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“Ham.”
“Roast.”
“Ham.”
“A roast is what you gotta have!”
Shepard sighs, then gestures toward Joker with her nearly-empty mug. “Joker, you’re a smart man, and a brilliant pilot. But who the hell has a Christmas roast? If you’re bothering to put in the effort of celebrating, then you may as well do it right.”
“Oh, you wanna talk about effort? How about finding a real pig for a ham, huh? Anything can be a roast if you use the right part, so at least us colony kids didn’t have to fight for holiday imports. It was easier to go out and kill whatever we had already local—excuse us for not acting spoiled,” Joker shoots back.
She drains the rest of her coffee. They’re in the mess, so it’s not far for a refill, but turning her back on Joker seems like an admittance of fault, somehow. And she is not at fault, nor incorrect, because Christmas is one of the few things the Alliance did right for its marines. Shepard knows Christmas, even if all the trees in her childhood memories had been artificial. And decorated with gun-related ornaments.
“Do we know yet what they’re actually arguing about?” Garrus asks, very unsubtly, from the curious crew they’d collected as an audience.
Screw this. She’s getting more coffee, because she’s not letting Joker win in public.
“Ham or roast, for something called Christmas,” Thane supplies.
“…What’s Christmas? What’s ham?”
“By context, a human holiday and a human food, respectively.”
“We’ve already searched up most of this on the extranet, but nothing to point out who’s winning,” Tali chimes in.
Shepard grinds her teeth as she waits for the galaxy’s slowest coffee machine. Cerberus dropped so many credits on the new Normandy, so why couldn’t they have upgraded the lifeline by which half the crew lives?
“I’m winning!” Joker declares from his seat at the mess table, which he somehow makes look like a throne, with all his cockiness.
“He is not,” Thane says with no pretense of subtlety. Garrus and Tali snicker.
Coffee finally retrieved, Shepard marches back to Joker, slams her mug down, and thrusts her finger in his face. “You’re wrong, Joker, because you’re missing the obvious—it’s called a Christmas ham. It’s there in the name. So obviously, that’s the right answer, and the default, too. Argument ended, point Shepard.”
Joker opens his mouth for another snappy retort, but Thane preempts him, bless his mediator heart. Sliding into the chair next to them, Thane carefully detaches Shepard’s fingers from her mug, and replaces it with a fork. He then slides a plate of reconstituted eggs in front of her.
“I know you haven’t had anything other than coffee, siha, no matter the vigor with which you two discuss foods. Is this something we ought to be planning for?”
“Huh? What would we plan for?” Shepard asks, disarmed by his usual kindness, and off guard by the question.
“This Christmas appears important to you. To you both. Perhaps to any other human crew aboard as well? And if these foods are difficult to acquire, then we could begin planning now.”
Shepard and Joker share a bewildered look. It’s Joker who replies. “No, we’re not actually doing Christmas. Celebrating, I mean. It was an argument that got kind of carried away, for almost an hour, because Shepard’s stubborn when she’s wrong. We haven’t really celebrated anything, ever, on board… Too busy shooting bad guys and saving the galaxy?”
“You act like it’s impossible to celebrate Christmas on a ship,” Shepard has to say, because it’s what her childhood winter holiday had been founded upon. Joker gives her another look, one that says he’s ready to leap back into this argument whenever she is, so she relents. “Anyway, no, this isn’t something anyone else has to worry about.”
“It isn’t a worry,” Thane assures, and takes her hand, guiding it to her plate.
She gets the hint and takes a bite of the mediocre-tasting but technically-healthy food.
Either satisfied this isn’t a true fight or disappointed the entertainment is over, Tali and Garrus take seats opposite them at the mess table. “So, are we allowed to ask now what Christmas is? The extranet had too much conflicting information, aside from the fact that it’s a human holiday, celebrated whenever December is.”
“Winter human holiday. There you go,” Joker replies. “Everything else is so personally decided that you get arguments like this.”
“It’s a deeply personal holiday, then?” Thane asks.
Shepard shrugs with one shoulder. “Well, maybe? More like there’s so many traditions and ways of doing it. Too many ways, maybe. Some things have to be adapted for colonies or being on board starships, obviously. But there’s usually family—friends too, anyone you like—and there’s food, and there’s always presents.”
“Capitalism’s favorite holiday,” Joker agrees.
Shepard levels a flat stare at him. “It’s about the spirit of giving, and showing people you care by thinking of them.”
“Yeah, if you actually do that. Most people just throw credits at a shopping list like it’s something to check off.”
“Okay, this much, I understand, because humans don’t have a monopoly on the cynicism of gift-giving,” Garrus breaks in before Round Two can begin. “Food, presents, family, specific date on the calendar. Doesn’t sound particularly defined, for a holiday that has you two up in arms like this.”
“Obviously, Christmas dinner is a big thing,” Shepard says with another sidelong look at her pilot. “Christmas ham—”
“Or a roast, y’know, for those who don’t have access to pigs or Alliance credits,” he interjects.
“There’s a big meal and there’s usually a special meat as a main course,” Shepard explains. There’s no way he can argue that much. “That’s the evening meal.”
“You can do lunch, too. Or be like my family and cook for three days straight to feed half the town for another three days straight. And there’s nothing like leftover cookies for breakfast,” Joker says, just to be contrary.
“So it’s a lot of food,” Grunt says, making both humans turn to him, because he hadn’t been here for the initial bickering. (They’ve amassed quite the crowd; looks like most of the crew is rubbernecking at this point.) “Sounds good enough. Who cares what you eat so long as you’re eating it together?”
“That’s almost sweet, you know,” Shepard replies with a grin.
“And almost a good argument about all this,” Joker grudgingly adds.
“What about the gifts? Are those also food?” Tali asks (who is also aware of Valentine’s Day and that it involves gifts of food, after coming across a Fleet & Flotilla fanfic written by a human with that premise and subsequently demanding many answers of Shepard).
“No,” Joker says at the same time Shepard says, “Sure.”
They look at each other.
“I’m sensing that this is a holiday that can vary wildly in how some celebrate it,” Thane intervenes. “Is it religious in nature?”
“Not really,” Shepard says at the same time Joker says, “Yeah, kinda.”
Grunt laughs, but Garrus steps up next to try to defuse the mystery of Christmas. Which isn’t really a mystery—it’s arguably humanity’s most famous and favored holiday! It just… has a very broad definition. And multitudes of methods of celebrating. “I heard you mention a tree earlier. Is that something you two can argue about, too?”
Warily, Shepard and Joker regard each other, wondering the same thing.
“Don’t think so,” Joker finally says. “There is a tree. A Christmas tree.” So far, Shepard can’t argue anything he’s saying. “Usually some kind of evergreen, and can be real or fake, because there’s an entire industry built up around Christmas decor. But real trees smell fantastic.”
“They shed like a bitch,” Shepard mutters.
“Why do trees shed? What do they shed?” Tali whispers to Garrus, worried.
Grinning, Shepard replies, “You decorate the tree, and that really depends on who’s doing it. There’s no rules for it. My family had a couple of old heirlooms, then there were these ugly as sin things I made from old bullet casings when I was really young. Most of the Christmases I remember we were on ships, so the tree was always set up in a communal room, so we’d end up with bits and pieces of everyone else’s families on there, too.”
Common ground finally achieved. No one would argue about someone’s tree-decorating traditions, after all.
Head cocked in thought, with a probably softer smile than he meant, Joker says, “My family’s thing was making fake snowflakes and hanging them everywhere. On the tree for sure, but also I mean everywhere. It looked like a snowstorm indoors. A really shitty snowstorm that gave you paper cuts when you tried to take them down again. But it was my sister’s favorite thing to do, and she made some really elaborate patterns.”
“You can hang up wreaths and tinsel and other things, too—oh, and mistletoe!”
“Mistletoe—parasitic plant native to European region of Earth.” Mordin, too, has apparently decided to investigate the impromptu explanation of Christmas. “What’s the significance?”
“You kiss under it,” Shepard explains, nudging Thane. “It’s a romantic thing, but only sometimes. You’re supposed to have to kiss if you get caught with someone else under it. It’s funny if it’s on accident—apparently, a few years back, it was banned in public spaces on Alliance vessels because of a few too many of those accidents. It’s in good fun, but marines have zero sense of chill when it comes to pranks.”
“Fascinating. Had no idea mistletoe had aphrodisiac properties,” Mordin murmurs.
“It doesn’t—it’s just a tradition,” she’s quick to correct. “No idea how the tradition started, either, so don’t ask. I don’t know how a lot of Christmas traditions started. Humanity just… evolves these things, all the time, and then they evolve wildly differently and you get arguments like this.”
“It seems important to you,” Thane replies. Garrus and Tali nod in emphatic agreement. “Should we celebrate this on board the Normandy this year?”
Again, Shepard and Joker exchange a look. But this time, it’s not of wariness or combative arguments waiting to happen. It’s thoughtful.
“I guess we’re not Alliance anymore, huh? We don’t have to follow their old rules about trees and allowed decor and mistletoe and time off,” Shepard reasons.
“And we can charge all this stuff to the Illusive Man. I know he’s not looking at our expense reports, not after I got EDI to label something as ‘enough durian to suffocate the Normandy crew’,” Joker agrees. “I call dibs on teaching the aliens how to make paper snowflakes!”
Thank god he didn’t actually try to order durian. Shepard may have had to have tossed him out the airlock herself. “You’ll have to find real paper.”
“No problem! Charging everything to the Illusive Man, remember? With a blank credit chit, I’ve found a lot of things are possible.”
“I like the way you think,” Tali says, smile in her voice.
Well, looks as if the Normandy is celebrating Christmas. Accordingly, Shepard mentally arms herself for more bickering with Joker.
—
It wasn’t Joker she had to worry about.
Shepard has no clue who the original culprit had been—given Tali’s enthusiasm, she is inclined to blame her, though it’s hard to blame someone like Tali without concrete guilt (and even then, pretty damn difficult)—but the notion of celebrating Christmas on the Normandy has snowballed. Terribly.
“You’re supposed to go skiing!” Tali insists for the nth time.
“I want hot cocoa,” Grunt demands, slamming his fists on the mess table. He dents it. “With marshmallows.” Whoever taught the krogan about hot chocolate is on her shit list, she decides.
“If we are putting together our desires for how to celebrate this broadly-defined holiday, then I would like to try the human food fruitcake,” Thane adds.
Shepard groans, hand to her forehead. “First, I’m not subjecting you to fruitcake, Thane. I love you too much for that.” She doesn’t pause to explain, leaving him looking particularly confused, and continues, “Grunt, you’ll get yours, because cocoa is great and actually doable. We’ll make sure to get some dextro stuff, too. Tali, you’re not going skiing. I don’t know where you looked that up, but it requires snow, and slopes, and skis, and—it happens on a planet! Or a very fancy resort, anyway.”
“I wanted to see snow someplace that isn’t Noveria,” Garrus mutters, crestfallen, but Tali is absolutely undeterred.
“I have looked up this place on Earth where Christmas is most celebrated with snow! It’s called Aspen, and it’s very famous for skiing!” she insists.
“Why are we suddenly going to Earth for Christmas?”
“When Mordin discovered that there’s a rainforest in the Pacific Northwest of the US,” Joker supplies.
“I have received additional requests for our Christmas planning,” EDI chimes in, then proceeds to worsen Shepard’s exasperation. “Miranda has demanded a group activity called a Secret Santa with a strict credit budget, Jack wished for me to remind everyone that she had a difficult childhood and has thus publicly posted an extensive wishlist for presumed gift ideas for her, Tali has requested bookings with three different ski resorts in the continental United States on Earth, Kasumi claims her greatest holiday wish is to settle a score with a particular person named ‘Mall Santa’ in—”
“It’s a mall Santa, and it’s a very personal grudge spanning several decades!” Kasumi interrupts.
“Kasumi, you aren’t several decades old,” Shepard flatly replies.
“…Is this a grudge from when you were a child?” Garrus asks after a beat.
Kasumi refuses to elaborate.
“Continuing the list of requests,” EDI continues, a little petulantly, if AI can get petulant at being interrupted, “Legion requests personal anecdotes related to Christmas from the human crew of the Normandy as well as a museum trip, if available, for research and understanding purposes. Samara requested a copy of popular and historical Earth music regarding the holiday, which I have already supplied her with. Garrus has searched with thirty-eight different terms about topics related to ‘snow’, ‘Earth climate’, ‘Earth snow’, ‘snow angel’, ‘snowman’, ‘why are there beings made of snow on Earth’—”
“Okay, you don’t have to tattle on every little extranet search the crew does, you know that?” Garrus irritably interrupts. “And I’m allowed to look up all of the weird terms Shepard and the other humans use. Saves us all some time and me a lot of embarrassment.”
EDI makes another petulant sound. (Shepard snickers anyway, to Garrus’ clear embarrassment.) “There are also multiple requests for specific food and drink items, most of them native to Earth. Regarding these requests and the caloric needs of the current crew, it would be far too much food to procure for one specific date.”
“That’s the whole point of human holidays—way too much food,” Joker replies.
“This is getting out of hand,” Shepard sighs, but considering the excitement and confusion this has created, she can’t help but be a little endeared. It’s rare the entire crew rallies around one thing. Even rarer when that thing isn’t bloodshed or a good gun. And hey—she likes Christmas, too. It’s been too damn long since she’s been able to properly celebrate anything other than a good shot.
“So,” Tali says, sidling up, “we’re totally going to Earth to investigate human Christmas, right?”
“You’ll break your leg if you try skiing.”
“No, no, my people actually had something very similar on Rannoch, if I’m understanding those demonstrative vids properly! Which I also have not done, but if my people did it, then I must try it. And snow is soft! And—it’s my immune system that’s broken, Shepard, not my skeleton. I’ll be fine! And you can show me how it’s done!”
“I’ve never been skiing in my life.”
“Then we can both learn!”
“If we’re going to Earth, I have other plans,” Shepard replies. “EDI, compile a list of all of the stuff we’d have to buy, and then try to put together some sort of cohesive list of where everyone wants to visit on Earth. This does not mean you can start adding shit!” She adds the last part pointedly, since damn near everyone present had opened up their omnitools to begin typing. “This is a vacation and a holiday, yes. But we can’t get carried away. We get a week there, and I’m putting my foot down on that.”
“You can do a lot with a week of shore leave,” Garrus reasons.
“And you’re paying for everything planetside by yourselves!” Shepard adds.
“…You can do significantly less than I was envisioning with a week of shore leave and no black credit chit financing from the Illusive Man,” he amends.
“If you’re being amenable to our holiday wishes, then I’d like to reiterate my curiosity about fruitcake. Why are you so against it, siha?” Thane asks, tugging her sleeve. “I’ve looked up the ingredients and the cooking process. It looks fine?”
She can’t help but wrinkle her nose at the less-than-fond memory. One Christmas tradition she could firmly live without. “Fruitcake is one of the worst foods humanity has ever prepared, and I am comparing it against that fermented shark stuff. You’re not allowed to divorce me if I let you try it.”
Thane smiles and points out, “We’re not married. Yet. You’re only worsening my curiosity over this, however—I won’t hold it against you if I end up hating it, but I’m quite determined to try it, now.”
And they both know perfectly well that despite all his chivalry, Thane is stubborn; she can’t stop him if he puts his mind to smuggling fruitcake aboard the Normandy.
So she can only shrug in defeat. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Hope you like cloyingly sweet, overly dense baked goods.”
“I have yet to meet a baked good I did not like in some regard. And I look forward to trying more human cuisine, if we really are visiting Earth.”
Looking out at the collection of overly excited crew, Shepard knows they’re going to have to. She’s not in the business of breaking hearts, after all. “Yeah, we really are. EDI, iron it out for us, and Joker, you get to pick the landing port. Pick wisely.”
“On it, boss!” Joker replies, too excited. She really shouldn’t have trusted his grin, but distracted as she is by subjecting her alien crew to fruitcake, Shepard inadvertently lets it slide.
—
“This place looks like Illium!” Tali exclaims.
“A cheaper Illium, maybe,” Garrus corrects, side-eying a palm tree wrapped in garish tinsel. “Why’s Joker so hyped up about this place?”
Shepard, who hasn’t stopped sighing yet, finally relents in audibly creating her disappointment for her pilot. “Welcome to Vegas, everyone. Earth’s home to capitalism, glitz, gambling, and Elvis-sponsored elopements. There better not be any of the latter here.”
“What’s Elvis?” Grunt whispers behind her.
It’s not actually that terrible—what makes it terrible is the smugness Joker emanates. Nevada is fairly central to the United States, and suits her plans pretty well, as well as Tali’s. It’s better than getting hauled back to Toronto and dealing with all of the starry-eyed marines at the base there, but now they’re dealing with starry-eyed tourists in the port, who are gawking like they’ve never seen a group of highly-armed misfits before. (She probably should’ve told everyone to leave their guns on the ship.)
“It’s warm here,” Thane observes, tilting his head to the sky, where a sunset has painted the clouds pink and orange. “And pleasantly dry. Didn’t we fly over a portion of desert in our descent?”
“Vegas is out in the middle of the desert, buddy. An oasis of every vice known to mankind—and plenty known to aliens, too, I’m guessing,” Joker replies.
Jack leaps off the gangway behind them, pumping her fists, and nearly crashes into Legion in her enthusiasm. “Fuck yes! Vegas! Goodbye, losers, I’m about to go fuck this place up!”
“How crass,” Miranda mutters, but Jack is too lost in her own excitement to even notice. Telling.
“I saw an ad for a biotic wrestling tournament when we were waiting to disembark,” Kasumi points out, which answers that question. Shepard sincerely hopes Jack doesn’t end up in jail over this. “Well, everyone, I will see you all in a week, and sincerely hope you all have as much fun as I’ll have here.”
“Didn’t peg you for the gambling type,” Jacob says, brow raised, but even this is not enough to dampen Kasumi’s grin.
Lacing her fingers together beneath her chin, adopting the fakest innocent look in the galaxy, she sweetly replies, “Do you know how many vaults there are in these casinos who have the gall to claim that they’re impenetrable?”
Scratch her earlier thought—Shepard sincerely hopes Kasumi doesn’t end in jail this week.
“I hope you all have a fun shore leave—and Christmas lead-up—but just be sure to meet back here in a week. I don’t care what you do until then, and if I’m called by the cops, I have no idea what you were doing, either,” Shepard announces, then loops her arm in Thane’s. “We are headed out! Don’t set anything on fire while we’re gone. Or end up in jail.”
“You just said you didn’t care what we did,” Grunt points out.
“Let me have at least those two.”
Smiling with his own brand of subtle excitement, Thane tugs on their connected arms. Shepard grins back at him and waves off her chaotic crew—whatever happens, it’s out of her jurisdiction now. She only has one focus for the next week, and it’s the man on her arm. (And maybe also doing the same two things she’d advised the others to avoid. Shit, should she have told them no broken bones or injuries? To her knowledge, Tali still wants to try skiing…)
“This week is supposed to be about fun and relaxation,” Thane reminds her as if he’s read her mind.
Working their way through the holiday and tourist crowds, they head out of the port, into the bright Nevada daylight. They both squint against the sudden sun, but Thane looks as if he’s gone instantly into basking mode, rather than Shepard’s own I Spend Too Much Time On Starships So Holy Shit Actual Sunlight Kinda Hurts mode. Thane hails them a taxi, nominally leading the way, though Shepard has told him exactly zero things about her plans.
That’s about to change.
A little.
“So,” she starts, unable to hide her own excitement, “you’ve correctly deduced that we’re leaving the area.”
“I’ve seen you poring over various maps of Earth since you’ve announced we’re headed here. You weren’t subtle, siha, but I did my best to restrain my increasing curiosity and let you have your secrets.”
“I have exactly three things planned out for us in the next week. One of them is the end location, don’t worry. Only one other is confirmed-confirmed, the other sort of depends on our trip…” It’s harder to explain without explaining than she thought, but Thane nods along like he understands perfectly, thank god.
Their taxi arrives, and Shepard plugs in the address to the biggest skycar rental depot into the VI driver. Thane raises a brow, but doesn’t ask, content to let her have her surprises.
Good—she thinks he’ll enjoy these. (She hopes he enjoys these.)
“We’ll have to split up briefly,” Shepard says, purposefully vague, just to hammer home the idea of surprises and unknowns to him. There are never many unknowns for a man like Thane Krios; let her enjoy them while she can. “You can pick out our rental. We’ll need it for the week, we’re not skipping out on the deadline or coming back early. Pick something nice, since we’ve confirmed that the Illusive Man hasn’t been looking at receipts.”
“I thought you said everyone pays for their own way once we were planetside,” Thane points out with amusement in his deep voice.
She shrugs. “Perks of being the CO of the Normandy.”
They arrive at the rental depot, and Shepard leaves their duffel bags with Thane, ducking back into the taxi for another quick trip. She’d thought about walking, but leave it to her assassin lover to somehow procure a skycar rental and tail her. She doesn’t think Thane would ruin the surprise for himself, but she does think he would have fun making a point of showing her that he could.
She’d do the same thing in his shoes, so no blame there.
—
They cruise down the interstate at a good clip. To Shepard’s happy surprise, Thane had chosen a convertible skycar, so they have the top down to rub in the fact that they’re on an actual planet and can enjoy the sharp breeze in their hair. Well, her hair. Thane remains in basking mode, even if the wind is chill at this speed. She’ll have a hell of a time brushing her hair out later, but for the moment: worth it.
Shepard had demanded driving rights and he had put up no argument. She hasn’t driven in… Well, a literal lifetime. (Does this mean her license is technically invalid, since she died?) They have their bags—and the two more she’d purchased earlier—strapped into the back and music is technically on, if lost to the wind. It’s about the aesthetic of blaring music while cruising with the top down, anyway. She doesn’t even know what’s popular on Earth or in human space.
They’ve been driving for just under and hour and passed maybe three other vehicles. Outside of tourist destinations, there isn’t much traffic or population density on this section of the planet. She knew that, but is still surprised at how quickly the evidence of people vanished. Desert stretches out on either side of them, mesas breaking up the horizon in the distance, small splashes of color in the form of towering cacti and wildflowers passing by in a blur. Most of the scenery remains sand, sand, and more sand.
Well, pretty sand, at least. If sand can be pretty? It is pretty, she decides, because it’s not the usual hustle and bustle of ports, nor the inside of a ship. It’s a vacation. That’s vacation sand.
It’s no time at all before Thane places a hand on her knee to catch her attention. When she inclines her head toward him, he leans over to press a chaste kiss to her cheek. (No venom while driving, they’d both agreed on.) “Thank you for putting this together, siha. I’m quite curious to see what you have planned for me.” The implication in his deep voice is unmistakable.
“None of my plans actually involve sex,” she replies, dryly amused, “but it’s far from off the table. This is meant to be played fast and loose, so whatever happens, let’s let it happen.”
“I’m fine with a free schedule, but it only heightens my curiosity about the three things you do have planned,” he hums.
She grins at him. “The first one’s today, no matter what. The second one is in about two days. The third is… whenever we find one.”
“Ominous,” Thane replies with obvious amusement.
They drive until the sun passes its peak overhead. Shepard keeps her eyes on the horizon for a good stopping point, but as soon as she again realizes how empty the surrounding desert is, she realizes that they’ll have to make a place for themselves.
She pulls over and coasts the skycar down the gentle ditch. It’s more rocky than sandy here, with a thatch of various cacti and a smattering of bright purple wildflowers. It’s pretty enough for her first surprise.
She hastily combs her fingers through her wild hair as Thane invests himself in peering at a particularly tall cactus.
“First surprise! We’re having a desert picnic!” Shepard declares, catching his attention again. She hops out of the skycar, only to lean over the back to dig out one of the bags she’d bought. She catches Thane eyeing her bent form appreciatively, but she rolls her eyes with good humor, before thrusting the plastic bag at him. “Let me grab the blanket to spread out, and you decide which… cactus you want to sit by.” In her opinion, he can pick the tall one, the short fat one, or the crooked flat one. She has no clue and little care for what they are outside of untouchable.
“There are three different types in the immediate vicinity,” Thane supplies with a smile.
“Have you done your research?”
“I had to be looking up things while you were buried in your own research. I had no idea Earth deserts hosted so much variety in flora, however.” He picks a spot by the crooked flat one. At least it has a few bright pink buds, so it’s… pretty?
Shepard spreads out the blanket—it’s the one from her bed, but a picnic is a picnic even if you didn’t have the cutesy gingham ones—and they settle in to a late lunch. From the convenience store, she’d grabbed an eclectic array of Foods They’ll Actually Eat, Really Bizarre Earth Foods, and Novelty Holiday Treats. There’s more than they could possibly eat in one sitting, or even one day, but she’s perfectly fine munching on this for as long as it lasts. (Especially those holiday-themed asari sugar cookies; she’d been thinking fondly of them since she’d paid for the box.)
“This is…” Thane trails off as he scans the picnic choices. “Interesting.”
“This isn’t traditional picnic food, and I wouldn’t even say most of this is traditional Earth or human food,” she replies and he visibly relaxes. “You don’t have to try anything you don’t want to, I know some of this looks weird. That’s why I bought it!” She holds up a breaded and fried pickle. Its packaging is green and red striped for the holiday.
“I know many think hanar food to be strange,” Thane says, “and it is.” Somehow, she’d assumed he’d defend it a little more, rather than outright admit it. “So surely, this cannot be so bizarre…?”
He picks up a neon-packaged thing that calls itself a cotton candy burrito.
Thane sets it back down after a weighted moment.
Shepard can’t help but laugh when he murmurs, “I stand corrected.”
“You don’t have to eat that one, then! Unless you’re feeling braver later.” She scoots it away from him, though thinking about it, she’s not thrilled with the idea, either. Wouldn’t it be entirely sugar?
Out of the biting wind, the day is warm. Shepard wouldn’t call it hot by any stretch of the imagination, but in the sun, it’s warm enough to be past comfortable and well into pleasant. Thane picks very carefully through the food options—which is endearing in its own right, since he had never been a picky eater aboard the Normandy before, but she had gotten a few particularly adventurous choices pretty much as jokes—and just as carefully ensures that she also has a selection of more normal choices. Most of the holiday stuff are sweets, and most look harmless enough, but it’s obvious he has reservations about the brightly-colored packages. And possibly reservations about that much sugar in one sitting. Even she does.
“I’ve never had a picnic before,” Shepard remarks, conversational, polishing off her (normal) sandwich. “And I’d figured you hadn’t, either. I know you’ve been wanting to visit Earth, and it’s been awhile since I’ve been here, and I’ve never been here, but I knew this region was pretty warm and dry. And it has the other two surprises in this area.”
“You continue to intrigue me. I like this picnic idea of yours. I’ve had meals in a similar setting, years ago, but never somewhere like this. And never with such a… variety of foods.”
“I told you, you don’t have to eat everything! Seeing you sneer at deep fried grasshoppers is is enough fun.”
“I’d hate to waste food you purchased for us.” And just as clearly, he doesn’t wish to subject her to some of these. What a gentleman.
“We won’t be wasting any—most—of it. And I didn’t buy anything I wouldn’t try, at least.” Even if she’s regretting maybe a couple of the novelty choices by now. Las Vegas had an intimidatingly large array of strange foods, after all. But she’ll never let him know she’s second-guessing her earlier enthusiasm. “We can bring the leftovers back for Grunt. I haven’t seen anything he hasn’t eaten yet.”
“Are any of these traditional Christmas foods? Even the holiday-themed ones seem… odd. Neither you nor Joker had mentioned any of these,” Thane points out as he reads over a package of some sort of candied fruit.
“No, I don’t think any of this counts. And I even looked for some fruitcake for you, but they didn’t have any. I was constrained by the fact that we’d be eating in a picnic setting, too, so it wasn’t as if I could get anything that needed to be frozen or heated.”
He glances over at the cactus to their right. “This is prickly pear fruit. Isn’t that one?”
“I… don’t know anything about cacti? Is that one?” She knows prickly pear cactus exist. And she knows that that is a bag of candied prickly pear.
“It appears so. I’m happy to try regional specialties.”
With something like determination (which she privately thinks is adorable), he pops two into his mouth. Thane’s face is inscrutable as he chews. Those fruits had been straddling the Foods They’ll Actually Eat and the Really Bizarre Earth Foods categories, so she hopes they’re not terrible. But she can’t read his expression at all.
Solemnly, Thane announces, “These are delicious.”
That has her grinning all over again.
But a flash of dark-colored motion out of the corner of her eye has her freezing.
Thane reacts to her reaction, going still, bag still in his hand and another piece of candied fruit halfway to his mouth. At a glacial pace, Shepard turns, so she can be sure of what she’d glimpsed—and she’d be right.
A squat, black lizard with thick orange mottling is regarding their picnic with barely concealed interest.
At their stillness, it takes another trundling step forward, tongue flicking out in the direction of an opened (and ditched) cheesy corn dog.
With the same slow movement, Shepard raises one finger. She slowly tilts it over toward the lizard, then mouths, “One, two…”
At her “three”, Thane snaps it up in his biotics.
The lizard hisses and thrashes ineffectually. Thane keeps it just over the ground, safe and away from them and their food (even if she’s inclined to give it that admittedly gross corn dog), and furrows his brow in confusion at the animal. “I know we are outside and far from human habitation, and Earth has many braver creatures than much of the galaxy has, but I had not expected to be accosted while on our picnic.”
Contrary to Thane’s consternation, Shepard is beaming. She is thrilled. “I can’t believe our luck!”
“Our luck? Is this creature important to you, siha!”
To Thane’s shock, Shepard reaches over and seizes the lizard from his biotic hold. She gets a hand over each of its forelegs and ensures it can’t get her with its hind legs or tail, then proffers it to him like she’s showing off a puppy. “This is a gila monster! This is actually your second surprise!”
Thane regards the lizard dubiously. Very dubiously. “I appreciate your intent, and I admit that its coloration is striking, but I’m not sure about taking home a live animal as a souvenir, siha.”
“We’re not keeping it.”
Satisfied he doesn’t have to lecture her on taking home wild animals—though she had gotten enough of the No You Can’t Have A Pet talks from her parents growing up to not need another—Thane cocks his head at her. He reaches out toward the gila monster, but it snaps at his finger. “I’d like to hear your reasoning for this one. As I mentioned, it’s a striking creature, but I’m confused about this surprise.”
Shepard smiles, a little helpless, and tells him, “Gila monsters are one of Earth’s only venomous lizards. And they’re only found in this region. This sounded better in my head, but… Drell are pretty rare by galactic standards, just like this little guy. And I’m really glad that I had the luck to run into you, and you’re my favorite venomous lizard. I know you’re not technically a lizard, it’s a metaphor! I wanted to show you one of these and give you a speech about how much it means to me that we met and got together and fell in love, throw in some stuff about the statistics that it could’ve happened, but I wasn’t expecting to run into this right now, so I don’t have much of my thoughts very organized, sorry.”
Thane’s smile is full of the adoration that always catches her off guard. He picks the squirming gila monster out of her grasp with his biotics and sets it down a safe distance from their blanket. (It scuttles away with a hiss, though neither notice.) “For claiming your thoughts are in disarray, they’ve touched my heart. Your sincerity is more important, and more charming, and greater in every way than any composed speech you could’ve created. Not that I’d be against hearing your full attempt later.”
She opens her mouth to retort, but he scoots closer, and places a finger against her lips.
“I love you more than I thought possible, siha, and I also am infinitely grateful to the galaxy’s unfriendly statistics for allowing us to meet. You’re my favorite hairless mammal.”
She snorts a laugh, unsure how offended she ought to be. “Not very romantic, there, but you’ve made your point. Never call me that again.”
“It is technically correct,” he informs her with a smile, before leaning over to kiss her.
She’ll let it slide, both because she called him a venomous lizard, and because she doesn’t mind the taste of prickly pear secondhand like this.
—
The American Southwest is about as anti-Christmas-scenery as you can get, Shepard finds.
She also finds she doesn’t mind it at all.
The weather remains stably warm and the scenery is subtle in how it changes. It’s still sand and rocks and cacti and the occasional wildflower or distant mesa, but it’s colorful, vibrant in a way she hadn’t expected. She hadn’t expected to hate this trip by any stretch, but she’s enjoying the views more than she thought she would. Especially the sunsets (and sunrises, though she’s loath to be up at that time). It looks like a painting.
They’ve taken turns driving—Thane is as a precise driver as she’d expect—and have broken up the long drive whenever they’d found a rest stop. Most of them are catered to tourists and transport drivers, but there’s more weird food to be had, and plenty of people marveling at a drell. Thane turns out to be very popular during those breaks.
And while he’s polite and cordial to curious humans (and a pair of honeymooning turians), Thane makes it equally clear that he’s here with her. She’d almost call it showing off, except in civvies and with her hair tied back in a scarf to mitigate the worst of the wind tangles, no one has recognized her as the Commander Shepard yet. Most of these curious people see her as the lucky human woman who’s snagged a highly devoted alien man.
That’s how she sees herself, too, so that’s fine.
Thane makes a few more remarks about his curiosity about her final surprise—she didn’t plan on blowing through two in one sitting on the first day, but he has never once seemed bored with all of the driving or similar scenery—but this had been the easiest secret to keep.
She ensures she’s driving on the last day. The first two surprises, despite Thane’s intrigue and unintentional hype of them, were pleasant but sort of mundane. This last one is on a grander scale, but also… sort of mundane, isn’t it? Shepard wouldn’t say she’s anxious, and not quite nervous, either, but she hopes this isn’t a letdown. Almost three days of hype and secrets tends to build things up more than they deserve. Right?
They pass by the first highway sign mentioning their destination. Thane’s dozing, so he misses that one. The second one, she points out a spread of blue and purple wildflowers on the other side of the road, so hopefully, he misses it again.
She doesn’t want to blindfold him. Wouldn’t that lend too much excitement? But she wishes these damned signs would shut up already. Relics of the past—every vehicle these days comes with fifty options for GPS and VI assistants, so they don’t need highway signs anymore.
It’s just after noon when they finally arrive.
And it’s not exactly what Shepard had been expecting, either.
“We’re here?” Thane asks as she takes the exit and slows the skycar. He looks around at the low buildings and sparse houses.
“Close your eyes until we find the sign,” she orders, and he indulges her, leaning back in his seat with his lips curved into a smile and his black eyes lightly closed.
The town is small, far smaller than she’d expected, even driving through the near-empty desert the past few days. Shepard’s too used to bustling ports like the Citadel or Illium. The town’s official border sign says the population is just under seven thousand. Wow.
“Alright, we’re here!” Shepard declares and rolls the skycar to a stop beside the big, touristy sign.
Thane reopens his eyes to find themselves in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico.
“Okay, this one needs some explanations, too, like the gila monster,” Shepard says before he can say anything. She hops over the skycar’s door and gestures at the large almost-billboard. “This is a really fancy, ominous town name, right? ‘Truth or Consequences’. I figured it sort of fit you, too?” Despite having three days to mentally prepare this so-called speech, she finds herself tripping over her own thoughts. “You’re always very philosophical, and I know you place a lot of importance on the concepts of truth and consequences of your actions, and I saw the name of this place, and figured I could take you here. It matches you, in that very serious, thoughtful way. I know this seems like another superficial comparison, but if it’s any consolation, I thought this was really cool name of a town, and when we first met, I thought you were pretty cool, too. I still think you are. And anyway, this is only half of this last surprise!”
Thane blinks slowly at the sign. It’s another relic of the past, an actual wooden sign, painted with a backdrop of a desert sunset behind the bold words TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES.
“I love it,” he seriously declares. “I had no idea humanity could name places with such evocative phrases.”
A small part of her also hoped that since it was a fancy name, it would also pique the interest of the inner poet. It’s certainly not a normal town name by any human standards.
“I’m sure you’d say you’d like anywhere I’d take you, but…” She trails off with a self-depreciative chuckle.
Thane meets her beside the sign and cups her cheek so she faces him. “That’s not true,” he honestly tells her, with a wry smirk, “I’d hate to be taken to a humid rainforest, or diving in the ocean without gear, or to anywhere with half as many thresher maws as you claim to have fought in the past. My love for you is unconditional. My preferences are not. That said, this entire trip has demonstrated your thoughtfulness and has been catered to me. Every moment of this has proven how much work and thought you’ve put into this. I’m more grateful for this trip, and for you in my life, than I can accurately proclaim.”
Her face feels way too warm, but she budges into his hand, melting with what is surely the galaxy’s silliest, fondest smile. “Too bad, our next trip was going to be a humid rainforest next to a really good diving spot. You’ll have to plan it next time, instead.”
“I’d love few things more.”
“Part of this is that I want to take pictures in front of the sign with you. I bought us santa hats and ugly sweaters—those are Christmas traditions. But let’s get checked into the hotel first, so I can show you the other half of this surprise.”
After a quick kiss, Thane confesses with too much sincerity, “You spoil me, siha.”
Despite its tiny size, this is technically a resort town. There are a handful of other skycars in the parking lot, but the place is far from busy, and they check in with little fanfare. (Thane chuckles at the way she signs Alison Gunn on the receipt, but sue her. She hadn’t wanted to use her real name and get way too much attention when they’re supposed to be on vacation.)
Their room itself is spacious, warmly decorated (with a bit of tinsel around the bedposts to be festive) and brightly lit with floor-to-ceiling windows, but the real purpose is the fenced-in yard attached to the sliding door. A rocky path leads out to what appears to be a pond.
“So, this town is famous for its weird name, but it’s also famous because of its natural hot springs,” Shepard says and slides up behind him as he regards the odd yard. She wraps her arms around his waist. “I know you can’t do saunas and most hot springs, but I figured, since it’s outside, the humidity can’t get too high. And it’s private—that’s why I didn’t say we had to pack swimsuits.”
“Your thoughtfulness continues to awe me, siha. I love it.”
Despite her occasional misgivings about the grandness of her surprises (and the oddity of the food), the sheer adoration in his voice proves that all of the planning was worth it.
“And I love you,” Thane adds, turning so he can give her a kiss.
They’re not driving back until tomorrow, so the venom embargo has been lifted—so Shepard returns the kiss with fervor. She manages an “I love you too” between breaths.
As always, Thane reads her easily, despite her somewhat fumbled words.
—
They manage to get all the way to four in the morning (local time) the next day before EDI reports the casualties of their crew’s shore leave: Jack had been detained (but won the tournament), Miranda was upset at having to bail Jack out, Tali was fine but Garrus broke an arm, Legion has been banned from every single casino in Las Vegas, and due to a mix-up in shipping they would be getting neither a roast nor a ham delivered in time to the Normandy for Christmas.
Shepard blinks blearily at her omnitool, then turns it off, rolls over, and tucks herself back into Thane’s embrace.
That can all wait. They’re on vacation, and while she’s proud that her crew lasted that long without emergency, nothing can’t wait another couple of days for their proper return. Their vacation had been unorthodox, and their Christmas even more so, but that’s fine. That’s how the Normandy crew operated. They could make their own Christmas traditions (minus the detainments and broken bones, hopefully) going forward.