Chapter Text
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The Bloom Amidst Adversity
Chapter I: An Unforgettable Evening
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The thought of taking some shore leave on Illium had seemed totally unremarkable less than week ago. At the time, Commander John Shepard had imagined it would simply be a much-needed opportunity for the crew to unwind, to spend a few days off-ship, and to reset before continuing on the next phase of their mission against the Collectors. Despite the Normandy's crew being primarily Cerberus personnel, and his initial reluctance at working alongside the organisation, those who were on-board had consistently proven themselves to be hard-working and dedicated to the mission since leaving Cronos Station at the mission's outset. For that alone, the crew had earned their shore leave, Shepard thought.
During the flight to Illium, Shepard had imagined that the shore leave would pass him by practically without notice, that the few days free would prove entirely uneventful, and apart from the administrative duties that came with his position, all he had intended to do was finish building his latest model ship that he had purchased during their last visit to Omega —an Alliance Cruiser, the class commissioned in 2177.
As he admired it sitting before him on his desk, now completed, the last section glued on just a few moments before, all that remained was to decide where to display it, where it would take its place inside the prominent glass cabinet by his workstation that immediately caught the eyes of anyone who entered his cabin.
Maybe at the bottom? Or what about at the top, next to the freighter? he thought to himself as he eyed stared across the cabin at the cabinet, picturing the placement of the ship in his mind's eye.
"I don't know... I guess I could ask Miranda again. She'll know best," Shepard muttered absentmindedly to himself. "She certainly knew the freighter would look good where it is — she's clearly got an eye for this kind of thing — and she did say she wanted to see it when it was completed..."
Suddenly, he felt his thoughts shifting away from the optimal location to display his newly-completed model, as they slowly turned to Miranda. It was because of her they were even there, on Illium, in the first place, due to the business with her sister. The moment in her office when she had requested his help wasn't one he would ever forget. She had been nervous. Anxious. Afraid. It was the first time he had seen that side to her, and yet as soon as she had asked for his help, in such a vulnerable state, he had felt compelled to help her. But he knew the truth. He knew there was more to his altruism than the simple fact he was her commanding officer, that it was his duty to look after the wellbeing of his crew. His motive had been a personal one. He — John, not Commander Shepard — had wanted to help her, because she was a friend. A close friend.
As they had left the Nos Astra docks on that day almost a week before, with Oriana safely reunited with her family, the sight of a few glistening tears gently cascading down Miranda's cheeks had been enough for Shepard to know he had made the right call in helping her. It was another moment related to her he knew he wouldn't soon forget — for all the right reasons — and judging by the warm conversation that had followed in her office, her gratitude to him, personally, had been unquestionably sincere. The fact that she had requested to be left alone for their shore leave, to reflect on the events, had been understandable. As he had come to learn since meeting her, she was an impressive woman, with a steely fortitude, he had never met anyone quite like her, but there was more to her than the diligent Cerberus operative who cared only about her work that she appeared to be on the outside. There was a person beneath all that.
Over the course of the mission so far, Shepard had heard various descriptions of her from almost every member of the crew — some opinions more scathing than others — painting her solely as someone cold, distant, impersonal, severe. But that wasn't how he saw her. She was... different, to him. As they had spent time in her office together, alone, simply talking to one another about their lives, he didn't see her as the 'ice queen' others did, he saw her as who lay beneath. Perhaps that was partly why he had been so eager to help her, he thought. To him, she wasn't the frigid XO that the rest of the crew saw her as. To him, she was a friend. A close friend.
Turning away from the display cabinet, Shepard took in his hands a photo frame that stood before him on his desk and admired the photo within. It had been taken just a few hours before, as he and Miranda had dined alone — and in secret — at the infamously exclusive 'Royale' restaurant, there in Nos Astra. It had been a grand gesture for, as Miranda had made clear prior, simply showing her gratitude to him for his assistance in relocating her sister, but not at all unwelcome. Finding the photograph waiting in his cabin — for his eyes only — when he returned had been yet another undeniably pleasant surprise.
Dinner at a restaurant like that is certainly one way to show your gratitude, Miri, Shepard thought, still somewhat in disbelief she had arranged such an evening for just the two of them, all because she wanted to show her thanks. Can't say I was expecting anything like that to come out of it when you asked for my help...
Despite the memory being merely a few hours old, Shepard admired the photograph as if it were a distant memory shared by two lifelong friends. Yet what struck him most of all about the photo, beyond the luxury of evening, was just how... normal he and Miranda both looked. It was almost impossible to believe it really was them. There he was, the first human Spectre, the so-called 'hero of humanity', wearing a tuxedo sitting beside his XO, a high-ranking and genetically engineered Cerberus operative, wearing a tight-fitting, onyx-coloured dress (which left little to the imagination), that perfectly matched her raven-dark hair, which had been styled for the evening to fall over just a single shoulder. And they were both smiling. Genuinely smiling. In the photo he saw two normal people, simply happy sharing in one another's company.
For one evening, they had been away from the Normandy, away from their positions as the CO and XO, away from the pressures of a critically important mission. For one evening, the sole focus had been to enjoy themselves, and each other. And they had been able to be themselves, even if it was just for one evening.
She sure is beautiful, Shepard thought with a fond smile as his eyes hung on Miranda in the photo. On her dress. Her smile. Her sapphiric eyes.
It wasn't a word he ever thought he would associate with a subordinate, but it was the sole one that had come to his mind as he had admired her just a few hours earlier, dining together, and the first word that came to his mind once more, as the photo was in his hands. She was beautiful to him, in body and mind.
After a few blissful moments, lost in admiration for her, as if they were still there together, he turned the photo frame to its reverse to re-read the handwritten message left to him. Even her script was elegant, flowing.
"Dear John,
Thank you for the wonderful evening. The pleasure was all mine.
Yours,
M. x."
"Wonderful evening?" Shepard chuckled to himself. "That's one hell of an understatement," he muttered to himself, smirking as he carefully placed the photograph back onto his desk. Looking at it once more, he let out a quiet, longing sigh to himself. "It's a shame it had to end..."
As freeing as the evening had felt, being able to expel from his mind for a few hours worries about Cerberus, the Illusive Man, the Collectors, the crew, the human colonies in the Terminus systems, or any other factor that constituted 'the mission', he had known going into it that such freedom, the freedom Miranda had given them both, was only going to be temporary. And knowing her, it was without a doubt something she had been well aware of too.
In less than twelve hours — at 0900 hours — they were scheduled to depart from the Nos Astra Spaceport, shore leave would be over, and the mission would resume. At that moment, still feeling the buzz of what had been such an unforgettable evening, he wasn't even sure what the time was, only that it was well past midnight. But he didn't find the impending lack of sleep concerning, not when he knew what was awaiting him before they set off: a second rendezvous with his executive officer.
Shepard activated the computer terminal on his desk. On the screen appeared the message Miranda had sent him just an hour before, aptly titled 'Breakfast'. He read the words over one more time, just to familiarise himself with the details, to hear her voice in his head as he read it.
"John,
Don't forget about our earlier conversation in the elevator regarding my little breakfast invitation. Just consider it a small, additional show of my gratitude after what you did for me and Oriana. Remember: My office — 0630 hours sharp.
I know it's earlier than our usual morning briefings, but I figure that will leave us plenty of time to discuss any outstanding mission-related details, and alongside the latest ship-wide report, there are also a few additional points I wish to discuss with you regarding our upcoming investigation on Tarith.
Fortunately, such matters should not take long to cover, and then we'll be left with more than enough time for our usual, lighter conversation. After our evening together, I can't think of a more perfect way to end shore leave.
See you in a few hours.
M. x.
PS I've taken the liberty of informing Dr. Chakwas that she should remain on standby in case my cooking ends up poisoning either of us. But it's only pancakes, how hard can it be?"
As he finished reading the words across his terminal screen, Shepard couldn't help but let out a quiet, fond chuckle to himself. The short message encapsulated the Miranda he had come to know perfectly: someone who had an unfailing sense of duty and dedication to the mission, something he appreciated and admired in equal measure in his XO; her warmth and geniality that she showed to him when talking in private, a stark contrast to the cold, 'Cerberus cheerleader' that others saw her as; and her humour, as dry and witty as usual, but despite the dryness, there was something about it — about her — that he had come to find so attractive. Whenever they were alone and she made a wry or scathing comment — often at his expense — or let out one of her deep, velvet-smooth laughs, usually partnered with a flash of an inviting smirk, he found himself enamoured by her. Despite the fact they were in the midst of a highly complex and dangerous mission, he wanted more moments like that. With her.
Shepard had come to realise he enjoyed her company. Immensely. It didn't matter if they were in her office or his cabin for a briefing, discussing the mission, or talking about their lives, time spent with her, no matter the occasion, was time he had come to enjoy. Yet, after their earlier evening in Nos Astra, a certain thought, a thought about her, had been stuck on his mind: something about her felt different now.
Despite attempting to search for an answer, nothing came to him. Judging by her reaction as they left the restaurant, she had enjoyed their evening together, just as much as he had. Perhaps it was simply that, he thought: that the two of them had managed to enjoy an evening away from the mission, as two friends. But it was an answer he didn't find himself entirely convinced by. Whatever he was feeling, whatever she meant to him, he didn't quite know how to explain it. He had never experienced anything like it before. It was as confusing and unknown as it was intoxicatingly pleasant.
Maybe I just need to sleep on it, he thought. Maybe after breakfast and after we've left Illium, when we're focused on the mission again, things'll be clearer. Don't want to take things too fast at a time like this... or imagine things that aren't even there.
Convinced that would be the path to an answer, Shepard deactivated his terminal and let out a wide yawn as he stretched his entire body. Before allowing himself to fall onto his bed, to catch what little sleep he could, he jumped into his cabin's shower. As the warm waters washed over his body, he took the time to think over their next steps for once they had left Illium.
First things first: head to Tarith and verify the intel of the Blood Pack comms relay. The less influence they have over this region of space, the better. Then we'll head to Aeia to investigate the distress signal Jacob wants to check out. If it's legit and from the ship his father served on, it's worth looking into... and I owe him that much, seeing how he's served on the mission so far. After that we'll head to... to...
Try as he might to recall the next phase of the mission plan that he had already personally approved, he couldn't. His thoughts had turned blank. But why? Why was it suddenly so hard to focus on the mission?
After a few seconds of standing absently under the shower's waters, he felt some thoughts returning to him, yet they weren't of the mission, and instead his mind was automatically focusing on something far more pleasant, thinking back on certain moments from the evening just a few hours before. Of the moment he had arrived, and Miranda had risen to her feet with a beaming smile, giving him the full sight of her in her dress. Then of the breathtaking view of the sun setting over the Nos Astra skyline from their rooftop table, as the azure sky gave way to the velvet expanse of the night. Catching her in his arms as they stood up to leave — clearly she had drunk a little too much. And then the kiss she had laid upon his cheek before they had left — separately, as to not arouse suspicion of their meeting amongst the crew.
After leaving the shower, he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the mirror. He was smiling. For a brief moment, he saw looking back at him the same man he had seen in the photograph on his desk, the normal man who had shared a wonderful evening with a close friend. The smile was because of Miranda. Ever since enlisting in the Alliance at eighteen, never had a shore leave been so memorable, and it had been, all because of her — and there was still the promise of a cooked breakfast to look forward to in the morning. Miranda had been right in her message: it was the perfect way to end their shore leave.
Shepard clambered into his bed and picked up the datapad he usually left on the nightstand to his side. He knew it was late, but didn't realise it was as late as it was — near 1:00 a.m. — but still set an alarm to sound out at 0545 hours, and again at 0600 hours, leaving him the perfect amount of time prepare for his 0630 rendezvous with Miranda. With the alarm set, he dimmed the cabin's lights and sunk himself into the mattress. Laying his head back on his pillow, he stared upwards through the dorsal viewport above, as had become a habit since taking command of the SR-2.
Even so late at night, Nos Astra didn't sleep. Imposing skyscrapers, still abuzz with activity, towered around the Spaceport; skycars darted around like insects against the backdrop of the deep amethystine sky and the stars above, whilst larger ships occasionally came in to dock or gently ascended. With just a wave of his hand, the viewport could be obscured and the view blocked, but it wasn't a distracting view by any means. There was something calming about looking out, no matter if they were in dock or travelling in the infinite expanse of space, that let his mind freely wander, that helped him think straight. As he watched the ships go by above him, he thought of all the people who were so blissfully unaware of the threat that the Collectors — or the Reapers — posed to their lives. He envied the simplicity.
But knowing each minute he spent staring was one less he would spend sleeping, he eventually relented and let his eyes close over. Laying there, he felt weightless, like his head was totally empty. It was warming, relaxing, he was totally at ease, as though he had drunk a couple of shots of straight ryncol — not enough to put him out, but just enough to give a pleasant buzz. And yet, despite his intention to sleep, his mind kept bringing forth the pleasant memories of his evening with Miranda.
I wonder what she's thinking right now... Actually, knowing her, she'll already be asleep and all her reports will be ready for the briefing.
Even though their morning briefing would signify the end of shore leave, and their focus would return to the mission and the Collectors, Shepard realised, for the first time, he was excited by the prospect of attending the briefing with her, and sharing breakfast over it. Somehow, this invitation of hers felt different to all their previous briefings. But once more, as he tried to pinpoint exactly why it felt different, nothing came to him. All that had changed between the two of them was the fact they had shared an evening together. Was that it?
Maybe it's because she's cooking this time... That'll be it. And the fact she wants to cook something by hand... that says a lot about her. She really doesn't have to, she already showed how grateful she was at the restaurant earlier... and she didn't have to do that either. But it was damn good of her. Perhaps I should get her something, just to say thanks for everything she's done.
The fact she had gone through so much effort for their evening together — and would likely be going through again in the morning — just for his sake was something Shepard found touching. He didn't feel as though he deserved anything. But in his mind, she did. It was only right to reciprocate her kindness. She deserved something in return, just a small gift, a small gesture of thanks for her dedication to the mission, for their evening together, for simply being her.
Shepard sat himself up in the darkness and reached across to his nightstand, groping for his datapad. As he took it in his hand, he browsed the extranet for ideas and inspiration, wracking his mind over what he could get for her. He had never bought a gift for someone else before, let alone someone he felt close to. Time continued to pass him by as he browsed endlessly through sites offering everything from cheap souvenirs of Illium, to decadent chocolates and bottles of wine imported from human colonies, to tickets for an upcoming classical music show on the Citadel.
But what would be appropriate, he wondered as his eyes vacantly scanned the datapad. He had come to learn Miranda was someone with particular tastes and exceedingly high standards — their meal at such an exclusive restaurant had been further proof of that — making it all the more difficult to think of something she would appreciate. He, by comparison, had no experience with high quality tastes or refinement, the things she was well-versed in. But what if the gift he chose was too forward, something that gave off the wrong idea, or projected false intentions?
That won't happen, he thought. She's just a friend, nothing more. There's nothing complicated between us... she'll understand.
As he continued to browse, he noticed his eyes frequently hesitating on one extranet site above all others: Nos Astra Flowers.
"Flowers...?" Shepard pondered, weighing up the idea in his mind. "They're simple enough, and I guess they could brighten up her office too."
He hesitantly browsed the site, wondering what she would even like amongst the eclectic offerings of alien and familiar varieties that came in all shapes and colours — and if she would even like them at all. But nothing called out to him as he searched. After some time he was ready to dismiss the idea entirely, and yet suddenly, from the recesses of his mind, one particular flower began to play in his thoughts. It had been nearly two decades since he had thought of anything to do with flowers, listening to his botanist mother's lectures on plant genetics and horticulture back when he was a child on Mindoir, and yet at that moment, he slowly found himself convinced by the idea that there was only one flower, one perfect choice for the genetically-perfect woman: Mindoir roses. He could remember them growing outside his childhood home, they had been his favourite. They were unique. They had made him smile. They were beautiful. They were just like Miranda.
Unlike Miranda, the price was anything but attractive, yet the amount of credits were meaningless to him. After what she had done, Miranda deserved them. Without hesitation, he placed the order to be delivered to the Normandy before they left port at 0900, and their breakfast together offered the perfect opportunity to give them to her.
Satisfied with his chosen gift, Shepard set his datapad back on his nighstand and put his head down once more onto his pillow. Closing his eyes, he found his thoughts still unable to rest, still nothing to do with the mission, still everything to do with Miranda. As he thought on her breakfast invitation, and the flowers that would soon be delivered, he felt something, a twinge in his stomach, just as he had felt some hours before meeting her at the restaurant that evening. Was it nerves?
Even though he had been called the 'hero of humanity', and he was both a decorated N7 marine and the first human Spectre, despite the pressures they were under to succeed on their mission and the dangers he knew the Collectors posed, he admittedly felt little apprehension when it came to his work, to the next phase of the mission. Serving was his duty. He would do what was expected of him. Yet curiously, the prospect of breakfast with a close friend the following morning suddenly seemed more daunting than any of the dangers he had previously faced in his career — even the thought of fighting Saren again seemed like it would be easier.
I really hope Miri likes those flowers...
In spite of the mounting anxiety as to what their morning rendezvous would bring, it was a sensation tempered somewhat by the fact he was looking forward to it, to sharing some food and casual conversation, whiling away the last few hours of shore leave, off-duty, in comfort with her. The fact that they were still on the Normandy, or that they would be spending some time discussing the next phase of the mission didn't matter. As he eventually felt himself dozing off, drifting deeper into comfort, it was partnered with the thought that most of all, he just wanted to spend more time with her.