This bit of
Mick/Coraline Christmas fic is dedicated to my lovely friend who
crosses oceans to see me and helps me un-do my own regret in
beautiful, beautiful ways.
Merry Christmas,
redwinter101!
Joyeux Noel
"Mick?"
He didn't turn, but Coraline caught the brief tensing of his muscles. Her husband had been standing in front of the window for a while, long enough for the snowflakes to pile at his feet. She wanted to run a hand through his curls, shake the flakes free, but Mick was fixed on the scene across the churchyard, on the other side of a window.
The pale human faces appeared as candlelight spread a golden whisper through the room. Eyes wet with tears and mouths smiling, then singing. She found the ones he longed for. He'd destroyed most of his photos, but she'd tucked a few away. They had a long time for regret.
His mother's crinkled eyes closed, tears falling. The man beside her, with the too-familiar face, aged like Mick's never would, wrapped an arm around the woman.
"We could go in." an old discussion, a fight if she let it. "Tis the season."
He didn't look at her. "I can't."
"You won't."
"Either way." Mick shrugged. "I'm not going to take away their memories, too."
"Then come home, Mick." She dared to run a hand over his cheek. For a second, he let her touch him. And then he was gone.
Coraline lingered, watching the couple shuffling toward the door. So few years left for them. She'd given Mick forever, if only he'd open his eyes. She closed hers for a moment and was back in the cheap hotel room that had sucked up a week of Mick's checks.
She'd wanted to head to the Beverly Wilshire, to the four-poster where she'd pictured their union, not the iron frame, lumpy thing onto which she'd let his blood flow. But he'd been so determined, so proud and so ready for their first time. If only she hadn't been. If she'd...
"Quand le vin est tiré, il faut le boire," Coraline sighed. The aroma of humans with the rush of blood fresh from the warm church hit her nose and her never-ending hunger. She moved to the path and shook off the snow, then slowly, humanly walked toward them. She weaved and dodged, sampling the Christmas bouquet of flesh.
Suddenly, they were there, she leaning into him. Coraline froze. She'd pictured this moment with Mick at her side, protected by his presence. Proud of her and sheltering her from the woman's pain. But she was alone and two pairs of eyes, eyes that didn't see Mick every morning, that saw past her pretty clothes and pretty face, that screamed the hated brand might as well be sizzling on her chest.
"Joyeux Noel!" she chirped, setting her too-cold hand on the woman's shoulder as she passed, surprised when she didn't shudder. Then, soft, as she disappeared into the night after Mick, "I'm sorry."