At the Edge of Heaven

She grimaced, her hand lightly pressing against her battered ribs. It still hurt and it most likely would for a few days. She sighed and carefully straightened. For the past few hours, she stood staring out the window, the hulking mass of Omega hovering just outside. Her mind was buzzing with thoughts, whirling away at the near disaster that was the last mission. She couldn’t believe she had almost let everything blow up in her face. Normally the problem would have been sized up and dealt with before it got that bad, but for some reason she had hesitated. She never hesitated. It bothered her. She was always cool, calm, collected… a total professional at all times. She had heard it enough times, perhaps in several different ways. She was the Ice Queen. She always charged through every obstacle with ruthless efficiency. Until now. It really bothered her.

She closed her eyes and exhaled and shook her head, the frenzied flood of memories flashing in her mind again. The whole fiasco played out before her, a fiasco she should have choked off long before it could become a problem. But she had hesitated.

It almost killed them all. Her bruises reminded her of that.

* * *

She crouched into cover behind the couch, her gaze briefly sliding over the bleeding and possibly dead Garrus before she took a quick glance at the gunship staring them down through the window. Small wisps of smoke were finally rising from various points on the ship’s hull. She ducked back down into cover next to Shepard and re-checked her weapon and re-concentrated her powers. No use getting stupid or reckless at this point. She glanced over the couch once more, noticing the grenade launcher laying in front of the window… if only the weapon had landed closer to the couch when Shepard had been flung into the wall. But she shook her head and crouched. It was too far away with the gunship hovering right in front of them. She readied her sub-machine gun for another quick spray of gunfire.

Next to her Shepard scanned the room with dark eyes, blood trickling down the side of his face from a bloody furrow left by one of the gunship’s rounds. He was coiled and ready to spring into action despite it. He glanced once at her careful and calm preparations and sneered slightly. If she had been anyone else, she would have missed the subtle twist in his lips. She saw it, but she dismissed it and listened closely to the gunship, waiting for any sign of movement, any opening. She wasn’t about to stand up right in its line of fire. But Shepard didn’t have the same idea. He glanced over the couch briefly, then crouched for a mere moment before giving her a strange look and then leaping over the back of the couch, rolling as he hit the floor.

“Shepard!” her eyes widened and she stood to try to grab him. He was too quick. She heard his faint grunt as he hit the floor and then the whirring of the weapons mounted on the gunship. She ducked back behind the couch as a stream of rounds tore into the room. “Damn it!”

With one deep breath she readied herself then stood and whirled around. Shepard was crouched under the window, picking up the grenade launcher. His back was flat against the wall and he was looking at her strangely. But she didn’t have much time. Several rounds bounced off her shields and the intense impacts made her grunt in pain and nearly double over. She felt several ribs crack and the air was forced from her body as one blast punched into her stomach. She only grunted, stood firm, and flung her arm out at the ship, a blue flash exploding into life as she hurled a warp field into the ship. The ship wavered and the stream of bullets flailed harmlessly over the heads for a brief second. Shepard quickly shot from cover, aimed at the smoking ship, and fired. The ship exploded in a ball of flames. The explosion rocked the room as the ship disintegrated in a shower of metal.

Miranda barely noticed the explosion. She slumped slightly, catching herself on the couch before straightening. She glared at Shepard, her arm wrapping across her stomach and her hand resting on her throbbing ribs. He lowered the grenade launcher and slowly turned to face her. His blood streaked face looked worn and confused as he stared back for a silent moment. His eyes were darker, more uncertain. He stared at her for only a few more seconds before gently shaking his head.

Miranda wanted to scream, wanted to slam him against the bulk-head, but she didn’t. She just stood and mutely glared at Shepard as he rushed over to the fallen Turian and she watched as the tired confusion twisted his face before giving way to anxiety and restrained relief as Garrus’ sputtered, still alive on the floor.

* * *

Those darkened and confused eyes haunted her. It was the exact same look that she had first seen on his face, the desperation and lost glance as he first woke unexpectedly. It bothered her. It bothered her so much that for the first time in many, many years… she didn’t know what to do. She had made a mistake. She didn’t like it.

Luckily, her mistake didn’t get anyone killed. Garrus was alive and well, Jacob came away unscathed, and Shepard only had a few scratches. Her ribs hurt, but she was fine. But Shepard had locked himself in his quarters since Garrus’ recovered. Two days and he hadn’t come out. She had to do something. There was still the mission. But she didn’t know what to do. So she stared out at the window, wondering, her ribs reminding her of her dire mistake.