December Third

"What the hell are you doing out of bed?" Garrus demanded. He turned from the stove to fix her with a glare. She wasn't supposed to be out of bed yet. She was supposed to be resting. I think it's time I gave serious thought to tying her down.

Shep stood in the doorway and shrugged. "Can't stay in bed forever. Are you really cooking everything from scratch like this, two meals at a time? You know you can't eat human food, right?"

Garrus opened his mouth, giving her the most fake-astonished look he could muster. "Oh, gee, Shep, can't I? I had no idea. Thank the spirits you're here to tell me these things."

"What is that?" Shep asked, not responding to the sarcasm. She padded closer to the stove.

"Don't look!" Garrus raised the pot high above her head, so she couldn't see. "Close your eyes, I want you to guess. Hold still. Can you smell it?"

Shep closed her eyes, and he brought the pot closer, wafting the steam toward her face.

Her brow furrowed. "Not quite, but maybe …."

"Hang on." He reached for the spoon, and started stirring. These things had a very distinctive sound, surely she would ….

Shepard gasped, and her eyes flew open. "Macaroni and cheese, are you kidding me?"

Grinning, Garrus set the pot back down on the stove. "I knew you'd love it. You love the worst foods, you know. I could take you to the fanciest restaurant left standing, but why would I, when you're just as pleased by food that came dry in a box?" He still thought the food looked vaguely radioactive. Thank the spirits I'm dextro and don't have to try this stuff.

Shep leaned up on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek.

Garrus's mandibles fluttered. Another point for the knowing-Shep's-favorites file. Just find the crappiest, most processed kid-food, and she was swooning. Or … as close to swooning as Shep got, anyway. "Now, are you really feeling up for being out of bed? This is a first for us, you know. A real milestone."

"Which milestone is that?" Shep asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's our first Christmas," Garrus whined, pouting. Play it up. Gotta sell the varren-pup face, or she'll never let you get away with it.

Looking flummoxed, Shep crossed her arms. "How am I supposed to guess that? You're turian, you don't even celebrate Christmas."

"Well, the next big turian holiday isn't for months." Garrus stared at his feet, nudging the floor with his toes, pouring sadness and despair into his harmonics. "I thought, maybe, we could build snowmen, and bake gingerbread houses, and trim trees ….

Shep snorted. "Oh, top-notch acting, big guy. Do I get a choice in this?" She boosted herself onto the counter, stealing the serving spoon to start eating the horrifying "macaroni" dish straight out of the pot.

He dropped the sad act, knowing he'd already got her. "Not even slightly," he said, leaning forward to rub his nose against hers. Eskimo kisses, she'd explained once. "We're going to do every silly little ritual there is. I'm going to shower my bondmate with presents, too. And you're just going to have to deal with it."

"Goofy bastard," Shep managed, around a mouthful of orange, processed fake-food.

"I love you too, Shep."