December Eighteenth
Shepard lay curled up against Garrus on the couch, snuggling into his warmth.
You have to love being able to sleep on a turian when it's cold out. She snorted a laugh into his chest and he looked at her questioningly.
"Nothing, big guy. Never mind."
"You and your inside jokes. You know a real joke requires at least two people, right?" he asked dryly.
Shepard ignored this, choosing instead to rub her face on his skin, loving the feel and the scent and the … there-ness of him. He was here, with her. The war was over. Outside, the wind may be shrieking, threatening to knock down the farmhouse and eat them with icy teeth, but in here, it was warm. In here, it was just them. No people needing something from them. No duties that kept taking them away from important moments.
No emergencies.
I could get used to this. Shepard pulled the huge down-filled blanket over them both as the fire Garrus had built purred in the grate.
"This is nice," she murmured, and Garrus pressed his forehead against hers.
"It is nice," he agreed.
"No holiday tradition today?" she asked, opening one eye to look at him.
"What about the yule log?" he protested.
Shepard snorted. "No one does that anymore."
Garrus fetched a dramatic sigh. "And after all the work I did to get it blazing all nice. Stay here, I'll go get some chestnuts to set on fire." He started to get up, but Shepard clung to him, not wanting him to go anywhere.
"Don't you dare leave. Stay with me."
"Always," Garrus whispered, stroking her hair as she drifted to sleep in his arms.