Chapter One: Vince and Orwell

The meteorologists called it the storm of the century, outside of the plain…unnaturalness of the three to six feet of snow that had been dropped on a south Californian city. The citizens of Palm City grumbled epithets under their breath as they had to purchase winter coats and shovels, many of them for the first time in their lives.

Vince was stuck in his subterranean home, cursing the lack of heat and the snow keeping him locked in. His partner, Orwell, was cursing the lack of internet. Needless to say, neither of them was enjoying the start of the Christmas season—even without taking the snow into consideration.

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"Is there any coffee?" Vince asked for what seemed like the hundredth time. He'd started the coffee brewing nearly an hour before the snow came in, and hadn't been able to find the pot since.

The snow had come in through the open exit, and Vince had only learned about it invading his home when he'd felt the draft around his toes. It had been too late to save his coffeepot.

"Shut up Vince," Orwell grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to remember another access code for the Ark satellites. Her internet connection had succumbed shortly after Vince's coffeepot, and even the newest and best of Ark's satellites wasn't cutting through the storm front.

"Sorry Orwell," Vince mumbled, before sneezing and pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders. He scowled at the snow drift that he and Orwell had managed to clear part of the way out of the lair—the drift that his coffeepot was still buried under. The vigilante looked up at the calendar, and glowered some more. "Damn."

Orwell looked up, an expression of alarm on her face. "What?" She looked panicked, as though she'd heard that Ark was about to bomb her internet provider (or was about to land on her front stoop).

"It's Christmas," Vince said, still staring at the calendar. "How did I miss that?"

Orwell rolled her eyes. "Concentrate, Vince. There are more important things at the moment than Christmas." The hacker swore under her breath as she lost the connection to the internet. And she'd almost had it that time, too…

"What's your deal?" Vince asked, fixing a glare on Orwell. "It's Christmas! I realize that the entire city is buried under three feet of snow, but it's Christmas. And look at this way," he added in a wheedling tone, "no one is committing any crimes while the snow is burying everything worth stealing. We both get a free vacation, and you don't have to update your blog." He grinned, looking pleased with himself. The vigilante then sneezed again, shooting a longing glance in the direction of his deceased coffeepot.

"Why do you like Christmas so much?" Orwell asked, looking incredulous. The overall effect was comical, given that she was wearing a winter coat that made her look like the Michelin Man's wife.

"It's…it's Christmas. I spent it with my family all the time—and gave many prayers of thanks that my parents lived on the east coast. Me and Trip—we'd get a tree that looked great, and we drove Dana crazy all the time when we decorated it…" Vince trailed off, laughing. "Last year, we made popcorn strings—it was Dana's idea," he added, seeing Orwell's look, "and it drove her nuts when the two of us kept eating the popcorn. She eventually gave up trying to make them and we ate the popcorn." He grinned, clearly lost in more pleasant memories.

After a few minutes, Vince shook himself. "What was your last Christmas with family like?" he asked, peering at his partner. Orwell looked away, pulling the hood on her coat up. "Come on Orwell," Vince wheedled, "you can tell me."

Orwell stared at her computer screen for a few minutes, silent. Vince was about to jump up and start pacing again when Orwell finally responded.

"I spent my last Christmas in the emergency room."

Vince felt his face flush, suddenly sorry for bringing up bad memories.

"I was living in an apartment, and my landlady invited me over for Christmas dinner. She was actually Muslim, but she knew that most of her tenants celebrated Christmas. I guess it was just because she knew I didn't have anyone…" Orwell trailed off, an odd smile on her face. She shook herself, and continued. "The turkey burned, and my landlady broke her wrist trying to put out the fire."

Vince bit his lip to keep from laughing. Injuries weren't exactly funny, but something that… normal and mundane happening around Orwell… It just didn't fit in with his picture of her.

"Why do people like spending Christmas with family so much?" Orwell asked, jolting Vince out of his thoughts. He frowned, pulling his blanket back up over his shoulders.

"Because it lets us know that someone still likes us enough to be around us, I guess." Vince shrugged, sneezing. "It's just the one time out of the year that people seem to actually like each other. Maybe that's why—or because we've got nowhere else to go, and who else do you spend it with but family?"

Orwell sighed, grinning. "You are so weird Vince," she said, but at least she was smiling.

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Author's note: Yes, I realize it's June. I just wanted a Christmast story. Bear with me here. And if you didn't like this chapter, well... It might get better.