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2158 - Shepard Ranch, Wyoming, Earth, Sol System
Rhys Shepard is six years old when he discovers family isn’t defined by blood alone.
He stands hesitantly in the doorway and bites his lip; the weight of his question almost more than he can bear. “Gramma?”
Wiping her hands on a towel, Evelyn Shepard turns towards him. She takes a knee – she always does when speaking to him – so they are eye to eye, but there’s a ready and welcome smile on her lips. Beckoning with one hand, she invites him closer. “Yes, dear?”
He slides across the floor in his socks, like the skaters he, Gramma, and Grandpa saw at the lake last week, not nearly so graceful but it works. Papa had told him about the lake, how the water would freeze, and people would play hockey or skate to music. Papa’s stories had all sounded so wondrous, and the real thing had been. Rhys just wishes Papa had been there too.
Only, Papa had died, and Mama…
“Where’s…” His voice is soft and he pulls his lip between his teeth, biting down to keep it from wobbling. “Where’s Mama?”
The brightness in Gramma’s eyes fades just a bit. She bites her lip too and looks back at him in silence. As she rises to her feet, his eyes widen, and his throat suddenly hurts. Did he ask the wrong thing? Is it too soon? Papa’s been gone less than a year, maybe Rhys’ words hurt Gramma too much?
Gramma clears her throat, still not looking at Rhys, but before she says anything, the door behind Rhys opens with a loud bang. In seconds, a passel of ranchers stampede the mud room stomping their feet like the cattle they take care of. The ache of a moment ago forgotten, Rhys snaps his head towards the door, excitement suddenly bubbling. Gramma takes his hand and leads him over.
The blast of cold that follows the four men is cut off when the door closes. From beside Gramma, Rhys watches the snow fall off them as they remove their coats and hats. With a laugh, Rhys scoots half behind Gramma’s leg because it’s chilly, but the snow is cold and wet and some slips beneath his collar, tickling down his back.
A tall, older man with Papa’s bright blue eyes turns towards him, grinning ear to ear. Callum Shepard smiles in greeting before tapping his hat to dislodge more of the white fluff. He hangs it on his usual peg then reaches for Rhys.
Gramma chuckles along with Rhys. “Must be blowing up quite the storm out there.”
“Winds are howling like mad,” Grandpa agrees. Hefting Rhys in his arms, he steps out of the mudroom and kisses his wife. “Merry Christmas, Evie.”
Gramma kisses him back quickly, and the next Rhys knows he’s flying, up in the air and nearly reaching the ceiling.
“Grandpa!” Rhys’ laughter continues, deeper and fuller now, but he’s not afraid. It’s a habit started between them just after Rhys’ arrival on the ranch six weeks ago when Mama sent him here after Papa died in the First Contact War. Something about being the spitting image of Papa and how Gramma and Grandpa can take charge of raising him.
Whatever that means.
Grandpa catches Rhys one last time and tucks him against his hip. “Merry Christmas, Rhys.”
Smiling as wide as he can, Rhys throws his arms around Grandpa’s neck keeping eye-level with Tiny, Milo, and Tanner as they finish.
With huge grins of their own spanning from ear to ear, the three ranch hands grin right back at him. “Merry ChRhysmas!” Rhys shouts.
Tiny – the tallest of the three men – frowns. “ChRhysmas?”
Milo elbows the man’s ribs and Tanner scowls at him in quiet rebuke.
But Rhys doesn’t notice. His head bobs up and down and his grin shows the gap where a tooth had been just days before. As last year, it makes pronunciation more of a challenge. “Papa said that when I lost my first tooth last year.”
Grandpa’s arm tightens, catching Rhys’ attention and he starts to look up at him, but Milo reaches for him at the same time. Rhys shivers because Milo is colder, but he reaches back, gladly letting the other man take him for a bit. “Well, then,” Milo announces firmly once he has Rhys in his arms, “Merry ChRhysmas!”
Tanner and Tiny move around the pair and pat Rhys’s back. “Merry ChRhysmas!”
Forgetting about his grandparents for just a moment, Rhys laughs and hugs each of them in turn, completely forgetting his earlier question.
~
2168 – BaaT, Gagarin Station, Sol System
Rhys Shepard is sixteen when he learns just how alone loneliness can be.
Back in Wyoming, Rhys knows every single dark corner of the ranch house. Which are the best hiding places for watching movies late at night. Which are better for the times when he wants to be alone. Which would do better with upgraded lighting to keep from bruising the hell out of hips and shins against chairs and tables when sneaking back into the house after curfew.
But after several months at BAaT, he’s still trying to find the darkest corners in the quietest rooms where he can ride out the worst of the migraines, the nausea, and the vertigo, all courtesy of Conatix’s L2 implants.
Of course, it doesn’t help that it’s exam week and most of the rooms he’s used up to this point aren’t available. All he’s left with is the pod.
Schaumburg and Rahna are in the library with a bunch of the others for a last-minute study session. Kaidan and Ringgold and, last Rhys heard, Thornton, are debating whether the transmitter the students had set up to reach Earth will work. For days, Rhys has half considered sending his own message to his grandparents. But a migraine snuck up on him after dinner and on the walk back to their pods, he drops the idea in favor of blessed darkness and peace.
This migraine is a bad one, the pain worse than anything he’s ever felt before. So bad, in fact, he skips the infirmary and heads straight to the pod. Lights out, door propped barely a crack – just enough so Kaidan, Rahna, and Schaumburg will know if they happen by. Inside, Rhys buries himself beneath his pillow and blankets, and prays for relief.
Please work!
But though he finds quiet and darkness, turning off his brain is a completely different story, despite the pain. They’ve learned meditation techniques to help them cope, and Rhys does his best to keep his mind blank, but that lasts for only a short time.
Until a memory that had been haunting him all day returns.
Today is Christmas Eve.
Groaning, Rhys tucks the edge of the blanket over his head and beneath the edge of the pillow.
Almost Christmas. What’s everyone up to back home? Did Tiny and Milo find a big enough tree to satisfy Grandma? Have Tanner and Grandpa strung lights around the barn entrance? Does the kitchen smell of spices and every baked delight Grandma makes year after year after year?
Pain from the migraine rather than homesickness triggers tears – that’s Rhys’ excuse, anyway.
Oh, how he misses his grandparents. Especially this time of year. Grandma Evie’s gingerbread cookies. Grandpa Callum’s deep bass as they sing carols while decorating the Christmas tree. Sitting on the sofa and watching old school Christmas movies with Tiny, Milo, and Tanner as they string popcorn to twist in with the greenery to decorate the front porch railing on the main house.
The ache in Rhys’ head momentarily settles into his chest and he swipes away the tears with a soft sniffle.
“I wondered where you went.”
Kaidan’s voice has him freezing in place beneath the covers briefly. At least until the soft, cautious nature of it sifts through the painful fog of his brain. Everyone at BAaT knows what a cracked door means these days. Every student has experienced some sort of side effect from their implants, most of them incredibly painful or debilitating. Soft, cautious voices are a must at times like this.
And as far as it being Kaidan, well, Rhys trusts him, even when he’s feeling his worst. There’s a certain comfort in the warmth of Kaidan’s voice that always seems to help; never more so than now. It’s the closest thing to home Rhys has at the moment, and it’s all he can do to fight back another round of tears.
The mattress dips near his legs as a hand comes to rest on Rhys’ shoulder through the blanket. “You okay?”
Rhys tugs the blanket off his head, so it doesn’t muffle his quiet response. “Yeah.”
His answer is quick, too quick, and they both know it.
“Were you able to get a message out?”
Rhys starts to shake his head, but even the slow motion aggravates the pain, and he stops. “No.”
Silence, familiar and friendly, falls between them.
“Probably just as well,” Rhys mutters, the pain and disappointment getting the better of him and sending him into a downward spiral. “Why would they want to hear from a freak like me for the holidays anyway?”
It’s the pain making him talk this way – he knows it, even Kaidan knows it – but Kaidan grasps Rhys’ arm with a speed that leaves Rhys breathless. “We are not freaks!” Kaidan hisses, a thin layer of dark energy limning his eyes as it spreads across his face, down his hands, and even his torso.
It’s an impressive sight, but all Rhys can do is groan, not from Kaidan’s insistence, but from the headache. Wincing, because even the subtle light from the biotics hurts his head, Rhys counters, “Aren’t we?” He reaches over to remove Kaidan’s hand with his own glowing limb, the tiny tendrils of blue energy flashing and flaring around his arm, wrist, and fingers. Neither of them are masters of their biotics yet, but they do have some control over them.
At least until a dagger of pain jabs behind Rhys’ left eye and his corona sputters out in a rush.
With a groan, Rhys covers his eyes with his arms, blocking out the view.
Kaidan’s voice is gentler when he finally responds. “No, we aren’t.”
The mattress moves again, and Rhys braves a peek. Kaidan has moved wordlessly to the door.
Rhys has no idea where the inspiration comes from, but he calls out, “Hey, Kaidan?”
Kaidan stops before exiting the pod. “Yeah?”
“Merry ChRhysmas.”
It’s mostly just a silhouette, but Kaidan glances back over his shoulder. Rhys imagines his lips curving upward in humor while his brows furrow in confusion. Rhys has seen it before. Still, Kaidan doesn’t laugh, which is a relief.
“Merry ChRhysmas, Rhys.”
As Kaidan slips outside the pod, leaving the door ajar as it had been before, Rhys buries his head beneath his pillow and blankets and prays for sleep as a respite from the pain.
~
2171 – Shepard mountain cabin, Wyoming, Earth, Sol System
Rhys Shepard is nineteen when he understands that love is something far more than a feeling.
The snap, hiss, and crackle from the fire provides an arhythmic counter to heavy breaths, soft sighs, and delighted groans that fill the mountain cabin.
Eyes focused on Kaidan sprawled out beneath him, he runs his hands over Kaidan’s shoulders, down his back, and along his hips. His voice, reverberating in satisfaction, slips from his lips next to Kaidan’s ear as he presses in closer, harder. “Like that?”
Deep and rumbly, Kaidan’s groan echoes throughout the room. “Yes…”
Rhys braces himself on his hands to either side of Kaidan’s back and adjusts his balance, chuckling softly when Kaidan moans again.
“God, Rhys, don’t!”
Rhys stops instantly, freezing in place. “Don’t what? Am I hurting you?” He’s ready to move away if that’s the case.
Shoulders tight, Kaidan shudders, an almost violent reaction. “Wasn’t…you,” he rasps, the pain still there but less intense now. “Was…the horse!”
That gives Rhys direction, and he eases backwards slowly, carefully, his hands moving gently down Kaidan’s backside. They pause over tight muscles, slick fingers manipulating stubborn, abused muscles as he rubs liniment into them. Kaidan’s body jerks beneath Rhys’ touch then slowly relaxes. It takes time and patience, and of that Rhys has an abundance because he’s been here too many times himself over the years. He understands.
A melted puddle beneath Rhys, Kaidan grumbles, his voice partly muted as he pressed his mount against his forearm. “Is it…is it always this bad?”
Rhys doesn’t laugh. If anything, he winces as he points out, “Is this where I warn you it’s going to feel twice as bad after we ride back tomorrow?”
“Uggggggggh.” Kaidan grabs one of the pillows and swings it behind him in a blind attack. Rhys ducks out of the way easily, but this time he can’t stop a laugh from escaping. “I hate you.”
Rhys grabs the towel to wipe the excess liniment from his hands as he replies in his most reasonable tone, “Of course, you do.” Tossing the towel aside, he eases off Kaidan to lie down beside him, face to face…except that Kaidan doesn’t turn. Another soft huff flows past Rhys’ lips and he plants an easy kiss to Kaidan’s temple. “You know,” he says softly, a smile in his tone, “there is a solution to this.”
Kaidan’s head finally turns, one honey-gold eye popping open, warily evaluating Rhys as it focuses. “What’s that?”
A smug grin slides across Rhys’ lips. “Practice.” When Kaidan’s brow furrows, Rhys waggles his eyebrows twice. It’s worth it to see the blush rise in Kaidan’s cheeks.
Pillow still in hand, Kaidan swings at Rhys again, but given Kaidan’s position, Rhys easily grasps it. Kaidan half-heartedly wrestles for it, but their battle doesn’t last long. Setting it aside, Rhys helps Kaidan roll over so they can snuggle together.
Silence save for the crackle of the fire and the wind outside fills the room for a time. Still, right here, right now, it’s all his dreams come true, and as Rhys curls around Kaidan, he plants a gentle kiss to his bare shoulder.
Kaidan stirs. “Rhys?”
“Hmm?” Contentment like he’s never felt before in his life leaves him lazy, drowsy, and so relaxed it’s a struggle to cover a yawn. They’ll be heading back to the ranch house tomorrow for Christmas, so he isn’t about to take a chance to have the day before Christmas Eve alone together for granted. So much more than I could ever have asked for.
The strong line of Kaidan’s nose nuzzles where Rhys’ shoulder and neck join. “Merry ChRhysmas.”
Eyes suddenly wet, a delightful ache centered in his chest, Rhys’ arms tighten. More than he ever could have asked for, yet very welcome, indeed. Pressing a kiss to the top of Kaidan’s dark curls, Rhys replies, “Merry ChRhysmas, Kaidan.”
~
2172, Shepard mountain cabin, Wyoming, Earth, Sol System
At twenty, Rhys Shepard takes refuge in the dark, nurses a beer, and comes to terms with the fact that emptiness and loss wrap just as tightly around the heart as love.
It’s been a year since Kaidan’s Christmas visit. A visit spent wrapped in nothing but bedsheets and the discovery that dreams could, in fact, come true.
The cabin no longer offers that same warm haven of love and contentment.
A snap and hiss from the hearth fill the room but does little to warm it. Outside, a winter storm howls wildly, spitting and screaming at the world, and forcing the cold in through any opening it can find. Rhys, however, refuses to add more fuel to the fire; this is likely the future of his Christmas holidays. He may as well get used to it.
Holding his bottle up, he stares at the flames through the darkened glass. Stupid, he thinks. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid tempers, inflamed words, the reactions of scared people who don’t have a lick of common sense.
Squinting, he can just make out a stallion on the bottle label, some pokey old thing moseying along while the rider plays guitar as they head off to God knows where. He tilts his head to the side when the vision blurs.
Poking one long finger at the horse, he slurs, “People fear change.” He’s a bit surprised the animal doesn’t respond, so he adds, “They always have, and they always will.”
Still no response.
He downs another swig from the longneck before he returns to his lecture. “Dr. Stevenson said it in class, so it must be true, right?”
The fire pops and sputters, adding its input before fading and, eventually, dying out.
“See? Even the fire agrees. Can’t argue with that.”
The stallion is barely discernible now as the last of the firelight disappears, but the animal’s judgement weighs as heavily on Rhys’ shoulders as if Thunder had rolled on him.
An eerie howl wails outside, twisting and twining its way through the mountains and startling Rhys from his musings. He shivers, stumbles to his feet, and mutters to himself. His shin connects with something solid, ripping a curse from his lips so he slaps his hand onto his omni-tool bringing up just enough light to find the pile of firewood. Two logs, one in each hand, but neither help him maintain balance and he lands hard on his knees just in front of the hearth as a sharp grunt of pain slips past his lips.
It’s his own damned fault as much as it is Kaidan’s – he knows that, knows it! – but he’s too stubborn to make the first move, to apologize, to do something, anything, to fix the situation.
Just as stubborn as you, Alenko. Too damned stubborn to be the first to take that step…
The embers of the fire flare to life quickly, licking up and around the logs. He’s had…three beers? Four? Too many at this point, and it’s left him slow enough the flames catch the back of his left hand as he pulls back. Hissing out another curse, he tumbles onto his ass and scoots away from the hearth.
As he comes to a stop, his gaze falls back to his omni-tool, to the winking cursor just sitting there, waiting on him, offering a chance to make things right…
The sharp sound of glass clattering against the table distracts him. Jumping, he spins, fear spiking his adrenaline and leaving him nearly breathless with relief as he discovers it’s just his last beer bottle. It takes a minute or two to calm himself, and when his gaze returns to his omni-tool, the cursor’s faded, the program locked into sleep mode.
Opportunity, it seems, has passed.
He could turn it back on, of course. A swipe of his fingers, the will to reach out, and it will spring back to life.
But somewhere in between common sense and despair, petulance sets in. “Why should I be the one?”
His shout slurs and reverberates throughout the room as the famous Shepard stubbornness kicks into full gear.
“He’s just as much to blame… Let him be first…”
It takes several tries before Rhys finds his feet again. Wandering drunkenly towards the kitchen, he swipes another longneck. On his return, he snags two afghans his grandmother made off the sofa and wraps them around his shoulders. Dropping into a heap on the floor, he hunches his shoulders and draws his knees to his chest, eyes again locked onto the flames in the fireplace. Sniffling softly, he mutters, “Merry fucking ChRhysmas…”
The shift from wakefulness to full snooze happens gently and is perhaps the easiest part of getting through the holiday this year.
~
2181 – Joint Council on Prothean Studies, Human Embassy, Citadel, Widow, Serpent Nebula
A decade comes and goes before Rhys – now Dr. Rhys Shepard, Prothean linguist – discovers that it really isn’t the pain of loss that dogs at his heels, but the ache of what could have been.
“I’m not sure I understand why your friend keeps holding that plant over our heads when he is near.”
Rhys snorts – half in amusement, half in annoyance at Reynolds – and it’s a battle to keep his lips from twitching too obviously. “Don’t worry about it, Liara. He just has a strange sense of humor.”
His asari companion’s eyes narrow, her brow creasing deeply into a frown. “How is holding a dead plant over our heads humorous?”
The party is well attended and catered, and when a server wanders by with a full drink tray, Rhys snags two flutes of champagne. As he hands one to Liara and after taking a sip for fortification purposes, he attempts to explain one of the stranger Earth holiday traditions. “You see, it’s almost Christmas back home, and that’s a holiday where friends and family spend time together and celebrate. Gifts are exchanged, there’s plenty of food and drink, Christmas trees and all sorts of festive decorations are on display – the works.”
“I…see.”
The emptiness in her tone assures Rhys she does not see, but that’s okay. “One of the more obscure traditions involves a plant called ‘mistletoe,’ and its plant that is a symbol of fertility. Any couple caught standing beneath it are supposed to kiss.”
“That is an odd tradition.” Her frown deepens as she stares into the liquid in her glass. Rhys finds it pretty darned cute, if anyone wants his opinion.
Nobody does.
Full smile oozing all the Shepard charm as he nods, Rhys also isn’t about to argue with her assessment. “We humans have many strange traditions, you’ll find.”
“Have you ever been caught under this…mistletoe?”
Rhys nearly chokes on his champagne, just able to draw in a quick breath and swallow the cough that wants to spring free, all while he shakes his head sharply, insistently, and shoves the memory of the one Christmas he and Kaidan had together away. He’s in a decent mood for the first time in years, and he isn’t about to let it pull him back to what ifs or might have beens.
Too bad his brain doesn’t cooperate.
Half-drunk and tottering as they head up the stairs to bed, Rhys and Kaidan stumble into one another at the base of the staircase. Giggles ensue, and they both fall laughing to sit on the steps, leaning into the other for support. They don’t have much further to get to the top, but as Rhys looks up at Kaidan, he spots a bit of mistletoe tucked around the corner of the family photo at the top of the stairs. A second later, a sharply indrawn breath near his ear alerts him that Kaidan has seen it as well. Bringing his attention back, Rhys finds Kaidan close, amber eyed gaze locked onto Rhys’ lips before dropping lower. The space between them melts away until their biotic fields don’t just intersect, tingling as they combine, but surround the other, fully encapsulating them both. Kaidan’s breath fans across Rhys’ lips – why is it suddenly so warm? – and Rhys stomach churns with anticipation…
The clatter of boots and slurred shouts of, “Merry Christmas!” douse the flames faster than a bucket of ice cold water. Rhys jerks back from Kaidan, face flaming with heat as Kaidan scrabbles back to his feet…
Rhys’ smile is bittersweet. What is it that grandpa Callum always says? Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. Clearing his throat, he says to Liara, “Can’t say that I have, my friend.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he catches movement. Reynolds is at it again, this time using another server as a shield to hide his approach.
“Could that be why your friend is trying so hard to follow through with his experiment?”
“Could be,” Rhys agrees. “Or could be he’s had one too many Thessian Temples.”
Liara’s frown smooths out as she takes a sip of her drink, after which, she does something completely unexpected. As she leans in towards him, Rhys notices the conspiratorial and playful flash in her blue eyes. “Perhaps we should give him what he wants? Maybe then he will leave us alone.”
“Aha!”
Rhys and Liara turn around and come face to face with Reynolds. At five feet nine inches tall, even at full extension, the mistletoe he holds up barely reaches Rhys’ ears.
Half in exasperation and half in a playfulness that matches Liara’s, Rhys snatches the plant from Reynolds’ hand. A quick glance doesn’t identify it, but Rhys knows for certain it isn’t actual mistletoe. With Reynolds just standing there, mouth agape, Rhys lifts the plant – he’s betting it’s asari or one of the other Council race worlds’ greenery used as decorations for this party –over his and Liara’s heads then leans in to plant a quick kiss to her cheek. “Merry ChRhysmas, my friend.”
Blue eyes sparkling, Liara watches him in bemusement. “I thought you said it was ‘Christmas?’”
Rhys shrugs as he tosses the plant after Reynolds’ retreating and crestfallen-yet-pleased face. “Just a play on words. Something someone once told me a long time ago and it…stuck.”
Liara gifts him with another smile and a sort of knowing look as she leans in to kiss his cheek in return. “Merry ChRhysmas, Rhys.”
~
2187 – Normandy SR2, on the way to London, England, Earth, Sol System
Rhys Shepard is thirty-four and the galaxy as he knows it in a battle for its very existence when he finally discovers just how deep, strong, and eternal true love can be.
The cabin is still around them, just the soft burble from the fish tank and the air recycling system lulling them to sleep. “You’re too quiet,” Kaidan murmurs, his lips brushing against Rhys’ hair as they lie snuggled together in bed.
They’re on their way back to Earth at last, and God alone knows what they’ll face when they get there. The very idea scares Rhys to death. Over the past few years, he’s seen some of the worst the galaxy has to offer, true, but it’s never been on home ground.
Sighing softly, Rhys tightens his hold around Kaidan. “Just…thinking.”
Kaidan’s laughter tickles Rhys’ ears through his chest. “That’s my Dinosaur Brain.” It’s followed by his fingers combing through Rhys’ hair, gently fluffing it. “You think too much.”
Pushing up on one arm to lie across Kaidan’s chest so their eyes can meet, Rhys smirks. “Grandma Evelyn would say that’s the pot calling the kettle black, you know.”
Kaidan’s fingers trace down the side of Rhys’ cheek; Rhys leans into the touch, savoring it, praying this isn’t the last time they’ll have this.
“What are you thinking about?”
Rhys can’t lie to him. Not now, not ever. Kaidan has put his life on the line so many times in the past few years; not just for Rhys, but for all of humanity. He deserves the truth, the chance for hope, the chance for more.
Willing the truth past his lips, Rhys takes a deep breath. “After.”
“After?”
“After the battle. After the war. After the reapers are gone – and they will be gone because I know you.” He puts every ounce of positivity into his smile, watches as it reflects back at him as Kaidan returns it. “Once the war is past and we finally, finally, have time to ourselves again, maybe, just maybe, I can get you back to the ranch with me for an honest to goodness vacation. Just the two of us.”
Laughter, warm and comforting, wraps around them. “Just the two of us, huh? And…a certain cabin about a day’s ride from the ranch?”
A slow smile spreads across Rhys’ face. “Yup.”
There are a few minutes of silence; companionable, but also with a hint of exhaustion. Kaidan combs his fingers through his hair this time, just before a snort of amusement slips past his lips. Eyes flashing, he meets Rhys’ gaze. “It’s been years since I last rode, you know.”
Rhys grins, leaning over to trail a line of easy, light kisses from mid-torso up to his neck. They are light, just barely there touches, but they are enough to pull a shiver or two from the commander. “We can always switch up if you want to practice.”
Rhys feels the flutter that skitters across Kaidan’s skin this time, but he can’t tell if it’s embarrassment, excitement, anticipation, or a combination of all three.
Smiling to himself, Rhys moves around the side to a position near Kaidan’s ear. “I’ll make sure we have plenty of ointment on hand.”
After all, it’s been a long time since he last rode, too.
Kaidan squawks a garbled sort of protest and has to clear his throat before he can speak. “But it…it won’t be Christmas.”
They’d just celebrated Rhys’ birthday last week, part and parcel with the party Kaidan had put on for everyone at Anderson’s apartment. It had been a blast, a last chance to relax before the final push. But, it means they’re barely through April. Christmas is still months away.
“Christmas in July,” Rhys promises, moving back so he can see Kaidan’s face and Kaidan can see his smile.
Silence returns. Again, companionable, but long enough that Rhys begins to worry he’s said the wrong thing.
At least until Kaidan runs his fingers from Rhys’ temple down his jaw – he really likes doing that – and catching Rhys’ chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You really think we’re going to succeed at this? Defeating the Reapers, I mean?”
Rhys frames Kaidan’s face, replying in the most serious, somber tone he’s ever used in his life. He knows Kaidan has spent the entire war worried about this moment – he might not admit it openly, even to Rhys, but Rhys has seen the signs.
He catches Kaidan’s lips with his in a firm yet gentle kiss, one filled with reassurance. “I do. We have to. For those we’ve lost along the way.” A brief glimpse of Sara, of Ashley, of Kaidan’s father, passes through Rhys’ mind. “For those who still fight.” So many, not just those on this ship or in the Alliance or the fleets they’ve assembled, but those left behind on home worlds and other planets who keep fighting every day. Swallowing tightly, Rhys manages the last in a mere whisper. “For us.”
He knows Kaidan hears when the other man’s fingers move to cover Rhys’ lips. There’s an understanding in his eyes now, in the smile he returns, and he nods. “Christmas in July. I like it.” Unexpectedly, Kaidan rolls until he’s above Rhys, an arm braced to either side. “Merry ChRhysmas.”
Just before Kaidan pulls away, Rhys kisses his fingertips. God, he loves this man so much! How is he supposed to tell him, let alone show him?
Instead, Rhys smiles and leans up to brush a kiss to Kaidan’s lips. “Merry ChRhysmas, Kaidan.”
And it will be. This time around, Rhys isn’t going to give the galaxy any other choice.