December 25, 2178 — Ashley
"Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow:"
Ashley watched the vid again, reconstituted cocoa cold in her hands. Her bunk was decorated in cheap colored lights and a few sticks that promised to smell like pine (if you pinched your nose and breathed through your mouth, maybe). It broke at least 12 regulations, but no one had come to reprimand her yet. Not with her eyes red and puffy. Not after she threw her boot at Whithouse when she asked her if Ash wanted to go get a drink.
Her father had a damn poem for everything.
"The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true."
It wasn't her first Christmas away from home. She'd missed out her first year of boot. But they pretended it was Christmas again when she came home on leave. The whole family kept the tree up into April just so she could see it.
But it was the first one without her father.
She re-started the video again to see him smile, tell her he was proud, and recite the history and importance of the Tennyson poem he was going to read her tonight.
September 29, 2183 — Shepard
"Hey Skipper, you gonna let us decorate the Normandy for Christmas?"
"I don't think—Wait. Ash, it's not even October yet."
"Never too early to ring in some joy, Shep."
Ashley had cornered her leaving the Med Bay. She had just managed to talk her way out of another full brain scan with Chakwas, and was fleeing the xenoromantic tension that flooded every conversation with Dr. T'soni. Shepard had no way out.
And Ash knew it.
"I don't think it'd go over well with the crew."
"Come on, who doesn't love Christmas, Shep? Don't tell me you're a Scrooge!"
"The Krogan might not get the whole 'give unto others' bit, unless you want a severed head under the tree. The Quarian probably has her own holiday. And the Turian might take a little offense if we're celebrating 'love to all man'. Plus I think Adams is Jewish."
"And the Asari will probably find it a fascinating example of human culture to study and catalog." Ash threw her hands up in mock frustration. She smiled like she knew she had already won. "And who doesn't love a party? I'll be sure to get plenty of that Turian brandy shit along with the Champagne."
"….You want a budget."
"Can't have a proper party without refreshments!"
"….Talk to requisitions. Then gear up, would you? Hackett has us investigating some Geth activity out in the Skyllian Verge."
December 25, 2183 — Shepard
It was the kind of party Ashley would have liked.
Everyone who'd helped stop Saren had piled into the Normandy. Joker set up a bar in the cockpit—which must have broken at least 12 regulations—and was playing bartender. Udina had made an appearance and excused himself early. His schedule indicated he had at least 8 more of these parties to visit. But Anderson had stuck around.
They swapped stories, an insane game of oneupmanship where Shepard didn't even have to embellish how crazy their last few months had been.
Eventually, as all parties go, someone clamored for the host to make a speech. Shepard hated being the focal point. It was so performative, and fake. But she tossed some words together in her brain that would feel uplifting, and honor the dead.
When you go into war, end with a call to action. When you leave it, end with humor.
"And for those who helped us get here, may their spirits haunt the shit out of us so we don't fuck up again."
"That is not how that toast goes."
"You're a terrible Turian. I'm gonna have to consult an expert before I believe you."
Laugher rippled through the crowd, and they drank and told tall tales and made impossible promises to meet again.
At least no one sang. She wasn't sure she could take that.
In the quiet of the afterparty, Shepard retreated to the observation deck. Wrapped in the cool quiet of the stars, she pulled a book off the shelf. Real, honest to god paper with glue binding, worn with dog-eared pages. She flipped through the collected works of Tennyson to the page Ashley had bookmarked while they were planning the party.
Did she know, then, that she wouldn't be here for it?
And then she read a poem to the stars.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
December 25, 2184 — Garrus
Sidonis slid into the barstool next to Garrus. The private room of Afterlife was almost never this quiet, but someone had managed to call in a favor with Aria and clear the space. No chance of gang presence meant Sidonis had dragged Archangel's ass out of his watchtower and sat him down for a drink.
Joy.
"Come on, at least toss one back with Weaver. They're over there tellin' stories about some big human holiday today, and how they always shared a drink with Family."
Garrus snorted. "Weaver's never said a true thing about their past. I bet the holiday is bullshit, too. An excuse to get me to authorize an open bar."
Sidonis relaxed on one arm, swirling his amber drink. It smelled warm and spiced. "Butler confirmed it. Some kind of Birthday. Translator's having a field day with it."
"I don't buy it. Hey, Montaegue!" he called over the former alliance soldier. She, in turn, told him to fuck off and went back to a spirited argument with Krul that was likely to end in an arm wrestle. Damn few humans were stupid enough to arm wrestle a Krogan.
He liked her.
Sidonis winced. He, on the other hand, did not like when anyone riled up Krul. It usually ended in property damage. "That's as close to celebratory as you ever see her."
Garrus sighed in defeat, and held out a hand. Sidonis slid the drink over to him, and ordered another for himself.
"If you're gonna sit there and talk my ear off all night, I'll have a drink to shut you up." They both laughed, and the sound felt good. The team felt good.
As sad and bitter as he had been when he left C-sec, he had found something like a family here. Something warm in a galaxy full of death and shit. Human holiday or not, it was a good excuse to put aside the darkness of reality, and revel in the warmth of friendship.
And maybe Melenis… if they'd both had enough to drink…
Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
December 25, 2185 — Kaidan
One of the perks of being a Major, Kaidan didn't have to fight to get shore leave on Christmas. Not that he was terribly religious, but it was tradition. It was family. It was an excuse for everyone to sit down, shut up, and remember what they were all fighting for.
He broke tradition to take over the cooking this year. His mom threw her back out trying to get the lights up outside and he had to practically tie her to the couch to get her to stop running around and lifting things. He sipped at his beer and traded work-gossip with his dad while tending to four pots at a time on the stove. One of his mom's friends commented what a good boy he was, and he played into it by putting on a frilly yellow apron that proudly proclaimed "Best Mom".
Someone told him it was good he wasn't so full of pride he couldn't make fun of himself.
Guess Kaidan was better at acting than he thought.
Late in the evening, he got a message alert from an unknown sender. He excused himself to stand in the chilly night air to read.
To: Kaidan Alenko
Sent: 25 December 2184, 21:55 UST
From: Commander Shepard
Subject: Hey
Happy Christmas. I think you said you celebrated. Couldn't think of what to get you, so I figured I'd just say: I'm alive. Did what we had to do. I'm still working out with the Alliance when I can come home but, well, maybe we could get a drink.
-Shepard
God Damnit.
He hadn't been wrong for leaving her on Horizon. It was the right call. She was in over her head, and someone had to try to talk some sense into her. But why did it always feel like she knew more of the big picture? How was she always right in the end, even when she was so clearly wrong in the moment?
The wind picked up and chilled through his skin. His bones ached, and he realized he'd been standing outside far longer than a few minutes to catch up on messages.
He went in to get a mug of uzvar and warm up. What the hell was Christmas for if not new beginnings? Once the liquor raised his temperature and his courage, he fired off a reply.
To: Commander Shepard
Sent: 26 December 2184, 00:15 UST
From: Kaidan Alenko
Subject: Hey Yourself
Alright. But you're buying.
-Kaidan
Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
December 25, 2186 — Shepard
"Hey"
Shepard didn't turn from her vigil of the stars at the voice. She couldn't quite pull her mind back from circling around all her failures, all the losses, all the dead she had abandoned…
"Hey Yourself."
Garrus slipped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressed in the way they had discovered fit best without forcing her to turn from her thoughts. "Did you need to be alone?"
They can't know the weight of it. If they see the cracks, we lose.
"No, no. It's fine." Her voice was thin and broke with the half-whisper of it. Going on three months now, how many had died? How many had she abandoned, running around the galaxy like a kid on her first away mission?
"I got you something." She felt the thick fingers leave her waist, and heard rustling behind her.
"And it's not even my birthday."
"No," His voice beckoned her, and she turned away from the pull of the void of space. "But I hear it's someone's birthday. Read up on it, sounds like a damned confusing holiday. But I like the drinking part." He held out a small, velvet box, and Shepard's heart dropped.
A fucking proposal? Now? In the middle of their flight to Horizon? Stars, at least he wasn't down on one knee.
"That better be one hell of a strong drink, if it fits in that little box."
He laughed. She didn't detect nerves in his voice, none of the usual deflection in his humor. Maybe it wasn't a proposal. She relaxed a little, and took the box to examine it.
"I liked the gift-giving part too. Though I have to say, you're a hard woman to shop for."
She opened the box and saw an old, black metal ring, sized far too large for any of her fingers. It wasn't shiny or flashy. In fact, it looked old. Fragile. "Okay, instead of making an ass out of myself, how about you just tell me what this is?"
"It's a… I guess you could call it a Peace Ring. This one dates back to the Unification Wars. It's ah…" He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. She smiled at the gesture. It made him look soft and young, when he was nervous. "They're made with the remains of the dead on both sides of a battle. They're exchanged by Generals at the end of a war to symbolize the cost of peace."
"I'm holding Turian corpses?"
"Two-thousand-year-old Turian corpses," Garrus corrected.
Shepard stalled out on what to ask. General? Peace? Marriage? Theft? She settled on: "Shit, Garrus, doesn't this belong in a museum?"
"It's been in my family a very long time." He shrugged. "And it wasn't a very important war. Just some local skirmish that eventually lead to Cipritine. I won't bore you with the details." He widened his mandibles in an expression that told her exactly how excited he was to bore her with those details, given the invitation.
He won. She laughed. "Alright, I get it. You're a history nerd too. But why give this to me? It has to be important to your family."
"I'm not an idiot Shepard. I know what our odds look like. There's a chance we might not make it to see a happy ending. And I don't want to make you think about futures when… well."
"Thank you." She lifted onto her toes and gave him a very gentle kiss on his scarred mandible. "I love you, too."
"Remember that, no matter what we've lost, someone's going to be there at the end to forge that Peace Ring."
He wrapped his arms around her, and exhaled into her hair, holding her in the quiet starlight.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 106