Disclaimer:I own nothing and all mistakes are my own as this is unbeta'd. Title comes from "Fairytale of New York" which belongs to The Pogues. (Thought it was appropriate as it was used on last night's episode.)
Just a quick ficlet based on aforementioned episode. I really like Dylan/Zoe though it is practically non-existent at the moment. I hope this does what it needs to, and would love to hear what you think. Thanks.
He has the air of a scolded child and of someone wishing they could be invisible; his head is buried in the notes in front of him. He does not look up as she approaches.
"Yes, yes, I know, I got it horribly wrong, I am a terrible, terrible person." Sincerity mingles with sarcasm.
She holds her hands up and raises her eyebrows.
"I was only going to ask if cubicle 6 is ready to be discharged, but seeing as you seem so eager to talk about your quite frankly magnificent blunder with Amanda, I was going to say sorry."
He frowns studying the confusing, dark haired, spectacle wearing, challenging woman in front of him.
Unable to fathom why on earth she'd say that and not wishing to humiliate himself any further, he shrugs it off hands resting on his hips, a trademark stance of his and concentrates on her first remark.
"Yes, it was suggested we give him time to sober up first. Not entirely sure why, but the inner workings of nurses minds never was my strong point."
"Or tact when it come to women, or even anyone, it would seem" she jibes with a smile.
He grimaces and thanks her for understanding before stalking off to CDU.
OOO
It is the end of his shift. He stands close to the wall watching people streaming out of the ED and shuffles from one foot to the other feeling entirely uncomfortable and out of place. He knows she'll appear any minute, she was in the staff room getting her things together, but he hadn't wanted to linger – Sam and Tom were there whispering and giggling like a pair of teenagers. His eyes roll just thinking about it. It is because of this he almost misses her as she clip clops through the doors, cigarette already in mouth and she pauses briefly to light up. It is then he approaches.
He clears his throat as way of greeting and she turns around, eyebrows raised in surprise glad of the cigarette to keep her mouth closed.
"Dylan, I thought you'd gone."
"Me too."
She takes a long drag on a cigarette, and when he makes no move to speak, looks at him as though to ask him what he wants. He offers her the bag in his hand in way of reply.
"I erm, I didn't give this to you yesterday at the party. I got you in the secret santa thing."
"Oh" she says lamely. "Well thanks, I did wonder why I didn't get a present. Thought it was Noel's organisation skills."
"Nope, just mine" he quips, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Suddenly he feels like the Amanda, and he isn't sure he wants to consider the implications of that. "Well, I erm, better be going, Dervla needs walking so, I erm.." he stutters his way out of the conversation and she just nods completely unfazed, she is well used to his mannerisms by now.
"Sure, thanks once again for the present, though I haven't opened it yet so I'll not be too grateful."
He gives her a withering smile, puts his hand up in goodbye, and walks off.
She stays, watching his retreating form and finishes her cigarette the possibilities of the identity of gift weighing her left arm down in every sense.
She manages to resist the urges to tear it open there and then.
OOO
She takes her time once she gets home laying the bag on the table, kicking off her shoes, removing her coat and hanging it up, opening her post, washing her coffee mug from this morning. Eventually, she arrives at the present.
Inside the bag is a box shape wrapped in purple paper with "Merry Christmas" in loopy Gold script repeated in rows. her first though is that it looks too big to be within the £10 limit. She is flattered, but reminds herself that this is Dylan. The flattery is soon distinguished. It's probably books, lots of medical books about weird and wonderful diseases. She laughs at the thought.
In a moment of impatience, she tears at the paper. It is indeed, a box. It is a shoe box designed to resemble a First Aid kit. She lifts the lid with trepidation, wondering if this is one of his sick jokes. Inside, nestled in white tissues paper, is a bottle of wine, a packet of cigarettes and some chocolates. A note lies on the top:
Well I didn't know what to get you, so I thought I'd stick with what you like. As it was £10 maximum shoes were out of the question. So here is a bottle of red, it is a good year, so savour it. Cigarettes, naturally, they're the ones you usually smoke: safe bet. No idea what difference it makes anyway. Then chocolate, every woman likes chocolate, even Dervla. Though she isn't allowed it of course.
Save this for one of those days, you know the really bad ones when you really just feel like giving it all up. If you hesitate whether you should open, then you shouldn't. You'll know when.
I suppose this is where I say Merry Christmas.
Dylan.
It takes her a moment for her to process it all, and for her to close her mouth that had fallen open in surprise.
Only he would dissect her gift to her in a note.
Only he would get her a "first aid kit"
Only he would know that this is exactly the sort of thing she wants for Christmas.
Maybe he knows her too well.
It is then that she regrets how messy everything is, Sam, Tom, Nick, now Dominic, and then him, Dylan.
Dylan.
She smiles cherishing the box in her hands. For now it is enough.