Afghanistan, 2003
They finish the job on Christmas Eve and return to base early on Christmas morning. It takes Steve completely by surprise when one of the guys mentions the date—he hadn't given it any thought. But it's not that Christmas has held any importance in his life ever since he left home. He knows that for most guys the holidays are the hardest time of their tours, but Steve hasn't been home for Christmas or spent the holidays with his family—or what's left of it—for 10 years. He hadn't expected it to be any different this year or any time soon. So he just nods in acknowledgement and shrugs it off.
Their convoy passes the checkpoint and makes its way through the camp towards the motor pool. Once the vehicles have stopped, the team disembarks quickly and silently. They've spent all night on the road and have been awake much longer; they are all exhausted and hoping to catch a moment or two of sleep before the inevitable marathon of debriefings starts.
Steve is tired to a point where everything seems too sharp. The sunlight too bright, the wind too cold, the noises around them too loud. Maybe that's why the music that is broadcast over the camp's speaker system seems louder than it should be, too. No, he thinks, that's wrong, there shouldn't be any music playing at all. Then it clicks—it's Christmas songs!
He shakes his head in disbelief, pulls his scarf up a little higher against the wind and picks up his gear. He squints to see if Freddie is ready and when he's right beside Steve, they start walking towards their quarters. On their way Steve can't help but notice that the camp is scattered with improvised Christmas decorations, there are Santa hats and stockings and garlands on every imaginable surface. He briefly wonders who bothers with putting them up, doesn't that make it worse when you're homesick already?
"Look at that," Freddie says and points towards one of the armored vehicles that is parked a little to the side. The thing is set up to imitate a Christmas tree, complete with Christmas ornaments and sugar canes and garlands and Christmas lights. There's even a huge star on top and Steve can't help but laugh, because it's funny and also awfully tasteless at the same time.
The Christmas music seems to be omnipresent, it follows them all the way from the motor pool to the living quarters, along the maze of corridors, even into their room and it's bordering on becoming annoying. Bing Crosby crooning about dreaming of a White Christmas and Santa Claus coming to town couldn't feel more out of place on the moon. It also amplifies the slighty dissociative feeling from the severe lack of sleep that gets harder and harder to ignore.
Steve drops his stuff unceremoniously on the floor inside their room, yawns heartily and wants nothing more than to collapse headlong onto his cot and sleep for the next day or ten. He probably would have, if Freddie hadn't clapped him on the back, hard, and said "Come on, chew time! Let's see if Santa has put something nice on the menu for us!"
By the time they're sitting in the mess hall and Steve has downed his first cup of hot black coffee, he feels a lot better and is actually grateful that Freddie dragged him here. He still doesn't have much of an appetite, but he is hungry and knows he needs the fuel. So he digs into the undefinable mush on his tray that's supposed to be eggs and listens with half an ear to Freddie and Cole exchanging Christmas anecdotes from home. He doesn't have anything to contribute to this particular conversation, so he keeps his head down and hopes that no one will try and ask him to share any stories of his own. It makes him think though, and Steve makes a mental note to find some time later to send an email with Christmas greetings to his Dad and Aunt Deb and Mary.
The noise level in the mess hall is thankfully loud enough to drown out most of the Christmas music, and maybe it's because he just thought of his family that the words don't register immediately. But when he picks them up over the noise he strains his ears and tries to tune out the babble of voices and the clinking of cutlery—it's still Bing Crosby playing, and Steve recognizes the song easily.
Mele Kalikimaka is the thing to say on a bright Hawaiian Christmas Day
Just two words, long forgotten, that still sound so very familiar, that still hold meaning and that hit him like a sucker punch. Words that conjure images that have been hidden in the back of his mind for years, and all of a sudden, in the middle of a mess hall in freaking Afghanistan, he remembers.
He remembers his childhood home, the fake Christmas tree that his parents always placed next to the stairs and the Christmas cookies that his Mom used to bake. He remembers their traditional family picnic on the beach, his Dad and Uncle Joe wearing Santa hats, his Mom handing out drinks and sun screen and using every free minute to capture the day on her video camera. He remembers standing in the shallow surf with Mary and a bunch of other kids, watching Santa passing by in his canoe that might or might not haven been pulled by dolphins. He remembers long evenings with his family and their friends—ohana—with music and a bonfire and—
"Hey, McGarrett, you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost!" An elbow to his side and Freddie's booming voice next to him bring him back to reality harshly. He looks from Freddie to Cole and back, realizing that they must have talked to him, that he had zoned out for a moment.
"I'm fine," Steve says, more gruffly than necessary, and rubs his hands over his face, trying to focus. A part of him doesn't want to let go of the memories just yet. They were good times, he'd had a good childhood, he'd been a lucky kid—until the day it all went to hell.
"Nah, man, he looks like he's been dreaming of his sweetheart," Cole teases and winks at him, but Steve is not in the mood for this kind of banter.
"Been thinking of home," he says and hates how much a stupid Christmas song can get under his skin. He does notice Freddie looking at him with raised eyebrows, but chooses to ignore him.
"I totally get that, man," Cole says, an apologetic tone in his voice. "Hard time to be away from home."
Haven't been home in 10 years, Steve wants to tell him, yell at him, because all of a sudden he's sad, and he's angry. The memories have taken him completely by surprise, have opened old wounds that he hadn't known were still hurting. They have made him acutely aware of what he has lost, of what it is that makes it so hard for all the other guys and girls to be away from home at Christmas. And the thing is: they're gonna miss one year and be back home for the next season. Steve isn't so sure he even has a home anymore.
"I'm gonna hit the sack, I'm exhausted," he says instead and pushes his chair back abruptly. He knows it's not Cole's fault, and he shouldn't behave like an ass, but it hurts and he doesn't know how to deal right now.
"Alright, see you later," Freddie says, "sweet dreams." Steve can clearly see the concern on his face now. He is grateful that Freddie knows him so well and doesn't ask.
"Yeah," Cole says, "Merry Christmas, McGarrett!" If he's taken aback by Steve's reactions, he doesn't show it.
"Mele Kalikimaka," Steve says as he grabs his tray and stands. He doesn't wait for an answer and all but flees the mess hall.