December Seventh
"Shep, come on, I have a surprise for you," Garrus called up the stairs. His mandibles thrummed. She was going to be so excited.
"I would be done already, if you hadn't told me my hair has to be bone-dry. It takes a while with curls, you know."
Garrus heard a hiss of something burning, then a yelp and something crashing over.
"Shep? Are you okay?" He started up the stairs, but she called back down.
"I'm fine, I'm fine!" She muttered something after that, but he didn't quite catch it. Some kind of threat to the hair-dryer, it sounded like.
Killed all the Reapers, can't handle a hair-dryer. He opened his mouth to tease her, but thought better off it when a string of curses floated down.
When Shep finally trotted down the stairs, she stopped cold on the third-to-last tier.
Garrus grinned, holding up a heavy overcoat, scarf, and boots.
Her eyes went wide. "Does this mean what I think it does? You're finally letting me loose?"
"Don't get too excited, Shep. I'm letting you out of the house, as long as you don't overdo it." He was only letting her into the yard; surely she couldn't hurt herself too badly … right?
She bounded down the last few stairs, yanking the jacket out of his hands and fighting her way into it. "So, what has Officer Vakarian got planned for the seventh day of Christmas?"
Garrus's mandibles twitched in annoyance. "It's not the seventh day of Christmas, it's … oh, never mind. You should know your own people's holidays, though."
"Fine. I'll get right on that. What are we doing?" Sitting on the floor, she shoved first one boot on, then the other.
"Snowmen," Garrus said, grinning again.
With Shepard finally dressed, the pair raced outside. The snow was thick on the ground, nearly to Shepard's knees. Garrus had already gathered huge piles of snow together for them to build their snowman.
"I don't want a traditional snowman, I want a snowkrogan. An anatomically correct snowkrogan."
His mandibles sagged. "Come on, Shep, after all this work, you're taking away the tradition? You know I've—"
Garrus stopped short as a snowball to the face interrupted him. The cold burned, then started dripping into his cowl. "Oh, you're dead now, Shep." He dropped his voice low and fake-dangerous, and Shep squealed and fled before him, ducking as he pelted snowballs at her retreating back.
She waited, ducking behind a huge pile of snow until he was out of ammo, then turned on him, sending snow missiles flying back at him.
Garrus growled, ducking under the barrage, until he caught her, tackling her to the soft blanket of snow and kissing her gently on the lips.
"I love you so much, Shep."
She smiled up at him, looking content; the first time he'd ever seen that particular look on her face. "I love you, too, Garrus. You know that."