A/N: So I was digging through my computer and realized I had a couple more chapters of this fic almost finished. I thought I would edit them and post, in case anyone is interested. I may still work on this piece intermittently, although currently my brain is being eaten by Dragon Age (and, sadly, Andromeda turned out to be less than inspiring).

Even though a lot of time has passed, I still love these two idiots. Hopefully I'll get them to a happy ending. :)

Best,

-jt-

Chapter 8: Ghost

Shepard sat down at her desk, hands folded loosely in her lap and a frown on her face. Her personal monitor and stacks of unread datapads had been pushed roughly aside, and sat in a jumbled heap in the corner, near the empty display case. She took a deep pull of whiskey, then carefully set her tumbler down. Her frowned deepened as she stared at her desk, as if she was encountering an unwelcome visitor.

The portable keyboard had been an impromptu purchase on the Citadel months ago, although it had sat unused since then. Shepard only really bought the instrument because she had been intrigued by the design; the entire keyboard was constructed with a material similar to silicon, allowing the contraption to be rolled up and easily transported or stored. When unfurled, it was slightly smaller than a standard keyboard-it only had 76 keys as opposed to 88-but the size was perfect, as her desk was just long enough to accommodate its length.

She ran her fingers over the board, still eyeing the instrument warily. The keys were slightly raised, allowing for some amount of tactile feedback to the player. Although the pressure required to depress the keys was noticeably less, both the black and white keys had the same uniform width and spacing she was used to. The keyboard also came with all manner of features: it was able to produce a countless array of sounds, could record and loop back hours of music, and had an holographic display preloaded with hundreds of pages of sheet music that included turian and asari selections as well as human. Shepard could not care less about all the accessories that were included, and angrily bypassed the set-up options that flared to life when she turned on the machine. After finally closing down the excessive amount of menus, her fingertips paused for a breath, hovering over the keys.

It had been years since she'd sat down at a piano or keyboard; so much time had passed that she barely recalled the last time she had played. It had probably been in a dumpy bar on a backwater colony somewhere, surrounded by her inebriated squadmates, and no doubt part of an ill-advised attempt to impress what sober females remained at closing time. She didn't remember being all that successful, either, despite her musical skills. .

As soon as she pressed the keys it all came back in a rush that was nearly overwhelming. Her hands moved faster, her strokes more forceful as she played, bouncing from one composition to the next. The music choices were spastic, and there was no discernable pattern. She would pound out a few bars of an uptempo jazz piece, then abruptly switch to a more difficult classical composition. Then, just as abruptly, she finally settled on one song. It was slower, more melancholy, and one which she was almost too familiar with. When she reached the chorus, she began to sing. Her voice rose, filling the room, driving out both the quiet and the memories.

Leave me paralyzed, love.

Leave me hypnotized, love.

She only made it halfway through before she had to stop. Shepard pulled her hands away from the keyboard and crossed one arm over her chest, propping an elbow up on her hand. She sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose. After several deep, long breaths, she dropped her hand and began fumbling in the cargo pocket of her fatigues. She withdrew a small bottle, hastily tapped out two white pills, and washed them down with the whiskey like it was water.

"Not bad for a human. A little flat, though."

Shepard's head jerked over to find Garrus standing in her doorway, casually leaning against the doorframe. She scowled and turned back to the keyboard, although she didn't resume playing. "Does no one knock on this ship anymore?"

The turian's mandibles clicked rapidly in amusement. "I did. You didn't hear. Luckily, I had convinced Kelly to give me the override code to your quarters."

Shepard's scowl deepened. "You what?"

"Oh, relax." Garrus gestured aimlessly, then wandered over to the fishtank. "I told her I needed it so I can make sure my fish were getting fed." He lifted a lone talon and tapped lightly on the glass. The Thessian sunfish continued to swim back and forth idly, apparently unperturbed by Garrus's presence.

"They're fine." Shepard looked at the instrument for a moment, then began rolling it up. "What's the status on those armor upgrades Jacob was looking into?"

"Almost done. We're scheduled to depart tomorrow morning." Garrus looked back over his shoulder. "Didn't Miranda send you a report?"

"I'm not interested in what Miranda has to say right now." Shepard slammed back the rest of her whiskey, then reached for the nearby cigarette case. She had lost her beloved N7 case in the destruction of the first Normandy, and now just used a simple black one with a nondescript matte finish. She quickly extracted a cigarette and lit it up.

"She's the XO, Shep."

"And I don't care to speak to the XO." A swirl of blue energy leaked from Shepard's fingertips and made the tip of her cigarette glow even brighter. "Jesus fucking Christ, Garrus, whose side are you on?"

Garrus finally turned to face her, and Shepard caught a glimpse of hurt in his steel grey eyes. His mandibles clicked once, softly. "What kind of question is that?'

Shepard exhaled loudly, then winced as she pinched the bridge of her nose again. "Sorry," she said. "I just need to get off this damn planet."

Garrus nodded quietly, then leaned back and crossed his arms. The thick back plates of his armor thudded loudly against the glass of the fishtank, and the sunfish darted away. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, and Shepard took it as an opportunity to refill her drink. Eventually the fish returned to view, and Shepard watched as they swam lazy circles through the aquatic plants.

"Come on." Garrus was suddenly in motion, scaring the fish again as he quickly crossed the space between them. He stopped just short of grabbing her arm. "Let's go."

Shepard jerked away instinctively. "What? Where?"

"Out of this room. If you insist on drinking your problems away like you're in a bad vid, then let's go actually watch a bad vid."

She frowned, her brows knitting together in a mixture of confusion and suspicion, while Garrus stared at her expectedly. She eventually stood, scooped up the whiskey bottle, and followed the turian out of her quarters.

Jack stood and stretched, her limbs creaking in protest and popping loudly. The files Shepard had given her were almost too juicy, and she had lost track of the time as she gleefully dug through dozens of Cerberus's dirty little secrets. She was savvy enough to realize that she had only been given a fraction of the organization's history, she was still surprised at the amount of information she had received. Shepard had been true to her word, although from what Jack could tell it had less to do with winning her loyalty and was more about pissing off the cheerleader. Jack allowed herself a grin at the thought.

She checked the time on her omnitool, then began a slow trudge upstairs. Hopefully it was late enough so that she would be able to eat without having to endure that mess sergeant's endless fucking chatter. She had wanted to smear him across the bulkheads from the second he opened his mouth, but had been stopped by a pointed look from Shepard and the fact that the slop he served was better than prison food. Jack had to admit that it was nice to both get something edible for once and enough calories to sustain herself.

Actually, the Normandy wasn't as bad as she was certain it would be. The crew mostly kept to themselves, which Jack certainly appreciated. In fact, the only person who had been down to the engineering alcove was Shepard, and both times the conversation had been mercifully brief. Jack avoided eating during the regular mealtimes and as a result, only saw the other crew when Shepard held briefings, which also tended to be as short as her conversations. The krogan a deck above was probably her favorite; he seemed just as crazy as her and was primed to go off at any moment. Mordin talked too fucking much, but never left his lab, so it didn't really bother her. She heard that an asari and a drell had recently come on board, too, and after a couple of extranet searches on whatever the hell a "justicar" was, Jack made a note to steer clear of the starboard observation lounge. Miranda, of course, could go fuck herself. Jacob, too, although that was mostly because of association.

But out of all of them, Shepard herself was the most standoffish. The commander didn't seem the least bit interested in what anyone did during their off time, so long as they all showed up for the missions. Jack was pretty sure that she could even blow up another space station during shore leave and Shepard wouldn't give two shits about it. The only people Shepard appeared to tolerate were that idiot pilot and Garrus, who, despite his irritating sense of humor, was actually a decent fighter. Rumors had even floated down to the lower decks that there was something more between Garrus and Shepard, but when Jack had caught wind of that she had damn near howled in laughter. She had been around enough woman like Shepard to know that the turian was, most definitely, not the commander's type.

The mess hall was empty when she emerged from the lift and after scanning the area a few times, Jack allowed herself to relax. She walked over to the kitchenette and found two servings of that evening's dinner wrapped up and set aside in storage. Jack frowned when she noticed that one package remained untouched. None of the other biotics aboard would be stupid enough to skip a meal. She glanced around, confirming again that she was alone, then snapped up that package as well.

Jack was just about to re-enter the lift when she heard the muffled sounds of laughter drifting down the corridor. It was an unfamiliar occurrence on the ship, and she almost didn't recognize what the noise was. She paused and cocked her head. The sound drifted away, then surged forth again a moment later, stronger this time. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she followed the clamor towards the port side lounge, instincts telling her there was one specific thing that would fuel laughter like that.

Shepard and Garrus were sprawled out on the couch, watching a vid being projected in front of them. Several empty bottles littered the ground at their feet, confirming Jack's suspicions. She felt a needy twinge in the back of her throat, realizing that she hadn't had a drink since before she was thrown in prison, although she was soon distracted by the absurd scene in vid they were watching. The screen was filled with the image of shirtless human males, hitting a ball back and forth on a beach while an insipid pop song played in the background. Jack made a face.

"What the fuck are you people watching?"

Shepard spun around in her seat, nearly spilling her alcohol, and immediately narrowed her eyes at the intrusion. Jack was honestly surprised the commander hadn't noticed her earlier. Garrus cackled loudly before Shepard had a chance to respond.

"See, Shep? Even the crazy one thinks this vid is shit."

"Bite me, Garrus," Jack said.

Shepard spun back to deal with the turian first. "How many times have I sat through 'Fleet and Flotilla'? You owe me, so quit bitching." She faced Jack again. "And what the hell do you want?"

"Some of that," Jack said quickly, nodding at the bottle in Shepard's hand. She guessed it was a whiskey of some kind, but decided she didn't really care. She'd drink rubbing alcohol at this point if it meant she could get a buzz on.

Shepard's fist curled protectively around the neck of the bottle. "Get your own."

Jack scoffed. "Where the fuck do you suggest I do that? You got a liquor store on this boat, too?"

Shepard glared at her, but then the red eyes softened at bit. She twisted around in her seat to look at the vid. "There's a bottle in my foot locker. Grab me another pack of cigarettes while you're up there. Door's unlocked." She kept her back to Jack as she spoke, and raised a finger to point at the bar. "Put down my dinner first."

Jack hesitated, surprised at the unexpected leeway she had just been given. She stepped over to deposit both food packages on the bar, and heard Garrus mumble something under his breath. Shepard just laughed.

"Like I have anything up there anyways. What's she gonna do? Eat the fish?"

Jack tossed a look over her shoulder at Garrus, giving the turian a smug grin as she left the lounge.

"Don't eat my fish!" he called after her.

Jack threw up her middle finger just as the doors closed.

As soon as Jack stepped into Shepard's quarters, she understood why the commander was so unconcerned about allowing her entry. The room was barely lived in, and if Jack hadn't personally seen Shepard take the lift to the top deck on several occasions, she would've thought that no one had ever set foot in the cabin. Despite the ventilation system, the air still tasted stale, like the entire deck had been sealed off. A neat stack of data pads sat undisturbed on the desk. The bed was crisply made, with corners so sharp it looked as if it had never been used. There was nothing on display, no personal touches. The only signs of habitation came from the trio of fish floating about the massive tank.

It was a little eerie, Jack thought, but still made sense. It was fairly obvious that Shepard wasn't one for luxury or frills, and the cabin was nicer than some apartments Jack had been in. She wondered if the commander just flat out refused to use her cabin, and if so, whether that was meant to be another "fuck you" to Cerberus. Jack found herself sincerely hoping that was the case, and in spite of herself, her opinion of Shepard grew slightly.

But that also didn't mean she couldn't have a look around.

The terminal and data pads were all locked or encrypted, and Jack didn't feel like trying to hack into any of them. She headed deeper into the room instead, bounding down the steps and slapping her hand against the fishtank as she went. She cackled to herself as the fish scattered, and briefly toyed with the idea of stealing one or two of them just to fuck with Garrus, but decided against it. What the fuck would she do with a live fish? She never really liked sushi, anyway.

After giving the tank a few more pounds for good measure, Jack walked over to Shepard's nightstand and yanked open the nearest drawer. She found only another data pad, which looked like it was only storing a half-finished novel. Jack slammed the drawer shut, then pulled on the bottom one. This time, she found something much more interesting, and let out a low whistle.

"Damn, Shepard."

The drawer was stuffed full of pill bottles, of various shapes and sizes, and Jack had more than enough experience to recognize that a majority were some kind of stim. She held up a half-empty bottle, peering at its contents through the dim lighting, then gave it an experimental shake. One dosage of the stuff was enough to make an elcor start tap-dancing, and Shepard had enough to last months. Jack frowned slightly. She had seen some fucked-up tweakers in her day, but Shepard didn't act like any of them. The commander wasn't twitchy or spastic like others she'd come across. Shepard was always in a pissy mood, sure, but there never was a moment where she wasn't in control, either during missions or on the Normandy. So what the fuck? Jack thought about what she had heard about Shepard and Cerberus's unlikely alliance, how Shepard had supposedly died but was resurrected by Cerberus, and what the organization had to do to bring her back. Jack knew all the ways Cerberus could fuck with a person for its own purposes, and wondered what they might have done to Shepard.

She twirled the bottle in her fingers, then swiftly pocketed it with a slight shrug. Jack skimmed the contents of the drawer again, noticing a couple bottles of generic pain relievers. She snatched one more bottle of stims before shutting the drawer and finally moving to the foot locker at the end of Shepard's bed. Jack dropped to a knee and flung open the locker eagerly, but was immediately disappointed when it turned out to be less exciting then the night stand. She found a folded pile of plain black t-shirts, a ballcap with the logo of a shitty skyball team, several cartons of cigarettes, and a bag that held a rolled-up keyboard. She tore through the shirts until she found four bottles of whiskey lining the bottom of the trunk. Jack grabbed the neck of one of them and jerked it out hurriedly, spilling the shirts everywhere. She cursed and began chucking them haphazardly back into the trunk, until she heard the clatter of a small object hit the floor.

It was a small holo-emitter, no bigger than a credit chit, and Jack immediately scooped it up. She peered at the device suspiciously for a moment before flicking it on. She was instantly staring at the picture of a young asari, barely into her maiden years. The image was grainy and low-res, and it looked like someone had just hastily copied the picture from a press article and saved it to the emitter. Despite its quality, though, she could plainly see bright blue eyes and a small, half-smile that was undeniably pretty. Jack let out a surprised grunt. She hadn't figured Shepard as someone who went for the blue, but she also hadn't pegged the commander as an amp head, either. She considered the picture for another moment before killing the emitter and throwing it back into the foot locker. She grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the open carton, kicked the trunk closed, then turned to leave the room.

When she arrived back in the lounge, something in the atmosphere had changed perceptively. Shepard had again not noticed her entrance, and was speaking in a low voice. The commander was bent forward with her head in her hands, and Garrus was turned slightly towards her. The vid still played, the images flickering in front of them unwatched.

"...it's just...if that's all it was, I wish it had never happened in the first place."

"C'mon Shep, you don't mean that."

"I'm serious, Garrus. I-we-would just have been better off -"

Shepard stopped abruptly, glanced over her shoulder, then looked back down at the ground. Garrus's eyes widened and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Jack scoffed and walked over to the bar, where the food remained undisturbed. It was clear, even to her, what was going on and she was actually disappointed.

"Are you two done with therapy yet?" Jack's snicker concealed her disgust. Whatever goodwill Shepard had built had evaporated by the time the convict had arrived back at the lounge. Really, Jack thought Shepard was better than that. She plopped herself down in a seat at the bar uninvited, and tore off the wrapping of both her meal and the whiskey bottle. She tipped her head back and took a long draw, savoring the first taste.

Jack could feel Shepard's eyes boring into her, and she glanced over at the commander. The other woman's obvious distaste for her presence just made her bear down harder. Normally, she would have retreated back to engineering with her meal, but she just couldn't resist fucking with Shepard a little. It was downright comical to see someone like the commander visibly torn up over something as stupid as a girl.

"What?" Jack's face twisted into a wicked grin that most people interpreted as a snarl. "You want some girl time, Shepard? Maybe Garrus'll do your hair."

Shepard shook her head. "Go fuck yourself, Jack."

Jack cackled. "I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Thought I wasn't your type, though."

Garrus's mandibles clicked rapidly, and his grey eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them. Shepard's eyes were blazing, looking like they would almost ignite, but the rest of her face was deadly calm. "Jack…" he began.

Jack waved at him dismissively. She took another pull from the bottle, then rolled her eyes. "Never pegged you for a squid-chaser, Shepard. Humans not good enough for you?"

Shepard's jaw twitched, once. "Leave it alone," she said.

Jack swung around to face the commander, her grin widening. She gestured with the whiskey bottle and leaned forward slightly, as if she was about to be let in on a particularly juicy secret. "I just gotta ask-what's it taste like? You know, I've heard a bunch of different rumors but I never-"

The bottle exploded in Jack's hand, spraying her face with liquor, and she was thrown back off her stool. Her barrier flashed to life, encasing her in a bright glow, and she used her biotics to quickly steady herself even as she tumbled backwards. Jack balled her hands into fists, blue energy sparking and crackling around her white knuckles, and leveled a glare directly at Shepard.

The commander's teeth were clenched, and she held her arm outstretched in Jack's direction, the remnants of her own biotics trailing over her fingers and down her forearm before dissipating altogether. She let out a long, slow breath and when she spoke her voice was gravelly.

"Leave. It. Alone."

Energy was coursing through Jack now, begging for release. Her face was nicked from the shattered glass, and began to sting as the liquor seeped into the cuts. The grin was gone now, her face twisted into a grotesque snarl. Garrus was on his feet, talons hovering over the pistol strapped to his hip. Shepard remained seated, but lowered her hand to rest near her own hip and flared her biotics again, the wisps of blue flame curling above her broad shoulders. Jack's eyes snapped from Shepard's barely concealed pistol to the commander's face.

Then she burst into laughter.

"Holy shit!" she practically squealed, doubling over in glee. "That was way too easy! Like I give a fuck who you fuck, Shepard!" Her hand slapped against her thigh, releasing some of her pent-up energy in a small explosion. Jack looked up to see Shepard glowering at her, looking more pissed off than Jack had ever seen her before. The red eyes were absolutely molten, and the deep scars on her face were pulsating wildly. The sight almost made Jack laugh harder. It seemed impossible that she had managed to get under the unflappable commander's skin.

Shepard suddenly whipped her arm forward in annoyance, sending a biotic wave in Jack's direction. The convict easily deflected the outburst with another laugh, bouncing the wave off her barrier and towards the stools lining the bar. The furniture was immediately wrenched from their magnetic clamps and went careening into the opposite wall with a loud crash.

Garrus shook his head, then looked down at Shepard, who grumbled under her breath and was rubbing her face. He glanced back up. "You're an ass," he said.

Jack just grinned and swiped at her face, smearing liquor and a thin layer of blood across her cheek. She captured some of the mixture in the palm of her hand, and, never breaking eye contact with the turian, proceeded to lick it clean. Garrus grimaced and turned away.

"What the bloody hell is going on?"

Whatever decent mood Jack was in faded the instant Miranda stormed through the door. Even though the XO's quarters were across the mess hall, the commotion had apparently been enough to draw her attention. Despite the late hour she still looked pristine; not a single hair was out of place and her uniform was as crisp as ever. She crossed her arms impatiently, the gesture accenting her generous chest, and Jack shot her an exaggerated leer. Miranda rolled her eyes in disgust.

"Nothing, Lawson. It's fine." Shepard was massaging her temples now.

Miranda glanced over at the corner of the lounge and the remains of the shattered barstools. The force of the impact had also left a sizeable mark on the bulkhead. "That doesn't look like nothing." She eyed Shepard critically. "Are you still having issues with your biotics? Commander, I told you-"

"Christ, I said it was fine!"

Shepard bolted to her feet, shooting an irritable look first at the operative, then over to Jack. Both her fists and jaw were tightly clenched, and she took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as if she needed to remind herself how to relax. The commander pinched the bridge of her nose and addressed Miranda without looking at her.

"Are we still on schedule to depart tomorrow?"

Miranda tensed, and Jack thought she saw, for the briefest of seconds, a small crack in the other women's hard exterior. "Yes, Commander. We are set to leave at 0700."

"Good." Shepard lifted her head. "I'm turning in. Mandatory briefing tomorrow at 0730 hours. I'll see you all there." She stooped down to collect the empty bottles then stalked off without another word. Garrus shut off the vid and quickly followed.

Miranda let out an annoyed huff, and immediately narrowed her gaze at Jack. Jack adopted an inflated look of innocence, glancing about the room like she hadn't been involved at all. She whistled as she scooped up both servings of dinner and skipped towards the door.

"See ya around, cheerleader," she said with a cackle, leaving a fuming Miranda alone in the destroyed lounge. Jack headed to the lift, grinning to herself and scheming about how she could get more booze from Shepard tomorrow.

Miranda sat down at her desk and delicately brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. She had showered and dressed rather quickly this morning, and although her appearance would seem normal to anyone else, she still felt unusually disheveled-a sensation that she was not used to. She took great pride in being completely unflappable, but the events of the past twenty-four hours had rattled her more than she cared to admit.

The message from Niket about Oriana had been upsetting, but sadly, not unexpected. She had anticipated her father making such a move for some time, and she was prepared to act immediately upon receiving the news. What was unexpected, however, was Shepard's agreeing to help. Miranda had been hesitant to approach the commander, given the current attitude she had displayed since arriving at Nos Astra, and had only asked for assistance because of the simple math that two guns were better than one. Shepard had sat in silence while Miranda briefly explained the situation, and just when she was positive she would have to set out alone, the commander heaved an annoyed sigh and told her to meet by the airlock in an hour.

The mission itself had gone smoothly, and Miranda instincts were proven correct in asking Shepard to accompany her. The commander carved through the mercs with a grace and ease that belied her brutality, and remained completely unfazed at the revelation of Niket's betrayal. Shepard had even been the one to pull the trigger when she had hesitated for that breath of a moment. Oriana and her family reached their transport without incident, and they had actually spoken briefly. In total, she and Shepard had been ashore for all of ninety minutes. And then the commander had immediately locked herself in her cabin upon their return.

Miranda steepled her fingers and began lightly tapping them against pursed lips as she thought. She hadn't intended their stay on Illium to last as long as it was; the Normandy had been docked for four days now, despite Shepard's insistence that they depart as soon as she had successfully recruited Thane Krios and Samara. Miranda had agreed with the commander, until the opportunity to upgrade the Normandy's armor had presented itself and could not be passed up. Unfortunately, the installation had been delayed several times due to technical difficulties, and Shepard now oscillated wildly between hiding in her quarters for hours on end, and stalking the corridors like a caged animal.

Most of the crew seemed to dismiss Shepard's mood as just irritation at the delay, although Miranda knew there was more to it. She suspected both Garrus and Joker knew as well, although they didn't say anything to her, surely out of loyalty to the commander and her privacy. Miranda knew that Shepard's meeting with Liara T'Soni was unavoidable, but had hoped that once that occurred the relationship could be put behind them. Apparently that was not the case with Shepard. Miranda thought back to what happened last night in the lounge. It was clear now that the only way the commander was surviving was by staying in motion, by constantly driving towards the goal of taking on the Collectors, and eventually, the Reapers. By never stopping to breathe, by never allowing anything to catch up to her. But now Shepard was forced to remain still, and she was floundering.

Miranda exhaled loudly, and her thoughts returned to the same option she had been toying with for days. It didn't necessarily mean that everything would be resolved completely, but perhaps it would bring a sense of closure to the matter. The Illusive Man would not be pleased initially, but he had always trusted her judgment in the past. This was her op, and she was given the latitude to run things as she saw fit. She had earned that much. And, no matter how hard she tried, Miranda couldn't shake the notion that she owed the commander...something.

She activated her terminal with the swipe of her hand and began the download.

Shepard groaned and rolled over, hoping that she was just imagining the incessant beeping that had just awoken her. She reached out blindly, groping across the coffee table for her omni tool and slapping at the device in annoyance. The sound didn't dissipate, and Shepard finally sat up in defeat. She scrubbed at her face with open palms, resisting the urge to scratch at the scars on her cheeks, and frowned at the display on her omni tool. Her alarm wasn't supposed to go off for another fifteen minutes, and it took her another moment to realize that the noise was coming from her door. She let out another groan. She had only gotten to sleep a few hours ago, and the few extra minutes would have been nice. At least she hadn't been dreaming.

"EDI, open the door." Shepard swung her legs over the side of the couch and rolled her head around several times to relieve the slight kink in her neck Although the couch was rather comfortable as far as furnishings on a frigate went, she still woke with faint twinges of pain now and again. Despite that, though, Shepard had refused to sleep in the bed.

"Commander." Miranda took three precise steps into the cabin, then stopped. She clasped her hands behind her back and raised her chin imperiously, regarding Shepard with a familiar cool glare. Shepard wondered if she was silently being judged for sleeping in her clothes again.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Lawson?" Shepard managed to keep the irritation in her tone to a minimum. She dug out her cigarette case, lighting one with practiced efficiency, then tossed the lighter onto the table with a loud clang.

"I...wanted to thank you again. For your assistance with my sister."

Shepard exhaled and her eyes narrowed at the hesitation in the XO's tone. "You woke me up just to thank me?"

Miranda's weight shifted slightly, and for the first time Shepard thought she actually looked uncomfortable. "Yes. You did not have to help me. I appreciated that. Truly. "

Shepard didn't doubt the sincerity in her words, but couldn't fight back the surge of annoyance she always felt in the operative's presence. "It was a distraction. I need the entire crew at their best if we're going to make it through the relay. If that means I have to solve everyone's daddy issues, then so fucking be it." She ran a hand through her hair, the unruly curls nearly spilling forward into her eyes, then took another long drag.

Miranda smiled thinly. "I couldn't agree more, Commander. But, if you'll forgive me, I think it's obvious that you've been distracted as well." She gracefully produced a datapad from behind her back and set it on Shepard's desk.

Shepard's jaw clenched as she felt the beginnings of another headache. "What's that?"

"Information that some people would kill for. Information that people have died for. In fact, it is so valuable that I wouldn't chance sending a transmission. It's best delivered in person." She paused. "I think Dr. T'Soni, in particular, would find it most interesting."

Shepard's heart began thudding against her ribs. She thought back to the last time she had seen Liara, their horribly awkward and painful conversation, and the one thing she had been fixated on above all else. Shepard's eyes widened in shock as she looked from Miranda, to her desk, then back again.

Miranda arched a smug brow. "I extended our docking permit for another day. Good luck, Commander." She turned to leave, but Shepard found her voice and managed to speak just before she stepped through the door.

"Why are you giving this to me?"

Miranda turned back. "Cerberus owes Dr. T'Soni a great deal. Just think of this as repayment for that debt."

"Cerberus owes Liara?" Shepard scoffed. "For what?"

The operative sighed before she answered, and the small smile that had been playing on her lips turned decidedly sad.

"For you."