A/N: Well, here we go! For those of you who have read the things I write before, welcome back! This is the same Cora Shepard you know and love, just set during a slightly alternate timeline. I wanted to explore what Cora and Miranda are capable of, so it's off-canon from my main fic. If you haven't read my stuff before, hello! Reading Forever and Ever, Amen is certainly not a prerequisite to reading this, but feel free to take a look if you like :)

Thank you to A.E. McDuff and Kallie6891 for beta reading chapter 1 and 2 for me!

Commander Shepard sits at the table in the mess hall, watching a visibly stressed out Miranda walk from the direction of the elevator to her quarters. She has one hand on her forehead, while the other was clutching a data pad. She paused mid-way, lowering the data pad for a moment and closing her eyes. Shepard feels a bit bad for watching her so covertly, as it was clear Miranda didn't know she was sitting here. In my defence, I'm in the mess hall in the middle of the day. It's not like I'm hiding.

Shepard still didn't know what to make of the Cerberus operative. She didn't know what to make of her life in general if she were honest with herself. She'd only 'woken up' three weeks ago, and it was already clear to her that a million things had changed in her absence. Anderson was close to his usual self, if not a bit more guarded with her. Joker had changed, though the only major difference was that he couldn't look her directly in the eye for more than ten seconds before he had to look away, guilt permeating his face. Garrus had been a welcome addition to this alien – yet familiar – ship. He was sarcastic and humble as ever, however he was more bitter, jaded, and heart sore. And then there was the damned AI. Shepard was convinced that every single waking moment was being recorded and sent immediately to the Illusive Man. Or Miranda. She isn't sure which, but Shepard was sure that she didn't trust the AI, and still has reservations about the ice queen that is Miranda Lawson.

With a sip of her coffee, she continued to watch Miranda. She had resumed reading the information on the data pad, and Shepard even heard her swear under her breath. She tilted her head to the side to consider the woman she was watching. While she was unsure, she did feel a certain level of respect for her. Miranda had rebuilt her from scratch, gently piecing her body back together all while losing sleep, dealing with immense pressure, and having two years of her life disappear just to bring Shepard back. Shepard grimaced at the thought of Miranda being one of the few people in the galaxy that knew what she looked like naked. She wasn't sure how to feel about that, but Miranda had been nothing but professional with her. She was cold and calculating, but there was something else to her that intrigued Shepard. She was undoubtedly beautiful, with her hair only a few shades darker than Shepard's own. Her eyes were the colour of a cold ocean, a remarkable blue that hid something in their depths. Looks aside, she was efficient, logical, and smart. A hell of a lot smarter than anyone Shepard had met before. The more Shepard thought of her though, the more she began to realize that she had no idea what makes Miranda who she is. With a frown, she made a mental note to ask her when she has the chance.

Miranda shuts off the data pad, and stood close to the door of her quarters. She looked as though she was trying to make up her mind about something. She apparently does, and Shepard watched her turn towards the mess hall. There was a brief look of surprise on Miranda's face when she noticed Shepard sitting at the table.

"Commander. I didn't see you there."

"I can be stealthy when I need to be." Shepard responds before taking a sip of her coffee. "What's going on?"

Miranda looked uneasy at the question; she was usually very forthcoming with information pertaining to their missions. Shepard realized it is probably a personal matter, and starts backtracking.

"Shit, sorry Lawson. Don't answer that. I just assumed you were always working because, well, you're always working. I didn't think you did anything outside of that."

"I do have a personal life, Commander." Miranda replied, and Shepard almost smiled with how pissed off the comment seems to make her. Somehow I doubt that.

"Alright, don't get your knickers in a knot. I was only making a joke. Why don't you sit down and have a coffee; it's my own personal stuff from Brazil." Shepard offered, gesturing towards the steaming pot in front of her. Miranda contemplated the offer, looking from Shepard to the coffee. Eventually, she made up her mind. Grabbing a clean coffee mug from the counter, she joined Shepard at the table.

Shepard smiled slightly, pouring the hot liquid into Miranda's cup, topping her own off in the process. "Want me to grab you cream or sugar?"

"No, thank you. I prefer it black. Besides, this smells too wonderful to ruin by adding anything." Miranda punctuated her comment with a contented sigh as she wraped her delicate hands around the ceramic. Shepard watched the moment with interest. She was so guarded a second ago, and now she was happily sighing?

Women.

"So, how are you settling in?" Shepard asked, enjoying the smell of her coffee as it wafted upwards.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that question, Commander?" Miranda asked with a furrow of her brow.

"Yeah, I guess, but we all moved in together Lawson. It's not like you've been working on the Normandy for two years."

"I suppose you're right. And I imagine it's been easier for you anyways, considering the SR-2 is so similar to the SR-1."

"Kind of. It's bigger. The CIC is more streamlined, engineering is an engineers dream, and the observation lounges are nice." Shepard provided, watching Miranda's blue gaze study her as she spoke. She looks down at her coffee, the eye contact making her feel… something. That's… confusing. What the hell, Shep?

"Do you miss it?"

"The SR-1? Sure. It was my home. I had a small family aboard that ship, and the SR-1 is where it started for all of us. It was a brilliant feat of engineering, but it was also more than a ship." Shepard could feel her emotions surfacing as a result of speaking about it. Joker had beamed at the sight of the new Normandy, all shiny metal and fancy hardware, but Shepard had been almost indifferent. It looked like home, but it wouldn't be the same. It was a ruse, a way to make her more comfortable, and a way for the Illusive Man to convince her to trust him.

"Yes, Mr. Moreau said the same thing when we first spoke to him about the events on the SR-1." Miranda replied. She took a sip of her coffee, having waited until just now for it to cool off. Shepard frowned at her statement.

"Why would you ask Joker about events on the SR-1? That would have been classified Alliance information."

"He also said that. We didn't ask for details regarding mission-critical information. We simply wanted to get a sense of who he was."

Shepard remained silent, taking note of the way Miranda seemed to have relaxed now that she knew Shepard wouldn't continue to pry into her personal life. While she didn't fully trust her, she still wanted to get to know her. Unlike an Alliance ship, Cerberus ran their teams differently. Fraternization wasn't as frowned upon, and crew members had a certain personal freedom in their day-to-day lives. The only one who saluted her is Jacob, and she chalked that up to Alliance training. Other than Shepard herself, Miranda was the only other person aboard who didn't quite seem to fit the Cerberus crew. She spent the majority of her time alone, and rarely sought out company in her off hours. She was friendly enough when Shepard stopped by her quarters, but it rarely involved any personal details, or anything other than mission critical information. As Shepard watched her, she now realized it would be as good a time as any to find something out about Miranda.

"So, tell me about yourself."

Miranda seemed instantly defensive, but drops her guard a little after contemplating the statement. "I guess that's fair. I've learned all there is to know about you in the past two years. Well, you should know that I've had extensive genetic modifications. Not my choice, but you live with what you're given. I was designed to be perfect; my intelligence, looks, constitution… all designed to give me an edge. I'm smarter, faster, and will live longer than the average human."

"Wow, ok. So what I'm hearing is that you're perfect? You didn't strike me as the cocky type." Shepard said as she slightly raised an eyebrow. Miranda has effectively dodged the real meaning of her question, but she doubted it was on purpose. Miranda clearly provided the most relevant – or what she though is the most relevant – information to her present audience.

"Not cocky. Just stating facts. And I'm not perfect, though I was designed to be. I still make mistakes just like everyone else."

"Right. A genetically perfect, incredibly attractive, powerful biotic rebuilt me from scratch. Well, could've been worse I suppose. At least the batarians didn't get a hold of me."

"They tried."

Shepard laughs, and finished her coffee. "Yeah, I bet they did. Them and everyone else."

There was a brief pause, and Shepard considered a way to rephrase her question so that she can actually get an idea of Miranda the woman, not Miranda the genetically tailored.

"So any family out here, or back on Earth?"

"No."

Ok. To the point.

"Oh. Ok. Well, what's your favourite colour?"

"Having a favourite colour seems a bit irrelevant, does it not?"

"Tough crowd. Alright, how about an easy one: did you have any pets growing up?"

"No."

Shepard stared at Miranda, who is providing clear hints that she wasn't going to answer any of the questions being posed. She found herself slightly confused by this; they were the most basic questions, and reveal little about a person. They merely serve as a conversation starter, or a way to bond over something insignificant. Miranda was clearly going to be a challenge.

She liked challenges.

"Ok, well, it's pretty clear you're not interested in talking." Shepard said with a small smile, her tone of voice reflecting that she wasn't upset. "I should probably get going anyways. Kelly wanted to talk to me about something."

"Thank you for the coffee, Commander."

"You're welcome. And Lawson?"

"Yes?"

"You can't dodge my questions forever."

Miranda made her way from the mess hall back her quarters, rolling the conversation she had with Shepard around her mind. While it had been innocent, and while Shepard seemed genuinely curious, Miranda finds herself hesitant to give the commander any details about her life. She's known the woman for literally years but even still, Miranda didn't open up easily. She thought the question about her favourite colour was ridiculous, and though she had wanted a puppy when she was young, her father wouldn't hear of it. And family? Answering questions about that was off the table. Although it might not be for long.

At the thought of family, Miranda's heart sinks. The information provided to her suggested that her sister is in trouble, and that Henry Lawson has tracked her down. The thought of him getting his hands on Oriana made Miranda uncharacteristically angry. She paced her room, unable to settle, wracking her brain for options; hiring mercs, relying on acquaintances to relocate the family, sending a message to Oriana herself advising her of the danger. But with each option, Miranda becomes more frustrated at the obvious drawbacks for each scenario. She opens up her terminal as she sits before it, and she takes a look at the mission list they have managed to rack up in the last three weeks. Things were running smoothly, and Miranda was impressed. For all of Shepard's volatile and irrational nature, she was an extremely effective leader. It was almost daily that missions were being checked off Miranda's list. However, the free spaces were promptly filled by other minor missions Shepard kept picking up. With the way the list was looking now, Miranda doubts she'll have any time off for anything personal.

Leaning back in her chair, she exhales and tries to think of a solution, though the normally pragmatic Cerberus operative finds herself at a loss. Stress coupled with exhaustion, and the added bonus of Oriana being in danger is making her lose focus. She knew that if she didn't find a solution, and fast, her father's henchmen would get to Oriana first.

"EDI?"

"Yes, Operative Lawson?"

"What missions has the Commander approved for tomorrow?"

"Commander Shepard has approved the mission to retrieve Okeer from the Korlus system. I believe the Commander would also like to go to the prison ship Purgatory, as that is simply a pick-up."

Miranda runs her fingers along her temples, applying pressure in an attempt to ward off the headache threatening to take up residence. The more Miranda thinks about it, the more she realized that Shepard would be the only logical option to help her with Oriana. She still has her Spectre status so she can go places mercs can't, and she commands the fastest and stealthiest frigate in the Terminus systems. The most beneficial reason to ask Shepard though, was that Shepard was a one woman wrecking machine, capable of getting in, completing the objective, and getting out. Quick, efficient and mostly quiet. The only con Miranda could think of was that Shepard might not agree. She was distant and aloof with the Cerberus crew, yet friendly and inviting to members of her former crew. She obviously had her favourites, and made it clear to all Cerberus personnel that they weren't one of them. Asking someone with a predisposed enmity to help with a personal matter could result in Miranda not receiving help at all, putting her back at square one.

Turning off her monitor, Miranda makes her way to the back of the room, shutting the curtains to create a smaller sanctuary. The soft glow of the bedside lamp reflects lightly off the calming purple curtains, and Miranda closes her eyes and exhales as she sits down on her bed. Giving herself a moment to breathe in a space that was reserved for her alone gave her a chance to focus. She replays the conversation with Shepard yet again. She had made it clear that she wanted to get to know Miranda, and was obviously not avoiding her like she tended to do with other Cerberus crew members. Asking about family seemed trivial to Shepard, but to Miranda it had been like a kick in the gut.

Miranda takes a calming breath in, and tries to focus on something other than family. Her mind helpfully provides her with other details from the conversation with Shepard. The subtle way her eyebrow moved upwards when she asked a question, or the way her green eyes shifted to watch Miranda's mouth form the reply. Her tone of voice, dripping with confidence and self assurance, even though she was reborn into a foreign place, well out of her comfort zone. Miranda hadn't been able to stop herself, and had looked – really looked – into Shepard's eyes, wanting to know more and see more. The eye contact had clearly made Shepard uncomfortable, as she had looked away rather quickly. But in that brief moment, Miranda had seen a fleeting flash of something that was truly Shepard the human, and not Shepard the Commander. Ruthless and unforgiving as she may be, there was something else to her, and Miranda wanted to know what it was.

First I deal with Oriana. Then I deal with figuring out Shepard.