It was past early—if that even meant anything anymore. Time blurred aboard the Normandy, the soft hum of the ship lulling you back toward sleep even as you resisted it. Still half-dreaming, half-aware, your muscles ached with the kind of weariness that sleep didn’t touch. Emotional exhaustion pooled somewhere deep in your chest—numb, heavy. There was no real morning anymore. No good, no peace, just the ship’s artificial rhythm and the grim parade of what came next.

You shifted carefully, moving Garrus’ arm from where it rested protectively at your waist. Even asleep, his fingers twitched as if reluctant to let go. But you needed to move—just for a bit. Staying too long in one place made your bones feel tight, your skin buzzing like you were still in combat. Restless. Ghosts don’t like to sit still, and today, you felt half-ghost yourself.

The corridors were dimly lit and mostly quiet, save for the soft shuffle of crew on late shifts. As you passed, there were glances—some subtle, some not. You didn’t blame them. Too many had already been lost, and the finish line was still a horizon away. There weren’t words for it anymore. Just nods, quiet acknowledgments, the shared weight of survival.

You checked in with the crew—quick stops, brief reassurances. Said something to Joker that earned a snort and a raised brow, the closest thing to a grin you’d seen from him all week. It was the smallest win, but you held onto it anyway. Then, finally, back to your quarters.

The door hissed closed behind you.

Garrus was still there. Curled into your sheets in that half-sprawl he always managed, like a sniper even in sleep, claiming his space and yours too. His back rose and fell slowly, mandibles relaxed. You tapped the side of the hamster’s glass idly as you passed, then slid beneath the covers again.

Even before you settled, Garrus instinctively rolled closer, arms pulling you in with a sleepy grunt that sounded vaguely like contentment.

“You know,” he mumbled, voice gravel-thick and lazy with sleep, “if this is some kind of stealth recon mission to steal the blankets… you’re terrible at it.”

You chuckled quietly, resting your forehead against the bare, warm skin of his neck. You could feel his plates shift just a little as he murmured, one arm tightening as if to make sure you didn’t drift off again into the dark alone.

His voice was half-gone with sleep, scratchy in the kind of way that made it sound like he'd spent the night chain-smoking a thousand calibrations. It rumbled more than it spoke, the kind of voice that could coax a smile out of you even at your worst.

"Mm. You’re awake enough to sass, so you're fine," you whispered, lips brushing his collarbone.

He didn’t open his eyes, just nuzzled in with that half-smirk he always wore when he knew he was being a smug bastard and still got away with it.

After a beat, you breathed out, sinking fully into him, hand settling over the scarred ridge of his chestplate.

“…Just needed to stretch,” you murmured, “Make sure the ship hadn’t fallen apart without me.” Garrus hummed sleepily, mandibles brushing your hair. " We saved the falling apart for after breakfast. Thought we’d pace ourselves for once.”