I wanted to write something based at Christmas, but because I haven't got that far in my Perceptions story, I decided to do a little drabble about Christmas for Ben and Evelyn ten years before they meet. It's a one-shot, but I might write about other years. It can be read as a stand-alone, but probably won't make much sense unless you've read Perceptions so far.

Warning: there isn't much festive cheer!

The title is from the song, 'I Believe In Father Christmas' by Greg Lake

Christmas Eve – 1982

Ben

His daughter's face was turned towards the wall, her lips pouted, her fists up behind her head. It was the way she had always slept, ever since she was born. Ready for action. Ready for a fight. He looked at her for a long moment then bent and kissed the top of her head gently before crossing over to where his son lay, duvet kicked off and bunched around his feet, his breathing slightly snuffled due to the cold he was just getting over. Carefully, so as not to wake him, he pulled the duvet up, covering the Batman pyjamas he was wearing, kissed his hair and then backed out of the room.

It was late. Santa was on his way, or rather he would be once Laura had finished stuffing the stockings with the usual commercial tat that was currently strewn across the living room table. She had the absolute knack of being able to stretch money so far when it came to the kids and presents, a trait he wished he himself possessed.

She was angry. He had felt it the moment he had walked through the door, full of his usual apologies. The time had gotten away from him, as it so often did, and then he had had to fight his way home through the traffic with the gifts he had managed to purchase during his lunch hour when he really should have been working on his closing argument. Fortunately, the jury had only taken an hour to convict but then there had been all the paperwork that had had been lying on his desk untouched whilst the trial had been ongoing and no matter how hard he had tried, he couldn't bring himself to walk away from it until after the holidays.

He really had meant to be home on time.

"They're both fast asleep," he relayed, joining his wife in the living room.

Laura snapped a piece of Sellotape off the roll with her teeth and glanced at him. "I know. They have been for the best part of three hours. Peter was desperate to wait up for you but he couldn't have kept his eyes open much longer."

"I'm sorry," he said again, taking a seat on the couch behind her. "I wanted to be home but..."

"But your work was just too important."

Her words smarted. "That's not fair."

"No Ben, what's not fair is you acting as though we don't exist." She pushed some chocolate coins into Peter's stocking and, now full, sat it against the table. "What's not fair is you checking out of Christmas and leaving me to do all the work. I've bought all the gifts, all the food, I'm doing all the hosting..."

"I'll help you."

"Will you?" she turned to look at him. "Will you really? Or will you play with the kids and pour the drinks and then take half the credit for the day? You seem to think that just because I don't have a job outside the home that that means I'm responsible for everything in it all of the time. I do all the cooking, the washing, the ironing, the cleaning, the organising..."

He sighed inwardly at the familiarity of the argument. "And I appreciate everything that you do."

"Of course you do," she laughed mirthlessly.

"Laura..." he slid off the couch onto the floor behind her, reaching around to cover her hands with his and stop her from her frantic wrapping. "It's Christmas Eve...I feel as though I've barely seen you in days...do we have to fight?"

She let out a long sigh as he gently kissed the back of her neck and rested her body back against his, allowing him to wrap his arms around her and pull her close. She was wearing the perfume he liked but could never remember the name of. "I don't know how much longer I can do this, Ben."

"Do what?" he nuzzled her neck, trying to distract her.

"All of it."

He slipped his hands under her sweater, moving them upwards over her torso to where her breasts, still full from two pregnancies, were encased in what he could tell was one of her oldest and most worn bras. It had been a long time since he had seen her in anything even remotely sexy, not that that was her fault. Though she might not think it, he fully appreciated that it was a full time job caring for two children and given that he was, quite frankly, willing to do anything to kick start a sex life that had slowly begun to dwindle, especially since Pamela had been born, he had bought her something which he hoped she might like. "Let's go to bed," he whispered, feeling the first stirrings of arousal in his pants.

"To do what?" she asked softly.

"What do you think?" It had been at least a fortnight since they had last made love and even then it had been interrupted with Peter suddenly running through and vomiting all over the bed.

"Ben, I don't have time...maybe if you had been home a little earlier but I have presents to finish wrapping and then I need to start on the preparations for tomorrow's meal." She shuffled around on the floor to face him. "I'm sorry...I'm tired..."

"It's fine," he said, reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear, thinking, not for the first time, how beautiful she still was and how lucky he was to have her. "Maybe later."

"Yeah, like next year." She reached out for the second stocking, lying flaccid on the floor behind her and tossed it at him. "Here, make yourself useful."

Evelyn

It was a beautiful bracelet and every time the diamonds caught the light she couldn't help admiring it. It sat neatly on her wrist, just below her watch and every time she turned her head, she could feel the matching earrings swing slightly with the motion. He had been earnest when he had insisted she open the gift that evening rather than wait until morning and there had been a hopeful expectation in his eyes as the paper had come off.

She had made all the right noises, a gasp of shock, a slight squeal of delight...and she had kissed him enthusiastically once he had adorned her, but inside it felt as though she had betrayed herself. He hadn't said he was sorry, but then he never really did. They just moved on and she was expected to just let it go, even more so this time given the expensive gift. Now, here they were, at an exclusive Christmas Eve party at the Algonquin Hotel, the perfect place for her to show off her diamonds.

Her hand was clenched tightly in his, almost like a vice, and had been since they had gotten out of the cab and greeted several of his friends. She had smiled at their wives and made small talk as they had made their way inside towards the elevators but she couldn't help but wish that they had stayed home.

The elevator was crowded and Edward was pressed against her, talking to someone over her shoulder, one hand still holding hers, the other discreetly tracing the curve of her breast through the material of her dress. Every so often he looked down at her and smiled and she smiled back.

What else could she do?

He kept her bound to him for the first half hour as they greeted people that he seemed to know well and yet she couldn't place. Glass after glass of champagne was passed to her by well meaning waiters and she drank them, probably far quicker than she should. After a while, Edward's hand became more of a crutch, helping her move from group to group without falling. She never drank much, not really, but then it was Christmas and she was in her own personal idea of hell.

"Where are you having Christmas this year?" a woman dressed head to toe in Chanel asked her, discreetly looking her up and down. "Are you going to the Hunter's cocktail party?"

"No," she replied, blinking. "We're just having it at home this year."

"Just the two of you?"

"Yes."

Her companion looked slightly shocked. "Well...I suppose that's novel."

"It was my husband's idea," she said, recalling the conversation they had had when she had raised the subject of spending the day with her parents and other family and he had instantly shot the idea down. She knew she should have told him that she was going and he could do what he wanted, but something had stopped her. Something had just made her agree with him. So, she had bought a small turkey and some trimmings for the two of them, stocked the fridge with alcohol to keep him happy and had placated her mother with a story of how she and Edward spent so much time out and about that they just wanted a quiet Christmas Day this year. Her mother had said little on the subject, but then she rarely did.

The music was loud and it was starting to give her a headache. Somewhere amidst the throng, she had lost Edward's hand and found herself simply drifting around the room, drinking more champagne, swallowing a few canopies and marvelling at the views of the city from the exclusive penthouse suite in which the party was being held. She knew she was a very lucky woman. A lawyer in her own right, a husband who seemed to enjoy spoiling her, a nice apartment...but as she glanced around at some of the other couples in the room that evening, she couldn't help but think that something was lacking.

"What are you doing over here?" Edward's voice startled her back to reality and she turned to him with what she hoped was a winning smile, only to stumble slightly as she did so. "Are you drunk?" he whispered.

"No...well, maybe a little..." she laughed and threw her arms around his neck. "It is a party after all, or at least it's meant to be."

"Stop it," he hissed, pulling her arms away. "Remember where you are for God's sake."

"I'm at a party, aren't I? With my beautiful new bracelet and earrings..." she swept her arm in an arc, allowing the gems to catch the light and tossed her head. "I'm a lucky, lucky girl..." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her through a side door that she hadn't even noticed was there. It led into another smaller room, clearly intended as an annexe to the penthouse, furnished with a bed, couch, table and chairs. Not that she had any chance to admire or comment on the decor as, with a harsh twist of his arm, he tossed her onto the bed.

"You're a fucking disgrace," he spat angrily. "I give you a beautiful present, bring you to an exclusive party and you're standing in the corner getting drunk like some hooker I could have picked up on the street."

She rolled over onto her back and lay looking at the ceiling, feeling the room tilt on its axis as her eye traced the faux cornicing, no doubt moulded there by someone who thought it would give the room character. "Maybe you should have picked one up on the street."

"You ungrateful bitch!"

"Whatever..." she flapped her hand at him, the alcohol coursing through her blood, making the whole situation seem faintly ridiculous. She started to laugh, "I'm having a wonderful time..."

He loomed above her, slightly out of focus. "Stop it! I mean it, Evelyn. If you embarrass me tonight..."

"Me embarrass you?" she laughed again. "You're the one who's just dragged me away from the party into some side room. No doubt everyone's assuming we've come in here for some sort of sordid purpose. Actually, I think you definitely should have picked up a hooker. Someone like that would be in her absolute element right now..."

It stopped being funny fairly quickly.

She had expected a slap, but then reason dictated that he wouldn't have wanted anything visible to show. Coming out of a room together with a red mark on her face or bruising somewhere on her body would have been a giveaway. No...no he would need to do something that nobody would realise he had done or, if they did, assume it had been with a willing partner.

The drink had certainly dulled her reactions. Her limbs felt suddenly heavy, her head thick like cotton wool and even as he pulled her to the edge of the bed and pushed her dress up around her waist, she still thought that he wouldn't actually go through with it.

Pain seared through her abdomen.

Normally he didn't last very long but this seemed to go on forever, both hands gripping her waist, his face contorted above her, first with anger and then, eventually, with his release. Without a word, he stepped back and she could see the cornicing again, feel the burn inside her, hear the zip on his fly, sense him repositioning his clothes.

"Sort yourself out and then come back to the party," he said, slightly breathless. "And no more fucking champagne."

The door opened and closed behind him, the noise from the party drifting in for a few seconds and then leaving again. She didn't know how much time had passed before she could pull herself into a seated position, retrieve her knickers from where he had thrown them on the floor, smooth down her dress and be ready to face people again. But when she did, he glided over to her, slipped his arm around her waist, kissed the top of her head and then introduced her to some media mogul who's name she would never remember.