Author's Note: My first Twilight fanfic, so please be nice. This is just something random I came up with while "studying" for finals. I'm not having the best of Christmases, so I thought I'd show a few of the Twilight characters going through the same thing. Well, sort of the same thing...
Disclaimer: If I owned Twilight, you would know.
Dedication: To Rosilynn, (Miss-Jedi) who introduced me to Twilight in the first place. I know how much you love emotion, Rosi, so I hope I do you justice here. Please forgive me if this doesn't meet up to what you thought it would be--it is my first, after all. Thanks for everything! You are "utterly absurd." :)
The Winter of Our Discontent
"Now is the winter of our discontent…" – William Shakespeare
A Season for Miracles?
I flung the last bit of tinsel onto a random branch of the medium sized ever-green with as much enthusiasm as possible. I smiled as I stepped back from the tree, admiring the finished product. It was rather nice, if I did say so myself. The sparkling white lights gave the room a warm glow, causing a few of the ornaments to reflect little rainbows against the walls. I looked back hopefully toward the couch where Bella sat, hard at work putting all the boxes away. It had been a miracle that I'd even convinced her to help me. She'd insisted that she had too much homework and that she really should be working on dinner. But she wanted to make me happy, to convince me that she was okay, so she agreed to help me decorate the house for Christmas. I admit that I might have used that fact to my advantage. I couldn't help frowning as I looked now at her determined face, concentrating so faithfully on her task—putting the excess lights back into a box. Couldn't she stop working and enjoy anything?
"Hey, Bells," I called to her, gesturing toward the tree. "What'dya think?" I watched her expression with dismay as she raised her eyes slightly to examine my handiwork, her mouth first forming a perfect 'O' as she took in the image of the tree. Her jaw set suddenly, her expression impassive, but not before the pain flitted across her face. I looked to the tree, trying to figure out what I'd done wrong, but I couldn't find anything. It was the same thing I'd done every year since she was a little girl, white lights, a bit of red ribbon, and random ornaments that I'd collected from different relatives over the years—nothing that she hadn't seen before. Bella turned quickly back to her work, a renewed swiftness to every motion. I stooped down to help her, hoping that she would slow down. I knew talking to me about what bothered her would be too much to ask. Over the past two months I had stopped expecting it.I shoved a few unused items into a box behind the couch and stood back up. I watched my daughter for a moment, unable to mask the pain I felt for her. My first Christmas without Renée had been excruciating. Everything about Christmas seemed to have a romantic feel to it—not an easy time of year when the life of your life is no longer around. I supposed it must be something like that for Bella. I knew that she was young, but she'd grown really attached to him, and I was pretty sure that she had loved him, in her own way. The thought made me want to rip out his heart, but I pushed the notion away. Thinking like that wouldn't help me to help Bella.
"Hey, kiddo," I started, trying to hide the hopefulness I felt from reaching my voice. "What do you say we do a bit of Christmas shopping this evening?" She looked up at me, pointedly avoiding looking at the Christmas tree. Her eyes were blank, but her mouth held a half smile.
"I don't think I should tonight, Dad," she answered apologetically. "It's the end of term and I've got a whole bunch of assignments to turn in. I'll start dinner for you, though…unless you want to go out yourself?" I shook my head, trying my best to hide my disappointment. The whole point of getting out was for her—I hated shopping. She had used to be pretty enthusiastic about it at one point. I suppose that left with Alice, though.
"Naw," I answered gruffly. "There's probably a game on I could catch. I'd like to take a rain check on going with you, though." Bella smiled half-heartedly.
"Sure, Dad." I knew that she was just trying to appease, but I let it slide. "I'll start on dinner," she said, getting up and nonchalantly pulling her hair to one side, blocking her own view of the Christmas tree. She practically ran to the kitchen, getting out of the room as quickly as she could. I couldn't help the sigh that escaped my lips as she exited. I gathered up the empty boxes, shoving them inside a closet before I made my way back to the living room. I switched on the TV, finding a game for myself. But I couldn't concentrate. I could hear her in the kitchen, making more noise than she normally made. Well…normally as in a couple of months ago normal. I knew the signs well, as I'd found myself doing many of them after Renée left. I'd occupied as much time as possible, made more noise than necessary when I was alone to block out any thoughts that might be painful. To see my own daughter going through the same pain was torture."Dinner's ready," Bella called from the kitchen a little while later. I turned off the TV and made my way to the kitchen quicker than usual. I just couldn't seem to concentrate on the game. I smiled brightly at my daughter as she handed me a plate of delicious looking fish. I wondered briefly if she ever got tired of fish, then dug into my own food. I asked Bella about her day, trying to squeeze as many details out of her as possible, but I got nothing more than the occasional meaningless blathering about school assignments. At last I gave up and she excused herself to go to homework. I tried to go back and watch the rest of the game, but my heart just wasn't in it. Christmas was supposed to be a magical time of year, and just like everything else, he had ruined that for us too. I switched off the Christmas lights before I headed upstairs, with one more exasperated look at the tree.
I was just passing Bella's room when I heard a yelp of pain, followed by a muttering that sounded like "Stop it…idiot. It's no use…doesn't want…good enough." Worried for my daughter's safety, and sanity, I stuck my head in her room. She sat on her bed, papers scattered around her, clutching her arms to herself. I wasn't entirely dense. This was an action I had caught her doing quite frequently after…he left. I took a half step into her room, unsure what to do.
"It's okay, Dad," she answered my unuttered question with a grimace. "I just slipped up. It won't happen again." As I wished her a good-night and closed her bedroom door behind me I had the strangest feeling that she hadn't been speaking literally.
I lay in bed for some time, the image of Bella clutching herself, and the look of pain that had crossed her face when she had seen the Christmas tree kept running through my head. I wanted so desperately to help my little girl, but I couldn't think of anything to do for her. She was trying so hard. Struck with a sudden thought, I made my way downstairs again. Standing in front of the tree, I couldn't help but feel a little proud at my realization. I had noticed Bella's aversion to red after Edward—sorry, he (she hated the use of his name and I didn't want to slip up)—left. I assumed it had something to do with love or the red in his hair or some such nonsense—I wasn't sure. She didn't like wearing blue anymore, either, but I had no idea where that came form, and there really wasn't any blue on the tree so I didn't need to worry about it just then. I removed the red ribbon that draped across the tree with care. Stuffing it into the bottom of a box in the closet, I turned back to the tree with a smile.
I'd been pretty proud about fixing what I thought was the problem, but when I awoke in the morning to find several crystal ornaments missing from the tree; I figured I'd been wrong. The tree looked kind of bare after that, and the lights no longer made rainbows on the walls. But Bella seemed happier, and that was good enough for me. It wasn't prefect and she was by no means her old self, but at least she could look at the Christmas tree without that pain in her eyes. I never wanted to see that again, if I could help it. Unfortunately, I had the feeling that I wouldn't be able to help it. My little girl was changed, and I only hoped that time would bring a different change with it. Christmas was a time for miracles, right? That's what I needed—a miracle.