Blue Christmas
There were no frosted window panes. There was no scent of spiced gingerbread houses and there was no sparkling, golden star set on top of a Christmas tree. It was dark, dingy and the air was weighted with a heavy odour of must. If a guest twisted the blinds on the windows to see a blanket of snow, they would only be returned with a blank, slate wall. The same Mama Cass song softly stuck to the cold air as the words "make your own kind of music" played over and over again. It was December twenty fifth. It was Christmas day.
"Desmond? See if you can get that record player to stop skipping," Kelvin called from the kitchen. The way this came out of his mouth, Desmond wondered if he was the only one who kept track of time round here. Had Kelvin been too busy to wonder what day this was?
"I'll try," Des replied as he marked his page with his finger. He reluctantly got up from the sofa and set A Tale of Two Cities down on a side table. He scanned the record collection for a Christmas album to surprise Kelvin with, but had no luck. He hadn't been expecting anything though; Desmond knew that collection inside and out.
Kelvin came into the room and hovered over Desmond, watching him as he toyed with the music player. Kelvin sighed and wiped his nose on his wrist. "Why don't we just turn it off for a while." Kelvin knew that Desmond hated the silence that followed the end of a record. He probably knew that that was why Des stomped off in the direction of the shower without a word.
At least the sound of water beads pattering against the shower floor didn't make the hatch feel so empty. Desmond ran his fingers through his soapy wet hair and took a deep breath in through his nose. He couldn't stop thinking about her. About how the extravagant, annual Widmore Christmas party would be missing one seat at its table. He reached for the body soap and scrubbed his shoulders vigorously.
Was she thinking about him? Was she missing him too? Or had she just forgotten? Desmond stopped scrubbing and just stood in the shower. He let his arms drop to his side and let the warm water run smoothly across his aching back. He was not going to lose it again. He had to push Penny out of his mind. He had to stop thinking about the sweet sugar cookies, the crackling, toasty fire and snuggling together on the Widmore's leather couch. He had to get the twinkly, oddly romantic, crooning Christmas ballads out of his blasted head.
Abruptly turning the water off, Desmond remained in the shower with an angry heat rising in his stomach. He stood there for awhile with no water running. He was just thinking. He was just getting all the thoughts of a traditional Christmas out of his head. Soon the only beads of water were trickling from his tightly shut, brown eyes.
"Desmond?" he heard a knock on the bathroom door. "Desmond, I finished dinner if you're hungry."
Just when Kelvin was about to step out of the hallway, the bathroom door behind him opened. Kelvin turned to see Desmond, his hair wet, but not dripping, standing awkwardly in a towel. Kelvin was just close enough to see the red pigment creeping up under his eyes. "You alright?" Kelvin asked.
Desmond nodded and shuffled slowly to the bedroom. Kelvin had seen days like this before. Des would only speak when he had to and then when some random thing ticked him off, he would go over to the stationary bike and pedal for hours. Then, he would collapse on the lower bunk with tear stains under his eyes. Those were the days where Kelvin took two shifts pushing the button.
A few minutes later, Kelvin was sitting in the kitchen, enjoying a nice meal of spaghetti, green beans and half an Apollo bar. Kelvin scooped the last three beans into his mouth and looked over at Desmond's plate. It was probably getting cold by now. Kelvin got up and walked to the bedroom to see what was wrong this time. "Des?" his deep voice asked as he saw Desmond's shaking figure laying on the bed with his face buried in the pillow. "Des," he laughed to himself. "You can't keep doing this."
"Shut up!" the man in the Dharma jumpsuit screamed into the pillow.
A more serious shadow was cast over Kelvin's eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed and Desmond moved to make room. He still refused to lift his head from the tear stained pillow. Kelvin rested a hand on Desmond's back and gently moved it in small circles. "Desmond. What's wrong?"
Kelvin was only replied to with a moan and some more quaking sobs.
"It's Christmas Day, Desmond. What could you possibly be crying about?"
This time, Des lifted his head and rested it sideways on the pillow. His eyes were swollen up with black, blue and red marks. His nose was bright red and his teeth had just stopped chattering. "You knew?"
"Knew what?"
"It's Christmas Day? And all you can do is boss me round about the record player?"
"I'm sorry I didn't get us a tree, Des," Kelvin said sarcastically.
"Oh, shut up!" Desmond pressed his face into the pillow once again. It seemed as though the combination of tears and sweat had caused the pillow to mould to Desmond's face perfectly.
Kelvin pressed harder as he continued to massage Desmond's back. "I know. You wish she was here, don't you?" Kelvin nodded over at the picture of Desmond and Penny. Even though Desmond couldn't see this slight nod, he knew exactly what Kelvin was talking about.
"Penny."
"Penny. Well, I'm here, Des. And that's gonna have to do for now," Kelvin sighed and stood back up, leaving Desmond alone for awhile. He began to walk away with a sick feeling growing in his stomach. He turned out the light as he went, leaving the room to fill with inky, purple shadows.
The sick feeling wrapped it's prickly vines round Kelvin's insides. He wondered when he would ever see a real Christmas again. Or if he would die trying to remember what evergreen trees smelt like and how snow melted on your tongue.
I really hope you enjoyed this short Desmond fic! I was listening to the song Blue Christmas and this just came to me. Please review with critisim, flames, praise... ANYTHING! Just please review.
-Got Scots?
