They had come to stop at an open area near the top of their hill, the ground covered in snow. Below them the slope angled downwards at a gentle angle. A narrow, winding strip of land stretching from their position to the foot of the hill – which Garrus now realises is actually quite far below – was more or less clear of obstruction with trees and winter undergrowth pressing in on either side.

"Okay, put it down here."

Even as Garrus sets down the hollowed out log and aligns it so it points directly toward the narrow path as per her instructions, he begins to be aware of a growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach, like a sacrificial animal heading for slaughter. He turns to her; she's standing a few feet away and staring into the distant horizon as if she could see something there and the good humour fades a little from her eyes. Garrus rumbles in renewed worry.

"Shepard, – "

"You know, we used to do this a lot when I was a kid. Sledding, I mean. About the only kind of entertainment we had during winter season." Shepard tells him suddenly, her voice taking on that sad, melancholic tone again.

Garrus falls silent, waiting for her to continue. And she does, "The other kids with homes and parents had nice, proper sleds. But we didn't, so we had to improvise." Her gaze is directed at the piece of tree trunk but he knows she's not really looking at it – her eyes are glazed over and distant, as if seeing something far, far away.

"On good days when we didn't need food right away and it wasn't too cold in the afternoon, we'd look for pieces of tree bark usually, or maybe even tarp or something. Or go to into town and steal some trash can lids. Or if we were feeling really daring, two of us would sneak into a café or something and nick a couple of serving trays – we didn't do that often. Those were difficult to get and it's even worse if we get caught, but serving trays were the best."

A ghost of a smile appears on her lips now, barely there. "There was a small hill in the woods near the lake – looks a lot like this one, actually, but not so steep. We'd spend all day there if we could. The other kids laughed at us but it somehow felt more fun if we didn't use normal sleds. We were rebels after all. Manufactured sleds were too mainstream.

"It was Ryan who taught us how to sled – he was a real pro at it. Kazuma was horrible though – never could make one trip down without face planting into something. There was once he collided squarely with a tree trunk and hit his head – the sound was so loud, we thought he was dead for sure. But he just got right back up and tried to kick the tree for being in his way." A snort escapes Shepard's throat at the memory. "Probably had a concussion though, couldn't walk straight for next couple of days. We had to help him get food and everything, but he got better. He was older than me. Didn't want to enlist in the Alliance so he stayed on Earth. I wonder what happened to him… to everyone…"

She bows her head in silence, thoughts heavy again. Garrus feels something flicker within him at the sight. He decides that he doesn't like seeing her so upset; trying to hide her distress from the world and pretend everything was okay when it wasn't. She deserved better than that. He remembers the small, nostalgic smile she had a few moments ago – and wonders how few of her memories could be considered relatively happy amidst the other harder, harsher ones. Too few, he knows.

Wanting to help her somehow but not knowing how, he hesitatingly brushes her hand with the back of a talon. She starts as if plucked from deep thought, but doesn't pull away. Shepard looks up at him – relief rushes through his veins as he sees that the faraway look in her eyes is gone – before shaking her head as if to clear her mind. "Sorry, slipped for a moment there. I- "

"Shepard, no apologies needed; remember?" Garrus reminds her gently with a slight jab in an attempt to draw her thoughts away from such things again.

She pauses then returns the smile. "Hm, okay. Yeah, I can live with that, I guess. For now."

Then the conspiratorial look is back on her face as she trudges toward the tree trunk.

"Well, looks like we're all set. Get in."

"What?" He did not just hear that. Did she just tell him to sit on a rotted tree trunk?

"You're bigger. It'll be easier for both of us to fit if you go in first."

Despite his brain screaming at him that he was a lunatic for doing this and everything looked like a setup for a disaster and that he should just turn and run; he lowers himself into the hollow trunk. He has to bend his legs at an angle, which made for some awkward positioning because of his leg spurs, and it was a tight fit but somehow he managed to get all of his bulk to fit inside.

"All right, Shepard, are you going to tell me- "

"Budge up a bit, will you?" Shepard says, ignoring him as she too settles in the hollowed log – right between his legs, with her back to him.

"Shep- !"

"Okay, here's what you need to know." Shepard's tone is business-like all of a sudden and Garrus would have thought the abrupt change in tone as funny if it wasn't for the rising panic in his throat at the overall situation.

"Shepard, wait. Just what are we- "

"Once we start moving, don't stick any limbs out and you should be fine; lessens the risk of injury." she informs him, tucking her own legs in more securely. "So no waving arms or sticking heads sideways or dangling feet outside unless you're ready for some pain and broken bones."

"I don't- "

"If we need to avoid an obstacle, just lean hard in the direction I tell you and it should go that way. But don't not too hard or it might flip over and we'd be the ones doing face plants." She stuck her hands toward the sides and was starting to manoeuvre the log forward, the bottom of it sliding over the soft snow.

"This isn't- "

"Well, that's about it. Hang on tight."

"Shepard!"

With a grunt of effort and another mighty shove, Shepard sent their tree trunk sailing over some invisible threshold and pointing downward towards the bottom of the hill. And two things flash through Garrus' mind; they are suddenly plummeting down the hillside and smashing through the underbrush and second; they were gaining speed. Fast.

Garrus felt his stomach get left behind somewhere at the hilltop as they sped down the slope like a shot form a gun, zipping past other fallen logs of wood and missing trees by mere centimetres and leaving a stream of white spray in their wake. A smooth face of rock jutted from the surface and the trunk collided against it with a dull thunk, sending them airborne for a few milliseconds before they came crashing back down on the ice slope and going faster than ever.

The already frigid wind lashed mercilessly at his face and hide, feeling like he was being fired at with cryo rounds wherever his armour didn't cover him. Armour which the wind thwarted, blasting through the cracks of seams and seals to assault his body inside; making him shiver despite the internal heating. It filled his ears with a dull roar, drowning out almost all other sounds.

He instinctively gripped the sides of the trunk's cavity, his numb talons cracking and breaking the old wood a little form the force he was exerting. The cold wind was drying his eyes and making them water, but he couldn't take his eyes off the path. Spirits, what if they crashed into a tree and suffered serious injury?! Did humans think this was a game? They had to be the most irrational, thick-headed, bunch of –

"Hard left! Left!"

Garrus almost let out an unmanly squeak when he noticed the living tree standing right in their trajectory, rapidly becoming bigger and bigger with each passing second as they got closer to colliding with it.

Imitating Shepard's movements, he threw his weight portside as much as he dared without falling off the speeding wooden trunk. As it was, the side of the trunk grazed the tree – taking a good-sized chunk of grizzled bark and wood chips with it as they shot past.

She's laughing now – her gales of exhilarated laughter and whoops of delight echoing across the valley, the sound startling the winter birds and sending them flying from their trees. Even through his own shock and terror, he is glad for her vastly improved spirits. But only a little – it was her fault they were speeding down a snow-covered hill full of hazards to crash into at neck-breaking speeds sitting on nothing but a piece of a dead tree.

Eventually, Garrus notes the levelling of the ground and their steady deceleration – they were reaching the foot of the hill. And hopefully the end of this hellish ride.

It suddenly occurs to Garrus that he doesn't quite know how – or even if! – they'll stop. He tries to even out his breathing and not panic. Okay, maybe this isn't so bad after all. Maybe they would just keep sliding until they slowed to a nice, smooth, gentle halt and there would be no need for broken bones or anything that would result in trips to the medbay or any body bags –

"Incoming!"

Garrus barely has time to comprehend the warning before his head is jolted back violently, nearly biting off his tongue; his entire body absorbed the shock of impact as their ride slammed into a slab of rock partially buried in the snow. The trunk splits and cracks a little at the head from the frontal impact, pieces of bark and wooden splinters flying – and the next thing he knows, they're flying too.

Their momentary suspension in the air seemed to temporarily grant him unnaturally superior power over his sensory receptors and Garrus finds himself hyper-aware of their situation. They are soaring several feet above the snow-packed ground, hanging on to a bit of wood for dear life and Shepard is shrieking, though not in a bad way – he realises he'd never heard his commander make that noise before – come to think of it, he never heard her laugh like she had done before either – it's a nice sound, he wishes she would laugh like that more and – Spirits, he's falling off, they're both falling off and the ground is getting closer –

The momentum flips the trunk, throwing both turian and human into the air like a wild rodeo horse would fling off a cowboy. Garrus, having denser mass and bulkier armour, is the first to land in the snow – face-first. Cold, white powder flies everywhere and he lets out a muffled cry when his face is submerged into a bed of the stuff. The snow is all over him; he was half-buried in it – stuck in his cowl and mandibles, packed into his fringe, the crevices between his plates and the seams and joints in his armour. His ears are ringing when he pushes himself up so he can shake his head and fringe free of snow. But before he can pick himself up, an unexpected downward force strikes his back driving him back into the ground and he tastes dissolving, freezing water in his mouth and on his tongue.

His yell is muffled by the faceful of snow and a cry from Shepard – right above him. Their armour clanging and resonating noisily in the silence of the wintry landscape. Garrus is choking on snow, flailing his limbs and thrashing his head in pain; Shepard had landed right across his lower back, where his waist was the most slender and sensitive.

At the moment, he sees nothing but stars and just focuses on to convincing himself that his spine isn't broken and that he wouldn't be paralysed for life and figures that just lying there on the freezing ground is the best place to do that for now.. He doesn't notice the excruciating weight on his back abruptly vanishing and Shepard suddenly kneeling by his head and trying to turning him over on his back.

"Oh my God, oh my absolute GOD! I'm so, so sorry, Garrus! I didn't mean to – Garrus! Are you okay?! Say something!"

Garrus groaned, tilting his head a little to look up at her anxious face hovering over his. The sun was right above them, eclipsed by her head from his vantage point so it looked like Shepard had a glowing nebula around her head and shoulders with dramatic shadows cast upon her visage and contouring her definitely alien, human face. He vaguely recalls a former colleague's description of angels – celestial beings that humans believed guided lost souls, did good deeds and were thought to possess remarkable beauty. Spirits, he had no idea what they looked like, but he was willing to bet Shepard sure looked like one now.

Remembering his earlier encounter with Joker when the pilot had rattled off on human snow customs, Garrus murmurs to her, still in a daze, "… You… look like a snow angel…"

Or at least, that's he intended to say. It came out all garbled and slurred and probably lost its meaning since all Shepard did was give a wide-eyed pause then laugh as relief washed across her face. Then again, if it makes her laugh that pretty laugh, then he supposes it'll do.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Garrus – but you're not dead yet." she grins when she's recovered from her bout of laughter, cheeks bright red. "Damn it, you had me worried for a second there. Think you can stand up?"

"Yeah, I should be good." Garrus mumbles, taking her offering hand and pulling himself back to his feet. He staggers a little and shakes his head vigorously, ridding his fringe and mandibles of snow. Spirits, that was one hell of a death ride. He fervently hopes he won't have to do it again any time soon – or for the rest of his life, if at all possible. This is why turians were never meant for the cold.

"Okay, once you think you're good to go, I need your help hauling this thing back up."

Garrus, brushing away yet more snow from his armour, freezes in mid-action. Brow plates up, eyes wide and mandibles slack. "Er… why?"

Shepard looks at him as if he had spontaneously grown a second head and was having a conversation with it. "We're going for round two of course. No way are we getting back to the Normandy without doing that another five times!"

Garrus felt his heart drop to his stomach. Oh no, not this again. He doesn't think his heart can handle another trip through those woods.

But he looks at Shepard's expectant smile, her playful eyes and flushed, red cheeks and hair in an untamed, wispy mess – the sight of it so rare that it was a treasure in of itself. He doubts anybody has ever seen this side of her in years, if ever at all. The side of her who was an individualistic human, not the Alliance commander. The side of the wild, orphan girl of Earth's streets who had matured into a full woman. The side of her that had feelings and impulses and likes and dislikes. He just couldn't find it in himself to deny her this. This small bit of respite from the unrelenting galaxy. This little stretch of winter land on a hill in a remote planet, where she has managed to find a sliver of escape from the worry and stress of the mission and dark bleakness that is the future. A place for her to let go and forget for a while her responsibilities and the expectations that had been pushed onto her. And he realises that he wants to see her smile and laugh and not have to wrinkle her forehead in worry and grit her teeth in agitation all the time. He just wants her happy.

He moves over, lifting up one end of the slightly battered trunk to his shoulder and returns that shit-eating grin of hers. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

A/N: All right, it's finished! :D

I realise that the whole sled ride might sound unrealistic but like I said, I've never had the opportunity to play with snow much, coming from a tropical country so I wrote based on some advice by the guys at Aria's Afterlife Forum (swing by if you have the time - we have almost anything you could ask for ;D) and my own whims. xD

Any hoots, hope you enjoyed this story!

- Kasumi