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December 25th, 2186
Kaidan hadn’t expected anyone to be in the mess at this hour, but in hindsight, he should have. Several off-duty crew members had gathered around the long tables; some stood with drinks in their hands while others sat looking up at their comrades, all of them talking so that their voices were a low buzz of noise in the room.
Underneath the hum of conversation, Kaidan heard the familiar notes of holiday music. Much to his chagrin, it was a well-preserved audio file of Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” That had to be Tali’s doing. She’d always been interested in learning about human traditions, but she was especially fascinated by the holidays. Along with EDI, she had collected terabytes of data on end-of-calendar celebrations, much of it music—some of which dated back over two centuries ago. They’d even programmed the hallway and overhead lights to switch between different colors and to blink in time to the melodies. It was oddly garish, yet comforting at the same time.
In the galley, there was shiny tinsel garland wrapped around every cabinet handle. Kaidan didn’t know who’d done that, but he thought it was a nice touch. Vega, however, complained loudly every time he opened a cupboard.
“It’s not that I don’t like decorations, but I’m cooking—it gets in the way,” he grumbled. “And the tinsel sheds. I can’t have sparkly tinsel—that who knows how many people have touched—contaminating my abuela’s tamales.”
Kaidan’s heart squeezed in his chest. It was so human to search for light in the darkness, to make your own if you had to: he was here doing the same. He’d come to the mess to find some semblance of peace and comfort aboard this ship that was his second home, with people who were like family.
Still, despite the festivities, an undertone of melancholy hung in the air. Everyone’s quiet celebrations were a tenuous grasp on tradition and hope in the face of an impossible threat. Although a few bursts of laughter broke through the tense atmosphere, Kaidan suspected no one was willing to risk being too loud or forceful in their revelry. No one wanted to break the spell.
He’d been deployed over the holidays before, but this uncertainty was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Whenever soldiers couldn’t make it home to their families, there was always a blanket of sadness hanging over them. There was always the possibility of never returning home. But he’d still witnessed the raucous parties of drunken sailors who tried to embrace the spirit of the season. This was a gathering characterized by a more permanent, penetrating sorrow. Most of these people knew they’d never see their families again with the Reapers knocking on their door. Kaidan imagined a few of them were wondering why they were still alive when their friends weren’t. Or why they had signed up for this fight. Or why they bothered fighting at all when the enemy seemed so insurmountable. The one thing uniting them in this moment was that they all wanted to savor every precious second before the final push, every breath they took before it was well and truly over.
Kaidan clutched the bottle of his father’s homemade eggnog in his hand, balancing it and the two glasses he carried. It’d been in the care package he’d received from his mother when they were docked at the Citadel. Without fail, she shipped him one every Christmas he was away. He was shocked this bottle had arrived in time, but he wasn’t about to question his good luck. He had a taste of home.
Shepard caught his eye from her spot at the head of the otherwise empty officer’s table. Miranda Shepard was always a commanding presence. Everywhere she went, people seemed to orbit around her. She made moves, and others followed. It was one of the many qualities that had drawn Kaidan in back on the SR-1. Shepard had been unlike any CO he’d had before, and he’d been a little starstruck. Now he saw the trepidation and fear she carried underneath her stoic mask. He knew tonight was different for her too, though he was probably the only one who noticed.
While she still commanded the room, Shepard was wrapped in the same melancholy as everyone else. They all wondered if this was their last December.
Kaidan made his way to her. He set the bottle of eggnog on the table between them, placing one of the glasses in front of her and the other in front of himself. Sitting down in the chair beside her, he pressed his boot against hers underneath the table, their knees touching.
“Hey, Mir,” he said softly, so no one could hear.
“Hey, Kaidan.” She gave him a small smile.
“It’s good that you’re here,” he said. He unscrewed the bottle and poured them both a glass.
“Yeah, I know,” she agreed, and took a sip before continuing. “It’s good for them to see me out here, instead of locking myself away in my cabin or the War Room, though I’d much rather do that.” She laughed humorlessly. “I don’t even know if it’s reassuring, but it feels important. Tonight, especially.”
“Yeah,” Kaidan said. “And I’m sure it’ll be comforting. It was to me, when we were fighting Saren. Seeing you is a real morale-booster, and everyone’s hurting for that these days.”
Shepard nodded, but there was a far-off look in her eyes. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”
“That it’s Christmas?”
“Yeah. I mean, I know galactic standard time is different and a lot of people don’t even celebrate, but yeah.” She paused briefly. “It’s just… I never expected this. Obviously, the Reapers don’t care what day it is, but…” Her voice trailed off, and she took another sip of eggnog, this one more of a nervous gulp.
“I know.”
A beat of silence passed before Shepard spoke again. “I think maybe I should say something,” she mused. “I don’t know. ‘Merry Christmas’ or any well-wishing sounds hollow, but everyone’s here tonight for a reason. It—it feels wrong not to.”
Kaidan nodded encouragingly. “I think that would mean a lot to them.” He looked around the mess, gesturing with his glass at everyone there. “These people follow you, sacrifice for you… if you said a few words, I know it’d go a long way.”
She slowly rose from her chair and cleared her throat. Immediately, the hum of conversation halted. Their fellow soldiers turned to look in Shepard’s direction, drawn to the easy confidence and conviction she exuded with a single gesture. She had their attention, as she always did.
Holding her glass aloft, Shepard scanned the room, acknowledging everyone in it. “I’d like to make a toast,” she began, “to you. To everyone here tonight.” She paused, contemplating her next words. “I know you expect me to say something about our fight. About plunging into darkness to face the Reapers head-on and kick their asses—”
Whoops of agreement rang out, along with bubbles of laughter.
“And believe me, we will,” Shepard continued. Kaidan marveled at her crisp, clear voice. None of the uncertainty she had shared with him only a few minutes prior showed in her expression.
“We will fight,” she went on. “We will protect this galaxy, and we will make our final stand on Earth, fighting for humanity and every race the Reapers seek to annihilate!”
More whoops and hollers erupted from the crowd, and Kaidan watched while Shepard waited for their voices to die down. Her eyes were sharp and her posture tall and proud. She still had control of the room, and once everyone quieted, they turned back to face her.
“But you’ve heard that before,” she said, sobering. “And you’ll hear it again when we have boots on the ground.” She took a breath.
“Tonight... is different. I wanted to acknowledge that, for several of us aboard, today is Christmas.
“I know not all of you celebrate, but I also know you’d rather be home no matter what day it is. You’d rather be with your families. And if you do observe the holiday, you probably feel that now more than ever. So, for those who do, Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” a few people echoed, their voices a soft murmur throughout the mess.
“And to everyone, regardless of the holiday,” Shepard proceeded, “I know your sacrifice. I know you may have already lost a loved one. I know the fight seems endless. But I will do everything in my power to get you back home, to secure a future for you—for all of us.” She looked down at Kaidan for just a moment, and he smiled up at her. He wanted that more than anything. Imagining a future with Miranda was what kept him going.
She drank from her glass, and everyone followed suit, clinking their glasses together before taking customary sips or simply downing the contents. Kaidan couldn’t blame them. He took a long drink from his own glass, thinking of home, of his mother, and his missing father, and what he’d face in the days to come. The eggnog was really good this year, maybe the best batch ever. It was a comfort, and an ache, too.
December 25th, 2187
The nondenominational chapel at Huerta Memorial was quiet and calm. Kaidan had never been particularly religious, but he liked the solitude here. For a while after Shepard was recovered from the wreckage, before she had woken up, he had refused to leave her bedside except for meals and the bathroom. Or when the nurses kicked him out. He’d known it wasn’t healthy—he had to take care of himself, too—but he couldn’t bear to leave her when it was touch and go. Thankfully, those days were over. Now, with her condition stable, Kaidan allowed himself to rest while she did. So when Shepard fell asleep after PT, he came to the chapel.
He’d first come when a migraine forced him out from under the bright lights of Shepard’s hospital room. The small sanctuary was a welcome solace with its dim interior and blessed quiet. It wasn’t entirely silent inside, but behind the closed doors, the chaos of the hospital was muted. The shrill beeping of machines and rapid footfalls of nurses running down the hall faded to white noise. Kaidan didn’t remember how long he’d sat there, breathing deeply with his eyes closed, but eventually his migraine passed.
Today, he wasn’t fighting a migraine. He simply needed space to sit with his thoughts. He entered into the sanctuary and slid into a pew with a sigh.
Kaidan had always been fascinated by the trappings of this chapel. At the front of the room was a long metal table serving as an altar covered in various religious paraphernalia from the homeworlds of Council space and beyond. There was an array of candles—not open flame and wax, but realistic holo-imitations—commonly seen in human churches on Earth, along with a holographic display where messages or names were uploaded in memoriam. Beside it, a basin carved of volcanic rock held a pool of Kahje sea water for the hanar to commune with the Enkindlers. A statue of the goddess Athame stood centered between two plaques on the back wall—one inscribed with a Thessian script dictating the three truths of siari, and another in a Palaven language describing how to converse with spirits for guidance. There were also dozens of smaller tokens and totems representing lesser-practiced religions. Kaidan recognized a carved figurine of Amonkira from having spent time with Thane in this very hospital.
On the adjacent wall, a memorial similar to the one erected in the docking bay during the war overflowed with mementos, photos, and heartfelt messages. It sprawled from floor to ceiling with no blank spaces exposed.
He swallowed. Kaidan knew he’d go up there today to add his own tokens of remembrance, but there was something he had to do first.
When he opened his omnitool, Kaidan saw the message from his mom again. It loomed in his inbox, a reminder of a reality he didn’t know if he was prepared to face.
I understand why you can’t make it home for Christmas, hon, but it’s hard to have an empty house. Last year, I was so scared with the war I couldn’t dwell on it. Now it’s so lonely without you and your dad. I miss him, and I know you do too.
He closed the interface and squeezed his eyes shut. Last year, he’d gotten the news his father was missing before the holiday, but with the war on, he hadn’t had time to properly grieve. This was the first Christmas he truly felt the loss.
As a kid, Kaidan hadn’t understood the lengths his father went to to make the holidays magical, even when he was deployed. He wished he’d thanked him for all the times he dressed up as Santa, all the letters Kaidan had received “from Santa” when his dad couldn’t make it home, and for being the parent who knew what he needed even if Kaidan couldn’t voice it. He remembered his first Christmas after BAaT, when he’d gotten so drunk on his dad’s homemade eggnog that he heard his mother worrying in a tense, hushed tone that he needed help.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” he’d heard his father say. Then he’d tucked Kaidan into bed without mentioning the nog. But before leaving, after he’d turned off the light, he’d looked back and said, “You know I’m here for you, son. I’m here.”
Kaidan was going to miss that simple understanding most of all. Call it a father’s love mixed with a soldier’s camaraderie. It was something he and his father had had that wasn’t the same with his mom.
He was worried about her being left alone to her own devices. He knew enough about grief to guess how she occupied her time. Mom had the orchard to tend to—the fruit and maple trees, the animals, the old barn. The big, old house, too. She’d work the land, ride the horses, and scrub the counters and the floors until her hands were aching and pruney. But that wouldn’t stop the hurt from flooding in. It’d only postpone it. Like trying to put a Band-Aid on a gushing wound.
Kaidan had thrown himself into his work when he’d lost Shepard, and it had only helped so much. He’d had to face it before it swallowed him whole. He hoped his mom could do that.
He pulled a flask from inside his coat pocket. It should have been filled with his father’s eggnog, but whiskey would have to do this Christmas. He took a sip, the alcohol burning down his throat.
Then another message came through, the omnitool’s haptic feedback and blinking notification familiar. He steeled himself and reopened it. With the comm buoy delays, he couldn’t tell when his mother had sent it, but it must have been shortly after the first:
Anyway, how is Miranda? Give her my best. Love you, and Merry Christmas xo
Kaidan needed to respond. He didn’t know if his words would be enough, or if he’d say the right things, but he couldn’t leave her messages unanswered.
I wish we could be there! Next year. Dr. Chakwas says Miranda is doing exceptionally well, healing fast through sheer stubbornness. I’ll let her know you said hello.
I miss Dad so much. I remember when you used to dress up as Mr. and Mrs. Claus. Love you too, Mom. Merry Christmas.
The message sent with a soft sound, and Kaidan opened a blank text document. He took a shaky breath, tears welling in his eyes, and started to type.
Dad,
I wrote one of these to Ash after we lost her on Virmire. It felt silly at the time, but I think it helped. I wrote more to Miranda when I lost her too, but I don’t know if those helped as much.
I’d already gotten the news you were missing at Christmastime last year. I told Miranda, but with the war, I couldn’t process it. I just had to keep fighting. We shared a bottle of your eggnog in the mess, but we didn’t do much else. I hope you understand. This is the first Christmas that it really feels like you’re gone. Maybe before I was still holding out hope, even though I knew the odds. Or maybe it just hadn’t sunk in.
Anyway, I miss you so much. I keep thinking of things I could’ve said or done to show you how much I love you. At the very least, I should’ve said it more.
I love you, Dad. Merry Christmas.
By the time he was done, tears streamed down Kaidan’s face. He closed his omnitool, saved the file in encrypted storage, and wiped his tears away on the corner of his sleeve. When he stood to leave, he felt lighter, a weight off his shoulders. He stretched, relishing the release of the tension in his muscles.
Before he left, he lit two candles.
The first candle was for Ashley. Though the ritual wasn’t without sorrow, it was easier to acknowledge her passing as time went on. And if she was right, Ashley was always there, watching over him. His dad too, she’d say.
The second was for his father, of course. Kaidan swallowed thickly as he lit the artificial flame. The fact that the candle wasn’t real had no impact on the gravity of the act. He stood there for a while watching the holo-flames dance, wondering if his dad really could see him from wherever he was now.
Finally, Kaidan turned to exit the chapel. He lingered at the door, looking back to take it all in, and blinked away fresh tears before returning to Shepard.
Shepard was awake when he arrived. She was sitting up in bed, eating the red and green jello she’d requested ‘for Christmas’ from the asari nurse, who’d been confused and mildly annoyed. “Hey, K,” she said, using the nickname he only liked coming from her. “Where’d you go?”
“To the chapel,” Kaidan said. “I thought you’d be out the whole time I was gone.”
“It’s all right. I only just woke up.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Hey. Come here. Are you okay?”
He climbed in bed beside her and ate her offered bite of Christmas jello. “I think so,” he said. “At least, I feel better right now. But I know it’ll sneak up on me sometimes.”
Shepard nodded and snuggled into him, nuzzling her head in the crook of his neck. Kaidan knew she understood—she’d lost her father, too—and he was grateful he didn’t have to explain.
Next year, he thought. Next year, they wouldn’t be in a hospital bed. He would take her to the orchard and show her how beautiful it was in the winter.
December 25th, 2188
The fire crackled pleasantly, and Kaidan pulled Miranda close, positioning them in front of the hearth to bask in the warmth. She snuggled into him and clinked her glass of eggnog against his before taking a sip. It was still his father’s recipe, but it tasted different when his mom made it, though Kaidan didn’t have the heart to tell her. He’d missed it so much, he didn’t mind anyway.
“Merry Christmas, Kaidan,” Miranda said.
“Merry Christmas, Miranda.” He pressed a kiss to her temple.
“You two make my heart so happy.” His mom beamed at them from her rocking chair. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
For the first time in years, Kaidan was home for the holidays. He almost couldn’t believe this was real. During the war, he’d dreamed of the future, of waking up next to Miranda on Christmas morning and curling up in front of the fire, but in his darkest hours Kaidan hadn’t known if he’d live to see it. Even last year, when he’d silently vowed to take her home, the orchard had felt worlds away. He hadn’t been able to picture it quite like this.
His mother had pulled out all the stops. From the homemade eggnog and mulled wine, to the decorations and cozy fire, Kaidan hadn’t seen a Christmas at the orchard this festive since his childhood.
The tree alone was a showstopper. It was big and full, standing over two meters tall with thick, fluffy branches laden with every tree adornment imaginable. Hundreds of lights twinkled warmly, casting a soft glow through the living room and onto the front porch. Ornaments he’d made when he was a kid hung from the best spots, prominently displayed to stand out among the multicolored balls. He spotted one that featured a picture of him and his dad skating on their frozen lake and smiled. There was even tinsel, sparkly ribbons, and old-fashioned popcorn and dried orange garlands. At the top shone a bright, shimmering star.
Outside, the orchard looked like a winter wonderland. Snow fell softly, dusting the ground in a thick, white powder like the inside of a snow globe. He couldn’t have asked for better weather for his first Christmas back home.
Suddenly, a loud banging interrupted their quiet celebration. Kaidan tensed, and his mother’s eyes widened in alarm. Miranda jolted in his arms. There was a moment of uneasy silence, followed by more pounding.
“What in the world…?” his mother wondered aloud, though Kaidan noticed she didn’t seem all that concerned anymore. She tried to hide her expression behind her glass. It was almost as if she’d been expecting this, or at least had a better idea of what the noise was.
“Why don’t you go see who’s trying to break down my door, won’t you?” she asked, feigning innocence.
“What did you…?” Kaidan began, but his mother only shook her head and gave him a quick, sheepish smile. She shrugged, not giving anything away except for smug satisfaction.
Kaidan sighed and rose to answer the front door. He helped Miranda to her feet, and they walked to the door hand in hand. “Do you know anything about this, M?” he asked, leaning in to whisper teasingly in her ear.
She chuckled lightly. “No, K, I don’t,” she said. “Promise.”
“Hmm.” He frowned. “Mom thinks everyone likes surprises as much as she does,” he explained.
“Oh?”
However, Kaidan was curious to see who’d come all this way in the snow. He suddenly dreaded seeing old family friends or childhood buddies who he’d be forced to make awkward conversation with after all this time. But when he opened the door and saw who waited on the other side, he’d never been happier to be wrong.
Standing in front of them on the Alenko’s doorstep were Tali, Wrex, and Grunt, surrounded by several child-size krogan. Shepard’s face lit up, her smile as big as any Kaidan had ever seen. Everyone began talking all at once.
“Tali! Wrex! Grunt!” Miranda exclaimed. “It’s so good to see you! And look! Are they all yours, Wrex?” Laughing, she let herself be pulled into Tali’s gentle hug and Wrex’s and Grunt’s crushing ones.
“Battlemaster!” Grunt shouted over them. “You’re on your feet!”
“Yeah, they’re all mine,” Wrex answered at the same time Tali was saying, “Oh, Shepard, it’s so good to see you, too. And Kaidan! Your mother is a very smart woman. She swore us to secrecy.”
“I figured,” he said. “It’s good to see you, Tali.”
“What about me, heh?” Wrex grunted.
“It’s good to see you, too, Wrex,” he amended. “And you, Grunt,” he added, although Kaidan wasn’t sure how excited he was at the prospect of Grunt in his childhood home, considering the damage he’d done to the Citadel during their last party.
“Come on! My quad’s freezing,” Wrex asserted.
“Yes,” Tali agreed, shivering. “Well, I don’t have a ‘quad.’ But my suit heater is failing, and it’s so cold.”
Kaidan stepped aside. “Come on i—”
Before he could finish his sentence, they pushed inside.
A flurry of activity filled the house. Wrex’s brood was loud and rambunctious and not shy about displaying an utter lack of conventional human decorum. They climbed the furniture and everyone’s legs. A pair of them started to practice headbutting technique, sometimes knocking each other over and getting right back up again. Three sat transfixed in front of the tree, staring at the glittering lights. Miranda lowered herself onto the floor next to them, playing with the babies—toddlers? Kaidan wasn’t an expert on krogan aging—as if she’d known them much longer than a few minutes.
Grunt had made a beeline toward the food and ate ravenously in the kitchen.
Tali sat in his mother’s rocking chair by the fire, chatting with his mom about everything from the construction of the chair, to their journey here, to Christmas traditions and the history of the holiday.
“Oh!” he heard his mother exclaim when she saw how fast the food was disappearing. “Should I have cooked more?” She paused, watching the mayhem. “Wow, you can eat! Grunt, is it? Kaidan’s told me about you. And the children, how old are they? Do they eat different food? Is there anything else—?”
“They’re fine!” came Wrex’s gruff voice from the living room. He was gesturing and grumbling at the tree, warning his children to not get fooled by the bright lights because he questioned the safety of ‘having a beacon guiding enemies to your home.’ This turned into a very impressive rant about Santa Claus that Kaidan could summarize as ‘I’d kill any man who snuck into my home in the middle of the night.’
He laughed. For his part, Kaidan just watched the chaos unfold. He’d imagined this Christmas many times; wondered how it’d feel being back home after the war, but he had never expected this. In more ways than one, his mother had outdone herself again. It was like she knew exactly what they needed. And he guessed the surprise wasn’t solely for them, either. Having the house filled with noise and laughter and boisterous children was for her sake, too. She needed this as much as they did.
He made his way over to where she stood in the kitchen, surveying the party. She looked contemplative, holding a glass of mulled wine in her hand even though she didn’t sip it. Kaidan squeezed her arm gently, and she blinked, looking up at him.
“Hey,” he said.
“Oh, Kaidan.”
“You pulled off an incredible surprise, Mom,” he told her. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing,” she said. Then she sniffed and added, “I wanted it to be joyful.”
“It’s amazing,” he assured her. He couldn’t say it was perfect, because it wasn’t, not without his dad. No Christmas would go by without Kaidan missing him.
But Kaidan was happy. He tried not to feel guilty about that.
He pulled his mother into a tight hug before joining Miranda again on the floor, surrounded by Wrex’s young. She had two in her lap and one on her back. Kaidan worried about the physical strain on her body, but she couldn’t stop smiling, so he let it be.
His mom followed from the kitchen, shaking her head at the scene, and took her seat in the rocking chair that Tali had vacated in exchange for the loveseat, which was otherwise filled with more krogan children. Wrex and Grunt had finally settled on the couch, dwarfing the cushions and making the frame protest under their weight despite its larger size.
For the rest of the night, they reminisced. Wrex regaled them with old war stories. Grunt relived his Rite in great detail, explaining how he and Shepard had killed the thresher maw and earned him the krogan’s respect and a place in Clan Urdnot, along with numerous breeding requests. Kaidan watched his mother’s face as Grunt told the story. She was a soldier’s widow and had raised him, but even her eyes widened at the most colorful parts. Tali spoke of home. She informed them of the progress on Rannoch and what she hoped for in the future. Kaidan hugged Shepard tightly to him, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
This was what they had fought so hard for. He couldn’t ever forget that.
At the end of the night, when everyone had gone to bed or fallen asleep where they lay on the floor, he lingered in the kitchen helping Shepard clean up. Even though his mom had protested vehemently, she’d insisted. Kaidan knew Shepard thought she wasn’t good at expressing feelings with words: this was her way of saying thank you.
Once they were done, he came up behind her, touching her side gently to let her know he was there. She turned to him with a weary, but happy smile on her face.
“Sleepy?” he asked.
“Mhm,” she yawned.
“We can go to bed,” he said. “There’s just one thing left to do.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What’s that?”
Grinning, Kaidan revealed a sprig of mistletoe he’d hidden behind his back. He dug into the gravity well and concentrated, tracing his mnemonic. The mistletoe floated out of his hand and rose into the air. Wreathed in a veil of dark energy, it levitated above them, suspended a few inches over their heads. Kaidan glanced up and admired his handiwork.
“Mistletoe?” Miranda teased. “You think you’re so smooth.”
“That was pretty smooth,” he corrected. “Indulge me? I’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”
Miranda obliged.
They stood in the kitchen kissing for a long time. Kaidan couldn’t have asked for a better ending to the night.