His heart is still beating fast and their skin is molten together with sweat. Jack is lying in his arms, on top of him, her face pressed into the crook of his neck. Now and then, her body shudders and he can feel some more wetness running down his shoulder and collarbone but in between, she lies relaxed, with her arms wrapped around him.
He lets his hands roam over her, slowly, gently, focusing on the smoothness of the skin, as if the scars were not there, till eventually, he feels her falling asleep, or close enough.
Years ago, he was visiting friends on the Arcturus Station who could afford the astronomical cost and kept a cat – a young kitty who, for some reason, decided that Shepard's lap was the best place ever for an afternoon nap. As soon as he got the knack of the basics of cat petting, it relaxed to the point of almost melting over his legs: a soft, warm, purring puddle. The trust with which the animal took to a complete stranger astonished him; feeling the same trust emanate from Jack now threatens to undo him in so many ways that he doesn't dare to think about it at all.
Instead, he slowly circles his fingers along her spine, focusing his mind solely on that movement. He doesn't want to think about what will come in just a few hours, and even less on what is to come after that, especially as the chances are that neither of them will live to have that conversation, anyway. Now is all they have, and it cannot be wasted on doubts or remorse.
For the time being, it is just Jack, in his arms, and that is all that matters, or so he tells himself.
