[[A PL Secret Santa gift for mega-megantron on Tumblr.

Spoilers: For Azran Legacy, Lost Future and Curious Village.]]

Cinnamon Memories

Hershel's earliest Christmas memories come in flashes.

He's six or seven years old. The house smells of cinnamon candles. (Even though his Ma always worried about lighting candles.) Some sort of wind-up toy plays Jingle Bells on a constant loop.

There are Christmas cards on the mantelpiece, competing for space with ornaments and tinsel. A fire is burning brightly beneath, where he remembers melting marshmallows.

His parents use a fake tree every year, but the one Hershel sees sheds real needles and smells of real pine and it's adorned with trinkets from dig sites. (Is he recalling the year Randall joined his family for Christmas?)

He hears a boy's voice (too young to be Randall), reading A Christmas Carol. When the story is over, an even younger voicebegs:

"Again! Read it again, Hershel!" (This voice is his own, he realizes.)

"You'll have to go to bed at some point," a man laughs. (That's not his Pa — he's certain.)

"Once more," the older boy agrees. He restarts the story in an eerie tone. "'Marley was dead: to begin with…'"

(He doesn't believe his brother escaped the falling sanctuary until the following Christmas, when he receives a package in the post. There is no return address, but the stamps and the shabby wrapping indicate it has survived a long journey.

At first, he imagines it is a gift from Emmy. As he unwraps it, however, his eyes widen at the time-worn book. Carefully opening the cover, he is hit by the faintest hint of cinnamon. A note slips out from between the pages:

"To quote a great author: 'No space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused.' I can't promise I will live by these words, despite Targent's downfall, but I will try my best, as I know you always do. Our paths will surely cross again someday. Until then, be happy, Hershel.'

Hershel smiles warmly and places A Christmas Carol on his mantelpiece. He will have to read it to Luke when he gets back.

The first Christmas he spent with Claire is clear as ever in his mind.

Their flat is overpriced and cramped, but Claire still insists on buying a huge tree and decorating every spare inch of the place. Paper chains shaped like puzzle pieces line the walls, the windows flash with fairy lights that won't stop short-circuiting and plates of gingerbread men keep mysteriously popping up around their kitchen-lounge.

There is barely enough room for the two of them, so they're going out to meet Claire's parents for dinner. After that, it's ice-skating with Clark and Brenda.

Hershel would be quite happy to wear his coat and scarf, were it not for Claire's other plans.

Tugging at his red reindeer-themed jumper (it's awfully warm), he asks, "Are you sure this is… appropriate?"

Claire sports her blue penguin jumper with pride, but she hums at Hershel.

"I suppose you're right. Something's missing…" She digs through one of the many decoration boxes covering the floor until she finds what she's looking for. "Aha!" Grinning, she puts a pair of reindeer antlers on Hershel's head. "There, now you look the part!" His blush deepens as Claire bops him on the nose. "Boop! Now your nose is red, just like Rudolph's!"

"Not at red as yours," he chuckles.

Claire gasps and hides the tip of her nose in her hands. "I-is it really that bad?" She spins away from him, sniffling.

"I… I didn't mean any offence!" he explains hurriedly, touching her shoulder. "As a matter of fact, I find your nose extremely… adorable – "

Her sniffs become barely-contained snickers. "Just joking, Hershel." She faces him again, but her smile fades when he stares at her. "I'm sorry…"

"There's no harm done."

She rests her hand on his chest. "You look fine, honestly."

He mumbles, "I'm just wondering what your parents might think." This is his first time meeting them. Claire doesn't talk about her family often, so he'd assumed they aren't on the best of terms. Whatever the case, he hopes to make a good first impression.

"They'll find you are a dashing, considerate gentleman who agreed to wear a Christmas jumper," Claire assures him, kissing his cheek.

Hershel smiles at last. "Now, this is definitely incorrect. We're not even under the mistletoe – "

Claire coughs and tilts his chin up. Hanging above them is a strand of mistletoe.

"How did that get there?" he hums playfully.

"Who knows?" Claire shrugs, giggles and goes to grab her coat. "We really should be off soon!"

What a puzzle she is. Hershel shakes his head and follows her lead.

This year, he misses her more than ever. In the blink of an eye, she's gone again, faster than the snowflakes that fall to the ground.

Just like Desmond, and Emmy, and now, Luke.

But he will stay strong and find happiness, especially for Flora's sake.

Although she misses Luke dearly, she's excited to celebrate her first Christmas in London.

On Christmas morning, she surprises Hershel with breakfast in bed (her homemade crepes are edible – delicious, in fact) and the present Rosa helped her choose.

"Flora, you shouldn't have…" Hershel trails off as she hands him a box with a red bow.

"Open it, silly!"

He does exactly that. Inside, there is a wooden bookmark carved into the shape of a top hat. He picks the gift up, turning it over in his hand.

Flora begins to worry when he pulls down the brim of his hat. (The one on his head, that is.) "Do you like it?"

After a moment, he looks up, beaming at her. "It's wonderful. Thank you, my dear — "

She catches him in a tight hug. "Merry Christmas, Papa."