Humans were such strange creatures, Garrus decided.

Soft, like salarians, but harder somehow. More jagged. Yet not nearly as bulky as krogans. (Well, not most of the time, he amended as he thought of Vega.) And they were covered with curves, just like asari. Not as much, maybe, but still more than any turian.

Shepard's neck was practically drowning in curves.

He traced a talon up and down it, marveling at the way its shape sank and rose. It reminded him of the mountains back on Palaven, the ones that had always been there, always in sight, always curving their way around the horizon. A static presence as common as the sun or the moon.

He wondered if those mountains were still there anymore.

"That tickles." Shepard murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

"Sorry," he whispered back, meaning it. She hardly ever slept these days - I'll sleep when I'm dead -and his finger stilled in shame.

"S'okay." She rolled over and blinked at him. "What time is it?"

"I don't know," he said, his visor exiled to the bedside table. "Late."

She nodded with a slow blink. Her eyes drifted shut again, and Garrus thought she was almost back asleep until they slowly opened once more.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"Yeah." he answered.

She blinked again, and one of her hands found its way towards his face. Her fingers brushed over his scars, the sensation warm against the numbed hide. He leaned into it and shut his eyes.

"Garrus?" she asked a minute or two later.

"Hmm?"

"What's bothering you?"

He opened his eyes, but didn't look into hers. Couldn't. She saw through him too easily, always had, and he wasn't sure he wanted her to see this. She didn't need his burdens too, not when she had so much else keeping her awake. So instead he stared at her neck again, at its curves and its hills and the way the tips of her hair brushed against it, the strands barely long enough to do even that.

He thought of the mountains on Palaven again.

"Garrus."

"I'm just…thinking about some reports."

Her thumb traced down his mandible. "That bad?"

"Yeah. That bad."

"Tell me."

Silence. Then: "We're going to lose Cipritine."

Shepard's thumb stilled. "Damn it," she whispered. "Damn it."

Garrus could only blink in agreement, his eyelids too heavy and too slow when he forced them back open.

"How many?"

Too many, he thought. "Pre-war census had a population of over ten million."

"Damn it," Shepard whispered again.

More silence. She didn't ask him if he was okay, didn't say she how sorry she was. She just traced her fingers across his scars, giving them as much of her warmth as she could. In return, he reached out and brushed a talon through her hair, tucking a copper strand behind her ear. Then he cupped the back of her head in his hand and brought her closer until he felt the weight of her forehead against his. She wrapped her free arm around his waist, tugging him nearer. He did the same with his.

Time passed.

"Shepard?"

"Hmm?"

"I…" The smell of gun oil clung to her skin like armor, and he breathed it in deep. His talon traced down the back of her head slowly, thinking of all the nights they'd spent together over the years. First as friends, then, amazingly, as more. So much more. More than he could ever put into words, really.

He wondered how many more nights together they had left.

"…love your hair." he finished quietly.

A smile wrapped its way up her lips. "You do, huh?"

"I do," he murmured. His talon made its way back up, then he drew it down again, slower. "Is there a reason you keep it short like this? I don't think I've ever seen you wear it long."

Her index finger trailed over his tattoo. "You mean is it cultural thing, like these?" she asked. He nodded. "Not really. I've just always worn it this way, I guess. It was practical when I was younger, back when I lived on Earth. Easier to keep clean and lice-free. Made me look a boy, too, but…well, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing."

Garrus' hand stilled as grasped her meaning. She smiled softly and tucked one of her legs in between his, pulling him from his thoughts. "Now that I'm older…it just feels right, I guess." A moment passed, and then she added, "The feeling's mutual, by the way."

"Hmm?"

"I love your hair, too."

He huffed, the sound almost a laugh. "My crest?"

"Yeah, that thing. The spikes make you look dangerous. Like a rebel."

"Or a failed vigilante."

"A very charming failed vigilante."

"It's the voice, or so I'm told."

"Don't even get me started on how much I love the voice."

The laugh was real this time, even if quiet, and something loosened inside of him. He could still feel it there, could still feel it wrapping around every piece of him, but it was lighter now. More bearable. Everything was when he was with her.

He looked up, finding her eyes with his.

"There you are," she said, smiling. "Nice to see you."

"Nice to see you, too."

She shifted her forehead against his, moving closer. The tip of her nose touched his. "Palaven's not lost yet, Garrus." she said softly.

"I know," he said just as softly, and both of them heard they way his voice shuddered around the fragile words. He took in a steadying breath. "I know." he repeated, firmer this time.

Her thumb drew circles on his scars. After a moment, he turned his face into her hand.

"Thank you." he whispered into the curve of her palm, telling himself that, one day, he'd see the mountains of Palaven again. He fell asleep on that promise, and his dreams were of hills and curves that never ended, but went on and on and on…