I actually did write this in time for day one, and I even posted it on time on ao3. I just didn't get around to posting it here right away because this website makes it so frickin difficult.

If Pidge said she hasn't been counting days, she'd be lying.

It's an innocent thing, or at least she convinces herself it is. It's for scientific reasons of course; she's further in space than humanity has ever been, so keeping track of the amount of time is important. It takes a lot of calculations, trying to approximate days with Altean time measurements, but calculations are what she's good at.

It's been a long time since they left home, and a lot has happened. They defeated Zarkon. They fought Lotor. They went to an alternate dimension. And now she has Matt back.

She has Matt back.

And so, staring at her computer and the calendar program she wrote, Pidge knows the time of year and she knows what she wants to do. She still doesn't have Dad back, and she's still in space, but it's December and the holidays are fast approaching and Pidge wants to make this feel a little more like home.

She closes her laptop with a grin and leaves her room.

The others (most of them, at least) are gathered in the lounge. Lance is complaining about something, Hunk listening attentively. Nearby, Shiro and Coran are watching Allura coach her mice through some tricks and off to the side, Keith is pretending not to pay attention while sharpening his knife. Matt...seems to be trying to do a handstand over in the corner. He's failing.

"Hey, guys!" calls Pidge, climbing over the back of the sofa to sit between Keith and Hunk. Conversation stops for just a moment as her teammates turn to look at her and offer her a greeting.

"Hey, Pidge!" says Lance, grinning and reaching over Hunk to try and ruffle her hair. She evades him and moves to sit on Keith's other side. "What's up?"

"Well, I've been keeping track of the time back on Earth, and guess what?"

"Is it your birthday?" guesses Hunk, sitting up straighter and bringing his hands together worriedly. "Oh no, did we miss it? Pidge we need to celebrate! I'll make a cake!"

"No!" Pidge picks her own hands up and waves them at him. "No, it's not my birthday."

"Then what is it?" asks Hunk.

"It's December!"

Lance lets out a startled gasp and leaps up to stand on the couch cushions. "Christmas!" he yells, and Pidge snorts, unsurprised.

"Nope! Not for me, anyway!"

Keith finally looks away from his knife, one eyebrow raised. "What do you mean?"

"The Holts are Jewish," interjects Shiro from across the room. "Right?"

"Right!" says Matt, enthusiastically bounding over to plop down almost on Pidge's lap. "That means it's time for Hanukkah! When is it?"

Pidge smiles and shoves him off of her. "Tonight, actually."

Matt lets out a horrified gasp. "Tonight? Where are we supposed to find a menorah on such short notice?"

"Easy," says Pidge, smugly pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. "We make one."

The customer is strange.

"You want what?" asks Baylizex again.

"Wax!" reiterates the customer, and Baylizex thinks they're starting to get frustrated, but this is an unfamiliar species and it's hard to be really sure.

"Wax? Like…sticky goop?"

The customer makes a grumbling noise and slams their hands down on the counter. "Wax," they growl. "Either natural or paraffin."

"Paraffin?" parrots Baylizex, suddenly even more lost than before. "What do you need paraffin for?"

The customer throws their hands in the air. "Look, do you have it or not?!"

"Ok, ok," says Baylizex, backing away from the desk. "I'll get you your paraffin, just calm down. How much do you need?"

The customer sighs loudly and mutters something that sounds like, finally. "A pound."

"So mind telling me what you need it for?"

"Candles," says the newcomer, leaning against the desk and watching as Baylizex fetches their paraffin. "I'm making candles."

Baylizex pauses, frowning. "Um. Did you just maybe want to….buy candles?"

There's a moment of silence. The customer is gaping. "Wait. You sell candles?"

"...yes?"

"Got any sort of tall skinny ones?"

"Uh. Like these?" Baylizex reaches below the counter and pulls out a box of spindly looking candles. The customer grins and nods enthusiastically.

"Those are perfect! Ok, I need forty-four of them. Actually, let's make it fifty, just to be safe."

Baylizex counts out all fifty candles and packages them up for the customer, who seems to be vibrating with what could be either impatience or excitement. As soon as they've paid, the customer shoots Baylizex a wide smile and bounces out of the shop, candles in hand.

"Baylizex," shouts Andev from behind a shelf. "That was a Voltron Paladin!"

Baylizex raises an eyebrow and glances back out the shop window.

"Wow, I had no idea humans were so weird," says Baylizex.

The menorah is an interesting thing. Made of twisted metal and shining pieces of glass, it looks like the sci-fi version of a steampunk candelabra. It's not the most attractive thing in the world; after all, Matt has never been very artistically inclined, and since he and Lance (who had insisted on helping) had apparently been unable to agree on any design elements, the menorah is teetering on the edge of ugly. But it's functional, and that's good enough.

"Did you get the candles?" asks Matt as Pidge walks through the door. She nods, smiling, and holds up the bag.

"Sweet," says Matt.

Hunk pokes his head in from the kitchen. "Hey, Pidge! Guess what I made?"

Pidge sticks her nose in the air, inhales deeply, and has to hold herself from jumping up and down like a child. The smell of frying potatoes (or, at least, some potato approximation) reminds her very much of her childhood.

"Latkes?" guesses Pidge excitedly.

"Yep!" Hunk enters the room fully, a small plate in hand. On the plate is a single latke, cut into pieces. "I made more for later, but I wanted everyone to be able to try it now. Given that I don't have actual potatoes I didn't know how well it'd turn out."

"How did you know how to make latkes?" asks Pidge as she grabs a piece and sticks it into her mouth. It's good; really good.

"My uncle is Jewish," says Hunk, beaming. "Besides, I tried to expand my recipes through all sorts of different cultures, and who can argue with fried potatoes?"

Pidge nods emphatically.

"So, Hunk," says Matt nonchalantly, grabbing a piece of latke for himself. "The age old question: applesauce or sour cream?"

Hunk shrugs as Lance reaches over his shoulder to grab a piece. "I like both. How about you?"

"Applesauce," says Matt firmly at the same time as Pidge says, "Sour cream."

"Oh, Katie," groans Matt. "Here we go."

Pidge jabs a finger at his chest. "Matt likes applesauce on his latkes. Like a child."

Matt sighs. "Something you should know about sour cream people," he stage whispers, conspiratorially leaning into Hunk's shoulder. "They're bullies."

"We are not, we're adults," protests Pidge.

"You're not an adult, you're a shrimp," states Matt and then has to dodge away from her swipe at his head. "See?! Proving my point! Leave me and my applesauce alone, you bully!"

Behind them, Shiro stands up from the couch. He's smiling as he walks in between them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "Ok, guys, enough." Then he nods at the timer Pidge had set up on the table earlier and raises an eyebrow meaningfully. "Isn't it almost sundown back on Earth?"

Pidge looks down at the bright orange numbers and sees that they've got a little over fifteen minutes yet. "Oh quiznack, we gotta set up."

Matt makes a grab for the candle bag, but she evades him, and, laughing, they cross the room to the makeshift menorah.

Two candles from the bag: one for the menorah, one to be the shamash. A flame from an Altean lighter and the shamash is lit, and somehow Pidge finds herself holding it.

"Matt," she says. "Did you want to light it?"

Her brother smiles and places a hand on her shoulder. "Nah, Katie, I'm good. Let's go."

So, with the lights in the room dimmed and the flame glowing brightly in her hand, Pidge starts to sing.

"Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav, v'tsivanu l'hadlik ner, shel Hanukkah."

And with that, the first candle is lit.

The prayer, the light, the smell of latkes; Matt at her side and the wax dripping down the menorah. It feels so much like home that it hurts, because this isn't home. Alien metal arches above them and stars fly past outside the windows. The menorah is made of metal scraps, the latkes some approximation of potato, and her parents are so, so far away. Dad probably won't even know that it's Hanukkah, and Mom...Mom will have to light the candles alone.

Pidge laughs, breathless and hysterical, and feels something hot and wet on her cheeks.

"Happy Hanukkah, Pigeon," says Matt, and hugs her. Pidge holds on tight and tries to pretend she isn't crying.

"Happy Hanukkah," chokes Pidge into the fabric of his shirt.

They stay that way for a good several minutes before Matt pulls back and holds her at arm's length. "Hey," he says, voice soft. "You good?"

Pidge looks at the candles, flickering bravely even in the open reaches of space. It feels like a symbol, that their culture has survived even beyond their solar system.

"Yeah," she says, wiping her eyes. "I'm good."

So, how about you? Sour cream or applesauce? I'm an applesauce person myself.

Also, I know you're supposed to sing the other two prayers on the first night, but that would've been too long for writing purposes so you just get the one.

Happy Hanukkah!