Christmas Spirits

Posted on Mon Dec 16th, 2024 @ 10:27pm by Lieutenant Adrianna Baciami

1,311 words; about a 7 minute read

***A While Ago***

Adrianna’s suicide mission had worked. Getting a warlord killed had turned the tide of the conflict, and Starfleet, recognising her sacrifice, was already arranging a new position for her once she recovered. She would serve as a communications officer– perhaps even head of department– on a starship to be assigned after her convalescence. For now, she was left to heal, both from the physical wounds that had nearly claimed her life and the deeper scars that losing Vance had carved into her soul.

Adrianna’s first Christmas without Vance was spent in his small cabin in Alaska. The home, nestled among snow-laden evergreens, felt frozen in time, as if waiting for him to walk through the door. She had made the trip there on a whim, unsure if she was searching for solace or punishing herself with the echoes of their past.

The cabin was cold when she arrived, but she quickly set to work lighting the fireplace. The flames crackled to life, casting flickering shadows across the simple, rustic space. His belongings were still there, untouched since he’d last been home– a mug on the kitchen counter, a pair of boots by the door, and the woollen blanket she could almost imagine him draping over the pair of them.

Adrianna decorated the cabin with the few items she’d brought with her: a string of lights and a small wreath she’d crafted from evergreen branches found outside. There was no tree– she couldn’t bring herself to drag one inside without Vance there to help– well, anyone to help. Technically, she was supposed to be on bed rest, but she didn't want to be alone in her apartment in Rome, or be around family and friends. Instead, she placed a candle on the windowsill, an old tradition her mother had taught her, meant to guide lost souls back home for Christmas.

On Christmas Eve, she cooked a simple meal. It wasn’t elaborate– just a bowl of risotto and a bottle of red wine she’d lifted from the Baciami wine cellar. As she sat at the wooden table, she set a second plate across from her, knowing it would remain untouched but unable to bear the sight of an empty space. She whispered, “Buon Natale, amore mio,” and clinked her glass softly against what would have been his.

The silence was deafening. She thought of all the Christmases they’d talked about sharing but never had the chance to. Vance had always teased her about her traditions, calling her “quite the grinch” while secretly indulging in every one of her quirks. The truth was, she was only a Grinch out of homesickness. The first Christmas on board the Pendragon was only the first without her family and it had hurt more than she was willing to admit.

As night fell, Adrianna wrapped herself in his old jumper and sat by the fire with a small holo-frame she’d found tucked in his desk drawer. It was a candid image of the two of them at a wedding of one of their crew. They were smiling, carefree, as if nothing in the galaxy could touch them.

Snow fell softly outside, blanketing the world in silence. She curled up a little tighter in, what she assumed was his favourite armchair, her hands clutching a glass of red wine. Whilst certainly not advised by medical professionals, she needed the wine to numb her pained soul, but painkillers to numb her physical pain from her mission, and so took a dose of both.

As the hours crept by, the solitude became unbearable, and she closed her eyes, letting her mind drift to a life that could have been. The cocktail in her system seemed to spark her imagination. Vividly, she could feel him with her and when she opened her eyes, Vance was there, sitting across from her at the table, his dark eyes alive with mischief and his lopsided grin as charming as ever.

“You’re terrible at decorating,” he teased, gesturing to the lopsided wreath she had hung above the fireplace.

She laughed softly, though it hurt, “Well, I’d have done better if someone had been here to help me.”

He leaned back in the chair, his hands clasped behind his head, “Excuses, love. You don’t need me to make everything perfect. You’ve always been the one who could turn any place into home– look at the Pendragon. It became such a community when you got there. You really pulled us together– brought us back from our mourning for Ari. And, gawd– when you cooked for us all–”

Her chest tightened, the phantom conversation cutting deeper than she expected. “You should be here,” she whispered, the words meant more for herself than for the spectre in her mind.

In her imagination, he stood and walked to her, crouching beside her chair. She could almost feel the warmth of his hand as he placed it over hers. “I am here,” he said gently, his voice steady, “I’ll always be here, in some way.”

Adrianna closed her eyes tighter, letting the tears fall freely, “You shouldn’t have died, Vance. Not for me. You should have just handed me over to the Klingons and then rescued me once you had back up. I could have taken it.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening, “The idea of you undergoing Klingon torture though– absolutely not. In terms of getting you back to the ship instead of me– I’d do it again a thousand times, Adrianna. You’re worth it.”

He reached up and went to push a stray lock of hair behind her ear, but his hand faded through her solid form, just another reminder that he wasn't there, “I know that your wounds are still fresh– me dying and you almost dying, but you can’t keep living like this, trapped in what could have been. Nor can you hide out here at my place. I want you to be happy. I want you to live.”

She shook her head, the ache in her chest unbearable. “Happy? Without you? How? All I see is what we could have had. I've not been here before, in your Alaskan home, you told me of it though. But I can see it: a family; quiet mornings like this, snow falling outside; maybe children playing in the other room; us growing old together, still teasing each other over bad wreaths,” her voice broke, “you took that future with you; you took the only future that I wanted from me.”

Vance’s imagined smile was tinged with sadness. “No, Adrianna. That future didn’t die with me– it’s still yours to claim, even if it’s not with me. Promise me you won’t close yourself off from it. Promise me you’ll try.”

“Not yet,” she shook her head, closing her eyes, “not for a long time. I don't think I could love like this again. It hurts too much.”

When she opened her eyes, the room was empty. The chair across from her was cold, untouched, and the only sound was the faint crackling of the fire. She looked down at her hand, half expecting to find his fingers there, but there was nothing.

Adrianna wiped her tears away and raised her glass to the empty seat. “Buon Natale, Vance. I’ll try,” she whispered, though the words felt hollow, “I just need time, Amore mio.”

She stayed up late into the night, the candle on the windowsill burning low, and as she finally drifted to sleep, she held onto the faintest sliver of hope that one day, she might keep that promise. For now though, she would enjoy his scent on his clothes and recover.

Maybe one day she could be happy again.

 

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