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“You didn’t seem like you had much fun at the party yesterday.”
Shepard looked up from where she was lacing up her boots on the bed. He was sitting on her couch and looking over his gun. “You know we’re only going to be on the Citadel for a few minutes, right? Just dropping this off to Bailey. You probably won’t need that.”
He finished re-assembling whatever he had torn apart and set the gun on his lap before looking at her again. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“You didn’t ask a question.”
Garrus sighed. She was almost certain that he rolled his eyes. Maybe. It was hard to tell with turians. “Did you enjoy the party, Shepard?”
“Yes,” she groaned. She stood and picked up Bailey’s gift. “It was perfectly fine.” She began walking toward the few little stairs that would lead them out, but stopped when she realized he was still sitting down, staring at her with one eyebrow ridge raised. “Yes?”
He shrugged a stood. “It’s just…odd.”
Shepard blinked at him, shook her head, and began walking toward the elevator again. “What’s odd about it?”
“You’ve told me before you didn’t really care for Christmas. Why do you always celebrate it?”
The elevator doors closed on them. Shepard chewed on her cheek for a moment. “There’s a certain, sentiment, you might say, to Christmas. Even for those of us that don’t necessarily like it.”
Garrus’ confusion was completely apparent now. “So, humans celebrate holidays they don’t like…for sentiment.”
Shepard huffed and looked up at him. “It’s more than that. It’s–”Her hands dangled in front of her as words failed to come to her mind. She dropped them and shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
Garrus let it drop after that. And Shepard loved his ability to do so. They talked about Grunt’s interesting interpretation of “Silver Bells” at the party, which involved much more guns and explosions than Shepard thought was strictly necessary in a Christmas song. The karaoke battle that ensued was…unexpected, and somehow not at all surprising. Garrus was quick to point out that it wasn’t until Miranda boasted of her genetically engineered vocals that the seriousness of the affair really took root. Sgt. Wagner, who had been designated to judge due to him being a generally unaffiliated and unbiased member of the crew, never did pick a winner. Turned out that having everyone who sang a song give you a shot to curry your favor resulted total collapse of all faculties, including speech and the ability to stand.
Shepard was still laughing as they walked into Bailey’s office. He accepted the gift with all the confusion she expected. She moved past his thanks to ask about his family, the state of C-Sec, the usual. He, the good soldier he was, moved right along with her and gave her the updates as usual. Nothing amiss at the moment. Even the bad guys seemed to be taking it easy for the holidays.
Shepard and Garrus left him smiling. Garrus picked up their conversation where he had left it off. Sgt. Wagner had a hell of a headache when he woke up, apparently, and more than a few people demanding to know who the champion was. Garrus was more than six feet from her and halfway through listing his personal favorites before he even realized she had stopped. He came back to her and followed her eye line.
A young girl, probably no more than 15, was carrying a bag of rations and instant meals into a back alley. When she vanished into the shadows, Shepard walked after her, with Garrus at her heels. As they got closer, they saw her hand out meals to five different children much younger than herself. When Shepard heard, “I can’t spare any more. The others need some too,” she stepped in the girl’s line of sight. The younger children startled and scattered at her sudden appearance. The girl, to her credit, held her ground, even with her eyes set wide.
“This is all fully paid for, ma’am,” she shouted, louder than necessary for the distance between them both. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Shepard pursed her lips. The girl was skinny, but definitely of sturdy build. Short black hair, ragged as if it had been cut with a knife. Her clothes looked decent, definitely more put together than the others that had been there moments ago.
“What’s your name?”
The girl raised her chin. “Misty.”
“Misty,” Shepard mused. “And where are your parents?”
The girl’s chin drooped a little and she saw her swallow. “They’re dead. Have been for a while.”
Shepard inhaled through her nose and nodded behind the girl. “And the others?”
The girl’s shoulder sagged and she shook her head. “No one to speak of, ma’am.”
The breath left Shepard’s lungs in a strangled puff. She struggled to regain her control, to swallow past the lump in her throat, to ensure steadiness in her voice. “How many more of them?”
Misty pursed her lips. “Hard to say. Changes sometimes.” She sighed. “Close to twenty at the moment.”
Shepard nodded. “Alright.” She paused for a moment while she thought. “Can you get them back here within the hour?” The girl frowned but Shepard waved it off. “I want to help.”
The girl only took a moment before she nodded and took off into the alley. Shepard immediately pulled up her omnitool and typed a message to Miranda.
“How do you know she’ll come back?”
Shepard had almost forgotten he was there. She looked up at Garrus, really looked at him. The orange glow of her omnitool matched with the blue of his visor set strange shadows on his face.
“Because I would have.”
Within the hour, Miranda had used her Cerberus connections to do as Shepard asked. Shepard led Misty and the troop of children through Zakera Ward and up to Bachjret Ward. There, she took them to a children’s home. Inside were hundreds of Christmas gifts and a full table of food, along with a staff of people ready to let the children join the home, if they so chose. Misty had stood in the entrance, hands clapped over her mouth with tears in her eyes, as she watched all the small children shout with joy and tear into various foods and gifts. She walked right over to Shepard and hugged her, to everyone’s surprise. Shepard was frozen for only a moment before she pulled the girl tight. Shepard’s breath came in ragged tugs through her lungs as she held her; breathed in the all too familiar scent of living on the edge of a society that ignored you.
“Thank you for taking care of them,” she whispered into the girl’s hair.
Misty pulled back, wiped tears from her eyes, and grinned. “Yeah. And thank you. This is–” She gestured to the room at large with all of its joyous chaos and looked back at her. “Just, thank you.” A younger girl pulled at Misty’s sleeve. Misty shot them both an apologetic look before letting herself be dragged into the fray.
Shepard took another shaky breath. “Garrus?”
He looked down at her. “Yes?”
She met his eyes as she entwined her five fingers with his three. “This is what Christmas is about.”