The cold, institutional air of Fort Caldera was a distant memory, replaced by the sweet, smoky scent of charring meat and pine needles. Michel Cheung breathed it in, letting the familiar aroma of home wash over him like a balm. In his red sweater, wielding a spatula like a conductor’s baton, he was no longer Specialist Cheung, safety worker and morale officer. He was just Michel. Son. Brother.

“Mike! Pass the pepper—” he called over his shoulder, a wide, infectious grin on his face. “Tyson is going to burn the buns again if we don’t watch him!”

From his perch against the deck rail, a beer in hand, his father Mike chuckled. The string lights overhead caught the grey in his beard. “Relax, kid. Your brother is a pro at... creative cooking.”

Tyson, lanky and adorned with a “Merry Chaos” apron, waved a spatula in mock indignation. “Hey, these buns are artisanal. Alice says they're ‘rustic.’” He gestured to their sister, who was bundled in a blanket on a patio chair, a mug of cocoa steaming in her hands.

Alice grinned. “Rustic = ‘I forgot to preheat the oven.’ But hey, it's Christmas. Burnt buns are tradition.”

Their mother, Lily, emerged from the sliding glass door carrying a tray of perfectly iced sugar cookies. Her warm eyes swept over her chaotic family with fond exasperation. “Tradition or not, if the turkey's dry, I'm blaming you, Tyson.”

The backyard erupted in laughter, the sound echoing into the cold, clear night. Michel flipped a burger, the sizzle a punctuation mark to the joy. He paused, his gaze sweeping over them—his dad’s quiet strength, his mum’s nurturing smile, his siblings’ playful bickering. A wave of profound, aching love tightened his throat.

“We should do this more,” he murmured, the words meant for no one but himself, lost for a moment in the simple, perfect truth of it. “Not just Christmas.”

Lily’s eyes met his across the deck, and her smile deepened, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Mike reached out and gave Michel’s shoulder a firm, comforting clap. The moment was broken a second later as Tyson, with unerring aim, lobbed a slightly blackened dinner roll at Michel’s head. Laughter swallowed the sentimentality, and the playful chaos resumed.

Later, the warmth migrated indoors. The living room was a landscape of contentment: a fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows that mingled with the multicolored glow of the Christmas tree. Gift wrap formed bright mountains on the floor, and the scent of cocoa and woodsmoke hung in the air.

Michel stretched, the familiar comfort of the couch a stark contrast to the hard benches of the hangar. He glanced at his watch, and a subtle shift occurred in his posture. The ease drained from his shoulders, replaced by a slight tension.

“Well,” he said, his voice a little too casual. “I should probably check in with the base. Just a quick call to make sure the night shift’s updates went through.”

From the kitchen, where she was washing the last of the dessert plates, Lily’s voice carried a note of concern. “On Christmas? They can’t give you one day off?”

Michel offered a half-smile, already pulling his phone from his pocket. “It’s not like that. Just a confirmation. Won’t take a minute.”

Mike looked up from his newspaper, his gaze knowing. “Your mother worries. Ever since you got that job at Area A, she’s been checking the news twice daily.”

Alice, curled on the opposite end of the couch, looked up from her phone, her curiosity piqued. “Is it true you work with those big security systems? The ones they never talk about on the news?”

Michel’s thumb hovered over his phone screen. He hesitated, the lie of ‘security consulting’ feeling flimsy and wrong in this room full of love and truth. “I… handle protocols,” he said, the evasion clumsy. “Make sure everything’s where it should be.”

Tyson, leaning in the kitchen doorway, raised an eyebrow. “‘Protocols.’ Real specific, bro. You still doing that ‘security consulting’ thing?” The air quotes were audible in his tone.

Michel deflected, a well-practiced maneuver. “How’s your job search going? Found anything in engineering yet?”

Tyson took the bait with a sigh, slumping into an armchair. “Three interviews next week. All startups. They say they want ‘innovative thinkers’ but really just want someone to work eighty hours for startup equity.”

“That’s why I’m glad Michel has something stable,” Lily said, rejoining them and drying her hands on a towel. “Even if it means missed holidays.”

The words, meant to be supportive, landed with a weight Michel felt in his chest. He looked down at his hands, his voice softening. “I missed more than just holidays this year.” The words were out before he could stop them, summoned by the warmth and the guilt. “That snake incident at the perimeter… it’s been keeping me later than usual.”

The room stilled. The fire seemed to pop louder in the sudden quiet.

Mike folded his newspaper, his full attention on his son. “Snake incident? They didn’t report any wildlife issues on the base.”

Michel backtracked instantly, realizing his mistake. “Nothing major. Just… something unexpected. I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” Alice said softly, her playful demeanor gone, replaced by sisterly concern. “You seemed jumpy all night.”

A long pause stretched out, filled only by the crackle of the fire. Michel felt their eyes on him, their worry a tangible force. He finally met their gazes, the mask of easy cheer finally slipping. “Look, I love my job. But sometimes… things happen that I can’t talk about.” He swallowed, the confession costing him. “And I miss being here. I miss these moments.”

Lily moved first, sitting beside him on the couch and placing a warm hand on his arm. “We’re always here. Christmas or not.”

Michel’s smile was small but genuine, flooded with gratitude. “I know.” He pulled his family into a loose, group hug, drawing strength from their unquestioning support. “That’s the best Christmas gift I could ask for.”

They held the embrace for a long, quiet moment—a fortress against the unnamed horrors he faced.

It was Tyson, of course, who shattered the profound silence with a well-aimed cushion to the side of Michel’s head.

“Enough of the serious stuff,” he declared, grinning. “Who wants to watch the worst Christmas movie ever made? I found it on streaming.”

Alice laughed, leaping up to grab a bowl of popcorn. “Only if Michel makes the commentary track!”

“You’re on!” Michel said, the lightness returning to his voice, the shadow receding for now. He settled back between his parents on the couch as the TV flickered to life with a storm of terribly rendered CGI snowflakes. “I’ll make fun of the special effects so hard…”

And for a while, surrounded by his family’s laughter, the image of a luminescent white serpent slithering through the dark was just a bad special effect. Something that couldn’t touch him here.