This was written for sopranozone and the holidayficexchange at LJ
Thanks to Kim for betaing!
Santa's early gift
There were very few people who knew how much he hated that day, dreaded it every year. The first nausea usually overcame him when he saw the first decorations being put up after Halloween. Every twinkling light and every smiling Santa Claus reminded him that on that exact day, he would have to face his demons. He hated Santa Claus for it, rubbing his face in it for four years now.
He sat on the couch, gripped the glass of vodka tightly, and waited for the day to finally be over. He was already lightheaded from the alcohol, the living room spinning around him, but still he couldn't stop drinking. He looked up to the mantle of the fireplace and saw their smiling faces and knew that it would never be this way again. He was alone now and couldn't imagine that he would find someone who would change that. There was no one to help him through, there hadn't been anyone for the last year. He gulped the rest of the clear liquid down greedily and stretched his arm out to put the glass down on the table. He missed it and the glass shattered on the marble floor, the sound of the splitting glass hurting his head. He groaned, annoyed he leaned over, gripped the armrest when he nearly toppled over, and started to pick up the pieces with shaky hands. He felt the sting when he cut himself and watched in a daze how his own blood tripped down onto the glass and the floor, the red glistening on the translucent glass and looking darker against the grey stone.
He was so deep in thought watching his own bleeding finger that he didn't hear the door open and close, nearly had a heart attack when she suddenly stood in the middle of his living room.
He stared at her but didn't say anything because he wasn't sure if she was real or if his alcohol clouded brain was playing tricks on him.
"I knew you wouldn't open the door so I let myself in," she explained with a shrug.
"What are you doing here?" he asked and noticed that he slurred but couldn't control it.
"I wanted to see how you're doing," she said and put her bag down on the armchair before she walked over to him.
"I'm great," he replied with a snort that sounded as bitter as he felt.
"You're bleeding," she said softly and took some band aids out of her bag. When she came back to him and sat down beside him he moved away from her. When she wanted to take his bleeding hand in hers he flinched away. "Jack, please!" she scolded and grabbed his hand harder. If he thought the cut stung, it was nothing compared to the feeling when she touched him. The spot where she touched him tingled with electricity, but his heart ached. She wrapped the band aid around his finger and he pulled away as soon as he could. He leaned back against the backrest of the couch, while she crouched down in front of the couch and carefully picked up the shards of glass. Neither said anything and she left for the kitchen to dispose of the broken glass and came back with a cup of coffee and the vacuum cleaner.
He eyed the cup of coffee like an enemy while she cleaned the floor and looked at her the same way when she sat down in the armchair when she was done.
"You can't keep doing this, Jack," she scolded him softly and he groaned.
"It's none of your business anymore what I do. Don't you have to be somewhere with Wendell?" he asked bitterly.
"I still care about you, even if we aren't together anymore," she replied and ignored the rest of what he had said.
"I don't need your pity," he hissed and tried to get off the couch, but fell back down on it.
"No, but you need a friend and that's why I'm here," she replied and didn't care about his bad mood and his grumpiness. She had expected even worse and had braced herself before she came over. "Drink your coffee," she told him and leaned back in her own chair.
"No," he replied and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
"Drink it, Jack. You need it," she insisted but he just shook his head stubbornly. He didn't want to drink the coffee, because he didn't want to sober up. He wanted to get totally wasted and sleep for the rest of the day, probably even the next. When it was all over, he would deal with the hang over and the headache, but not now.
They sat in silence for a while, both not willing to give in. But while her frustration with him grew, his thoughts drifted off. They drifted off to the two years he didn't have to deal with it alone, when she had been there. The first year she had just kept her promise by being there whenever he had opened his eyes. He had lay in her bed, haunted by the horrible dreams of being buried, but every time he had bolted upright in bed she had been there. She had ended up holding him all night and when morning came, he had been tired but not as scared. Just as she had promised him, she had been there.
The year after they had been making Christmas decorations all evening and he had nearly forgotten about the significance of the date, because he had felt so content while making the ornaments with her. It was a family thing to do, and back then he had felt like he was part of one again, a feeling he had missed for a long time.
He couldn't remember the next year anymore. he had been so wasted in some skiing resort in Aspen. He remembered waking up in his hotel room on the bathroom floor, the only thought being "I have to throw up". Looking back, it had been a good day because he couldn't remember it anymore and for him that meant success.
Angela watched him closely and could read the emotions playing in his eyes. She wished she could help him, wished that he would let her help him. That's when she remembered and had an idea.
Slowly she got up and sat down on the couch beside him. She moved closer and he moved away. She moved closer still until he was pressed against the armrest and couldn't move away any further without getting up.
"Let me help you, Jack," she spoke out loud what she was thinking. He sighed, resigned he turned his head to look at her for the first time.
"How?" he asked and his eyes displayed clearly now how much he was hurting, how much he was haunted by being trapped in that car three years ago. "You can't help me anymore," he added, his voice shaking.
"Let me try," she replied softly and placed a hand on his cheek. "You know, I came here last year, too. I wasn't sure if you had told the truth about going skiing back then so I came here, just in case you'd be here and need me," she went on, her thumb stroking over his stubbly cheek.
"You were with Roxie last year," he remembered, a confused look crossing his face.
"I know," she nodded and leaned so close that he could feel her breath against his face.
"Why?" he whispered, his eyes moving to her lips.
"I care about you. A lot. And I always will," she replied just as quietly and brought her lips to his in a soft kiss that was over so quick that he wasn't sure if he had just imagined it. His eyes opened wide and went back up to look into hers and he saw a familiar warmth in them, the spark, and the compassion... everything he fell in love with years ago.
"Let me help you Jack, just like you helped me when Roxie left. No strings, no questions asked," she requested, nearly begged.
"What about Wendell?" he just had to ask. He knew how it felt to be betrayed by a friend and even though he was feeling really bad right now, he wouldn't go as low as to pay the young kid back the same way he had hurt him. He was better than that, even at his lowest point.
"Forget about Wendell," she replied and her lips were back on his a second later. He knew that he must taste like vodka, but she didn't seem to mind. She kissed him deeply and only when he felt her grind against him did he realize that he had pulled her into his lap, his arms slung around her in a death grip. She smelled the same, felt the same, tasted the same and yet it was different because he was drunk and so much had happened. He deepened the kiss, it became desperate in his attempt to forget.
"Ange," he sobbed against her lips when she broke away for air. She wiped away the tear that escaped him, placed kisses on his unshaved face and then her lips were back on his. The longer they kissed the more he loosened his grip on her. When he slipped his hands under her shirt and she moaned against his mouth he felt the fear dissolve and arousal took it's place.
He had a new memory now. Four years after the Gravedigger, one year after their breakup, he wasn't alone on his dark day. She was there. Santa Claus had brought him his present a bit early this year.
The end