Author's Note: I got the idea for this story while writing an alphabet series (Life, Letter by Letter) on my main Shepard. In "R is for Resurrection," I tried to get into Miranda's head, and that made me wonder how Miranda's attitude toward Shepard might evolve over the course of the events of ME2. This story is consistent with that one, so you may want to give it a look to get a better sense of the Shepard that Miranda is reacting to here. However, I'll endeavor to make this story understandable without having read the other one.

Almost everything about Commander Shepard was right, and that gave Miranda a certain sense of satisfaction. The famous profile was intact, the gaze of the ocular implants was as sharp as the original organic eyes, she had the right height and athletic build (despite the extensive degradation of her skeleton and muscle tissue when the Lazarus Project began). She stood and crossed her arms over her chest and listened to Jacob and Miranda brief her with exactly the right tilt of the head and neutral expression. After two years of effort and experimentation, exhaustive research, wholesale invention of new procedures, and hours spent in reconstructive surgery, here she was. She should have been larger than life. Indeed, Miranda had observed the crew in the CIC casting her surreptitious looks, as if they couldn't quite believe they were in the presence of the legend.

For good reason, since the legend had spent several months clinically dead.

As usual, though, Miranda found herself focusing on the little things that were wrong. The way the cybernetic implants hadn't quite bonded properly with the organic tissues, for example, with the result that reddish fissures showed through the skin. It should have been satisfying to see Shepard dressed in the black and white uniforms that Cerberus had provided for the Normandy crew, but the effect was subtly wrong, simply because Miranda was far more used to seeing the woman in combat armor or an Alliance uniform.

What was most unsettling was that Miranda couldn't quite tell what lay behind the carefully flat expression. To her, of all people, Shepard should not be a closed book. She had, after all, spent the better part of two years learning all about her. Grade school report cards, the reports of the team that had rescued her from Mindoir, psych evals, commendations; she'd studied footage of every public appearance the woman had ever made, from the tour she'd made as a twenty-two-year-old war hero after the Blitz, her Star of Terra shining on her chest, to her Spectre initiation, to every press interview she'd done. She'd read all the reports from the mission to catch Arterius. Other Cerberus personnel had discreetly interviewed many of the surviving crew, and Miranda had read those transcripts, as well. She'd interviewed Moreau herself, even though putting up with his constant distractions had been tedious in the extreme. She should know everything she needed to know, but she couldn't tell exactly what Shepard was thinking.

It left her very slightly off balance. Especially when Shepard was unexpectedly... agreeable. She clearly didn't like the presence of the AI, shackled or not, which Miranda completely understood. She inspected the entire ship and its crew with a cool, measuring glance. She accepted Miranda's advice that they should proceed to Omega and recruit Mordin Solus with no argument. Miranda had expected something... else, she supposed. Expected Shepard to make a show of her authority. She wasn't sure whether or not to be glad that she hadn't yet done so.

In the days it took them to get from the Normandy's dock to Freedom's Progress, and then to Omega, Shepard showed agitation only once.

"Miranda," she said, her voice cold, "why is there a window over my bed?"

Miranda blinked, concealing her irritation. She hadn't been privy to all the details of the ship's design. "I can inquire—"

Shepard went on as if Miranda hadn't responded. "Because it's wonderful to have a view of the stars, as a general rule, but maybe not in the case of someone who was once spaced." The last word cracked like a whip. Miranda set her teeth.

"I'm sure the design was an oversight," she said, sure of no such thing.

EDI piped up, "It may be possible to fit the viewport with a cover."

"That would be appreciated," said Shepard, her voice once again cool and neutral. She turned to go.

Miranda ventured, "Perhaps you might discuss the situation with Yeoman Chambers?"

Shepard paused. Her shoulders stiffened. "I'll consider it."

Aside from that, Shepard quickly established a shipboard routine. She met with Miranda daily to review the recruitment dossiers and discuss any personnel issues. According to EDI, she spent much of her free time familiarizing herself with the events of the previous two years. She had also met Dr. Chakwas for a physical examination, spent several hours in workouts, and had spoken to every member of the crew at least once.

"She appears to be establishing a regular routine of rounds," the AI reported. "While she does not speak to each crew member daily, she speaks to each section head, and always spends extra time with Mr. Moreau, Dr. Chakwas, and Operative Taylor."

"Hm. Thank you, EDI." Miranda felt a little relieved. This behavior was well within observed behavioral paradigms. Interviews from SSV Normandy crew members indicated that Shepard was unusually accessible to the crew. It was good that she was resuming her former routines. Perhaps she was simply accommodating herself to her new environment. Miranda could hardly complain if Shepard chose to do so without much fuss, after all, even if it left her waiting for the other combat boot to drop.

#

Omega, as usual, unsettled things.

Not at first. The mission to recruit Mordin Solus had gone as planned. Not precisely as planned—the dossier hadn't mentioned the plague zone, of course—but EDI's intelligence had been useful there. It had been a good test run, in fact, an opportunity for Shepard to shake off the rust after two years out of action. She had performed superbly, well within expected specifications; she and Miranda and Jacob had worked well together, in Miranda's estimation; and Mordin Solus was now installed in the science lab. Miranda was not pleased that he had already disabled half of the surveillance devices, but she couldn't say she was surprised. She was a little bemused that he'd had the courtesy to bring the most expensive of the items back to her, presenting it politely and without comment before returning to the lab.

Miranda was in the process of compiling her report for the Illusive Man—a very satisfactory report, all in all—when Shepard appeared in her office door.

"Miranda, gear up. We're headed back to Omega."

"For?" she asked expectantly.

Shepard shot her a look, eyebrows pulled down. "I'd rather not wait on Archangel. There's not much time to waste, if we can believe Aria."

Miranda disliked leaving the report unfinished, but Shepard had a point, and she wasn't about to let Shepard see her discomfiture. She rose smoothly to her feet. "Who's our third?"

"Massani," Shepard said. "We'll see how well he'll follow orders, and his experience with merc operations might be useful."

Miranda nodded. It was a sound choice; she was rather curious to see the bounty hunter's skills herself, to tell the truth, considering how much Cerberus was paying him.

The mission parameters left something to be desired. To reach their target, they'd have to get past the mercs without drawing Archangel's fire. If Miranda had been leading the mission, she might have cut their losses at that point, but Shepard merely looked calculating. Miranda found herself devoting nearly as much attention to Shepard as to their surroundings. The commander explored the mercenary encampment apparently at random, and yet managed to ferret out a considerable quantity of intel, not to mention salvage and sabotage opportunities, as she did. She paused as they crossed behind the barricade at the end of the bridge, looking toward the balcony at the far end with narrowed eyes. Miranda followed her gaze, and made out a brief flash of blue. One of the mercenaries at the barricade fell, a hole between his eyes.

"Turian, I think," Miranda ventured as Shepard moved on without comment.

Massani grunted. "We going to do anything around here, Shepard?"

"Hold your horses, Massani," Shepard replied. "We're still getting the lay of the land."

Shepard chose their moment to turn on the mercenary coalition perfectly, waiting until they were halfway across the bridge to signal Miranda for an overload. It shorted out the electronics of the man setting explosives ahead of them, and Massani's shot took his head off. The bounty hunter was every bit as skilled as advertised, and, once the action had started, followed Shepard's lead without hesitation or complaint. The three of them made short work of the freelancers who had preceded them into Archangel's base, while, as far as Miranda could tell, managing to avoid Archangel's fire entirely. She supposed he must have realized they were allies rather than enemies; if he had failed to notice them at all, he would hardly be worth the effort of recruiting.

They pounded their way up the stairs, Shepard in the lead, still hearing the rhythmic crack of Archangel's rifle. Shepard made a cursory check of the rest of the second level before approaching the balcony and pausing in the doorway. "Archangel?"

The turian raised a hand briefly. Miranda's lips compressed. Arrogant, perhaps, or desperate, to leave his back turned to them. Shepard waited, however, while Archangel made one last shot before hauling himself to his feet. He moved stiffly, hampered by injury or fatigue, she presumed, and pulled his helmet off with one hand before settling heavily on a stack of crates, just out of line of sight from the window. "Shepard," he said. "I thought you were dead."

"Garrus!" Shepard exclaimed, stepping forward. Her arms lifted and paused, outstretched. "What are you doing here?"

Miranda had studied Shepard's dossier and associates too long not to recognize the turian's face as soon as he removed his helmet. Garrus Vakarian, formerly of C-Sec, missing since early in 2184. According to Moreau, he and Shepard had been close friends. Shepard's body language and tone of voice supported that assessment. Miranda reviewed what she could recall from the turian's file while the two talked. A C-Sec arrest record that was partially balanced by an impressive disciplinary record, with the black marks piling up extensively in the period between Shepard's death and his abrupt resignation. Though Shepard's AARs were typically terse and clinical, his name figured heavily in most of them. She'd also written a much more effusive commendation which had disappeared into the vaults of Council correspondence. Finding Vakarian here was unanticipated. If he could be persuaded to join them, however, he might be valuable for Shepard's emotional stability, as well as a tactical asset.

Shepard laughed at something Vakarian said—laughed—and Miranda, startled, took a closer look at her. There was still a bit of tension visible in the line of her neck and shoulders, but otherwise her demeanor was relaxed, a wide smile on her face, her eyes bright. Her eyes kept flicking back to the turian even as she spoke and surveyed their surroundings. Miranda wasn't sure she was even aware of it. This was a side of her Miranda hadn't seen before, even around Moreau; a far cry from the professional, but distant, commander she'd been since she boarded the Normandy.

What bothered Miranda more was that she hadn't seen this side of Shepard in her files, either. Accessible, her subordinates had called her, but this relaxed? In a combat situation that was still bordering on desperate? No. Miranda hoped that didn't mean she had missed something.

As for Vakarian, he devoted most of his attention to Shepard, but he'd given both Miranda and Massani a searching look with those pale predator eyes, and glanced back at them from time to time. No matter how exhausted he was, Miranda doubted he'd missed much. He'd been a skilled detective, and he had to have developed a substantial streak of paranoia merely to have survived this long as a vigilante on Omega. He would bear watching, no matter how useful he might be.

Unfortunately, the situation did not permit her the leisure to weigh the potential costs and benefits properly.

Dividing the team was not a bad move, precisely, but it wasn't the move Miranda would have made. She would have presumed that Archangel—Vakarian—could continue to hold the upper level, and that the team moving to the lower levels of the base would require maximum force and adaptability. That Shepard had chosen differently might speak of a streak of sentimentality on the commander's part, something Miranda found concerning. Having made the decision to divide her forces, however, Shepard's choice remained sound; Massani could join Vakarian at the sniper's nest he'd established, or switch to assault rifle and cover the turian's back, if necessary. Miranda's skills supported Shepard's and gave her options to cope with a variety of opposition.

As they headed down the stairs, Miranda considered, but couldn't stop herself from saying, "Shepard, are you sure it's wise to divide—"

Shepard cut her off with a single shake of her head. Her expression had settled back into combat concentration, but there was an extra furrow in her brow. "He's been up there for days, Miranda. We've come all this way to get him out, I don't want to lose him now to a stupid mistake."

Though Shepard wasn't looking at her, Miranda dipped her head. "Acknowledged, Commander."

The fighting on the lower level was hard, though not more than Miranda and Shepard together could handle; their opposition was largely Blood Pack, so it was mostly varren and vorcha, with the occasional krogan. Both of them were using their biotics hard; Miranda thought she could feel her amp growing warm from the repeated use of warp. Over to her right, Shepard suddenly shouted. Miranda felt a slight… crackle, the tell-tale rush of a dark energy discharge, and Shepard appeared much further down the length of the passage. She took out the vorcha in that area with a few incendiary shotgun blasts and slammed the controls with the palm of her hand. The gate shut with a clang. Shepard shook herself and called out, "What the hell was that?" as she strode back toward Miranda's position.

A successful test of the L5n implant. Miranda made a mental note to add to her report, saying, "I told you, Shepard. Experimental implants. That's a very risky tactic, though."

Shepard waved her off impatiently, heading back toward the junction of the three passageways, an almost feral grin spreading over her face. Then she tapped her comm. "One down, two to go. Garrus, Zaeed, you okay up there?"

"Holding," Massani grunted.

"Only one, Shepard? Slow work. You're slipping," said Vakarian.

A crooked smile spread over her face. "I've been out of commission."

The other two doors were easy, comparatively. As long as one didn't mind hurdling over barricades and avoiding vorcha with flamethrowers. Since Shepard took the lead, Miranda's task was to follow and support, bringing down their enemies' defenses where she could, and together they made short work of the mercs.

It was after they returned to the upper level that all hell broke loose.

Miranda was posted at the top of the stairs while the rest of the team took out the Blue Suns coming in through the windows. The Suns finally seemed to be thinning out when she thought she heard shouting from the direction of the balcony, followed by the roar of a rocket blast.

"Garrus!" Shepard's shout was loud enough to make Miranda's comm whine in protest. Sparing a glance downward, she dropped the last Suns trooper on the stairs with two shots from her pistol and bolted back toward the balcony.

The gunship. Shepard had killed the batarian mechanic—an act ruthless enough to surprise Miranda, but one she had approved of—but apparently the vehicle was operational. And Vakarian was down, Massani crouched behind a shredded piece of furniture, while Shepard had unslung the missile launcher. "Miranda," she snapped. "Warp on my mark."

Miranda slid into cover next to her. "Ready."

"Mark."

Miranda snapped upright and hit the gunship with the strongest warp field she could muster. Its armor buckled and cracked, and the engine stuttered. She dropped back down, Massani and Shepard rising in sync to hit the ship in its weak points.

Once they had it down, Shepard started toward Vakarian's body. "Call the Normandy, notify them—" She hesitated, her stride hitching. "See if you can get Chakwas on the line."

Miranda activated her comm. "Joker? It's Lawson. Patch me through to Dr. Chakwas, and have EDI send basic medical data on turians to my omni-tool."

"Turians? What—"

"Just do it," she said, in no mood for Moreau's usual antics. "It's an emergency. Also, we need a shuttle to our location ASAP, or have EDI scout the fastest route out of here." She spoke in an undertone, watching Shepard.

Joker said, "If your location's secure, we can get the shuttle to you in ten."

She glanced around briefly. Massani was watching the lower level. "It's secure."

"Dispatching shuttle and patching you through to Chakwas."

There was a lot of blood on the ground, shockingly blue. It looked like paint and had a sharp, metallic smell. Shepard had approached Vakarian's body and dropped to one knee, heedless of the spreading pool of blood, but then she hesitated, her hand hovering over his shoulder.

"Garrus?" Her voice came out strained.

He drew a breath, wet and rasping. Blood in his throat, or his lungs, Miranda noted. A swift scan with her omni-tool, comparing to the baseline data EDI had sent her, showed his vitals shaky, blood pressure dropping, pulse irregular. He clutched at his rifle; Miranda wasn't sure if it was a conscious movement or simply a spasm. She frowned at the readings on her omni-tool, and started to speak, but Massani beat her to it.

"He's not going to make it."

Shepard flared, suddenly wreathed in dark energy, and glared up at Massani with teeth bared, her eyes so wide the whites showed all the way around the iris. "Shut up," she growled, "and give me all the medi-gel you've got."

He complied, with a sour expression, but he kept his mouth shut. Miranda gestured at him to keep watch. He gave both her and Shepard a dismissive look, but did as instructed.

"Ms. Lawson?" came Dr. Chakwas's voice in her ear. "What's the situation?"

"We have a turian male with significant trauma to the head—are you getting the data from my omni-tool?"

"Yes," the doctor confirmed.

"Let me talk to her," said Shepard. She'd damped the flare, and now knelt with one hand on Vakarian's armored shoulder, her expression tight.

Miranda redirected the comm line. "Shuttle arrival in six, Shepard," she said.

Shepard nodded, speaking quietly into the comm without taking her eyes from the turian. "It's Garrus. Yeah. A rocket. I don't—" She took a deep breath. Too controlled to be a sob, but nearly on the edge. "Okay. Yes. The bleeding's slowed, but not stopped."

Miranda took a step back, considering. Vakarian's vitals were stabilizing somewhat, but could hardly be called good. Shepard was more agitated than Miranda would have expected. None of the crew reports from the previous mission indicated a reaction like this to the deaths of Richard Jenkins or Ashley Williams. Perhaps it was that Vakarian wasn't yet dead; perhaps it was a reaction to the isolation of her environment. Miranda knew perfectly well that was a strain. It was designed to be. Her lips pursed. In a way, this might be the best possible outcome; Vakarian might be sufficiently disabled to prevent any interference with ground missions, but still able to provide tactical advice and psychological support to the commander.

Assuming he actually survived, that was. She was concerned how Shepard might react if he didn't.

Mercifully, the shuttle arrived only moments later.

#

Shepard stayed in crisis mode, firm and controlled, though pale, until Drs. Chakwas and Solus took charge of their patient and the medbay door closed behind them. Then she stopped in her tracks and stared at the unrevealing door, her arms falling slack to her sides.

Miranda waited, unsure whether to approach; Shepard showed no signs of moving, so after a few minutes she said, cautiously, "Commander?"

Shepard blinked and turned toward her. "Miranda." She swiped a hand across her forehead, leaving an indigo streak, and paled as she looked at her blood-smeared gauntlets. "Can we postpone the debrief? I need to clean up."

Miranda considered saying a number of things. Some comfort or reassurance about the doctors' abilities, perhaps; but she did not believe in offering false hope, and the turian's condition looked bad even with their excellent medical team. There was also a good chance Shepard would see any such comment as presumptuous. She settled for saying, "Of course, Shepard."

Shepard replied with a jerky nod before she headed for the elevator. Miranda watched her go, considering, before returning to her office.

"EDI."

"Yes, Operative Lawson?"

"Is Shepard in her quarters?"

"Yes, Operative Lawson."

"Please inform me if she shows any unusual behaviors."

There was a pause. "Commander Shepard has issued orders that I am not to inform anyone of what happens in her quarters without her permission. I am afraid her orders supersede yours, Operative Lawson."

Miranda ground her teeth. There were emergency protocols in place that would allow EDI to override such orders—but only if Shepard proved to be a danger to herself. She would have to be content with that. "Very well, EDI."

"Logging you out."

Frowning, Miranda settled down to finish both her mission reports.

#