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Duty called, naturally, getting in the way before the elevator could make it to the top floor. Garrus discreetly withdrew to the seating area while Shepard worked at her desk, coordinating with Hackett, and through him with the rest of the fleets.
"We're really doing this," she said to him at last, getting to her feet, her face exultant. "We're really taking the battle to the Reapers. Cerberus has practically disappeared—Hackett notes that the Illusive Man's troops have been basically wiped out—"
"By you," Garrus interjected.
Shepard shrugged. "Wiped out is good enough. I don't need the credit. And all the other fleets are on board, they're coming to Earth. We're going to do it, Garrus."
He went to her, hugging her fiercely. "I never doubted you for a minute."
"I know you didn't. Which is why I couldn't have done this without you."
Garrus held her by the shoulders, looking down at her. "And you won't have to. I'm going to be by your side every step of the way."
"Of course you are. Where else would you be?"
"I mean it, Zia. No heroics. No sending me away, no selflessly sacrificing yourself and letting me live. None of that." The specter of the first Normandy was there, when she had sent Kaidan in a lifepod, and got Joker safely to one before jettisoning it.
"Garrus," she protested softly.
"Zia."
"I can't promise that it won't be important to me that you live. I can't promise that."
"Neither can I."
They looked at one another, holding each other's gaze. And then they pulled each other close, holding on, both wanting to savor every second that they had left together, just in case. Just in case.
From there, arms began to move, hands to touch, fingers to unfasten pieces of clothing, mouths to explore the places revealed by the fall of that clothing. Familiar skin, familiar taste, familiar sensations … Garrus was lost in her, drowning in her. If this was the last night of his life, and he got to spend it with her, he was the luckiest turian in the galaxy. In history. He held himself back, watching her find pleasure again and again, until at last it was too much and he followed, falling through space even as she collapsed across his chest, spent and sated.
Shepard slept, but Garrus found he wasn't tired. Not yet. He lay there watching her sleep, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her cheek and stroking the downy fuzz of her hair. As he had often before, he wondered if she would ever grow it out if she stopped being Commander Shepard and was just Zia for a time. Not that he minded the short hair, but he was curious about what she would look like with more of it, how it would feel across his skin.
As he watched, she grew restless, tossing and turning, muttering unintelligible words. At last she sat bolt upright, crying out as if in pain. Garrus immediately slid over so that she could lean back against him and he could encircle her safely in his arms.
"I'm here. I've got you," he whispered.
She leaned her head back against his chest, looking up at the stars, shivering. Garrus reached for a blanket and pulled it up over her, tucking it securely around her body.
"Bad dream?"
Zia nodded. "The child, again. I—I was safe. I had him, I was holding him, and it was over. We were all safe. And then—we went up in flames."
"Well, that's not hard to understand. This close to the end, things finally coming together, it only makes sense that you would dream that something might go horribly wrong just at the last minute."
"It would be my fault if it did."
"It would not," he said firmly. "You are working with professionals. A lot of them. You are not solely responsible for the success of this mission."
"I know. I wish I were. I—if this goes badly, and I—well, I would rather it be my error than someone else's."
Garrus nodded. He knew that about her. "It won't go badly."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I'm never wrong." He chuckled, and was rewarded by the feeling of her body beginning to relax and let go of the dream.
"Do you ever get bad dreams?"
"No. I tend to expect the worst anyway, so dreaming about it is just a waste of good sleep."
"You never tell me that you expect the worst."
"What would be the point of that? One pessimist in the family is enough, thank you."
Shepard shifted in his lap, curling up against him. "I hate this. I'm so afraid. I'm never afraid." She looked up at him. "Tell me the truth, Garrus. Are you expecting the worst right now?"
Carefully, he said, "I'm expecting a tough fight."
"The toughest," she agreed. In the light from the aquarium, he could see her eyes were wet with unshed tears. "Have we done enough? Can we ever really be ready for a battle like this? Everything we've ever known, our entire civilization … it's all hanging by a thread, Garrus."
"Yeah, that's true … but when hasn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Every fight we've ever seen could have been our last. Every bullet we've ever dodged could have been the one. But they weren't."
"There have been a lot of bullets."
He nodded. "This time around, they're just a little bigger."
Reaching up, she kissed him softly. "I'm so lucky I have you."
"And don't you forget it," he said smugly. Which led to Shepard pushing him down so she could hit him with a pillow, which led to a wrestling match, which led to a lot of heavy breathing, which led to both of them falling into an exhausted—and mercifuilly dreamless—sleep in each other's arms.
