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The Normandy moved through the dark on little more than stubbornness. The ship was still flying, still answering Joker's commands, still carrying them toward Illium, but she had seen better days. Panels had been torn loose. Armor plating had been scorched black. Somewhere deeper in the ship, a damaged system gave an occasional metallic groan before settling into silence. For once, no one seemed particularly interested in fixing it. The Collectors were dead, their base was gone, the crew had survived, and the mission, at long last, was over.
A few hours earlier, they'd stopped at Omega, and some of the crew had disembarked there. The rest would leave when they reached Illium. Most would scatter to whatever came next, homes, families, old jobs, new ones. Some would disappear into lives Shepard suspected she would never hear about again. The thought felt strangely unreal.
Shepard sat alone on the couch in her cabin, one ankle resting over the opposite knee. A glass of whiskey loose in her hand. She hadn't bothered cleaning up or turning on most of the lights. Instead the cabin remained dim and quiet, lit only by the soft glow of a console and the faint spill of starlight filtering through the skylight above her bed. She stared at the whiskey for a moment before taking another drink, letting it burn all the way down her throat in a sharp, grounding heat that she welcomed more than she cared to admit.
Her gaze drifted across the rest of the cabin, slower this time, as if she were noticing it properly for the first time in hours. The fish tank was still there...or what was left of it. The glass had been shattered during the mission, leaving the tank empty and dark. The faint blue illumination that had once made the little corner of the cabin glow was gone, or perhaps only flickered weakly enough to be mistaken for a reflection. She looked away and took another slow sip. Her armor lay in a loose, careless pile near the foot of the bed. Bloodied, scorched, still bearing the marks of the Collector base. Plates twisted slightly out of alignment, edges blackened where the heat had kissed them too close. Her underarmor had been stripped off and thrown over it without ceremony, half draped like an afterthought. On the small table in front of the couch, her pistol sat beside the whiskey bottle.
She took another slow sip of her drink, letting the burn settle in as the Normandy’s low hum shifted unevenly beneath her. For the first time since she'd come back from the dead, there was nowhere she needed to be and nothing breathing down her neck to be done. It was a strange, almost disorienting feeling. Shepard rolled the glass slowly between her fingers. She had spent the better part of two years dead, and the last several months since pretending it didn't matter. Tonight, with the ship nearing empty and the galaxy finally still enough for her to hear her own thoughts, she wasn’t sure she believed that anymore.
A faint sound drifted in from the corridor outside. Footsteps. Before Cerberus, she would have missed them. Now they were impossible to ignore. They stopped just outside her door, followed by a brief, weighted pause and a knock. She turned her gaze toward it, considering for a fleeting moment whether to pretend she hadn’t heard at all. Instead, she took another slow drink and said quietly. "Come in."
The door slid open, and Miranda stood on the other side. Shepard wasn’t surprised. If anything, the faintest curve touched the corner of her mouth as she looked up at her. "Miranda."
"Commander." Miranda’s gaze swept over the cabin before settling on Shepard and she stepped inside without another word.
Shepard lifted her glass slightly. "Drink?"
Miranda’s eyes flicked toward the bottle, and after only the briefest hesitation she gave a small nod. "Sure."
Shepard leaned forward, setting her own glass down long enough to reach for another, poured, and slid the glass across the table to her. Miranda took it, and for a moment neither woman said anything as she sat beside Shepard on the couch. Leaving a comfortable amount of space between them while Shepard settled back into the cushions, her own glass resting loosely between her fingers. Miranda took a small drink, and Shepard mirrored her a moment later. After a few seconds, Miranda finally turned her head to look at her and asked, "Are you really going to do it?"
Shepard's eyes remained on the whiskey in her hand. "Do what?:
Miranda gave her a look. "You know exactly what."
A faint smile crossed Shepard's face. "Turn myself in?"
"Yes."
"Yep."
The answer came so easily that Miranda actually stared at her for a moment before letting out a quiet, incredulous breath and shaking her head. "That is bullshit."
Shepard's eyebrow lifted. "Good evening to you too."
"Don't." There was no humor in Miranda’s voice as she turned toward her, one leg crossing over the other, glass held loosely in her hand, and asked quietly, "They’re really going to fault you for destroying the Alpha Relay?" Shepard said nothing. Miranda shook her head. "You stopped the Collectors. You destroyed their base. You gave the galaxy more time before the Reapers could come through." Her voice tightened. "And they're going to put you on trial because you destroyed a mass relay that was about to be used to launch an invasion?"
Shepard watched her quietly, understanding that Miranda’s anger wasn’t really about the relay not entirely, but about the idea that Shepard could save the galaxy and still be expected to stand there afterward while others debated whether she had done the right thing. Shepard understood that perspective, she truly did, she just didn’t share the outrage. Shepard exhaled slowly and picked up her glass, taking another drink. "I've been missing for two years. "She said quietly. Miranda's expression shifted. "Presumed dead. Now possibly listed as AWOL in half the places that matter." Shepard rolled the glass once between her fingers. "And for the last few months, I've been working with a known terrorist organization."
Miranda's jaw tightened. "Cerberus-"
"Recognized as such by the Alliance and the Council." Shepard finally looked at her. "So, yeah. I imagine they'll have some questions."
"You could still tell them to go to hell."
A quiet chuckle escaped Shepard. "I could."
"You're still a Spectre."
"That I am."
"You don't have to answer to them."
"No I don't" Shepard punctuated her sentence with another sip of her drink. "But Hackett asked me to."
Miranda rolled her eyes. "Of course he did." Shepard's smile grew slightly.
"I'll never understand your loyalty to the Alliance."
"Neither do I, sometimes." Miranda looked at her, and Shepard only shrugged. "They've criticized me. They've used me. They've made my life considerably more difficult than it needed to be."
"That is an understatement."
Shepard laughed softly. "But it's not really about the Alliance." Shepard looked down at her drink before continuing. "It's Anderson and Hackett."
That was all...no grand defense, no speech about duty, just their names. Miranda’s expression softened despite herself.
Shepard took another drink and leaned back against the couch. "And besides.." She added, "If they're going to come looking for answers, I might as well give them some."
Miranda shook her head. "I still think it’s bullshit."
The corners of Shepard's mouth twitched. "Noted."
Miranda took another drink, and for a few moments the conversation simply stopped as the quiet settled back over them. After a long pause Shepard broke the silence. "So."
Miranda glanced over. "So?"
"What are you going to do?"
Miranda's brow furrowed slightly. "With what?"
Shepard gave her a look. "Your new life."
Miranda stared at her for a moment before letting out a quiet breath through her nose. "I don't know." The answer was so simple that Shepard’s expression softened, because Miranda Lawson didn’t say 'I don’t know very often'. She was the kind of woman who always had a plan, a contingency, and a backup plan for the contingency, and even now Shepard suspected there were at least three possible futures Miranda had already mapped out and discarded before finally allowing herself to admit she hadn’t figured this one out yet.
Shepard took another drink and waited for her friend to continue. Miranda was looking down at the glass between her hands. "I need to make sure Oriana is secure first." Her voice was quieter now. "She'll need extra protection. A place Cerberus can't find her. Then after that..." Her eyes lifted toward wall across from them. "I'll see what I can do about Cerberus."
"Meaning?"
Miranda gave her a sideways look. "Meaning I doubt the Illusive Man is going to simply accept that I've walked away."
"No he wont."
"And I'm not particularly interested in making it easy for him."
Shepard nodded slowly. "So you're going to spend some time making Timmy boy's life miserable."
Miranda let out a quiet, brief laugh, almost involuntary, as if it had slipped out before she could stop it. "Something like that."
Shepard lifted her glass. "I'll drink to that."
Miranda’s looked at the rasied glass, then back at Shepard. A reluctant smile touched her lips. "To fucking over Cerberus."
Shepard's grin finally fully broke through. "To fucking over Cerberus."
Their glasses met with a soft clink, and they each took a deep sip. Shepard leaned back into the couch, slowly turning the glass between her fingers as a few seconds passed in comfortable silence. She drank again, then again, and somewhere beneath the warmth of the alcohol, beneath the exhaustion and the strange, quiet relief of knowing the Collectors were finally gone...another thought surfaced, one she had been carrying with her for months. "Miranda?"
"Hmm?"
Shepard hesitated for only a second setting her glass down. "I don't think I ever thanked you."
"For what?"
Shepard gestured vaguely toward herself. "For...all of this." Miranda went very still but Shepard held her gaze. "For bringing me back."
Miranda’s gaze dropped to her glass. "You don't have to thank me."
Shepard's brow furrowed faintly. "Yes, I do."
"No." Miranda looked back at her. "I was doing my job. You were the best chance we had."
Shepard nodded slowly. "I know. Still, I don't think I ever realized how much I owed you until tonight."
Miranda's expression shifted. "Commander-"
"Miranda." Shepard leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms against her knees. "I know you were doing your job,but you didn't just put a body back together. You gave me my life back, and I don't think I've ever really....said what that means to me." Miranda said nothing as Shepard drew in a slow breath and continued. "When I woke up, I was angry. Confused. Half convinced the whole thing was some kind of nightmare I hadn't managed to wake up from yet." Her gaze drifted across the darkened cabin. "I didn't know where I belonged anymore. I didn't know if I was still Alliance. I didn't know what happened to the Normandy. To my crew. To my life." She looked back at Miranda. "And somehow, in the middle of all that, you kept telling me I was still me."
"You were-are"
"I know that now." Shepard leaned back slightly. "And I'm glad....I'm really glad."
Miranda’s eyes remained on her as Shepard reached for her glass again, though she didn’t drink, only holding it loosely in her hand. "I wouldn't have wished for any of it, then or now. The Collector attack. Dying. Two years gone. Lazarus. Cerberus." She gave a small shake of her head. "I wouldn't wish any of that on anyone." Her voice softened. "But I'm here." She looked directly at Miranda. "And I get another chance....I don't want to squander it." Shepard paused to take in a slow breath. "But I need you to promise me something."
Miranda’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly as she straightened. "What?"
Shepard hesitated, not because she didn't know what she wanted to say, but because saying it made it real.
"What is it?"
Shepard looked at her. "Never do it again."
Miranda frowned.
"Never bring me back again."
The words were quiet, almost painfully so. Miranda simply stared at her, unmoving, as several seconds stretched between them while Shepard held her gaze.
"Your name is all over the Lazarus Project. I've recovered what I could. Project files. Personnel records. Reports." Miranda's eyes narrowed slightly. "I've already given copies to the Council." Shepard paused. "I'll be giving some edited copies to the Alliance too. If something happens to me again..." Shepard’s voice faltered for the briefest moment as she drew in a steadying breath before continuing. "They'll come looking for you, they'll expect another Lazarus."
"And you think I would-"
"I think you would try, because that's who you are." Miranda looked away, and Shepard continued softly, her voice steady as she carried on. "You'd look at the problem, decide it could be fixed, and then you'd try to fix it. That's one of the things I admire about you." Miranda's eyes returned to hers. "But Miranda...if it happens again...don't....please." Shepard swallowed. "Don't pull me back from wherever I am. Don't build another Lazarus Project. Don't make another miracle happen because everyone else thinks they still need Commander Shepard." Her voice grew quieter. "I need you to make them let me go."
Silence.
Shepard lowered her gaze to her hands. "You gave me my life back." She lifted her eyes again. "And I'm grateful for that. More than I know how to put into words. But if I lose it again...Let it be mine to lose."
Miranda stared at her, and Shepard held her gaze without wavering. For a long moment, Miranda said nothing, her eyes eventually dropping to the whiskey in her hand as she turned the glass slowly between her fingers, watching the amber liquid shift and swirl with each subtle movement. Until eventually she nodded once and looked back up at Shepard.
"I promise."
"Thank you."