ONE

Jack stalked back and forth across the floor, each movement propelled by nervous energy. Shepard hadn't taken her along on a mission in days. Downtime was boring. Going too long without getting to shoot somebody or punch something left her with too much time to think, and when she got restless, stuff got broken.

She was in mid-pace when she tripped over the box. It was a plain grey package, no distinguishing marks, and she knew it hadn't been there a minute ago. She opened it and pulled out a bottle, breaking out into a big grin when she saw the label.

It was batarian hot sauce. Not just any batarian hot sauce, either: it was Dulak's Flaming Death, the sauce so potent it was banned on twelve worlds.

She shook a drop onto her tongue and hissed with pain. That shit could strip the paint off the hull. She wondered if she could sneak some into the food in the mess when Gardner wasn't looking. That would be good for a laugh.

TWO

Miranda leaned back in her chair. Her office door was locked. The room was spotless, the day's paperwork was filed, and every member of the crew was accounted for and, for once, not making trouble.

When she'd found the box of incredibly expensive, handcrafted-by-asari-artisans chocolates hidden in the back of her desk drawer, she'd been suspicious. She'd taken them to the lab to have them analyzed for poisons, toxins, nanites, and any other nefarious substances, but they'd come back clean. She really should go through her receipts to see if she'd bought them and forgotten (unlikely; she never forgot anything) and comb the security feeds in case someone was getting into her office (also unlikely; her security was above top-of-the-line). For now, though, she was tired and cranky and willing to chalk it up to Providence.

She took a chocolate out of the box and popped it into her mouth. She closed her eyes in pure bliss, and she felt more relaxed than she had in weeks. If there really was anything untoward about them, it was worth it. This was fantastic. Absolute perfection.

THREE

Tali peered listlessly at the calculations that covered her datapad. Usually, working in the Normandy's engine room was her favorite way to spend her time, but for the last few days, she'd been bogged down with a strange sense of melancholy.

The Normandy was her home now, and she was happy, but she couldn't help missing the Flotilla. She missed the hum of the Neema's engines, so different from the Normandy's. She missed hearing accents like her own. She even missed the tasteless protein paste that passed for quarian cuisine.

Gardner had figured out how to modify turian food for her, and it was easily the best she'd ever eaten, but sometimes she just couldn't help craving the paste and its distinctive lack of flavor. It was always the little things you missed the most.

A sudden noise made her jump. A small, familiar-looking packet slid under the door, spinning across the floor and coming to a stop near her feet. She picked it up, turning it over to read the block-lettered label.

RATION TYPE K

DEXTRO-PROTEIN

She was tempted to save it, to keep something of the Flotilla with her, but first, she'd have just a little bite. She tore the packet open, attached it to her suit's feeding tube, and squeezed.

It tasted like glue. Wet cardboard. Home.

FOUR

Kasumi slunk silently away from the door and made sure the hall was uninhabited before decloaking. Not bad, if she did say so herself.

She checked the list on her omni-tool. Up next, Jacob. That should be fun. What kind of gift said "I want to lick honey off your abs"? Would a box of dessert toppings be too subtle? Probably.

On the other hand, it would make two people happy for the price of one. And her goal was to make people happy, as anonymously and stylishly as possible.

Kasumi Goto, Ninja Santa.

It had a nice ring to it.