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Joker had really gone all out this year. Though at this point, that was like the weather station reporting that it was the hottest summer on record. When, in the years since they’d moved to this picturesque small town, had Joker not gone all out on a public celebration?
Balloons and oversized posters are for quitters. He should add it to his business card.
The turnaround had been impressive. In his unending campaign to get fired from his volunteer position as head of the Town Festivities Committee, Joker had decided a few years back that celebrating American independence alone was isolationist and probably bad for trade. So the morning of July 1st dawned bright and hot over a town plastered in red paper maple leaves and posters sporting factoids about moose, beavers, grizzly bears, and orca whales. The diner had a surprising number of dishes that now included maple syrup, including a side of fries that just substituted the ketchup, while the bakery had acquired packages of maple candy to sell alongside cookies shaped like their namesake leaves and whoopie pies flattened to pass as hockey pucks. A seasonal lack of ice meant the town square had been converted into a series of street hockey games - helmets provided, mouth guards not - and the local - read: only - bar in town had agreed to sell Canadian lager at a discount, not the least because the owner groused about having to stock anything besides his beloved Irish brew.
It had been the typical roaring success, Norman by now used to holiday madness of every shape and size. The boon to the local economy that was in the increase in tourism year after year had done wonders to convince the skeptics. And despite the sudden uptick in hockey themed combat, no major injuries had been reported by the end of the day, though a few loose teeth had been successfully knocked out, so assorted Tooth Fairies had been busy that night.
The decorations had mostly disappeared the next day with their usual magic. By popular demand, the animal fact posters had remained, along with one, now possibly permanent, hockey arena. And as bland, non-holiday days, the second and third went on as if this town didn’t have a higher population of lunatics than it statistically should. The grocery store did sell an impressive amount of candy, paid for exclusively in quarters found under pillows.
But the choice to be internationally mindful had not been driven by a lack of patriotism, so this morning had greeted the town with a plethora of reminders that July 4th is also someone’s Independence Day. Though rather than wait for a curious public to emerge from their homes and discover the decorations, Joker had repurposed the public announcement system installed years ago to warn of severe weather to blast the military bugle at its apparently traditional time of sunrise.
The Reveille, as James had explained, before taking a pillow to the face as penance for having an asshole for a friend.
The animal posters were still up, now joined by equally bright posters explaining the official tree of each of the fifty states, complete with reminders about which berries could and could not be eaten by humans. There were a frightening number of balloon arches scattered about the town; many, many red, white, and blue streamers draped down neighborhood streets; and various shadow puppet displays set up in the town center to showcase important moments in American history. The Kellogg brothers fighting over the morality of sugar in cereal, Kentucky Daisey and the Great Oklahoma land runs, and Madam C. J. Walker selling her soap held pride of place. They’d skipped the horses this year, though police dog Grunt was still big enough to double as one in a pinch.
In the town park, there was the annual picnic and games. Sack races, three-legged races, spoon races, run-as-fast-as-you-can-in-a-straight-line races, assorted pet races, though a certain Madagascar cockroach was conspicuously absent from those last. There were costumes, from various decades, to continue the history-ish celebration, and at least two Jedi because lightsabers go with every holiday. There was the pseudo-military efficiency that was picking up after all of these festivities, Norman being “formally against litter” as a certain music teacher was now endlessly quoted as saying, and there was the now expected hour of eerie calm while the town disappeared into their homes for an hour of so before the remerging, BYOB in plastic coolers, to enjoy the fireworks display over the lake.
Not that Joker would be there for that part. Grumpy and vocal about it, the head of the Town Festivities Committee was always in the middle of his own chaos, except when it came to the fireworks. Because while the light show was beloved by the town, and its higher number of tourists, there were a few people who no longer found joy in the noise and lights and smell of smoke. A small, tight knit group of friends who’d moved to Norman to heal from their wounds and the locals they’d fallen in love with.
Opening the door for a third time, Steve smiled as Kaidan held up what looked like the last of the town’s Canadian beer. “Welcome, welcome.”
“How destroyed is your living room?” Kaidan asked as he and John stepped inside. Kaidan’s posture was relaxed, ready for an evening of overly competitive board games and friendly chatter. Black duffle bag over his shoulder as if he were preparing for a bank heist, John looked less comfortable, though the tension around his eyes eased as Steve shut the door behind them.
“Getting there,” Steve said. He made sure the smile he offered John was distinctly lacking in pity. “Could use a little structure to the chaos, though.”
“Thanks for hosting,” John said. He gripped Steve’s shoulder for emphasis before stepping over to observe the room in question. “I’d offer to help clean up tomorrow, but -“
“Don’t you dare,” Steve cut him off as Kaidan chuckled. “Rules are rules, Commander. The hosting house knows what they signed up for when they volunteered.”
“As if you’ve ever trashed another person’s house anyway,” Kaidan chimed in. He grinned at John’s raised eyebrows. “You wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“There’s an elderly couple in Cyprus who would disagree with you.” Leaning in, John tried to steal a kiss, only to be brought up short by the grip on the front of his shirt. Steve adjusted a knick knack on his foyer table as the kiss turned sweet, turning back at the sound of John’s footsteps disappearing into the next room as a now familiar chorus greeted his arrival.
“As part of our annual tradition, I now get to remind you that you don’t have to stay.” Steve nodded his head in the vague direction of the park, even as Kaidan shook his head. As if any of them would ever choose to let their loved ones hole up and endure a holiday alone again. “I hear they’re impressive fireworks.”
Kaidan’s gaze was still on the doorway John had disappeared through, though his tone was light. “Thanks, but you’re stuck with me.”
Leading the way into the kitchen, Kaidan tucked his six pack into the fridge next to Tali’s Jell-O shots. All red, because the blue and white ones tasted like feet, or so they’d been informed. Edi, ever content with water unless there was lemonade, sat at the kitchen table enjoying her tall, cool glass of pale yellow goodness. At various points on the circular table, bowls of snack foods had been set out - pretzel sticks, puffed cheese balls, mixed nuts, chocolate covered raisins for their sadistic host.
Glancing up from a worn set of instructions as Edi relocated the raisins to be nearer Steve’s seat, Tali asked, “The gang’s all here?”
“Finishing set up as we speak,” Steve confirmed as he sat. He popped a few of his heretical sweets into his mouth, earning a small smile from Edi and a shiver from Tali. Kaidan, oblivious to his annual drama, took his usual seat nearest to the pretzels.
It was the sort of thing most people didn’t think about until it applied to them. Sure there’d been articles in the news for years about how the family dog, never a fan of thunderstorms, might also not enjoy your annual pyrotechnics. And while Terminal had been the local town for years to host the big community display, fireworks were all but synonymous with the Fourth of July. Even if it was just setting a few small rockets off in their neighbor’s driveway or running down the street, shrieking, with a sparkler in each hand. Fireworks were fun. They were colorful and fascinating and loud.
One could almost say they exploded with light.
“I’m just…not up for it. You know? Gotta…um…I just need to go home.”
“Alright.” Slapping the instructions down on the kitchen table, Tali nodded authoritatively. “Once again, I’ve decided this game’s instructions are infuriatingly cryptic, so we’re making up the rules again this year.”
“We could write them down this time,” Kaidan said as he reached for the handful of pretzels.
“Don’t be reasonable, Alenko,” Tali whined as a shout from the other quartet earned a glance from everyone else. “Only Shepard finds it attractive and he’s in the other room.” Tali spared a glance of her own at the follow up crash, but stayed on target. “The only rule that rolls over is that, if the instructions are mush, we make up our own.”
“Part of the fun does seem to be justifying otherwise anachronistic decisions in this year’s version of events,” Edi chimed in by way of agreement. Setting her glass aside, she popped one of the small puffed cheese balls into her mouth. “I maintain calculating dice rolls in base six would make for more engaging turn-based combat.”
“This game doesn’t have turn-based combat,” Kaidan pointed out as Steve said, “Not all of us know what that means, Edi.”
Tali tossed a handful of what looked like high fantasy trading cards onto the table. “Edi wants combat; thus, the lady shall have it!”
Clearly someone had decided their opinion on the cryptic rules ahead of time this year.
“You’ve been spending too much time around Jacob,” Kaidan muttered as Steve picked up the nearest card. It showed a large, muscular man holding a tankard of what was probably ale and laughing heartily at something a small green creature with pointy ears had said. His eyes were crinkled shut over a wide smile, something like a chef’s apron tied around his waist.
It was the exact opposite of how James had looked that first summer they’d been dating. Trying to come up with an excuse for why he was turning down his boyfriend’s invitation to Terminal’s admittedly overly artistic version of a fireworks display. “I’m just…not up for it. You know? Gotta…um…I just need to go home.”
Steve had tried not to be hurt by the obvious lie. It had still been early enough that they didn’t tell each other every intimate detail of their lives. But up to that point James had never done anything to suggest deception or dishonesty, and the very bad job at pretending he had some prior engagement he’d forgotten to tell Steve about had stung.
He could admit now that he’d avoided James for a few days after that. Sore and pretending not to be, he simply hadn’t reached out first. And then he’d been annoyed that James hadn’t called him , even though he was working weekend hours and, again, it had still been early enough in their relationship that they didn’t talk every single day about every single thing.
But when he’d stopped by the diner on Monday to see if James still wanted to do lunch, nodding to Old Man Hackett in his usual booth with his usual cup of coffee, he’d overheard Joker and John talking about their version of the summer holiday. The version that came from associating loud noises and spreading smoke with something much less fun.
“Who doesn’t love a day-long party?” Waving a spoon still coated in soup for emphasis, Joker ignored the way his lunch companion wiped each drop up as it landed on the table between them. Ever present blue ballcap pushed back on his head in an unusual show of distress. “I just think the final part of the evening can do one, you know?”
“‘Do one’?” Shepard laughed. “You’ve been watching BBC shows again, haven’t you?”
“Edi likes them.” Steve could hear the defensive shrug in Joker’s voice. “And if you turn ‘em up loud enough, you almost can’t hear the booms.”
“Given Britain’s love of WWI stories, I’m almost surprised you didn’t end up watching something that justified the sounds.”
“Why the hell would I want to watch a movie about a war?”
“Takes all kinds. James and I ended up watching some old anime. Lots of unnecessary screaming and laser fire.”
“Bet Alenko enjoyed that.”
“Upside of being engaged to a man who can sleep through anything.”
James had appeared then, bustling through the kitchen door with sandwiches for a pair of tourists sitting at the counter. He’d spotted Cortez, face breaking into his usual wide smile, and what could have been a fight suddenly wasn’t one.
Because James Vega hadn’t blown him off. His cheerful, energetic, sweetheart of a boyfriend had spent the night with his friend, trying to ignore sounds that make kids shriek with delight and adults ooh and aah in wonder. Because for James and John and Joker, fireworks didn’t sound like summer nights with friends. And rather than risk ruining someone else’s fun, they’d all taken steps to keep to themselves, spending the potentially stressful night with someone who understood why -
“If you dicks think I’m gonna go easy on you just because you’re not used to these controllers, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“The only thing I have coming is victory, pendejo .”
“Not with those giant meat mitts you call hands, you don’t.”
It had taken a few years to figure out the best version of things. Who needed to be involved in what way, what activities were actually distracting, what snacks counted as marking cards. They’d finally landed on a divide-and-conquer strategy: one part board game night, one part video game tournament. Everyone got to spend the evening with friends doing an activity they enjoyed, and while laughter and friendly insults weren’t enough to drown out the bass booms of a now much closer fireworks show, sound cancelling headphones and a cartoonish collection of songs to race to were.
Arriving later in Norman than the others, Vakarian had settled back in with his squad and their alternative celebration strategy as if the team had never been apart. “Boys, boys, let’s not wear ourselves out bickering. It’s still early.”
“And everyone knows Loco’s just gonna nail somebody’s ass with a blue shell in the last lap of the sand level anyway.”
“It’ll be a nice break for Alenko’s ass.”
“Really? Already?”
“We could skip that level, if it annoys everyone so much.”
There was a chorus of objections to John’s reasonable suggestion, and Cortez smiled to himself as he put the card back in Tali’s rough pile. It was probably a good thing the two people in this group with a grasp of common sense had found each other. Though Steve had his own reason for being glad John Shepard had picked this particular small dot on an oversized paper map.
“One of these years, I will break you of this obsession with these sad excuses for tortilla chips.”
“No, you won’t. I want my chips salty like the sea.”
“Spiking your blood pressure before we even start the first lap, Cicatrices?”
“We could always play something less competitive.”
“Shepard, if you do not shut the hell up and let me kick your ass, we’re gonna banish you to the kitchen.”
“That’s not really a threat, Joker. And I’ve never let you kick my anything.”
“It’s not really kicking Shepard’s ass when you came in third and he came in fourth. That’s just called losing.”
“Nobody asked you, Vakarian.”
“ Cicatrices always was a stickler for specifics. Comes with being a sniper.”
“By that logic, Vega, as the transport guy I should be the best at this game.”
“Don’t insult yourself, Joker. That’s Garrus’ job.”
“That’s it. I vote we all gang up on our CO.”
“Nope. I’ve got my check up next week and I don't want the good doctor to decide I need some weird invasive test because I was mean to his husband.”
“Kaidan wouldn’t do that, Vakarian.”
“I might,” Kaidan muttered under his breath as he studied the cards Tali had finished passing out.
Realizing he’d completely missed any and all rules so far while he was eavesdropping, Steve picked up his own cards and shot Kaiden a grin. “Guess we should all be nice to John from now on.”
“You should be nice anyway.”
“I’m gonna crush you both like the powerless, land-bound serfs you are,” Tali declared, slapping a pair of cards down on the table in front of them. “I use Twin Spell on my Draw Four to make you both roll again.”
“It’s probably too early for something stronger than beer, right?” Kaidan asked as Steve looked at Tali like she was speaking German. “Tali, why are there UNO cards in this deck?”
“New year, new rules,” Edi said as Tali cackled and moved her tiny metal game piece forward one space.
“Why are the controllers getting smaller? These don’t even have those wrist hoop things to keep you from throwing them across the room.”
“Quit complaining and lose already, Vega.”
“Maybe the company believes in player restraint.” On the precipice of chaos, John’s voice cut through the snorts of disbelief with an authority Steve doubted Norman’s music teacher ever used on his students. “Headphone check.”
The quiet clatter of sound cancelling audio gear was heard as the four veterans in the other room picked up their headphones and fitted them in place, instantly cutting off the cheerful muzak of the game that was soon to be the cause of much colorful profanity. In the kitchen, phones buzzed or chirped as check in texts came through, letting everyone at the other table know shouting wouldn’t work anymore; if the annual Mario Kart tournament got too raucous, the requests for quiet would have to be texted or someone would have to physically walk into the room.
“Do they really not know that by the time they get that loud, we’re all just in here listening anyway?” Tali asked no one in particular, setting her purple phone back down by the mixed nuts.
“They’re just trying to be considerate,” Steve said. He grinned as he watched Kaidan roll the bright green dice, consider the cards in his hand, and then move his piece backward two spaces on the board. “Someone in this house has to be.”
“That’s cheating!”
“I used the Reverse card you just made me pick up.”
“Karma’s a bitch, Vakarian.”
“You’re a bitch, Vega. Eat your banana.”
“That’s it: I’m rolling the percentile to try and banish the UNO cards from the draw deck.”
“Sulking already, vas Neema?”
“You’re not supposed to be able to get a blue shell if you’re in first place.”
“Technically, Loco is in second.”
“Not for long.”
“Damnit! Everyone draw two cards.”
“And yet I thought you enjoyed rolling a 69, Tali.”
“Stuff it, Cortez.”
“Why do I ever agree to play the sand level?”
“Have a blue shell for your trouble, lieutenant.”
“Fuck!”