A Christmas story
Because nobody should be alone with Christmas
The good old sheriff Stilinski was still thinking whether he'd finish the last quarter of his coffee while it wasn't completely cold when a speeding car passed the bill board behind which the sheriff was stationed. The coffee went out of the window and the sirens went on. As soon as the culprit spotted the police car behind him he slowed down and pulled over. "I'm quite aware I went too fast, officer," the driver started as Stilinski bended over the opened window. The man, somewhere in his forties, white hair, a fringe of beard, small rectangular glasses and a nose which fitted his French accent well, continued:
"I wagered I could make up the delay of my plane if I sped up: I was wrong and now I'll face the consequence."
"That's rather sportsmanlike," comment the sheriff as he inspected the Frenchman's papers.
"So where are you going that's so important Mr…Pierre Noel?"
"It's Noël, with a diaeresis on the e," Pierre corrected.
"With what?"
"Two dots on the e, because it's pronounced as two separate vowels; no-el. But to answer your question, I'm a medical specialist in animal attacks and I was asked to look at a patient in Beacon Hills," said Mr Noël.
"Then you would have missed the next turn to the left: It's a one-lane road through the woods and you'll see the hospital at your left at the end. It saves you five minutes without speeding." Stilinski knew quite well who the patient was.
"I thank you, officer," said Mr Noël.
"No problem," Stilinski replied as he handed back the papers, including the speeding ticket.
The doctor pulled up and the sheriff walked back to his car. He looked up to the darkening sky when he saw the white dots on his car. Rather big snowflakes were falling down slowly, as if they had all the time in the world.
Nurse McCall recognised Dr Noël's face immediately from the photo she had seen despite the somewhat eccentric red velvet suit he wore.
"Bonsoir monsieur," she started with a smile, knowing she would run out of French very quickly if the doctor replied in his native tongue.
"Good evening, Miss. I'm sorry I'm late, my plane was delayed," the visitor apologised, in English to Melissa's relief.
"Well, we're already glad you were willing to come all the way from France to our little town. Dr Fenris spoke very highly of you," McCall reassured him.
"It must be a curious case if Fenris doesn't know what to do with it, and I needed an excuse to visit my niece in Mont Réal this Christmas anyway. What are your plans for Christmas, if I may ask?"
"I will finally be able to spend Christmas with my son again. He had to stay at his friend's place the last few years because I always had to work at Christmas," Melissa said, wondering why she would told this stranger all of sudden.
"I see your problem; I somehow always manage to be on duty with Christmas too. Shall we see the patient?" Pierre asked.
"Yes, of course."
Mr and Mrs Martin hardly noticed that their surname was pronounced in a French fashion, or that the doctor wore an odd suit beneath his white coat, all they cared about was that they were assured that this man might know how to cure their daughter.
"I cannot determine what exactly bit your daughter, but I agree with my colleague Fenris that the current treatment is adequate." Pierre Noël established.
"But will our daughter get better? She's been in… in this state for so long." protested Mrs Martin nearly in tears.
"You may not see the progress in her condition, and perhaps my dear colleague doesn't either, but I can assure you it is a matter of time before she will recover. She's a fighter and she is winning."
"Thank you, doctor."
"De rien."
"What's wrong?" asked Stiles.
"Nothing."
"Scott, you're such a terrible liar. If it wasn't for that sad face, the lack of protest when I put that Christmas hat on your head would have given it away."
Scott quickly took it off and looked around if anybody had seen it. Only the entire canteen, that's just great.
"Alison's family always has a big family gathering with Christmas…" Scott stated as he messed with his lunch.
"So since her family hunts werewolves, and you are one, I see your problem." Stiles remarked.
"She dreads the dirty looks of her own family; she's really stressed out by it." Scott said before standing up.
"I have to find her and convince her not to go," he said determined as he walked away.
"Oh yeah, I wanted to ask you," started Stiles to the empty seat next to him, "My dad is on duty this Christmas, can I stay at your place this time?"
Stiles sighed and didn't notice the man in a red velvet suit also walked away from the canteen table, just like neither one of the boys had noticed him sitting there.
Pierre Noël entered the practice but nobody responded to the bell. He walked up to the Veterinarian's office. Because the door was ajar, he could hear this side of the telephone conversation.
"I can't just leave the dogs by themselves…I know it's almost Christmas…Mum please, I can't just shoot them…I'm sorry, maybe next year."
"I heard enough," Noël said to himself as he left.
The vet hung up and returned to the waiting room.
"That's weird; I thought I heard the bell."
Sherriff Stilinski knew he had to ring the door bell but somehow he couldn't. He stood in front of the door that belonged to the house of the McCalls with a big turkey in his hands. Right behind him stood an man in a red velvet suit, though Stilinski didn't seem to notice.
"This is ridiculous," said Pierre Noël.
"Oh, what am I doing?" asked the Sherriff himself, "I know Melissa since Stiles was in kindergarten, why shouldn't I ask her for a simple request?"
"Indeed, now ring."
His hand was halfway when the door opened. Melissa McCall clearly was about to go to work. For a moment they just looked at each other.
"Don't say Scott's in trouble" she sighed.
"Oh no, I'm not her for work, I actually want to ask you for a favour." Stilinski rushed to say.
"Does it have to do with that turkey?" Melissa teased.
"I have to work this Christmas and I don't want Stiles to be alone…"
"Of course Stiles can stay here! That's the least I can do after you having Scott over for years!" the nurse interrupted him.
"Great! Thanks! Great! I really appreciate it," the Sherriff stuttered. He wasn't really good at asking for favours. So Pierre pushed him in the back.
Stilinski took one step towards Melissa and presented the turkey to her.
"Uhm…This one's for you, to thank you. Not that I jumped to the conclusion that it was okay. I mean, not that I thought it would be problem…"
"Oh shut it, Stiles is more than welcome," Melissa said as she took the turkey from him, "and so are you. We're basically family, aren't we?"
"Yes, right, thanks, and a merry Christmas, Melissa," Stilinski said relieved.
"Merry Christmas" muttered Pierre Noël as he turned around.
Chris Argent closed the front door behind him and cursed as he spotted three empty wine bottles on the coffee table in the living room. His wife hadn't had one of 'those moods' for years and Christmas day wasn't the ideal day for a relapse, especially if the first guests were to arrive at five.
Mrs Argent was in the kitchen with a bottle of sherry as company.
"Sweet heart," Mr Argent started, but he didn't know what to say.
"Ha! There's my stout husband! How's the dog?" She exclaimed with a steady voice. She did not wait for an answer.
"You think I'm in one of those moods again, don't you? Quite the contrary, I haven't felt this good in a while," she chuckled.
"But the family…" tried Mr argent, but he was interrupted.
"Glad you brought it up, where were our relatives when you called for help? Why was your sister the only one to come to our aid? What kept them so busy they couldn't call us after Kate died? They read the papers. So I called them, I called them all and told them were to stick it!" she laughed victoriously.
"I didn't actually tell them were to stick it," she added as her husband turned pale.
"I fobbed them off with some excuse, I don't remember, I wrote it down somewhere in case I'd forget."
Mr Argent was once again impressed of her craftiness of her intoxication.
"But Allison…" he tried, but again he was interrupted.
"I send her to that boyfriend of hers: She doesn't have to see me like this. But moreover, I have other plans for Christmas this year. Remember our very first Christmas together?" She giggled.
Mr Argent's red faced answered for him. How could he have forgotten that Christmas?
"Come, Chris, and make love to me."
Pierre Noël, who had watched the scene up to now, rightly decided it was time to leave.
Allison Argent didn't see the Frenchman in red sitting on the McCall porch while she rang the door bell.
Her smile became even more radiant when Scott opened the door wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater ever –her father's included- and a Christmas hat decorated with lights. His initial surprise turned into to a smile which turned into embarrassment at his Christmas garments and she fell head over heels in love with him all over.
The Veterinarian recognised his mother's high-pitched voice scolding the taxi driver from the office. Before he had left his office his mother already stood in front of him.
"I knew you wouldn't let me down, sonny," She said happily as he hugged the man almost twice her length.
"If you can't come to me, I come to you! You got your mum's wit!" she complimented herself.
"Careful with that turkey, fool!" She turned to the taxi driver.
"I'll have to give the man a tip," said Pierre Noël when she was out of hearing distance.
"Who the hell are you?" yelled the vet in surprise as he turned to the older gentleman in red velvet.
"Oh, you can see me? How I have underestimated you!" Pierre said equally surprised.
"Sonny, where are you? I need you to carry the desserts!"
"Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, I guess."
Derek Hale sat beside the fireplace, encompassed with bottles of whiskey. Perhaps he bought too much, but what did he care? Halfway the second bottle and not even the feeblest signs of getting drunk; being the alpha sure did have its disadvantages. Normally, he would visit his sister, but she was no longer here. He couldn't even go to Uncle Peter's hospital to sit Christmas out. The last of the Mohicans; the last of the Hales.
This thought infuriated him, he emptied the remainder of the bottle in one go, or so he attempted, and threw the bottle with still a quarter in it in the fireplace.
"I would slow down on the intake if I were you," a voice commented.
Derek instantly looked in the direction of the voice, seeing the odd appearance of Pierre Noël.
"I don't let a children's tale tell me what to do," Derek snarled.
"I don't give orders, I give advice," Pierre said as he sat down across Derek.
"I don't want the advice of somebody who doesn't exist,"
"Said the werewolf sulkily," teased Pierre, "Anyway, I should accept the invitation."
"What invitation?" asked Derek angrily.
Suddenly they heard a car stop in front of the burnt-down house, and soon Jackson Whittemore entered.
"You have to come with me, and I must insist" he said bewildered.
"Why?" was all Derek could utter.
"I don't know. My parents just started asking questions about you. I don't even know how they know you fucking exist! They told me, they ordered me to pick you up to spend Christmas with us. It's complete bullshit! What are they thinking? That I have a homeless sugar daddy?" Jackson ranted.
"Compassionate people are such a pain, aren't they?" Pierre said humorously.
"I don't want to go," Derek whispered, ignoring Jackson rant about the idiocy of the situation.
"Yes, you do. His parents are just kind, caring people who don't want anybody to be alone with Christmas. I'm good in what I do," Pierre said.
"Are you coming or not?" Jackson interrupted the conversation he couldn't hear, "I'm freezing my ass off, is that booze? You not drunk, right? I really can't use that right know and…"
"Shut up!" ordered Derek loud and clear. Jackson shut up.
"You're driving like an elderly woman," commented Derek.
"The road's icy, and keep eating those peppermints, you still smell like an alcoholic." Jackson retorted.
One more time did that door bell rang and one more time Melissa McCall found the sheriff on her door step.
"I realised that nothing has happened in the past seven years in Beacon Hills with Christmas," Stilinski explained, "No road accidents, no drunken relatives ending up in hospital: the virtues of a small town."
"But what if something does happen?" asked Miss McCall.
"In that case my pager will go off and…we're standing beneath mistletoe, aren't we?"