For a prompt on Tumblr: Gladiolus - you pierce my heart.

For the second time in a year, Garrus stepped off the lift on Shepard's level, wine in one hand — and for the second time in a year, he hesitated before his knuckles could hit the door.

Knocking wasn't necessary. The door'll be open, Shepard had said, one corner of her mouth lifting in the half-smile she only used with him. Just don't go spreading that around, Garrus. My open door policy's on hold for the night. Except for you.

He'd made some wisecrack about not abusing his privileges, she laughed harder than the joke deserved, and then kissed him on the mandible. Her smell — gun oil, ozone, and the light citrus soap he knew she bought on the Citadel, every chance she got — surrounded him, warm and familiar, and something under his keel loosened.

See you later, Shepard had said, her mouth moving against his hide, and then she left, without a backwards look.

His visor told him Shepard's door was unlocked, just like she promised. So why was he second-guessing himself in the hallway while Shepard waited for him in her cabin, just a few feet away?

It was the wine. The blasted bottle of wine he'd carried around in his ruck from Ilium, to the Citadel, to Palaven, and finally to Menae, a solid, hopeful weight under spare ammo, mod kits, and rations. Buying it had taken the guts out of his last Cerberus stipend, but he hadn't regretted it, not for a moment. Not when he could open his ruck at night, when the rest of whatever squad he was assigned to that week bedded down and he had a few silent moments to himself, and see the heavy glass gleaming up at him.

He bought the wine two days after Shepard turned herself in. It gave him something to do instead of watching the vids of her arrest on loop: the unforgiving line of her shoulders in her dress blues, her unblinking eyes as the reporters swarmed at her, shouting themselves hoarse while Alliance soldiers escorted her into a waiting skycar.

Garrus had known those vids might be the last time he ever saw Shepard, but he hadn't tried to write to her. What was there to say? If he started writing, he'd make promises he couldn't keep, or start with the platitudes, and Shepard might forgive him for the first thing, but not the second. Better to leave it where they had, the night before he left the Normandy.

He hadn't let himself think about it too many times, hadn't wanted to tarnish the memory of Shepard sitting up in bed, the only light coming from the glow of the shields through the skylight, with her hair loose past her shoulders and livid scars glowing on her chest and back. How many times had he traced each of those scars with a talon, before moving on to the smooth skin between?

Not enough. Never enough.

It was easier to keep carrying the wine, and keep believing that this wasn't the end. That he'd see Shepard again, feel her pressed close enough to feel the implacable beat of her heart, hear her stark, surprised laugh fill the room. As long as he had the wine, he'd see her again.

But when he pulled it out of his ruck, the planned joke about his Reaper Advisor salary rolling off his tongue, he caught the edge of Shepard's stunned look, and his gut dropped. She recovered almost instantly — Garrus was surprised she'd let him see that much — but he couldn't shake that damn look, like he'd pushed too far, hoped too much.

You're being an ass, he told himself, and took another step toward her cabin door. Would Shepard invite you up here if she thought you were out of line? She'd smear you across the deck. She wants you here. Stop wasting time.

After everything they'd been through — Omega alone should have been enough to convince him — this was where he had to stumble? The galaxy was falling apart, the Reapers were shredding entire planets, and Garrus Vakarian couldn't take a bottle of wine to the love of his life without drowning in self-doubt.

I should tell Victus about this. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. The Primarch probably needs a laugh.

The wine had outlived its usefulness. Garrus understood that now. He shouldn't have brought it back to the Normandy. It didn't have any place in reality, not with the real, living Shepard in reach. All it was good for was a symbol, something to focus on while the galaxy went dark around him. As long as he had the wine, he could hope for something better down the line.

And spirits, how he'd hoped. He hoped that someone would listen, that someone would let him act in time to save some lives, that anything he did would mean a damn once the Reapers arrived — and he hoped that he would live long enough to see Shepard one last time.

He hadn't needed the wine since he saw her standing with Corinthus, with her armor scuffed and her face smudged with dirt and worse. Not since he heard her say his name, and felt her hand in his.

It wasn't too late to leave, put the wine in the recycler, and laugh it off when he came back. A few one-liners, and he'd get Shepard laughing hard enough to forget he'd ever had it. He'd always been good at making her laugh. No matter how bad things got, he could do that much for her, and she needed a laugh more than she'd ever need a bottle of wine.

Garrus headed back to the lift, hoping EDI hadn't decided to be extra-helpful and let Shepard know he was on his way, when Shepard's voice came out of his comms.

"Vakarian, are you seriously leaving after standing outside my cabin for five minutes?"

He froze mid-step, mouth open. "No?" he said, after a long silence.

Shepard's sigh crackled through the connection, and the door opened behind him. "I thought telling you my door would be unlocked was pretty unequivocal," she said, her voice light. "I didn't think anything would get lost in translation."

Garrus looked down at the wine, then turned around to find Shepard smiling at him, rueful and a little sad. She leaned against the doorframe, one ankle crossed over the other, a too-large t-shirt threatening to fall off one shoulder. Garrus remembered how the skin there felt under his hands, and his mouth, and discovered he couldn't breathe for a few seconds.

"Nothing did," he said, eventually. "Shepard, I —"

"Do I need to be clearer?" she asked, stepping out into the hallway. Her bare feet made no sound on the tiles. "Because maybe — maybe I should have been, earlier." Her throat worked as she swallowed, her eyes cut away, and then her gaze locked on his, and Garrus felt his heart clench, a pain almost too bright to endure filling his chest.

"When I left Earth, I didn't know if you were still alive," Shepard said. She was close enough for Garrus to see her pulse jumping in her neck. "I didn't know if anyone was still alive. God, the Normandy was so empty on the way out to Menae. I couldn't sleep, just kept thinking about Miranda, and Wrex, and Tali, and Thane — god." She dug her fingers into the thick braid pinned over her head, and yanked. Her hair tumbled loose in a dark, heavy wave as pins clattered to the floor. "And you, Garrus. All I wanted to know was if you were still alive, if you'd be there when I got to Menae, and seeing you swaggering up was the best damn thing that's happened to me in the past six months. Maybe ever. I just didn't know if you felt — but when you pulled out the wine, well…"

She took another step closer, and braced her hands on the edge of his collar. "So forgive me for being a little frustrated at you," she said. "I don't want to waste any more time, Garrus. Why didn't you come in?"

"The wine," he said. "It was —" I don't know how to describe your face when you saw it, but I thought I'd overestimated everything, thought it was something it's not, and I've only wanted to see your face for six months, and —

Shepard scowled. "You thought I was mad about the wine? God, no, I just couldn't believe you would — dammit, Garrus, you need to kiss me or I'm going to murder you."

"Is that an order?" he murmured, unable to resist teasing her, just a little, while the relief crashed through him.

"Fucking hell, Vakarian," Shepard snapped, and stood on tiptoes to kiss him. Her tongue darted into his mouth, a quick shock of warmth, and then she pulled away, her cheeks flushing. "You're —"

Garrus grabbed her — no nice way to put it — by the waist and pulled her as close as he could, hating his armor and her t-shirt for blocking his way to her bare skin, and kissed her back. She tasted like coffee, and her smell hit him like a punch to the gut, over and over. Shepard, alive, kissing him like she never planned to let him breathe again.

Fine by me, he thought, a little dizzy, and closed his eyes.

Finally, Shepard pulled away, gasping, her lips wet and her eyes bright. "Now that," she said, kissing his mandibles and brow ridges, "is the kind of greeting I've been dreaming of. I missed you so much, Garrus."

"Missed you too," he replied, nuzzling into her neck. If he could stay here, with his mouth in the hollow of her throat, he could die a happy turian. "And I don't swagger, Shepard."

"Oh, you most certainly were, Advisor Vakarian." Her laugh hummed through him, spread heat through his nerves. "You swaggered up those stairs like a balls-out boss, to quote Lieutenant Vega. And I've got to say, seeing you getting saluted by generals?"

Garrus looked up, and found Shepard giving him an impossibly fond, pleased smile. "Authority suits you."

Anything he said to that would just sound like bragging, so Garrus bumped his forehead against Shepard's, knowing she would understand his silence. She always had.

"Now," she said, looping her arms around his neck and stroking underneath his fringe. "Are we going to get started on that wine, or just make out like kids in the hallway?"

"Well, when you put it like that…" Garrus flicked a smile at Shepard as she rolled her eyes, then lifted her off the ground without warning. She didn't gasp, or struggle, just settled into his arms like she had never left.

"I like where this is going," she said, grinning at him from inches away. The grin didn't last, and even before it faded, Garrus saw just how dark the circles under her eyes were, and how a fine network of new lines had already started to form near her eyes.

He'd always been good at making her laugh, but he was even better at helping her carry her burdens.

"I'm glad," he said, stepping into her room. "Because I plan on taking advantage of your open door policy. I've got some…strategies I'd like to discuss."

Shepard's flush began to slip down her neck. "Always thought you were more of a tactician," she said, her fingers not pausing on the back of his head.

"You know me," Garrus said, laying her down on the couch, and setting the wine to the side. He hadn't been wrong about not needing it, just about the reason why. "I'm full of surprises."

Shepard stretched out on her back, one long leg draped over the edge of the couch — an invitation, clear as day. "The only surprise I wanted was seeing you again," she said, so painfully earnest, so infinitely loved. "But we've got all night, Garrus. Come here."

Garrus held off long enough to strip out of his armor, but Shepard barely let him pull off the top half of his skinsuit before she pulled him to her — and yes, her skin was just as soft, her laugh just as bright, as he remembered.

He'd never forget. Whatever came next, whatever horrors and loss would greet them tomorrow, he had Shepard now, and he wouldn't leave her again.

No matter what.