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“I hate it here.”
You didn’t know what the OSF had against Christmas, but you certainly didn’t care for whatever nonexistent nonsense reasoning the top brass employed to despise the holiday.
Any and all festivities were essentially prohibited, but it wasn’t anything new. Decorations in the headquarters had been up for all of two brief seconds before they were ripped down for the nth year in a row. No punishments for those responsible were officially dished out, but their investments in the decorations became null and void after the literal tear-down — not even a single bauble remained, not even a shred of tinsel left lingering in a corner, not even one paper snowflake survived. Anyone caught singing carols was almost reprimanded, given a slap on the wrist in the form of half-baked chastising and embarrassment in front of your platoon. No proper discipline or write-up, but no fun, no joy, and no certainly merriment either. And accessories like scarves and beanies with Christmas designs were still being confiscated the moment any of those Grinches with authority noticed them, with even sweaters worn over the uniform not permitted this year.
The best you could do was secretly attach a Christmas wreath pin to your uniform, but even then it had to remain covert. Something about a safety hazard, possibly accidentally stabbing yourself. But you were unwilling to compromise any further when they’d already forced you to stay out patrolling an abandoned construction site on Christmas Day.
Not only that, but the Other forecast had reported a zero likelihood. Zero. No chance of any Others. And even if the forecast was wrong, as it had been before, nobody was in danger at Mizuhagawa. Apart from you dying from boredom. Or annoyance.
“You don’t mean that,” Gemma Garrison, your patrol partner for this wonderfully wasted evening, chided. You barely knew him — he wasn’t part of your platoon, and you hadn’t been introduced to or even talked to him before today. But he also suffered the unfortunate fate of working today, enabling at least a hint of camaraderie from you.
“I do,” you pouted, crossing your arms. “It’s Christmas. We shouldn’t be working during Christmas — it’s unfair.”
He shrugged, as if the notion didn’t bother him in the slightest. “Someone has to.”
You sighed, kicking a rock as you walked. It should’ve been beneath you to stoop so low, but that’s how starved and desperate you were for even the most meagre entertainment. Anything to spare yourself from the mind-numbing non-activity. “I understand that, but why us?”
A long moment of silence passed, with Gemma not replying. You couldn’t tell if he assumed the question was rhetoric, thought it wasn’t worth responding to, or if he just didn’t want to answer. The atmosphere quickly filled with all the silence of a deserted half-completed building, thick and heavy and so very unsettling. It was only disturbed by the unrelenting, repetitive shuffling of your feet and the pebble.
Just as you were so certain the conversation had ended there, he spoke up. “I don’t have anyone to see today.”
You paused in your step, rock long forgotten now. “Wait, no family or friends?”
“No.”
His response was expressed so bluntly, so straightforward, as if it were something you were supposed to already know. And it was obvious he’d come to terms with his loneliness already. That idea didn’t stop sympathy from igniting in your chest, softening your irritation and insensitivities. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.”
“Is it though? Don’t you want a break sometimes, to do what you want to do?”
He bowed his head in a small, slow nod, a wordless agreement that spoke concerning volumes. “But it’s not important how I feel. I’ve seen so many people, past friends and comrades, lay down their lives so that I could live. It would be a waste of their sacrifices to laze around and live so… selfishly.”
“You’re not selfish for taking a break or letting yourself rest, y’know. That sort of stuff is important.”
Gemma went quiet again, and you feared you’d said something wrong. Maybe you had, because he remained silent for the next few minutes. That time allowed you to stew in your Christmasless concern, thinking over everything you’d done and said. Then you began to dwell over everything you could’ve done or should’ve said in order to prevent this entire mess. And only then did you finally realise you could be coming up with ideas to amend the situation — everything you could do, should do, and would do — and over the next few minutes your brain gradually formulated a genius scheme.
Immediately, you began possibly the most crucial Brain Call of your life.
“Hi, sorry to bother you… yeah… uh, an emergency… oh, definitely, I couldn’t agree more… right, thanks. Merry Christmas.”
Gemma remained silent through the call, polite and stoic as ever, but kept his eyes trained on you for the entirety of the brief conversation. You didn’t miss the strange mix of skepticism and concern written over his face as he listened, either.
“Who were you talking to?”
“Our operator called.”
“Did you mention an emergency?”
“Uh, yes.” You looked up at him, hoping with a nervous smile that your voice remained steady and convincing. “We have to go. Because of the emergency.”
Gemma gave you another look, all full of doubt and skepticism again, because he was the designated leader of your patrol duo so any operator call should’ve been routed to him, or even both of you, but at least he didn’t voice any of it. Quietly and obediently, he followed you through Mizuhagawa to the rendezvous point, transferred with you to the headquarters in Suoh, and walked with you through the Ryujin ward, all without question. You’d even managed to make it all the way to your apartment building before he spoke up.
“Why are we here?”
“The emergency.”
“This doesn’t seem like an emergency.”
“It sure is! Someone,” you gestured to him, “is in dire need of some Christmas cheer, and a much deserved break.”
Gemma frowned. “Someone needs to recheck their definition of emergency.”
“Oh c’mon! You might as well, you’re already here!”
He visibly deliberated, the gears turning in his mind for all to see. Eventually he agreed, begrudgingly, and you set off to the elevator, entered your apartment, and got to work preparing a Christmasy lunch fit for two.
After you’d completed the first few steps of the recipe, you laid down your utensils and decided to check in with Gemma. “How are you feeling about this emergency Christmas break? Any success with working your emotions out through the food?”
“It’s our role as members of the OSF is to bottle up our feelings no matter what happens, not work them out,” he said with so much somber, solemn adamancy behind his words, as if it were the truth. You felt the weight of them, too, a heavy responsibility, an undeserved burden.
“No. It’s our role as members of the OSF to suppress Others — it’s literally in the job title. That’s already such a dangerous, crucial responsibility, but the top brass still have so many ridiculous expectations of us that aren’t in the job description.” You sighed, putting down the knife. “Think of it this way; our mental stability is a lot like Christmas. The OSF refuses to let us care about it for whatever idiotic reason, but look at what we’re doing right now! We’re defying them and those stupid expectations and not-quite rules of theirs about Christmas. Why can’t you do the same about your feelings? Your mental health?”
A long, tense moment followed, with Gemma gripping the edge of the counter in both hands, leaning over with heavy, pained breaths, his eyes wide and trained on the food he was preparing. It was a drawn-out second where you could see the gears in his mind churning away at your prompting, slowed with the rust and weathering of age. Where you could see him grappling with the concept, his reality cracking. Where you could see the idea finally click.
With the realisation, an invisible, immense weight seemed to be lifted from his shoulders, tension unwinding itself from his body even as he remained in place. “Thank you,” he breathed out, voice soft now, sincere and grateful.
“It’s the least I can do. Camaraderie and morale and all that, y’know.” You took in a deep breath. “But really, I hope you get that–“
“This sort of stuff is important,” he interrupted, quoting what you’d said earlier at Mizuhagawa. “I understand that better now. And I think… I think I’d like to do this again next year.”
“Be my guest,” you laughed, smiling as you returned to preparing the meal. “Merry Christmas, Gemma.”
“Merry Christmas.”