It's Christmas time again! The season of cheer and love, but it can also be the season of sadness and memories when you have no one to share it with. And that is where the faith of a child comes in to play. As I celebrate my fifth full year of fanfic writing, I've decided to center my newest holiday story around our favourite POI characters in an original Christmas story. It might be a little AU, but the message of finding love during the holiday season still remains the same.
I don't own Person of Interest.
Song prompt: "Hope Is Born Again" by Jim Brickman and Point of Grace.
This story is dedicated to the cast of Person of Interest - for without their wonderful portrayals of the fictional characters on the show, we writers would not have anything to work with. Thank you.
Hope Is Born Again
Joss Carter hit the alarm on the nightstand beside the bed and rolled over. Morning had come again, and it was time for her to rise and shine, but she didn't care. If she had it her way, she would go back to bed and stay until she couldn't anymore. But the logical part of her knew that it wasn't possible.
"I hate Mondays," she groaned to herself and willed her body to sit up on the side of the mattress. Blindly her feet searched for the slippers, only to find nothing but a cold, wood floor. "What in the world?" she muttered to herself.
Crawling out of the warm bed, she knelt down and fished for the shoes. Finding one, she slipped it on, then blindly searched for its mate. Twice, three times her hand felt around, but came up with nothing but cobwebs. Rubbing her arm over her nightgown, she pushed back in defeat.
"Okay, I came in, and I placed them under the bed," she told herself aloud as she retraced her steps from the night before. "Where is it?"
Standing up, she looked around the room, but it was no where in sight. Hands on her hips, she tried to tap down her anger.
"I hate Mondays," she repeated and walked toward the bathroom. As she crossed the threshold, she suddenly lurched forward. Looking down, she saw her missing slipper. A small mew came from inside. She reached inside.
"What are you doing in my slipper?" she asked gently as she fished the small blue-grey kitten out. Startled at being rudely awoken from her warm, comfortable sleep, the kitten stared at Joss with fear.
"Mew."
Joss sighed. "I don't know how you found my slipper and brought it over here," she chastised the kitten. "But I didn't mean to step on you."
"Mew."
"You got lucky." Carrying the kitten gently in her hands, Joss set her on the bed. "Now you stay there until I finish doing what I need to," she instructed firmly. "Then we'll go wake Taylor together. Deal?"
"Mew."
Joss picked up the slipper and placed it on her foot. "Stay," she ordered, then closed the bathroom door.
In response, the kitten turned around on the down comforter and nested herself in its warmth. And waited.
********
"Do you want cereal or waffles?" Joss asked as she took down the canister of coffee from the cabinet. Prying off the lid, she reached for the scooper. "Where is the scooper?" she asked rhetorically.
"Pancakes," Taylor replied from his seat at the round table set in the middle of the kitchen. He was busy drawing a picture in his notebook and didn't pay much mind to his mother's question.
"We don't have time for pancakes," Joss answered. "Where is the scooper?" She pulled open the drawers and searched for the little plastic device that could help aid in her return to full consciousness.
"But that's what I want."
"Cereal or waffles," Joss repeated. "Those are your options." Giving up the futile search, she took a tablespoon from the holder and used it to measure the grounds. "One. Two. Three..." Under her breath she counted out what she presumed was enough to make a pot of coffee.
"Waffles," Taylor decided.
Satisfied that she had an adequate amount of grounds, she poured the water into the holder and turned on the machine. Ten seconds later it gurgled the familiar brewing sound. Maybe it wasn't going to be such a bad day after all.
"Okay," she said and turned to face her son. "Waffles it is." Pulling open the door on the freezer, she reached for the box of pre-made waffles. "How many do-" she started to ask, but stopped when her hand found nothing inside. She peered inside to make sure that she hadn't missed something.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you that I ate the last waffle yesterday," Taylor said as an afterthought. His head stayed bowed as he furiously coloured in the drawing.
"You could have told me, Taylor." Joss threw the box toward the trash can, and missed. "Ugh!" She stomped over to the other side of the room. Retrieving the box from the floor, she shoved it into the trash can with a little more force than necessary.
Taylor set the pencil down and looked contrite. "I'm sorry, Mom."
Joss closed her eyes and counted to ten. "It's alright. I'll buy some more tonight. How about cereal?"
"Sure." Joss opened the refrigerator door. Then her shoulders dropped. "No milk?"
"You were going to get some yesterday," Taylor remembered.
"Uh! I hate Mondays," she muttered under her breath.
"It's Thursday, Mom."
"That makes it worse," she moaned and tried not to give into self-pity. Looking at the half-filled carafe, she took a mug down from the cabinet and filled it with the freshly brewed java. Taking a sip, she blanched, then spit it into the sink. "Yuck!"
"Are we going to go see Santa Claus?" Taylor asked out of the blue.
Joss poured the remnants of the coffee into the sink and turned on the tap to rinse it down the drain. "What?"
"Are we going to go see Santa Claus?" Taylor repeated.
"At the North Pole?" she asked vaguely, trying to side-step the conversation.
Taylor rolled his eyes. "He's at the mall."
"I don't know, T. It depends if I can get the time off from work," she replied noncommittally.
"You always say that."
"It's a busy season," she made the weak excuse.
"So was Thanksgiving and Valentine's Day," Taylor listed off the previous holidays that interfered with the plans he formed before they were dashed.
"Why do you want to see Santa?" she wondered and opened the loaf of bread. Taking two slices out, she placed them in the toaster and pushed the lever down.
"It's a school project."
Joss turned around. "Come again."
"We have to write to Santa and tell him what we want more than anything and mail it to the North Pole," Taylor said. "But I don't want to mail it because the post office is never reliable. I thought that you could take me to see him at the mall and I could hand him my letter instead," he reasoned.
"You know that Santa isn't real, right?" Joss asked carefully.
"How do you know?' Taylor shot back.
"Because..." She tried to think of a reasonable argument but came up short. The sound of the toast popping up interrupted her thoughts. Grabbing the containers of margarine and jam from the refrigerator, she busied spreading the contents on the bread.
"My teacher says the same thing," Taylor admitted reluctantly. "He says that Santa is just a way to make people believe in something that isn't real and make them spend money they don't have."
Surprised, Joss turned her head to look at her son. "Your teacher actually said that?"
"Sort of. I read between the lines."
"You're ten, Taylor. You can't read between the lines." She placed the small plate on the table. "Eat. Then I'll drive you to school."
"Maybe if I had a dad, he could take me to the mall," Taylor mused and took a huge bite of the toast.
Biting her tongue, Joss busied herself by taking out the orange juice and pouring two glasses. She set one of the glasses in front of Taylor. "Drink."
"You can always get married again."
"Taylor..."
"It's been long enough, Mom," he said and took a long sip of the juice. "You should get married again."
Joss looked at her watch. "Finish eating so you can brush your teeth; we need to go." She finished the orange juice and placed the glass in the dishwasher.
Knowing the argument was pointless, Taylor folded the remainder of the toast up and shoved it in his mouth.
"Done," he mumbled with his mouth full. Pushing his chair back, Taylor ambled down the short hallway, toward the bathroom. Behind him trailed the small kitten. The door closed with a click.
Joss sighed. It was going to be a long day.
Three minutes later the door opened. "I'm ready to go," Taylor announced.
"Feed the kitten," Joss reminded him.
Taylor hurried into the kitchen and opened the bottom cabinet door. "Here Kitty," he called and shook the box. Mewing, the kitten ran over to the empty dish. Taylor poured the box, but only a few kibbles poured out.
"Shaw is out of food, Mom."
Joss pressed two fingers to her forehead and prayed for patience. "I'll get some at lunch." Taking her phone out of her purse, she clicked on the notepad. Quickly she typed in the items they were going to need.
"There. Can you think of anything else?" she asked.
Taylor gulped down the juice and carried his dishes and placed them in the dishwasher beside the glass. "A tree."
"Later, Taylor." She dropped the phone back into the purse.
"Maybe Saturday?" he asked hopefully. "After we see Santa?" He pasted on what he knew was his most charming of smiles. Taking the coat from the hook beside the door, he slipped it on, then zipped it up. He followed it with the heavy knit hat and scarf.
Joss started to argue, then hesitated. "Maybe."
"Maybe yes, or maybe no?" he asked.
"Maybe...get your backpack so you're not late to school," she finished with enough authority to end the discussion.
Taylor dropped his shoulders dramatically. "Okay," he conceded. Maybe he could work on her later, he thought to himself. He slid his backpack on. "Ready, Mom."
"Okay. Where are my keys?" she asked.
"On the counter, Mom."
Joss grabbed them and her purse. "Let's go." She opened the door and let Taylor walk out to the porch. Then she turned out the light and closed the door behind her.