author's note: I've fallen trap to the Marrish ship and this is what has resulted from my new obsession. Please enjoy! x

It was that time of the year again. The time where people crowded the malls in a mad dash to finish last minute gift shopping for family members, girlfriends and boyfriends, coworkers and bosses, even for their beloved pets. Colorful, twinkling, lights were strung from houses, lawns were decorated with inflatable Santa Clauses, Frosty the Snowmen, and nativity scenes, not to mention his car radio played Mariah Carey's, 'Santa Baby,' on every single station he tried switching it to, including the police channel. The spirit of the holidays was upon them.

Yet, despite all of the jolliness from good ol' Saint Nick and cheerily decorated Christmas sugar cookies he had received as a gift from the little neighbor girl next door, Deputy Parrish was feeling anything but merry.

The holidays served as a painful reminder that he had nothing. Because two years prior, he had awoke in a sterile white hospital room without a single memory. Amnesia, the doctor had told him, from a blow to his head due to a grenade explosion that hit his Humvee while driving along the front lines of Afghanistan. His dog tags were missing when his rescuers found him. So were most of his left and right shoulders. He was lucky in regard to the injuries he sustained.

He assumed the name, Kyle Parrish, flew to California as soon as he was released, and decided to join the police force, which later led him to Beacon Hills. He had felt strangely drawn to the mysterious town and the unknown reason bugged him to no end.

Could he have located his family? Probably. Did he want to? No. At least not yet, anyway. He needed time to figure out the man he once was and facing his family at the current moment would be like facing strangers. He couldn't find it in himself to put them through that trouble.

It's a Wonderful Life played softly on his small television screen, the darkness of the room and the dull glow from his sad, Charlie Brown-looking Christmas tree in the corner, slowly lulling him to sleep. His reclining chair was a bit too cozy and the dying embers in the fireplace made the room a bit too warm.

He just wanted to sleep through the next day. It was his only one off for the next month.

Suddenly, his comfortable peace was interrupted by light that came flooding in from the motion-activated street lamp on the other side of his front window. Damn that lamp.

He blinked, bleary eyed, and turned to look at the clock on the coffee table beside him. 2:37 am. His body begged him not to do it; however, his curiosity won over and he was up on his feet, sliding his arms into his police jacket, ready to report the idiotic teen who thought they wouldn't get caught breaking the city curfew. The law came first, regardless of whether he was on or off duty.

The young man moved to open his door and was greeted by an unexpected sight. Soft, powdery, white crystals were floating down from the sky and standing directly in the middle of the street, gawking awestruck at the crystalline substance was none other than the redhead whom was to blame for his heart abruptly fluttering wildly in his chest.

No Parrish. Control yourself.

"Snow," she spoke, still gazing at the vast expanse of darkness up above, her quiet voice breaking him out of his stupor. "It's been 20 years since the last snowfall in Beacon Hills, Deputy."

A moment of silence passed between them as Lydia continued staring, entirely enraptured with the snowflakes, while the enamored expression of the scene before him inadvertently grew stronger and stronger on his profile.

"I hate to break it to you, Miss Martin," he finally said, mentally kicking himself for allowing absurd ideas to run through his head, "but you really shouldn't be out this late. City curfew on weeknights for minors is—"

"—11:30," she finished for him, evidently humored from her tone, green eyes meeting brown. "Tell me something I don't know."

He chuckled lowly in response. She had a point, he would give her that. Lydia and the rest of her friends always seemed to end up being the talk of the other deputies in the police station due to their uncanny talent of showing up on the latest crime scene. Someday he was going to uncover the enigma behind this bizarre city.

"How about I give you a ride home? Your parents are probably going to start wondering where you are," he offered, shoving his cold fingers into his coat pockets, his breath visible in the frosty air.

"Hah," Lydia scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, I bet they're real concerned about my well-being, considering they're thousands of miles away, lying on a private beach in Fiji, and sipping margaritas to their hearts content," she retorted bitterly, wrapping her arms around herself. She was wearing a light sweater that barely protected her from the snow, let alone the record temperature. "Merry Christmas to me."

Parrish was at a loss for words. He had never been trained in what to say to a 17 year old girl whose parents abandoned her on Christmas. Surely he could suggest she ask one of her friend's to take her in for the holidays. In fact, he believed Sherriff Stilinski would wholeheartedly welcome her into his home. From what he noticed during their interaction at the Walcott house, the Sherriff appeared to be like a second father to the girl. Yet there was an enormous part of him that didn't want her to leave: he was lonely too.

Think. Be reasonable. Don't be selfish. Stop looking at her kiss-worthy lips.

"C'mon on then," he said, turning the doorknob and motioning for her to follow, inwardly cursing his stupidity. If anyone found out about this—he was dead, reputation he hardly even had, utterly destroyed.

When he glanced over his shoulder, she was already in his doorway wearing same demeanor she had after he found her at the Walcott house. It was as if she was listening to some invisible voice. "You okay?" he asked cautiously.

"Whaa—" she began blinking. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He shut the door as she shuffled forward and took off his coat, returning it to his fancy coat rack, also known as his kitchen table chair.

"The real question is if you're okay, Deputy. Inviting a minor into your humble abode is a bit risky, don't you think?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.

"You needed a place to stay. Simple as that," he replied casually, relieved that nothing too flirtatious came out of his mouth. Plus, keeping her in his sight would hopefully ensure a body-free holiday and that was something everyone could appreciate.

Lydia carefully began making her way around his living room, eying pictures, medals of honor, various certificates he had earned. Her scrutiny made him feel extraordinarily nervous, he was not in the mindset to give answers at this hour of the day.

"I'll show you to your room," he said, interrupting her saunter.

They walked a short distance to the decent sized bedroom, it was the master of the townhouse, and watched as she contemplated the room for a few seconds, then said, "Where do you sleep?" apparently taking notice that it hadn't been touched in months.

"Usually on that chair in the living room," came his reply, trying his hardest to keep his cool, which proved quite difficult given they were both standing in the doorframe. Her sweet smelling perfume was intoxicating.

"Then I'll sleep on the couch," she declared, her tone resolute. Arguing would be pointless with her, he could already tell.

In a matter of minutes, Lydia was snuggled warmly on his couch and he was back in his chair, eyes steadfast on the girl who appeared to be observing his Christmas tree.

"It's pitiful, Parrish, absolutely pitiful," she remarked, pulling the blanket she was wrapped in up toward her chin.

He laughed, running a hand through his short, dirty blond hair thoughtfully. "Suppose it is." At least he had bought one this year.

The redhead closed her eyes whispered, "Where's the rest of your family? Shouldn't you be celebrating the festivities with them?"

"That's a story for another time, sleeping beauty," he explained, his words gentle and sincere. Wait…he didn't just call her—no, no, no, no. Damnitdamnitdamnit. He was doing so well at not being creepy and now he had blown it.

Much to his surprise, Lydia giggled, peeping an eye open to look at him and playfully said, "There's going to be next time?"

A tad embarrassed, his cheeks unquestionably turning a deep shade of pink, he nervously answered, "Only if you want there to be." What. Was. He. DOING?!

"Sounds good to me…Kyle."

How did she—oh right, his name was plastered all over his wall.

"Glad to hear it…Lydia."

She giggled a little harder and he began chuckling louder himself.

Flirt. Flirt. Flirt.

Her giggle ended in a mellow yawn and Parrish smiled as she began drifting to sleep. The streetlamp flickered off, the room going completely dark.

"Merry Christmas, Deputy," he heard her muffle voice float across the room.

"Merry Christmas, Miss Martin."

Perhaps the holidays weren't so bad after all.