long time—far too long—she obeyed. She lived within the cage, because to her it didn't look like one. It was just her home. The only place she'd known.

Eventually she saw it for what it was. It wasn't hard once he realized her greatest imperfection—a dynasty required future heirs, heirs her imperfect body could not produce.

So, a new blueprint needed to be created: Oriana.

With meticulous planning of her own, Miranda ferried them both away from the unbending cage her sister was destined for, and whatever garbage bin her father intended to throw his newest imperfect blueprint into.

Escaping Henry Lawson—killing him, even—wasn't the end, unfortunately.

Living beneath her father's tyrannical thumb had marked Miranda in ways invisible to the naked eye. It left wounds she hadn't fully healed from, hooks she hadn't yet managed to remove, and so their rusted teeth still bit and burrowed into her flesh, catching on old memories and old habits when she least expected it.

Even when Henry Lawson lay dead she still… She still hadn't escaped him. Not completely.

Not yet, at least.

Following her father, Cerberus and the Illusive Man would provide the next rigid structure for Miranda. There was more space to maneuver within Cerberus, more space to stretch her legs and move around as she wished; the Illusive Man had provided leeway on projects and operations, but demanded excellence and devotion to the cause.

Yet the new freedom was illusory. She'd been a tool, nothing more. A marionette he possessed leverage over, and could cut the strings of, should she become problematic. And she had. Quite proudly, in fact.

All of her life, really, there was a mission and structure to…fit within the lines of. She found comfort in that, especially when she was the one choosing the mission and drawing the lines for herself.

Structure provided organization, it allowed for control.

As long as she knew her mission then she had a purpose. Having that centered her focus, it let her define who Miranda Lawson was, and see where precisely she fit into the galaxy.

Now…

Miranda inhaled deeply through her nostrils. Then exhaled slowly. Each breath was controlled, kept as imperceptible as physically possible; an unconscious habit gained through her years serving as an agent in Cerberus.

Labored breaths, gasps, panting—they were hints of weakness an enemy might exploit, if they were competent, like a limping gait or a supportive brace.

Calm breaths and an unbroken composure revealed nothing. It concealed struggles of doubt, hid sparks of anger which might entice an enemy to press on raw nerves, and kept the fear all creatures suffered buried beneath the surface. Out of sight and out of reach of those who sought leverage in a negotiation or a fight.

Sweat beaded on her forehead, beneath her navy long-sleeve, but perspiration was an uncontrollable variable, a natural biological response to her exertion of energy. Her heart's tempo maintained an elevated pattern, but it did not pound, nor were there any external factors inducing additional stress.

Standing alone and out of the way, Miranda observed the crowd of humans, Salarians, Asari, and Turians in military or C-Sec uniforms gathered before her. She only knew the sole Salarian woman among them, and then only in passing; a C-Sec Captain, she recalled, who now served as Commander Bailey's second-in-command. The Salarian was conducting the operation at hand.

Among the officers and military volunteers were Grissom Academy students, identifiable by their red uniforms and the Systems Alliance insignia sewn into their uniforms left breast. The students were between their late teens to early twenties, forming two distinct groups divided by their specialities.

The first were the scientifically and technologically gifted students. They were working alongside maintenance teams in their effort to troubleshoot and build workarounds for issues of water filtration and food storage in the Wards. Primary objectives, by all accounts.

The second were a small squad of adept biotics. Like Miranda, they stood or sat out of the main walkways as they tried to catch their breath and wiped the sweat from their brows; it'd been a particularly grueling stint of debris clean-up, but that was oddly normal now. The Crucible had done a number on the ancient station.

Miranda absorbed every detail, every person—adult, teen, military, civilian. They acted with focus, without doubts or fears flickering in their eyes. Fierce determination to survive, to rebuild, to live; she could see it in how they carried themselves, in acts of camaraderie between strangers; she saw it in how they moved effortlessly from removing debris to aiding the haggard civilians they'd found trapped within, and the strain the students put on themselves to keep working so they could free the others.

She saw it in their relief when projects were completed despite their simplicity. She felt it when complete strangers pat her shoulder in gratitude as they passed, heard it in the lighthearted jests shared between students or officers, none she ever found all that funny.

It was clear to Miranda what they had.

They all had their mission, their purpose. Their talents—unique and ordinary—were being pointed in the right direction, and as a result they could see their achievements in making their precarious situation a little more bearable.

They'd done good work, others were still doing good work. Logically she knew she had a role in that. And yet…

A frown blemished her previously immaculate composure.

All of her life she'd had a mission or structure to fit into the lines of. Now, in the aftermath of the Reaper War, the rigid structures she'd known had been broken, the lines erased. Without it she had no organization. No control.

As she watched the crowd she was struck by another harsh realization:

She didn't fit into any of these groups anymore than a square peg could fit into a round hole.

The galaxy she'd known had changed. Irreversibly. Their primary mission was to survive, of course. She wasn't blind to that. They had to reconnect the galaxy before some desperate idiot did something stupid, unleashing a war within the inescapable confines of the Sol System, but…

Miranda watched the biotic students rise, regrouping as they moved to their next assignment. The maintenance teams were still troubleshooting. The officers and soldiers were cleaning up debris, searching for more survivors or in the process of aiding those they'd found.

Where was her place in all of this chaos? Where were her talents best directed?

Where could she do the most good?

Many of their problems were so vast in scope…

What could she even do?

Her network of contacts was fractured; they were either somewhere beyond the Charon Relay, dead, or lacked the resources to help. She spent her life honing her abilities for combat, infiltration, and information gathering. She hadn't trained to rebuild a galactic civilization, she didn't even know where to start in rebuilding her own life.

Where did Miranda Lawson fit into their post-war galaxy?

Who was Miranda Lawson without Cerberus, without direction, and without a strictly defined purpose?

She wished she knew. Maybe then the tightness in her chest might loosen.

Maybe then she wouldn't be afraid of what the future held.

There must be something more I could do.

They'd found some survivors and saved their lives, she could see the importance of that. But could she honestly say she had accomplished anything? No, not really. The Grissom Academy students would've handled it just as well without her aid.

Had she wasted precious time?

Had anything she'd done so far improved their chances at all?

My genetics, my intellect, my biotics, my abilities, my education—they're the best that money can buy. But what am I actually accomplishing with them?

Miranda curled her hands into fists. Another break in her once unbreakable composure.

Dammit, what am I even doing?

During the war she'd had such a strictly defined mission: Find Oriana and uncover her father's plans. Now she was aimless.

She didn't do well with aimlessness.

The chirp of her comm struck her enhanced hearing through the din of chatter and work. It was the secure channel she and Shepard communicated on.

Miranda raised her left pointer and middle finger to her ear and answered,

"Shepard."

"Hey, are you in the middle of anything?" Shepard's calm voice proved there were no emergencies needing attended to, but there was, in fact, a need. Beyond a cordial check-up.

Miranda glanced to her surroundings. She stood alone, a solitary island amidst a sea of people who didn't seem to have any need of her.

"No," she answered neutrally. "I've finished what I could do here. Is everything all right?"

"Kasumi and I could use an extra pair of hands. We're working on organizing supplies for the relief effort at the apartment. It's nothing extreme. There's just more than I anticipated."

"Then I'm on my way."

"Thank you."

"We work better as a team, right?"

"Right."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"See you then, Miranda."

With her tasks complete, Miranda slipped off back to their little sanctuary in the chaos, hoping Shepard's and Kasumi's project might help provide if not a focused mission, then perhaps guidance in the right direction.

Because, quite frankly, she didn't know what to do.

How do I help in this situation?

What should I be doing?

Where do I fit into this new galaxy?

"Ah, there you are!"

Kasumi's exuberant greeting was familiar, the cheerful timbre plucking at nostalgic chords Miranda couldn't deny an odd fondness for.

Their days working together against the Collectors truly were some of her best memories.

Donning silver and black armor, and standing at the kitchen island, Kasumi smiled sincerely at Miranda from beneath the shadow her hood cast. The former Cerberus Officer wasn't surprised she still wore it. In fact, that, too, was familiar, synonymous with the memory she held of the eclectic thief, like her penchant for appearing suddenly, unannounced and uninvited, or the purple tattoos striping the middle of her bottom lip and the space between it and her chin.

"It's apart of my charm," in her own words.

An odd sense of charm. Still, Miranda was glad to see her again. She even smiled at the greeting, sincerely rather than cordially. So perhaps Kasumi was more charming than she gave her credit for.

Adjacent to the thief at the kitchen island was Revna, attired in jeans and a black zip-up sweater; its familiar right sleeve, bearing the symbolic red and white stripes, was folded in half and pinned at the elbow.

Even then Revna cut a distinctly powerful silhouette, standing two inches shy of six feet and possessing the mighty, womanly contours of an Amazonian warrior. Her features hinted at a Scandinavian ancestry.

Occupying the entire kitchen was a bizarre assortment of paraphernalia: construction buckets stacked inside each other like nesting dolls of the same size, cleaning supplies, soaps, gloves, towels, clothes pins and lines, as well as some other miscellaneous items.

Nothing Miranda expected when she heard they were organizing supplies for the relief effort. Yet Shepard and Kasumi diligently worked to pack the buckets all the same.

"Dare I ask what this is all for?" Miranda wondered as she paused at the kitchen entry, scanning the supplies.

No medi-gel. No rations. No water. She spotted children toys, books, and even several decks of cards among the piles.

What on earth was all this for? She'd expected… Well, something very different, to put it mildly.

"We aren't disguising ourselves as cleaners to rob a Volus bank, are we?" she added, somewhere between amused and utterly confounded.

Revna exhaled an abrupt chuckle, ocean eyes sparkling with mirth. Kasumi feigned a gasp.

"Robbing a Volus bank? Great idea, Miranda."

"Mmhm," Miranda hummed, placing a hand on her hip.

"Oh, don't give me that look. I'm only teasing. Shep and I are working for purely humanitarian purposes. Promise."

"In expectation of a massive leak, from the look of it. Where did you even find all of these buckets and supplies, anyhow?" she couldn't hide her bewilderment.

Every countertop, the island, the floor—more than anticipated, indeed.

"Well…"

"Kasumi," Miranda sighed.

"Nothing is stolen, Miranda," Revna reassured, smiling widely at their banter. "These were all donations. Bailey had connections to provide us the buckets, Kasumi had a network of her own to barter for supplies, and I've started rebuilding a network of my own."

"And I can never resist teasing a little. Someone has to keep you on your toes when Jack isn't around," Kasumi added cheerfully.

Briefly, very briefly, Miranda considered using biotics to tip Kasumi's bucket onto the floor, just to keep the thief on her toes, but she exercised restraint against the admittedly childish response. She didn't want to damage the supplies. They weren't easy to come by.

Besides, the familiar banter strummed another nostalgic chord, one she appreciated the soothing tone of.

"What can I do to help?" she asked instead.

"Here."

Shepard unsheathed another bucket from a stack, set it on the counter beside her, and gestured with a nod of her head to approach, ashen-blonde ponytail bobbing with the movement.

"I'll show you how we're packing them. Another set of hands will make preparing these go quicker."

Miranda settled in beside Shepard and listened intently as the N7 showed her what items they were packing currently and how they were organizing them inside the buckets. It was simple, really. A matter of maximizing the limited space provided by the bucket, while simultaneously ensuring nothing would be ruined or contaminated should the cleaning supplies happen to leak or break during transport.

When the bucket was finally filled, Shepard set it among the finished stack and returned to her unfinished bucket. Miranda unsheathed another and joined their effort.

Beneath the surface, however, a needling uncertainty pricked at the back of her mind, questioning the usefulness of the project. She did her damndest to silence it.

It was an ongoing battle.

For some time they focused solely on their work, engrossed in the task at hand and its completion. It led to a content quiet Miranda didn't mind at all. No, she quite liked it.

She liked the calm presences of Shepard and Kasumi. She liked the gentle and familiar touches she and Revna shared now and then when they passed each other. She even liked Kasumi's quips about them being "adorable" and how "romantic" it all was, and the friendly banter it often led to.

Here, beside them, she found a sanctuary of normalcy amidst the chaos, a cave to shelter from the storm which battered her body and spirit every time she voluntarily entered it to search for the two resources she was in short supply of:

Purpose and hope.

Even so, the needling uncertainty lingered, growing in intensity with each empty bucket she finished packing. She had so little experience in relief efforts of any kind, it left her wondering inconvenient things.

What was important about these particular supplies?

What purpose did they serve?

Cleaning supplies, towels, clothes pins and lines, children toys, books, cards—they were daily mundanities. So painfully normal they were entirely unusual in their current situation.

Nothing here would increase anyones likelihood of survival.

So, why these supplies?

Why now?

Miranda finished another bucket, turned away, and a sudden bolt of lightning pierced through her mind from the storm beyond the sanctuary.

This all seems pointless. Inconsequential.

She winced imperceptibly. Silently, she set the bucket among the growing stack of those they'd finished, acquired another. Kasumi carried hers over.

A quick glance around proved they were making a dent in their project. More and more of the countertop space and floor once occupied was becoming clear, little by little. Quicker with another set of hands, but by no means quick. No project ever took five minutes.

Am I wasting time again?

No, she frowned, pushing the thought off. Even if she couldn't see the immediate benefit of their project, Shepard saw something worthwhile here. And aiding Revna, even aiding a comrade—dare she say friend—like Kasumi would never be a waste of time.

Yet uncertainty needled her. Vivid memories of the aid stations, hospitals, and wounded refugees she had seen shoved to the front of her mind.

What good were books and toys? Those people were desperate for medi-gel and medicines. They needed food that was safe to eat, water that was safe to drink—they needed the galactic supply lines the Reapers destroyed in the war.

A deck of cards wouldn't save them. It wouldn't do anything, at least nothing she could see.

"Shepard," Miranda finally spoke up. She needed answers, if only to calm the raging storm within her mind. "I admit, I've never taken part in relief efforts before, so forgive me if this sounds ignorant. But of all the resources we could pack these buckets with, why are we packing these supplies specifically? Why are we adding decks of cards and children's toys of all things?"

"It isn't ignorant," Revna assured. "Nothing we have here is what we'd naturally call a treasure trove of relief. A plushie like this," she raised a Blasto plushie, fully equipped with two M-6 Carnifex pistols, "isn't going to save a life. It won't feed a hungry belly. We can't repurpose it in some way to rebuild the Relay. For a starving refugee, an exhausted doctor, or someone in need of immediate medical attention, what we have here is ultimately useless.

"However," she placed the plushie in the bucket, "as small and insignificant these supplies are to those in the greatest need, they'll make a world of difference to the people they're meant to reach."

Miranda pressed her lips together.

"I'm still not entirely sure how they will."

"People on Earth, here on the Citadel, and beyond the Sol System are surrounded by what they've lost." Revna looked at her. "We're not in a position to do anything for those outside of Sol. Not yet. Right now our science teams are poring over every bit of Prothean data we've ever collected, searching for a means to replicate building a Relay, like the Conduit on Ilos; there are people working overtime to figure out our food security situation, what crops to grow, where to grow them, filtration systems for water to prevent cross-species contamination, and so on.

"Defeating the Reapers wasn't the end," she said with a shake of her head. "We knew that. Rebuilding our civilizations and reconnecting the Milky Way will prove itself to be one of the toughest missions our galaxy has ever undertaken. And it will likely take us years—decades, maybe even centuries—to get back to some kind of normalcy.

"Until then, the people here in Sol will be sifting through the wreckage the Reapers left behind. They'll be surrounded by the devastation and scars of all that was lost, trying to find some way to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives, and start again. These supplies," she said, picking up her finished bucket by the handle, "will give them a chance to start on that difficult path. It will give them another brick to set into the foundation they're rebuilding."

Revna placed her bucket among the others and joined the counter again with another. Her words, however, cleared the obscured lens Miranda been looking through.

"I hadn't thought of it that way," she admitted.

"Most of the people in Sol won't ever look over schematics or plans for the Relays," Revna said. "They won't be farming or working shifts at aid stations and hospitals. They'll be in whatever neighborhood or camp they found shelter in. We're giving them something else to focus on besides who or what they've lost. Even if that's just a way to clean their clothes, bathe, or play a game of cards. They need something to occupy those hours when they aren't working."

"Something to feel normal again."

"Exactly. So, I know it may be small, but anything that allows people to start on the path to returning to normal is helpful. A game of cards can bring people together. It can give them a sense of camaraderie, regardless of species. We're all going to be spending a lot of time cramped here together, might as well have someway to spend it.

"Hell, all sorts of aliens will end up putting down roots on Earth. They may decide to live and raise their children on the old blue marble even when the Relay is fixed. Whether Terra Firma likes it or not, aliens integrating into Earth's populace will be our new normal," she added with a satisfied smile.

Miranda smiled faintly. It wasn't so much caused by the proverbial slap to the face of xenophobes Shepard foretold confidently and, frankly, pragmatically; aliens would set roots on Earth whether because the circumstances demanded it, or simply because they wished to stay on their own accord. They wouldn't just be diplomats, tourists, or the few bondmates who once called it home, either.

Entire families of aliens would begin integrating onto the human homeworld. She could almost feel Terra Firma, the Cerberus remnants, and the staunch xenophobes boiling with rage, which did play a role in her smile.

Its primary cause, however, rooted itself in something far more simple than the purely academic conclusion of having so many aliens stranded in the Sol System. It boiled down to a single phrase.

When the Relay is fixed.

Revna believed it to be true. She foretold a future of aliens and humans living side by side on Earth as though she'd already seen it, and not only did it alleviate Miranda's anxieties, it made it clear that Shepard hadn't once lost sight of the big picture. Not for a moment. She wasn't here twiddling her thumbs or dawdling on some pointless project.

In fact, Shepard saw every little detail in the picture. From the foreground to the background, her patient explanation made it clear how much thought she'd given the immediate and pressing concerns to their survival, and to the people who could easily slip through the cracks.

Of course in typical Shepard fashion she didn't wait for someone else to come along and fill in the the gaps. She found a way to offer relief, starting by rebuilding a network and connecting it with Kasumi's. Now she had a means to fill in some of those gaps.

Or, to put it in her own words, she had something to occupy the hours when she couldn't aid their immediate mission, a sort of secondary mission to distract her from the devastation they were surrounded by. Something to offer a semblance of normalcy.

Because they weren't ordinary people. They were an Alliance Commander and Spectre, a master thief, and a genetically engineered former Cerberus Officer. They had contacts, skills, and a deeper understanding of their situation than most people did, and projects like these were as close to their normal as they could get. Otherwise they'd be aimless. Drifting. And helpless.

Traits none of them were comfortable with.

"And we can't forget about the kids who are caught in the middle of all this," Kasumi added. "These toys, books, and board games will help them, their parents, and other adults keep themselves busy with something besides the devastation."

"Mm," Miranda hummed, nodding once. "I see. In a way its no different from how we handle our situation."

"Not everyone has a charming Commander to lead them through the abyss," the thief quipped.

"Careful, Kasumi. You may make me blush."

"Who said I was talking about you. I was referring to Bailey."

"Heh!" Revna smiled widely. "All right, I'll remember that next time there's a cramped, deadly tunnel to crawl through."

"Tali still hasn't forgiven you?"

"I believe her exact words when I brought it up were 'I was set on fire!' "

Miranda hummed a chuckle. "Sounds like she'll be holding a grudge. Unlike Jack, who likes to brag to her students about holding up that biotic bubble."

"Sounds to me like someone's jealous," Kasumi teased.

"Not at all. She was well-suited for the role. I had my hands full leading the other squad."

"Look at what you've done, Shep. She complimented Jack and she's bragging."

"I made excellent choices, didn't I?" Shepard said, a smirk playing at her lips.

"Mm. Some might say you're well-suited for the role of a Commander. Perhaps even suited to be Hero of the Galaxy," Miranda teased. "Although it isn't surprising. You do only settle for the best."

"Bragging again, Miss Lawson?"

"Stating the facts as they are, Commander," she replied, winking.

"You two aren't about to use the kitchen like you did Engineering, right?"

"How… You know what, I'm not even going to bother asking," Revna said, shaking her head.

"Any regrets?" Kasumi asked.

"No."

"Never," Miranda said.

At the time, their suicide run through the Omega 4 Relay, and all that transpired on the Collector Base, left her feeling nothing except stress and grim determination to fulfill their mission, even if it all ended up being a one-way trip.

She could still feel that cold dread clutching her heart, the sinking feeling in her gut when all hoped seemed loss. She could still feel the primal fear as the burning human Reaper crashed upon the platforms and sent her sliding straight towards the abyss, as well as the sudden leap of her heart as Revna clutched a hand tightly around her arm, catching her before she could fall.

God, it felt like simpler times now. She almost longed for it. Those stresses were at least manageable. She dared to say they were normal, at least by their very abnormal standards.

Nothing at all like their current situation.

As they continued to work, Miranda's mind drifted back to her doubts.

Could such simple aid truly make a difference in these dire circumstances? She understood the reasoning behind it, she could see how it could be useful. But it… It still seemed so small.

It still felt like she could be doing something more.

They had a massive undertaking on their hands, and this…

Miranda quickly filed away her doubt.

Revna clearly believed this would help, so she would withhold judgement.

At least until she saw it with her own eyes.

Their first delivery led them to Dock 272, currently home to a Turian-class scouting frigate which didn't fly the colors of the Turian Hierarchy, nor those of any known military or mercenary outfit Miranda recognized from Council Space or the Terminus Systems.

While similar in size to the original Normandy, it lacked the human influences in engineering and aesthetics entirely, possessing sharper contours one might associate with a gliding bird of prey. It's hull was black, the name of the ship painted upon it in bold crimson letters.

The Setting Sun.

There were worse names. During her tenure on the Normandy, Miranda recalled a mission to board a crashing ship named the MSV Broken Arrow; the vessel was swarming with Geth and set on a collision course for the planet below.

Although they would go on to reactive the engines and clear out the Geth, saving the Fargone Colony from catastrophe, she couldn't deny the ship had been aptly named, to the misfortune of their original crew.

Nevertheless, The Setting Sun belonged to one of Kasumi's contacts, a crew of humans and aliens who had served as a N7 Special Ops unit throughout the war.

The original units were initially comprised of N7 commandos like Shepard. However, as the war dragged on, the most experienced operatives among the allied forces, whether they be aliens or mercenaries, formed units to combat the Reapers and Cerberus deep within enemy territory.

Miranda had heard of their collective exploits as she hunted for her sister and father. Those who bore the title consistently leapt into hellfire to evacuate civilians, secure objectives, and eliminate high-priority targets, living up to the symbol who had come to define what an N7 was to their generation.

For their exemplary service and remarkable bravery, and as a sign of respect, the Alliance let the unofficial title spread among the ranks.

As for Kasumi's contact, they happened to fall into the mercenary category, now serving as a courier between Earth and the Citadel alongside another N7 Special Ops unit, according to the thief.

It was time to finally meet them. Miranda remained on guard, as was her nature.

Nearing the cargo ramp, towing their crate of buckets with them, she finally laid eyes on some of the people they were delivering to.

A Batarian of grey complexion was ascending the ramp with two red containers of medi-gel stacked in his arms, and a ribbon of cigarette smoke trailing behind him.

She spotted two Turians walking alongside one another inside the cargo hold, discussing some matter on a data-pad—the one carrying the data-pad was male with a dark complexion and steel blue eyes, the female of the pair donned the armor of a saboteur and orange tattoos upon her pale plates.

Deeper in the ship a large crate sheathed in biotic power ascended through space, lifted with meticulous control by an Asari attired in a opaque white tank top and dark pants; the markings on her face were the same shade of red as the tattoo spreading out along her shoulders and across her back. The crate reached the top of the stack and the massive Krogan waiting for it. His scarred and fully matured frontal plate was of blue coloration, and fading, as all things nearly a millennium old did.

Standing at the top of the ramp was a human and Quarian, both male, and another Asari. The Quarian, his suit black and mask a forest green, had his omni-tool open, showing the human and Asari whatever information was on it.

Miranda quickly determined the human to be Kasumi's contact, strictly by his attire. He was strongly built, donning a hooded black trench coat over lightweight ablative ceramic armor; even at a distance she could tell the coat was crafted from fabric armor with kinetic padding, much like Kasumi's armor.

Unnatural purple eyes glowed beneath the hood—that ensnared Miranda's attention.

His eyes… She squinted. Those aren't contact lenses. No, I'd stake credits on it being some manner of genetic experimentation.

Is that the extent of it?

Was it voluntary?

She made a mental note to ask Kasumi later.

His eyes glanced up, spotted them. He dipped his head in an acknowledging nod, then returned his attention to the conversation and information at hand. They halted at the foot of the ramp.

The Quarian lowered his arm, wrung his hands. The Asari rested a hand on his shoulder, smiled and offered some words; by body language Miranda assumed she was either reassuring him or expressing gratitude. He dipped his head in a nod and moved deeper into the ship.

The human patted the armored Asari's shoulder and the pair began to descend.

Miranda's gaze left the man for the Asari, whose mere presence demanded attention.

Attired in noble white and blue armor and bearing a purple complexion, she carried herself with a regal air. Power irradiated off her, it flowed through the air and along the former Cerberus Officer's skin like electricity. Miranda had only experienced such power from one other Asari—Samara.

Could this Asari be…

"Well, well, well, would you look at what the Kakliosaur dragged in," the man greeted cheerfully. "Kasumi Goto, I bet even Gallick's heart fluttered at the sight of you. C'mere!"

Kasumi smiled, stepped ahead of Shepard and Miranda, and embraced the man. He wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug and heaved the thief off her feet in what seemed to be a typical greeting, if Kasumi's giggle was anything to judge by.

"Ghost, it's been too long!"

"You're telling me. Feels like I've lived two Asari lifespans since that whole Mikoshi and Representative Síla incident."

"You don't look a day over two hundred."

Ghost's shoulders shook with an abrupt laugh.

"Oh, you wound me!"

Kasumi giggled, then stepped aside and gestured to Ghost.

"Shep, Miranda, this is Ghost. He's an old friend, and the leader of the N7 Special Ops unit Talon Company. Ghost, this is Commander Revna Shepard and Miranda Lawson."

He extended his hand to Shepard first and shook it.

"Good to meet you, Commander. And you as well, Miranda," he said, shaking Miranda's hand. "My comrade-in-arms here," he continued, gesturing to the Asari, "led the N7 Special Ops unit Mist Walkers, Justicar Ria."

Justicar Ria bowed her head respectfully to Shepard.

"Greetings, Commander, and to you as well, Miranda Lawson and Kasumi Goto."

"Justicar," Revna greeted with respect, reciprocating the head bow.

"I never imagined we'd meet two of your order," Miranda said thoughtfully.

"I'd bet we're the only humans who have. At least from what Samara has said," Kasumi added.

"Meeting two of my order in a single life would be considered rare even among my people," Justicar Ria said, smiling gracefully. "However, knowing there is another Justicar here is a source of relief. And concern."

"Concerning because of the Code?" Revna asked.

"Indeed. Our Code it is not known for leniency or flexibility, as I suspect you know. Yet, given the current situation, it may require creative…loopholes, shall we say, to prevent inter-species incidents and sparks which would send us barreling towards another war. Doubtlessly, my fellow Justicar has considered this. I wonder what she decided… Have you heard from Samara?"

"I have," Shepard said. "We make contact once a week, depending on comms. Last time we spoke she was escorting wounded refugees from a destroyed shelter to an aid station on Earth. 'Fighting injustices the Reapers left behind,' were her words."

"Mm. Then it seems we may have come to the same conclusion." Ria bowed her head. "Thank you."

"Is this our cargo?" Ghost asked, gesturing to their crate with his chin.

"Yep," Kasumi confirmed. "Decks of cards, kids games, digital books, cleaning supplies, toiletries —anything we could find to help bring some semblance of normalcy."

Ghost nodded. "We'll need more than medi-gel to keep people from falling apart. Thanks, all of you."

"I wish we could offer more," Miranda admitted.

"You're doing more than you realize, trust me. This will do a lot of good down there. And up here."

"Ghost is right," said Ria. "It's true medi-gel, medicines, and other such supplies are extremely valuable, for they can help us mend physical wounds, treat infections and illnesses. However, they cannot alleviate the emotional ailments we now must endure.

"In the end, we are all surrounded by the scars of an existential war," she said, gesturing absently to their surroundings. "Warriors such as us have objectives to drive us forward even as the shadows of war haunt our periphery; we possess the means and the connections to help ourselves and others. So, although these supplies may appear small to our eyes, do not underestimate them. They possess the power to alleviate the powerlessness they reach."

Ghost and Justicar Ria were so confident in their assessment, Miranda couldn't bring herself to ask the questions floating through her mind.

Instead, she set about helping them unload the buckets, while the parasite of doubt and fear painfully gnawed away at her mind.

Were these supplies truly so helpful? Were they enough?

Was she doing enough? All of her abilities, all of her talents, was she utilizing them where they were needed most?

Miranda could see where these supplies would help. Shepard and Kasumi, now even Justicar Ria and Ghost, they each laid out a clear outline of who these supplies would aid, and how they were powerful necessities for the most vulnerable despite their simplicity. She knew they hadn't lost sight of the big picture or the people who would slip through the cracks.

So why couldn't she get this parasite to stop gnawing away? The damn thing wouldn't leave her be.

It said they were taking baby steps in an olympic marathon, when they needed to be running ahead before the clock hit zero. It told her she wasn't doing enough, claimed they weren't getting anywhere. That nothing they were doing would change anything.

If that were true, why did everyone else seem so certain? Even the members of Ghost's and Justicar Ria's units moved with that same firm determination that Shepard did, they carried themselves with certainty in spite of all the uncertainty around them.

With the purpose she lacked.

When they finished unloading their buckets they bid a warm farewell to Ghost and Justicar Ria then continued on with the next delivery.

Their journey would lead them to Kahlee Sanders and the faculty and students of Grissom Academy next. The students in particular would benefit greatly from the toiletries and hygienic supplies among the buckets.

Miranda remembered being a teenager and all the unfortunate glories puberty provided.

With all the physical labor at hand, deodorants and the ability to wash one's clothes would be a godsend, especially for the faculty and those sharing rooms, bunks, or cots with the young men and women learning to navigate their fractured society.

Kelly Chambers would be another they delivered supplies to. She was all smiles when they met, sincere in her elation for their survival. She didn't hesitate to hug Shepard, Kasumi, or Miranda, much to her surprise.

The former yeoman stationed herself among the refugees, working with aliens and human alike, as expected; unlike some members of Cerberus who joined strictly out of xenophobia, a trait the Illusive Man had no issue utilizing to make decent agents, Kelly had never fit into that mold. It made her a useful tool in gaining the Commander's trust.

Rather, she presumed that was the Illusive Man's intentions. A grave miscalculation, ultimately. All those who had served on the Normandy during the Suicide Mission resigned from Cerberus. Revna earned their loyalty—the crew believed in Shepard, in the end. Not Cerberus. Not the Illusive Man.

Truly, he had underestimated Commander Shepard, to the catastrophic tune of four billion credits loss, the loss of the Normandy, its crew, and, ultimately, his death and the arrest or death of innumerable Cerberus agents.

Among the humans with Kelly were familiar faces, some of those same crew members who had served on the Normandy as they fought the Collectors. Miranda couldn't say she had befriended any of them; they were colleagues, at most.

Still, she was pleased to see so many had survived not only the war, but the Cerberus assassins the Illusive Man would've sent for them.

Miranda wasn't certain who to expect when they arrived at their final destination. Another familiar face. Perhaps someone Shepard had met while fighting the Reapers, or one of Kasumi's contacts.

The sight of children nearly froze her on the spot. They lingered around the encampment, sitting on the ground in groups or alone, walking around with treasured stuffed animals desperately hugged against their chests.

Surely they weren't contacts. Surely they weren't here alone, without adult supervision or protection of any kind.

Quickly, Miranda scanned the area and found the adult caretakers among them, predominantly human, save a few Asari and a single Turian. It was a human man that approached Revna.

Miranda didn't recognize him, not at first; his short, tousled blonde hair and bushy goatee did well to conceal his identity—he'd been cleaner shaved, better kept, when they first encountered one another, but that was to be expected.

His enthusiastic voice, however, was unmistakable.

"Ah, Commander Shepard, it's so good to see you!" Conrad Verner greeted.

Miranda bit back a groan. She struggled harder not to narrow her eyes or turn to Shepard and ask the simplest of questions:

Really? Of all the people trapped in the Sol System, Conrad Verner was one of their contacts?

The first and only time she'd met the fool face-to-face was on Illium as he tried shaking down an Asari Matriarch while donning replica armor of the N7 program.

He'd been tricked, of course, played like a violin in the hands of a master by someone whose attempts were so painfully obvious, Miranda had nearly suffered an aneurism by rolling her eyes.

Shepard inevitably cleaned it all up, preventing the idiot from getting arrested. Or killed.

To make a bad first impression even worse, it turned out that Conrad Verner was also an obsessive fan of Revna's. Obsessive enough Miranda considered removing the potential threat, and saving Shepard and the galaxy from his idiocy.

Her opinion hadn't improved with time apart. In fact, it had worsened. Since their last encounter she had learned Conrad was tricked again, this time into inadvertently helping a Cerberus agent sabotage medi-gel dispensers among the refugees after the coup attempt. The damned fool.

Worse still, he possessed a shrine dedicated to Shepard—apparently he claimed it was very tasteful.

Miranda doubted that. His behavior made her second-guess Shepard's dismissal of Conrad as mostly harmless.

"He isn't all bad," she claimed.

Revna's evidence to the latter point was the shelter for orphans he started on Illium; it had done very well before the Reapers arrived, by all accounts. Conrad Verner even used every last credit he had to get them off world.

Now, observing the children, it was clear he'd taken up rebuilding a shelter.

For that reason, and that reason alone, Miranda restrained her venomous tongue. And her biotics.

"Conrad," Shepard greeted, shaking his hand. "How are you and Jenna managing?"

"Oh, we're okay," he assured. "Things would've been a lot worse for us if you hadn't stopped the Reapers, but it's like I told her: If anyone can unite the galaxy and stop them, it's Commander Shepard.

"Right now we're focusing on the children," he said, peering back over his shoulder at the small crowd of orphans and displaced children occupying the area. "They're the ones who need the most help. Orphans really struggle in crises like these, so Jenna and I and the other volunteers are doing everything we can to provide them shelter, stability, and, if we can, find their siblings, parents, or extended family. If they're not… You know. C-Sec and the allied forces can't do it all on their own. They have a lot of other priorities to deal with."

He quickly turned to face them again and raised his hands as though to assuage hurt feelings.

"Totally reasonable priorities, of course. It wouldn't do us any good if life support fails or if we run out of food and water."

"You're doing good work. Here, we've brought some supplies to help."

"Wow, you really gathered a lot. Is this really all for us?"

"It is."

"This is… This is amazing. Thank you! This will really help us."

"We'll help you unload it all so you can keep your eyes on the kids."

"I appreciate it."

They started by unloading the orange buckets, but, true to her nature, Revna went another mile to help by organizing and passing out the immediately necessary items. Miranda and Kasumi didn't hesitate to join her.

They set up an area for clothes lines and pins and a wash station. They passed out blankets, Kasumi started a game with some of the younger children to keep them busy while Shepard and Miranda worked alongside Conrad and Jenna to put together new beds with the volunteers.

Never once did Miranda need to field off any doubts they were doing something meaningful. Instead, she felt the gears in her brain turning as Conrad's words played on repeat.

"Orphans really struggle in crises like these, so Jenna and I and the other volunteers are doing everything we can to provide them shelter, stability, and, if we can, find their siblings, parents, or extended family. If they're not… You know. C-Sec and the allied forces can't do it all on their own. They have a lot of other priorities to deal with."

How many other children were out there?

How many families had been separated in the chaos?

No, C-Sec and the allied forces couldn't do everything on their own. It would've been difficult in normal times. In the current climate, handicapped by the war and frantically trying to solve the major issues and priorities for immediate survival, orphans like these children would slip through the cracks. They'd die in ducts, or starve before help found them.

They would be scared and alone. With no parent or big sister to shelter and provide for them.

As they worked, Miranda's eyes drifted to one of the orphan girls. She considered a world where the girl was Oriana instead of a complete stranger's child. She looked at the children and thought of herself, on the run from her father and his vast resources, and the harsh world she had inhabited to survive.

She thought of Jack and the other children who had been swept up by Cerberus at the Teltin Facility, the suffering they endured, and that horrible morgue so many children had once filled.

No one had come searching for them. No one had known they needed help or that they had existed.

In an instant Miranda knew precisely what she needed to do, where her skills would be most helpful.

For now, though, she focused on aiding the people right in front of her.

The farthest room from the apartment's entryway doubled as a living area and an office space, coming fully furnished with a row of barstools for the bar at its entrance and a square gambling table at its center, where four comfy leather chairs were tucked in around its sides. In the back corner of the room was a personal terminal and desk.

There were a few other pieces of furniture and decorations around the room, a single lounging chair here, a wall painting there—it was all quite contemporary. Fancy, but not egregiously so; Miranda had seen some ostentatious furnishings in her life that hurt the eyes to look upon.

Shelving units were installed deeper in the room, each stacked from end to end with books and binders covering a range of subjects and genres, from non-fiction historical and scientific pieces, to human and alien philosophical texts. Even books of poetry and novels could be found.

A Volus plushie and a trophy sat side by side at the end of one shelf, the former won by Shepard in a game of claw, the latter won by Samantha Traynor.

Miranda had snorted when she first saw the plushie. She wasn't even surprised. Amused by the mildly charming little doll, certainly; in fact, she was that little more attracted to Revna for being so unabashedly and adorably human. But she wasn't surprised. Not even in the slightest.

Shepard was both someone who had read and studied every philosophical text occupying her shelves, and someone who had amassed and put together a sizable model ship collection. She was the soldier and Spectre who united the galaxy and the proud owner of a space hamster she'd fondly named Bibi, of all things.

I dedicated two years of my life to bringing her back. Yet, for all I had studied of her medical and service records as I led Project Lazarus, I knew shockingly little of Revna Shepard, Miranda thought as she stood beside the wall dedicated to a holographic fireplace, directly across from the entry of the room.

Data-pad in hand, dressed in a fresh lavender off-the-shoulder shirt and black pants, she paused in typing as her concentration drifted momentarily. She glanced up at the books occupying the shelves.

I learned everything there was to know about Commander Shepard. I saw her through the lens of a symbol—an icon. She was an asset to humanity, one we couldn't afford to lose. But the lens I studied her through was obfuscated by my own ill-conceived expectations of who and what I believed humanity needed Revna Shepard to be.

It's callous, but I wasn't interested in who she was. I was only interested in what she was capable of.

Although she lived up to the soldier I'd imagined, I was caught off guard by the person behind it. Looking back now, I'd drawn my own outline for Revna to fit into—that classic Lawson hubris at work, I suppose.

Her gaze fell upon the Volus plushie. She smiled faintly.

Then she went out of the lines I'd drawn.

All for the better, I say.

Unconsciously, her eyes trailed from the Volus plushie to the bar. An odd but fond memory was attached to it. Fond now, at least. At the time it was nothing short of baffling.

During the party, as comrades and friends shared drinks and energetic music pulsed throughout the apartment, Miranda and Jack had found themselves standing and sitting on opposites of the bar, respectively.

She couldn't quite remember how they'd ended up there. As usual, however, they'd ended up trading barbs.

That's when Shepard and Kasumi found them, the troublemaking pair. Of course, none of them had known the thief had arrived, initially, as she'd been sneaking around the apartment with her tactical cloak activated. The pulsing music also made it impossible to hear her nearly silent footsteps, even with enhanced hearing.

Revna had taken the moment to tease her and Jack about their barbs, claiming they should kiss and get it over with since it was clearly just sexual tension.

Ridiculous, of course. As absurd a notion as a slaver with a sense of morality. Revna and Kasumi insisted upon it, nonetheless, for their own amusement. The thief of the duo even claimed to be ready to record, certain a market existed for it.

Knowing the galaxy, she was likely right.

From the seed of that ridiculous notion, however, sprouted one of the most sincere conversations she'd ever had with the tattooed biotic, starting with an admission on her part.

"All right, Jack, I hate to say it, but Cerberus was wrong about you."

"No shit," she said dryly.

Miranda rolled her eyes."You're still violent and maladjusted, but the Illusive Man would've never predicted you'd bond with the Grissom Academy kids. You are growing, despite everything Cerberus did to you. I find that…extremely admirable."

"Wow. Thanks." Jack was caught off guard, evident by the softening of her voice. Then…

"I still really hate you, but you have fantastic tits."

Miranda surprised herself with an abrupt, jubilant laugh.

"All right," she smiled, "I can live with that."

Even now she felt her lips curl into a smile at the memory.

She certainly has a way with words. A regular poet. I dare say I'm almost swooning.

Miranda hummed, amused by her playfully acerbic thoughts. She was certain Jack would've had quite the impressively crude counters for them.

Admittedly, their banter was, if nothing else, entertaining.

Who knows, perhaps in another galaxy Kasumi and Shepard were right. Perhaps in another life, by some twist of fate, she and Jack would fall in love with each other.

Honestly, stranger things had happened in recent memory. But it certainly wasn't this life.

Miranda shut her eyes, centered her mind. She hadn't come here to reminisce. She had chosen the room for its seclusion, its quiet and still atmosphere, disturbed only by the flickering tongues of holographic flames in her periphery.

Quickly, she captured the distracting memory and returned it to the back of her mind as though guiding a book back into its rightful place on the nearby shelf.

Once more her fingers danced along the data-pad's keys, filling the once empty device with the meticulous web of thoughts and plans she'd been weaving since encountering Conrad Verner and his camp.

Here, standing beside the holographic fireplace, she was grounded and centered by a familiar feeling:

Purpose.

She'd found a mission where her talents could be utilized. She could see the outline of its structure, a means to organize something that would benefit those desperate for a foundation to stand on, a chance to pull the most vulnerable free from the white-water rapids they were caught in, back onto dry land.

No, C-Sec and the allied forces couldn't do it on their own. No one could in their current situation, not even her. But that didn't mean nothing could be done. She could fill in some of the gaps, she could help provide access to and a path towards the shelter and stability Conrad Verner had laid the first bricks for.

Miranda cringed as she worked.

God, she couldn't be more embarrassed that he of all people somehow inspired her. She would've rather been forced into the wretched position of damsel in distress a second time, with Revna gliding in to rescue her again in front of respected comrades.

Somehow that embarrassment didn't leave as much of an acrid taste in her mouth.

Perhaps because Conrad, someone she viewed as a know-nothing fool, had figured out something so painfully obvious. Meanwhile she, with all her genetic enhancements and advanced education, failed entirely to see what lay beneath her nose all this time.

She was a fool. Too self-important and too arrogant for her own good.

She was perfectly imperfect. All the more human for her mistakes, frustrating as they were.

The former Cerberus Officer shook her head.

None of the imperfections mattered. Neither did her foolish arrogance or ignorant self-importance. They were personal failings—flaws in the so-called perfect blueprint. But they could be overcome, in time.

What mattered now was aiding the children in the most need. Starting here, with a small thing like a data-pad to organize all her thoughts, her plans, and the necessary steps and resources to accomplish her personal mission.

When her feet began to ache, Miranda leaned against the gambling table despite the empty chairs nearby, too focused and unwilling to disrupt her pattern of thought again.

It wouldn't be perfect. Nothing ever was. Some of it would even be impossible in the immediate future—no amount of meticulous planning could overcome the scarcity of resources at her immediate disposal. That was okay. All of it, even the failings.

She didn't need the outline to be rigid; in fact, she needed it to be flexible, fluid, capable of adapting and evolving as needed to their chaotic situation. She'd lived within rigid boundaries for so long, she should've known how foolish it was to try an apply them to their current situation when so much was in flux.

Another mistake. Another failing. But she had always made a point to learn from her mistakes. She swore this time would be no different.

Her plans weren't flawless, of course. They wouldn't answer every problem at their feet, but it was a start. A first step towards a better beginning.

She'd been stumbling since the start, narrowly arriving in the eleventh hour to save Revna, yet never quite catching a solid foothold. She'd even tried to run away again…

"You don't have to keep running, Miranda."

No, she didn't. Revna had helped steady her. Helped her see that, together, they had a chance at defying the odds so clearly stacked against them.

"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… 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."

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

"We'll be all right, Miranda."

Miranda believed her. Perhaps even more now after the day they'd spent together.

Again, though, she filed the memory back among the collection, but with a little more gentleness, and little more affection, than the previous.

For some time she worked undisturbed. Then, as she caught herself staring off at the fireplace and the books more often, her momentum and thoughts grinding to a halt, she heard Revna's soft footsteps approach, smelled the fresh floral scent of a honey and jasmine herbal tea.

Miranda lowered the data-pad, turned to see Revna as she rounded the table with a tea cup in hand. She wore a loose-fitted coral tank top and navy runner's shorts, the latter doing an admirable job in accenting her long and powerful legs, in Miranda's humble opinion; the silhouette of a saucer was visible in her back pocket.

Revna made a simple gesture with the teacup, smiling a tender and peaceful smile.

"I know you like tea after a long spell of work."

Miranda smiled affectionately, blindly setting the data-pad behind her.

"When did you notice?"

"Soon after we first boarded the Normandy. Here you go."

"Thank you."

"There were only a few people onboard who actually drank tea," she continued, retrieving the saucer from her back pocket and setting it on the gambling table, on Miranda's left side. "Most preferred coffee. Mess Sergeant Gardner often said if it weren't for you and I drinking it he'd have stuffed all the tea on board into an escape pod and launched it into the nearest star. Sounded personal," she added with a hint of cheek.

"It must've been a deep wound," Miranda said, cradling the warm cup in both hands. It felt good.

"Hopefully he washed his hands before cleaning it."

Miranda let out a short, abrupt laugh.

Revna's smile widened. She stepped closer, gently rubbed her hand along Miranda's back, then pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Let me know if you need anything, all right?"

Before Shepard could step away, Miranda ran her hand down the N7's forearm, pausing at the wrist. She caressed her thumb over it.

"Could you…stay for a moment?"

"I'd love to."

Scooting the chair aside, Revna settled against the table beside Miranda, turned her hand over and intertwined their fingers. After taking a cautious sip of her tea—and humming in approval of its taste and temperature—a unconscious smile tugged at her lips.

"A good cup of tea, holding hands by the fireplace—if I didn't know any better I'd think you had plotted a romantic rendezvous."

"It is romantic, isn't it?" Revna said, smiling fondly. "All we're missing is a view of the stars, a real fire and some marshmallows to cook them over."

"Marshmallows by the fire? How surprisingly traditional of you, Commander."

"I aim to keep you on your toes, Miss Lawson."

"Hmhm. You do that well enough already. Like noticing my tea habit," she said, making a gesture of the cup before taking a small sip.

"And noticing those dimples just above your—"

Miranda bumped Revna's shoulder with her own.

"You've made your point. Now quit smiling, dammit," she chastised without any real heart.

How could she? She was smiling, too.

Shepard chuckled triumphantly, pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

"When things eventually settle down, there's a place I'd like to take you on Earth where you can see a band of the Milky Way stretch across the night sky," said Revna. "It's not as fancy as traveling the stars or leaping to the galactic core, but we can cook marshmallows there. Might even spoil ourselves with s'mores."

Miranda's mouth opened, moved by a natural instinct founded on pure rational thought and cold calculation to reject the idea out of hand.

Is it really all that important, it wanted to ponder aloud. For what purpose? Marshmallows were only sugar, corn syrup, gelatin, and air, and s'mores only added chocolate and sweetened crackers to the mix. Nothing fancy. A waste of time, it tried to argue.

I sound like my father.

The thought stopped Miranda cold. Quickly, as her mouth fell shut, she snatched the rotten instinct she'd operated on for so long and buried it six feet under, alongside her father and the Ice Queen she'd become known as.

So much of my life dedicated to a mission, to a…rigid structure often designed by another, I've never had time for even the mildest of deviations. Rather, I never made time for them. Never saw much sense in them. I lived and breathed work.

Why should I restrain myself from this totally ordinary wish, far in our future, when I…

When I want to achieve it.

Yet her first instinct had been to brush off the idea, show the wish no quarter.

God, she really was a disaster at being normal, wasn't she?

We just need a little practice, she thought, using Shepard's own words and voice to pour the last bits of dirt over that unfortunate gut instinct.

We may never be unordinary people. But we can still fight the odds and find our normal, right?

Setting the tea cup onto its saucer, she looked to Shepard.

"I think I'd like that," she said. She smiled faintly. "As long as you don't mind a few burnt marshmallows, that is."

"There are always a few casualties," Revna said. "But their sacrifices won't be forgotten."

Miranda snorted. "Casualties? Really, Revna?"

"They're all proud members of the Marshmallow Battalion."

"You're ridiculous."

"You're grinning, Miss Lawson."

"Because you can be very foolish, Commander."

"A bold claim with very little proof."

"Where should I begin? With piloting a Mako through an experimental technology, releasing a tank-bred Krogan in a confined space, jumping to the Galactic Core, fighting a Reaper with a targeting laser, or falling through a fish tank?"

"Hey, that last one was the Clone's plan, not mine."

"Now I have to wonder if it was nature or nurture."

"Very funny."

Miranda hummed, pleasantly amused. She looked to the fireplace, then gently brushed her foot against Shepard's, initiating another oddly new and normal behavior: a tender game of footsie.

"I do mean it," she said seriously. "I'd like to go there with you, wherever this place is. When things settle down. When the immediate crisis is averted… Can I tell you something, Revna, at the risk of sounding foolish?"

"Always."

No hesitation, no quip, not even a hint of exasperation. Just an open ear and an open heart. Always, as she said.

It made honest vulnerability a little easier.

"Whenever I hear you speak of the future, it… It gives me hope," she admitted. Then frowned. "Somedays it feels like we're all trapped on a one-way trip to the end of everything we've ever known. I suppose you could argue that is already true, you could say change is in and of itself an end of a kind—the galaxy will never be the same, even if the best case scenarios play out. All of our lives have been inextricably altered in some way.

"However, you have a way of…guiding me from the abyss to see the glimmers of hope still around us. You help me see what's possible beyond this fog of uncertainty we're all caught within. For the galaxy, and for us."

Revna hummed thoughtfully, engaged her game of footsie.

"This will be one of the toughest missions our galaxy undertakes," she said after a beat. "It's only natural for us to feel anxious. Still, I know we can pull this off. We've overcome worse odds with even less than what we have now."

"I know. And I believe you're right, even if I sometimes get lost in the worst. I…" She hesitated for a moment. Then pushed onwards. "I nearly tried to poke holes in your trip without even considering my own feelings on it. I would've said we had other important matters to deal with; sometimes all I can see is this mess in front of us, what needs to be done, and my powerlessness to change most of it.

"But I want us to go. It feels childish to say. Embarrassing, really. Even so…"

"Once things settle down, we'll go," Revna assured.

"I'll hold you to that."

"Good."

"With luck," Miranda added, "even the orphans of the war will have their chance at a normal life in the years to come."

"Is that what you've been working so hard on?"

She hummed, nodding. "Although its painful for me to admit, you can thank Conrad Verner for this latest inspiration."

"Conrad? Really?"

"Unfortunately."

Miranda hesitated to continue, briefly. She looked at their feet, focused on the pleasant sensations their game of footsie provided.

"Recently," she began when she found the courage, and the words to go with it, "I've struggled to see where I fit into our mission, and what I've even accomplished. Before today I felt like I was drifting aimlessly from task to task, achieving nothing except wasting what precious time we have.

"Nothing I did seemed to matter to our mission. Even if it did, others already had it well in hand before I joined them. What was I contributing? What were we even accomplishing? I couldn't see it," she shook her head. "We were crawling along when we needed to sprint, we were moving debris when we needed to be fixing the Relay.

"Yet they were all so determined to complete what I saw as secondary tasks. They all seemed so certain in their role and what they were achieving. Even Conrad Verner seemed to know precisely what he could do and how to do it. And I…

"I have all the advantages of my genetic tailoring and the best education money can buy, but I couldn't see where any of it would be best utilized. I wasn't certain where I fit into any of this chaos. I still wouldn't if you hadn't asked for my help."

"I'm glad I did."

"So am I. Conrad may have served as the inspiration for my new project, but it was you—both you and Kasumi, truly, who helped me see what we were doing and what effect it could have."

They had provided a new perspective to see their situation from, exchanging the stress clouded lens which had narrowed and obfuscated her gaze with a crystal clear replacement.

She was grateful for their assistance.

Revna gently ran her toes down the top of Miranda's bare foot, towards her toes.

"During the war," she started softly after a thoughtful moment, "I spent more time than I liked playing politician, settling minor disputes and ancient quarrels as we were fighting the Reapers and Cerberus. All the while we kept searching for any spare resources, gathering allies and assets for the war effort. What people remember, though, are those major moments in the war—the Genophage Cure, the coup, Rannoch, Thessia, and so on.

"As a result, for some people I became a symbol of hope. Some even call me the Hero of the Galaxy, as though I alone fought and defeated the Reapers. You said it yourself: I was the tip of the spear, the person who brokered deals, saved Councilors, and liberated planets.

"But for all we accomplished, our victory wasn't won by me or the Normandy team alone. Countless people contributed to our success; some were soldiers like Talon Company and the Mist Walkers, fighting the Reapers across all fronts to buy us the time we needed; some were scientists and engineers who lost sleep—and loved ones—while making the Crucible a reality; some were regular people, like Conrad, doing what they could, where they could, for whoever they could. Even if it was something as simple as buying a friend top-of-the-line armor so they had a better chance to survive. However marginally it may be.

"These nameless battles were small by comparison to releasing the Genophage Cure at the Shroud on Tuchanka, or the coup attempt. They were smaller than uniting the Quarians and Geth, and our defeat at Thessia. But they all mattered. They were small triumphs and moments of hope which pushed people forward to the next day. It kept them in the fight when all else seemed lost.

"Without the countless soldiers who bought us time across the galaxy, without the engineers and scientists working on the Crucible, without everyday people doing what they could to help the war effort, or you searching high and low for your sister and father, my actions alone wouldn't have been enough to see us through.

"Those inches on the margins are what helped us win the war. It's what helped everyone survive the Suicide Mission. So, even if we are crawling now, every inch forward we move and every person we bring with us will get us closer to our objective, and when we finally hit our stride all we'll have to do is cross the finish line. Together."

Miranda hummed, nodded. She glided her calf up Shepard's shin.

Again Revna spoke with conviction. It wasn't meant as a reassurance or a soothing platitude to keep her in the fight, nor as a rousing speech at a moment of weakness. She had that keen perspective, both bird's eye view of the big picture and the small, personal battles taking place on the surface.

It was one of those traits that made Revna who she was. She'd seen it during the Suicide Mission as the Commander carefully balanced their priorities with the crew's personal requests. The N7 had put credits and resources into upgrading the Normandy, into upgrading their equipment, and made time for the small battles, in her words.

So, when the Collectors abducted the crew, there was nothing holding them back—they ceased crawling ahead, sprang up, and leapt after them, prepared to face whatever awaited them beyond the Omega 4 Relay.

And those inches made the difference. Just as they had in the war. Miranda could see the logic in the reasoning, she could see it in her own life.

All the little rebellions against her father, every little inch she crawled as she prepared her escape; it prepared her for the day, made it possible for her to rescue Oriana from his egomaniacal clutches, before he could place his hooks in her.

Of course, the path ahead wouldn't be easy. It wouldn't be without mistakes, setbacks, or sacrifices. Thinking anything less would be too idealistic. But she didn't need to tell Revna that. She knew. She knew all too well the burden of their mission.

Yet she believed. And so did Miranda.

"I've finally found my small battle in this," she said confidently. "Conrad was right. The orphans and the children and teens separated from their families are at the most risk in a crisis like ours, especially those who possess medical conditions.

"There are doubtlessly other encampments like Conrad's on the Citadel and Earth which seek to safeguard them, in addition to the usual refugee camps where they may find themselves alone. Some will be more centrally located. As a result, they'll be better positioned to receive aid and supplies. Others will struggle—they are struggling due to their location, a lack of volunteers, or a lack of supplies.

"I can build a network of my own and connect it to these groups, then connect them to each other, in time. I can offer aid in organizing their camps, I can locate, acquire, and organize the delivery of supplies and medications they desperately need. In cases of overcrowding we can build new camps, or relocate if emergencies arise. Additionally I can ensure these orphans are protected from those who would seek to harm them.

"At the same time, my network could aid the search for missing children and for their parents. If they happen to be in the Sol System, and if they're alive, we can find them and reconnect those families. If they aren't, at least then we can start preparing them for what comes next.

"None of it will be simple, of course," she said, shaking her head. "It will take time to build. Time to organize. There will still be those I cannot reach, even if it surpasses my expectations." She shrugged. "It isn't perfect, but it can be a step in the right direction. It can be something which gives some of those children—human and alien alike—a chance at a normal life."

That was something she could do. She'd already built the skills for each facet of the project, and she would never question whether doing it was worthwhile. Because it would be, always.

And as we move beyond the Sol System, she thought, it can expand and improve with us. Inch by inch, if necessary.

"Is there anyway I can help?" Revna asked.

"Eventually, yes," Miranda nodded. "I'd like to connect our networks the same way you and Kasumi have. First I need to build it. Fortunately, I already have some ideas on where to start."

"Sounds to me like you've found a solid foundation."

"It's all I ever need. Better watch yourself," she teased, smiling as she locked Shepard's leg in place with her own. "You're not the only one around here who's a force to be reckoned with."

Revna smiled. "I never doubted that for a moment."

"Mm. Good."

She took a moment to drink her tea, their game of footsie beginning anew in the lull of conversation. Miranda didn't mind the quiet beat, nor the pleasantly normal game they engaged in.

Setting the cup down again, she let her foot and toes play in the content quiet, she held Revna's hand, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that, although there was still hard work ahead of them, they'd keep crawling ahead until they reached their goal.

Together.

And perhaps as the galaxy and its inhabitants found their foundation and the chance for a normal life, they, too, might be granted the same chance.

"S'mores by a campfire, huh?" Miranda wondered aloud.

"Yeah. Just the two of us and a sky of stars."

She hummed pleasantly, smiled and nestled into Revna.

"Sounds perfect."

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 owners. This is merely a fan creation.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the story! You can also find this cross-posted on AO3 under the same profile name.