A/N: My muse outright refuses to work with the other things I have going so I present another one shot. This is kind of a gray area cross-over and I realize that so apologies if it technically should be housed elsewhere. The lyrics below are technically Damien Rice but the vocals are all Lisa Hannigan. It is an amazing twist on a classic song, kind of borders on being haunting and if you ever get a chance I recommend it but I digress. I get a little jumpy with the time line so I hope it is followable and I am moderately interested to see who everyone thinks is the vague man so tell me what your pick is even if you hate it. I'm curious so yeah...oh and thank you beta!
Silent night
Broken night
All is fallen
When you take your flight
…
Silent night
Moonlit night
Nothing's changed
Nothing is right
Typically there are just certain places one doesn't consider spending Christmas Eve. Places like police stations waiting for bail, road sides trying to fix a flat, sitting alone in a bar with an awful blind date, or even somewhere like a hospital tugging on a paper thin gown attempting to balance emotions. People should be with loved ones, family, friends and most of all they should feel wanted and safe for the holidays. The irony in it all being that you feel neither safe nor loved as you meet the eyes in front of you.
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Looking back to September of last year you were fairly certain that this holiday was going to take on a new meaning. There was no more husband, no more family to race to, no more friends to clink glasses with, there was just you. You and your holiday.
Christmas was never very special to start with, at least not in your world. It was a big deal, that was understood, but it was also understood that you would prance around the house in a fluffy green dress and politely greet everyone until you could be sent to your room. Relinquished from the job of playing miniature hostess for an evening you would pull off your shiny black flats, yank off white stockings, strip whatever stupid dress they had picked out for you and cuddle with blue satin bunny that was appointed the head of your bed as his home. From age, well you can't remember but you are assuming age one all the way up until the year you vanished for medical school, this was the drill.
The holidays were traditional in the worst kind of sense. It was more of a façade of Christmas. There was no spirit behind anything in your house, it was all for show. The flawless snow that always managed to fall littering the ground and the bright colored lights strung perfectly straight along the roof. Professional decorators coming in and covering the banister with garland and setting up the behemoth tree in the sitting room. They would hang the decorations (you little fingers never touched a glass bulb until you met Derek), they topped the tree with a star (while no one was watching but you), and they lead everyone else to believe that this was done out of love for the holiday; not some sort of sick obligation. You never understood the real meaning of Christmas until you escaped.
You had no siblings, no one to commiserate with by the fire while people demanded hugs and remarked over how much you had sprouted up in the recent years. Apparently when everyone is drunk off eggnog and buttered rum you look like a giant amidst the twinkling lights and holiday colored table runners. They would pinch your cheek, muss your flame colored hair, and always, always remark over how you looked nothing like your parents. Years later you would discover that that sort of thing tends to happen when you are bred from one of your mother's not-so secret affairs. Everyone knew but you it seemed, and looking back it all would appear that they were trying to warn you. Too bad no one was able to tell you that this year you would have your head back on an exam table trying to count the scratches and holes in the ceiling tiles while waiting. Just waiting for someone to break the silence as he clenches your hand.
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It wasn't plausible; it was hardly conceivable to think that you were carrying a baby. It certainly was not supposed to happen but then there you were holding Naomi's hand as she forked over the results of the blood work and your fumbling fingers almost ripped the paper freeing it from its envelope holder. You let the tears fall freely as you realized that sometimes people can get the dream. You were just a late bloomer. Reaching down to graze what would soon be the area of a kicking baby you imagined thinking that this would get you through the long, cold nights. That this time, this Christmas would be different from the last.
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Officially depressed you meandered the hallways until Dell threatened to kick you out last year. The office looked ridiculous but as it was your first year working there you kept your inner Grinch locked up tight and smiled when people asked why your office wasn't decorated. There's wooden ornaments and stupid tinsel hanging from the tree in the corner, little decorative sleighs full of candy (because as Cooper put it, he is a pediatrician not a dentist), wax candles in the shapes of trees and elves, silly lights wrapped all along the ceiling, and Dell's official Christmas hat. Everyone participated in some ridiculous secret Santa and though you used to enjoy shopping, last year just didn't feel right. You leafed through magazines without emotion all the while realizing that you had significantly fewer people to buy for. Though technically you probably shouldn't have gotten things for his sisters and his mother you still, to this day, aren't willing to let go of the fact that they aren't family anymore and went ahead and had their things rushed to be there in time. You had to do something.
It wasn't ok to return home to a blank slate and to not feel anything about Christmas. Somehow Derek got the holiday in the divorce so you just watched as the days were torn from your desk calendar and fluttered into the wastebasket. You made up your mind last year to sit at home and be a weeping mess while watching stupid movie reruns that you once would have enjoyed with Derek or Mark or both, even the two together. Anything but alone. The day came and went without, to your surprise, much sentiment on your part.
You sat silently feeling as though you should be crying and mourning. Ransacking an old box of photos you let your warm fingers graze over images of the past and tried to conjure up some tears for the occasion. Nothing came. Resorting to alcohol hours later the depression and the sobbing finally found you before Naomi stormed your house and drug you out for the rest of the evening. Being miserable together and putting on a show for Maya was better than what you had planned anyway.
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It was supposed to be a one time thing. A final goodbye between old lovers and friends. He was in town for a conference, stressed out, needing to talk and it happened. You enjoyed a nice dinner on him and suddenly dinner lead to dessert, cheesecake lead to walking on the beach, and somehow that landed you in his strong arms as he stroked you until you came screaming his name from your own bed. For some reason or another it wasn't a mistake. It never felt wrong, dirty, or inappropriate. It was a complicated affair and at the same time completely free of any normal ties. You wanted to think it was because you had done it so many times that you were just used to each other but a part of your heart still jumped every time he whispered something in your ear and for the life of yourself you couldn't get his image out of your head for days afterward.
There were a few other times. Generated from boredom and strain of the everyday grind. He would call you or vice versa and somehow you were always gasping for breath and feeling safe as you fell asleep hours later. It didn't matter the venue after a while. A state is a state when you are only seeing the inside of bedrooms and airports. You on top, him on top, up against a wall or the tile in the shower, in public, in private, bent over a chair, backwards in a chair, tied up, tied down; none of it mattered because it was him. When you were with him time stopped. Reality went on hiatus and the pressure dripped away. You never once thought of work, what people would think of your weekend getaways if they knew or how many hours of overtime the rumor mill that was Seattle Grace would churn out if it was slipped that you two were back on. It didn't matter this time. It was secretive on purpose and it only furthered the excitement and prompted more trysts.
There came a moment in the later months when you realized that you should stop before you got hurt. You brushed that aside realizing that ceasing and never being able to see him again would hurt far more than stupid little sex retreats three times a month or more. You lost all rationality and almost started thinking in terms of a couple at that point. You planned things for him, sent him things and it was all reciprocated. You got flowers, your favorite chocolates (that you were certain he had forgotten), and little personal notes meant for only your eyes. That's when it happened. You should have known, given the profession, but you brushed it aside citing the flu for almost three weeks before Violet drug you by your hair to Naomi for the test.
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You were happy; elated actually to be having a child with him. You knew who the father was and you weren't saying a damn word to anyone this time, no matter how frequently they tormented you about it. Maybe it was wrong to be so cheerful about the baby created from pure unadulterated lust, but you couldn't help the emotion. Finding out at the end of May that you were finally going to be a mother was the best early birthday present you had ever received.
Most of June was spent in a dizzying dance of morning sickness. Constantly rushing to and from bathrooms and having to carry a toothbrush literally everywhere was not the most glamorous part of growing a human but it was worth it. For some reason you decided that it would be better to wait until after the first trimester to break the news to everyone, especially him. Late at night as the warmth began to creep in under the window sills you would run your fingers along your abdomen and whisper secrets to the baby that couldn't yet hear.
July and August gave way to the brutal heat and found you on your back with an IV in your arm due to dehydration on more than on occasion. You squirmed in the humidity and watched in the mirror as the little bump finally began to emerge and become more defined. You leafed through magazines of children's furniture and contemplated finding out the sex of the baby that was about to give you a new lease on life. You started calling off your meetings with him afraid that he would catch on at the beginning of July still vowing to tell him sooner rather than later.
The news broke in September. At that point there was no kidding anyone and you gladly chucked the couture office wear in favor of flowing dresses that showed off your protruding stomach. You gabbed with patients and smiled helping them through the birthing process you were set to have to endure in a few short months. Still battling with nausea you finally finished picking out colors for the nursery and as you predicted it was a girl. Plane tickets were purchased in advance and on the day you boarded flight 6769 to SeaTac you were certain that he would be enthralled by the latest developments.
In October he confirmed that he no longer wanted anything to do with you but would be there for your child. He was busy, successful and moderately happy without being roped down by a family so you thanked god for him still being cooperative and set out to take the path alone. He had moved on, why shouldn't you? November finally cut you some slack with the heat and you were officially waddling as Sam liked to point out. You met with patients and looked through temporary replacements for yourself deciding that after baby girl Montgomery was born that you wanted as much time off as possible. Frequently you could be found with one hand on your stomach and the other doing whatever was necessary to get through the day. Every time she rolled and kicked you in the ribs you smiled ridiculously and there were times that you were certain the other members of the office wanted to beat you over the head for all of the giddiness. An unspoken bond was already formed between mother and daughter and as the due date in January inched closer you were confident that keeping her was the best decision you had ever made.
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This time, this year Christmas was back full swing. Even though you could no longer see your feet and Pete was offering herbal remedies for your swelling ankles at every turn of a corner you still found the energy to get a tree. You invited everyone over to help decorate and as you sipped the warm hot chocolate from the steaming mug and watched the flickering illuminations you knew that your season was back. It was all a matter of finding someone to spend it with. Cooper and Sam strung lights around the outside of the house as you directed from the sand below and laughed when they plugged them in the first time and not a single strand worked. Naomi helped you up from the couch after you both spent hours wrapping things in shiny wrapping paper and tightly wound ribbon. And even Violet managed to find some holiday cheer and offer her professional services free of charge to your daughter as soon as she was able to talk; stating something about knowing she was going to need therapy with you as her mother.
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You laughed it off when they gave you a Christmas themed shower the second week of December and in the aftermath found yourself with more than enough baby clothes for the coming year. Pausing in the open door to the nursery you straightened blankets and crib sheets preparing for her arrival. He hadn't cared to help pick out a name and though it stung a little that he could walk away so easily again you remained strong and calm promising to call him and let him be in the delivery room for the birth.
On the 19th Dell finally ended the long heated battle of name picking by siding with Naomi and Sam. Violet and Pete remained firm in their persistence that baby girl should be named Jaiden Elizabeth but Dell claimed there were far too many Jaidens in the world as it was and stuck to the classic Amelia. Amelia Kalare Montgomery. You vowed to keep a family name in there somewhere and ended up running across a random aunt's name that was useful after everyone started throwing middle name suggestions on the table.
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Spending the few days before Christmas shopping for baby toys that wouldn't be useful for months and more receiving blankets left you a little exhausted and at first you didn't notice the cramps building in pressure or strength. You didn't notice the almost frantic kicks until you saw the blood. So now you sit, breathing through contractions, feet in the stirrups as voices signal that there is something wrong.
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You watch as a nurse rushes to your side and checks the monitor that beeps in the haze of your agony. Subconsciously you twist as the pain shoots through your body and all you can keep repeating is that it is too soon. You hear someone above you asking if they need to call someone but you are too exhausted to respond. He should be here; someone should be here with you. Someone to hold you hand when you need to bear down, someone to feed you ice chips and to run a cool towel across your forehead but there's no one. Not a soul beside you except hospital personnel. Gripping the handles of the bed as another contraction hits hard you force noise from your once silent mouth. You begged for an epidural at some point, you remember that but what you don't remember is the response and you are damn sure in this moment that there is nothing blocking the anguish.
She was a textbook fetus. Amelia kicked on schedule, grew on schedule, and did everything perfectly up until this point. Now she wants to throw a kink into your plan and come early, not that you object to a Christmas baby but there is something off, you just have a feeling. Monitors roar to life again beside you but all you see is fuzzy dots and then you are gone. There's black until the stark hospital lights startle your eyes and you awaken alone without the screaming noise you long to hear. He's in the doorway this time. Leaning against the bit of wall with his hands stuffed as far as they will go into his pockets and his eyes trained to the ground for fear of looking at you.
He glances up in time to catch your frantic face and slowly makes his way to the bed after signaling a nurse that you are indeed alive. He takes your hand for the first time in months and rubs lightly as a quick exam is performed. You want to scream, you want to demand to see you daughter; to realize that she is okay but your mind already knows what your heart doesn't want to admit. The nurse mumbles something about the surgeon being in to talk to you both soon and when you see the look on his somber face the reality sets in. There will be no Amelia, not this Christmas, not the next. She's gone and you are left with the man who didn't want you and the aching reminder that this holiday is now permanently scarred with all the could haves and should have beens.
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Sleep in heavenly peace.