FIC: Architects of Their Own Fortune (5)
Title: Architects of Their Own Fortune
Author: Jewels (bjewelled)
Fandom: Mass Effect
Disclaimer: Mass Effect is Bioware's. And don't they do well with it?
Summary: Rumours abound: the Omega 4 relay has been used, and signs lead to Shepard being involved somehow. Someone has to investigate, and who better than one of Shepard's former crew? On top of all that, ship crews are disappearing, and it can't be the Collectors. So who's responsible, and why?
From The Beginning
~*~
Five: Sleep Is For The Weak
~*~
It was a very long night. Kelly flitted between tearfulness, self-recrimination, anger, apologies, and eventually came right back around to tearfulness. Shepard sat next to her the whole time, a sympathetic ear and occasionally literal shoulder to cry on. By the time Kelly was finally able to leave, to return to her bunk and sleep, she looked shocked and exhausted, but a little stronger than before.
It was the small hours of the morning by the time she was finally alone, but Shepard couldn't sleep. So she pulled off her sodden uniform tunic and lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling.
Some days she wondered if she hadn't missed her calling as a counsellor. Clearly Alliance officer training had skimped on that particular requirement of captaincy. She'd solved Jacob's problems with his father, Samara's problems with her daughter, and Miranda's problems with her sister. Perhaps she should have business cards printed up: Shepard's family counselling services. No problem too big for a trusty shotgun.
She was being uncharitable, she knew. Irreverent where it really wasn't deserved, but Shepard couldn't help but feel resentful at the fact that she was expected to save the galaxy, and solve everyone's problems for them. It wasn't the easiest thing to wake up one day and find out that you were dead until about five minutes ago. All she'd received in the way of help was to be handed expensive weaponry and be pointed in the direction of things needing killing. She felt like she hadn't stopped moving since she'd woken up on Lazarus station, and now she had the first chance to catch her breath in months, leaving her thoughts turning in unpleasant directions.
She was Commander Shepard. She didn't get any of that nonsense hand-holding. Get up and get on with the job and try not to get yourself killed a second time because resurrections are costly.
It just would have been nice to have someone to talk to, someone who didn't hold her up as a paragon of humanity. Maybe she could have talked to Tali or Garrus, but they had their own problems, and they'd changed just enough from the people she'd remembered that it still felt somewhat odd to talk to them. Garrus was nowhere near as outgoing as he once had been, and Tali had been struck with an odd reverence since Shepard had defended her on the flotilla. The crew in general weren't an option. She had to be their Captain, with the unshakeable nerve. Hadley was, no doubt, just the most visible sign of the trauma the crew had undergone. They didn't need to see her cracking on top of that.
Thane would have listened, and he was always welcoming to her presence. But she just didn't know if he'd choose to leave at the Citadel to be with his son. Could she really bring herself to pour out her problems to a friend if they were just going to leave?
She tried to clear her mind. She might not be able to sleep, but the least she could do was try to get some rest.
~*~
Shepard wasn't the only one having difficulty sleeping. Miranda Lawson, in her office, was equally awake, hunched over her desk and looking somewhat less than her usual pristine self. She'd been unaware that Shepard knew about the crew's implants, and it had been a decidedly unpleasant experience to be ambushed with it, leaving Jacob staring at her like she was personally responsible. His employment by Cerberus had always been conditionally that they'd played fair, and Miranda had respected that agreement. He doubtless thought she'd been lying the whole time.
She had, of course, but it had been for a good reason. At least, that was what she told herself.
She rubbed her eyes as she stared at the list of estimated materials that Tali and her crew had provided for the repairs. They couldn't just throw a few automated drones at a planet and harvest the needed metals themselves. Even if that had been an option, their on-board manufacturing had been too badly damaged to make use of the raw materials. The spare parts to repair the bare minimum to get them running again were easily available, but not if they stuck with Shepard's orders of remaining out of communications range.
The only option was, therefore, to go and retrieve the materials needed. The shuttle couldn't carry that much cargo, though, so that meant hiring a freighter to come out into deep space. That meant someone had to go to a planet or trading station and barter for what they needed.
Miranda knew it had to be her.
She hadn't been ignorant of the stand-offish way that Shepard had been treating her since she'd rather abruptly broken off ties with the Illusive Man. Miranda could hardly blame her. She was the most visible and most loyal member of Cerberus on board the ship. Why would Shepard believe that long-held loyalties could just shift overnight?
Shepard had a way of gathering people to her, of inspiring intense loyalty. Miranda was willing to admit that she'd fallen under Shepard's sway. There were even moments when, if Miranda hadn't been so sure of her preferences, she might have been distinctly inclined to approach Shepard on the subject of becoming more than friends. It had been a frighteningly easy decision to send a reply to the blistering message the Illusive Man had sent in the aftermath of the Collector base's destruction that simply said, "Consider this my resignation. Sir."
She still believed in Cerberus, but she knew that she couldn't serve both Shepard and Cerberus at the same time. She had made her decision, and now she had to live with it. Now all she had to do was convince Shepard of her sincerity.
She drummed her fingers on the desktop, pondering, then got to her feet and headed for the tech lab. It was the early hours of the ship's 'morning', but Mordin Solus was already there, or maybe he'd never gone to bed. Sometimes Miranda got the impression that Mordin would only stop moving and talking when he was dead.
She was very glad that he'd survived.
"Have you got a minute, Professor?" she asked, as he looked up from his work in askance.
"A minute. Or two. Or a lifetime, since we aren't dead. Acceptable conclusion to suicide mission, wouldn't you say?"
"We survived, saved the crew, and defeated the Collectors," Miranda said, wryly, "I feel like someone should be writing epic poetry about us."
Mordin smiled, distinctly amused. "Will settle for continued survival. Epic poetry tends to be very dull. What can I do for you, Miranda?"
Miranda rubbed her palms together in an unconsciously nervous gesture. "Shepard mentioned you'd been researching the crew's implants. The flashbangs and poison capsules."
The amusement had left Mordin's face. He now regarded her with narrow-eyed suspicion. "Have been researching. Methods of removal, of disablement." He had taken on a slightly more confrontational stance, perhaps expecting her to take issue with his work. "Implants of crewmembers without knowledge or consent unethical. Rather like Reapers and Protheans, wouldn't you say?"
Miranda felt slightly ill at the comparison.
"Will not stop work, if that is what you're here about."
Miranda held up her hands. "No, no, you don't understand. I'm not here to stop you, I'm-" She broke off, turning away from Mordin to pace a few steps one way, then the other. "What would you need to do? To remove the implants that is?"
Mordin still looked suspicious, but he took her question seriously. "Surgical intervention, possibly nanotechnological assistance required. Lack perfect scans of implants. Interference countermeasures in place, uncertain if they would self-destruct under detailed surveillance. Very difficult to model virtually."
"So, basically, any surgery you did would be experimental."
Mordin looked shocked. "Could not ask any of the crew to take such a risk!"
Miranda took a deep breath. "You don't have to."
~*~
If she'd given it a moment's thought, she would have considered that hammering on Shepard's door in the middle of the night was a bad idea, but Miranda rather thought that if she stopped for a moment to think about what she was doing, she might panic and change her mind.
Shepard might have been fully dressed in trousers and black undershirt, only her tunic discarded, but she looked tired and slightly grey. Her hair was mussed and her eyes were dull. "The ship better be under fire," she groused, as she let Miranda in.
"Commander, I apologise for the intrusion at such an hour," Miranda said.
"Always got time for my crew," Shepard said, though she sounded so exhausted that the phrase rang hollowly. Miranda felt a smidgeon of guilt, but didn't let it stop her. She followed Shepard to the low couch and took the seat offered to her. "What's on your mind, Miranda?"
"The implants," Miranda said, without preamble, "The crew's implants. Mordin's been researching ways to remove them. I'm volunteering to be his first patient."
Shepard frowned, absently combing her fingers through her hair to flatten it out. "Mordin hasn't finished his research yet," she said, "Last he reported, he'd yet to iron out certain issues, like how to remove the tech without it self-destructing."
Miranda laced her fingers together in her lap to stop her hands from treacherously giving away her emotions. "I know," she said, "He's unsure that he'll ever be able to get information from scans. He needs a test subject, a volunteer. Shepard, I'm volunteering to be that person."
Shepard suddenly seemed a lot more awake. "Tell me why," she instructed, softly.
Miranda had prepared for this question, had rehearsed her answer over and over in her head on the elevator ride. "We're going to have to send someone to Omega to purchase the material we need to repair the ship. I'm more familiar with the ship's construction that anyone else except maybe Tali, and she's needed here. I can't go while I still have these implants, they might let a Cerberus team track me to the ship. They have to be removed, and it's something we need doing sooner rather than later. So I volunteer."
Shepard nodded. "Thank you," she said, "Now the real reason."
Miranda drew back slightly, biting back the reflexively sharp response. "What makes you think that wasn't it?" she asked.
"I know you, Miranda," Shepard said, looking at her in the eye intently. It was distinctly uncomfortable, but Miranda couldn't bring herself to be the one to break the gaze. "I've worked with you these last few months, worked closely with you. I've seen you fight, and more to the point, I've seen you desperate. That's a perfectly rational reason, and though you might like to pretend you're a perfectly rational woman, you're just as human as the rest of us. So tell me: what's the real reason you're volunteering?"
Miranda curled her fingers tightly. It turned the skin of her hands white where they clenched together. "That is the real reason," she insisted.
Shepard shook her head, sighed, and stood. "Then your request is denied. There'll be no surgery, and I'll send Garrus and Thane off to Omega to do some negotiating for us."
"No! I-" Miranda shook her head, and said, firmly, "I have to."
"Why?" Shepard demanded.
Miranda felt cornered, and it was an unpleasant feeling. "You don't trust me," she said, and was surprised at the bitterness edging the words.
Shepard stared at her for a long, hard minute. "Don't be ridiculous," she said, finally, sounding exasperated.
"Hear me out," Miranda said, "You don't trust that I've completely ceded my loyalty to Cerberus."
Shepard pursed her lips faintly. "I'll grant that you're as much of a dyed-in-the-wool Cerberus operative as I'm sure you'd find. Cerberus has done a lot for you. That sort of attachment doesn't just go away."
"No," Miranda agreed, "It doesn't. I still believe in what Cerberus is doing."
"Then what the hell are you still doing on my ship?" Shepard barked the words, sounding almost angry.
Miranda felt a hot flush come over her face and she leapt to her feet. "Because I believe in you more!"
"Come on, Miranda," Shepard shook her head, and her smile was twisted, slightly mocking, "You're honestly telling me that you, Cerberus agent, insider and apologist, has completely let go of her old ties?"
Miranda bit back a fierce 'fuck you', to be backed up by a biotic punch. Shepard was baiting her, she realised, trying to get her emotions to loosen, to force her into an unthinking statement. She was looking for honesty, not calculating answers. And suddenly it was a lot easier to deal with.
Miranda took a deep breath, forcing herself to take a step back and closed her eyes for a moment to regain her equilibrium. She could have sworn that Shepard looked almost approving when she reopened them, but only for a moment. She reached inside herself for the words she needed, and tried not to balk at saying them.
"You've done more for me than I can ever thank you for. You had no reason to help me with Oriana, but you did that anyway. We brought you back as a tool... I... brought you back as a tool, but you transcended that without even trying. I was created for a purpose. I've always been useful, for my father, for the Illusive Man. I have to believe that I can transcend that myself, or else..." Miranda spread her fingers, a gesture of helplessness. "Or else, what else is there for me? I've thrown my lot in with you, Shepard. You're going to save us from the Reapers. Let me help you the best way I can."
Shepard rubbed the back of her neck. "Miranda," she said, sincerely, "You don't have to prove yourself to me."
"Yes, I do," Miranda replied. There was more, she was sure, to her reasoning, deep down inside where Miranda wasn't even willing to admit the emotions existed. Damned if she was actually going to say anything though.
Shepard thought about it, and then finally nodded. "Alright. If Doctor Chakwas and the Professor agree, you can have the surgery, and go to Omega."
"Thank you, Shepard," Miranda said, feeling like some huge weight had suddenly been lifted from her shoulders. She headed for the door.
"Miranda," Shepard called after her.
Miranda turned, curious.
"I don't hold being a Cerberus operative against you," Shepard told her, "But if I ever found out you had anything to do with what happened on Akuze, crew or not, subordinate, tool or friend, I would kill you."
Miranda sucked in a breath sharply. Shepard was deadly serious. Miranda had seen that same look in her eyes many a time, usually just before she snapped someone's neck without hesitation. "I understand," she said. She started to turn away, then paused and glanced back. "Out of curiosity, would you ever consider being more than friends?"
Shepard scowled. "Go away, Miranda."
"Just thought I'd ask," Miranda said mildly, and left.
~*~
Part Six
Author: Jewels (bjewelled)
Fandom: Mass Effect
Disclaimer: Mass Effect is Bioware's. And don't they do well with it?
Summary: Rumours abound: the Omega 4 relay has been used, and signs lead to Shepard being involved somehow. Someone has to investigate, and who better than one of Shepard's former crew? On top of all that, ship crews are disappearing, and it can't be the Collectors. So who's responsible, and why?
From The Beginning
~*~
Five: Sleep Is For The Weak
~*~
It was a very long night. Kelly flitted between tearfulness, self-recrimination, anger, apologies, and eventually came right back around to tearfulness. Shepard sat next to her the whole time, a sympathetic ear and occasionally literal shoulder to cry on. By the time Kelly was finally able to leave, to return to her bunk and sleep, she looked shocked and exhausted, but a little stronger than before.
It was the small hours of the morning by the time she was finally alone, but Shepard couldn't sleep. So she pulled off her sodden uniform tunic and lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling.
Some days she wondered if she hadn't missed her calling as a counsellor. Clearly Alliance officer training had skimped on that particular requirement of captaincy. She'd solved Jacob's problems with his father, Samara's problems with her daughter, and Miranda's problems with her sister. Perhaps she should have business cards printed up: Shepard's family counselling services. No problem too big for a trusty shotgun.
She was being uncharitable, she knew. Irreverent where it really wasn't deserved, but Shepard couldn't help but feel resentful at the fact that she was expected to save the galaxy, and solve everyone's problems for them. It wasn't the easiest thing to wake up one day and find out that you were dead until about five minutes ago. All she'd received in the way of help was to be handed expensive weaponry and be pointed in the direction of things needing killing. She felt like she hadn't stopped moving since she'd woken up on Lazarus station, and now she had the first chance to catch her breath in months, leaving her thoughts turning in unpleasant directions.
She was Commander Shepard. She didn't get any of that nonsense hand-holding. Get up and get on with the job and try not to get yourself killed a second time because resurrections are costly.
It just would have been nice to have someone to talk to, someone who didn't hold her up as a paragon of humanity. Maybe she could have talked to Tali or Garrus, but they had their own problems, and they'd changed just enough from the people she'd remembered that it still felt somewhat odd to talk to them. Garrus was nowhere near as outgoing as he once had been, and Tali had been struck with an odd reverence since Shepard had defended her on the flotilla. The crew in general weren't an option. She had to be their Captain, with the unshakeable nerve. Hadley was, no doubt, just the most visible sign of the trauma the crew had undergone. They didn't need to see her cracking on top of that.
Thane would have listened, and he was always welcoming to her presence. But she just didn't know if he'd choose to leave at the Citadel to be with his son. Could she really bring herself to pour out her problems to a friend if they were just going to leave?
She tried to clear her mind. She might not be able to sleep, but the least she could do was try to get some rest.
~*~
Shepard wasn't the only one having difficulty sleeping. Miranda Lawson, in her office, was equally awake, hunched over her desk and looking somewhat less than her usual pristine self. She'd been unaware that Shepard knew about the crew's implants, and it had been a decidedly unpleasant experience to be ambushed with it, leaving Jacob staring at her like she was personally responsible. His employment by Cerberus had always been conditionally that they'd played fair, and Miranda had respected that agreement. He doubtless thought she'd been lying the whole time.
She had, of course, but it had been for a good reason. At least, that was what she told herself.
She rubbed her eyes as she stared at the list of estimated materials that Tali and her crew had provided for the repairs. They couldn't just throw a few automated drones at a planet and harvest the needed metals themselves. Even if that had been an option, their on-board manufacturing had been too badly damaged to make use of the raw materials. The spare parts to repair the bare minimum to get them running again were easily available, but not if they stuck with Shepard's orders of remaining out of communications range.
The only option was, therefore, to go and retrieve the materials needed. The shuttle couldn't carry that much cargo, though, so that meant hiring a freighter to come out into deep space. That meant someone had to go to a planet or trading station and barter for what they needed.
Miranda knew it had to be her.
She hadn't been ignorant of the stand-offish way that Shepard had been treating her since she'd rather abruptly broken off ties with the Illusive Man. Miranda could hardly blame her. She was the most visible and most loyal member of Cerberus on board the ship. Why would Shepard believe that long-held loyalties could just shift overnight?
Shepard had a way of gathering people to her, of inspiring intense loyalty. Miranda was willing to admit that she'd fallen under Shepard's sway. There were even moments when, if Miranda hadn't been so sure of her preferences, she might have been distinctly inclined to approach Shepard on the subject of becoming more than friends. It had been a frighteningly easy decision to send a reply to the blistering message the Illusive Man had sent in the aftermath of the Collector base's destruction that simply said, "Consider this my resignation. Sir."
She still believed in Cerberus, but she knew that she couldn't serve both Shepard and Cerberus at the same time. She had made her decision, and now she had to live with it. Now all she had to do was convince Shepard of her sincerity.
She drummed her fingers on the desktop, pondering, then got to her feet and headed for the tech lab. It was the early hours of the ship's 'morning', but Mordin Solus was already there, or maybe he'd never gone to bed. Sometimes Miranda got the impression that Mordin would only stop moving and talking when he was dead.
She was very glad that he'd survived.
"Have you got a minute, Professor?" she asked, as he looked up from his work in askance.
"A minute. Or two. Or a lifetime, since we aren't dead. Acceptable conclusion to suicide mission, wouldn't you say?"
"We survived, saved the crew, and defeated the Collectors," Miranda said, wryly, "I feel like someone should be writing epic poetry about us."
Mordin smiled, distinctly amused. "Will settle for continued survival. Epic poetry tends to be very dull. What can I do for you, Miranda?"
Miranda rubbed her palms together in an unconsciously nervous gesture. "Shepard mentioned you'd been researching the crew's implants. The flashbangs and poison capsules."
The amusement had left Mordin's face. He now regarded her with narrow-eyed suspicion. "Have been researching. Methods of removal, of disablement." He had taken on a slightly more confrontational stance, perhaps expecting her to take issue with his work. "Implants of crewmembers without knowledge or consent unethical. Rather like Reapers and Protheans, wouldn't you say?"
Miranda felt slightly ill at the comparison.
"Will not stop work, if that is what you're here about."
Miranda held up her hands. "No, no, you don't understand. I'm not here to stop you, I'm-" She broke off, turning away from Mordin to pace a few steps one way, then the other. "What would you need to do? To remove the implants that is?"
Mordin still looked suspicious, but he took her question seriously. "Surgical intervention, possibly nanotechnological assistance required. Lack perfect scans of implants. Interference countermeasures in place, uncertain if they would self-destruct under detailed surveillance. Very difficult to model virtually."
"So, basically, any surgery you did would be experimental."
Mordin looked shocked. "Could not ask any of the crew to take such a risk!"
Miranda took a deep breath. "You don't have to."
~*~
If she'd given it a moment's thought, she would have considered that hammering on Shepard's door in the middle of the night was a bad idea, but Miranda rather thought that if she stopped for a moment to think about what she was doing, she might panic and change her mind.
Shepard might have been fully dressed in trousers and black undershirt, only her tunic discarded, but she looked tired and slightly grey. Her hair was mussed and her eyes were dull. "The ship better be under fire," she groused, as she let Miranda in.
"Commander, I apologise for the intrusion at such an hour," Miranda said.
"Always got time for my crew," Shepard said, though she sounded so exhausted that the phrase rang hollowly. Miranda felt a smidgeon of guilt, but didn't let it stop her. She followed Shepard to the low couch and took the seat offered to her. "What's on your mind, Miranda?"
"The implants," Miranda said, without preamble, "The crew's implants. Mordin's been researching ways to remove them. I'm volunteering to be his first patient."
Shepard frowned, absently combing her fingers through her hair to flatten it out. "Mordin hasn't finished his research yet," she said, "Last he reported, he'd yet to iron out certain issues, like how to remove the tech without it self-destructing."
Miranda laced her fingers together in her lap to stop her hands from treacherously giving away her emotions. "I know," she said, "He's unsure that he'll ever be able to get information from scans. He needs a test subject, a volunteer. Shepard, I'm volunteering to be that person."
Shepard suddenly seemed a lot more awake. "Tell me why," she instructed, softly.
Miranda had prepared for this question, had rehearsed her answer over and over in her head on the elevator ride. "We're going to have to send someone to Omega to purchase the material we need to repair the ship. I'm more familiar with the ship's construction that anyone else except maybe Tali, and she's needed here. I can't go while I still have these implants, they might let a Cerberus team track me to the ship. They have to be removed, and it's something we need doing sooner rather than later. So I volunteer."
Shepard nodded. "Thank you," she said, "Now the real reason."
Miranda drew back slightly, biting back the reflexively sharp response. "What makes you think that wasn't it?" she asked.
"I know you, Miranda," Shepard said, looking at her in the eye intently. It was distinctly uncomfortable, but Miranda couldn't bring herself to be the one to break the gaze. "I've worked with you these last few months, worked closely with you. I've seen you fight, and more to the point, I've seen you desperate. That's a perfectly rational reason, and though you might like to pretend you're a perfectly rational woman, you're just as human as the rest of us. So tell me: what's the real reason you're volunteering?"
Miranda curled her fingers tightly. It turned the skin of her hands white where they clenched together. "That is the real reason," she insisted.
Shepard shook her head, sighed, and stood. "Then your request is denied. There'll be no surgery, and I'll send Garrus and Thane off to Omega to do some negotiating for us."
"No! I-" Miranda shook her head, and said, firmly, "I have to."
"Why?" Shepard demanded.
Miranda felt cornered, and it was an unpleasant feeling. "You don't trust me," she said, and was surprised at the bitterness edging the words.
Shepard stared at her for a long, hard minute. "Don't be ridiculous," she said, finally, sounding exasperated.
"Hear me out," Miranda said, "You don't trust that I've completely ceded my loyalty to Cerberus."
Shepard pursed her lips faintly. "I'll grant that you're as much of a dyed-in-the-wool Cerberus operative as I'm sure you'd find. Cerberus has done a lot for you. That sort of attachment doesn't just go away."
"No," Miranda agreed, "It doesn't. I still believe in what Cerberus is doing."
"Then what the hell are you still doing on my ship?" Shepard barked the words, sounding almost angry.
Miranda felt a hot flush come over her face and she leapt to her feet. "Because I believe in you more!"
"Come on, Miranda," Shepard shook her head, and her smile was twisted, slightly mocking, "You're honestly telling me that you, Cerberus agent, insider and apologist, has completely let go of her old ties?"
Miranda bit back a fierce 'fuck you', to be backed up by a biotic punch. Shepard was baiting her, she realised, trying to get her emotions to loosen, to force her into an unthinking statement. She was looking for honesty, not calculating answers. And suddenly it was a lot easier to deal with.
Miranda took a deep breath, forcing herself to take a step back and closed her eyes for a moment to regain her equilibrium. She could have sworn that Shepard looked almost approving when she reopened them, but only for a moment. She reached inside herself for the words she needed, and tried not to balk at saying them.
"You've done more for me than I can ever thank you for. You had no reason to help me with Oriana, but you did that anyway. We brought you back as a tool... I... brought you back as a tool, but you transcended that without even trying. I was created for a purpose. I've always been useful, for my father, for the Illusive Man. I have to believe that I can transcend that myself, or else..." Miranda spread her fingers, a gesture of helplessness. "Or else, what else is there for me? I've thrown my lot in with you, Shepard. You're going to save us from the Reapers. Let me help you the best way I can."
Shepard rubbed the back of her neck. "Miranda," she said, sincerely, "You don't have to prove yourself to me."
"Yes, I do," Miranda replied. There was more, she was sure, to her reasoning, deep down inside where Miranda wasn't even willing to admit the emotions existed. Damned if she was actually going to say anything though.
Shepard thought about it, and then finally nodded. "Alright. If Doctor Chakwas and the Professor agree, you can have the surgery, and go to Omega."
"Thank you, Shepard," Miranda said, feeling like some huge weight had suddenly been lifted from her shoulders. She headed for the door.
"Miranda," Shepard called after her.
Miranda turned, curious.
"I don't hold being a Cerberus operative against you," Shepard told her, "But if I ever found out you had anything to do with what happened on Akuze, crew or not, subordinate, tool or friend, I would kill you."
Miranda sucked in a breath sharply. Shepard was deadly serious. Miranda had seen that same look in her eyes many a time, usually just before she snapped someone's neck without hesitation. "I understand," she said. She started to turn away, then paused and glanced back. "Out of curiosity, would you ever consider being more than friends?"
Shepard scowled. "Go away, Miranda."
"Just thought I'd ask," Miranda said mildly, and left.
~*~
Part Six