#trying to predict the plot on just the title is a failed venture from the start

[legitimatesatanspawn]

Friend: "Coco 2 has been announced."

Me: "👀 Is it Socorro's own Narnian adventure into the Deadlands and she gets to meet her dead great-gramma Coco? Or is it about a living relative of Ernesto de la Cruz come to prove Miguel "wrong" in order to secure the de la Cruz family rights to the music?"

Friend: "... it was only just announced and is slotted for 2029. So no idea."

[adamwatchesmovies]

Australiens (2014)

While I didn't enjoy this film, that doesn't mean you won't. No matter what I say, the people involved in this project did it: they actually made a movie. That's something to be applauded. With that established...

Australiens walks into the room like it’s about to be your new step daddy but it couldn’t be more wrong. The creativity started and stopped with its title. The rest is all downhill. I can forgive the horrible special effects but the jokes are horrendous and the characters worse.

17 years after a close encounter with a flying saucer, Andi Gibson (Rita Artmann), her brother Elliot (Doug Hatch), and her bandmates Cam (Tamara McLaughlin), Keith (Lawrence Silver), and John (Joe Bauer) spot an alien ship. It’s a full-blown invasion focussed squarely on Australia. Convinced she’s the key to ending the conflict, Andi leads them on a mission to save the world.

I’ll get the special effects out of the way. At best, the aliens’ ship look passable. When they start firing beams and knocking over buildings, it isn’t convincing but you give this low-budget venture a pass. Then, you get to see who pilots those ships and any good faith you might’ve had vanishes. The creatures look so awful you expect them to start giving you directions to some run-down tourist trap or the college multimedia course. Still, you might dock Australiens some points but admit the movie is worth checking out if the writing was worth a damn, which it isn’t.

It takes about 2 minutes for Australiens to make a joke about Uranus. The first time, I'll give it a pass (partially because a child makes the joke) but a similar comedic affront comes around every 20 minutes or so. That’s the level of writing we’re talking about. It’s like the movie is telling you it’s going to be garbage right away with horrible performances and a wig so unconvincing you’re not sure if it’s purposely crap. You’ve run out of fingers to count down things the movie does wrong when it suddenly flashes forward to introduce us to the story's REAL protagonists. At least we're making our way towards the end credits. That's something, right?

Each of our heroes is either an annoying stereotype or irritating for another reason. Andi is obsessed with spacemen, which is understandable considering she saw one as a kid and is witnessing an invasion. Keep that in mind when I say she takes things too far. Even her bandmates are fed up with her talks of little green men. They’ve got bigger things to worry about because they collectively have less musical talent than a carrot. If your protagonist isn’t going to be competent or intelligent, they better be charismatic. Failing this, they better be funny. If not, you get someone like Andi.

The rest of our main characters fare no better. Elliot is one of these cartoon nerds that doesn’t exist in real life. You can predict every single one of his lines from the moment we see him puffing on his ashthma inhaler as a kid. I had given up on the film long before he started talking about a strange lump on his testicles. I hoped it wouldn’t get any worse, but it does. This Tasmania-obsessed script lasts a gargantuan hour and fifty-one minutes. In bad comedy time, that roughly translates to a thousand Earth years.

Once in a while, the movie will manage to catch you off-guard with an amusing gag. Does it redeem it in any way? No. The attempts at humor are so lazy it’s the kind of thing you’d see high schoolers come up with. Seeing it delivered by “professionals” fills you with a level of embarrassment that threatens to be fatal. I know you’re not supposed to take what happens in this story too seriously but there isn’t even any attempt to make the plot make sense and at several points it looks like it’s about to try and tie things together to make multi-layered gags… and then Australiens just gives up. You'll be in agony until its post-credit scene.

Australiens is the kind of movie that’s too pathetic to have a Wikipedia page. No one could enjoy it enough to take the time and effort necessary to write a synopsis worthy of the site. Everyone who hates it (so, everyone who wasn’t involved in its production) will be glad to put as much distance between them and this black hole of humour as humanly possible. (January 22, 2021)

[danwhobrowses]

10 Things that would’ve Improved the Game of Thrones Final Season (For Me)

So it came to my attention that recently it was the First Anniversary of the Final Episode of HBO’s ‘Game of Thrones’. I was taken back to my memory of the BinGOT thing we had at work where we all made predictions of who lived, died and ‘won’ from the last ep (I was in 2nd or 3rd place). And since my mother has started binging it during quarantine I thought in the spirit of that environment I’d discuss a little what I would’ve changed in the final season.

Spoilers for Game of Thrones Season 8 Below, if you haven’t watched it then you’re better off not reading this frankly, if you haven’t been spoiled already at least.

So for starters, the final episode is not the worst tv I’ve ever seen, it just was a sloppy final season in general that really didn’t satisfy the 2 years of hype waiting for it, it’s like with the How I Met Your Mother finale, but that annoyance being more than one episode. But without further ado here are 10 things I would’ve changed about the final season Note: Most will involve the finale. The first 2 episodes were great.

10 - Ten Episodes The Long Night was 1 episode, the LONG NIGHT. A Culmination of the army of living and dead confined into one episode. One of the main problems with the final season was that the pacing was a bit rushed, it made character progression seem unnatural and dropped long-built plot points like water through a sieve. With 10 episodes, which was not a big ask given that this was the usual number and the gravitas of it being the final season would easily allow it to be green lit. D&D immediately backed themselves into a corner by giving a limit they weren’t used to and too much content to put in.

9 - Bite of the Spider Varys’ death was an upsetting start of the penultimate episode, while I would’ve loved him to have survived start to end and potentially ended on top (because he’s never shown to be as cunning or dangerous as he is in the books) there was some sense in him dying. However, Varys was shown sending a letter before his arrest and that never came back up, the finale could’ve used this by revealing to the public Jon’s true heritage, which would’ve immediately undermined Dany’s claim and set up a better conflict. Also we never knew what the voice in the flames said to him...

8 - A More Fitting Long Night While everyone probably popped hard for Arya killing the Night King, myself included, the nature of it was rather abrupt. I don’t think anyone can buy that she sneaked past that entire army. I do feel like the Night King was just a MacGuffin for the Long Night, given that he did so little in the actual fight. This is where a multi-part Long Night would’ve been key as well, going from the Night King being immune to Dragonfire to dying a bit later was not a good pace, and we lacked any conflict with Jon like we teased twice, Arya probably wasn’t the most poetic person to kill him either but GoT seldom did poetic deaths (Joffrey, Cersei, Euron). While the Long Night had exemplary deaths like Theon, Lyanna, Jorah and Beric, the Night King fell among the ranks of Melisandre and Edd in terms of meh deaths. The Long Night should’ve been a bigger bloodbath than it was, half the Dothraki somehow survived remember, we didn’t get to see Ghost fight at all either, no giant spiders, a lot of the tension was lost with the way some fight scenes were filmed; it was too easy to read between the lines and not enough characters had any true ‘oh god this person could die’ scenes.

7 - Resolution for the Characters we didn’t See and Plots unresolved With so much funding and finality in the show, there felt like there could’ve been more stuff that could’ve been resolved; what was the Quaith’s prophecy about? What really happened with the Doom of Valyria? Why does Dragonglass and Valyrian steel kill White Walkers? What is Daario doing after Dany died? Were the Faceless Men really that okay with letting Arya wander around knowing their skillset? Nobody hired them to help in the war either. What happened to the remnants of that warlock dude who stole the baby dragons, they sent one scorpion and that’s it, what happens with the Little Birds now that they’re leaderless? Who was Azor Ahai? What were the spirals about? There are a lot of questions the show kinda just, ignored. 

6 - The Mad Queen So, Dany going from ‘I’ll stop if they surrender’ to ‘Burn them fucking all’ was abrupt for many, the majority of fans were not ready or willing to accept turning on their Kaleesi in just one episode. While I could see the conclusion coming from being jumped, losing another ‘child’ and her closest friend as well as her new boyfriend being her nephew and a legitimate threat to her legitimacy despite already pledging fealty, Dany’s descent could’ve used more time, and less naivety.  While the death of the dragon was a huge shock, the idiocy fell on Dany in thinking that Cersei would play fair and wouldn’t try to occupy Dragonstone while she abandoned it. There also fell inconsistency when the same fleet and rows of Scorpion crossbows suddenly got Stormtrooper aim during ‘The Bells’. Euron is a renowned sailor, he ruined a Dornish fleet in a previous season, he may be an annoying bastard but you have to treat his naval tactics with a bit more respect - and make Dany less stupid with Cersei doing Cersei things. A lot of people definitely needed more time in buying the idea that Dany had lost her cool and that she blamed all of Westeros to justify burning everyone unashamedly.

5 - Proper Redemption We all know who we’re talking about. Jaime, Jaime, Jaime. In the end he just proved Olenna’s point didn’t he? And his turn away from redemption was only to serve as an example point for Tyrion to use to convince Jon to kill Dany. Jaime didn’t have to live, but he didn’t have to die rushing to Cersei’s rescue, or even due to Euron stabbing him. If anything Jaime should’ve died with some Honour, to be the inverse of Ned as he was presented in Season 1.

4 - My Lady does not have to mean M’Lady This is probably the most selfish ones of my 10 but as a shipper at my very heart and soul I wanted one, at least one, ship to survive this entire turmoil and Gendry and Arya were that couple. We almost had it as well, but then for some mad reason D&D decided that Gendry, despite literally saying that “none of it will be worthwhile if you’re not with me”, stayed in Storm’s End. Arya’s character endgame was right in her venturing off not being bound by the fact that she’s a noble, but Gendry spent a lot of time not caring that he was of Kingsblood to basically being his Father’s son. He’ll rule Storm’s End, marry some woman to have kids, but he’ll still have fallen into the same pit as King Robert did. It would’ve been much more satisfying and hopeful if Gendry abandoned the titles and land he never wanted or needed to accompany someone he loves and who loves him back on an adventure into the unknown. She’s not a ‘lady’ if she’s only marrying a blacksmith and love is the death of duty.

3 - Sansa is NOT Smart (and gets what she actually deserves) Right. So I really, really didn’t like Sansa. Like, I get it, she got held hostage by the Lannisters, watched her father get beheaded, got accused of murder, learned that her brother and mother died, watched the guy who fancied her mother and kissed her kill her aunt and then got effectively sold to an abuser in an arranged marriage. But Sansa is not the smartest player in the game, it was annoying that they tried to portray her as one, she had one idea that anyone could’ve told you ‘don’t be stupid against Ramsay Bolton’. She spent all of Season 8 mainly giving side eye like a petty bitch, completely trying to undermine Dany despite the two being very very similar (remember Dany was raped, sold off in an arranged marriage and watched family members get killed too) to the point where she was conspiring for Jon to usurp her. And in reality she took her ball and left, she was so pissy that the leaders didn’t pick her to be Queen of Westeros that she literally pointed out her own brother’s infertility, claimed that the North wouldn’t bow to a monarch, then declared herself Queen.  Hide the ‘Yas Queen’ goggles for a sec, this wasn’t empowering she was throwing her own brother under the bus because she wanted to be queen, and she learned far too much from Littlefinger and Cersei’s playbook to actually be a just one. The North is allowed to be an independent nation, but Sansa’s ‘victory’ was more earned by virtue of a lot of shit happened to her than her actually demonstrating qualities to be queen.

2 - Bran Stark can’t come to the Phone right now... While we’re on the subject of Stark children not being fit rulers, Bran. What a cockamamie decision that was. I was 100% behind the destruction of the Iron Throne, but the chorus of laughter with a democratic rule was a bit of a slap in the face. Of all the choices though, Bran had to be near the bottom, it felt completely unearned that he spent literal seasons disconnecting from the world even to the point where he told Meera and Sam that Bran Stark is no longer here anymore only for Bran Stark to magically resurface when a crown is in waiting. I think it defeats the whole Three Eyed Raven thing too, the guy isn’t really one for the people, which is the problem every other ruler before him failed at. If you can’t pick a just person to lead, then why not a council instead? Just using Bran was a poor and messy decision.

1 - THE MOTHERFUCKING VALONQUAR One of the few expectations across all of Game of Thrones was the wondering over whether Cersei was gonna get what’s coming to her, the Maggy the Frog prophecy was going along quite well up until the Valonquar bit, where the younger sibling that was going to choke the life out of her was: bricks. BRICKS! Of all the long-winded prophecy foreshadowings to drop this one was the worst, Cersei (and Jaime) died in underwhelming, thoughtless fashion, the lack of fanfare on killing off one of the best and most ‘love to hate’ villains in the show only cemented the fact that the finale was not able to live up to the hype. True, most of these are small changes, but it’s worth remembering that there was some good coming out of the final season and it was the lack of those little things and attention to detail that led to the season ending on an underwhelming note.

We did however get a good ton of memes out of it, and at work a long-winded discussion on who should get the ‘winner’ 5-points (compared to the 1 correct points) since we had technically agreed that the 5 points goes to “whoever correctly guesses who sits on the Iron Throne” XD I still can’t believe I was right in Drogon melting the throne though that was one in a million

[badgersprite]

Fic: Desiderata (5/?)

Chapter Title: Perspective

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob

Pairing: Miranda/Samara very slow burn, friends to lovers

Story Rating: R

Warnings: References to past childhood abuse/trauma, and people being shitty about it.

Chapter Summary: In 2186, Miranda spearheads the search and rescue operation she helped organise. In 2185, Samara gets Miranda to see an incident from someone else’s perspective.

Author’s Note: Miranda is still bad at people, but she’s trying. Shout out to self-isolation for giving me time to work on this.

*    *     *

“You’re sure this will work?” Miranda asked, examining her forged identity documents. A passport. A driver's licence. Even a birth certificate.

“Can’t be any surer than I am,” Niket answered with a slight shrug. “It’s not like I could test it, but I have nothing but assurances from everyone I’ve spoken to that these counterfeits are the highest quality. They never fail.”

“What if they do?” Miranda had imagined a hundred different ways her father might deal with them if they got caught. She still wasn't sure which one was the worst, or that he couldn't exceed her expectations of his cruelty.

“Relax.” Niket placed his hands on her shoulders. “Even if they do pull you up, I've spent months creating an online identity for you. The only thing left is to set up an account and wire some money into it. Enough to keep you on your feet for a while. We've thought of everything, Miri. You won't trigger any red flags. As far as anyone would be concerned, 'Jessica McMahon' is a real person.”

Miranda sighed uneasily. She’d been working on this escape for so long that it was making her paranoid. No matter how careful she was, it was simply impossible for her father not to notice what was going on, given enough time. For all his faults, he was a smart man. He had to sense something was awry, at some point. It always felt like she was moments away from her plot being uncovered.

“Are you forgetting something?” Niket remarked, expectantly waiting for her to say her thanks. To her credit, Miranda realised her oversight.

“You’ve done a lot for me, Niket. When I’m out of here, I won’t forget that,” she said sincerely. Niket was the closest thing to a friend she'd ever had. She was grateful towards him. She really was. She just wasn’t fantastic at expressing it. Her upbringing might have played a role in that.

“You’ve already helped, in a way,” Niket admitted, taking out another passport. “Got one of these for myself with your money. Figured I’d involved myself enough that I’m going to have to get out of dodge once you make your escape, or else your father’s going to find my fingerprints all over this.”

“Good idea.” Miranda nodded, signalling her approval, glad he’d protected himself. Besides, she didn’t give a damn about her father’s money. He had plenty.

Being the daughter of an extremely rich man did have its benefits. As part of her preparations, Miranda had been able to casually drop a few thousand dollars at a time here and there without raising suspicion.

There was no mistake about it, though - the money he gave Miranda to spend was a symbol of his own vanity, not a kindness. She was his daughter. That meant she had to fit a certain image, or it would reflect poorly on him. She had to indulge in expensive tastes, dress well, buy and read rare books, play music on the most expensive piano, or else people might not be impressed by how inordinately wealthy he was.

He framed it like a reward for living up to his impossible standards, but really it was another means of controlling her. Miranda had no freedom in what she spent money on. It was a test. He’d only given her access to her own money so that he could see for himself how well he’d trained her - to prove that his little experiment would continue acting in accordance with his designs and his preferences even when he wasn’t watching her over her shoulder.

But he’d underestimated her. Her father always had. As long as she remembered to keep her stories consistent with the fake transactions on the bills, he would never suspect anything, even if he was secretly going through her spending with a fine tooth-comb, which he did, of course. Provided that she appeared to be spending money on purchases he approved of, he wouldn't question it. And Niket had taught her how to manipulate that data.

“You know, don’t take this the wrong way, but not everyone would resent your fate as much as you do,” Niket spoke frankly. “You have a nice house. Nice room. Nice clothes. Fucking...palatial gardens. Provided you don't piss him off, your Dad usually gives you enough money to buy anything you want, within his rules.”

“That makes up for being an experiment?” Miranda shot back instinctively.

“For some people, it would, yeah,” he pointed out with a shrug. “Don’t get me wrong, Miri. I’m not saying it’s great to be raised by a loveless jackass or that you’re wrong for hating him and wanting out, but there are plenty of people who would trade their life for yours in an instant. I mean, you’ve told me how he treats you. And, sure, he’s strict, but not to where you’d say he’s violent or he beats you. Some people aren’t that lucky.”

Wow. Miranda was hardly a sensitive person, but that comment was a dagger in her heart. She’d confided in Niket about her father’s cruelty because she trusted him. Nobody else knew, who wasn't an accomplice to it. To hear him downplay what she went through only twisted the knife her father had put there long ago.

“If those people want my life so much, they can have it,” said Miranda, trying not to show how deeply it hurt to hear Niket undermining everything she endured under her father's toxic influence. “It’s not my fault they don’t.”

“It's not about fault. It's about reality. Some people not only have shit fathers, but they get to be dirt poor too. I should know. It was my reality,” Niket countered, his words chastening Miranda into silence. She didn't know enough about the outside world to compare experiences. She barely knew anything about the outside world that she hadn't read in books, or learned about from a screen.

Maybe Niket was right. Maybe other people did have it worse than her. Far worse. Maybe she was selfish, ungrateful and privileged. Then again, she’d never told him her very real fear that her father might…murder her one day.

Niket could probably only imagine her father throwing her out on the street if she displeased him, or if he decided it was time to replace her. At worst, he probably expected her father might sell her off to some stranger to be their “daughter” instead of his. Killing her, though? That wasn’t something Niket would have predicted, unless she brought it up as a possibility. And Miranda hadn’t.

She didn’t want Niket to know of that risk. If he did, Miranda could picture him acting rashly to protect her, dismantling their carefully crafted escape plan.

Niket wasn't like her. He was more passionate than she was. More emotional. Normal, presumably. Miranda may not have understood normal people very well at all, but she did have feelings. And she knew well enough that getting emotional could cause a loss of control. Bad judgement. So what did that mean for someone who lacked her restraint? Someone who didn't have years of practice at suppressing their instincts? At suffocating those feelings?

Miranda couldn't trust what Niket might do if he had a reason to hate her father as much as she did. That was why it wasn’t worth telling him the truth. But, even so, he was the last person she would have expected to second-guess her desire to escape this gilded cage.

“I’ve never claimed to have the worst life in the world. I know I don’t,” Miranda continued, her voice quieter, defending herself as calmly as she could.

“No. Don’t worry about that,” Niket assured her, regretting his poor choice of words. “I’m not saying I…Look, when it comes to getting you out of here, I’m with you all the way. Don’t ever think I’m not. That’s not an issue with me.”

“Good,” said Miranda, still offended by the fact he’d even brought it up. He’d explicitly confirmed that all the things she’d told him about her father didn’t qualify him as a cruel man in his eyes, and that Miranda's problems weren't real problems. What more was there to say? “Then let’s not discuss it.”

“Miri…” He reached out to her apologetically, but she brushed him off.

“We don’t need to talk about this,” she stated firmly, smothering her own emotions, putting up her defences. “Just get it done.”

*    *     *

“Come on. Where are they?” Miranda complained, growing tired of waiting for the bulk of her team to catch up. Honestly, she was faster hobbling on a crutch than these grunts were at full fitness. With tanks. “Ox team, report. I need an ETA on those bulldozers. We're in search grid V-44A. What's taking you so bloody long to reach us?” Miranda asked, impatience starting to get the better of her.

She'd used up her last political favour to organise this effort. This was the last big chance they would have to find anyone alive. If this failed, there would be no do-overs. No second chances. As far as they ventured in the next three days would be as far as they would go for a while. It might be months before they expanded the habitable zone of London any further again.

Every second counted. They had to make the most of what little time they had.

“Apologies, Director Lawson,” the comms crackled in her ear. “We picked up some readings of instability in the area. Almost like seismic activity. Our crew is checking it out. We're waiting on an all clear from them before the vehicles advance. Don't want to open up a sinkhole by accident.”

“A warning would have been nice. Run a scan,” Miranda commanded the soldier on her right. She would have used her own omni-tool to do the job, but her arm was busy supporting her weight, and she didn't have a spare. The soldier dutifully obeyed. “We'll continue searching the area on foot ahead of you. Keep me updated on your progress. Time is short, and this debris won't clear itself. Find another path to us if you have to.”

“Roger that. Ox out.”

“Useless,” Miranda muttered under her breath. This was why she preferred to work alone. At least she knew she could rely on herself to get things done. But this was the kind of operation that required a lot of bodies on the ground. Hers was just one of several teams conducting their wide-scale push across the city. Jacob was leading one. Wrex another.

The efforts to coordinate between the Council races had also paid off. The human, asari and turian military forces on the ground had all organised their own teams as well. Miranda's team was even partially comprised of Alliance soldiers, but mostly those who had already been working in close concert with Bailey. Nobody really seemed to care that they were taking their orders from him. What mattered was that, in total, their search and rescue must have consisted of at least a thousand people, if not more. It was a start.

“I'm not reading anything. Then again, their scanners are stronger than mine,” the soldier on her right remarked. Miranda rolled her eye, deciding to make use of the people already with her, and do the rest herself.

Bailey wouldn't like her doing any heavy lifting. Miranda was useful to him, after all. If she got hurt, he lost a valuable asset. But screw it. He could sanction her if he had a problem with it.

“You, do a full sweep of that building. You, over there,” she commanded, gesturing with her crutch, splitting the relief crew off into groups to search the street for survivors, supplies and paths through the wreckage. That way, the demolition, clearance and salvage teams could plough through without wasting any more valuable time when they finally did arrive. “You two, come with me,” she instructed impatiently, heading into a dilapidated ruin of a building personally, not bothering to wait for the bulldozers.

“Yes, Director Lawson.” Everyone followed her orders without question, including the two Alliance soldiers who began to follow her.

It was the middle of the day, but the skies were still dark from the dust. Miranda hadn't forgotten how difficult it was to tell time in the wasteland. Even the brightest hours of the day felt like dusk. And it was cold. It was always cold now.

Miranda approached the only building that hadn't half-collapsed. An office block, with a lobby and reception area on the ground floor. Its exterior was still largely intact, bar the windows, which were all gone, shattered during the battle. Parts of the outer walls had come down, exposing the insides, as if a Reaper had blasted a hole in one side of the building.

“Get a light in there, would you?” Miranda instructed. One of the soldiers complied, the other continuing to run scans as he had before. The flashlight washed over the inside of the building. It was a mess. Some of the upper floors had fallen down into the lobby. Broken desks, computers, wires and lights hung from a half-broken ceiling. The sad thing was, that was a vast improvement over most places they'd come across. At least this one was still standing.

“Director Lawson, my scan couldn't penetrate too deep, but I'm detecting a possible source of the instability,” the male soldier, Alexei Resnikov, told her. “There are cavernous openings right below us.”

“Cavernous openings?” his squadmate echoed, a woman named Keiko Yoshizawa. “You mean the London underground? Or a car park? Here on Earth, we don't all travel by skycar, space cowboy. It's not like a space station. In case you haven't noticed, some of us still use roads and rails to get around.”

“How rustic,” Resnikov remarked with a snort.

“Knock it off,” Miranda ordered, bringing their pointless chatter to a swift and sudden end. “You mentioned the underground. We haven't been able to access it this far out. But if there is a station near here, that would be a likely place to find survivors. It's safe, it may still have leftover food and water, and the tunnels provide an easy path across the city. Until you hit the cave-ins, anyway.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.” Yoshizawa nodded, bringing up a holographic map. “We're heading in the right direction. The nearest one isn’t far from here. Cutting through this place is probably the easiest way, since the streets are blocked.”

“Why are you standing around like you're waiting for a taxi, then? Get moving,” Miranda spoke curtly, prompting the two soldiers to go on ahead of her. They didn't hesitate to comply.

She followed them into the lobby. It was even darker than outside, the air filled with a heavy cloud of particles. Miranda paused long enough to lift up her scarf, covering her nose and mouth. Ceiling panels and broken light fixtures were dangling down from the floor above, like vines in a thick jungle. Thankfully, there was no electricity to worry about. But it still required a little caution not to get tangled up in the wires as they moved through.

Resnikov and Yoshizawa's torches were the only light source, beams flashing through the shadow as they examined the scene. They made it maybe halfway across the floor before their path hit a dead end.

“This could be a problem,” said Resnikov, torchlight finding no longer finding any promising gaps they could manoeuvre through. “The upper floors have completely caved in ahead of us. We're blocked.”

“There's an elevator shaft,” Yoshizawa pointed out, nudging her beam of light towards it. “Given this building has underground parking, there should be a ramp or a stairwell to take us out the other side.”

“Should be?” Resnikov emphasised, clearly sceptical. “Look, I already saw an entrance ramp near where we came in, and that was totally clogged. If there is another exit, we can't guarantee it won't be blocked by rubble too.”

“So let's check,” Yoshizawa insisted.

“Pry the lift open,” Miranda ordered, willing to chance it. Yoshizawa set to work.

A slight tremor passed through the building. Dust sprinkled down from above.

“Did you feel that?” asked Resnikov.

“Nothing to worry about,” Miranda assured him, shaking her head, clearing the dirt from her hair, blinking it out of her eye. “We're not going to be in here for long.” Even as she spoke, the strange ripple coursed through the foundations once again. She furrowed her brow. “...Wait a moment. That isn't coming from above us,” she observed, concentrating on the subtle disturbance.

It happened again, shaking the ground beneath her feet. These tremors were happening in steady intervals, their tempo too precise to be something random. It almost sounded like a slow, low-pitched drumbeat.

“It feels like there's something underneath us,” said Resnikov.

“Whatever it is, it's sending out a pulse of some kind,” Miranda murmured, thinking aloud. “A signal, maybe.” If she was right about this, that would suggest there really were survivors in the tunnels. Perhaps these vibrations were somebody's way of trying to get the attention of anyone on the surface.

“Alright. We're clear.” Yoshizawa backed away from the doors after wrenching them apart as far as they would go, gesturing for the two of them to go ahead.

Miranda took a quick look inside. The fortunate thing about this building being largely intact was that the lift didn't seem to have been destroyed, meaning there were no obstructions at the bottom of the shaft. By sheer luck, the steel cables were still in one piece, supporting the weight of the elevator, which must have been hanging somewhere above her, frozen due to lack of power.

It was odd to still see an elevator with this design. Miranda had forgotten how low-tech parts of Earth could be, especially in old cities like London, where past architecture often survived through retrofitting, or, as in the case of the underground, a sense of tradition. 

This building may have stood largely unchanged for a hundred years, for all Miranda knew. Maybe longer.

“Hold this,” Miranda stated. It wasn’t a request, giving her crutch to Yoshizawa before the soldier could ask what she intended. Miranda biotic-pulled the cables towards her, rappelling down the shaft and swinging out onto the level below. The landing wasn't particularly gentle on her knee, which was nowhere near healing from the shuttle accident, but she could live with the discomfort. It was dark down there. Pitch black, almost. But she saw sunlight ahead.

“You were right. There is a way out,” she told them, lowering her scarf long enough to be heard, leaning against the wall to take the weight off her leg while she waited for them to follow her lead. Part of the wall on the far side of the building had collapsed, leaving a hole and a pile of rubble that led back up to the surface. Probably where an emergency stairwell used to be.

“What would you have done if there wasn't?” Yoshizawa asked on her way down.

“Climb,” Miranda answered bluntly. She was one-armed and wounded, but she wasn't useless, for heaven's sake.

She felt the tremor again. It seemed louder than before.

It was oddly familiar to her, but far too faint to place. What was it? It was like a word on the tip of her tongue. If she could just put her finger on it...

Soon enough, the three of them made it back to the surface, manoeuvring around debris on their way to the station, which wasn’t far ahead. If someone was using the tunnels to get around, Miranda admired their cleverness. It would have saved her a lot of trouble if she could have done the same, but alas she hadn't found an intact tube station during those five days she spent crawling through the wasteland. Intellectually, she was sure she would have passed more than one, but they must have been buried under debris, or otherwise inaccessible.

On the other hand, if she'd gotten stuck down there, Samara never would have found her. Given the state of her injuries, even if there had been one nearby with any food and water left, it probably wouldn't have kept Miranda alive. She would have succumbed to her wounds eventually, and died alone of sepsis. Her bad luck had been good fortune, as it turned out.

“That's it right there,” Resnikov pointed out, approaching the steps that led to the underground. They were partially obstructed – debris from the very building they'd just left, most likely.

“Stand back,” Miranda said, using her biotics to clear a path into the station, blasting away the pile of loose rubble that blocked the entrance. It was then that something clicked in her mind.

Of course. Miranda knew what the sound she'd heard before was. That was why it seemed so familiar.

Detonations. Someone was causing biotic detonations down there.

But for what purpose?

“Still plenty to scavenge here,” said Resnikov, his flashlight moving over to a small, abandoned kiosk. The security grating had already been bent by looters, probably months ago. But they hadn't taken everything. “Hey, Tupari. Love this stuff.”

“I only drink Paragade,” Yoshizawa remarked.

“Your loss.” Resnikov bent down beneath the warped security shutter and picked up a can, stowing it away for later.

“There's that sound again,” Yoshizawa commented as they passed through the ticketing gates, heading down the stairs and towards the station platforms, following the sound. She activated her omni-tool, analysing the noise. “There. It's coming from that tunnel. North of here.”

Yoshizawa jumped down onto the tracks, quickly followed by Resnikov. Miranda ignored Resnikov's unspoken offer of assistance, easing herself down unaided.

This wasn't the first time Miranda had explored the underground since getting back on her feet. Her first search and rescue operation under Bailey's command had taken her through the carcass of a train, not far from Paddington station. Their hopes of finding anyone holed up inside the carriage had quickly dwindled when they realised the train had been swarmed by Reaper forces long before the final battle. There were no survivors.

“Hello?” Resnikov called out, his voice reverberating off the walls. “Is anybody there?” Squeaking rats scurried through the darkness. Miranda hid her growing physical discomfort as she limped behind her troops.

Yoshizawa went on ahead, leaving Resnikov to help light Miranda's way. Miranda watched her silhouette head further into the hollow, claustrophobic chamber, the small circle of light hitting the walls ahead. Abruptly, the sound happened again. This time, it shook the ground they were standing on.

“Director! That was right ahead of us!” Yoshizawa instinctively rushed towards the noise, disappearing around a bend in the tunnel. Miranda hastened after her, listening to the young soldier speak with whoever it was that was causing these detonations. “Hello? Can you hear me?” Yoshizawa paused. “It's alright; I'm a rescuer. I'm with two others right now, but there's more above us.”

That confirmed it then. There were survivors down here.

She came around the corner to see Yoshizawa at a thick blockage in the tunnel. It looked like part of the road above had collapsed, leaving an impassable obstacle of concrete, metal and earth. Probably the footprint of a Reaper.

“Please! You have to help us,” a muffled voice pleaded from behind the debris. Miranda could barely make it out, even as she got closer. But she sounded young. Younger than Oriana. “We're stuck back here!”

“Keep them calm; I'll call it in,” Miranda ordered. “Sweep team, we have survivors trapped in a collapsed metro tunnel in grid V-44A. We need a drill to get them out.”

“You're going to be fine,” Yoshizawa answered back to the anxious voice. “Just hold tight. We'll dig you out of here.”

“Teach, they're telling us to stop,” another voice spoke, a male this time. “Maybe you should cool it with the detonations? You've been at this for way too long. You're going to wear yourself out at this rate.”

“No. Screw that,” a third voice sharply replied. Older than the others, but no less impetuous. “Seanne needs help now, Prangley. Not later. I'm sure as hell not sitting here in the dark counting on a bunch of assholes who can't do a damn thing to help us to be our only way out. We're doing this my way!”

The entire tunnel shook as a brutal burst of biotic force smashed into the wall.

Miranda whirled around, startled by the shockwave that rocked the ground underfoot. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Are you trying to get us all killed?!” she shouted through the obstruction, livid at the woman’s recklessness.

“If I stop, Seanne dies!” the obscured voice answered back, followed by another biotic combination. Chips of concrete and dust sprayed everywhere. With so little time to react, Miranda didn't know whether she should prioritise keeping her balance or shielding her eye from the fallout. Instinctively, she ended up choosing the latter when a second strike occurred.

A small shard of concrete grazed her cheek, opening a cut. With one last roar, the rogue biotic slammed into the obstruction, finally blowing open a gap in the debris. Miranda saw her shadow fall forwards, onto her outstretched palms, panting for breath, visibly worn out.

The woman arose from the ground, onto her knees, holding up a hand and squinting against the blindingly bright beams of light that Yoshizawa and Resnikov were pointing at her, both soldiers staring at her, too stunned to move.

Miranda's breath caught.

It couldn't be.

This wasn't possible.

“Ow. Hey, cool it with the damn flashlights, will you?” the figure groaned in discomfort, turning away to let her eyes adjust after living in darkness for so long.

“Jack?” Miranda said in disbelief, astonished to see that all too familiar face.

Judging by the silence that followed, Jack recognised Miranda's voice immediately, now that there was no wall blocking the sound. “Oh, fu—crying out loud...” Jack reluctantly swallowed the urge to curse in front of her kids. Of all the people she could have run into...

Miranda quickly recovered from the shock.

“What were you thinking?!” Miranda scolded, marching right up to Jack, despite her impairment. Not the consummate professionalism her soldiers expected from her, but her anger was warranted. “Do you have any idea how unstable the buildings are above us? This whole area is on the verge of collapsing in on itself! While you were blasting away like a lunatic, this entire tunnel could have caved in on top of you, and taken me and my people with it.”

“So? It didn't. I didn't know you were up there, anyway.” Jack shrugged as she stood up, doing her best to block out the headache-inducing onslaught of those torches shining directly into her face, barely even able to make out Miranda's silhouette, despite standing right in front of her. “Hey you, point those fucking things somewhere else,” she grumbled at Miranda's team, clearly a threat.

“Language, teach,” one of Jack's group spoke up.

“Ah, ffff...” Jack trailed off into a groan.

“You'd been doing so well, too,” another student joked.

“Hey, laugh it up later. We aren't out of here yet. And we still need to get Seanne to a doctor,” Jack said, her tone stern but fair, calmer now that they'd made contact with someone she knew, even if it wasn't someone she liked. She turned back to Miranda, her eyes still adjusting to the light. “Isn't that the part where you come in? What's the hold up, cheerleader?” she asked, gesturing at her to hurry it up.

Miranda shook her head and sighed with exasperation, activating her earpiece once more. “Ox, this is Lawson. Belay that order on the machinery. It's no longer necessary,” she informed them. “We're extracting the survivors on foot.”

“Roger,” the earpiece crackled in reply. “We'll meet you back at the square.”

Miranda closed the channel, glancing at her old squadmate. “I'll get you and your students the help you need. You're welcome, by the way,” Miranda muttered.

She heard Jack snort. “I never thanked you.”

“I noticed,” Miranda curtly replied.

“Yo, you two know each other?” one of Jack's students asked, the entire group of them beginning to emerge through the hole behind her one after the other. There weren't that many. Probably ten all up.

“We're acquainted,” Miranda answered dryly.

Jack uttered a sardonic snort, evidently having more choice words in mind to describe her history with Miranda. To her credit, she refrained from sharing them. This wasn't the time. Not with her kids depending on her. That didn't escape Miranda's attention. It was a far cry from what the old Jack would have done.

In that moment, in the torchlight, Miranda saw Jack wiping beads of sweat from her brow. It was no secret that using biotics consumed a lot of energy. Biotics who actively used their powers might have to eat three times more than a normal person just to function, if not more. Jack was holding herself together admirably, but she looked drained. Miranda softened, reminded of how she'd battled with exhaustion during her own struggle to survive.

“Resnikov, give her that Tupari of yours,” Miranda said, thinking that might help Jack recover some blood sugar.

“Sure thing, Ms. Lawson,” Resnikov responded, handing Jack the can.

“...I could use a boost,” Jack reluctantly murmured, which was about the closest she could get to an admission of gratitude, at least where Miranda was concerned. She cracked open the drink, and started chugging it.

“We should get moving,” said Miranda, shifting focus to what mattered. This place didn't exactly scream stability. “I don't want to stay in this tunnel longer than we need to. Resnikov, Yoshizawa, give Jack's students a hand, would you?”

“Will do,” Yoshizawa responded, nodding her head, she and her comrade heading over towards the small gap in the debris, where the students were awkwardly squeezing their way through the hole one by one.

Jack's eyes widened when the two passing torches suddenly washed over Miranda's form. She nearly choked on her drink, taken aback when she finally saw her old squadmate illuminated as more than a dark silhouette hidden in shadow.

“Whoa. Holy shit. What the hell happened to you?” Jack coughed to clear the mis-swallowed drink from her throat, startled at the sight of Miranda's extensive injuries. She hadn't been expecting that.

“Looks worse than it is.” Miranda turned away, not sure she wanted to hear Jack's take on her condition. Not that she was bothered by how she looked. She just knew Jack would have a bloody field day with it.

“Yeah, no shit. 'Cause you look like you should be dead. I mean, seriously, what the fuck? Did you get in a fist fight with a thresher maw?” Jack questioned, in what sounded like a snicker, shock quickly giving way to twisted humour.

“Something like that,” Miranda drawled offhandedly, only half-listening to Jack's comments, concentrating on counting heads as Resnikov and Yoshizawa tended to the students. Jack's mockery didn't really matter to her. She had other priorities.

“Hey, if you ask me, having half your face blown off is a huge improvement.” Jack shrugged casually. “For you, anyway. Garrus would say it gives you character.”

“Right,” Miranda distractedly replied, scarcely paying attention.

“How bad's the scar?” Jack asked, trying to glimpse beneath the bandages.

“Don't know. Hasn't healed yet,” Miranda answered, gradually losing patience.

“From the looks of things, I bet it's real fuckin' ugly,” Jack said, smirking.

“Are you done?” Miranda ignored the comment, already bored with this.

“Not even close. I haven't even started making fun of your arm yet.” Jack grinned mischievously, enjoying this way too much to quit anytime soon. “Want me to shut up? Clap once for yes, zero times for no.”

Miranda just stared at her expressionlessly, not offended but not amused.

“Instructor?” a young woman called out. Miranda glanced up to see several of the students huddled over one of their own, the last one to be brought through the gap Jack had created. All appeared desperately worried. Their friend looked faint. Pale. Almost green. “Seanne's getting worse again. She's burning up.”

“I know, Rodriguez. You did good, taking care of her. But these jerks will handle it from here,” Jack spoke, calm and confident. “Drink your juice, and let them carry her. Except you, Reiley. You can stay by her side. Miranda will make sure she gets all the help she needs. Or, if she doesn't, I'll punch a hole in her stomach,” Jack assured them, and Miranda knew that threat was a guarantee. 

In Jack's mind, anyway.

“No need for that,” Miranda said, having no intention of impeding the girl's treatment. “Let's get moving. The sweep team will meet us on the surface. They'll take your friend to a hospital.”

“Okay.” Rodriguez nodded, comforted by that promise. The boy they’d identified as Reiley gave Seanne's hand a gentle squeeze, staying by her side as Resnikov and Yoshizawa picked her up, draping her arms over their shoulders. The poor girl could barely walk. She probably didn't even know where she was.

“The station's not far,” Miranda said, limping alongside Jack, ahead of the others. It was good that they were getting an opportunity to speak before meeting the rest of the team. Despite their strained history, there were details she wanted to know from her, and she was sure Jack could say the same.

Over a month had passed since the war ended. Jack didn't know a damn thing about what had happened in that time. About Shepard, and the Normandy...

“These are all your students?” Miranda asked, aware of Jack's role as a mentor to gifted biotics in the Ascension Program. She'd learned about that long ago, having kept tabs on her former squadmates while she was on the run from Cerberus, to the extent that it was possible to do so. Jack had spoken fondly about her 'tykes’ back at Shepard's apartment on the Citadel. That makeshift reunion seemed like a world away. It was strange to think how recent it was.

Shepard had invited them all to that party, gathering the whole gang together on a whim, knowing it would be the last opportunity to do something like that before they took on Cerberus and the Reapers. Back then, Miranda had wondered how many of those faces would never see the light of day again. Now, she knew at least part of that answer, but the fates of all but a handful of their group were a mystery.

“Yeah. These are my kids. All the ones who lived.” Jack instantly dropped what remained of her joking demeanour, an uncomfortable hint of stark seriousness crossing her face. Miranda recognised the shift in her expression – it betrayed the presence of a deep sense of responsibility.

She blamed herself for everyone she'd lost, a burden Miranda knew too well. The difference was, Jack actually cared about the people under her command. She loved those kids. And she'd had to watch some of them die.

“What happened?” Miranda encouraged, urging her to share her story.

“We were stationed a ways south of here during the fighting, managed to escape north when the big wave hit. There was an outpost near us. Emphasis on was. Went there first, but no survivors. We holed up there for a while because it had some food and water. We figured, if anyone else had survived, somebody would fly over and spot us eventually, but nobody ever did. Once there was nothing left above, I came down to the tunnels; I figured the train lines were our best chance of crossing the city,” she explained.

“You were probably right. Much of the surface is impassable, and our search and rescue teams would have had no chance of reaching you. This is the first time we've gone so far northeast,” Miranda commented. “You would have been stranded out there. Staying above ground would have meant certain death. It nearly was for me.”

“Not sure this was much better,” Jack mumbled to herself, crushing the empty Tupari can and throwing it aside, her frustration becoming evident. “I thought it was a good deal. I mean, we found shit to eat and drink, they were safe places to sleep in, and there's not as many dead things as there are in the streets. But we'd always hit blocks in the tunnels. We'd either find another station nearby, or dig our way through. Eventually, I figured we'd be better off staying in one place for a while. Hunker down. Try to radio out or something.” Jack drew a deep breath, releasing it in a heavy sigh. “But I fucked up. I got too comfortable, and I stayed put when I should have been making ground.”

“How do you mean?” Miranda pressed.

“A few days ago, Seanne started throwing up,” Jack told her. “For a while, I thought it was best to keep her in one place and hope it would pass. But it's gotten worse. Her fever is out of control. I know she's dehydrated, but any fluid we give her won't stay down. She just vomits it up again. Her brother has to sit there and watch her waste away. I don't know if it was dirty water or if the rats got to her...”

“Don't worry. A drip in her arm will do her a world of good,” Miranda assured her. Jack looked down at her feet, visibly troubled to think she'd caused this – that she might lose another student, through nothing but her own poor judgement.

Jack shook her head, hating how powerless she felt. “Shit, it's my fault. I should have moved faster,” she said, wishing she'd had the sense to realise that something like this might happen. “I could have gotten her to you days ago.”

“Don't blame yourself. You didn't even know we were there,” Miranda reminded her. It was in Miranda's nature to be critical of others, thanks to her father's influence. But she knew how hard it was to navigate the wastes. How desolate they were. How easy it was to get lost, or think you were the last person alive. “You did the best you could for her, and now you've found us. I'll pull whatever strings I can to ensure she gets the best care possible.”

Jack slowly nodded, swallowing as she absorbed that reassurance, setting her mind to the thought that Seanne was going to be okay. For as many issues as she'd had with Miranda, she knew she wouldn't have said any of those things just to be nice to her. Far from it. If she thought Jack was at fault, she would have been the first person to tell her everything she did wrong. Miranda wouldn't have told her things were okay unless she meant it. She took some comfort from that. Everything really was under control now. They were over the worst bit.

“...Yeah. Yeah,” was all Jack said, lost in her own thoughts.

Miranda's expression softened, well aware that this was the most genuine moment she and Jack had ever shared. Not that there was any competition. The loss of so many friends, and the near-destruction of an entire galaxy could put a lot of things into perspective like that.

“Jack?” Miranda spoke again, prompting her to look up. “I'm glad you're okay,” she admitted, willing to be the bigger person in this situation, and to extend the olive branch. And, oddly enough, she actually meant it.

Jack uttered a quiet but authentic laugh, letting her head fall back for a moment. “Yeah, you too,” Jack conceded. Strange, but true. “You're still a cunt, though.”

“Well, we can't change everything,” Miranda remarked, choosing to take that as a term of endearment rather than an insult. Judging from the light chuckle she gave, Jack probably intended it to be both.

For as irreconcilable as their differences had once seemed, they had parted on comparatively good terms the last time they met. Certainly, their brief interactions at Shepard's apartment hadn't magically transformed them into friends or anything like that, but it seemed to have quelled the bulk of the animosity between them, resulting in something perhaps not far removed from mutual respect and tolerance. They appeared to have reached the point where they could mostly co-exist, without lingering feelings of hostility. Miranda could live with that.

“Found anyone else of ours?” Jack asked, breaking Miranda's train of thought.

“No. Well, yes, but...What I mean is, before you, I was the most recent find,” Miranda clarified. “Samara brought me out of ground zero. Saved my life. That was four weeks ago. Jacob was already at the camp. Wrex is there, too. They're both fine. Physically, at least. Since I woke up, Samara's...disappeared, for unknown reasons. We think she's still alive. Everyone else? Not so fortunate. They're all unaccounted for.”

“Ah, shit.” Jack scuffed the ground with her boot. Miranda paused, wondering if she should share the news about Shepard's demise, but she thought better of it. This wasn't the right time. It would only upset her.

Honestly, Miranda didn't like to dwell on it, either. As far as she knew, the four of them were all that remained of the Normandy SR-2.

Her morose ruminations were swiftly silenced. A vicious crack echoed throughout the tunnel, as loud as thunder. She whirled around instinctively, as did Jack, unable to tell where it was coming from. Yoshizawa and Resnikov shone their lights back down the tracks. In the glow, Miranda saw dust trickle from the ceiling, from the same direction where Jack had demolished the blockage.

Oh, bloody hell.

“The tunnel's falling apart. This whole area could cave in at any moment,” Miranda spoke, her firm tone punctuated with an undercurrent of creeping urgency.

“Fuck,” she heard Jack curse beside her, realising she may have triggered this in her reckless haste to get Seanne into the hands of someone who could cure her sickness. “Come on! Double time it!”

Even if they weren't directly under the most precarious point, none of them wanted to take that risk, nor be trapped down there if anything should happen. All it would take was a building being tilted too far to one side, and then countless tonnes of collapsing concrete, glass and metal could leave them trapped inside. If they were lucky enough to survive.

They couldn't afford to let that happen.

“Move, move, move!” Jack pushed the students to run past her. Miranda also made sure Yoshizawa and Resnikov carried Seanne ahead of them, not about to leave anyone behind. Not again. Suddenly, Miranda felt a sharp pain in her injured shoulder. “You too, you crippled motherfucker,” Jack said.

“Hey!” Miranda instinctively protested through gritted teeth when she saw Jack draping her bandaged stump of an arm over her shoulder, all but carrying her out of there. God, it hurt. “Let me go.”

“Fuck that. Joker moves faster than you do,” Jack pointed out.

Miranda couldn't really argue with that. She couldn't run with her left knee practically demolished on the inside.

Miranda swallowed a gasp of pain, trying not to show how much her body was killing her. It felt like Jack was going to tear what little was left of her arm clear out of the socket, or snap her already wounded leg clear in two. Still, she could see the platform getting closer by the second. They'd made it back to the station in one piece, not far behind the others.

Jack jumped up first, extending her hand to pull Miranda up onto the platform behind her, the two of them ascending the stairs to the upper level. They'd made it about halfway through the concourse before Miranda heard the sound from the tunnels below. The very place where they'd been standing a minute ago was no doubt now completely buried under a mountain of earth, bitumen, concrete and twisted metal. It was a good thing they'd left when they did.

“I think we're in the clear for now,” Miranda said, wincing as she gingerly made her way out of the underground and into the ash-clouded sunlight.

“Director Lawson?” Miranda heard a voice over her earpiece. “What the hell was that? Are you okay?”

“We're fine here, Ox. One of the train tunnels collapsed. Fortunately, we weren't in it,” she informed them, taking her last few steps back out onto the street, easing herself back against a nearby skybus shelter, keeping the weight off her throbbing knee, her body reminding her just how injured she still was. “We've located eleven survivors. One critically ill. Can you get through to us at the station?”

“Negative, Director. With that tunnel caving in beneath you, this whole street is one giant catastrophe waiting to happen. Protocols prevent us from moving the dozers in your direction right now, which means we can't get to you. It's simply too dangerous,” the Ox team commander answered back.

Miranda hesitated. Objectively speaking, she understood their decision, and they were only obeying her earlier commands by keeping those priorities in order. But that left them stranded in a precarious position. If the ground shifted again, any one of these buildings could come crashing down on top of them.

“Is there another way around?” Miranda asked over the communicator.

“Another way? We don't have time for another way!” Jack pressed, as if that should have been obvious. “Our best bet is to cut through one of these buildings right now and meet them wherever they are.”

“Jack, please.” Miranda silenced her, focused on her conversation. She couldn't rush this decision. She needed to think. Exasperated, Jack threw her hands up in the air and began to pace back and forth impatiently, Seanne's health weighing heavily on her mind.

“I suppose we could circumvent the area, or try to meet you somewhere else, but honestly there's no telling how long that might take, or if those other paths to you are any safer,” the Ox team coordinator told her straightforwardly. “Besides, that still leaves you in a danger zone. Even if we hurry, it's risky.”

“Look, listen to me,” Jack began, coming back to her once more, trying to present as calm and rational of a demeanour as she could manage. “These structures are already unstable. The longer we sit here and wait, the shakier they're gonna get.” Miranda could hear the undercurrent of emotion in her voice. Jack was doing a good job of staying composed, no doubt knowing Miranda might disregard her advice otherwise. She did tend to be more amenable to a plan presented without yelling or swearing. “So why wait? Let's just punch through here nice and quick. Get out now, while this block still stands.”

Miranda paused, considering her words. A few months ago, she wouldn't have given her input much if any consideration. But that was a different time. Jack really had changed since then.

She wasn't the selfish, violent psychopath Miranda had met last year. Far from it. Instead, Jack had helped her without a second thought, making damn sure everyone got out of that tunnel in one piece. Hell, maybe the person Miranda once thought Jack was never existed. Maybe she'd always been wrong about her.

Plus, it wasn’t lost on Miranda that Jack had managed to do something she hadn’t during the war. She’d kept people alive.

Miranda’s breath shallowed, remembering the faces that haunted her nightmares. The team she’d led to Earth. The Alliance soldiers she’d fought beside at the barricade. The shuttle crew that had come to her rescue. One by one, they’d followed Miranda to their end, like lemmings off the edge of a cliff. Weren’t there enough deaths on her hands?

In that silent moment of reflection and regret, Miranda did something she’d never done before. She second-guessed herself.

“Alright,” Miranda agreed, making the decision to trust Jack's judgement over her own. “There's a car park underneath that building. That's how we reached you. The ramp is obstructed on the other side, but we can climb up through the elevator shaft. Once we're out, the rest of my team should be waiting for us there.”

Jack seemed relieved, though Miranda had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't have mattered whether she supported her idea or not. Knowing Jack, she would have disregarded any order to stay put.

“Remain where you are, Ox. We're going to try and reach you. Better that a few of us move through this area on foot than risk the bulldozers triggering a reaction that threatens us all,” Miranda informed them, straightening up once again. “When I return, we'll resume our operations on a different route.”

“Copy that. We'll keep our heavy machinery at a distance just to be safe, but a few of us can head your way to help get the survivors to safety.”

“One survivor is in critical condition. She needs an urgent evac,” Miranda relayed, not sure Seanne would be able to survive the journey back without medical attention. She didn't fail to notice Jack watching her as she spoke to her team, an unreadable expression on her face. Miranda turned away, electing to ignore her.

“Noted. We've already radioed for an emergency medical shuttle. Should be here soon, so just get her to us and we'll load her on. In any event, we'll make sure some medics are there to meet you.”

Miranda breathed a small sigh. That was all they could do. “Alright. Lawson out.”

“Let's go,” Jack didn't hesitate to instruct her kids, eager to get Seanne into proper care. Resnikov carried her through the street and down the loose slope of rubble into the car park unassisted, Yoshizawa focusing on lighting the way once they made it inside.

“Resnikov, you should take Seanne up first,” Miranda advised, recognising that getting the poor girl into the hands of a medic could make a huge difference to her odds of survival. “Get her to the rest of the team and have them bring her to a hospital. Letting her wait here for the rest of us is only an unnecessary delay.”

“I'll need someone else to help me get her up the shaft,” Resnikov answered.

“Reiley should go with her,” Jack spoke up, gesturing to him. “He's her brother.”

“Fair enough.” Miranda nodded. That was as good a reason as any. Without delay, Reiley went into the shaft, scaling the tight space with the aid of the cables. Seanne was still aware enough that she could extend her hands under her own power, letting her brother pull her up, while Resnikov pushed from below.

“We're up,” Resnikov called down. “I'll come back in a few minutes.”

“Hopefully we'll be out by then,” Yoshizawa answered. “Alright. Who's next?”

Two more students went up the cables. Miranda had a good internal clock, which was normally a blessing, but in this case made her uneasy as she took note of how long this evacuation would take. Six more students had to go, followed by herself, Jack and Yoshizawa. She knew why this space made her so tense. If something went wrong, this basement car park was not the place they wanted to be.

“Jack,” Miranda spoke in hushed tones, subtly pulling her aside in the darkness. “Now that Seanne is in good hands, the rest of us should consider taking the long way around,” she suggested. None of them had any pressing need to hurry.

“Why?” Jack shrugged. “We're, what, ten minutes away from getting out?”

“Maybe, but it does occur to me that we're right above that tunnel you inadvertently destroyed,” Miranda pointed out. “Call me overcautious, but that knowledge doesn't exactly make me comfortable about standing here for any prolonged period of time.”

“Don't be a pussy,” Jack said with a snort.

“Better than being dead,” Miranda retorted. Jack blew her off, moving to be with her students. So much for that conversation.

“Okay, you're next.” Yoshizawa gestured for the girl named Rodriguez to come forward. Miranda approached them, standing among the remnants of the group, contemplating running a structural scan on the building, if only to disprove her own doubts. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

Rodriguez reached out for the cables, a little unsteady on her feet. She caught one, but seemed reluctant to go into the dark space alone. Miranda had noticed consistent signs of anxiety in the girl. She reminded herself to have all these kids scheduled to meet with a crisis counsellor later for a mental health assessment, overburdened though those services were. Post-traumatic stress disorder certainly wasn't out of the realm of possibility for any of—

Suddenly her non-deaf ear pricked up, her thoughts snapping into silence.

Rodriguez flinched and glanced up. “What was that?” she gasped.

Miranda heard it too.

“What was wh—?”

“Get back!” Miranda darted past Yoshizawa, hastily pulling Rodriguez away from the doors, sending them both tumbling to the floor. They escaped the impact by mere moments, Miranda shielding the girl with her body as best she could.

Metal crashed into concrete with crushing force. A concussive blast resonated through the cold, dark space in a deafening echo. Miranda didn't need to guess what had happened. One of the elevator cables had snapped, and the lift had slammed into the ground. From a long way up, it seemed.

“Holy shit,” Jack's voice broke the silence, stunned with shock.

Miranda released a sigh of relief. Wounded though she was, her reflexes were still as fast as ever. She groaned as she picked herself up, resting back on her good knee. “You okay?” Miranda asked with a grimace, checking on Rodriguez.

“Yeah. Thanks,” the girl answered, shell-shocked, but unharmed. “What about you?” she asked in return, not so sure she could say the same about her saviour.

Miranda stifled a wince, trying not to let it show just how badly her body hurt after doing that. “I'll be fine. Just give me a minute.” She waved her off, not quite sure her leg wouldn't just buckle underneath her if she tried to stand.

Rodriguez didn't question her, silently handing Miranda her crutch for whenever she was ready to use it. She got back to her feet, giving Miranda her space.

Jack watched on. Miranda could feel her scrutiny, feel those eyes assessing her. She was painfully conscious of it, in fact.

Jack was the only one among them who knew what Miranda was capable of before the war. She'd seen her at her strongest. To everyone else, the fact that Miranda could do anything at all must have made her seem like a superwoman, which wasn't entirely inaccurate to be fair. But not Jack. Jack could recognise just how badly Miranda was struggling. How much pain she would have to be in to be unable to stand. How much weaker she truly was.

From her silence, Miranda knew it was already too late. Jack had seen through her efforts to keep it hidden as soon as her mask had slipped. The only saving grace was that Miranda was quietly confident that Jack wouldn't give a shit.

“Well, I guess we're not climbing out,” Yoshizawa broke the silence, shining her torch in the shaft. Sure enough, the cables were broken now.

Suddenly, Miranda heard a shrill, high-pitched scream. Followed by another, and another. The sound crescendoed, like the swell of a rising wave, voices yelling out in horror, but their cries were drowned out by sickening cracks from above. Yoshizawa pointed her flashlight upwards. What Miranda saw there made her blood turn cold, and the rest of her freeze in place.

The floor above them was crumbling. The entire building was breaking apart. And it was coming down on top of them.

People often said stupid things about how time slowed when death was imminent. Miranda could attest otherwise. It happened incredibly fast. Too fast for even her to possibly react, even with her heightened reflexes. She heard the upper levels cascading down on top of each other, entire storeys sliding loose and falling into the streets below, the levels of the building collapsing in on themselves one by one. Dust and debris rained down from above, filling up the elevator shaft. Deep gashes burst open in the ceiling as the immense mass bore down upon them.

Miranda instinctively raised her hand and looked away, realising it was too late. But nothing happened. Seconds passed, and she was still alive.

A faint blue glow washed across her face, prompting her to glance up and scan the area. All she could hear was the thunderous pounding of her own heartbeat, her thoughts racing to assess the situation.

Then she saw it. Miranda was awestruck.

Jack was single-handedly holding up the building, using only her biotics.

“What in the...How are you doing that...?” Yoshizawa gasped in awe.

Jack grimaced, her body shaking as blue biotic light dimly illuminated the darkness around her. “Whatever you're going to do, do it fast. I don't know how long I can hold this.”

Miranda knew that was no exaggeration. Frankly, it was a miracle she was doing this at all. Anyone else would have been flattened instantly. Anyone else but the most powerful human biotic ever to live.

A quick glance at their surroundings revealed that the way they'd just come in was sealed shut, too much debris having fallen behind Jack. That meant the other exit was their best hope – the only chance they had. But they wouldn't get anywhere unless Ox team could help dig them out from the other side.

“Over there!” Miranda pointed to their best way out, pushing herself up to her feet, leaning heavily on her crutch. “Everybody move as fast as you can. We'll need to dig our way out,” she urged, and Yoshizawa didn't hesitate to follow her direction.

“Come with me!” the soldier commanded, leading Jack's students towards the debris blocking the ramp. They quickly began pulling at every loose bit of rubble they could find, grabbing nearby bits of steel to help wedge fallen chunks of concrete out of place.

Miranda activated her earpiece. “Resnikov, do you read me?”

“Yeah. We're all okay over here. The top part of the building just collapsed and fell off, but it looks like it stabilised somehow,” Resnikov replied back.

“From where I'm standing, it's not looking very stable. We're still trapped in the car park underneath. And now the way we came in is blocked,” Miranda replied, keeping her tone as calm as she could, given the circumstances. Panicking would help nobody.

“What? Shit...” Resnikov swore on the other end of the line.

“Listen to me, I need you to gather everyone you can to start digging us out from your side. Everything. Bulldozers. Machines. People. There's still nine of us trapped down here, with no other way out,” Miranda instructed, tension running high.

“But...Director! I...The protocol—!” a different voice came over the channel.

“Override the fucking protocol!” Miranda snapped into her communicator, momentarily losing her cool. It was warranted. This situation was hanging on a knife's edge. If they didn't act immediately, they would die. They would all die.

Emergencies didn't come more urgent than this.

“...We'll do everything we can. Hold on,” Resnikov replied.

Then the channel went quiet.

Miranda swallowed, adrenaline coursing through her system. She didn't do fear. She didn't get scared. But the stakes of the situation were not lost on her. They should have already been dead. The only reason they weren't was...

She glanced back at Jack. Standing alone. Shaking under the strain. Burning with biotic light. Carrying the weight of an entire building on her back.

She was damn near tearing herself apart to try and save them. But she was a long, long way from that blocked exit ramp. Even if they opened up a gap, how the fuck were they supposed to get Jack out without the building falling down on top of them?

No. That wasn't an option. Past grievances between them meant nothing anymore. Jack was part of her crew. And Miranda wasn't about to let someone who'd fought at her side for the future of all organic life die if she could possibly help it. She would think of something. She had to.

With that in mind, she headed back for her. Miranda may have been crippled, but she still had her biotics. If she could just take the pressure off Jack for a little while, maybe she could buy them all enough time.

Jack eyed Miranda like she'd lost her mind, watching her hobble across the distance between them. “The fuck are you doing?” Jack asked, teeth clenched, barely able to move her lips given how hard she was concentrating.

“Saving your life,” Miranda coolly answered, raising her one good arm, adding her strength to Jack’s, beginning to feel just how tenuous the structure actually was through the 'fingers' of her biotic field. She couldn’t do much, but that dim blue glow grew a little bigger, and a little brighter.

“More like dooming us all,” said Jack, visibly wincing. Miranda didn't want to think about how badly it must have been hurting her, holding this building up by herself.

From Miranda's meagre contributions, she could tell that Jack was using her biotics in two different ways. First, to make the building lighter, to the extent that she could. Second, exerting force – a barrier to hold it up. Miranda was carrying only a fraction of the weight that Jack was, not from lack of trying. Even that was enough to give her a sense of just how monumental this feat truly was. How was it even possible to have this much power, let alone this much control?

“We don't have time for this. Get them out of here,” Jack said, jerking her head towards the ramp, the students and the soldier trying in vain to dig their way out. “I'd do it myself, but...” A tremor running through the building above them cut off whatever Jack intended to say. She looked like she was about to either throw up or pass out, but she endured. Somehow.

“We have a fleet of rescuers converging on our position as we speak,” Miranda assured her, not worried that the machines could dig out an opening. That's what they were there for.

“Yeah, good for you, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm kinda busy keeping us from getting flattened. If I move, we're toast,” Jack pointed out, managing a roguish laugh despite the stress her body was under. “Much as I'd like to bring this building down on top of you and take you down with me...” She trailed off, briefly meeting Miranda's gaze. She couldn't even pretend she was considering that anymore, much as the old Jack would have. “Well, that would set a bad example for the tykes. And I wouldn't want to do you the favour.”

“That's not going to happen. To either of us,” said Miranda, glancing over her shoulder to see a sliver of light as the team outside began clearing the ramp. A hiss escaped her as the weight of the building shifted again. “If we can just brace the ceiling long enough, they can get in a crane to hold this up for us, or knock the upper floors down away from us—”

“Are you serious?” Jack all but snapped. If her hands weren't otherwise occupied, she would have slapped Miranda on the mangled side of her face. “This building's coming down no matter what we do. I'll hold it as long as I can. But you need to get your stupid ass out of here.”

“Damn it, Jack. You stubborn—” Miranda cut herself off from unleashing any insults. As motivating as her mutual animosity towards Jack had been at times, now was not the time to bicker. “Just hold on.”

“What do you think I'm trying to do?!” Jack shot back, pushed beyond her limits, both mentally and physically. She was giving Miranda an out – giving her former enemy a chance at life by sacrificing her own – and she wasn't taking it. Miranda wouldn’t let her do it. It must have been driving her crazy. “This is fucking bullshit...” Jack commented under her breath, glancing down, as if the burden of her thoughts surpassed the weight of the building.

Miranda couldn’t argue with that assessment.

After a moment, Jack collected herself, and cast a sideways glance at Miranda. “Look, I'm stuck here, but you don't have to be,” Jack said, speaking with the kind of even, straightforward tone Miranda would normally have associated with Shepard. “I don't care about surviving. You just get these kids somewhere safe. Now clear the ramp and get them out before this building comes down on top of us,” she calmly instructed, looking her dead in the eye, though it went against every fibre of her nature to be so composed. Jack would talk to Miranda any damn way it took to get her to do what she told her.

Miranda stared at her. The selfish psychopath she'd met a year ago was nowhere to be seen. Either that, or she'd grossly misjudged her this whole time. Suffice it to say, Miranda was stunned by the depth of the change in Jack. She'd grown more than any of them. It wasn't even close.

Suddenly, Miranda felt a lot more riding on getting Jack out alive than mere duty to an old shipmate. These fleeting moments they'd shared since they'd reunited down in the tunnels, they'd forced Miranda to see Jack as a real person, a three-dimensional person, a complex person, a person who deserved better than the cruel hand life had dealt her. And, if the genuine concern and emotional connection those teenagers had for her was any indication, that person had a lot left to live for.

“Did I stutter or did you lose your ears too?” Jack challenged when Miranda didn’t move. “I'm not making a polite request. I'm giving you a fucking order.”

“I don't take orders from you,” Miranda persisted, refusing to abandon her.

“Get moving. Do it. Get the fuck out,” Jack said, her stance momentarily wavering under the burden of the half-broken building.

For once in her life, Miranda didn't know what to say. No perfect, prepared answers or replies. She was torn. Intellectually, she knew that the smartest thing to do was focus her efforts on clearing the ramp. Get the most people out. Save herself. But the other part of her knew that would mean leaving Jack to die. And she couldn't do that. She couldn't add another name to the list of people she'd lost. She couldn't add another face to the ghosts that haunted her dreams. The people she'd failed to save in this war. The team she'd led to their deaths in London. The friends and crewmates she'd never see again.

The old Miranda would have made the pragmatic decision in a heartbeat. Without hesitation. But Jack wasn't the only person who'd changed. Maybe Miranda's change hadn't been as drastic. But the person who could make that cold, calculated choice didn't exist anymore. Somewhere down the line, she'd learned to care. Sometimes she wished she hadn't. Because, even though she was terrible at it, it couldn't be unlearned.

What was she supposed to choose?

“Jack—”

“Do it or I swear to every fucking god what happened to your fucking face in life will be a fucking cakewalk compared to what I'll do to you in death if you don't get my kids the fuck out of here!” Jack finally snapped, her patience frayed to breaking point, and her meaning deadly serious.

A steely look came over Miranda. Like it or not, Jack was right. Miranda knew what to do; what she had to do. But she would be damned if she was just going to accept it that easily.

“I'm coming back for you, Jack,” Miranda vowed, reluctantly stepping away, much to Jack's relief. She moved as quickly as she could towards the others, adding her biotics to the effort to clear the ramp. The students had made progress, with help from the soldiers on the other side. Miranda could hear machinery through the wall of debris – it sounded like handheld drills. They were starting to cut through.

Pretty soon, they started to see light. Small holes. Each one felt like it was worth its dimensions in gold. Every ray of light was a beacon of hope. They worked frantically on both sides to try and wedge the holes open, digging wherever their hands and their tools found purchase.

“Come on. A little more and we can probably start squeezing through,” Yoshizawa encouraged the students, doing an admirable job of keeping them focused. She wasn't wrong, either. The holes were widening inch by inch. Miranda could hear her team on the other side barking directions to each other, working as hard as they could to get them out.

Just as Miranda tried to peer through the gaps to see what was going on outside, she heard a pylon not far behind her crack, everyone ducking instinctively, most of them certain they just saw the ceiling get about a foot lower. Miranda clenched her teeth, glancing back to Jack. Jack was struggling, the weight gradually pushing her closer to the ground. She was bending, bowing under the pressure. But she didn't buckle. Somehow, she was still enduring. But every passing second must have felt like an eternity.

“Where the bloody hell are those bulldozers?!” Miranda called out through the holes in the debris, slamming her fist into the concrete in frustration.

“They're coming as fast as they can. But I don't know if they can make it in time. The roads aren't clear,” Resnikov told her, from his position just beyond the rubble. Miranda growled, cursing internally. He was right. The street was blocked by too much debris, mostly from all the other buildings that had crashed into the ground during the war.

“Then we keep doing it the hard way,” said Miranda, grabbing her crutch and wielding it like a battering ram, bashing her way through the wall of rubble, even if her one-armed efforts were basically useless.

Eventually, their combined efforts managed to push through the debris, forming a gap just wide enough to get people through. About six different pairs of feet kicked at the hole, knocking away anything that someone could potentially get stuck on. It would have to do.

“Alright, let's move,” Miranda ordered, all but pushing one of Jack's students towards daylight, waiting for them to worm their way through the narrow crack before doing the same with another. It took time for each person to squirm through. It wasn't easy.

“Go, go, go!” Resnikov ordered, still working on wedging the crack open from the other side, stretching the gap further apart, knocking away loose bits of rubble, finding it easier now that they had a little more leverage.

“What about Jack?” asked one of the students, a young man. Miranda hadn't caught his name. “We're not leaving without her!”

“I've got her. Don't worry,” Miranda assured them, heading back for her, limping out across the floor to where Jack stood alone. “Come on, Jack,” she spurred her on, gesturing for her to make a dash for it now that they had a way out. The hole was getting bigger. The light was getting brighter. “There's enough space for us to get through. It's now or never.”

“What part of 'this building will collapse if I'm not standing under it' do you not understand?” Jack shot back, furious with Miranda for endangering herself despite her repeated efforts to get her to leave.

“Is sprinting intellectually beyond you?” Miranda sarcastically countered.

“I'll be dead before I take my first step,” Jack replied, knowing that if she moved for even a second the roof would immediately cave in right above her head. She could feel the crumbling structure like an extension of herself.

Miranda wasn't a fool; she'd felt what Jack was going through. And she knew she was right. But Miranda didn't care anymore. She'd lost too much already. Surviving the war had come at such a cost. She hadn't even begun to fully count the price. If this was going to kill her, then so be it. But she wasn't about to let the universe take one more god damn thing from her. Not without a fight.

“Well, I'm not leaving you behind,” Miranda vowed, a surge of power flaring through her wounded body. Without even thinking, she used her biotics to pull a largely intact column out of the debris pile that had been blocking the exit ramp, slowly prying open a massive, person-sized hole. She didn't even care that moving something so big and dense took a lot out of her, or that she was pushing herself beyond her limits. At a time like this, she couldn't afford to have limits. She strained with effort as she began to tear it free.

“What—?” If Jack had intended to ask what she was doing, she didn't need to. Yoshizawa and the remaining students had to quickly duck and dodge out of the way as Miranda abruptly pulled the column loose and dragged it across the floor. Her biotics were running on sheer determination alone, moving the column into position beside Jack, forcing it to prop up the ceiling beside her. Jack snorted. “Don't be stupid. You know that's not going to hold the building.”

“It doesn't have to. It just needs to last long enough for you to make it out,” Miranda answered her, steadfastly refusing to budge, even as she could feel the effort ripping at the muscles in her arm, and sending piercing jolts of pain through the implant in her brain. Miranda could take it; it was nothing compared to what Jack was suffering.

Jack uttered a hollow laugh. “You're a real fucking cunt, you know that?” she said. Yet again, coming from her that sounded almost like a term of endearment. As much of one as Miranda would ever get from her anyway.

Miranda tasted blood, her teeth grinding together from the exertion. She looked back over her shoulder, leaning heavily on her crutch for support. The person-sized hole she'd torn in the wall meant the last of the students had gotten out easily, together with Yoshizawa. Distant faces watched on from the other side, too sensible to risk going in after them. There was no one left to rescue. Just Jack.

Miranda's gaze narrowed to a glare when she turned back to find Jack still hadn't moved so much as an inch towards her. Both women stood their ground, as if fused to it in a game of self-sacrificial chicken.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Miranda, feeling her pulse quicken as time grew shorter. “Alright, Jack, you wanted to prove something to me? To show how much you've grown, and how much of a better person you are than I am? Well you have. You were right about Cerberus, and I was wrong about you. You're a better person than I am, and you've overcome things that I never could have,” she admitted, willing to acknowledge that Jack's ability to pull herself together and get her life on track had far exceeded anybody's expectations. She'd come the furthest out of all of them, which was a fucking miracle given where she'd started. Was that what she wanted to hear? “You don't have to kill yourself to spite me.”

“Spite you? Man, fuck you. You would win the gold fucking medal in self-centredness. But, news flash: everything isn't always about you,” Jack remarked, giving something between a sneer and a hiss.

“Then why won't you go?” Miranda challenged, her biotics beginning to falter from overuse. She wasn't alone in that. The strain of maintaining her biotic field for so long made bulging veins visible beneath Jack's skin, like her blood vessels were threatening to burst, or pop clean out of her flesh. She wouldn't hold out long, especially given how tired she'd been to begin with.

The more Miranda looked, the more she realised Jack was beyond exhausted. Even the last remnants of her energy reserves were long gone. She was running on empty. She should have been dead by now. Maybe she already was, and they just didn't know it.

“Look. Here's the thing. If I sprinted, I might make it out,” Jack conceded, breathing more heavily by the second, perspiration falling from her dehydrated brow like torrential rain, soaking the ground beneath her quivering feet. “Probably got about a one in twenty shot of making it. Not likely, but it could work. But what about you? You can't even walk, let alone run.”

“I can try,” Miranda replied, not concerned. She could handle herself.

“Or you'll just kill both of us,” Jack pointed out. She'd been watching Miranda, noticing the signs that belied her façade of strength. She knew exactly how sick and injured Miranda still was. She wouldn't make it two steps before being buried beneath the wreckage.

“I'm prepared to take that risk,” Miranda insisted, unwavering. It was worth it, if it gave Jack a chance. Miranda may have survived the war against all odds, but she'd made peace with death a long time ago. Besides, she'd led enough people to their untimely ends. Maybe she deserved to join them.

“Then where the fuck does that leave the tykes?” said Jack, her tone increasingly dark. “Those are my kids. They're mine.” Her stance kept getting lower, like there was someone pressing their hands into her shoulders, pushing her down with all their might. Her strength was slowly wavering. Her arms were shaking like they were about to break off. “Ugh. You know, you really do suck for making me go through this,” she grumbled, but if it was intended to sound resentful, it didn't. More like resigned.

Miranda didn't plan on giving up on her just yet.

“Is the building clear or not?” the voice of Ox team's commanding officer came over her earpiece. Miranda hadn't even been paying attention to the comms, too focused on herself and Jack.

“Ms. Lawson's still in there with a survivor,” Resnikov said. “Should we go back in?”

“No. It's too unstable. I can't send anyone else in after them,” the commander replied. Cold, but sensible. Exactly what Miranda would have instructed in any normal situation. “We can't afford casualties.”

Hearing that motivated Miranda to move closer. “Come on, Jack. Go,” she ordered, prepared to drag Jack kicking and screaming to safety if she had to. If she weren't one-armed and limping, she would have done that already. “I'll hold on to the pylon as long as I can.”

“That won't do shit and you know it,” Jack responded. For all her gifts, Miranda's biotics couldn't hold a candle to Jack's. Especially not now.

“Then what do you suggest?” Miranda snapped. Even when she was trying to save her life, Jack still managed to vex her to no end. Bloody nutcase. “Run for it now and you have a chance. The building is coming down whether you move or not—”

“Damn it, would you shut up and listen to me for five fucking seconds!?” Jack cut her off, sick of Miranda making everything about herself, and her guilt. At that, a spark of recognition flashed across Jack's bloodshot eyes. Maybe there was still away to appeal to Miranda – to talk her out of this senseless self-sacrifice.

“Hey. If you really do regret the way things went down between us, or if you feel the slightest bit of shame about working for Cerberus, then do this for me – you look after those kids,” Jack said, giving her one-time nemesis a long, unwavering look, as if staring into her soul, to see if any part of her deserved to be imbued with that amount of faith. Jack had long doubted that Miranda had any genuine redeeming qualities, but, if there was ever a time for her to show them, this would be it. Maybe saving her life would bring it out of her. “I need you to make sure they land on their feet, okay? They haven't got anyone else.”

“They've got you,” Miranda persisted, continuing to walk forward with her arm outstretched to hold up the pylon, her crutch long abandoned, her knee screaming in pain.

Jack gave a sardonic laugh. Of all the people she would have pictured entrusting her found family to, Miranda wasn't anywhere on that list. Hell, a year ago, Jack would never have pictured there being anyone she cared about, let alone a bunch of kids she considered her own, and protected as fiercely as a lioness defending her cubs. But things changed. She'd grown enough to gain a new perspective.

“Hey, cheerleader,” she began, channelling the Commander who'd given her a chance what seemed like a lifetime ago, “I'm going to be straight with you: part of me still wants to kill you, especially knowing that I'm already dead. Yeah, I admit, you're not as bad as I thought you were. We shared a few drinks, and we had a few laughs back on the Citadel. But I don't trust you for shit. Can't help that. What can I say? You're a fucking snake, alright?

“But, when we took down the Collectors, you showed me something, and that one thing is the reason why I think saving your life right now is worth it. And that's how much you love your sister. How much you gave up to keep her safe, without her even knowing you existed. I didn't understand it before. But I get it now. And that's why I know I can trust you to give my students a good life – a normal life,” Jack said, and she meant it. “Promise me. Promise me you'll take care of my students,” she implored her, blinking back tears that got lost in the sweat pouring down her face. “Treat them the way you'd treat your own sister. Do that, and we're cool.”

“Damn it, Jack,” Miranda didn't know what she hated more, Jack's foolhardy determination to be a bloody hero or the fact that, had she not been injured, she would already have marched over there, bashed her in the back of her head and forcibly dragged her out of the building. If she had just been in a better condition, Jack would already be safe. They wouldn't be having this conversation.

“Promise me, damn it!” Jack demanded, feeling her control beginning to slip.

“You can look after them yourself! Come on. On the count of three, we both let go. And you take my hand and run,” Miranda pleaded with her, in spite of the searing sting that shot through every nerve as she moved closer, biotics firing on overdrive as she reached out, extending her hand to Jack. She was within arm's reach. Fingertips away. “Just do it. Please,” she begged her, not sure how much longer her biotics could hold out. “We're getting out of this together. I won't leave you.”

For a second, it looked like Jack was considering doing exactly that, even if it meant risking them both. Miranda dared to feel hopeful that she'd succeeded in convincing her that she wouldn't take no for an answer. They would thrive together or perish together, just like the old days.

Who would have thought it would be just the two of them?

Suddenly, Miranda heard a sound above her, and felt a sheet of dust rain down onto her shoulders. Jack saw it too. The cracks in the ceiling were rapidly getting worse, spreading across the concrete, threatening to break like glass under the pressure. The roof was about to cave in directly on top of them. Jack's biotics were waning. She'd run out of time.

“Look out!” Jack yelled. Miranda threw up her arm and unleashed what little remained of her biotic reserves to brace the ceiling just a few seconds longer. She heard the roaring wave of destruction advancing towards her from the highest floors of the building. Gravity was about to catch up with them. Fast.

All of a sudden, a sonic boom cut the air. A beam of light shot into the darkness, and abruptly stopped. A hand grabbed Miranda about the waist. Green skin.

Her eye shot wide open with recognition. Shiala. And she was preparing a biotic charge straight back the way she came. Without Jack.

“Wait!” With her last burst of strength, Miranda lunged forward, just barely managing to seize the lapel of Jack's jacket and pull her forward. Reluctantly, Jack gave in, offering no resistance, letting herself be grabbed and dragged towards Shiala. She was still holding up a biotic field, although now it was serving more as a shield against the debris rapidly pelting down around them than a brace, doing little prop up the collapsing building.

Shiala took Jack in her other arm once she got within reach, securing them both as best she could amid the downpour of falling masonry. She crackled with energy, preparing for another charge.

“As soon as we stop, run,” Shiala warned them, her voice nearly drowned out by the cracks that tore through the foundations of the building.

At the last possible moment, she charged back towards the ramp. Less than a split-second later, the very place where they once stood was buried, engulfed in a tidal wave of rubble.

They came to an abrupt stop, a few yards short of the entrance ramp.

“Go!” Shiala pushed Jack ahead, almost throwing her. There were people waiting for them, countless hands reaching, frantically grabbing Jack and pulling her to safety as they all hastened to retreat and take shelter from the impending collapse.

Ignoring the pain in her still injured body, Miranda scrambled for the entrance, narrowly dodging the torrent of falling masonry. Her bad knee buckled, slowing her down. Shiala noticed that she was struggling. She reached back and physically pulled Miranda up the ramp by the scarf around her neck, the two of them dashing and diving out into daylight as the structure came crashing down behind them, barely escaping death.

Miranda didn't even utter a hiss at the blaring flashes of agony blazing through her body, too busy turning to look back at the disaster zone to care if she'd worsened her injuries.

A wall of dust all but exploded out from the collapsing building, swallowing everyone in the street. She raised her arm to protect her face as pieces of the broken building began to rain down onto the street. Shiala threw up a makeshift barrier, which diverted some of the shrapnel. Even so, a few stray projectiles hit Miranda in the side and in her good shoulder as everything that remained of the building fell down on top of itself, leaving only a pile of rubble. It sounded like a freight train driving straight into the ground.

It was all over in seconds. The silence set in, unrelentingly cold. The only thing Miranda could hear beneath the ringing of her ear was her own heavy breathing, and the thundering of her heart as she dared to look up through the dust cloud.

The building had been flattened. Everything had sunk into the basement levels.

A second slower, and that would have been her. A moment longer, and none of them would have survived.

As the dust settled, shock slowly giving way to a delayed sense of relief, Miranda glanced over to the familiar green face beside her, regarding her with silent recognition. She didn't know how or why, but Shiala had saved her life. And Jack's. And nearly killed herself trying to save people she barely knew.

Shiala looked back, as if sensing at least one of Miranda's wordless questions. “I heard you were in trouble,” she explained with a small shrug, somewhat awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck. “I came as fast as I could.”

Miranda's head was still reeling, scarcely able to make sense of the fact that she was still alive. Incredulous though she was, she wouldn't forget what Shiala had done for her. At least this was one saviour Miranda would be able to thank.

Her thoughts were quickly shattered by a loud scream.

“Jack?” Miranda barely heard herself saying her name beneath the ringing in her ear. Her focus shifted. She grimaced as she pushed herself forward, past Shiala, trying to see what was going on.

“Teach? Teach?” One of Jack's students was leaning over her, visibly concerned.

“What's going on? What's wrong with her?” another of them asked the soldiers.

“Move aside,” Miranda instructed, wincing as she dragged herself over, pushing her way between bodies. She looked down and saw Jack writhing in agony, her muscles all tensed, her limbs rigid. She was wide awake, and conscious, even though every fibre of her body seemed to be seizing up in pain – so much that she couldn't speak.

Miranda had never seen anything like this before, but she understood immediately. She had felt a fraction of the weight Jack had carried on her back for so many minutes – the biotic energy she had to exert to keep that up. Her body had been pushed beyond its limits and, for lack of a better word, overloaded. It must have felt like being struck by lightning.

“Give her a sedative and a muscle relaxant, and get her back to camp,” Miranda quietly commanded, figuring the best thing she could do for Jack was help ease her pain, and knock her out for a bit while her body began to heal itself. A nearby medic didn't hesitate to follow her orders.

“Will she be okay?” the student Miranda recognised as Prangley asked.

“I can't make any promises, but for what it's worth, I don't think she's done any permanent damage,” Miranda replied, watching as the sedative began to take effect, and Jack slowly began to calm down, her muscles going limp as the tension gradually left her body. “If my best guess is correct, then the worst she'll have suffered is a torn ligament here or there.”

“We've got it from here, Director Lawson. We'll take her to the medical evac shuttle with the other critical patient,” one of the medics told her.

Miranda gave them a nod. “Make sure the rest of the kids are okay, too. They've been through a lot. We'll wait here while you do.”

“Sure thing.” They got to work carrying out her orders, loading Jack up on a stretcher, taking her back to where the bulk of the team was waiting. The medics began to evaluate the health of Jack's students. Everyone else within sight...needed a few minutes to recover. A building just came down in front of them.

That had been a close call. Too close.

With that, Miranda hobbled a few paces back from the wreckage, as if finding physical space would give her the room she needed to think. She ran her hand through her hair, releasing a long breath, processing what had just happened while the tinnitus blared in her ear. She let her forehead fall against the cold stone of a nearby building, her mind voicing a thousand different thoughts of how close she'd come to letting things go horribly wrong, and the words she and Jack had exchanged when it seemed like their lives were about to end.

It didn’t seem real. It had just happened, but it felt like waking up from a vivid dream. She couldn’t quite fathom the things that had gone through her mind (or hadn’t gone through her mind) in the intensity of the moment. 

No matter how much she and Jack clashed in the past, there was a special bond between shipmates, especially those of the Normandy. No matter how much they still disliked each other, they'd been part of something. Everyone on that ship had seen things no one else in the universe could appreciate or understand.

And Miranda had been given an opportunity to save her, one of those people who'd walked through the fire with her, and she had so very nearly failed. Hell, in a way, she had. By sheer luck, Shiala had been there to bail them out from a situation Miranda should have seen coming, and should have prevented. Her mistakes had nearly cost them all.

What was worse was knowing that, with so many others she had served beside, she wouldn't get that chance to even try. They were already gone.

How had she come so close to wasting not only her own life, but Jack's, and her students'? What had she been thinking? What was wrong with her? Why had she doubted herself when she knew going underground was the wrong call?

Not only that but...what if Shiala hadn’t shown up? Jack was right. There would have been no saving either of them, let alone both. Miranda would have thrown her life away pointlessly, all because she would have rather died than live with one more person getting killed on her watch - one more person she knew. Realising that about herself was...going to take some time to process.

“Director?” Yoshizawa's voice penetrated her thoughts. “Director Lawson, are you okay?”

Miranda blinked herself out of her strange stupor. It seemed like an eternity that she had been standing there in thought, but, when Miranda broke herself out of it, it had probably only been a minute at most.

“I'm alright. I'm unharmed,” she answered, gingerly shifting her body around. She'd lost her crutch in the building collapse. That was annoying. But the job always came before anything else. That was just how Miranda did things. She couldn't function any other way. “Make a report, will you?”

“Report?” Yoshizawa repeated vacantly, still dazed by the events that had just occurred.

“Yes, report to base. Eleven survivors rescued. Two in need of urgent medical attention.” Miranda hesitated, looking over at the students, and at Jack. They were all watching their teacher get carried off towards the same transport as Seanne was on, going to get the help they needed.

Yoshizawa followed her gaze. For a moment, Yoshizawa seemed to consider whether to extend some word of comfort to her after nearly losing someone she knew, as well as nearly losing her own life trying to rescue Jack, but she apparently thought better of it, carrying out the order without another question, leaving Miranda in peace, letting her dwell on her thoughts in private.

Miranda noticed a few sideways glances in her direction from her team, some quiet words being discussed about her. She wondered if they thought her heroic and brave for staying behind with Jack. If so, little did they realise there was nothing courageous about it. Her reasons had been entirely selfish.

Funnily enough, Jack was the only person who had seen that.

“Could somebody fetch me a bloody walking stick?” Miranda acerbically remarked in the general direction of some of the privates who were hanging around the scene. They all stiffened, visibly scared of her. One of them saluted and ran off to fulfil her request. Miranda rolled her eye as she shifted around to lean back against the wall behind her. “Incompetents,” she muttered, because it was easier to snap at them than kick herself for letting this disaster nearly happen.

“Are you sure you shouldn't go with them too?” Shiala asked, moving to Miranda's side, nodding her head towards the medics. Miranda hadn't even noticed that she'd followed her.

“I'm fine,” Miranda assured her. Shiala sent her a look, as if to make sure she was telling the truth. “Really,” she added, trying to sound sincere, not failing to remember that Shiala had seen the vulnerability beneath the mask before.

“Then I'm glad,” Shiala replied, taking up a position beside her, almost matching Miranda's stance against the wall. She sighed, admirably calm, but understandably a little shaken by her near-death experience. “You are a very impressive woman, Miranda Lawson, but it would be my preference if for once we could meet under less...dire circumstances,” she remarked, sensing a recurring theme.

Miranda uttered a chuckle at that, unconsciously rubbing at her injured shoulder, trying not to aggravate her amputation site. “If I bought you a drink later, would that count?” she asked. That was the least she could do to express her gratitude.

Shiala summoned a small smile, as if liking the sound of that. “It would be a start.”

Miranda looked out over at Jack's kids again. Some of them were crying, wiping tears from their eyes as the shuttle carrying Jack and Seanne departed, the aftershock of everything they'd gone through passing over. 

It was funny. In all honesty, Miranda couldn't say her heart hurt for any of them, or what they were going through. She understood it intellectually, but seeing people cry didn't elicit any emotion in her. She didn't possess that latent empathy. She didn't even know most of their names.

But, that being said, that didn't mean she didn't feel anything. It would have been extremely easy for her to choose not to care but, well...that Miranda had been left behind many months ago. She wasn’t that person anymore.

Her past self wouldn’t have, but Miranda did feel sorry for these kids, and what they'd gone through. As much as she could, at least. She knew what they'd endured. She understood their loss. She'd seen how much they cared about each other – how much they meant to Jack. She'd nearly watched them all die avoidable deaths, because she hadn't trusted her instincts to get them out of that building. Because Miranda had been indecisive and taken a fucking shortcut.

It wasn't right. It wasn't right to just...walk away from any responsibility she bore, like it had never happened. To wash her hands, and absolve herself. Not now.

It wasn't lost on her that they were all only a little younger than Oriana. She was twenty now. They were, what? Seventeen? Thinking of Ori was always the ticket to bringing out Miranda's softer side – a side she wouldn't have even had without her.

Miranda thought about the things Jack had said to her mere minutes ago, in the heat of the moment. About looking after her students, the same way she would look after her sister. Protecting them. Keeping them safe. Giving them normal lives.

Miranda wasn't good with other adults, let alone kids. She'd never really been one. Or had friends at that age. Giving Oriana a normal life had meant staying far away from her. But when Miranda set her mind to anything, she could do it. Already, she had begun to think about how she could pull strings. Make sure their needs were looked after. Make sure they landed on their feet.

There were nine of them. Ten, including Seanne. Ten teenagers. And Jack.

Eleven. Eleven people might be feasible. Temporarily, anyway. That was how many housemates Miranda already had, after all. It was worth trying, wasn't it? Worth seeing if it worked out. Worth trying to do the one thing Jack had asked of her.

Miranda had never made any promises to Jack, so, technically, she wouldn't have been doing anything wrong if she ignored that request. She didn't have any obligation to honour her wishes. And Jack was still alive to take care of her students herself. But, frankly, those technicalities Miranda might once have clung to in order to easily rationalise this all away and to absolve herself of any sense of duty didn't seem to matter anymore. She didn’t want to take a pass on this.

She was sure something could be arranged. Miranda had a lot of pull with Bailey. She was his best agent. Surely, if she spoke with him, he would be willing to make a few special accommodations for her. Anything to ensure she continued working for him for as long as possible.

Even if her plan worked, that would take a few days, at a minimum. Not to mention that Miranda's work out here in the wastes wasn't over yet. They needed somewhere to stay in the interim. Someone to look out for them while Jack was out of commission. Someone she could trust.

“Shiala, you've already done a lot for me, so I wouldn't want to impose by asking anything further,” Miranda began, trailing off momentarily. Shiala tiled her head, listening intently. “Those nine kids need a place to stay. I know you and the Zhu's Hope colonists probably don't have enough room, but you have connections in the green zone. You know it better than I do. If you could put them up somewhere, just for a couple of days, while I get their affairs in order...”

“That's not an imposition at all,” Shiala stated plainly, thinking nothing of it. “I can take them on my shuttle, get them there faster.”

Miranda had to admit, she was a little taken aback to hear Shiala so readily volunteer her assistance again. She was expecting she'd have to work harder to convince her, or trade her something of value. Not that she was complaining but...why did Shiala keep helping her? What was she getting out of this?

“I appreciate it. I'll make it up to you,” Miranda offered, since it only seemed fair. That and she didn’t like feeling at a deficit in terms of favours to call upon.

“You don't have to do anything for me.” Shiala shook her head, dismissing the thought. “You've already earned my help. And...well, if you'll have it...you’ve earned my friendship too,” Shiala added, a little more self-consciously, as if wondering if she was saying too much, or being too awkward.

Miranda blinked. Oh. Was that what this was? Was that what she wanted from this?

Honestly, she had never contemplated that. Miranda had a habit of viewing all her dealings with other people as inherently transactional, due to how she was raised. It was a mindset she was slowly learning to change, but it still caught her off guard every now and then to be reminded that sometimes people just did things for others, not because they were repaying a favour or because they expected something in return, but just because they cared and wanted to help.

That and, in her entire life, Miranda had met maybe five people who actually seemed to like her as a person and enjoy her company. One of them was her sister, and two of them were dead. Suffice it to say, she wasn't used to it.

“...Sure,” Miranda said, not sure how else to answer that. She didn't know Shiala particularly well, and in all honesty she saw her purely as a useful contact. But she saw no reason to reject her offer. That would just hurt her feelings, and more importantly sabotage the inroads Miranda had made with her as a reliable ally.

If this was all Shiala wanted in return for assisting her then Miranda could...try the friendship thing, she supposed. It was less effort than the blackmail she usually had to resort to when securing third party contacts. Presumably.

Shiala turned a more bashful shade of green. “Uh, well, that's great! I'm...glad. And I will...take you up on that drink,” she said in that awkward, stilted way of hers. It was like she was always torn between whether to speak with traditional asari formality, or whether to emulate the more casual ways of speaking the Zhu's Hope colonists would surely have taught her to use with humans by now. That and it always kind of seemed like she was talking through a headache.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Miranda replied. She wasn’t really, of course, but Shiala didn’t need to know that. In any event, she wasn’t averse to the idea. And lying to be polite was a skill she still needed more practice at, unless she wanted to continue alienating people with blunt honesty for the rest of her life.

Tempting, but no.

“Me too.” Shiala nervously cleared her throat. “I will, uh...see you around. Stay safe this time,” she said, taking her leave. Miranda gave her a parting nod.

Judging from her reaction, Miranda got the sense Shiala hadn't had that many friends before either, Zhu’s Hope not included. She wasn't sure whether that would make maintaining this proposed friendship extremely easy, since her standards would be low, or whether that made this a terrible idea, because neither of them brought anything of value to the friendship table. Maybe both.

Miranda watched Shiala approach Jack's students, introducing herself and offering them a place to say. It was funny. Despite how much she'd grown over the past year, Miranda was still at a distance from all but a select few – looking from the outside in at people who could form bonds so much more easily. People who could just naturally relate to others.

She would never be able to do that. She just couldn't.

At the end of the day, did it really matter? Did it matter that she didn't genuinely care about these kids as much as Jack did? Did it matter that she didn't honestly reciprocate Shiala's feelings of friendship? She was doing good by her actions, wasn't she? Doing what Jack had asked of her. Somehow, despite a complete lack of effort, managing to be someone whose companionship Shiala enjoyed. Those positive outcomes had to count for something, right?

Progress was progress. After all, who would have ever thought that Miranda fucking Lawson would become a person who risked her own life for Jack’s, a protector of lost teenagers, and a person who made friends? Jacob would have been proud of her, if not for the fact that he would never believe it.

It was also a hell of a lot easier to focus her attention on those things than to confront the fact that she still hadn’t dealt with the phantom faces that haunted her in her dreams, or the missing names from the Normandy, or the tinnitus that made trying to fall asleep at night into a marathon of audial torture, and how those things were affecting her even in her waking moments.

Miranda swallowed, not ready to face those problems. Not yet.

“Alright. Playtime’s over. Let’s get moving,” Miranda called out to her team assembled in the square. “We still have a city to clear.”

*    *     *

Miranda was definitely in a mood that day when she stormed into the Starboard Observation Deck, her arms folded across her chest. She sighed and went to the viewport, leaning with one arm against the transparent window. Samara continued to meditate, undisturbed. That earned a somewhat suspicious glance back over Miranda's shoulder.

“What?” said Miranda, eyeing her. “You're not going to ask me about the fight I had with Jack?”

“I was not,” Samara replied. “Although I did overhear it, as did everybody on this deck of the ship.”

“Great.” Miranda shook her head, flipping her hair back. “I know Shepard managed to talk her down, but she walked into my office and physically assaulted me. She's unstable.”

“She did. And that was wrong of her,” Samara acknowledged, pausing for a moment. “Did you do anything to provoke it?” she asked, sensing Miranda was perhaps...minimising her role in the argument.

“Provoke it?” Miranda echoed, offended at the insinuation.

“It is merely a question,” Samara said calmly. “Jack is a volatile character. However, she has been a member of this crew for a considerable time without incident.”

“So I must have caused it?” Miranda sarcastically shot back, rolling her eyes and shaking her head when Samara didn't respond. Typical for her to get blamed for everything.

Samara waited a few moments, perhaps considering that she had erred in taking the direct approach. “I am aware that she recently revisited a place of immense childhood trauma,” Samara began, choosing a different approach. “This must be a sensitive time for her.”

Miranda sighed and glanced down, her arms stiffly folded across her chest. She could acknowledge that. “I never said what Jack went through wasn't horrible. I know it was. I went to that facility. I saw it for myself. No child should ever have to endure that. All I said was that it couldn't have been Cerberus. Or, if it was a Cerberus affiliate, then someone clearly went rogue and made a terrible mistake.”

That had to be the case. Cerberus didn't play by the rules, but the organisation had just aims. It was the first place where Miranda had been praised instead of criticised – allowed to make her own choices and do things her way. The Illusive Man had been a better father to Miranda than Henry Lawson ever was. Sure, they walked a morally grey line and did things other people weren't courageous enough to do, but Cerberus wasn't malicious or cruel, merely pragmatic.

“Do you think that distinction was important to Jack?” Samara's question broke Miranda from her musings.

“What?” Miranda regarded Samara strangely, finding her difficult to read. Samara let the question hang, waiting for an answer. Miranda had to admit, this wasn't what she had expected, given their growing friendship. If anything, she was a little hurt. “I thought you'd be on my side.”

“You sought me out to speak about this. If you did so and did not desire my honest opinion on the matter, then you have grave misapprehensions about my character,” Samara remarked. She would never give counsel that contradicted her morals.

“So you agree with Jack?” asked Miranda. That was the last thing she would have expected from someone as rational as Samara.

“It is not a question of agreement. You are focused on 'black and white' instead of seeing things from her perspective. And, with the greatest of respect, you must be aware that you are in a superior position, because the subject of what Jack endured does not affect you. This was not your trauma. You are detached – you can think about your words and actions in this situation, in a way that Jack, for whom these events are intensely personal, cannot.”

Miranda snorted. “Are you saying I should lie to her?”

“As a Justicar, I could never advocate for dishonesty, merely mindfulness. Like you, I am a hard woman. I have many honest thoughts. In the past, I have often voiced them carelessly, with little regard for their effect on others. There is wisdom in appreciating when our opinions are best kept silent, lest our words do harm,” Samara thoughtfully replied.

“If she can't handle my words, that's her problem,” said Miranda, staunchly believing herself to be in the right. “We've all been through bad things. That doesn't excuse attacking people.”

“No, it does not, but your own experiences should enable you to understand her better than most,” Samara dispensed her sage advice, encouraging sympathy.

“Exactly my point, though; I'm not the way she is. We turned out completely differently. We couldn't be more polar opposites if one of us was made of anti-matter,” Miranda pointed out, extending her hand to emphasise that. “My father did horrible things to me too. I'm not saying that it was on the same scale as what was done to Jack, but you don't see me losing control of my emotions.”

“Do not compare her reaction to yours. This is not what is important,” said Samara, dismissing that distraction. “Instead, try to empathise with her perspective as to why your words were harmful. For example, imagine speaking to someone about what your father did to you.”

“You don't know what my father did to me,” Miranda interrupted her before she could get started on that subject. “Nobody does.”

“Yes, precisely. They do not know. However, you do,” Samara continued. “You lived through those experiences. You understand how they affected you. Now, instead of listening to you and acknowledging what you endured, imagine someone giving you their unsolicited opinions on your childhood or your father, even with regard to something that may technically be correct.”

“Like what?” Miranda asked, shrugging her shoulders. Why would she be bothered by something factual?

“For instance, your father created the genetic code that exists inside you and your sister. Clearly, he is a brilliant scientist,” Samara observed. “Here is a hypothetical scenario: you tell me about his abuse towards you in your youth, I acknowledge that what he did was wrong, but I keep repeating to you that he was a brilliant scientist. How would you feel?”

Miranda's lips pursed, and she released a slight exhale. God damn it. Leave it to Samara to express things in a way that actually made her see what she was talking about, and see things from someone else's perspective.

“I would think that you're diminishing what I went through and defending the people who did it to me,” Miranda acknowledged. “I would probably find that very frustrating. If you or Jacob were saying it, I might even feel betrayed for confiding in you only to have you speak up for him.”

She knew, because it had happened before. Niket. The man she'd trusted to help her escape. The one person she thought understood the effect of her father's abuse. Instead of taking her side, he had accused her of being wrong for sparing Oriana all of that suffering. He'd even implied that growing up wealthy was a fair trade for her father's callousness and cruelty.

Miranda sighed, dropping her guarded posture as she raised one hand to rub her forehead. “Okay, so you have a point. Maybe I did inadvertently provoke her just a little bit. Not that it takes much.”

“You made a mistake. You are learning from it,” said Samara, not judging her for her imperfections.

“I suppose I have to; I didn't exactly learn social skills growing up,” Miranda admitted, never particularly happy with it when she realised there was something she'd done wrong. Her father had made certain that she despised failure, as he always went out of his way to make her dread the consequences. “That's becoming more apparent, lately. Being in such close quarters here with so many non-Cerberus personnel on The Normandy has forced me to do more 'socialising' than I have in the entire last thirty-five years of my life. People can be so...”

“Alien?” Samara supplied, somewhat wryly.

“I was going to say 'complicated', but that works,” said Miranda, slumping down on the floor beside Samara, chastened by her lecture, no matter how kindly put and...astute it had been. “You're lucky I trust you that none of this is going to leave this room,” she commented, glancing over at her companion. “If anyone else heard me acknowledge that I have weaknesses, I'd never live it down.”

“Everyone has weaknesses. To demand otherwise is unattainable,” Samara reassured her.

Miranda bit her lower lip. She thought about how much she already knew concerning Samara's past, and how she had obtained that knowledge behind her back. She still felt something resembling guilt about it. It only seemed fair to open up about some of her own secrets, so they could be on more even terms.

“I wasn't allowed to have anything he deemed a weakness. My father, I mean,” Miranda confessed, finally broaching that subject that she had long kept to herself. “The problem was, his definition of 'weakness' was anything that didn't directly benefit him. That included making friends, or smiling, or having my own interests, or feeling pain, or crying. Everything you can imagine really. All I knew throughout my entire childhood was control. I had to do everything exactly the way he wanted when he wanted it, even if I had absolutely no way of knowing what that was, even if it changed from one moment to the next, which it often did. And that was what I had to do just to be tolerated. Never anything more than that. Not loved, or praised, or accepted. Just tolerated. Anything less than his version of perfection and I would be punished, in some form or another.”

As she spoke, she felt Samara's eyes on her. It made her slightly self-conscious. She didn't want Samara to think she was heaping her personal problems upon her, or throwing a big pity party. That wasn't her intent. She just thought...Samara might actually understand her a bit better, if she told her the truth.

“I'm not saying any of this for sympathy or as an excuse,” Miranda explained. She didn't want those things. She didn't need those things. “I think it's just starting to crystallise for me that maybe I never really stopped listening to his voice, or obeying his vision. Perhaps there are some things I need to...reassess.”

“Much as the trauma of her youth is the source of the anger you experienced from Jack, you too carry the scars of your past, as I do with mine,” Samara spoke up. “Jack may not yet be ready to move on from it, but I believe that you are, if you so choose. You have already come further than you may appreciate. You have the capacity to identify what you need to change within you, and you have the will to see it done. This may take time and self-reflection, but it is achievable.”

“That's what you were talking about before, with the meditation, wasn't it?” Miranda surmised.

“It was one reason I suggested it,” Samara acknowledged. “It is a means of pursuing this kind of clarity – identifying aspects of oneself that the rigours of life normally distract one from perceiving and analysing.”

Miranda paused and glanced down, swallowing. “...I suppose I should thank you,” she said. Samara's silent response indicated she didn't know what Miranda meant by that. “For seeing the best in me, instead of dismissing me for my faults.”

“Could I not say the same to you?” Samara replied.

That thought managed to bring a small smile to the corner of Miranda's lips. She had a point. Then again, it wasn't hard to see the best in Samara. It was quite touching to think that maybe Samara would have said the same thing about her.

Maybe that was just what it was like when you met someone you felt instantly connected to. Maybe that was just how someone knew a rapport like this was real.

*    *     *

It was a few days before Miranda was really able to get back to the green zone and get her affairs in order. The operation had been a moderate success. They had found outposts of survivors who had hunkered down during the war, found pretty much anything resembling usable supplies that was left in the covered area, and found some habitable buildings to start moving people into.

Nobody had seen Samara though. Miranda was trying very hard not to let that concern her. It helped that she had other priorities to focus on.

Shiala had kept her updated on the status of Jack and her students. Thankfully, Seanne was recovering quickly from her illness. She was still in care, but expected to be released in the next couple of days.

Jack was...well, doing a lot worse than Seanne. Her condition was stable but her biotics had damn near destroyed her body. Almost as bad as the shuttle crash had destroyed Miranda's. No permanent damage, most likely. But her muscles were in a lot of pain, still slowly repairing themselves. From the sounds of things, it would take a lot of time and rehab to get her back to where she was.

Miranda was able to confirm all that with her own eyes. It wasn't hard to find Jack, even among all the beds, and all the sick and injured. She didn't look great. There were clear bruises where capillaries had burst beneath her skin. It did look like she'd been in a crash.

Jack must have sensed someone watching her, obviously not coping much better with bed rest than Miranda had. Bleary eyes glanced over in Miranda's direction, immediately turning with irritation when she realised who was standing there.

“Who the fuck let you in?” Jack groaned. Miranda was the last person she wanted to deal with when she was like this.

“It's a field hospital, Jack. Not much in the way of security.” Miranda thought about reminding her that she was known around here and people let her go wherever she wanted, but she had the good sense to realise that Jack would probably want to kill her if she said that. “How are you doing? Are you okay?”

“Fuckin' hurts,” Jack remarked, draping her arm over her eyes, hoping Miranda would just go away. “But I still look a damn sight better than you, fuckface.” 

That was debatable, honestly. “You're lucky you didn't tear yourself apart,” Miranda said quietly, moving closer. She was trying to be civil and understanding. “Not just limb from limb, but on a cellular level.”

Jack didn't respond, deliberately ignoring her in an effort to get Miranda to leave.

Miranda rolled her eye. So much for her efforts to be kind to her. Obviously her presence wasn't wanted. With that in mind, it was probably best to just cut straight to the point.

“Listen, I've spoken to Bailey. They're starting to house priority personnel in apartments in the city. That means Alliance officials, and people involved in the recovery effort. Civilians and non-essential personnel are the lowest priority. You'll be lucky to get a look-in on a place to live even a year from now, unless all of you are prepared to work for it. And, no offence, but you're not really in a condition to do that,” Miranda set out the facts.

“Why the fuck do you always talk like you're answering a question nobody fuckin' asked?” Jack grumbled. Despite her complaint, she reluctantly opened her eyes and shifted her head to listen to what she had to say.

Sensing she had her attention, Miranda continued. “I tried to convince Bailey to make an exception for you and your students, but he can't. Not unless someone who warrants high priority quarters chooses to take you in. Someone like me.”

“I'd sooner fucking drink bleach than live with you,” Jack shot that down.

Miranda had expected Jack to say that. “Okay. But what about your students? They don't have spare beds at this field hospital, Jack. There's barely enough room for them to breathe if they wind up in tent city. It's not safe for them out there by themselves. You don't know anyone else here. And, right now, you can't exactly look after them. Not without help,” Miranda explained. Much as she visibly hated it, Jack couldn't object to that. “I've already made the necessary arrangements. I can cancel them if you want, but I'm prepared to take them in, with or without you.”

“...Why are you doing this?” Jack asked suspiciously. It sounded like Miranda was being sincere, but it was hard to tell. Miranda never did anything for anyone without an agenda behind it. Unless it was for her sister. Or Jacob. Not for someone she didn't care about. Not for Jack.

Miranda pulled up a chair and sat down beside her bed. “There are only four of us left, Jack. If not for Shiala, that number would only be two; neither of us would be here right now. You nearly died the other day. And it would have been my fault if you had,” Miranda stated frankly. Jack had held an entire building up to keep her alive, and broken her body doing it. “That was why I couldn't leave you.”

Contrary to popular belief, Miranda had never hated Jack. Disliked her, yes, but the hatred had been entirely one-sided. Truth be told, she'd never cared about Jack enough to hate her. She hadn't cared about her at all. Not back then. In a way, that was a lot worse than hate. Jack would probably take it that way, if she knew. And Miranda had the decency to feel a tinge of regret about that, in hindsight.

Most of her memories of Jack were of conflict, or mutual avoidance at best. But Miranda had never set out to antagonise Jack, deliberately or otherwise. She hadn't sought her ought for anything, good or bad or neutral. Not once. She was completely uninterested in her. Apathetic. She didn't give Jack any unprovoked attention at all. Not that it mattered one way or the other. The fact that she was a Cerberus Operator had been cause enough to make her enemy number one.

Miranda hadn't batted an eye, save when things got violent. To her, not getting to know Jack was fine, and her hostile attitude had said more than enough about how little she was worth anyone's time.

Jack had loathed her. And Miranda had found her a nuisance at best. An insignificant insect who would be brushed aside as soon as the mission ended.

But she'd been wrong about her, hadn't she? Jack had been right about Cerberus the entire time, and Miranda had been too blinded by loyalty to believe her. And, while Miranda had been on the run from The Illusive Man and his agents, Jack had turned her life around. She'd set out to give the kids in the Ascension Program a far better shot at life than she ever got herself.

Miranda had done some growing of her own as well. She'd been cold and callous back then. Not just towards Jack but towards everyone. Whether she'd realised it or not at the time, she'd still been living in her father's shadow, letting the way he'd raised her shape how she treated others.

But things had changed. They weren't the same people they once were. Maybe they were never the people they'd assumed each other to be. But they were both working on being better people. And they'd lost almost all of their other comrades along the way.

Maybe Jack still wanted to hold onto her grudge, and maybe she was justified in doing that. But Miranda was tired. She wanted no part in this anymore. She couldn't carry on pretending her past grievances with Jack meant a god damn thing to her anymore. She didn't have the energy. If there was ever a time to bury the hatchet and move on, this was it.

“You said if I wanted to make up for all the bad history between us, and all the atrocities Cerberus committed against you, the only way for me to do that is to look after these kids the way I would look after my own sister,” Miranda recalled, knowing how much the students meant to Jack. “So...Okay. This is my answer. I want to honour that. I can't promise I'll be any good at it, but I intend to fulfil that bargain. This is me trying to make things...better.”

Jack looked at her for a long moment, a cold, hard stare, studying her face for any signs of duplicity. She didn't find any. Miranda wasn't lying. Her motives may have been self-centred, but that was to be expected. Jack would have been suspicious if they weren't. At least that reasoning made sense as to why Miranda suddenly wanted to be a less shitty person. For her, this was progress.

“...I never thought I'd say this, but you're actually fucking right about something,” Jack admitted, willing to put personal feelings aside for the well-being of her kids. “Living in a real fucking apartment is better for them. Better than being out here in this depressing shithole. So I'm going to tell them about you and what you’re offering. But I'm not going to force them. It's their choice.”

“Okay.” Miranda nodded. That was it, then. This was really happening.

She didn't want Jack to sense it, but she had mixed feelings about what she was getting herself into. Looking after teenagers was not high on her list of things she wanted to do. And she knew she was taking on a lot of responsibility. But this had been the one thing Jack had asked of her when she thought she was going to die. Doing her best to deliver on that request was the least Miranda could do, especially since Jack had saved her life that day.

“What about you?” Miranda asked, not sure whether Jack would be joining them. “I know we don't exactly get along, but you're welcome to stay too. I'll just make sure to hide the bleach before you do.”

That remark elicited a snort. “Yeah, about that. I don't think I'm gonna be going anywhere for a while,” Jack glanced down at herself.

Miranda gave a small, understanding smile. “I was in your position not long ago. I promise you, it will feel like an eternity. And your rehab will take time. But you'll be healthy enough to stay somewhere else sooner than you think. It doesn't have to be with me. Jacob is keeping my old bed free in case you'd prefer that.”

A conflicted look passed over Jack's face, a little bittersweet. “So I wouldn't be with the tykes?” she realised aloud.

Miranda suddenly recognised a possible flaw in her plan. “Jack, I'm not trying to separate you from them. I'm just offering them a place to stay. A roof over their heads. They're at liberty to see you whenever they want. And vice versa.”

“I know, dumbass,” Jack cut her off. “I'm just...I'm not sure they'll take it that way.”

Miranda softened. “You nearly gave your life to save them. If they don't know by now that you love them far too much to abandon them...well, I don't know, maybe tell them?” Miranda suggested. That's probably what Samara would have advised. “I don't know. I'm not good with people. Maybe don't listen to me on this subject.”

“I don't listen to you about anything,” Jack assured her, only half-joking. It hadn't escaped her notice that Miranda really was making an effort. Having some semblance of humility. Admitting that she sucked at something. The old Miranda never would have spoken to her like this. “...I'll think about it. I've got time. I've got some healing to do. I'll decide my living arrangements later.”

“Sure.” Miranda nodded, accepting that. “...Well, I'll start getting the apartment ready. There's still a lot to do, so...we'll talk another time.” Miranda elected to take her leave, getting up from her seat.

“Hey, Miranda.” Miranda paused, wondering if that was the first time Jack had actually called her by name. She turned and looked back. “We're not starting over at zero. It's too late for that. But I know you had nothing to do with what Cerberus did to me. And, if you're serious about trying to be straight with me, and you're not just going to throw my kids to the wayside the second you feel better about yourself, then...fuck it, I'll give you a shot.”

“This is you trying?” Miranda inferred. Jack didn't say anything, but nor did she protest. Miranda gave a nod, satisfied. She could live with that.

There was no chance they could ever become friends. But coexisting relatively peacefully would be good enough.

*    *     *

“Finally making use of the library, I see,” Miranda remarked, catching Samara in the act of reading.

Samara cracked a small smile as the doors closed behind Miranda. “I do reside on a human vessel. It would seem a terrible waste to remain ignorant of your arts and cultures when you have been so gracious in sharing these resources with me. That is if you do not object.”

“Knock yourself out,” said Miranda, not at all surprised that Samara appreciated what humanity had to offer based on their previous conversations, but glad for it nonetheless. Her long lifespan had not robbed her of her curiosity and adventurousness.

Despite their reputation for benevolence and co-operation with others, some asari Miranda had encountered could be incredibly patronising towards human cultures. Even if they welcomed other species into the fold, there were some who looked down on humans as effectively a novelty – like lost children taking their first steps on the galactic stage, whose beliefs and habits were cute, but would soon be a thing of the past once they were 'enlightened' by more ancient races. Thankfully, Samara wasn't like that. Her respect for other species was genuine and unfeigned.

“How many books have you read so far?” Miranda inquired, noticing that she was currently nearing the end of her copy of Moby Dick.

“Fewer than I would have liked,” said Samara, almost with a hint of self-deprecation.

At that point, EDI piped up. “Justicar Samara has requested my assistance in selecting texts from a diverse array of authors whose works were written in different cultural and linguistic contexts, as well as different genres and time periods.”

“This is correct. Thank you, EDI.” Samara nodded her head at EDI's holographic interface, which continued to operate silently. “I have heard that your species is far more diverse and varied than those who have come before. I did not wish to make the error of inadvertently and arbitrarily narrowing the scope of human literature available to me. This could lead me to draw false inferences, such as misconstruing humans as more homogeneous than you actually are.”

“Read anything by an Australian author yet?” Miranda asked, impressed by the care and consideration Samara had put into her decision to explore human literature for fun. That was thoughtful of her.

“Not at this time, no,” Samara confessed.

“You're not missing much.” Miranda shrugged nonchalantly as she joined her on the couch, not even sure there were any Australian texts in their small library. Out of curiosity, she brought up the database on her omni-tool. It contained a record of all available books aboard the ship and showed who had checked out what and when, so nobody could get away with not returning them.  Unsurprisingly, Samara was the most frequent user of the library, closely followed by Kasumi.

“I am sure that is not the case. I have yet to encounter a text that I have not enjoyed the experience of reading. Although I confess that, at times, certain details may have been lost on me,” Samara admitted as she closed her book and put it aside, acknowledging the effect that her own limited understanding of Earth and human history had on her comprehension of these stories.

Miranda tried not to smirk. “You had to ask EDI to explain to you what a whale is, didn't you?”

“She was very informative,” said Samara, which elicited a chuckle from Miranda. “Do you read?”

“When I have time, yes,” Miranda answered. It was also one of the few things her father had allowed her to do as a child, since he saw intellectual value in it.

“Are there any books you would recommend?” Samara asked, implicitly trusting her taste.

“Sure. I could send you a list, but I'm not sure that my preferences would be along the lines of what you're looking for,” Miranda acknowledged, earning a curious look from Samara. “For the most part, I don't read fiction anymore. There are some exceptions, but I rarely enjoy it.”

“I see.” Samara took a moment to contemplate that, choosing to seek elaboration. “Is there any particular reason why you tend to dislike it?”

“Well, on merit alone, ninety percent of all content produced is not worth consuming. As for the remaining ten percent, the vast majority of novels I've read are like being locked in a room listening to the inane thoughts and dialogue of annoying characters while the author either beats you over the head with their uninformed opinions or waffles on aimlessly while avoiding making anything that constitutes a worthwhile observation or statement,” Miranda explained, remembering how irritating she had found so many texts she was forced to study in her youth. “Even when the ideas and concepts are intriguing to me, I find it’s often ruined by the characters or the writing style getting in the way.”

“What makes a character annoying to you?” Samara pressed, curious about her comment.

“They make stupid decisions, they think things that I would never think, and everything is just a frustrating waste of time while you wait for them to cut the nonsense, realise the obvious and get to the point of the plot,” said Miranda. She hadn't anticipated an interrogation of her views on fiction. Fortunately, her frustrations were well-founded, and she never struggled to defend her positions.

Samara stared at her like she wasn't entirely certain whether or not Miranda was being facetious. “...Is that not, perhaps, the intent?” Samara considered aloud, prompting Miranda to glance up from the library database. “If the story reached its conclusion from the outset, bypassing all conflict and circumventing all faults and failings possessed by the characters, then would the author not have lost the opportunity to explore the – what is your term for it? – human condition?”

“It's not my bloody condition,” Miranda dryly remarked.

“You understood my meaning; do not be coy,” said Samara, mildly amused by her retort. “One of the benefits of literature over and above any other artform is that it allows you to experience life through the perspective of another, even down to their most private thoughts. It prospers empathy and understanding, even for those characters who are deeply flawed, as we all are. It is why I personally find that I have learned more about other species through reading their stories told in their own words than from any other source – certainly far more than I have gained from the detached academic writings of an asari anthropologist.”

Miranda shrugged, seeing her point. “I'm glad that you get so much out of it, but I never have,” she said honestly. “I can appreciate the themes of all these works on an intellectual level and the skills and techniques they've used in their writing, but I've never connected with a book or related to a character the way I've heard other people say they have. Fiction just doesn't resonate with me. Perhaps we're built differently like that.”

“Perhaps,” Samara replied, though if she had thoughts to the contrary she did not express them. “What is your preferred form of artistic expression?”

“Music,” Miranda answered without hesitation. “Not 'songs' per se, but I'm not as rigidly confined to the great composers as everyone seems to assume. I like my operas and my symphonies but I have a flair for the experimental as well. The theories and formulas that underpin music are there for a reason, but brilliant minds know how to break them in just the right ways.”

“Do you play?” asked Samara.

“Not since I was sixteen. But yes. I was classically trained in piano. I also did two years of violin before my father objected. Didn't like hearing me practice.” Miranda didn't feel the need to share that he'd ripped the violin out of her hands and thrown it across the room to break it in front of her because he'd decided she hadn't mastered it quickly enough and therefore wasn't taking it seriously. It wasn't relevant to the conversation and was more personal than Miranda cared to get.

“That is unfortunate,” Samara spoke sympathetically, evidently inferring why it was that Miranda had stopped playing nearly twenty years ago, given it held such a strong association with negative memories of her father. “One day, when the time is right, maybe you will play again.”

“I think you're the only one who wants to hear that,” Miranda commented, finding the thought of her other crewmates' reactions comical to ponder. “The rest of them out there would assume I was showing off and hate me for it.”

“Most likely. But you do not strike me as a woman who constrains herself based upon the opinions of others,” said Samara, with a knowing twinkle in her eye.

“Do I make it that obvious?” Miranda joked, unfazed by her unpopularity.

“Nevertheless, if the opportunity arises, perhaps you should consider it,” Samara quietly encouraged. “Your devotion to your work is admirable, but you should not squander the time you have by avoiding things that bring you joy. A day may come where you look back upon your years, and find them filled with regret for chances you did not take, and simple pleasures you let pass you by.”

“...I guess you'd know,” Miranda conceded, although in her heart she knew she had no intention of following through on playing again. Too close to home.

With that, Samara returned her attention to the book cradled in her hand, content to sit with Miranda in silence, as they often did. Miranda watched her for several seconds before speaking.

“Which one was your favourite?” she asked, prompting Samara to glance up at her in search of clarification. “Of the works you've read, I'm guessing either Don Quixote or Romance of the Three Kingdoms,” Miranda speculated. They seemed to her taste.

“Astute choices. But there was another I preferred. A poem, in fact,” she said. Miranda arched her brow, curious. “You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars. You have a right to be here. And, whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be and, whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul,” she recited.

Miranda's lip quirked in recognition. “That's Max Ehrmann, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Samara confirmed, meeting her gaze. “There is much wisdom in those words. I would do well to remember them when I stray. So too would it benefit many others to hear them.”

“You may have a point,” Miranda agreed, appreciating that Samara found meaning in those words, even if they did not particularly strike a cord with her. “It sounds like the sort of thing you could reflect on in your meditation.”

“I have,” said Samara. “Every day.”

*    *     *

[resetmypatientviolence]

Caught (Drake x MC x Liam) [NSFW]

This is the prologue of a prologue, to a series I will be doing with my Poly!Au Drake x Jaela x Liam, tentatively titled as “Repercussions”. Release date TBD. I need a real plot first. It’s angsty.

Pairing/Characters: Drake x Jaela x Liam / Guest star: Damien Nazario

Word Count: 4,160

Rating: VERY NSFW

Warnings: Language, NSFW, Threesome, Exhibitionism-ish

Song Suggestion: While We’re Young-- Jhené Aiko

Description: The job was supposed to begin in two weeks, not tonight. But, it is. During his stakeout of the Drake “Smith”, and Jaela and Liam “Davis”, Damien gets a show he didn’t expect. He also didn’t expect to care for how... happy they are. 

Note: After the Bloodbound scene, I wanted to write a PWP threesome and asked @boneandfur if she had any requests, as a thanks for letting me join in on the Daniel NSFW Alphabet. Her requests were: “The first one to come loses.”, “Do you like it when he watches?”, and that it’s in NYC and Damien’s doing a stakeout. I may have failed on the PWP content... but I think I delivered on the specifics. As per usual, NSFW content is under the cut and it is tagged long post. MASTERLIST

The job wasn’t supposed to begin for another two weeks. And it was supposed to be a hunt. Not… this, a surprise call from the boss in the middle of dinner telling him to get his ass in the field.

 But with the money being offered, he obliged, stake-out bag around his shoulder in minutes and out the door he was, tracking the trio. Dinner and a bar down, they’re in the street—and she’s nearly skipping, kissing between the two men—then the men often kissing each other, freely. All three ignore the looks of others. His heart sinks.

 So different from the last time he was paid to do this, watching the King and the American suitor. Last time, even he could sense the tension. But now… it’s gone. They’re so happy and in love and—“Yeah, they’re headed to the hotel,” he says, pressing the earpiece. “The same one the last time I had to stake them out.”

 “Predictable idiots. Still have money, somehow, too,” says his boss and he grits his teeth. “Keep an eye on them Nazario. They’re not getting away, again. Cordonia’s paying me—us—too much to let the man who ruined it get away with it.”

 Damien shakes his head, keeping his binoculars trained the three. They’re so, so happy.

 “Sure thing, boss.”

 Jaela’s almost drunk, that’s for fucking sure, but she doesn’t care. She grips Drake’s collar, New York sewage past them, and pulls him into a hot, open-mouthed kiss in the middle of the gum-stuck sidewalk. He kisses back, and Liam chuckles as his hand glides across their backs, directing them close to a wall. “You know we’re almost to the hotel, you two,” he says, eyeing Jaela’s calf, one wrapped around Drake’s.

 She so loose, and free, and Liam loves seeing her like this. She’s always at the edge of tense in Washington. He knows it’s because she’s trying to protect the kids—and her unchanging reputation, even of the town was starting to… accept their relationship, in a way—but still, she’s been laughing this entire trip. “Oh, I know,” she says, leaving Drake’s arms for Liam’s.

 Drake rubs his lips, tasting like her wine, watching them kiss. His dick twitches. Oh, he knows this night will be just the others on the vacation. He can’t fucking wait. Drake glances up, noticing a weird glint in the distance. What was—and then, Liam’s lips are on his, Jaela ducking her head between them, giggling. “Hot,” she whispers, then gasps—their teeth nipping at each other’s lips as she pulls out her phone, brown eyes wide. “We’ve got to call the kids!”

 The men laugh and pull apart, their arms around her back as they walk to the hotel, faces flush with alcohol, each other, and the feeling of being free, joy. “This is such a fucking great vacation. It’s been so long. We… we needed it,” Liam sighs as Jaela pokes at the phone, squinting her eyes.

 Drake takes it from her, rolling his eyes, pressing the right button to dial the one person they trusted in that town to watch the kids. Tomás insisted he should have a phone, but all three vetoed that. “You two lived in Miami for a few years… how much more vacation can you—”

 “Oh, you know that wasn’t one,” Jaela snapped, nudging her hip against his.

 “Not even a full two,” Liam says, nails grazing along her tailbone. “Besides—”

 “Hi Tomás!” Jaela says, maybe a bit too loudly and Liam and Drake wince. Liam knows Tomás is too, back in Washington.

 “Hi Mo—”

 “Hi Momma! Hi Dad! Li!”

“Mom! Dad! Papa!” Their hearts all warm at the children’s greeting, Allie and James the two youngest, talking fast about their days. Tomás isn’t much older, but he’s tall, and they all know he’s holding the phone above them, sighing.

 “Ooh, we miss you too, little loves,” Jaela sighs. Drake kisses her cheek, he loves seeing her love for them, and they chat for a few minutes, tucked into an alley outside of their hotel. “Love you all, okay? We’ll be home soon.”

 “Sleep tight—James, don’t forget the brush twice,” Drake says.

 “Be good, you three. Love you all,” Liam says and they hang up. Jaela sniffs.

 “I… I miss them.”

“We’ll be home safe in two days, love.” Liam kisses her cheeks and she sighs, sinking into his gentle embrace. Until—

 “Drake!” He grins, scooping her up in his arms. She’s laughing again and both men are happy with that. They’d do anything to see her smile like that… and moan their names.

 “We’ll see them soon. But for tonight…” Drake whispers in her ear, not caring about the stares at the three of them as they enter to hotel lobby. “Just think about the three of us. I wanna hear you scream our names again.”

 Jaela flushes, warmth pooling deep in her abdomen—and god, it takes the longest time to reach their room, high above, all three thankful for three separate incomes to make this vacation a little venture in the luxury they were so used to, before.

 Damien adjusts the long-range lens, licking his lips. He has a view right into their room, curtains open when they stumble in. He taps the earpiece twice, and it switches to the channel of the bug in the room.

 “Please just go to sleep, please just got to sleep…” he whispers. But, when the man—Drake, nearly throws Jaela on the bed, climbing over her, showering—no, devouring—her with hot, open mouth kisses, already pushing up her already short dress, he knows they won’t.

 Liam carefully pulls out three glasses and pours whiskey, leaning on the bar, watching to two kiss, grabbing onto each other like high schoolers—except…. “Oh fuck,” Damien groans when his dick, unmistakably twitches when her thong comes off, landing at Liam’s feet. “Goddamn it.” As much as he wants this to just be a stakeout, gathering intel, and keeping an eye on them—Liam and Jaela “Davis” and Drake “Smith”—something stirs in him, something primal, and…. Damien shifts, leaning forward as Jaela looks at Liam, pushing Drake’s head down her body, beckoning him with a finger, her gasp coming through the earpiece when Drake shoves up her dress, mouth on her--

 “I propose a game.”

 “Oh fuck me.”

 “Is—now—the right… oh fuck, Drake!” Jaela gasps, fingers twisting his hair as swirls in tongue on her clit, then slides it down between her folds, locking eyes with Liam, who loosens his tie, pupils expanding at the sight of Drake and Jaela.

 “I think it’s the perfect time.” Liam sips his whiskey. “Drake, stop.”

 Drake emits a low moan, shutting his eyes. Jaela shivers at the vibration. Languidly, Drake removes his tongue, licking every last drop of her he could manage and stands up, pulling back down her dress. Jaela props herself on her elbows, breathing heavy—already—a small pout that both men love on her lips. “I thought you had your fun of being dom last night, Liam,” Drake complains, but is silenced by Liam kissing him hard, tongue immediately in his mouth, the taste of Jaela shared between them. She whistles, the sight always so fucking sexy to her.

 Liam tugs on Drake’s lower lip before parting, eyes opening at the same time. “But you listened,” he whispers and Drake shivers. He couldn’t deny that dominant Liam was hot as all hell, and he didn’t want the kiss the end, pulling his hips flush against Liam’s when they part.

 “Okay,” Drake says. Jaela bites her lip, looking at the obvious arousal from the men. “What’s this game of yours?” They part and Drake retrieves the two whiskeys Liam poured, handing one to Jaela on the bed. She sits up, sliding the edge and crosses her legs, pussy slick. “And if—” Drake turns to Liam, pointing a finger, sipping the whiskey in his pause. “It’s any form of Truth or Dare, I’m just going to bed with earplugs so you two can fuck.”

 Jaela raises an eyebrow, pointedly uncrossing her legs. Drake coughs, whiskey burning his throat at the sight. Damn, she has a way with him. “Yeah, I’m calling your bluff.” Liam takes off his tie, it landing next to Jaela thong in the suite, a sparkle behind his eye. “Liam, what’s this… game?” Typically, he was the one who proposed their games, or scenarios, or… anything else that came to his fancy. Neither Drake or Jaela minded, they always wanted to go along for the ride. Literally. The all too familiar thrill of curiosity and excitement flowed through her, as it had been since… since basically the moment they touched down in New York.

 Liam threw back the last of his whiskey, then held both of their gazes, smirking, cock twitching just at the thought. “First one to come loses,” he says, setting down the glass on the bar while Jaela coughs and Drake’s eyebrows shoot up. “Does that appease you, Drake?”

“What happens to the loser?” Drake asks, taking off his tie as well, it joining the thong and other tie.

 Jaela’s heart pounds when Liam joins her on the bed, coming from behind her, nimble hands running along her collarbone, applying just enough pressure to make her moan, quietly, throwing her head back, lips at her ear, tongue tracing the delicate cartilage before he speaks again, voice low, the hair on the back of her—and Drake’—neck rising. “They’ll get to watch the other two,” he starts.

 “That doesn’t seem much like a punishment.”

 Liam slides the straps of her dress off her shoulders, blue eyes darkening every single excruciating second the longer they waited for that release all three were simply—begging—to have.

 Four, with Damien’s dick straining against his jeans.

 Drake downs his drink and takes Jaela’s from her. In a second, he’s on his knees, kissing up her legs, his stubble only adding to her pleasure, building second by second. She whimpers. Liam’s chuckle is warm, Jaela feeling it on the skin of her shoulder. “Oh, but there’s no touching allowed. Otherwise, you won’t be able to come again until Washington.”

 “Punishment within a punishment—I like it,” says Drake before returning his mouth to her sex, but Jaela pushes his head back—no matter how fucking good his tongue felt slipping into her-- glaring at Liam.

 “No fair! You two are just going to pull this bullshit—”

Drake’s intoxicated by her dripping before him, so he can’t help but run his hands along her inner thighs, one finger pressing on her clit, smirking at her squirm, Liam unzipping the back of her dress and then pushing it down as Drake pushes up the bottom, the short blue thing bunched around her waist, eyes trained on each other. “You certainly don’t seem to think this is bullshit, love,” Liam says, pinching her nipples at the same time, thumbs grazing the pebbled skin.

 Jaela sucks in a breath. “You both know you can get me to come in like… five minutes flat—and while I love watching you two—” God, it kills her to stand up, but she does, taking Drake’s chin in her hand. He removes his finger, eyes wide. She smirks. “—Let’s make this a fair game, shall we, Liam?”

 Liam licks his lips, hands on her hips, pushing the dress past her hips and it drops to the floor, Jaela nor Liam taking their eyes off Drake. He likes where this is going. “Let’s.”

 Damien taps the earpiece, connecting with his boss again, eyes wide. When he adjusts himself, his own hand can’t help but linger, wanting that release. “Boss, you, uh sure I need to be listening in—”

 “Yes. You’re not getting paid to take notes and then doze off. You’re lucky we found them and you didn’t even need to do the groundwork. Fucking pay attention, Nazario.”

 And the boss is gone… and slowly, Damien taps back into the bug, cursing when there’s music now. When did they put some on? How did they find the time, tearing off Liam’s and Drake’s clothing, hands and skin and lips barely leaving each other?

 Still, he can hear them… and he’s unwittingly memorized when Jaela straddles Drake’s hips, then pushes him down with a finger, crawling over his body on bed, legs on either side of his head, lowering her pussy to him and Drake, licking, eagerly, and she moves her hips, her moans cutting over the music.

 “You’re playing a dangerous game, love. I thought you wanted to win—”

 “You’re the one that showed us how far we can take it,” Jaela pants, removing her hands from Drake’s abdomen to kiss Liam, joining the two on the bed. Fuck, that’s hot. This all is. Damien gulps as Liam kisses down her body… and onto Drake, planting kisses across his chest, stomach, lingering at the hipbones before he grips his shaft and takes him in his mouth, fully, wasting no time, no tease.

 Damien nearly drops the camera, cursing, loudly.

 He can’t say this is the worst thing he’s seen while on a stakeout.

 It’s the hottest, but was he supposed to be turned on by the people he was paid to… help ruin their happy, lovely life? Even though the thought of what he’s hired to do crosses his mind, nothing can stop the raging hard on and pure desire as he watches Jaela rides Drake’s mouth, Liam sucking Drake’s dick, Jaela and Liam holding a hand, one to support her. There’s no right or wrong in the moment. It’s just… wow.

 Drake holds her thighs, lips covered with her, sweet and musky and salty all at once, knowing her tells, how she quivers—almost—

 And she moves forward, off his mouth, pulling Liam off his dick—Drake groaning at the wonders Liam’s tongue does, swirling around the head before he kisses Jaela, squeezing her breast. Drake watches their kiss, coming down from his almost orgasm himself—shivering when Jaela rolls her hips on him, spreading her wetness on his stomach—he can feel how hot she is, pulsing--, their kiss sloppy and wet. Drake groans.

 Liam says, breathless between kisses, “I didn’t think it’d be this easy to win.” Though, his dick is rock hard and locking eyes with Jaela as she rode Drake’s face while his length was in his mouth, pre-cum beading every few seconds, almost set him off a few times… but they didn’t need to know that.

 As much as he loves fucking them together or not, lost in the moment of pure, free passion, the world, their past, his worries, falling to side as he loves them, as they deserve to be, he also loves competition and winning, too. And he’s not losing this one.

 Jaela breaks the kiss when Drake squeezes her ass, looking behind her, grinning devilishly. Drake returns it, no words needed for their plan. Liam catches her smile and pulls her closer before lifting her up, her legs around his waist, her pussy on his dick. Fuck, that feels good, and he’s not even in her. “What are you two…”

 Drake’s up, his arms supporting Jaela too, and she mewls, leaning back into him, eyes shut as a hand winds around to her chest, roughly kneading her breast. Liam watches, eyes nearly black, as they kiss—goosebumps rising, lips and tongue meeting in a harmony he’s watched countless times. Liam’s and Drake’s dicks twitch and Jaela shudders as she feels it happen, hot, hot heat burning in her. Ooh, this trip was a good fucking idea.

 “Liam,” Jaela says, breaking the kiss, eyes bright. Drake separates from Jaela, and Liam’s hold tightens on her, heart racing in anticipation as Drake walks behind him, sliding them down his back, then gripping his hips… one slipping his front. “I want you to fuck me against the window.”

 “And Drake?” He whispers, as Drake kisses the back of his neck, running a finger up his shaft, stopping when he hit Jaela’s clit. All three shiver, electricity running throughout every nerve.

 “You know you love surprises, my King.”

 “My… fucking… King?” Damien nearly pants, palming himself through the jeans, desperate to feel some relief without, ah, how should he say it? Pulling out his dick and jacking off to the three, a trio—in a different world, oh a different fucking world—he’d be more than happy to take home together after bar close, pulling all close to him, kissing and fucking senseless. But that wasn’t that world.

 This was this.

 And him trying reach some satisfaction as he watches Liam set her down, turn her around, whispering in her ear, and then placing his hands over hers on the window—directly facing him—and then enters her, their moans louder than the music in that moment—is definitely not going into the notes.

 What was… would be their apparent pet name for him, lost in the moment, Liam thrusting, their fingers splayed, as Drake went to a bag off to the side. What was? “Oh… oh my god,” Damien gulps. My King. Why would they still call him my King? Was it a joke to them at what they—

 As if on its own accord, Damien unzips his fly. One less layer of fabric for his dick to be confined by. No, this wasn’t going into the notes. He focuses the lens again, drawing a sharp intake of breath when Drake returns, dropping to his knees behind his King.

 Jaela moans, hands pressed hard against the chill glass. Liam’s removes his from hers and grips her hips. He moves to touch her clit, and she quickly smacks his hand away, shooting a playful glare. “I’m not losing.”

 “Just because you can’t… come until we get back doesn’t mean you’ll be w-without pleasure, love.”

 She moves her hips back and Liam throws his head back, swallowing hard, looking up at the light. “Just keep fucking me.”

 “Of course, my Qu—” He’s cut off when Drake’s finger, gently, carefully, and lubed, enters his puckered hole and Liam slows his pace with Jaela, curling his fingers, blinking rapidly as Drake works, smirking.

 “You’ve… rendered him speechless, Drake,” Jaela breathes, hair falling over her shoulder. She looks outside, the city bright—oh how she missed the city, being in a small, judgmental… but safe… town.

 “Mm… he does talk too much sometimes.”

 “Hey!”

 Drake inserts another finger and stands up, gripping Liam’s arm, lips at his neck, licking the salt off of it. “Not a bad thing, my King… but… it’s fucking hot when we make you feel so good that you’re speechless.”

 Jaela giggles, focusing on first their reflection in the glass—god, it was damn hot—and then to the building across the way… and the weird glint. She narrows her eyes and Liam curses, Drake’s fingers being replaced with his dick, Liam stilling as Drake enters him, all three panting in the pause.

 There—she sees it. The glint again… and the figure behind it, nearly a shadow. What was that? A camera? Binoculars? Oh, logic and reason tells her that they need to shut the curtains and continue this without the potential onlooker. But… how could logic and reason exist when Liam thrusts into her, long and deep, filling her so completely, as Drake does the same to him, the three moving in tandem in a position that took many tries to perfect?

 In fact, it thrills her… probably thanks to Liam.

 Damien’s thinking the same thing too, long and reason long gone, as she looks directly up at him. He should duck, stop, but he can’t only watching, ready to burst. Besides, she can’t see his face.

 “Liam… Drake—” She gasps, Liam and Drake both grunting behind her. “There’s somebody—somebody watching—”

 Drake bites Liam’s shoulder, dragging his nails along his side. Liam inhales, reaching a hand around to Jaela’s nub—only this time—she didn’t push his hand away, still looking up a the figure. He raises his eyes too, mind swirling with the thrill of exhibitionism, Drake’s dick—pulling out till the head, then sliding in, stretching him--, and how fucking wet Jaela his, his fingers barely able to rub her clit with how slick she is. “Oh… should we move, love?”

 Jaela doesn’t respond, only pants, every nerve consumed in a delicious, thick, and lust fueled fire. Liam manages a half chuckle, looking where she is—and he spots the glint and the figure. Liam moans, scratching her back, pounding harder into her. Okay, it’s fucking hot. It just is. He has his kinks. So, he says nothing, just focusing on how tight and wet her pussy is, how Drake feels in him, and how he’s not going to lose, even if he wants to come right then and there.

 There’s no thrill of exhibitionism for Drake, but he’s not in a position to stop this, ready to come at any moment. But… he doesn’t want to lose, either. Jaela’s hands curl into fists on the window and Drake looks too, seeing the same glint and shadow. His mind wants to scream, you need to stop—now—and get back home but it’s silenced by the pure ecstasy of fucking them, Liam’s body slick with sweat under his hands, bruises forming where Drake kissed his shoulders and back. Drake kisses Liam’s ear, running his tongue along the lobe, Liam jerking in response, pushing Jaela forward at the intensity of his thrust. He’s close, so close—they all are-- but…

 “Do you like it when he watches?”

 “Fuck—Drake—”

 That’s what does it for Liam, completely coming undone at Drake’s words, breath hot, spilling inside Jaela mid-thrust. Drake stops, holding him as he comes, shuddering and cursing. Jaela, finally, tears her eyes from the potential onlooker, and looks behind her, Drake kissing Liam’s cheek while winking at her. She grins.

 “Mission accomplished, Abdi.”

 “I hate losing,” Liam groans, removing himself from Jaela when Drake does from him. Jaela giggles, cupping his face in her hands, bringing him down for a kiss when Drake heads to the bathroom, readying for round two… even though neither of them finished round one.

 She peppers him with kisses, bouncing on her toes and he laughs, wrapping his arms around her. “I have a new game.”

 “Yeah?”

 “Drake and I will see if we can make you come without any touching. Think you’re up for it?”

 Liam nips her lips and nods, Drake returning. Their hearts pound, Drake’s dick stirs at the show he’s about to put on for Liam with Jaela. But first… he shuts the curtains, glancing around the room. Everything seemed in place. Good. “Curtains closed, this time, Abdi.”

 “Aww…”

 Drake pulls her into his arms and Liam heads to the bathroom, dimming the lights on the way. He knows what Drake likes.

 “You won’t need to be seen to come the hardest you ever have, anyways.”

 “Oh fuck me!” Damien shuts off the earpiece, setting down the camera, zipping his fly. He was going to lose it. Almost did. No doubt Drake and Jaela would win at their game—the three of them almost did for him. He exhales, running and hand down his face.

 There were larger issues than the most obvious, his dick. It would be handled soon. They… knew he was watching. Not who he was. But… would this make it harder for him? He hoped not. He didn’t want this to be painful as it could be. He knows that they’re not done, but he can’t listen in, no, not anymore. They’re good people.

 So, after a swig of water, adjusting himself, pacing around, he connects with the boss, again. “So, Nazario, any intel?”

 “I’ll have to record the notes and go through the recording. But… nothing of use I think, boss. They went to sleep after watching Netflix,” he says, teeth clenched. “Talked about favorite shows and shit.”

 “Yeah, I’m sure. They had a reputation in Cordonia. I’m sure you enjoyed the show. Audio or visual or both?”

 “I told the truth,” he snaps.

 The boss sighs. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter. They’ll be happy to know that this is happening ahead of schedule. Keep an eye on them, Nazario. Pack your bags and start looking at some penthouses. They’ll be a big bonus our way if this works in our favor, you hear?”

 Damien swallows hard and the boner finally lessens at the thought of the plan. God. This sucks. “They’re… so happy though,” he says aloud and the boss laughs. Shit. He didn’t mean to say that. “Uh…”

 “Happiness doesn’t matter. Do your job. Right this time, Nazario.”

Disclaimer: All characters and rights belong to Pixelberry Studios.

Permatag/Tag list: @youwontlikewherewewillgo, @ashtonmore, @mfackenthal, @jadedpixiescribbles @enmchoices @debramcg1106 @hhiggs @bobasheebaby

[weekendwarriorblog]

The Weekend Warrior Home and Drive-In Edition June 26, 2020 – MY SPY, IRRESISTIBLE, THE GHOST OF PETER SELLERS and more!

June comes to an end as we passed through the summer solstice over the weekend. The 4th of July is next week, and the opening of movie theaters in New York and L.A. is edging closer, yet it still feels like the summer of 2020 will be forever known as the summer that never happened. I’m not even sure if I’ll be trying to predict the box office until things settle down, and we get into some semblance of normalcy, and that may never happen if scientists are to be believed that COVID will return in the fall.

The big release for the week isn’t actually coming to theaters but to Amazon, and it might be the biggest movie to air on the streamer to date. As you may have guessed from the title, I’m talking about the STXfilms action-comedy MY SPY, starring David Bautista, which was one of the first movies to be delayed when COVID hit back in March, but that was after it was already delayed a number of times before that. The simple high-concept premise has Bautista playing super-spy JJ, who is demoted to keep an eye on the wife of a suspected gunsmuggler with his tech assistant (Kristen Schaal). No sooner do they start this surveillance mission, the woman’s 9-year-old daughter Sophie (Chloe Coleman) catches them and she blackmails JJ to teach her how to be a spy.

Yup, this new comedy from Peter Segal (Get Smart, Second Act) is as high concept as you can possibly get, and yet, and quite surprisingly, My Spy is rated PG-13, as opposed to be a straight-up kiddie friendly PG, but you can read more about that in my review.

Mini-Review: It seems like every potential muscle-bound action star has to have one of these movies in their filmography where they’re teamed with a young child co-star that inevitably steals all their scenes – I won’t bother to list them all. Former WWE star and Marvel regular, Dave Bautista, has a precocious co-star in Chloe Coleman, who is so delightful as Sophie you can easily forget that this is straight-up formula comedy  

I’ll be honest about the fact that totally unironically, I’ve been looking forward to seeing My Spy since I first saw a preview at Cinema-Con back in 2019. It was a bummer to miss the press screening in March, because it meant having to wait three extra months to finally watch it on my computer. Surprise, surprise, the movie more than met up to my expectations, as I found it funny, cute and from time to time, it even throws in a few unexpected surprises.

I’m definitely in the camp that Bautista hasn’t done anything particularly great as an actor outside playing Drax in the MCU, and JJ isn’t that much smarter or less muscle-bound. The set-up for his character to connect with Coleman’s Sophie is pretty obvious, but there’s no denying that Bautista and Coleman are so adorable and hilarious as an on-screen duo that it more than makes up for any of the misgivings one might have about what is meant as an accessible movie with mainstream appeal.  (In other words, this was never meant as an artfilm, so if you’re one of those snobby critics who gushed all over last year’s Uncut Gems, and you refuse to accept that there’s an audience for My Spy, then you’re a fucking hypocrite, plain and simple.)

Speaking of the F-word, I have to mention My Spy’s rating, which is not the PG one might normally expect, though it’s not due to violence or bad language or anything that awful that you couldn’t watch and enjoy this with your 8 to 10 year old. I felt I should get that out there in case any parents have misgivings.

Besides the main duo, there’s some nice added comedy from Kristen Schaal, as well as the seemingly obligatory gay neighbors, played by Devere Rogers and Noah Dalton Danby, who somehow manage to avoid stereotypes while providing a recurring bit of humor.

The movie starts getting a little predictable when Sophie pushes JJ to start dating her now-single mom, and things start losing a little steam as the movie gets away from the JJ/Sophie bonding and back to the actual plot, and that’s where the movie’s biggest problems lie. When the “villain” of the piece shows up, things get back into the usual formula that most will be expecting anyway. I will add that director Peter Segal seems to be particularly well suited at directing this, particularly when it gets into some of the action in the last act.

Sure, some of My Spy’s funniest jokes have shown up in various trailers, but turns out that it’s a fairly warm and funny movie that does its job in providing solid family entertainment.

Rating: 7/10

Jon Stewart returns to political comedy with his new movie, IRRESISTIBLE, (Focus Features), starring his former “Daily Show” correspondent Steve Carell as Gary Zimmer, the Democratic strategist who failed so horribly running the 2016 Presidential election. Undaunted, Zimmer hopes to revive the party by rallying behind a likeable everyman, Col. Jack Hastings (Chris Cooper), as he runs for mayor of the small town of Deerlaken, Wisconsin. It would seem like an odd decision but clearly, the Republicans know that Zimmer has something bigger planned so they send their own strategist, Faith Brewster (Rose Byrne), to get behind the incumbent Republican mayor.

It’s pretty obvious this movie is probably more in Stewart’s wheelhouse than his previous film, Rosewater, but it also has more mainstream appeal and could help Stewart continue to get directing work in the future. Sure, there have been many similar political comedies like this that have tried to find the audience -- Bob Roberts, Primary Colours, Wag the Dog,Swing Vote -- but I’m not sure any of those came out when the country has been as divided as it is now.

It’s pretty nice seeing Stewart reuniting with Carell, who does a decent job in this fish-out-of-water comedy that mostly relies on how a DC bigwig might acclimate to a sociable smalltown – think Groundhog Day to the Nth level – which makes this comedy fall more into the vein of  Matt Damon and John Krasinski’s Promised Land, which I thought was a very underrated political film.

I’m a big Rose Byrne stan, and once again, we can see how delightfully funny she can be when playing such an awful person like Faith Brewster, but there’s quite a bit of fun awkward sexual tension between her and Carell. Another part of the equation is Hastings grown daughter, played by Mackenzie Davis, and most people watching this will probably hope this doesn’t go too far into that romantic realm, and thankfully, it doesn’t.

Irresistible may be a little predictable at times, but there’s a nice turn towards the end that makes up for some of the more obvious aspects of the storytelling, and Stewart certainly seems to be enough in his element to make this not too horrible an experience.

This week’s “Featured Film” is Peter Medak’s documentary, THE GHOST OF PETER SELLERS (1091), about how Hungarian filmmaker ran into problems with Sellers while trying to make the 1973 pirate comedy Ghost in the Noonday Sun, an experience that almost ruined the filmmaker’s career. It’s kind of interesting for a filmmaker to take an in-depth look back at his own failures, but Medak’s story is particularly touching, only because it didn’t seem like he stood a chance when Sellers refused to show up on set and then brought in his equally eclectic best friend Spike Milligan to work on the script and create even more chaos.

Honestly, I have never seen Ghost in the Noonday Sun, but I enjoy a lot of Medak’s films that followed, including The Changeling and the excellent Romeo is Bleeding, so I went into this doc knowing that this incident didn’t completely kill Medak’s career, but obviously, it had a huge effect. It ends up being a fairly emotional film as Medak interviews some of the producers on the film as well as Milligan’s widows and others who were around during that period. He also learns new things about how he was dismissed from the project and used as a scapegoat for all the problems faced by the production, which began when the boat built for the movie crashed upon arriving in Cypress.  I generally like movies about the making of movies even when I haven’t seen the original movie, and Medak finds a way to offer some true sentiment and emotional insight into his tenuous relationship with Sellers.

Out now on VOD is Laura Holliday’s DADDY ISSUES (Gravitas Ventures), starring Kimberley Datnow as a Henrietta, a 20-something stand-up who has moved from London back to L.A. to take over the family business after her father dies and leaves her the company. She takes on this challenge in hopes of earning her now dead father’s approval.

I knew from almost the minute this started that I was going to hate this twee high concept indie that seems like so many other indie movies where the person putting it together had so many ideas but not enough actual story glue to hold all those ideas together. It’s fairly obvious from the slice of “Henry’s” stand-up set that begins this movie that she isn’t particularly funny. On top of that, she seems like another one of those spoiled and entitled Millennials who just isn’t happy unless she’s getting her own way. When the story quickly shifts  to L.A., and she’s surrounded by even more annoying Millennials, it gets even worse, especially because it feels the need to follow her best friend and housemate on their own journeys as well.

I have to say, as someone who didn’t automatically hate the recent Valley Girl remake, that Daddy Issues is infinitely worse, not only because it doesn’t have the fun musical numbers but just because it seems like such a precious endeavor that doesn’t seem like it will really be able to connect with anyone other than the filmmakers.  I found Datnow’s Henrietta to be so pathetic and again, not very funny, so getting through this movie was grueling, to say the least. At one point, Henri falls for an asshole named Hunter whom she had one date with. When that doesn’t work, she tries to reconnect with a couple other idiotic guys, but then she goes back with Hunter, and the whole time I was watching this movie thinking, “What’s the point? Are there really people this stupid and annoying on the planet?” (That’s rhetorical.)

Jon Swab’s RUN WITH THE HUNTED (Vertical) stars Michel Pitt, Ron Perlman and Dree Hemingway, and it will premiere On Demand this Friday. At first, it follows a young boy named Oscar (Mitchell Paulson), who commits a murder and runs away from home, leaving his childhood friend Loux wondering where he went after saving her from an abusive father. Oscar joins a band of misfit kids who pick pockets and commit crimes, but 15 years later, Loux goes looking for Oscar (now played by Michael Pitt).  

I’m not even sure where to begin with this indie crime-thriller that’s so flawed from beginning to end, it was tough to get through most of it.  The first hour deals with the younger Oscar and much of it deals with him getting in with a teen girl named Peaches and a young gang of hoodlums, led by Mark Boone Junior and Ron Perlman. It’s kind of interesting seeing Perlman playing the leader of a group of young pickpockets and thieves since he played the protector of those sorts of kids in one of my favorite movies, The City of Lost Children. That’s really the only thing those two movies have in common, as this feels like another poorly-realized attempt at… possibly modernizing Oliver Twist? (I mean, the band le by Pitt’s character are even referred to as “The Lost Boys,” so it’s obvious that Swab didn’t care too much about originality.

The sad truth is that Pitt has been fairly mediocre as an actor lately, after showing so much promise in his early days, and Run with the Hunted doesn’t really offer anything particularly new to what’s generally a pretty tired genre. Perlman is one of the better parts of the movie along with Isiah Whitlock (last seen in Da Five Bloods), and they have a fine scene together, but otherwise, the material is weak, and it leads to a dull and often outright dumb offering.

I still haven’t figured out what Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga is, but apparently, it’s a spoof comedy starring Will Ferrell and Rachel McAdams that will debut on Netflix this Friday. It also reunites McAdams with her Wedding Crashers director, David Dobkin, so I’ll definitely check it out, since it looks very funny. 

Mini-Review: I have to admit this movie seemed to come from out of nowhere. I really felt like I only started hearing about it when the trailer debuted last week, but otherwise, I had no idea that Ferrell had reteamed with his Wedding Crashers director and with that film’s romantic lead, Rachel McAdams. What this spoof comedy has going for it is that it combines a number of things I enjoy, including music and Iceland.

Will Ferrell plays Lars Erikson, one half of the synth duo Fire Saga, with his childhood friend Sigrit (McAdams), the two of them having the life-long dream of representing Iceland in the annual Eurovision Song Contest. Lars also has to contend with his disapproving father, played by Pierce Brosnan, but in general, everyone in their Icelandic town thinks they’re awful. They seem like longshots to represent Iceland in the song contest but an unfortunate incident leaves them as the only option.

We might as well get out of the way the fact that this is essentially a one or two joke comedy that follows the formula of so many other Will Ferrell movies, including Blades of Glory, but if you’re a fan of his comedy, then you’ll probably enjoy his latest offering, which he also co-wrote and produced. When Dan Stevens shows up as the Russian competitor, Alexander Lemtov, who has machinations for Sigrid, it’s pretty easy to figure out where things are going.

Either you like what Ferrell does while in full-on “idiot mode” or not, and Fire Saga’s on-stage mishaps probably offer the biggest laughs. The other level of humor involves just how silly the actual Eurovision is, even though it’s obviously more of a European thing than it is something that Americans will understand. I’ve always loved Rachel McAdams, and I generally think she’s better when she’s doing comedy, as she makes for a great counter to Ferrell’s zaniness.

In general, the movie allows actors like McAdams, Stevens and Brosnan to goof around and have a fun time being as outlandish as Ferrell.  (Just watching Brosnan trying to pull off an Icelandic accent may be worth the price of admission alone.)

Make no mistake that this is not a small movie, and it’s quite a huge production when you consider all the enormous musical numbers representing the different international contestants. I could have easily seen this doing decently in theaters, although its 2-hour run time does seem a bit frivolous since there’s also quite a bit that could have been trimmed.

As much as Eurovision Song Contest leans heavy on its main overall joke about Fire Saga being quite inept, particularly Ferrell’s Lars, I generally enjoy this type of spoof of comedy even when it ventures into very predictable territory. In the end, Eurovision Song Contest offers as many laughs as Popstar: Never Stop Stopping, even if it’s not quite as heady as a movie like Walk Hard.

Rating: 7/10

Former lawyer turned filmmaker, Cam Cowan’s documentary, Madagasikara (Global Digital Releasing), takes a look at three women in Madagascar fighting for the survival of their families and education of their children amidst domestic political instability and the poverty that’s been caused by it. Cowan made his first trip to Madagascar in June 2014 and spent four years filming and doing post on the documentary which will debut on Amazon Prime and Docurama Friday after its festival run, but will be available platforms down the line.

The Blind Melon/Shannon Hoon doc All I Can Say (Oscilloscope) has the singer returning from the grave by compiling the many videos he filmed of himself between 1990 and 1995 before his death at the age of 28.  Co-directed by Danny Clinch, Taryn Gould and Colleen Hennessy, it will hit virtual cinemas as well as record stores and music venues this Friday.  (Not quite sure how that all works, but hey, I was never really a Blind Melon fan anyway.)

Coming to Virtual Cinema on Friday is Ina Weiss’ The Audition (Strand Releasing) that follows a violin teacher named Anna Bronchy (Nina Hoss) who finds talent within Alexander, a student at the music-focused high school, neglecting her own family in the process.

Opening in Virtual Cinema Friday through almost 50 arthouse theaters across the country, including Brooklyn’s BAM, is the British-Nigerian drama, The Last Tree (Artmattan Films) from filmmaker Shola Amoo, which received a number of awards at the British Independent Film Award after its Sundance 2019 World Premiere.

Film at Lincoln Center’s Virtual Cinema will present Three Short Films by Sergei Parajanov (FilmLinc), featuring work by the Armenian-Georgian filmmaker that range from 1967 through 1988. FilmLinc will also premiere Bora Kim’s 2018 South Korean film, House of Hummingbird (West Go USA/Kino Marquee), a Berlinale prize winner set in that country I 1994, as it follows a 14-year-old through a series of romances and indiscretions.

Film Forum’s own Virtual Cinema will conclude its Alaistar Sim trilogy with the 1951 comedy, Laughter in Paradise, directed by Mario Zampi, as well as screen Zhang Yimou’s 1995 film Shanghai Triad, starring Gong Li. (There’s actually a lot of movies available via Virtual Cinema that will end this Friday, including two series of Kid Flicks shorts, so definitely try to go through the listings and catch what you can!)

This week also sees the third and final volume of Time Warp: The Greatest Cult Films of All-Time with Volume 3 looking at “Comedy and Camp,” once again hosted by Joe Dante, John Waters, Ileana Douglas and Kevin Pollak. Some of the movies covered in this volume include Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Rock and Roll High School, Office Space, Monty Python and the Holy Grail and Showgirls with guests that include Gina Gershon, John Cleese, Fred Willard, Jon Heder and many more. I really have enjoyed this documentary series, and if you’re a fan of movies that are just a little outside leftfield, this is a great addition to your library.

Available on DVD this Friday is the documentary No Small Matter (Abramorama), co-directed by Danny Alpert, Greg Jacobs and Jon Siskel, which looks at early childhood education and how that has changed how kids learn, now at an earlier age than ever.

This week’s big virtual festival is the 25th Nantucket Film Festival, which will be running from June 23 – 30 with a combination of films and events like a number of “In Their Shoes..” talks with Norman Lear and screenwriter Eric Roth (both hosted by my pal Ophira Eisenberg), as well as one with improv comics, Thomas Middleditch and Ben Schwartz, that one moderated by Michel Ian Black. Also, the Oxford Film Festival will screen two features virtually starting on Friday, Mindy Beldsoe’s The In Between and Braden King’s The Evening Hour, although the latter can only be viewed in Mississippi.You can get tickets for both on Oxford’s Eventive site.

Also this weekend, there are a few returning shows, but they’re coming to HBO Max only, and that includes the third season of Search Party and the second season of Doom Patrol, which originally premiered on DC Universe. So yeah, there’s definitely a lot to watch this weekend.

Netflix will also release George Lopez’s new stand-up special, George Lopez: We’ll Do It In Half on Saturday and the third season of the German series, Dark.

Next week, it’s the 4th of July weekend, and we’ll have more movies not necessarily in theaters!

By the way, if you read this week’s column and have bothered to read this far down, feel free to drop me some thoughts at Edward dot Douglas at Gmail dot Com or drop me a note or tweet on Twitter. I love hearing from readers … honest!

[sleepymarmot]

DS9 season 6

[Season index: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 PS]

Here I get angrier and discourse-y

A Time to Stand

The Garak/Bashir scene (finally)... and Bashir looking like this... I feel blessed

when he talks about his “boyish smile” but cannot smile at all. that hit hard

aw Worf/Jadzia!

the Terok Nor dynamics are fascinating. I'm very impressed by Kira's willpower...

jesus fucking christ the Dukat/Kira scene :O D: 😨

why is Bashir doing mental calculations now, he's not Data

Rocks and Shoals

Kira's storyline about being self-conscious about collaborationism is great. In the previous episode we saw her trapped and vulnerable, especially in the viscerally horrifying scene with Dukat, and now we realize along with Kira herself that all of that is having it good.

Sons and Daughters

how did Sisko send a signal that Martok heard but the Jem'Hadar didn't?

Alexander lived on the Enterprise because Worf's parents were incapable of raising him anymore... I guess that was so inconvenient for the DS9 writers they decided to just ignore it instead of at least trying to invent an excuse.

"But the last time you defied him, he left you here to die!" "We talked about that. He admits he overreacted" bwahaha

Oh Alexander, so much secondhand embarrassment...

god, he gave her a dress, eww

oh my god, and he immediately re-gifts it to his own daughter, what a jerk

accepting Worf into the house of Martok involved much less ceremony...

why doesn't this episode address Alexander's age? did the writers assume, again, we didn't watch TNG? they could have said something about his grandparents protesting because he's about ten years old. something about Klingon children growing up very fast, and humans disapproving of child soldiers.

I don't understand how Ziyal can be so naive. Sure, she's kept unaware of the creepy sexual aspect of Dukat's advances (though I was waiting for Kira to snap and finally say "Your father keeps hitting on me, please don't force me to be in the same room with him"), but surely she must see why Kira finds his company uncomfortable and inappropriate! I do like that Ziyal is on his side again. And I enjoy seeing the continuation of Kira's storyline where she has to walk the line between keeping a polite facade and staying true to herself, gets too used to engaging Dukat&co on their own terms and has to take a step back to reassert herself.

Behind the Lines

Wait, if the Romulans have signed a non-aggression pact with the Dominion, why do they still allow Starfleet to use their cloaking device against it?

I've already been concerned about their open discussions of resistance activities, but a Founder's presence on the station makes it even worse! Sure, discuss your plans over a bar table that might well be a changeling...

Odo, for fuck's sake, she's going to learn all about the resistance from you...

"She didn't find out about the resistance, if that's why you're worried" in the same scene: "If she had some hidden motive, I would have sensed it"

Odo!.. >:(

Captain Dax!

Do the Cardassians still have the truth serum? If no, it's a giant plot hole; if yes, things are looking really bad...

Favor the Bold

oh god ewwwwww

why is Leeta making that noise

haha you go Kira

"We are way, way past sorry" good. unforgiving Kira is the best Kira

Odo's longing for his kind works so much better when the Founders are not on screen -- the things they actually say are so boring, one-dimensional and unconvincing... Though I find interesting that Odo's storyline mirrors Kira's in this arc: the female changeling manages to seduce him while Dukat fails to do the same to Kira.

Sacrifice of Angels

"DAMAR: I doubt he was working alone when he tried to sabotage the station. He must've had help. His wife Leeta, Jake Sisko, Major Kira. DUKAT: What are you proposing? DAMAR: That we arrest them. Keep them in custody, at least until the wormhole is reopened." Finally someone wakes up! I was expecting them to do this an episode ago...

"War is such thirsty work. Don't you agree?" "Perhaps if you didn't talk so much, your throat wouldn't get so dry."

Oh look! He's actually pretty shocked by the suggestion to "eradicate [an entire planet's] population"! Even this guy has standards.

"A true victory is to make your enemy see they were wrong to oppose you in the first place. To force them to acknowledge your greatness" classic Dukat. this is his ideology in a nutshell

"Then you kill them?" I'm loving the discussion of the differences between the Cardassian and Dominion approach

"Perhaps the biggest disappointment in my life is that the Bajoran people still refuse to appreciate how lucky they were to have me as their liberator. I protected them in so many ways, cared for them as if they were my own children. But to this day, is there a single statue of me on Bajor?" how is it possible to be so deluded?! fucking incredible

"Link with me, Odo. Embrace the clarity" EMBRACE ETERNITY

Where's the Enterprise during all these battles?

haha Quark & Ziyal make a great team

"The only reason they haven't killed me yet is that I'm part of their victory celebration. Seven o'clock, Dukat makes a speech. Eight thirty, cake and raktajino. Eight forty five, execute the Ferengi"

holy crap, they actually detonated the minefield! I didn't expect that

LITERALLY DEUS EX MACHINA

(I'm beginning to think this is a predestination paradox and the wormhole aliens started taking care of the Bajorans throughout history because Sisko told them to...)

Shit, I thought Dukat was about to snap and kill her, but it's even worse

I didn't expect to feel sympathy for Dukat ever again after those scenes with Kira, but this show played me again. I guess he'll completely lose it now?

Did you really had to remind us that the trainwreck that was Garak/Ziyal existed?

Wait, please tell me this isn't Dukat's last appearance and he's not about to spend the last 1,5 seasons in an asylum?

You are Cordially Invited

Why does this Klingon woman have human teeth?

Ah yes, Jadzia is too proud and independent and should follow her fiance's totally reasonable suggestion to humiliate herself to fit better in his culture. fuck you

Resurrection

am I supposed to recognize this guy?

oh no it's a Mirror episode

I... don't... care...

ugh, her again

I wish I just fast-forwarded this episode

Statistical Probabilities

How did I know from the title that this is a Bashir episode...

lol my dude when Bashir gets his look on his face you know you're fucked

I can't believe Miles pretended to have work just so he could be in the same room as Julian... romance is not dead

Don't know what to think about this episode. There are some good conversations about ableism and intelligence, but that set of stereotypes and assumptions... It's like the final Sherlock episode. And it was implausible when they could read Damar so well in the first place. And the long-term predictions are a million times worse! Do they include variables like "wormhole aliens destroy the entire enemy fleet because Sisko asked nicely"?

Plus I don't like how this season portrays Bashir's enhanced intelligence... I thought he was just made smarter than average, not make mental calculations at the same speed as Data... Where did that come from. Why.

The Magnificent Ferengi

"May I help you, gentlemen?" lmao

"Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take a nap."

"By the time the Dominion is done with you, all you'll want is a quick death." I love his serene tone haha

This was hilarious :D I really like this show's ventures into black comedy! Also Keevan looks exactly like Orlando Bloom and it cracks me up.

Waltz

Dukat's career has been through a lot of ups and downs over the seasons, and this is the lowest point ever that brings a new dynamic: Dukat so powerless that Sisko can afford to feel pity for him. I'm glad Dukat seems sane.

"A bottle of kanar and an Orion slave girl would be nice" ew

oh, so he has hallucinations. oh well.

"From this day forward, Bajor is dead. All of Bajor" Ouch. Sisko, I think you made it worse... I might have used the same rhetoric in Sisko's place, but damn, his final statement about Dukat's evilness rings pretty hollow since it was him who dragged "kill all Bajorans" out of Dukat's subconsciousness into the light. Like, I understand, when you're injured and trapped with an armed crazy fascist who tries to force you to praise him, you'd want at least the final satisfaction of telling what you think about him to his face, in no way I blame you for it... But if someone is mentally unstable and obsessed with proving to you he's a good person, and you reject it and instead goad him into exposing and accepting his darker motivations -- then don't say he is irredeemably evil? I can see how Sisko's rhetoric could have worked as reverse psychology -- his opponent would have started the speech about killing everyone, heard himself, stopped in horror and realized the error of his ways -- but Dukat didn't have enough self-awareness for that even in better times, and certainly not now. This was just giving your enemy ideas. Nice job breaking it, hero! When Dukat sabotaged his own redemption arc by joining the Dominion, it was beautiful, but when someone else does it to him... Idk, I usually like the Batman/Joker dynamic where the bad guy is obsessed with the protagonist and defines himself in opposition to him, but I'm not sure how well it works here... On the other hand, it has been a part of Dukat's character that he has an almost fourth wall breaking awareness of his role in the story as a likeable complex antagonist, so there is some poetic sense that he turns to straight-up villainy when someone convinces him that is the better role for him and he decides to live up to it. 

The sad thing is, except that strange last scene, I was absolutely with Sisko the entire episode. And contrary to his words at the end, I found it an excellent example of grey morality. I've talked about it a couple of seasons ago -- allowing the antagonist to plead his case and then explaining why he's still wrong -- and this episode dedicates a lot of time to this. We've basically already heard Dukat's self-justifications, but learning what exactly was his role during the occupation and what he has done differently that made him think he was so much better than the other Cardassians -- that's something I've wanted since the beginning of the show. Cardassians are my favourite part of the show because of their messed up ideology, and Dukat is the one character who keeps talking about it, which is why he's so interesting for me. (Initially, heavy focus on ideology was what I expected from Garak and his character arc, which is one of the reasons I was disappointed in them.) It's great how he gives a lengthy speech that does make him sound pretty reasonable and sympathetic for a minute, and then with a single line Sisko breaks the spell and makes him reveal the ugly racism under it all, the reason why Dukat is deeply wrong despite any good intentions: "From the moment we arrived on Bajor, it was clear that we were the superior race. But they couldn't accept that. They wanted to be treated as equals when they most certainly were not". But, honestly, this isn't exactly news. Dukat's always been a racist, a victim-blamer, an egomaniac, an opportunist, and this episode doesn't even touch the issue of Bajoran women. So in this episode, he says pretty much the same things as when he played a "morally grey" role, but now that suddenly means he's "not morally grey"? Because of some bat-swinging during a psychotic episode, and a final villainous speech based on an idea fed to him by Sisko? He's responsible for a genocide, that's bad enough -- you don't need to start blaming him for things he's not fully responsible for! One of my favourite things about Dukat is that his crimes mostly happened offscreen, before the events of the show, so his presence on screen was sort of a test of integrity for both other character and viewers -- can you still tell right from wrong without a visceral reaction to violence and suffering happening right now before your very eyes? The characters have always passed that test; but now, regrettably, the writers decided that the viewers cannot. At the beginning of the episode he's a war criminal half-mad from loss, and Sisko feels sorry for him; at the end of the episode he's a war criminal completely mad from loss, and Sisko thinks he's evil. I guess, this might be interpreted just as Sisko's version of Kira's stories at the beginning of the season, where she briefly forgets how much she hates Dukat, and by the end of the episode he gives her a reason to hate him even more. I guess it comes down to the first line in this liveblog that I wrote during the first minutes of the episode: when the enemy is neutralised, we can afford to feel sympathy for them, but as soon as they start posing real danger, compassion goes out of the window and our first priority is to stop them. Except, of course, that works for any enemy, they don't have to be "truly evil"... So my complaint about that line still stands. Besides, it really deflated the drama; five minutes ago we had Dukat delivering his mad king's speech with the Shakespearean levels of gravitas, and now Sisko almost looks in the camera and summarizes his experience with the dramatic equivalent of "That's as many of four tens. And that's terrible."

Alright, let's try to stop raging about the dumb final scene and say something about the actual episode... I wish this was a real courtroom episode without the madness -- but the imaginary Weyoun, Damar and Kira's arguments were very well done. Their opinions sounded authentic while the delivery was distorted by Dukat's point of view. Just look at the imaginary Kira draping herself sensually over everything... :D

Dukat has a special talent for making me feel terribly guilty. You know the parts from his final monologue about Bajoran "superstitions", how they "clustered in their temples and prayed for deliverance"? Well, as I dislike the episodes about Bajoran religion I kinda see where he's coming from, and now I feel like a Nazi...

Idk how I'd fix this episode. 

I'd like to throw out the mental illness altogether but then half of the episode stops working. 

If I couldn't invent a completely different ending, I'd throw out the final scene, letting Dukat's actions speak for themselves. 

Or there would be a final scene, but similar in tone to "The Ship", where Sisko'd be like "Whoops..." and also traumatised by the experience. 

Or, if it were absolutely necessary to state the moral of the story and remind the viewers that Dukat is Bad(tm), maybe he'd say something like "Yes, I gave him the idea, but everyone is responsible for his own actions, and blaming everyone but himself is what he wants and does, so I'm not going to". 

Maybe I'd end the episode with Sisko killing Dukat and the final scene being like "Generally I value life but you know what? No regrets". (Of course the best outcome would be if Kira killed Dukat but I've already been informed it won't happen.) 

tl;dr: There are some impressive scenes, lines and acting, but the episode is deeply compromised by its general intent, mental illness excuse and the final scene.

Who Mourns for Morn

Not the best Quark episode... Gags about Morn don't work for me because the prosthetic is so bulky the actor can barely move in it, let alone make facial expressions, and it's impossible to believe that guy becomes talkative, charming and athletic as soon as the cameras stop pointing at him.

Far Beyond the Stars

Finally, a classic episode that lives up to its reputation -- and an AU that's good enough that it does not require an explanation. (The Prophets... made an elaborate simulation of 20th century Earth... to inspire Sisko to fight on? Okay.) I feel that somehow this is the best story about Sisko as the Emissary so far, even though -- or maybe because -- it was only discussed indirectly. It works as a history episode, as an AU episode, as an issue episode, as a meta episode about Star Trek itself...

I'm a bit confused by not-Bashir's role as one of the white writers who just don't get it -- just another reminder of how little I understand the concept of race... I've never thought of him as white -- would he be, by 1950's standards? I get that the episode is specifically about antiblackness, but they did mention sexism against not-Kira, so why not him?

I tried hard and failed to recognize the artist -- turns out, it was Martok! I'd never guess...

I'm darkly amused at Odo as conservative, contemptible half-antagonist again (similar to the roles he played during both occupations and in Mirror universe). His conflict with not-Quark is still recognizable, not just superficially imitated without any of the substance (remember when Quark called Odo a fascist?).

Similarly, I almost laughed when Dukat and Weyoun showed up as racist cops -- just in case you somehow still aren't drawing parallels to the current events, the show does it for you... How sad it is though: a show filmed in 1990s about the 24th century remembering the 1950s looks like an immediate reaction to the news reports of today...  

It was a pleasure to see Kasidy in both worlds! I've missed her. She's such a likeable person, and has effortless chemistry with Sisko (and Benny).

Joseph was great, a beautiful variation on his role in Homefront/Paradise Lost.

I was impressed to learn afterwards that the writers all had real prototypes. So they’re based on a group of real people and group of fictional character at the same time, and both sets of influences are recognizable. That’s incredible. 

One Little Ship

"I love it. Let's go"

more enjoyable than I expected

Honor Among Thieves

ooh nice scenery

this is the kind of story I find hard to watch both because it's painful to wait for something terrible to happen, and because it's not very captivating

Change of Heart

ah yes, Bashir learned all the rules from half a second glance *eyeroll*

this is season freaking 6!!! you told us two seasons ago that Julian's crush on Jadzia is dead! what the fuck?

moral of the story: don't send married couples on dangerous missions toge -- wait, as I was typing, Sisko said the exact same thing lol

why are all Jadzia/Worf episodes so bad. why are all Jadzia episodes so bad. is this a conspiracy?! why is her every episode about almost dying? you know, at this point I'm kinda looking forward to it happening for real.

Wrongs Darker than Death or Night

What, you can easily travel back in time? Just like that?

I didn't expect this show to actually use the term "comfort women"!

Kira looks like she needs a bucket to vomit in... I may need one too...

*Dukat kisses Meru* *mine and Kira's vomiting intensifies*

let me guess, the episode will end with Kira realizing that "my mother deserves death for having Stockholm syndrome" was a bit too harsh

"Kira and collaborationism" is one of my favourite themes in this show istg

"Believe me, there's a part of me that wishes that I hadn't. But the fact is, no matter what she did, she was still my mother" I actually wanted to Kira to go through with the assassination! But then it'd create a different timeline and the episode wasn't about that. 

ok, I spoiled myself about Dukat/Meru so it lost the shock value, and I can see that it's incredibly contrived, but on the other hand it somehow managed to make Dukat's harassment towards Kira even more gross and creepy which is impressive

I have so many technical questions though. If Bajor has a freaking time machine why is no one using it in the war? Why is the Dominion not trying to get its hands on it? Why does it work differently than in "Tribbles"? Is it a closed time loop or alternate timeline? -- at the start of the episode, have Meru and Dukat met the time-travelling Kira or not? Dukat said he was the Prefect only for ten years but in this episode young Nerys looks about four and she certainly isn't a teenager at the end of the occupation -- how does all of that add up? Wait, if Ziyal was 13 by the end of the occupation, it would make more sense if Dukat was in charge for about 20 years and, roughly speaking, spent seven of them with Meru (as said in this episode) and thirteen with Naprem, and the line in "Waltz" is a continuity error -- but putting it this way sounds more wholesome than he deserves, since from the words of that one dude in this episode and a scene in "Things Past" I got the impression that those unfortunate Bajoran women passed through his quarters at a much faster rate...

btw remember when I was hoping that Dukat's mentions of his children to Sisko were intentional manipulation? now I'm pretty sure they were.

wow, TvTropes: "The episode itself... which is rather a letdown. With such a name, you'd expect some sort of horrible atrocity to be happening" -- you mean, MASS SEX SLAVERY, long-term psychological manipulation, prostituting oneself to a tyrant and learning to like it, and planning the murder of one's own mother -- these things are not horrible enough??? who tf wrote that entry

(btw, kudos to this episode for handling these heavy topics without going the exploitative shock value route like "Violations" that actually showed rape scenes on screen.)

also someone mentioned that Terok Nor is very brightly lit and now I can't get it out of my mind... why, set designers, why...

Something I liked: in the opening scene Dukat says: "Captain Sisko gave me the clarity to see beyond the lies, the self-deceptions that were controlling my life. He helped me see to the truth about myself. And now I'm going to do the same for you." And that's what happens indeed, even if not exactly in the way he might have intended. Sisko made him acknowledge the violence under the pretty words and justifications, and now we get to see the ugly true face of what Dukat calls -- and genuinely believes to be -- "love".

Inquisition

"Why would the Dominion leave your runabout orbiting the camp" well I'm glad the writers are aware of their plotholes... :D

"Captain, if Doctor Bashir had been involved in one or two questionable incidents, I could understand how you might be able to dismiss it, but the sheer number of incidents form a pattern of behaviour that can't be ignored" you could say that about literally any of the main characters lmao... every episode of any Star Trek series contains a questionable incident plot twist?? let me guess, it's set up by Sloan to make him confess

Second Skin 2

"And because you didn't want billions of Federation citizens to lose their lives needlessly, you agreed to provide us with information that would help us end this war quickly" heh, nice use of Statistical Probabilities

oh wow, Weyoun and his ship are actually real! I didn't expect that

the DS9 crew are all acting so strange, I guess they're part of the simulation too

"I admit it takes exceptional people to do what we do. People who can sublimate their own ambitions to the best interests of the Federation" heh, is this the final test?

wait, they kidnapped him THAT early? Bashir really should stop going to medical conferences...

this episode was pretty predictable after so many similar stories, but I do like these types of episodes, and this one utilised well the long-running themes of Bashir and secret service, and Bashir's idealism. And he got to join the club with Data, Riker, Picard, Dax, O'Brien, Worf -- am I forgetting anyone? Oh, right, Wesley -- that was one of my favourite episodes, actually... Oh, and I just rewatched the scene is the beginning where Bashir wakes up tired in the simulation for the first time, and remembered that episode of TNG where Riker kept losing sleep because aliens kidnapped him every night.

In the Pale Moonlight

Garak saves the day! I'm glad to see him live up to his reputation.

Actually, I don't think the plan was THAT immoral. Especially how it turned out in the end. The worst part was the danger to the Federation in case the forgery was discovered, but Garak took care of that. So ultimately, my only regret would be the use of that biomimetic gel in the clearly wrong hands. Call me cynical, but I fully agree with Garak that the price they paid was very small. Sure, for a Starfleet officer all of that must feel very dishonorable, but I'm sure the secret services of all major powers in the galaxy pull this kind of crap and worse on a fairly regular basis.* Hell, I think what Sisko himself did to apprehend Eddington was worse by my standards! And how is bribing Quark worse than blackmailing him, which Sisko has been doing literally since the pilot?! I think his guilt would have worked better for me if the plan failed and all of that were for nothing. 

* Actually, why WAS Sisko the one doing this? And not someone like the just-introduced Section 31?

On a less serious note, I love that Sisko isn't satisfied with the recording until someone talks shit about Dukat :D then he's like "mmm perfect"

I feel obligated to mention the quality of writing and directing! And the wonderful ambiguity of the final "I can live with it" -- I love things like this.

His Way

let me get this straight, Julian got rejected three times by the same woman but she started dating him after he asked a hologram for advice?? wtf. Miles is surprised by the latter part but I'm more concerned about "Bashir is repeatedly rejected and refuses to stop pursuing a woman" (what is this, season 1???! between that and the mention of his crush on Dax several episodes ago, certainly feels like that, and not in a good way) and also about "Bashir dates a woman offscreen because the relationship is so shallow it's apparently not worth showing but we need to remind the viewers he's Straight"

"Is that the best you can do?" "I'd like to see someone do better." "So would I."

"You're not exactly the most lovable person in the galaxy. You're not even the most lovable person in this sector, or on the station. Or even in this room"

how many of those dumbass songs must I endure?

I'm really bored...

ughhh this is embarrassing

and THIS is creepy

(at least Odo is better than Barclay and backs off...)

he can just go to any other holosuite and interrupt whatever people are doing in there? D:

oh god, he can also use the station's com line?! SOMEONE DELETE THIS PROGRAM IT'S GETTING REALLY SCARY

kill me. or kill this episode with fire

ughhhh it's finally over bye. the scene with Quark was very good, but the rest... how come Kira and Odo by themselves are probably the most interesting characters but their romance is this utter dreck?

The Reckoning

why doesn't the universal translator work here?

how did the wormhole animals get here, anyway?

(I’m keeping this typo lmao)

for once, Winn is absolutely right!!

did he actually break it?.. this is not a dream?.. Winn won't be pleased

it's episodes like this when I miss TNG, and Picard's total refusal to treat Q like a god

this is getting stupider and stupider...

take a shot every time Sisko claims to know something 

you know your story is bad when Winn is the most, and probably only sympathetic character in it (and Kira spends the entire final scene talking how bad Winn is? what?) Winn is being rational and ends up saving lives while Sisko keeps justifying his shitty actions with weak babbling about how "The Prophets want this, they work in mysterious ways" -- have they switched bodies while I wasn't looking?!

Valiant

Jake has a nice stylish outfit

That's strange... Why didn't they return to the Federation space after the war began? Will that be the point of the episode -- that they continued the mission on their own out of sheer hubris?

so this poor girl and the others spend months trapped on a tiny ship inside enemy territory because that guy wants to feel adult and important and likes to play captain?

so, they finally found one specific battleship they had been looking for for 8 months? and it happened the next day after Jake and Nog come on board? is that just because Nog adjusted the warp drive?

dude! your job was to gather info! if that battleship kills you, you fail!

The First Duty 2

...but a lot more bloody D:

this episode was better than I expected

Profit and Lace

aaaalright, here we go, let's see if this really is the Worst Episode Ever

why is Ishka wearing clothes that accentuate her breasts? the clothes in the previous episodes were so baggy I assumed that Ferengi women don't have boobs

"...brilliant Ferengi female. Do you know any?" I suppose Pel wouldn't be able to get here fast enough?

okay, Quark reluctantly doing his best to advocate for female rights is actually pretty awesome

are u telling me all Quark needed to be a better person was a little estrogen?

I actually... didn't find this bad for a Ferengi episode? and it was more interesting to watch than some other episodes in this season -- I was genuinely unsure what would happen and was rooting for everything to turn out well! 

Of course I'd prefer if Ishka made the case for Ferengi feminism herself -- but, at least, the narrative is on its side this time, unlike at least one previous episode. And this time she has more agency than in her previous appearances (Zek's lover/hidden mastermind and damsel in distress) -- she's using her position of power to implement a whole new progressive law, and it even seems like she made it to Zek's side for that purpose and domestic bliss was a nice side effect. 

Quark as a woman is an objectively transphobic gag, of course (and yes I know that it’s my privilege that allows me not to be viscerally upset by it enough to immediately ruin the episode forever). But I didn't actually find it as nasty as the same joke in "Facets", where the narrative and other characters used it to made fun of him, and the shot of his head on Kira's body in "Meridian"; here it's for greater good, and being in a woman's shoes (literally) gives him some perspective, plus nobody seems to think sex reassignment surgery is a big deal. Other characters criticise Quark’s performance of femininity in the same tone as Worf criticised others’ performance of Klingon-ness. Like, I see that this is fundamentally Bad, but I was preparing myself to be outraged much more so it doesn’t feel that bad.

And it's gross that Quark sexually exploits his workers and the narrative doesn't punish him, but that happened before in season 1... 

Unlike, say, The Reckoning, it doesn't affect the show's overall plot or lore in a negative way -- I'd even say it's the opposite because of the big win for women's rights on Ferenginar. (It shows a frustrating lack of progress in Quark's character arc, but a lot of episodes share this problem...) So, even though this episode is unfunny and largely offensive, I don't feel it's exceptionally terrible -- just another example of the problems this show has always had. I have more problems with stories that break the entire show, than isolated episodes like this which can be easily skipped and ignored.

Time's Orphan

what about the Orb of Time, wouldn't it help?

Keiko, that's a terrible decision

I guess the episode will end with both Worf and the O'Briens realizing this parenting problem is too difficult for them, and they'll do what they should have done from the start and re-rescue Molly

No, Miles, your plan is horrible. If it works I'll never forgive this episode.

I'm glad it ended well. But feral!Molly was obviously a lost cause from the beginning...

The Sound of Her Voice

Odo, are you being shitty on purpose?

I was worried when Bashir didn't want to talk at the beginning, but this is almost scary!

I suspected something like this...

Julian no...

“I really care about all of you, even if sometimes it would appear that I care more about my work” says the guy who spent two seasons running after everybody like “PLEASE BE MY FRIEND!!!11!”

This entire thing looks like Julian and Miles are about to make a public proposal to each other...

"Someday we're going to wake up and we're going to find that someone is missing from this circle" *looks directly at Jadzia*

Tears of the Prophets

*sigh* Okay, I'm emotionally prepared, here we go

*sees Jadzia on screen* no I'm not prepared

ughh why are Bashir and Quark being so gross

where has he been all this time?

"I don't hold you responsible for Ziyal's death. You may have fired the phaser, but it was Benjamin Sisko who forced your hand" ????? dude. this is a stretch even by your standards.

"You've gone from being a self important egotist to a self deluded madman" Weyoun is not wrong

(but you know acknowledging within the story that your writing is shitty doesn’t fix the problem)

Klingons and Romulans!

why must I listen to this stupid song and look at Bashir and Quark being shitty and badly written

Oh great, the wormhole aliens can somehow contact him whenever and wherever they want, no orbs or travels to the wormhole necessary. WTF?

I like how Weyoun and Damar roll their eyes at Dukat's nonsense. same

"I've immersed myself in the study of the Bajoran ancient texts, and I've come to realize that the wormhole is much more than the gateway to the Gamma Quadrant. It's the Temple of the Prophets" o rly??? truly an astonishing discovery

congrats on finally getting the Renegade eyes, Dukat

what is Garak doing here?

ugh. 

Dukat went from the embodiment of the best storyline on the show to the embodiment of the worst storyline on the show

At least Weyoun and Damar keep reacting to his every word as "That's nonsense" so at least someone inside the story doesn't like this plot as well. I think Dukat has passed them the torch of being the fourth wall breaking meta character...

...but, you know, if the wormhole would really close forever I'd be glad. of course they'll find a way to reconnect with their "Prophets" somehow

I interrupt the ugly crying to ask: how the hell would Sisko's presence on the station have saved Jadzia's life?!

"for the first time in my life I've failed in my duty as a Starfleet officer" uh, how?! 

this is the worst season finale in DS9

Ohhh man... The season started so strong I was overjoyed. I've always wanted more stories set on Terok Nor during the occupation, and didn't expect the show to deliver in this way! The change of status quo was exciting -- it really felt like Shit Got Real and a serious war was on and things would not be the same again! And Kira's little storyline about normalization of oppression and fighting it, first of all inside one's own heart, was great. But then it just went downhill...

Odo's betrayal made me lose all sympathy and trust towards him forever, and even without that, his character arc was greatly weakened by the presence of the Female Changeling, who is the worst combination of uninteresting and unlikeable. When the Founders are somewhere out there, Odo's longing for them is poignant, but when you see them on screen being bland and annoying, the magic just evaporates. 

An underused female character fridged to make a male character's arc less interesting: he loses his Morality Chain, his mind, and complexity as an antagonist. It's just so lazy. His main redeeming quality is the love for his daughter, and we're tired of writing bad people who still have some sympathetic motivations, that's too difficult, so let's take the object of that love away from him to make him Purely Evil(tm). And since the plot requires this rationalist character to do something OOC in the finale, we need to make him crazy or it couldn't happen. He's evil because of mental illness, he's evil because he gets himself possessed by a demon, he's evil because he has red eyes -- that leaves the viewer with the impression that his previous crimes weren't bad enough, that the writers think overseeing colonisation/genocide for years is tolerable but five minutes of hate speech & one minute of glowing red -- that's the real moral event horizon! Mental illness made him evil, huh? Take that trope and throw it in the trash along with Intendant Kira's Depraved Bisexual trope. Hey, remember when this show was about dealing with the effects of war and oppression, and Dukat embodied the different ways that oppression manifests? well now he's a comicbook villain with glowing satan eyes who shoots death rays 

The wormhole aliens are now suddenly Good Gods hijacking bodies and using them for Voldemort-Harry ray battles

The best-forgotten stupid tropes about hyper-intelligence are dragged from TNG and pasted onto Julian

The writers pulled out of their asses Bashir and Quark's unrequited love for Jadzia?? Bashir's crush was cute in season 1, but he got over it long ago, and Quark has always been just friends with her. Bashir had such a nice friendship with her, and now he's wishing that her marriage would fail so he'd get a shot, even though she was never interested in him in the first place? Fucking disgusting. Way to compromise his character.

And, of course, as the final insult, they fucking killed Jadzia for nothing.

So, let me count: Jadzia literally dead. Dukat's character almost completely assassinated, Bashir’s comes pretty close. Odo's character weakened. Lore and plot of the entire series fucked up. God. I have no words anymore. How do you ruin something so quickly?!