Last Christmas

Posted on Fri Jan 3rd, 2025 @ 10:04pm by Lieutenant Ame Solis M.D.
Edited on on Mon Jan 6th, 2025 @ 4:44pm

Mission: Character Development
Location: Starbase 621
Timeline: Christmas 2397
2396 words - 4.8 OF Standard Post Measure

To the many non-Terran’s who called Starbase 621 home, it was just another day. Ame had taken it upon herself to complete a morning shift in the infirmary to avoid Mira’s plans to spread festivities through her father’s quarters. It was the second year that Ame hadn’t spent Christmas on Earth with the Moore’s, much to the dismay of Kathy who pleaded she come regardless. Jackson was very clearly in the proverbial dog house.

“There’s no way I can get to Earth Kathy. I’m on duty and I really don’t think it's a good idea anyway, not yet.”

The older woman on the screen frowned and sighed, touching the centre of her glasses to push them back onto her nose. “He still won’t talk about it, I give him hell every time. Stupid boy. We love you Ame even if you’re not here. You’re missed, okay honey.”

She smiled faintly, “I love you too Kathy. John too. Have a great day and I’ll catch up with you soon.” Her fingers scratched unseen against the fabric of her trousers, the communication ended with a kiss on the fingers and then toward the screen.

The Bajoran sighed, the weight lifting as she tugged at her collar, loosening it from her neck. Stepping away from the privacy of Mira’s office, she found herself back in the flow of the starbase, with its familiar hum. She was in charge now. No time for self-pity or pondering what could have been. There was only the here and now.

It didn’t take long for the festive chaos to catch up with her. The trickle of patients was steady, each one adding to the growing list of things to address. There were whispers of a real Douglas Fir hidden somewhere in engineering. Ame couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she sifted through the fragments of information. Sap, likely from the tree, had caused rashes and dermatitis, though it wasn’t clear if it was from the decorations or the floor cleanup. And then there were the complaints of itchy, irritated skin, possibly from insects, probably carried in by the tree. The thought made her skin prickle, but she pushed it aside with a sharp shake of her head. There were too many other pressing matters to get lost in the details.

The Bajoran couldn’t help but smile as the panicked parent rushed in, holding a child who was blissfully unaware of the toy part lodged firmly in their nostril. The parent, however, was hyperventilating far more than the child, who wriggled and squirmed in confusion. Ame quickly set to work, her tone calm and reassuring. As the clumsy holoprojector flickered on nearby, it projected a comical scene of a cat inelegantly tumbling over itself, its antics a welcome distraction. With a deft manoeuvre, she applied a gentle but firm technique and forced the nasal expulsion, sending the small yellow head hurtling across the bay with a light thud. A cheer erupted from the relieved parent, and the child’s wide, beaming grin was all the reward Ame needed. A sweet festive sucker was palmed off to seal the experience and a wave sent them on their way.

A security officer arrived soon after, asking her to weigh in on the mystery of the unauthorised flora causing all the trouble. It didn’t take long for her to catch sight of the culprits, crewmen, red-faced and embarrassed. Behind them, an anti-grav sled hauled the offending item, its branches swaying in silent accusation. She watched for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips, before turning back to the work at hand. At least that was one problem solved and would hopefully stem the trickle of patients.

At some point in the day, a pair of clip-on antlers had somehow ended up haphazardly perched in her hair, courtesy of a slightly tipsy Terran civilian. One antler leaned precariously to the side, and she was mid-protest when Kiva Tannis, a resolute Risian woman with a knack for stubbornness, stepped in to straighten them with a deft tug and re-clip.

“And you’re done, Solis,” Kiva declared, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Go eat, drink, and be merry. Or at least try the pie. They claim it’s replicated almost like the real thing this year.”

Ame opened her mouth to protest, only to be silenced by a raised hand and a pointed look. “I’m covering the rest of your shift. No arguments,” Kiva continued. “Someone’s got to make sure you don’t pull double duty on a holiday.”

Throwing her hands up in defeat, the Bajoran unceremoniously unclipped the antlers, setting them on the desk with a mockingly smug smile. “Fine. But the lights and tinsel come down tomorrow, no matter what Mira says.”

“Bah humbug!” Kiva shot back with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, picking up the antlers for herself. “Now get out.”

With a playful tug at her jacket, Ame saluted lazily and strode out, leaving the quiet of the infirmary behind as she headed for her quarters. There was no way she could avoid seeing either her father or Mira, they kept each other in good company and she discounted that there could ever be the possibility of anything more. On the opening of the doors, her head tilted to one side. A plump shiny wrapped package topped with a red bow and gift tag sat on the coffee table.

It was a setup for sure, she perched herself on the edge of the armchair and flipped over the gift tag with a similar caution as one would handle a volatile substance. Another tilt of her head allowed her to read the familiar handwriting. With Love, Kath and John xoxo. There was a realisation that the contents would likely be a hideous festive jumper. It was a Moore tradition after all. There were already several of these in sealed boxes, one reminded her that she survived Christmas with her in-laws and the prophets and another that it was time to warp to the celebrations or something similar to.

Meticulously she unsealed the parcel, there was always a distaste when she tore the paper. Opening it just enough to slide out the contents. The soft brightly coloured knit fabric pooled into the table and she couldn’t help but snort, finding the edge she unfurled it. There was no cringeworthy slogan but a deer with a red nose surrounded by falling snow and wires wrapped around its antlers. As she peered in close the thing lit up, flashing coloured lights and a glowing red nose. “You’ve outdone yourself this year Kathy.”

Outside of the blinking lights in front of her, the flashing light of her console caught her eye. She moved over to the desk with a slide and draped the jumper over her knees as she unfastened her jacket. Activating the console, the Starfleet Insignia was quickly replaced with a message prompting her to open and review it. Merry Christmas from Johnathan and Katherine Moore. It was at the exact moment that the message had begun to play that she knew it had been a mistake or a deception at the very least.

The screen flickered to life, revealing Jackson Moore slouched in a chair, his festive jumper—a similarly garish design featuring a starship wrapped in Christmas lights—glowing softly in the dim light. The room was dark, save for the multicoloured twinkling lights strung up behind him. Somewhere in the background, the faint sound of laughter: his family’s voices mingling with the delighted giggles of small children, likely his nieces and nephews.

“Hey, Ame.” His voice cuts through the festive noise, casual but tinged with something sharper. He’s holding a half-empty glass of something amber, his fingers idly circling its rim. “Betcha weren’t expecting this. Don’t worry, it’s me, not Mom. She doesn’t know I’ve hijacked her terminal for this.”

He leant forward slightly, his face coming into sharper focus, the flush of his cheeks visible even in the low light. “She’s been going on about you all day. All day. ‘Ame looks so radiant, doesn’t she?’” His voice rose in a falsetto, his hands gesturing theatrically before dropping back to his lap. “Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to enjoy the holiday and surprise. Guess what lands in my lap? Divorce papers. On Christmas, Ame. Seriously?”

There’s a pause as Jackson swirls the drink now back in his hand, the clinking of ice filling the silence. “I mean, I get it. You’ve moved on, clearly. But you couldn’t have waited? Or given me a heads-up? No, you had to time it so perfectly. Right before Mom starts baking your favourite gingerbread cookies. She still doesn’t know, by the way. So thanks for leaving that bombshell for me to deal with.” His laugh is hollow, bitterness underscoring every word.

In the background, the sounds of joy continue with a burst of giggles, someone calling for the kids to come to the table, the clink of dishes being set out. Jackson glances over his shoulder briefly, his expression softening for a moment before he turns back to the camera. The anger in his voice ebbs, replaced by a tired resignation.

“Look, I’m not trying to ruin your day. I just thought… I don’t know. Maybe you’d want to know what it’s like over here. Or maybe it doesn’t matter to you anymore. You seem to be doing fine. Better than fine, according to Mom.” He shakes his head, a weak smile tugging at his lips as he raises his glass.

“Here’s to the season of giving, huh? You’ve certainly given me something to think about. Anyway… hope you’re having a good holiday. Wherever you are.”

He downs the rest of his drink in one go, setting the glass down with a soft thunk. For a moment, he hesitates, as if considering saying more. But then he leans forward and the message cuts off, leaving the glow of twinkling lights and distant laughter lingering in the silence.

The Bajoran woman remained silent as she watched, the soft knit of her jumper pressed against her mouth and nose. It muffled her breathing, but she didn’t let go. She had never seen him like this—angry, especially not toward her. Each word cut sharper than the last, but it wasn’t the volume or tone that stung; it was the accusation, the way he dared to suggest moving on, as if she had waltzed away from their marriage unscathed.

He had no idea what she had been through this past year—alone. The nights spent staring at the stars, wondering what she could have done differently, validating her worth. She carried an unspoken truth, that she couldn’t share with anyone, not even him. She hadn’t chosen for the divorce papers to be served near the holidays, let alone on that day. It wasn’t in her control. Did he even have the right to feel that angry, knowing what he had done?

Her elbows dropped to her knees, and her hands moved to her forehead, fingers digging into her hairline. “No,” she muttered, her voice barely audible in the quiet of her quarters. Frustration bubbled within her, and she tugged at her hair with a growl, rocking forward slightly. She refused to accept this—his drunken blame, his obliviousness to the pain he had left her to carry alone.

Slowly, her hands fell away, and she stared at the blank terminal screen where his message had ended. The hum of the ship’s systems filled the silence, but it didn’t soothe her. Instead, it reminded her of everything she had built since leaving him. She had carved out a life again, piece by painful piece, and she wasn’t about to let his words drag her back into the ashes of what they used to be. But no matter how much effort she had put into holding herself together, it still hurt to see the man she once loved tearing her apart like this.

Shaking her head, Ame stood and began pulling off her uniform, discarding each piece on the nearest surface. A shower would wash away the grime of the day—and, perhaps, the guilt Jackson had tried to burden her with. The wound was fresh now, raw and aching, and she knew it would take time to wash away.

But for now, there was dinner. Her father and Mira had embraced the tradition of Christmas with genuine enthusiasm, adapting it into their own quiet version of celebration. If she delayed too long, her father would undoubtedly be at her door, politely insisting she join them. She smiled faintly at the thought of his patient yet persistent nature—a hallmark of his personality that always managed to nudge her forward when she most needed it.

Pulling her new Christmas jumper over her head, Ame exhaled deeply and stepped into the corridor. The faint scent of spices and cooked meats teased her senses, mingling with the warm sounds of laughter and soft Terran carols drifting through the starbase’s halls. It wasn’t the same as years past, but it was something—a reminder that family and shared moments, however imperfect, still held value.

The ache in her chest hadn’t disappeared, but it had quieted, just enough for her to focus on the here and now. Maybe she couldn’t erase what had happened, but tonight wasn’t about the past. It was about the people waiting for her, the ones who had stood by no matter what, even if they didn’t know the full extent.

Reaching the door, Ame hesitated for just a moment, letting the sound of joy beyond it wash over her. She tapped the control panel to sound the chime and took a deep breath, ready to step into the warmth waiting on the other side. It wouldn’t be the Christmas she’d imagined a year ago, but maybe—just maybe—it would be enough.