Finding any time alone with Shepard was a challenge, but on the Normandy, only a limited number of people could intrude on the few minutes they managed to scrape together. Out of that select group, Garrus knew most of them were too intimidated to think about using Shepard's open-door policy for anything less than the ship is on fire and also in acid or the Reapers sent someone to take the rest of your smoked gouda, Commander — and he was pretty sure he had Liara and Miranda to thank for that.

He could usually get an hour with Shepard at the end of their shift, without anything more pressing than reminding Shepard that coffee wasn't the only form of nutrition in the galaxy. They almost had a routine going: he would unbraid her hair, they would take turns undressing each other, and then talk over the day with the only light in the room coming from the skylight above them. Every night, he felt the temptation to give up half his sleep shift for a little more time — for a little more of everything else — and every night, he saw the same temptation flicker through Shepard's eyes. And every night, they fell asleep mid-sentence, and slept like the righteous dead until EDI woke them.

They were making the right decision, he told himself, whenever he watched Shepard pulling on her uniform like every movement hurt. The levels they were playing at, they couldn't afford to indulge themselves too often. Too easy to say I can lose a few hours' sleep if you can night after night, until it turned into a habit, and then there was just the countdown to one or both of them making a decision while they were just a sliver too exhausted, or too distracted, and after that —

The galaxy could make all the jokes it wanted about turians being war nerds and being born with the sticks in their asses already inserted, but that dedication to always making the right damn decision for everyone, not just for the moment, was half of what kept them fighting. So when he had the chance to sleep, he did, and so did Shepard.

But the other side of fighting to save the galaxy was fighting for something. Solana and his father were safe as anyone else in the galaxy, but Palaven still burned, and Shepard hadn't heard from her mother in two weeks. She hadn't said a word about it, and Garrus knew she wouldn't, but he kept waking up to the alarm to find her already up, staring at the skylight with her mouth thinned to nothing.

If someone only had something to fight against, they'd fall apart, even if they were Commander Shepard. Fighting for something wasn't any easier, but it was a hell of a lot more fun to figure out a way to remind people of that than the other way around.

That was what Garrus told himself when he sent the message to Shepard, when he heard they were heading back to the Citadel.

Skycars buzzed overhead, flashing in the artificial sunlight as they sped past. No way to know if any of the passengers noticed the two figures standing on a support beam below them, but Garrus took the lack of a visit from C-Sec as a good sign.

Shepard stood with the toes of her boots six inches from the edge of the beam. The wind plucked loose strands from her braid and sent them fanning around her face. "It's beautiful," she said, rolling her shoulders back. "Worth breaking all those regs for."

"Glad you approve," he said, taking the opportunity to stand at her side. It was beautiful, especially if he didn't think about what was going on in a hundred other systems. From where they stood, they could see the long chilly curve of the Presidium pond disappearing into a line of clouds, and garden plots full of plants so green they were almost black. "I was hoping it would…set the mood."

"Mood for what?" Shepard didn't turn her head, but Garrus saw the corner of her mouth quirking up in the familiar half-smile.

"Oh, you know," Garrus said, winding his arm around her waist. He had a moment to regret wearing his armor when Shepard tried to rest her head on his shoulder, and couldn't, but then she slung an arm around his waist, and sighed. A good, deep sigh, and even through his armor he felt a little tension melt out of her body.

"I guess I do," she said, still smiling.

Garrus would've been content to stand and watch the traffic till C-Sec finally showed up — seeing their faces when they realized the trespassers they got called about were Commander Shepard, Savior of the Citadel, and the Reaper Advisor-slash-liaison for the turian Primarch would make his entire month — but Shepard shifted after a few minutes, and turned so they faced each other, chest to chest. She looped her arms around his neck, and tugged his head down under his forehead rested against hers.

"How long do we have before the cops get here?" she asked, and the unexpected rough edge of her voice sent a shiver up Garrus' spine. "You know, how much…privacy?"

"Well, there is the skycar," he replied, his mouth a little dry. "If it's privacy you're after —"

She burst out laughing, eyes crinkling. "Okay, yeah, I should have been a little more clear — not that kind of privacy. Not yet," she added, biting her lower lip as a faint red flush brightened her cheeks. "Something else to cross off the never have I ever list, right?"

"Right," Garrus agreed. "Then, what kind of…"

"I just don't want to get interrupted while I say this," she said. "You do so much, Garrus. For everyone, but especially me." The line of her jaw glowed in the cool light. She was so close he could see every eyelash, every fluctuation in her irises. "I'm just so glad you're here whenever I come up for air."

He knew better than to try to reply to that. Better to let the moment carry itself, and focus on leaning Shepard back for a kiss. But before he could do that, she inhaled, sharp and quick, and said, "I love you, Garrus Vakarian."

This is the second time she's said it, he thought, as she took his face in both her hands and kissed him. He could have said it back so easily, but something kept him silent — a whisper in the back of his head, telling him to wait.

Wait till what?

Till she needs to hear it. She knows.

When will she need to hear it?

No answer came, and by then, Shepard had pulled back from the kiss, brows drawn together.

"You okay?" she asked.

Garrus nodded, and kissed her again, nipping at her lower lip to make her laugh and gasp at the same time. She wriggled away, still laughing, still pink-cheeked, and unworried.

"We should do this more often," she said. "Breaking C-Sec regs suits you."

"Good thing we're not finished yet," Garrus said. He'd set up this part ahead of time, and got to savor Shepard's brief, bewildered look when he pulled the sniper rifle from its case.

"Do I want to know?" she asked.

"Let's just say there's someone on the Normandy —"

"It's Vega, isn't it?"

"— someone who wanted to get a little headshot contest going on our next ground mission."

"One of these days," says Shepard, rolling her eyes up toward the false sky, but grinning now, wide and fond, "Vega's going to open his mouth too wide and fall in."

"And that reminded me — you never joined in the old contests with Ash and me." Garrus tossed the rifle to her, smirking when Shepard groaned. "Better late than never."

"There's an excellent reason why I never joined in. And only you would set up a shooting contest in traffic." Shepard checked the thermal clip. "All right, let's get this humiliation over with."

Garrus tossed a bottle into the air, caught it easily. He opened his mouth to say Don't worry, it's loaded with practice rounds, but when he faced Shepard again, the words caught in his throat.

She beamed at him, loose hair whipping around her face, lips still reddened from their kisses. "You backing out, Vakarian?" she asked, cocking her hip. "Afraid I might surprise you?"

"Oh, anything but," he managed, still staring. One more moment to memorize, and to bring out when he forgot the for. "You ready, Shepard?"

"Always."

He threw the bottle in a high, glittering arc, and wondered, while Shepard muttered about the wind and missed her shot, about when.

"No matter what happens here, you know I love you. I always will."

Garrus barely heard her, had to watch her mouth form the words to be sure. But he heard now, clear as a rifle shot, in the back of his head.

"Shepard, I —"