December Twenty-second

Shepard crouched, scanning the open field and paddock around their cabin. She knew he was here somewhere.

"You'd better not shoot my reindeer," Garrus drawled over the comm.

"Stop trying to draw me out, Vakarian," Shepard hissed back. She knew he was somewhere by the barn, trying to lead her into a trap. She had no interest in the reindeer, she didn't want to go anywhere near the reindeer, and he knew that. So, he was trying to lure her into thinking that because he knew she hated the damn deer, that she'd be safe in the barn. But Shepard knew better. If it was obvious that she'd never go to the barn, then clearly, that's where she would hide; so she knew Garrus knew that, too. Therefore, the barn would not be safe, since that's where Garrus was laying his trap.

Unless, of course, he knew she was thinking all of that, and was trying to lure her away from the barn ….

Glancing again at her weird weapon, she wondered where Garrus had gotten these things. They seemed like normal guns, maybe a little lighter. And a lot smaller than anything she'd feel comfortable carrying. But instead of killing people, they just left a little spot of washable paint on the victim's clothes. He had tried to tell her that tournaments with these things were another holiday tradition for some people, but she wasn't buying that at all. No one wanted to shoot their friends and family at Christmas, after all. Shepard was the odd man out on that, she was sure.

After watching the barn for a while, Shepard finally convinced herself that if he knew that she knew that he would be planning a trap there, then he must not have. She approached silently and opened the door.

To find Garrus standing just inside, the barrel of his gun pointed at her stomach.

Accepting her defeat, Shepard dropped her weapon and put her hands in the air. "Take the shot," she told him.

A stain spread on her coat, the same deep blue as Garrus's colony markings.

"Point Vakarian," he rumbled. "Although, that's not very satisfying, when you just give me the shot and then stare at me."

"Well, I had to give you the shot. I didn't have time to bring my weapon up. But if you didn't find it satisfying …." Shepard clutched her stomach and screamed, staggering around a few steps like they always seemed to do on the old cowboy movies Garrus loved so much. She fell to her knees, scrabbling at Garrus's coat as he stood with an impassive look on his face.

"Tell the boys … I buried the gold in …" Shepard shuddered, made a retching noise, and finally fell "dead," sticking her tongue out. A moment later, she was kicking and screaming again. "Take m'boots off, Garrus. Don't tell my momma I died … with m'boots … on …."

Garrus clapped for her, slowly and sarcastically. "Oh, brava. Brava. Are you quite finished?" he asked.

"Just trying to play along," Shepard said, grinning. She held a hand up so he could haul her to her feet.

He obliged, then bent down and picked her gun up, handing it back. "Come on, first to ten. The barn can be safety, so I can't fake you out again."