Done as a writing prompt from a friend on tumblr. The prompt was "Capernoited: Slightly intoxicated or tipsy" for Henry and Eileen.
They don't actually drink, though.
I have failed you all.
Capernoited
"What do you think, Henry? We made it to Christmas."
"Christmas Eve," Henry corrected, standing in front of the fridge as Eileen unloaded several bags of groceries. She gave him a sidelong glance.
"Close enough. Christmas Eve was always a bigger deal in my family anyways."
Henry was quiet as his eyes gazed around the small, hopefully temporary apartment they had been able to snag just after Thanksgiving festivities had died down. It was white, clean, and showed age from the corners. Festive lights hung from the ceiling all around the edges of the living room and hallway, courtesy of Eileen adding liveliness for the holidays. (Henry, being the taller one, had actually been the one putting up most of the lights at Eileen's direction.)
There was a pause in her taking out the groceries, filled in with a distant sigh. Henry turned back to her and blinked.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. It's just...the first Christmas away from family, y'know?" Eileen looked sullenly at the countertop.
"We can still visit them," Henry offered quickly, "Even tonight, it's still early."
Eileen smiled warmly, though there was fragility in her expression, "No, no, thank you Henry. I don't feel...ready yet."
He frowned, but said nothing more to counter her. She sighed again, shaking the feeling off, and pulled a brown paper bag out. The top of a bottle stuck out from it, and Henry's eyes widened. Eileen laughed, and pulled the bottle of white wine out.
"You suddenly look so nervous, Henry, what's up?"
"I-I just, um," he swallowed dryly, "...didn't know this was a date."
Henry shrank back to hide the redness of his face as Eileen's smile opened into more cordial laughter. It hadn't taken long for Eileen to realize that asking what Henry was worried about so often was a lost cause. Hell, even before they had moved in together she had figured that he quietly was an insane worrywart when it came to everything outside of his photography. To be honest he was probably even more of a worrywart now than he was before the...incident.
But then again, Eileen could not and would not blame him for that.
She reached forward and brushed the thick locks of hair out of his eyes, dipping down her head until she could see his eyes. Giving him another smile, her hand traveled to his cheek.
"You're fine, Henry. Hey, you're even wearing the sweater I bought for you after September."
After September, better known as as soon as they had both gotten out of the hospital.
Henry dropped his chin down, looking at the knitted sweater he had put on without a second thought. It was off-white with small, red, northerly designs across the chest.
"...Is that good?" he asked hopelessly. Eileen's sympathetic smile turned sarcastic and her fingers pinched his cheek.
"It's absolutely terrible, Henry, I feel so offended that you enjoy something that I gave you."
Henry stared at her blankly. Eileen sniffed and turned around to pull the rest of the groceries out.
"I'm still confused," he whispered after a while.
"Yeah, I figured," Eileen answered, "So no, I'm not mad at you. Why would I be mad at you, Henry?" She pushed the bottle of wine into Henry's hands, gesturing to the fridge beside him. A small, insignificant smile tugged at the corners of his lips—one that Eileen had missed—and he looked down at the bottle of wine.
He wasn't expecting such a violent response, but when he noticed that the label and brand were the exact same as the bottle of wine he had lost to fighting horrific dogs in the Other World his hands almost immediately went sweaty. The bottle of wine slipped from his finger and crashed onto the hard floor, shattering into a million pieces and spilling wine everywhere. It wasn't long before he followed suit, and he found himself marinating in white wine on the floor of the kitchen.
"Henry!"
Arms wrapped around him and he jolted, imagining a decaying monster scratching at his body, sniffing for his bloody, juicy insides. His long limbs curled over himself, bringing him into a fetal position as he was dragged from the kitchen and onto the cheap recliner in the living room. He fought, weakly, until Eileen pinned his arms against the recliner fiercely.
"Henry! Are you alright? Talk to me!"
His harsh breathing came out in wheezes. As his head slowly began to calm down he struggled to focus on Eileen's face, to the freckles on her nose.
"Y-Yeah," he answered, coughing nervously, "I th-think I'm okay."
"You are not," Eileen frowned, "What happened, what's wrong?"
"I...," Henry looked down at the sweater again as the smell of wine began to waft from his clothes, "I'm sorry."
"Henry, don't apologize for something that wasn't your fault," Eileen chastised, rubbing the wine away from the side of his cheek, "Just tell me what happened."
Henry swallowed, willing his heartbeat to calm down before speaking, "I had a bottle of wine—that wine—in my fridge. Before...before the hole appeared."
He shifted, starting to feel the wine seep into his clothes and make them cold and uncomfortable.
"I used it as a weap—Eileen, Eileen you're bleeding!"
Eileen slowly let go of Henry's wrists and lowered herself to the floor on her knees. Blood trickled from the pads of her bare feet, mixing with the wine to create a bright red sheen.
"Yeah," she answered lowly, "I think I stepped on some glass."
"Does it hurt?" Henry asked, his quiet voice raising in volume from his concern.
"I suppose," Eileen hid a wince, "It's nothing compared to...other things."
Henry leaned forward to help her but she put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him back.
"No, no. You stay here, rest. I'll clean everything up. Are you cold? The heating in here isn't great."
Henry didn't answer as Eileen tentatively got to her feet, for now ignoring the blood that stained the carpet from the bottom of her feet. He watched her every move as she took small steps to the closet, grabbing rags and a broom and dustpan and began to mop up the mess on the kitchen floor.
"Good thing this isn't red wine, huh?" Eileen joked, putting the last of the glass into a small cardboard box before sealing it and throwing it in the waste bin, "Otherwise we'd never get the stains out."
Henry's nervous gaze traveled to the stained carpet and he started to stand up, "I'll clean the stains here, it's okay—,"
"Henry, sit back down!" Eileen ordered, setting the rags aside, "I'm better at cleaning blood up than you anyways!"
Henry sat, obediently and without further complaint.
After Eileen had tended to her feet and washed most of the blood away from the carpet she stood in front of Henry and sighed, gazing over her handiwork to make sure she had cleaned every corner possible.
"I'm sorry about the sweater...," Henry mumbled. Eileen looked at him and gave another sympathetic smile.
"We can put it in the washer—would you mind doing that while I'm out?"
"You're going out?" Henry asked, his eyes wide.
"Yes, if you'll be okay without me," she teased lightly, "I won't be long, don't worry."
Despite her words Henry's expression remained in a decidedly worried state even after she had thrown a coat, hat, mittens and scarf on and kissed his cheek farewell. Still, he did as she suggested and threw his clothes into the washer and pulled clean, dry ones out of his dresser. Feeling chilled despite the dry clothing, Henry wrapped a thick blanket around himself and curled on the couch, waiting for Eileen to return. Before he could help it, exhaustion from the sudden traumatic episode overcame him and he fell asleep.
Eileen woke him up, melting snowflakes clinging to her clothing and complementing her rosy cheeks and nose. A smile warmed the rest of her face as she held up another bottle of wine.
"Here, it's a plastic bottle. I also got plastic glasses—it's cheaper, but, you know, taking no chances."
As Henry sat up she poured him a glass, sitting next to him on the couch. A small giggle escaped her lips and she pressed her cold nose up against his warm cheek, almost causing him to choke on the sip of wine he had taken.
"There. Merry Christmas, Henry."
"Yeah," he agreed, moving a tentative hand around her shoulders before he pulled her close, "Thank you."