Title: Imperfection
Author: Sapphire Smoke
Beta: BellaRei713
Fandom: Mass Effect
Rating: M
Pairing(s): Jack/Miranda
Timeline: Directly after Jack and Miranda's confrontation in ME2
Summary: Mistake. That word has always haunted her. She was her father's mistake, and thus her sister was built to rectify it. The word made her feel dehumanized, like her entire worth amounted into nothing more than an error in her father's calculations. Why then, did she choose to throw that word in the convict's face, knowing full well the repercussions of being made to believe that you were somehow created wrong?
A/N: I want to give a big thank you to my first reader DoomKitteh for calming my writing-for-a-new-fandom nerves (again) and assuring me that I'm not fucking everything up, lol. Much appreciated. To everyone else, just a heads up that as of this moment, I'm only about halfway through ME3, so please please don't spoil anything for me in the reviews. I'm sure I'll be finished with the game by the time I post chapter two, but still, lol. Anyway, this is yet again another one shot that ended up being much longer than I originally anticipated, and so it's being split into chapters, with updates being every Sunday.

I.

A sharp wave of pain shot down her spine, a forearm pressed tightly against her jugular, and suddenly Miranda found she couldn't breathe. The façade of absolute stillness beneath the engineering deck had been shattered before the XO could register the change, rendering all of her defensive training into a laughable concept in the wake of her current predicament. She should have known Jack wasn't really asleep, but she had been too preoccupied with her own thoughts to assess the woman's breathing patterns before approaching her.

It had been a foolish mistake.

"The fuck are you doing in my room?" Jack demanded, her eyes wild and angry as the barrel of a pistol pressed against the other woman's abdomen. It was an idle threat and Miranda knew it, as Shepard would have her head if she killed a team mate and jeopardized the mission, yet the operative stilled herself in response; not out of fear or submission, but because she hadn't come all the way down here for a bloody fight.

Regardless of her intentions however, when she opened her mouth a condescending attitude rolled naturally off her tongue. "I would hardly call this rusty hole a room."

Jack sneered at her, pressing her forearm tighter against the other woman's larynx until it forced a choking sound from the back of Miranda's throat. As she let up on the pressure a little, she snapped, "Don't test me, princess; I'm not in the mood to be dicked around. Shepard may have ordered a ceasefire, but I'll be damned if I let you come at me without defending myself. Touch me, and you die."

"I didn't come down here to touch you, you self-involved scrag," Miranda snapped irritably, her voice coming out strained from the pressure the other woman still had on her throat. If that had been the only thing keeping her pinned against this damned wall, Miranda could have easily disarmed her. Unfortunately, the pistol pressed to her abdomen was still very much a factor, and the probability of the gun going off – accidentally or otherwise – if she took the convict by surprise was far too high for Miranda to reasonably risk.

And again, she hadn't come down here for a goddamn fight, although the longer this confrontation went on, the more desirable that option began to look. The woman was bloody intolerable.

"The hell you just call me?"

Miranda ignored the question, pressing on with a frustrated admission of, "I came down here to apologize, so if you wouldn't mind—" But her request to not be manhandled while doing so was cut off with a bitter laugh from the woman with a gun on her, apparently finding the concept completely ludicrous.

"You're shitting me, right?" And yet despite her disbelief, a part of Jack must have sensed some truth in it, because the pistol was holstered and she stepped back. "Fuck off. I don't give a damn what makes you sleep better at night."

Miranda rubbed her neck as she moved from her place against the wall, trying like hell to keep her temper in check. It was difficult; talking to this woman was like talking to a wall, and Miranda didn't know how much patience she had for it. And yet still, she tried. "This isn't about me…"

"Bullshit!" Jack snapped, pointing angrily in her face as she demonstrated, yet again, that personal space during this conversation was just a pipe dream. "That pretty little head of yours is shoved so far up your own ass I'm amazed you haven't choked on your own shit yet. You're here out of guilt; and excuse me for saying so, your royal bitchiness," a mock bow followed, and the sarcastic nature of it made Miranda's stomach tighten and her eyes narrow, "but I really couldn't give a fuck about that."

"This isn't about you either," Miranda snapped, even though that was a lie. It was partly about her, and Jack was correct in assuming it was partially about the guilt she felt as well. But it was also about… "This is about the mission, Shepard, the rest of the squad. If we even have a hope of making it out of this alive, we need to work together; which doesn't include being at one another's throats whenever we're in the same vicinity."

"So you think you're going to spew some bullshit apology at me and everything will be candy and roses?" Jack countered, laughing at the audacity in that. She smirked then, gesturing at the other woman as she took a few steps back towards her cot. "Guess Daddy missed a few key points when he engineered his perfect little biotic, huh? Cause your social skills, Cheerleader; they need some fucking work."

"Until you're capable of speaking more than two words to me without swearing, I believe I'll pass on coming to you for advice on proper socialization," Miranda responded, trying to come off as indifferent and even slightly superior, despite the bubbling frustration that burned hot in the pit of her stomach. She knew she shouldn't be allowing Jack to get to her like this, but her father… that was a sore spot, and one the convict had no business speaking of.

Jack just scoffed irritably as she flopped down on her cot, propping herself up against the wall with one knee raised towards the ceiling. Resting her elbow on it, the biotic leaned forward and demanded, "So? You got something to say then say it, 'cause something tells me you're not going to fuck off until you've had your piece, and frankly I'm already getting sick of hearing you talk."

Charming. Part of Miranda questioned why she was even bothering with this, but then she remembered Pragia.

Miranda had always been able to look at the bigger picture, find the acceptability in the sacrifice of countless lives for the betterment of the human race, but there had to be a line somewhere. For a long time she hadn't known where it laid. She was so disconnected from the rest of the world as Cerberus placed themselves on a pedestal and regarded the people below as nothing more than a colony of ants. She saw others as a part of a larger whole, not as individuals. Her time on the Normandy, however, had integrated her with the masses she had long been separated from. Perhaps they were all still higher up than most, their mission giving them a purpose that made who they are and what they did more important than the life of a mere colonist, slave, or laborer, but in the end they were still a crew made up of different races, backgrounds, and ideals. Not all of them had started at the top; Jack least of all.

And for the first time in a long while, Miranda not only recognized that, but felt herself sympathizing with it. It was a disconcerting notion, but not something entirely unwelcome. All her life, she had been accused of being cold; she had accepted it, believed it, had even used it to her advantage, but it left her wondering how human she really was. Being genetically engineered often leaves one questioning the legitimacy of one's own humanity, and she often wondered if she was even fighting for a race that was truly her own. It was things like this, however, that reminded her that she was made up of more than just strands of perfected DNA; that she was a human being, and not just a project built for a higher purpose.

"I stand by what I said earlier," Miranda began, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall as she looked at the woman across from her. "What was done to you… that wasn't Cerberus' doing. They might have acted under our name and with our funding, but somewhere along the way they lost our ideals and went rogue. Believe me, neither I nor this corporation condone what was done to you there, and if we had found out sooner, we would have terminated the project long before your escape."

"This your first apology? Because usually the words 'I'm sorry' are included somewhere," Jack responded, scoffing at the mediocre attempt. She shook her head, her gaze landing on the wall. "Whatever; keep swallowing the Illusive Dick's load and delude yourself into thinking you're not the bad guys in this little play of yours. Doesn't make a damn of a difference in my book; you're all still thoroughbred assholes."

"That being said," Miranda stressed, trying to let Jack's accusation of her own naivety just wash right off of her instead of seeding deep in the recesses of her mind. She couldn't afford to second guess the Illusive Man or this corporation's purpose; not now, not when they were this close to taking on the Collectors. "What I said to you, it was… out of line."

Miranda shifted, suddenly finding herself a little uncomfortable once Jack's gaze fell back to her. It bothered her, that the woman was partially right; because while this may not be her first apology, it certainly was one of very few. Purebred perfection left little room for mistakes, and so it was not often that she made them. Or, perhaps, it just wasn't often that she cared enough to acknowledge them. It would seem that the time she spent aboard this ship had changed her in more ways than she was expecting, and sometimes it was hard to distinguish whether or not that was a good thing.

"What was done to you, that was a mistake. But you… you are not, and I apologize for saying so."

Mistake. That word had always haunted her. She was her father's mistake, and thus her sister was built to rectify it. The word made her feel dehumanized, like her entire worth amounted into nothing more than an error in her father's calculations. Why then, did she choose to throw that word in the convict's face, knowing full well the repercussions of being made to believe that you were somehow created wrong? Perhaps she had momentarily believed that wielding the weapon that was once used to hurt her would somehow give her power over it, but in the end, all it did was remind her of how it felt to be on the receiving end of it.

She had seen a flicker of hurt in the other woman's eyes as soon as the word was out of her mouth. It was brief, but it was still very much present before being barricaded behind walls of anger and hatred. Miranda could relate, outside of the fact that her walls were built with indifference and an act of superiority rather than something fierce and untamable. It was unsettling to realize that she may have more in common with the vulgar, tattoo-covered ruffian across from her than she had originally believed, as Miranda had made great strides into becoming the opposite of everything Jack encompassed. But perhaps if others had bothered to peel back the layers of her own genetic makeup and see the person underneath, Miranda wouldn't have grown up believing that her surface was all she had to offer someone.

She could see that same belief in Jack. Miranda had seen that look so many times in the mirror that it was hard to ignore. Unlike her, Jack may have been physically born, but she was built all the same. She was bred for a singular purpose, and thus believed that was all she was useful for. Jack didn't need to say it for Miranda to know; she could see it in her lifeless eyes and her standoffish behavior, in the way she presented her skills before her personality. It was far more familiarity than Miranda was comfortable being confronted with, and so she averted her gaze in order to distance herself from the painful reminder of her own struggle with finding self-worth.

Some kind of emotion had seemed to flicker behind Jack's dark eyes after Miranda had uttered her apology, but it was gone just as fast as it appeared, her expression hardening as she allowed her mask to fall back into place. "That it?" Miranda murmured a sound of agreement, as she didn't know what to offer her outside of that. "Good," Jack finished. "Now get the fuck out."

And as Miranda was neither looking for a friend nor someone to relate to, she did. No matter how alike they might be beneath the surface, they were still very different people, and perhaps it would be better if they kept their distance. The only reason she had come down there was to make certain that this rift between them didn't jeopardize the mission, and while she still wasn't sure that it wouldn't, she had at least tried. In the end, it was all that she could do.

[x]

Miranda sat at her desk, her eyes scanning the split-screen monitor in front of her. Keeping the Illusive Man informed of their squad's current status had been a part of her job since the very beginning, and that included watching her team's movements, even when they weren't aware of it. Especially when they weren't aware of it in fact, as you can learn far more about who a person really is when they believe they aren't being watched.

Every room on the ship was monitored by hidden cams that were routed directly into her private terminal, and every night Miranda would pour over the footage for hours before finally retiring to bed. It was a tedious task, as only rarely was there something of note that she would have to pass on; Kasumi's tendency to cloak herself and run around the ship unchecked, for one. Miranda wasn't sure if the woman either had something to hide or just enjoyed spying on the other's unnoticed, but regardless she brought it up to the Illusive Man, in case he wanted to use her as another source of intel.

Miranda doubted it had come to anything, as the thief most likely could not be trusted with such a sensitive task, but occasionally she would get the feeling that there was someone in the room with her when she believed she was alone. That caused a slight paranoia that the Illusive Man had tasked Kasumi with keeping an eye on her, but Miranda brushed that off as ridiculous just as soon as the thought had entered her mind. The Illusive Man trusted her; there was no reason for him to spy on her. And besides, even if he had tried to commission her, it was doubtful that Kasumi would take the offer. She didn't exactly seem interested in anything Cerberus had to offer.

Miranda fast forwarded through the feeds in the Captain's Cabin, as Shepard rarely spent time in there, before finally a figure immerged in the vid. The time stamp indicated it was late, so she was probably headed off to bed. Still, she continued to watch as the Commander peeled off her armor and set it aside. Miranda smirked, settling back into her chair; in the end, there were some upsides to this job. It probably said something terrible about her, that she chose to watch some of her shipmates get undressed instead of fast forwarding through it like a respectable person, but her perversions did have a limit. Like…

Now, actually.

Miranda watched her fully nude Commander grab the picture of Liara off her desk, and Miranda immediately switched the feeds, already knowing where this was going. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. Miranda didn't know how she did it, keep a relationship alive when she had been separated from her mate for so long. Miranda didn't know much about love, or even commitment for that matter, but it seemed as though it would be a difficult thing to do; it was why she only concerned herself with meaningless trysts with faceless partners. It was just simpler that way.

Miranda looked back at the screen, coming to her last feed of the day; beneath the engineering deck. While usually she left Shepard's cabin for last, as it was generally a quick run through before bed, Miranda had been purposely putting off watching Jack's feed. Coming to the realization that she shared more in common with the convict than she had previously thought had made her uncomfortable, for more reasons than one. It instinctively made her wish to place distance between them, as she found her growing curiosity in the woman more than a little unsettling.

Miranda knew it was a bad idea, to be so intrigued by her. The woman was psychotic, unstable, foul-mouthed, and violent. If she had control over these things, Miranda would have chosen to never give the woman a second glance. Unfortunately however, she did not.

And it irritated her, her lack of control over her own thought process. Nothing good would come from this, and yet there was something in the back of her mind that nagged at her, wondering all these ridiculous things that were absolutely none of her business. Miranda was being truthful when she said that she didn't want a friend; and even if she did, her first choice certainly would not be Jack. But that being said, it seemed she wasn't entirely truthful when she believed she wasn't looking for someone to relate to, because despite how much she tried to discourage her own curiosity, it still insisted on focusing on the one person she really didn't even want to be within a hundred yards of.

It was an entirely conflicting feeling, and one that sought to drive her mad.

But perhaps she wasn't the only one with curiosities. When Miranda had approached her, Jack had been volatile, angry. It surprised her that Jack had actually backed off enough to allow her to apologize, but then again, Miranda couldn't imagine that many people in Jack's life had actually bothered to before. Whether it made any real difference she couldn't be sure, but at least Jack hadn't been at her throat the last few days. If anything, it was like Miranda's existence didn't concern her, which was just as irritating, but a much better option in regards to their mission; and that, in the end, was what was important. Miranda would rather be ignored than have their mission jeopardized because of a rift between Jack and Cerberus that had nothing to personally do with her.

Leaning on her elbows, Miranda took note of the woman on her monitor. She was sitting cross-legged on her cot, pen in her hand as she scribbled into a notebook. Miranda had seen her do that many times now, and it was strange to her, that Jack seemed to prefer writing the old fashioned way; hardly anyone did anymore. But it was unlikely that she had been allotted an omni-tool in captivity, so perhaps this was all that the woman was used to. Still, the more Miranda watched her write, the more curious she became about what exactly the convict was always writing down.

Which, in the end, was a terrible thing to wonder about, because it caused her to do something very stupid.

Shepard had taken Jack on a mission a few days later, and Miranda, unable to help herself, stole down to the engineering deck in order to sate her curiosity. She rationalized it to herself that if it was perhaps a hit list or something else that would no doubt distract the convict and put the mission in jeopardy, then she needed to know about it. She had a job to do after all, and making sure the squad was up for this task was a part of it.

Miranda pulled out the small notebook from where she knew Jack hid it as she sat down on the woman's bed and opened it up. There were a few scrawled drawings in it, just rough lines that depicted near-human looking creatures she had never seen before looking dark, angry, depressed. Perhaps they were supposed to be some kind of creative expression for her feelings; Miranda was unsure. What she did know though, was that she had an extensive database of every race in the Traverse, and whatever these things were, they did not really exist. Maybe they were representing her own demons? Or the ones that Cerberus gave to her. Either way, the hollowness of their eyes and the coldness of their expression unsettled Miranda, and she quickly flipped the page so she didn't have to look at them anymore.

There were words on the next page, and as Miranda began to read them, her eyes widened in surprise. It wasn't some kind of journal entry or anything, which was what she had been expecting. No, it was poetry. The tattooed, foul-mouthed convict wrote poetry. If Miranda hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she would have never believed it; the woman did not exactly have a way with words when she spoke, after all.

The work was fairly juvenile, being rather straight forward and not leaving the reader with an air of intrigue and contemplation, but all the same, it was not completely awful. Most of it seemed far more depressing and self-hating than angry, but Miranda did come across one entitled 'Fuck you,' which made her snort quietly to herself. Figures.

Miranda slammed the notebook shut and looked up sharply when she suddenly heard what sounded like the shuffling of feet, panic momentarily gripping her chest. Not that she feared what Jack would do to her should she find her down here, rummaging through her stuff, but the blowback it would cause the squad would easily erase a lot of the progress they had made. She didn't want them to be distrustful of her, to know that she watched them at all times and reported back to the Illusive Man. It wouldn't be good for morale.

She waited a few moments though and no other sounds came; perhaps it was all in her own head, or the engine making a strange noise. Regardless, Miranda found herself relaxing once more as she settled back against the wall, reopened the notebook, and continued reading everything that Jack's unstable mind had to offer.

It had been a terrible, terrible idea.

Miranda was sitting at her desk the next day, reviewing past mission reports when suddenly the image of Jack and Kasumi on her monitor caught her eye. Jack barely spoke to anyone which was why it was strange, but at the same time, every time she did she usually told people to fuck off, making any of her interactions with the squad fairly short lived. Miranda made a mental note to listen in when she was reviewing the feeds later that night, but otherwise barely regarded it as something to be concerned about right now.

At least until Jack came barging right through her door.

Miranda had been so engrossed with her reports that the sound of the door banging against the wall actually made her jump, and she only barely dodged the punch that was thrown her way as she hit the ground and rolled out of the other woman's reach, crouching on the floor as she looked up at the furious expression on Jack's face.

Shit. Shit.

"You nosey little bitch—I'll fucking kill you!"

Miranda just barely produced a barrier that blocked Jack's shockwave, causing it to disperse and completely destroy one of her end tables. The commotion must have alerted the rest of the crew as to what was going on, and suddenly Shepard came out of seemingly nowhere, standing between them as she screamed, "Hey, hey! Stand down; both of you!"

Jack's fist was charged with her biotics, covering her entire arm in blue energy as she sneered at the operative that was trying to pick herself up off the floor. Her eyes wild and angry, she pointed furiously at Miranda and shouted, "The Cerberus bitch has been going through my shit like she's fucking entitled to it! Nobody touches my shit, Shepard; and I swear to God, if you don't fucking—!"

"Hey!" Shepard interrupted, putting her hand on Jack's chest as the woman began advancing on Miranda again. "Take a breather; I will not have you both tearing each another apart on my watch like a couple of prepubescent children. This is my ship, and when I tell you to stand down, you stand down."

Jack furiously pushed herself away from Shepard's touch, running her nails over her scalp as she turned away from them both. But in the end that was a terrible thing to do, as her eyes landed on Miranda's private terminal which, in the commotion, she had forgotten to switch off. Jack grabbed the monitor, nearly breaking it as she brought herself closer to the image it was portraying. "What the fuck!"

Miranda's stomach sank as Shepard turned, her gaze falling on the monitor that was split screened into four different cams on the ship, the image switching to a different four every few minutes. And of course it had to have the worst timing as well, as the next screen flickered into one that showed above and below the engineering deck, the port cargo, and Shepard's personal cabin. Shit. In the span of twenty four hours, Miranda had managed to severely jeopardize her job; and quite honestly she didn't really know how to handle it, as she had never been this careless before. Efficiency and forethought were practically built into her DNA.

She should have never gone down into Jack's room. Or, perhaps, she should have pushed Kasumi out of the airlock once she realized she was cloaking herself all over the damn ship. She knew something bad would come from that kind of unmonitored freedom…

Jack turned away from the monitor then, her eyes alight with fury and purpose as a crazed smile etched across her face. "Oh, you're dead, bitch."

"What the hell did I just say to you!?" Shepard shouted, blocking Jack from attacking Miranda again, who had instinctively placed herself in a defensive position. "If you want to stay on this ship then you're going to damn well respect my authority on it. Go back to your quarters until you've learned to calm down; I'll deal with my XO."

Jack still looked infuriated, but she did pause in her advancement on the operative. Ever since Pragia, it seemed like Jack had at least grown to respect Shepard, and so after a moment of staring down Miranda like she wished her gaze would flay her alive, she stepped back. Not for Miranda's sake, not even for her own, but for her Commander's.

"You better fucking deal with this," she told Shepard, pointing at Miranda angrily. "Or I will."

"It wasn't personal; I was just doing my job—" Miranda tried, keeping her voice calm and rational as she hoped that at least a little professionalism would defuse the situation, but all it did was rile Jack up even further.

"Screw you—!"

"Jack!" Shepard interrupted, her patience wearing thin. "Out, now."

Jack ground her teeth, her eyes flashing at the Commander before she turned and left. However not before charging up her biotics and forcefully punching the wall in Miranda's room, denting the metal as she shouted more profanity at her, at Shepard, at this entire situation. The door closed behind her with a heavy slam, and the Commander suddenly rounded on Miranda.

"What the hell is this?" she demanded, pointing at the monitor on the desk. Miranda opened her mouth to reply, but Shepard didn't let her get a word out. "You know what? I don't care. But this ends, now. I will not have you spying on a crew that is already filled with mistrust; I have spent countless weeks trying to earn their loyalty, to me, to this mission, and to this squad, and what you've done could have very well jeopardized all of that."

Miranda steeled her jaw, not particularly fond of being reprimanded when she was just doing her job. Yes, she should have been more careful, she'd admit to that, but she still stood by her decision to undertake this assignment in this first place. "I was following orders, Shepard—"

"Let's get one thing very clear," Shepard responded, her tone dropping to a dangerous level. "You don't work for the Illusive Man; you work for me. He is a resource in this mission, not our commanding officer. I am cutting off all of your contact with him; from now on, if either of you wishes to speak to one another, you will either do it through me or you won't do it at all. Is that understood?"

A knot formed in the pit of Miranda's stomach, twisting violently in her gut as she forced herself to comply with a terse, "Yes, Commander."

"Good," Shepard responded, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the wall. "Now, you mind telling me why you were going through Jack's stuff?"

Not particularly, no, although the question wasn't actually posed like she had the option to deny her.

"I was… concerned. She spends quite a lot of time writing in a notebook, and should it have included plans to go rogue or even a hit list of all the people who have wronged her – which would have no doubt distracted her from the mission we're about to undertake – I thought it vital that we know ahead of time so we would be aware of what we're dealing with."

"And did it?" Shepard asked, arching an eyebrow. "Include any of those things?" Miranda bit the inside of her cheek, her eyes meeting the floor. She felt ashamed that she had tried to prevent her squad mates from screwing up this mission, when in the end it turned out that it was she who was doing so.

"…No."

"I see," Shepard responded flatly. "So you just jeopardized my squad's relationship and trust in one another for absolutely no reason then."

That stung, much more than Miranda would ever admit. She really did not take well to being wrong; she attributed it to failure, which she had been conditioned to fear and despise. "Commander, you know I have always had the crew's best interest in mind. I made a judgment call, and yes, perhaps I was mistaken, but—"

"Perhaps?" Shepard repeated, looking at her XO disbelievingly. "Jack has trust issues as it is already, and it's going to take quite a while to undo the damage that you did here. Which, starting now, is your new assignment while aboard this ship. You made this mess; now you clean it up."

Miranda had absolutely no idea how she was going to go about that, as she doubted Jack would allow for another apology that didn't end with the operative getting punched clean across the jaw, and yet she quietly responded with an agreeable, "Understood, Commander."

"Now is there anything else I should know about?" Shepard asked, her tone expectant if not a little impatient. "Are there going to be any more of my crew complaining about you going through their things? Because this could get real old, real fast."

"No, Commander. Jack was the only one, I assure you."

That revelation caused Shepard to narrow her eyes as she uncrossed her arms, moving from her place on the wall. "So it was personal then," she noted. She didn't sound surprised in the least, however; almost as though she were expecting it.

Miranda blinked, looking a little taken aback by that assessment. "Excuse me?"

"You told Jack that it 'wasn't personal'," Shepard repeated, crossing the room to stand in front of her. The way she was looking at her, it was almost as though as she was trying to look a little deeper than what Miranda offered on the surface. It felt terribly invasive. "Yet you only dug into her privacy."

Suddenly, Miranda felt a little flustered. Still, she straightened her spine and tried to keep her professionalism, but her excuses for what she had done were running thin and she didn't know what else to say to explain her actions. In the end, it really had just been about her being nosy. "It was… only a precaution; I had no intention of singling her out or—"

"You know, Miranda," Shepard interrupted, clasping a hand on the operative's shoulder and silencing the woman's words. "I don't usually give advice; it's messy and complicated and the results are usually unpredictable, but you seem like you need some basic insight here, so here we go: if you want to get to know someone, maybe you should drop the shady, rummaging-through-their-shit approach and try actually talking to them."

Miranda stepped away from her then, the movement so quick that it was almost as though Shepard's touch had burned her. "I don't want to get to know her, Shepard," she denied, as though the mere thought of it actually offended her. She might be curious about Jack, but she certainly wasn't looking to make some kind of connection with her. She had better things to do with her time.

Shepard just looked amused by her denial. "Could have fooled me," she replied, smirking in this irritating little way that made Miranda want to knock the wind out of her just to make it disappear. The commander turned then, heading out of the office as she finished, "Let me know how it goes."

"How what goes?" Miranda asked, her tone coming out a little terse as she clenched her teeth together, trying to keep her aggravation inside of her, where it belonged. She didn't like people to know that they had gotten to her; it made her look weak.

"The 'talking' thing. One way or another, Miranda, you're fixing this; and that might be a good place to start."

Miranda exhaled a frustrated breath, but did not contradict her commanding officer. Instead, she called out to her with, "Commander!" And as Shepard turned around in the doorway, Miranda changed the subject with another concern of hers. "Jack was only informed of what I had done because Kasumi was keeping tabs on me while cloaked. She runs around the ship like that quite often, and if it's a violation of your squad's privacy you're concerned about, then you might want to consider speaking with her."

Before I'm forced to, she finished in her head, anger seething in the pit of her stomach. Kasumi held no loyalty to Jack, so why she chose to tell her what she had done, Miranda did not know. Perhaps the woman just enjoyed starting drama. Whatever it was though, it was going to end, one way or another. If it hadn't been for the thief's big mouth, she wouldn't be in this predicament right now; and oh, how Miranda loathed being reprimanded, because if there was anything that she knew she was good at, it was her job.

Shepard nodded though, understanding both Miranda's concern and her anger, and promised, "I'll talk to her about it."

Miranda gave her a curt nod in return. "Thank you." She paused for a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek for a moment before she closed with, "And I'm… sorry, for the disruption I've caused. It was never my intention."

"Don't be sorry," Shepard replied the door started automatically closing behind her form. "Just fix it."

TBC…