DISCLAIMERS: Characters belong to Charlotte Bronte, I'm merely borrowing them. :)

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Rochester's Christmas

He watched in silent amusement as Jane decorated the tree. She seemed to be enjoying herself and taking her task very seriously. "It's our first Christmas," she'd explained. They'd both wanted it to be memorable.

He gulped down the remaining whiskey in his glass and went up to the tree to join her. She had her back to him and didn't hear him approaching. He wound his arms around her waist.

"Edward!" she cried out in surprise.

He turned her to face him, and gazed at his beautiful fairy. She was his – to love and cherish. And he was loved in return; he could see that clearly in her eyes.

"You're very meticulous, my darling," he said, noting the tree.

"I have a few more things to add."

"It looks finished to me," he chuckled.

"No, I just want—"

"Jane, the tree can wait," he interrupted, pulling her close to him. He kissed her soft warm lips. He felt her respond and a thrill ran through him. "My dearest Jane," he whispered. "Do you know how much I love you?"

"Yes, sir," she answered, in a teasing fashion that reminded him of their pre-courtship days. He kissed her again.

Suddenly his arms felt empty and he was aware of being cold. He looked around him but saw nothing: everything was black. "Jane?" he cried, then acknowledged that there would be no reply.

"Dammit!" he hissed. His subconscious wished to torment him with yet another dream, another empty mockery! He sighed deeply. The pain her absence caused was acute. He felt his throat tighten as he recalled their first meeting – this tiny little elf-like creature who had been his salvation. And he'd almost been her downfall.

"Jane, I'm so sorry," he whispered into the empty room. He understood now why she'd left, why she'd had no choice in the matter. She wouldn't have been his Jane if she'd stayed. But still…life without her was unbearable.

He fumbled around for a glass of water that he had one of the servants leave at his bedside each night. He cursed as he heard something fall to the ground. He'd have to wait till morning now to quench his thirst, and he had no idea when that would be.

He lay his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes, hoping to go back to sleep. But it was to no avail. Instead his mind plagued him with negative thoughts. What was the point of going on – without her nothing had any meaning. Before the fire trying to find her had at least given him some purpose. He'd hired lawyers to scour the country. He needed to know she was safe and not lying dead in some ditch. But it was as if she'd disappeared into a puff of smoke. She was nowhere to be found, his elusive elf.

After the fire it had taken him several weeks to recover. Carter had told him he'd been lucky to escape with his life. Lucky? The doctor didn't know what the deuce he was talking about. He was now a lame, blind wreck. If he'd been an animal someone would have had the goodness to put him out of his misery.

Three months had now passed since Bertha's death and the destruction of Thornfield. It had been almost six months since he'd beheld his Jane. Six whole months since he'd touched, kissed, and held her.

His dream had felt so real – Jane's familiar form nestled in his arms, her eager lips accepting his kiss. Why had he woken up? Why could he not just live in this dream state?

Was this his punishment for trying to ensnare his innocent lamb into a feigned union? The dreams were so real that when he woke it was like losing her all over again.

He turned onto his side and gave up trying to fight the tears that had been threatening to spill. Grown men weren't supposed to cry. He didn't care, and let the sobs come freely as his pillow received them.

Mary served him lunch and he heard her pour him a glass of water. He didn't hear the door shut after her, so assumed she was still in the room.

"Is there something else?" he snapped, feeling more irritable than usual. Lack of sleep didn't help matters.

"Err…yes, sir there was."

"Well out with it then!" he said impatiently.

"I was…well I mean…we, John and I were wondering if…"

"Get to the point." Patience was not his strong suite.

"It's Christmas in two days, we were wondering if you wanted anything special prepared."

"Oh."

He remembered his dream from last night – Jane decorating the tree. This should have been their first Christmas together. Now he didn't give a damn about the celebration. In fact he loathed the idea of it – as much if not more than before.

But he saw no reason why others should suffer because of him. It had been his custom as Master of Thornfield to give all the staff members a Christmas bonus in their wages, and give his tenants a rent-free week. But this had skipped his mind, being preoccupied with wallowing in his own misfortune and suffering.

"Sir?" Mary asked, obviously waiting for a response.

"I don't want any special arrangements for myself. I'd rather treat it as an ordinary day."

"As you wish, sir."

"Mary?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You and John can make any arrangements you wish. Take the day off if you require."

"We wouldn't feel comfortable leaving you alone, sir."

He knew she was simply being kind, but he hated it. He hated having anyone's pity. He'd been the proud, strong Master of Thornfield. Now he was reduced to an invalid reliant on the kindness of servants for everything.

He thanked her and reiterated that she and John should have their Christmas celebrations here at Ferndean. He also requested that she write a letter to his agent for him. He dictated to her what he wanted written, instructing Mr Baron to give the tenants their rent free week. He also instructed Mary to take extra money for their wages from the safe.

He'd done his duty – let them enjoy their celebrations. Mary had asked if he'd like a tree. He'd shrugged. "What the deuce for? It's not as if I can see it."

"Of course, I apologize, sir."

He told her it was of no consequence and said if she wanted a tree then she should get one.

Later that afternoon he took his daily constitutional. John or Mary usually came with him. He despised being waited upon or led about, but staying locked up in that house all day practically drove him to insanity.

At least out here he could feel the fresh cold wind on his face. He wore his black cloak over his thick wool jacket. Being December it was rather chilly. He walked with John to the end of the drive and then into some of the forested area. He couldn't make out where they were so believed what John told him.

He wasn't stone blind in both eyes. With the right eye he could tell whether it was day or night, he could see the flicker of a candle or tell if the fire was burning – each was a luminous blur. Carter had not wanted to give him false hope and had been vague on whether he'd regain any of his sight. He merely told him to be patient. He'd also suggested consulting an oculist, but Edward had neither the strength nor the inclination to pay a visit to a London specialist; at least not yet.

His convalescence had been slow. He'd once pretended to be asleep and had overheard Carter speaking with one of the servants – how he'd expected his recovery to be quicker. The servant had answered that it was if he'd lost the will to live, now that Miss Eyre was gone.

He didn't care if the servants knew – it was the truth after all. They'd witnessed firsthand his love for Jane. They had never kept their engagement secret. After the failed wedding he assumed half the county had heard about the mad wife he'd kept in the tower at Thornfield.

He felt cold droplets of ice on his nose and asked John if it was snowing. The answer was in the affirmative and John suggested they hurry back to the house. Once they returned he was seated in the drawing room by the fire and left alone.

This was the time of day that dragged…he had no one to talk to, he couldn't read, the only company he had was that of his faithful dog, Pilot. He was alone with his thoughts and memories.

Christmas – it had never been a favourite holiday for him. Ever since the time Rowland had received the toy soldier his father knew he'd wanted he hadn't cared for the festivity. His father had always seemed to favour his older son, almost as if he were an unwelcome intrusion. Maybe that was the truth.

His mother not being around hadn't helped matters – he'd lost her at the age of eight when she'd died of consumption. One of the reasons why he'd sent for Adele from Paris was that he knew first hand what it was like to be without a soul in the world caring for you. Whilst she reminded him of Celine he felt someone should take responsibility for her.

Thinking of her he felt a little guilty for having sent her off to school after Jane left. But he'd been in no state to look after her, or deal with her questioning about where her mademoiselle had disappeared to. He could have sent for her so she'd spend Christmas with him, but he didn't want her to see him this way. He felt awkward and embarrassed. She would probably ask him a hundred different questions and he had no patience for them. Still he should send her something for Christmas, some little cadeau or boite that would make her smile.

He remembered the night he'd asked Jane if she liked presents. She'd answered how she'd never experienced them. He'd wanted to change that – shower her with gifts, starting with the pearl necklace. She'd been so poor and desolate; he'd wanted to ensure she lacked for nothing.

But what of the present time -- who was she spending Christmas with? Where was she? Was she being taken care of? Did she have a warm fire to sit by? If only he knew that she was well, he would rest easier.

He thought about last Christmas – he'd been in Paris, getting drunk almost every night and losing money at the poker tables. He'd long since given up on mistresses or finding any woman to share his life with, and merely wished to while away the time. But he'd known he'd have to return to England and Thornfield soon. He'd been away for so long and business matters needed to be taken care of. He'd had a letter from Mrs Fairfax that a new governess had been hired to teach Adele. He'd decided it would be prudent to make an appearance.

And from the moment Mesrour had thrown him from the saddle on Hay Lane, bewitched by some spell his fairy had cast, his life and heart were thrown into an unexpected whirlwind of change.

The air smelt fresher, food tasted better, he felt younger – revived, refreshed and reinvigorated. Even Thornfield felt more like home than it ever had. All because of one new inmate: Jane.

This Christmas was meant to be special – the only time he'd actually looked forward to the celebration. He'd assumed they would still have been traveling around Europe, but they would have rested their weary wandering feet in some quaint quiet place for a few days to celebrate. Perhaps Austria or Switzerland – yes Jane would have liked that. Some pretty Tyrolean chalet covered in snow nestled in a valley surrounded by the majestic Alps.

Oh why did he torture himself with these thoughts! He tried to push the image of the chalet out of his mind -- the picture of Jane standing at a window gazing out at the mountains. It was too much to bear!

What was he to do? He felt so desolate and lost.

He'd assumed Mary would follow his instructions and not make any special arrangements for Christmas day. He made his way alone into the drawing room around lunch time. As he opened the door he was acutely aware of several voices and was about to make an escape when he heard someone call his name.

"Come in Edward, it's good to see you."

He recognized the voice as belonging to Eshton. What the devil was he doing here? He'd made his wishes known to both John and Mary since they'd moved here to Ferndean that he wanted no visitors. There was no exception to that rule.

"Why don't you come sit down and I'll get you some punch." That was Carter, the surgeon! Just how many people were here? If the earth could swallow him whole right now he'd be immensely grateful. The last thing he felt he could endure was to be a spectacle for all his old acquaintances. He felt sick to the pit of his stomach as he imagined them staring at the former Master of Thornfield reduced to this pitiful excuse for a man.

He asked if John or Mary were in the room. Eshton told him they were in the kitchen, preparing the meal. He walked up to Edward and offered to help him find his chair. "Don't touch me -- I don't need your help!"

"Edward—"

God, he couldn't bear it. He knew it was his pride. He felt like he was on display and the more he thought about it the more embarrassed he became. He excused himself and made his way to the kitchen. Someone grabbed his shoulder in the hallway.

"It was time, Edward. Don't blame John or Mary. They only wanted to do what was best for you. You can't hole yourself up here for ever." It was Carter.

"I don't want to hear it. They didn't have the right!" Edward spat.

"No, perhaps they didn't. But before you go in there and attack them, you should know this was actually my idea. You may have physically recovered, Edward, but you still need to heal. Being alone won't help."

"You want to help, Carter? I mean really help?"

"Of course I do."

"Find Jane."

"Edward…if it was in my power…"

"Right…as I expected a feeble excuse. Very well then get that room full of people out of here; I can't bear to be stared at."

"It's not a room full of people – it's just me, my wife, Eshton and Mary's cousin from London. No one's staring at you – you're letting your insecurity get the better of you."

Edward didn't wish to hear any more explanations and decided to go hide in his bedroom telling Carter to inform the servants that he wouldn't come down till all the guests had departed.

Half an hour later there was a knock at his bedroom door. He asked who it was and when Mary replied he bid her entrance. She apologized profusely for what had happened, and told him that all the guests had left except for her cousin who she hoped would be permitted to spend the night. Rochester agreed as long as he didn't have to cross paths with this cousin.

Mary asked if he'd like his food served in his room or whether he'd come downstairs. He agreed to come downstairs now that the place had been vacated.

He ate alone and in silence. Pilot could smell the turkey and made a few whining sounds, pleading with his master to share so Edward threw him a few pieces from his plate. He downed several glasses of whiskey which gave him a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach and seemed to alleviate some of the emotional pain.

That's what he needed, something to make him completely numb and oblivious. He'd asked Mary to leave him the entire decanter.

He could tell the fire was beginning to die down and he felt the room grown colder. The flames reminded him of his life this past year; all that was left now were a few embers. Soon it would all be ashes.

Jane…however hard he tried thoughts of her would not leave him. My darling Jane if you'd just send me one sign – something to let me know you are safe and sound, he thought. He hoped she was sitting at some fire with new friends and he prayed that she was happy.

"Let one of us at least be happy," he said, almost as if it was a petition to God.

Mary came in with some water, and added some logs to the fire. He didn't want any water and asked her to pour him another glass of whiskey. She commented that he'd had enough, and he snapped at her that he'd be the judge of that. He then apologized; he didn't mean to be so coarse and brusque.

John stayed up and when the clock struck midnight helped him make his way to his bed chamber. Edward, too tired to undress, lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. Sleep would be very welcome…perhaps then he could be with his beloved Jane…even if she was just a dream…

THE END