Chapter Text
Fortsy would never have considered the possibility of spending Christmas at all. At least, not until the previous days.
All the times he was being invited by Solev to his office always ended the same - he would go in, Solev would bully him for what felt like eternity, and after all that he could finally go home. He didn't know if it was just the president's boredom, coping mechanism, attempt to flirt, or just curiosity. There was only one thing he knew: he was tired of all these games. Every time he received an invitation he would go to the capital with the fear of not coming back. It might've looked really unlikely - if Solev wanted him gone, he would kill him ages before, or he wouldn't even allow him as the desert commander anymore. But there was still this small, quiet voice in his head…
The breaking point came two days before Christmas.
Solev kept him longer than usual that night. As if the president had nothing better to do. The weather outside was miserable - fog thick enough to choke on, cold that settled deep into the bones. Fortsy could think of a hundred places he would rather be. None of them were here.
The argument itself didn’t start loudly.
The office was warm in a way that felt deliberate. Too warm. The kind of heat that made staying uncomfortable and leaving feel like relief you weren’t allowed to have yet. Solev hadn’t even looked at him when Fortsy entered, just waved him in lazily, eyes fixed on some document that probably didn’t matter.
Minutes passed. Then more. Fortsy stood where he always stood, hands clasped behind his back, spine straight, jaw tight. He tried not to think about the fog outside, about how long the road back would be, about how close it was to Christmas and how far away home felt.
Solev talked. About nothing. About things that could have been said in five minutes and weren’t. Every sentence stretched, every pause intentional. Fortsy answered when spoken to, short and careful, the way he always did.
“Is there a reason you called me here?” he asked.
Solev raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised. “There usually is.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Solev looked up.
“Do you have a reason for keeping me here this long?” Fortsy asked. The words were flat, almost polite. That was the dangerous part. “You summon me here whenever you feel like it. You keep me for hours. You mock me, threaten me, hurt me-” His jaw tightened. “And then you let me leave like it’s some kind of favor.” Silence. “I don’t know what you want from me,” Fortsy continued, quieter now, but still with the same sharpness. “If this is punishment, then punish me properly. If you want me gone, then do it. But stop pretending this is anything else.”
“You’re free to leave whenever you want,” Solev said.
Fortsy stared at him. “You know that’s not true.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Do I?” Solev asked.
“With all due respect, I come every time you call,” he said, his voice shaking despite his effort to keep it steady. “I leave my assigned tasks, travel, stand here while you-” He swallowed, “While you do whatever this is. And I never know if I’m going to be allowed to leave.”
Solev leaned back in his chair slowly, as if considering a chess move. For the first time since Fortsy had entered, the president’s full attention settled on him.
“That sounds exhausting,” Solev said, with a massive hint of sarcasm in his voice.
They looked at each other for a few seconds.
“Fortsy.”
“Yes?”
“Close the door on your way out.”
For a moment, Fortsy didn’t move.
The words were casual. Almost bored. As if nothing of what he had said had mattered at all.
“Yes, sir,” he said finally.
His voice sounded wrong even to him. He walked to the door, every step measured, controlled. He neither rushed nor hesitated. His hand lingered on the handle for half a second longer than necessary. Then he closed the door.
He expected guards waiting, weapons in hand. But they simply escorted him down the hall. No one was stationed at the capitol. He wasn’t arrested, shot, or informed of an impending execution.
That night, he went to sleep terrified. Solev was notorious for sending firing squads after minor offenses. So why, after speaking back, was he still alive?
Every sound the next morning made him tense, expecting a knock at any moment. But nothing came.
December 24th was different.
He returned home after work-who would expect Imperia to grant the district commander time off for Christmas? He hadn’t made food, hadn’t decorated a tree. He hadn’t even expected to still be alive, which meant there was no one to celebrate with. He sat in the kitchen, coat still on, telling himself not to wait for anything. But still, he checked the time more than necessary.
That was when the knock came.
Not loud. Not urgent.
Three slow, deliberate taps against the door.
Fortsy froze.
His first thought was that he had imagined it. His second was that he shouldn’t move. If he stayed still long enough, maybe whoever was outside would leave. Maybe this was meant for someone else. Maybe-
Another knock.
Same rhythm. Same patience.
His heart pounded so hard it made his vision blur. This was it. He stood up, walked to the door. He already expected the guards to tell him that he needed to go with them. He would go to the capital and would be accused of speaking against the president. They would first lead him to small cell, probably question him and-
Oh?
Solev was standing there, alone. He was holding a square mold. Even through the towel wrapping the scent of gingerbread reached him.
“Good evening,” Solev said, eyes locking with his. Fortsy had expected something else, but they just stared. “...Merry Christmas, Commander Fortsy!”
Fortsy glanced down the corridor and back. Solev still held the mold, expression peaceful.
For a few seconds, Fortsy didn’t respond.
“Merry Christmas,” Solev repeated, louder, as if volume could fix the missing reaction. The words sounded foreign, carefully placed, memorized rather than understood. But there was no irony. No sarcasm.
“You are not answering.”
“I-” Fortsy stopped himself. Took a breath. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I am aware,” Solev replied. “That was not my intention.”
That didn’t make sense. None of this did.
“…Why are you here?”
Solev hesitated briefly, imperceptibly, but Fortsy noticed. It sent a strange tightness through his chest.
“I was informed,” Solev said slowly, “that my behavior was… excessive.” Fortsy blinked. “And,” he continued, choosing his words carefully, “that when one wishes to correct such behavior, one is meant to bring something appropriate.”
He lifted the mold slightly, presenting it.
“I baked.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am always serious.”
“That’s exactly the problem.”
“It is what is appropriate,” Solev said evenly. “I did what was required.”
Fortsy sighed, and they looked at each other again. The silence felt awkward.
“It’s really cold,” Solev said after a moment.
“Yeah.”
He looked at him impatiently and stepped inside.
“Can I come in?” he asked, but didn't wait for the response-just came in before Fortsy even opened his mouth.
Fortsy stepped aside, still unsure where to stand. His hallway felt narrower with Solev moving through it, the faint smell of gingerbread already filling the air. They eventually arrived in the kitchen, both taking a seat.
“You should bring a christmas spirit in this house.”
“Excuse me?”
“Decorate the tree, make some food… Why didn’t you make any food?”
“Well, I thought I’d be dead already”
“That is inefficient.”
“So is bullying your own commander for months,” Fortsy shot back before he could stop himself.
Solev looked up sharply. For a split second, something dangerous flashed across his face-reflex, instinct, power. Fortsy braced himself without even realizing it, shoulders tightening, breath shallow.
Then it… passed.
“Are you going somewhere for the holiday leave?” Solev asked, voice neutral.
“You don’t give commanders breaks during Christmas, so…” Fortsy trailed off, unsure why he even answered.
Solev leaned back slightly, tapping a finger against the table. “Perhaps that was an assumption.”
Fortsy frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Solev said carefully, choosing his words like they were fragile, “that you may go. If you wish. Leave the district for a few days. Attend to… personal matters.”
Fortsy blinked. “…You’re serious?”
“I am,” Solev replied simply. “I also think that we should eat the cake.”
Fortsy stared at him.
There were many things he had expected Solev to say. Threats. Conditions. A lecture about loyalty or efficiency. Not that.
“…The cake,” Fortsy repeated.
“Yes,” Solev said, nodding once. “That is the reason I am here.”
“That’s not-” Fortsy stopped, then sighed. “You know what? Fine. Sure. The cake.”
He stood, grabbed two plates from the cupboard, then hesitated before adding a knife. His movements were careful, deliberate. He watched Solev from the corner of his eye the entire time, half-expecting him to do something sudden. He didn’t.
Solev set the mold on the table with surprising care and lifted the towel. The gingerbread was neatly cut, evenly baked, decorated with precise white icing lines. It looked… good. Too good.
Fortsy stared at it suspiciously.
“It’s not poisoned.” Solev said like he already knew what fortsy was thinking… and he was right. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t wait till Christmas,” Solev continued calmly. “I would simply send a firing squad after you.”
Fortsy swallowed. “…That’s supposed to reassure me?”
“It should,” Solev replied. “It is honest.”
“That’s worse.”
Solev frowned slightly, as if that response genuinely puzzled him. “Do you value dishonesty?”
“I value not being reminded how easily you could kill me,” Fortsy said, setting the plates down with a little more force than necessary.
Solev considered that. “Noted.”
Fortsy cut a small piece anyway, precise and cautious, and slid it onto Solev’s plate. “You eat first.”
“I intended to.”
He did. No hesitation. No theatrics. Just took a bite, chewed, swallowed.
Fortsy watched him the entire time.
But he looked fine.
So, obviously, he cut a piece for himself. And it was so good. Warm, spiced, sweet…
But, what was the reason for all this?
“Do you like it?” Solev asked, he looked like saying ‘no’ would end up tragically.
“Yes.” Well, it was nice. “But… why this cake? I mean, respectfully, you don’t usually show up at people’s homes with gifts.”
Solev sighed.
“I think there might have been some misunderstanding between us.”
Fortsy nearly choked on the bite.
“I wish to correct my mistakes,” Solev said.
That was all.
He straightened his coat, precise, unhurried. He glanced at the table, at the half-eaten gingerbread, then back at Fortsy.
“Merry Christmas, commander,” he added.
Then he turned and walked out.
The door closed softly behind him.
Fortsy stayed still for a long time. The kitchen felt too quiet. The scent of spices lingered. He stared at the empty chair, half-expecting Solev to return and announce it was all a test. He didn’t.
He looked down at the gingerbread on his plate.
He ate it. And the rest of the cake in the mold.