Sins of the Father, Sins of the Flesh

Once again, Shepard felt like someone had hit her upside the head with a two-by-four. “Someone’s bought a galactic supply of those things just to smack me with them,” she thought, bemused, rubbing her temples with her fingertips.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s break for an hour. Go do something useful, everybody.” She caught Miranda’s eye, and Miranda stayed seated. As the last of the crew filed out, Shepard yelled after them, “And read the damn dossier if you haven’t already!”

The doors slid shut, and they looked at each other. Miranda closed her eyes and waited for Shepard to start one of her famous “I feel your pain” speeches. She loved the woman, really she did, but Shepard didn’t half like to go on about feelings and closure and things like that.

Miranda had forgotten, though, that the one thing Shepard did better than empathy was surprise.

“Will you go through the information you have on Tyrell and brief us on anything relevant to what we’ve already got?” said Shepard.

“Of course,” Miranda said.

“Can you do it in an hour?”

“Won’t be a problem,” she said. “I’ll give EDI the complete files and upload a copy to you as well.”

Shepard smiled. “Works for me.”

Miranda stood to leave, and as she passed by the commander, Shepard put one hand on her shoulder.

“I’m only asking for the facts. But I’ll be in my quarters for the next hour if you need me.”

Miranda smiled. “Thanks, Shepard, but I’ll be all right.” As she walked away, Shepard called after her. “Don’t forget, if you’d like to talk to someone else, we do have a trained psychologist on board.”

Miranda turned around in the doorway; Shepard was trying mightily and failing utterly to hide a grin. With great dignity, Miranda said, “Commander, I would rather stick a shrimp fork in my eyeball than bare my soul to Yeoman Chambers.”

Shepard laughed out loud. “That’s what I figured. Get to work, Lawson.”

“Yes, Commander,” she said, and headed for her office.

On the way up, she wondered idly just how long it would be before somebody—probably Jacob, Shepard having taken herself out of the running—came to offer aid and comfort. If she’d been a betting woman she’d have put a couple hundred down on a knock at her door within, say, fifteen minutes.

She would have lost that bet. When the door to her quarters opened, she saw Jacob already sitting on her couch.

“Out,” she said, pointing at the door.

“No.”

“I said, get out.”

“No.”

When she spoke again, her voice had dropped into a low and rather threatening register. “Taylor, Commander Shepard may consider insubordination a charming quirk, but I don’t, and if you don’t leave my office now I will end both your career at Cerberus and quite possibly your life. Get out.”

Jacob stood up and walked toward the door. Then he stopped in front of Miranda, practically toe-to-toe with her.

“No.”

Anger spiked in her chest. One quick fist to the gut, and she’d have Jacob writhing on the floor. Then she could heave him out the door at a great rate of speed. Perhaps, she thought, she could even make a dent in the nearest bulkhead. But she was better than that. Had more control than that.

“Taylor,” she said, in that same dangerous voice, “I am not used to being contradicted.”

“I know,” he said.

“So why are you still here?”

He looked straight into her eyes. “Because you need me.”

Miranda stared at him.

“Have you gone completely insane? Do you think this is some stupid romantic vid where my next line is “I don’t need anyone,” and then I break down crying in your arms? All right, then, I do need you.”

His expression didn’t change.

“I need you,” she said, stepping closer, “to get the hell out of my office.”

“Can I say one thing first?”

“Fine,” she said.

“If you really didn’t want me here, you would have thrown me out the minute you saw me.”

She snorted. “Please, leave the juvenile psychoanalysis to the Yeoman. Go back to your guns, Jacob; you work best when you don’t have to think too much.”

Miranda walked around him and sat down at her desk. He stayed standing, putting his hands on the edge of the desk and leaning in.

“I’m not trying to make you angry,” he said.

“Well, you’re doing an excellent job of it.”

“I know. Look, this is tough—“

“Then why are you trying? You decided to invite yourself in. You knew what was likely to happen. So leave.”

He looked down. “I’m not trying to run some game on you, Miranda. I’m not stupid enough to do that. But you need me right now.”

“What on earth makes you think you know what I need?”

“Because I know you, Miranda.”

He paused. “Yeah, I knew what would probably happen. And I knew I had to do it anyway, because I knew you’d never come to me.”

“Do you know why that is, Jacob?” she said, pleasantly. “It’s because I don’t need you.”

“I think you do,” he said. “I think you need someone, at least. I might—hell, I probably don’t—know you as well as I think I do, but I know you need someone right now. Look right at me and tell me I’m wrong, Miranda, and I’ll leave.”

She looked directly at him, and with her sweetest smile, said “You’re wrong.”

He waited a moment, her words hanging in the air between them. Finally, he shook his head and straightened up. “Guess I was,” he said, and turned to walk away.

She shut her eyes and heard the door to her quarters close. When she opened them, she was alone. For just a moment, she felt tears threaten and shut her eyes again, tightly; when she opened them, they were hot and dry. There was work to do. She bent her head to it.