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This party is the most inconceivably ridiculous thing that Shepard could possibly have done.
The entire galaxy is at war. Dozens of home worlds have been destroyed. Millions of people are dead or harvested, turned into robots fighting for the enemy. Desperation and fear is a scent now, and it’s so prevalent that they’ve all learned how to decipher it. Just about every credit and resource in the known galaxy is being syphoned towards the war effort. And Shepard…
Shepard is throwing a party.
Miranda can’t even begin to fathom.
And yet, she can. The desperation and fear they all know so well is probably the one thing that’s fueling this insane venture. Shepard has died once before without a chance to say goodbye to her loved ones. She has flown to the center of the galaxy on a suicide mission knowing full well that there was a very good chance she wasn’t going to come back. Now the odds are that they’re going to fail, that no matter how many people they assemble or what kind of super-weapon they can cobble together at the last second, the Reapers will overtake them, and it’s a knowledge that, for Shepard, must be both crushing and freeing at the same time. At least now she has a chance to prepare. At least now she can say goodbye.
So even though she thinks it’s slightly frivolous and irresponsible to run about the Citadel buying party supplies and playing games in a combat simulator with old squad mates, Miranda will allow Shepard this time without chastising her. Because for all that Shepard has done and sacrificed for this wholly ungrateful galaxy, she deserves at least this much.
Shepard greets her at the door with a wide grin and a two drinks in her hands, her short red hair messy and unkempt as usual, but in that charming sort of way that Miranda has never been able to pull off and would never attempt to in public. She hugs Miranda tightly, and it is a thing that Miranda is still trying to get used to, this friendly, sisterly contact, but also something that she has missed dearly. Miranda squeezes back and allows herself to enjoy the familiar scent of metal and gunpowder that accompanies Shepard everywhere, along with a new, flowery body wash that she knows doesn’t come standard on Alliance military vessels.
“It’s good to see you, Miranda,” Shepard says warmly, and Miranda knows that she means it. She’s happy to see Shepard, too.
They pull away and Shepard shoves one of the drinks into Miranda’s face and drags her further inside the apartment, which is incredibly clean and tasteful and definitely not something Shepard would have picked out herself. There’s an actual varren that comes bounding up to them, and it takes everything Miranda has not to toss it across the room with her biotics when it jumps up and puts its front paws on her legs, but it’s panting happily and Shepard pets it on the head.
“Shepard, please tell me this isn’t yours,” Miranda says with exasperation.
“No,” Shepard laughs, “but I wish. He’s adorable.”
“Eezo, don’t kill the cheerleader yet,” a voice barks. “We don’t want the fun to be over so soon.”
Exactly the last person Miranda had hoped to see steps out from around the bar, and she has to admit that Jack actually looks really good. Psychotic as hell, but the long hair suits her in an odd way.
“Hello, Jack,” Miranda greets her stiffly.
“Cheerleader,” Jack replies easily, and coaxes the varren away with a gentle sweetness that Miranda doesn’t even want to try to understand right now.
“You’re obviously familiar with most of the people here,” Shepard says. “Make yourself at home.”
The only place that Miranda has ever really felt at home is in front of a computer typing up reports or behind the trigger of a gun commanding a squad, but this is Shepard’s party, and the last one any of them may ever attend, so for Shepard’s sake she nods and wanders off to find Jacob. He’s the one person here she knows she’ll have some common ground with, especially now that they’re both dodging Cerberus.
xx
Several hours and a few drinks later, Miranda feels only marginally relaxed. She finds that the majority of the squad that attacked the Collector base has somehow warmed up to her. Apparently facing certain death together and surviving is a good ice breaker. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol, in which everybody appears to be partaking like it’s their jobs.
She talked to Jacob for a bit, but it turns out that he’s as stoic and boring as he ever was, and neither one of them was actually keen on discussing their time with Cerberus, which left them with virtually nothing to talk about. EDI was incredibly eager to show off her new body, which Miranda has to admit is pretty amazing, though the fact that it has only further spurred a relationship between her and Joker creeps her out a little. But EDI is someone who never judged her for her no nonsense attitude, and Miranda is grateful to see her happy.
She passes by Samara, who is meditating beside a fake plant, and yet still somehow knows that she’s there and offers her a friendly greeting. Grunt, Garrus, and Zaeed are all doing questionable things in one of the bathrooms, so she stays clear of the three of them for her own safety. Kasumi has been missing for a while now, which can only ever be a bad thing, but no one seems too concerned. Last Miranda saw Shepard, she was cheering Jack on as the woman did body shots off of James Vega’s chiseled chest.
Miranda enjoys these people. She’s glad to see them having fun, and watching Tali do impressions of The Normandy’s different engine sounds is hilarious, but she finds herself feeling slightly solemn and seeking solitude.
She finds it in the spare bedroom, which is thankfully empty (as far as she knows, anyway—they still have no idea where Kasumi is). There is a picture on the nightstand of Admiral Anderson with Shepard, younger then and with less scars. Shepard is smiling and Anderson is looking at her like the proudest father in the world. It warms Miranda’s heart to see it. She allows herself a moment of self-pity when she thinks of her own father, wishes he could have been someone who would have been proud of her, rather than someone she had to protect herself and Oriana from, before shutting it down. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed, suddenly realizing that the alcohol has taken a greater toll on her stability than she thought. Downstairs, there is raucous shouting, and from it Miranda can surmise that Joker is dancing, which can only end in tragedy really.
It’s only about two minutes before someone stumbles into the room and breaks her solitude. Miranda looks up to see Lieutenant-Commander Williams, who stops short at the sight of her.
“Sorry,” Ashley mutters quickly. “I didn’t think anyone would be in here.” She turns to go, and for a moment Miranda thinks she will let her so that she can be alone again like she originally wanted, but she finds her mouth opening to speak without her permission.
“Don’t mind me,” she says, almost hurriedly. “I was just hoping to get a moment of fresh air up here.”
Ashley smiles slightly. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”
Miranda gestures toward the empty space beside her. “Feel free to join me. I promise not to stab you in the back. Or turn you into a mindless monster.”
There is a look of chagrin on Ashley’s face as she steps into the room, slowly, like she’s not really sure if Miranda might actually do one of those things. Miranda wonders how the Illusive Man could have fucked up so colossally that he turned an organization that should have represented progress and freedom into one of horror and mistrust. Ashley settles in beside her, and they sit in what could definitely be described as an awkward silence for several moments before Ashley turns to the picture on the nightstand.
“It’s strange how much has changed,” she says, nodding toward the picture. “I was there that day. That was taken right after they made Shepard a Spectre.”
“And now you’ve become one yourself,” Miranda supplies. “Congratulations.”
Ashley blushes, or maybe it’s the drink in her hand that’s got her flushed. “Thanks,” she says quietly. “If someone told me then that everything would have turned out like this…”
She doesn’t finish. She doesn’t have to. Miranda knows all too well what follows that fragment. She has what could easily be called a photographic memory, and she can remember watching the news vids that day, seeing the footage of the Council inducting Shepard as the “first” human Spectre. She didn’t know Shepard personally back then, but the Illusive Man had been keeping an eye on her for quite some time before that, and it was that day that Miranda finally understood why. He had an uncanny ability to spot talent from lightyears away, and an even better knack for acquiring that talent for his own purposes. But if someone had told Miranda then that she would be actively trying to overthrow and destroy Cerberus in an attempt to save the galaxy from a race of destructive, sentient machines just three years later, she would have laughed in their face.
“Yes,” Miranda muses. “Things certainly have gotten interesting.”
Ashley chuckles. “That’s a word for it. The fact that I’m even sitting here having a conversation with you rather than trying to arrest or shoot you is a miracle in and of itself.”
Perhaps under different circumstances, in a different setting, Miranda would bristle at that statement. But they are living in a time when tomorrow is not guaranteed, at a party that Shepard is throwing in everyone’s honor, and Miranda is slightly inebriated. Instead, she just smirks.
“Is it me that you resent so much, or the organization that I proudly worked for?” she asks.
Ashley inspects her closely, and scrutiny is something that Miranda has long since learned to ignore, back when her every move was looked at and criticized by the man who was supposed to love and support her above all else. She simply looks back, regards the way that Ashley is beautiful in that effortless, natural way that Miranda used to envy so many women for, Shepard included. There is more depth to those brown eyes than she suspects most people have ever given the Lieutenant-Commander credit for, and that is a thing that Miranda can appreciate. Finally, Ashley sighs and shakes her head.
“Honestly, I think I resent myself more than anything.” Miranda quirks a brow at that. Ashley huffs a laugh and repositions herself so that she’s leaning comfortably against the headboard. Miranda follows suit. “After The Normandy was attacked, they told us all that Shepard was dead. But I knew better. You can’t kill a legend. You can’t kill someone who was cut from stone and honor and the stitched-together souls of all the heroes of old. I knew she wasn’t gone, and yet I followed my orders and kept my head down and just pretended to believe them, because that’s what good soldiers do. I abandoned her while you spent two years searching for her body and putting her back together and fighting by her side. Shepard saved my life, and I should have done the same for her. But you did it instead. Because you weren’t scared of following your own path. I should have been there, but I wasn’t. You took my place. And I couldn’t forgive myself for that. So I hated you for it when I should have been thanking you. Without you, we wouldn’t be here. Without you, we’d all be dead.”
Miranda doesn’t exactly know what to say to that. If she’s honest with herself, it’s true, but she can’t find it in her to give herself that much credit. A million thoughts race through her mind at once about how she didn’t do it alone, how she was following the Illusive Man’s orders, using his credits, his facility, his personnel, his vision. She tries not to allow the ones that remind her that the Illusive Man didn’t spend countless hours watching vid after vid, reading through every scrap of evidence he could dig up learning every aspect of Commander Shepard’s life and personality and body, from the tiniest twitch when something bothers her that she doesn’t want to let on to the placement of each eyelash. It was the Illusive Man’s vision and money that made Shepard’s revival possible, but it was Miranda’s dedication and ambition that realized the dream and brought it to life.
If she allows herself this epiphany now, it will begin to dismantle every insecurity she’s ever had about her origin, about the way her father created and raised her, about being a product of other people rather than her own desires. And that is something that she can’t handle right at this second. Perhaps if they all survive she can begin rebuilding her sense of autonomy and worth, but for now she just wants to be distracted. Ashley Williams seems about as good a distraction as one could possibly hope for.
“I just wish you could have picked a better organization to work for than that shitstorm of a terrorist group you call Cerberus,” Ashley says, jarring Miranda from her thoughts, and Miranda can’t help but laugh.
“Well, sadly the Alliance military didn’t have the funds or the vision to pull off something of that scale, or perhaps I would have joined them a long time ago and we’d be wearing matching uniforms,” she says.
“Bullshit,” Ashley laughs, and it’s a lovely sound that makes Miranda’s skin tingle. She downs her drink in one gulp and feels it go straight to her head.
“You’re right. I never would have joined the Alliance.”
Ashley’s smile stays, and her body is warm as it presses into Miranda’s side. This feeling of companionship is not something that she really knows how to handle, but it’s pleasant and she wants it to stay for as long as possible. She’s afraid it will slip away as they sit in silence, but Ashley just looks at her with these bright, intoxicated eyes and says:
“Jack’s right. You really do have a great pair of tits.”
Miranda doesn’t know whether to laugh or be affronted, but before she can do either, there are lips catching hers in a kiss, and this is something she understands, this desperate physicality.
Ashley is nothing like the multiple men that Miranda hooked up with over that iPartner website. Most of them were sloppy idiots who were so desperate to stick their dicks in something warm that they had little concern for anything else, least of all her own wants or needs. Miranda, too, was desperate then, looking for some kind of connection, hoping against hope that there might be some fluke in her fertility report, or that she might find someone who actually understood and cared for her rather than just the parts of her that Henry Lawson manufactured. This is not the same.
They are both still desperate, true, but it’s a different desperation. They are looking for warmth, for comfort, for the understanding that comes from two people who have come to love the same woman and who are fighting for the same cause. Their movements are quick and heated, but also soft and gentle. The men that Miranda slept with previously always gave her control willingly. Ashley fights her for it, and it’s something that Miranda thought she would hate, but actually appreciates. Ashley’s touch makes her heart race. Her lips steal the breath from Miranda’s lungs. Her moans ignite a fire in Miranda’s belly.
It becomes a match of sorts, a contest between two equals, and in the end Miranda is victorious in making Ashley climax first. She hardly has a moment to gloat before she’s flipped on her back and Ashley dives between her legs, and she has no idea where Ashley learned to do that with her tongue, but oh God.
In the end, they are both sated and sweaty. They lie next to each other, neither one holding the other, but still touching to maintain the connection they’ve forged. Perhaps they will all die. Perhaps after tonight they will never see each other again. But Miranda will never forget the feeling of being with someone who appreciates her strengths—the ones she forged for herself—and she knows that Ashley won’t either.
Ashley falls asleep soon after, head resting on Miranda’s shoulder, and Miranda feels herself quick to follow when she hears a creaking in the direction of the closet. There’s nothing there, except for a moment she thinks she sees a footprint in the carpet. It’s gone so fast she thinks she must have imagined it, and between the exhaustion and the alcohol, she can’t fight sleep any longer.
It’s not until the next morning, when Ashley stumbles down the stairs and Miranda wordlessly smiles and hands her a coffee, that she catches Kasumi’s eye and sees a wink from under that ever-present hood and realizes that the thief was never actually missing after all.