Shepard stared in surprise at the silver-wrapped box sitting neatly on her bed. The Normandy was quiet tonight, most of her crew ashore on Ilium for Christmas Eve. She couldn't work them every day, and giving them Christmas off had seemed like a chance for them to blow off some steam, and her to enjoy a little peace.

There were no tags on the box, nor was there a note. Her natural caution warned against opening it, but she knew nothing dangerous-other than Normandy's own formidable armory-got on the ship without EDI's knowledge. Curious in spite of herself, she called for the AI.

"Yes, Shepard?"

"Where did this come from?" she asked, gesturing toward the box.

"Officer Vakarian requested permission to deliver this to your quarters," EDI replied. "It passes safety scans."

Shepard did a double take. Garrus? Maybe it wasn't that unprecedented-she distinctly remembered Ash trying to teach her non-human crew about Christmas back on the old Normandy. Garrus's gift had been the installation of a brand-new set of stabilizers to the Mako after she dinged it up on Feros.

Whatever this was looked much smaller. She carefully removed the paper and lifted the lid.

Her mouth fell open. How had he remembered? And why now?

Shepard wasn't the kind to bother with baubles or trinkets. She liked good guns and armor as much as the next marine, and even indulged in the occasional model ship. But her early life on earth had molded her into an imminently practical person.

Yet even she couldn't resist gaping at the breathtaking display in the shop window on the Presidium. A hand mirror, clearly antique from Earth, spun slowly on the spot. The painstakingly crafted silver frame, decorated with real glass beads, sent patterns of light scattering across her face.

Her eyes fell on the price tag, and she snorted softly. "Useless. Pretty, but useless."

Garrus peeked over her shoulder at their reflections in the little mirror. "What exactly is the purpose of decorating a mirror? Isn't the point to look at yourself?"

Shepard laughed a little. "It's the kind of thing you'd expect to see in Romeo and Juliet, not someone's living room." Catching Garrus's puzzled expression, she quickly clarified. "This sort of thing would be a romantic gift among humans. Not good for much else."

It wasn't identical to the antique she and Garrus had seen on the Presidium, but it was damn close. An oval-shaped mirror with a silver frame and exquisite green and blue glass beads, smaller than the one two years ago. She removed it slowly from its wrappings.

The woman who looked back at her was older, harder than she remembered. Very faint scars from Lazarus still traced her chin and cheekbone. She put it back in the box carefully, her mind reeling.

What was Garrus playing at? She'd made it very clear that staying friends was a better, more responsible idea. No complications, no messiness. She shot to her feet, picked up the box, and headed to the elevator.

He expected her to be surprised. He hoped she'd be happy. What he hadn't expected was the confused anger in her voice when she charged into the main battery and held the open box out to him.

"Garrus, what's the meaning of this?"

Panic seized him for a moment. Had he gotten the date wrong? "It's a...Christmas gift."

Shepard put the mirror down on the bench and put her hands on her hips. "I know that."

There was a very long silence before Garrus asked quietly, "Well? Do you like it?"

Shepard opened her mouth, then closed it again. It was undeniably a beautiful mirror, and she was touched he'd remembered that conversation at all, but she couldn't accept it. Not with all that had gone on between them the last two weeks. Not now, when it had just stopped being awkward talking to him.

She took a deep breath-she knew she had to explain human customs to her non-human crew, but it didn't make it any less uncomfortable. "Garrus," she began calmly, "I'm not sure if you remember what I said about the significance of a gift like this."

"Shepard, my memory's not that selective."

She gaped as he watched her with unfathomable eyes. "Then why in the world-" She cut herself off before she said something stupid, closed her eyes, and started again. "Garrus, we discussed this. We decided it was a better idea to stay friends."

"No." His voice was so quiet it was almost more of a growl. He took a step toward her, closing the distance between them to less than a foot. "You decided." His mandibles twitched nervously and he shrugged. "I...wanted to change your mind."

Still she said nothing. Her eyes darted between him and the mirror. He too looked down at it, the little surface reflecting just a shadow of the scars criss-crossing his face. When the silence continued to drag on, he stepped back and ran a hand over his fringe.

He dropped his gaze from hers and picked up the mirror. A scarred and hard-bitten turian stared back at him, completely at odds with the beautiful object resting awkwardly in his claws. He tossed it back haphazardly in the box and turned away from her. The door opened behind her as he tapped something into the console.

"Forget it," she heard him murmur. "Sorry for upsetting you."

The bitterness in his voice sliced her to the core. She'd never heard him talk like that, and never to her. She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, but he flinched away.

"Garrus..." she began quietly.

"Just drop it, Shepard."

Feeling her temper begin to rise, she put a hand firmly on his arm and spun him around to face her-hard. "I will not drop it," she said sharply.

"Why the hell not?" he demanded, painfully echoing his own words from a very different time and place. "I can't help that just about every man on this ship has eyes for you. I can't help thinking about you day and night. I wish you'd never said anything about us in the first place, but I goddamn well can't help that either!"

Stunned at his outburst, Shepard took a step back. She opened her mouth to apologize, but Garrus, equally astonished at his own nerve, got there first.

"I just...damn. I seem to make a mess of everything I touch." He looked from her to the mirror, glinting in the low light. "I wish-" He stopped himself, shutting his mouth with an almost audible clamp. Wishing wasn't going to solve anything. What had he been thinking? Of course he was being inappropriate, not to mention insubordinate He turned from her and roughly turned the mirror facedown before shoving the box to the side, with the rest of his tools.

"Don't," she said instinctively. "Please don't be like this."

He went back to the console, not looking at her. She could tell he was trying not to shout again. "Just give me a clear reason why not," he said with forced calm. "I think you owe me that."

Shepard looked from Garrus with his back turned to her to the box sitting askew among the spare components. She picked up the mirror, turning it so she could see the good side of his face, his eyes fixed unmoving on his console.

She was having trouble coming up with one at the moment. "I can't," she said quietly.

"Don't toy with me, Shepard."

"I'm not."

He froze when he felt one of her hands running down his arm toward his own hand resting on the console. Her other hand reached up toward his face, soft human fingertips ever so slightly brushing up against his mandible.

Garrus gave an involuntary shudder-he'd never felt her touch before without gloves or armor. But he didn't want to hope, not after last time. He had to be clear.

But Shepard got there first. He felt her press her human lips against the leathery skin of his neck, her breath washing over him as she whispered, "I'm sorry. You'll have to take it easy with me, ok? I haven't done this in years."

She lifted her large blue eyes to meet his. "Why the sudden change of heart?" he said. He didn't want to go through all this again.

"I want you," she said simply, her voice shaking a little. "I thought I was being responsible by denying that, but all I did was make you upset. And I know we might not have much time left."

She continued, her grip on his hand tightening. "I want to feel your body against mine. I want to taste you, to touch you. I want-"

Their eyes met, and suddenly, the building tension in the room snapped. She found herself pressed against the wall, Garrus's arms holding her against him, his face against her neck.

"Shepard," he breathed, and goosebumps prickled along her skin. She ran her hands along his fringe, and he shivered from head to toe. "Spirits, Shepard..."

He suddenly had to touch her with his bare hands. He practically ripped off the gloves in his haste and ran his hands along her bare arms. She gave a soft cry of surprise-his skin was hot, almost burning to the touch.

He felt her lips pressing against his cheeks, scarred mandible, along his neck and fringe, little feather-light touches. Her hands found the catches of his armor and began to unclasp them when he suddenly stopped.

"Wait," he panted. "Not here. Not now."

"Garrus-"

"My turn to be responsible. I don't want this to disrupt the crew. I think it's best we wait."

She glared at him, but deep down, she knew he wasn't just stalling. He was right. But it didn't keep her from burning with curiosity as she eyed the catches on his armor. Garrus caught the direction of her gaze and chuckled.

"Can't burn through this armor, Shepard. Not without a gunship, anyway." One of his hands came up unconsciously to touch the scarring-only to be intercepted by her.

Her lips brushed against his scarred cheek. He felt rather than heard her murmur his name. For a long minute, they just stood there, hands clasped, her head resting in the crook of his armor.

Garrus's eyes caught the mirror. "So," he teased gently, "happy with your gift?"

He felt her lips curl into a smile. "Best Christmas ever," she replied. "I wonder if Kelly left any mistletoe lying around..."

Garrus wrinkled his nose. "Mistletoe? Sounds like some kind of fungal infection."

Shepard burst into laughter and shook her head. "You'll see what it is if I catch you under it." Eyes twinkling at Garrus's worried expression, she picked up the mirror and turned it to catch their reflections.

One thing hadn't changed in the intervening years. It was just the two of them reflected in that surface. Only two, as providence willed.