"I'll have a blue Christmas without you . . ."
The words to the recent Christmas tune kept ringing in John Steed's ears as he gently placed
the last ornament on his tree. He sighed heavily as he sank back into the sofa of his luxurious flat.
Everything had changed since she had walked out of his life. Everything and nothing. He hadn't
changed, or at least he assumed he hadn't. Everyone still thought him the best-dressed most
gentlemanly gentleman at every party. He still had an eye for the ladies, though none of them
seemed to do anything for him anymore. Well, almost none of them. Tara, at least, had the
outward appearance of the type of woman that could truly make him happy, but that was all. Sure
he teased her and slapped her bum as often as any of the girls he'd ever known, but it wasn't the
same . . .
"I'll be so blue just thinking about you . . ."
He thought of her . . . the last three Christmases they had spent together . . . how he wouldn't
part with their memory for anything in the world. He especially held dear their first Christmas
together, a Christmas that would undoubtedly have been his last if not for her. He recalled with
terrible vividness the nightmares that haunted him that year and nearly drove him literally to
insanity. But she had been there and dropped the glass just at the crucial moment. The sound of
breaking glass was normally such a discomforting sound, but oh, at that moment, he could've
named it the most beautiful song in the world. All of his mental distressed alleviated in one fragile
moment . . . by her. Shortly afterward, the two of them had discovered how he had been
controlled through telepathy by a group of mad experimenters and foiled their plot to destroy his
mind and the minds of so many other people. On the one hand, he knew that their research was
too dangerous to continue, but on the other, he half-wished he could've learned their secrets so he
could sent her a mental message: "I miss you."
"Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree . . ."
The fire was nearly out by now and lent a ghostly glow to the glittering objects adorning his
tree. He smiled wistfully, but his countenance soon was clouded once again. What was the matter
with him? He usually found such pleasure in gazing at the lovely ornaments on the tree. Why only
last year . . . but last year, he had been with her, and that made all the difference in the world.
"Won't mean a thing if you're not here with me . . ."
Well, it was about time to retire, he thought. As he turned out the lights in the parlor and on
the tree, he wondered what she was thinking of right now. Probably having a wonderful holiday
with her husband, he muttered as he went up to bed. But somewhere inside, he knew that she was
missing him as much as he missed her.
"I'll have a blue Christmas, that's certain . . ."
Mrs. Emma Peel was curled up on a rug by the fire humming the melancholy Christmas
melody to herself. It was Christmas Eve, of all nights, and she was alone. Her husband was off on
some flying excursion, or at least she assumed him to be so, for he hadn't returned home for
nearly a month, and she had already resolved to spend a quiet Christmas with her cat. Her cat,
however, was not being very agreeable at the moment and was keeping itself well out of reach on
the mantle. But it didn't really matter, since a cat could only provide a certain degree of comfort.
What she really needed was . . . but she shouldn't think of such things, being a married woman.
Somehow, though, she couldn't help it. She wondered what Steed had been doing with himself
lately, not that it mattered. She'd never see him again. Somehow, that thought hurt her more than
the fact that she didn't even know where her husband was. Oh, why had he come back and spoiled
it all? She thought angrily. He was supposed to be dead! But he had come back, and that had been
the end of her relationship with Steed. What was it that he had said to her upon their parting? Oh,
yes, she remembered it as if he was saying it to her at that moment. "Emma," he had called her
Emma for the first time in his life, "thanks." That was all. Two simple words, and yet, they held
more meaning to her than all the love-speeches her husband had ever uttered.
"And when that blue heartache starts hurting . ."
Emma's vision was suddenly blurred by hot tears. She missed him so much, she could hardly
bear it. If he came back into her life today, she felt sure that she could leave everything just to be
with him forever. But that was as about as likely as having a white Christmas in England, which,
contrary to popular belief, is as rare as a snowy June in America. Peter could obviously do very
well without her, hadn't he been doing just that anyway? If John came for her, nothing could
stand in her way, except maybe honor and a prick of guilty conscience. Oh, who was she trying to
kid? As much as she loved Steed, she knew she could never leave her husband. After all, she
loved him, too, didn't she? Emma shook her head. It was all so confusing.
"You'll be doing all right with your Christmas of white . . ."
Even if it wasn't snowing, Emma was sure that Steed's Christmas would be merry and
bright. *He* had found a compensation. She clutched the blanket she had draped around her
gaunt shoulders in anger. That Tara King! How could she have been so cruel! She had practically
moved into Steed's flat even before Emma had the chance to say a proper goodbye to the man she
loved! And John didn't seem to mind her barging in at all. But of course, *he* could be happy
with anyone as long as she was wearing a miniskirt and breathing. The thought of them sharing
the same intimacy that she and Steed had known made her nearly purple with rage. But then, she
felt a sharp pain in her heart and realized that she could never be mad at him for more than a few
minutes, at least not when she couldn't have him. How could life be so cruel? Emma let herself lie
down on the rug and wept bitterly.
"But I'll have a blue, blue, blue , blue Christmas."
The End
The words to the recent Christmas tune kept ringing in John Steed's ears as he gently placed
the last ornament on his tree. He sighed heavily as he sank back into the sofa of his luxurious flat.
Everything had changed since she had walked out of his life. Everything and nothing. He hadn't
changed, or at least he assumed he hadn't. Everyone still thought him the best-dressed most
gentlemanly gentleman at every party. He still had an eye for the ladies, though none of them
seemed to do anything for him anymore. Well, almost none of them. Tara, at least, had the
outward appearance of the type of woman that could truly make him happy, but that was all. Sure
he teased her and slapped her bum as often as any of the girls he'd ever known, but it wasn't the
same . . .
"I'll be so blue just thinking about you . . ."
He thought of her . . . the last three Christmases they had spent together . . . how he wouldn't
part with their memory for anything in the world. He especially held dear their first Christmas
together, a Christmas that would undoubtedly have been his last if not for her. He recalled with
terrible vividness the nightmares that haunted him that year and nearly drove him literally to
insanity. But she had been there and dropped the glass just at the crucial moment. The sound of
breaking glass was normally such a discomforting sound, but oh, at that moment, he could've
named it the most beautiful song in the world. All of his mental distressed alleviated in one fragile
moment . . . by her. Shortly afterward, the two of them had discovered how he had been
controlled through telepathy by a group of mad experimenters and foiled their plot to destroy his
mind and the minds of so many other people. On the one hand, he knew that their research was
too dangerous to continue, but on the other, he half-wished he could've learned their secrets so he
could sent her a mental message: "I miss you."
"Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree . . ."
The fire was nearly out by now and lent a ghostly glow to the glittering objects adorning his
tree. He smiled wistfully, but his countenance soon was clouded once again. What was the matter
with him? He usually found such pleasure in gazing at the lovely ornaments on the tree. Why only
last year . . . but last year, he had been with her, and that made all the difference in the world.
"Won't mean a thing if you're not here with me . . ."
Well, it was about time to retire, he thought. As he turned out the lights in the parlor and on
the tree, he wondered what she was thinking of right now. Probably having a wonderful holiday
with her husband, he muttered as he went up to bed. But somewhere inside, he knew that she was
missing him as much as he missed her.
"I'll have a blue Christmas, that's certain . . ."
Mrs. Emma Peel was curled up on a rug by the fire humming the melancholy Christmas
melody to herself. It was Christmas Eve, of all nights, and she was alone. Her husband was off on
some flying excursion, or at least she assumed him to be so, for he hadn't returned home for
nearly a month, and she had already resolved to spend a quiet Christmas with her cat. Her cat,
however, was not being very agreeable at the moment and was keeping itself well out of reach on
the mantle. But it didn't really matter, since a cat could only provide a certain degree of comfort.
What she really needed was . . . but she shouldn't think of such things, being a married woman.
Somehow, though, she couldn't help it. She wondered what Steed had been doing with himself
lately, not that it mattered. She'd never see him again. Somehow, that thought hurt her more than
the fact that she didn't even know where her husband was. Oh, why had he come back and spoiled
it all? She thought angrily. He was supposed to be dead! But he had come back, and that had been
the end of her relationship with Steed. What was it that he had said to her upon their parting? Oh,
yes, she remembered it as if he was saying it to her at that moment. "Emma," he had called her
Emma for the first time in his life, "thanks." That was all. Two simple words, and yet, they held
more meaning to her than all the love-speeches her husband had ever uttered.
"And when that blue heartache starts hurting . ."
Emma's vision was suddenly blurred by hot tears. She missed him so much, she could hardly
bear it. If he came back into her life today, she felt sure that she could leave everything just to be
with him forever. But that was as about as likely as having a white Christmas in England, which,
contrary to popular belief, is as rare as a snowy June in America. Peter could obviously do very
well without her, hadn't he been doing just that anyway? If John came for her, nothing could
stand in her way, except maybe honor and a prick of guilty conscience. Oh, who was she trying to
kid? As much as she loved Steed, she knew she could never leave her husband. After all, she
loved him, too, didn't she? Emma shook her head. It was all so confusing.
"You'll be doing all right with your Christmas of white . . ."
Even if it wasn't snowing, Emma was sure that Steed's Christmas would be merry and
bright. *He* had found a compensation. She clutched the blanket she had draped around her
gaunt shoulders in anger. That Tara King! How could she have been so cruel! She had practically
moved into Steed's flat even before Emma had the chance to say a proper goodbye to the man she
loved! And John didn't seem to mind her barging in at all. But of course, *he* could be happy
with anyone as long as she was wearing a miniskirt and breathing. The thought of them sharing
the same intimacy that she and Steed had known made her nearly purple with rage. But then, she
felt a sharp pain in her heart and realized that she could never be mad at him for more than a few
minutes, at least not when she couldn't have him. How could life be so cruel? Emma let herself lie
down on the rug and wept bitterly.
"But I'll have a blue, blue, blue , blue Christmas."
The End