Hello dear readers! LB here with the disclaimer and author's not tidbit-this is the next part of Christmas in Burbank, shorter than usual, I realize, but it was a good place to stop, and there's still lots left on CIB. Let's see, I own Beth; my awesome wonderful writing buddy lifeislikeaboxofbertiebotts owns AJ, and...don't sue us, because for one, we're poor, and for another, we don't own Chuck. Thank you for reading, and if you haven't read our other pieces, check them out (or else this will probably not make much sense).

Enjoy!


Beth woke up Christmas morning incredibly early. She couldn't help it—from her childhood, the ache to wake up at o-dark-thirty was engrained into her being. She'd always run to wake up her parents and spend hours poring over her gifts. Well, the only thing she was pouring this morning was a huge cup of coffee. She made her way into the living room and curled up on the couch, watching the Christmas tree. She didn't bother turning on any other lights—the Christmas tree lit up the room, and she figured John needed his sleep. It was her favorite season, Christmas was. It was a time when joy and hope were in the air. Lord, in her profession, she needed a lot of that sometimes. She was going for round two on the coffee when she heard rustling in the living room. Assuming it was John, she poured another cup of coffee and headed back to the tree. She paused in the doorway to watch the scene for a moment.

He had sat down at the couch, legs stretched in front of him. She didn't know what he was thinking—he, too, must have felt the sense of peace she did from sitting in the presence of the tree. Wordlessly, she took a seat next to him and passed him his coffee. He nodded his thanks, and they both were content to sit in silence, lost in their thoughts, the only sound coming from the still-percolating coffee maker.

John's thoughts remained a mystery, but Beth's all revolved around the man sitting not even a foot away. She had sat down on the middle cushion; every once and awhile, their arms would brush. She knew in her heart, she was growing attached. Hell, there was no 'growing' about it; she was falling for John Casey. It wasn't for his endearing personality; he could be an ole' grouch when he wanted to be, full of sarcasm and harsh words. But he was kind when it mattered, and, truth be told, his blunt personality was endearing. Maybe only to her, but it was. And…

"Merry Christmas."

John's voice, practically a whisper, interrupted my inner tangent. Beth looked up at him and gave a smile. "Merry Christmas yourself. Sleep well?"

He nodded curtly. "You?"

"Wonderfully."

At his raised eyebrow, she realized, considering the time…he probably thought she woke up to bake. "I really did. I always wake up this early on Christmas. There's something to be said about being able to sit down and just…bask in the season's warmth. Though, being here…it's a little more depressing. There's no snow."

She closed her eyes, resting against John's shoulder. She thought he would move, but he didn't. "You know, I can almost see it—the way the snow covers the hills, and the lights that twinkle from afar…sorry," She opened her eyes again, quickly blinking her eyes so he wouldn't see the tears that had started. "I got lost in memories for a second there."

He did notice the tears, but he didn't say anything, seeming to understand it was just part of what made Beth, Beth. Silence settled again, and he drank his coffee, watching Beth out of the corner of his eye. She was a strange one—never quite making sense, and constantly surprising him. She was feisty—that much was apparent when she had no qualms about slapping him. But she kept that side mostly hidden, as if it was a dangerous piece no one should know about. John inwardly disagreed; she appeared too soft at times, making it all too easy for just anyone to walk over her.

"So, when do you want breakfast?" Looking over at John, she had noticed he, too, had zoned out in a way. He gave a noncommittal grunt, and she shook her head.

"That's not an answer, John Casey, and you know it. I've told you countless times…you have to speak in more than a grunt; I still don't have them all numbered. Now, as for breakfast, I was thinking…"

"—I'll cook."

"Um, but…"

"Don't trust my cooking, Tulip?"

"No. I mean, yes. Er, I mean, yes, I do trust your cooking. I was caught by surprise, so I didn't answer right away. But you really should be resting. Cooking means standing on your feet, and maybe you shouldn't since,"

"—It's a toe, not a leg."

Beth shook her head. "But…"

"No arguments. I cook breakfast. Then we'll go to that Christmas party."

She looked slightly surprised. She didn't really expect him to go. Granted, she'd bossed him into going, but she kinda expected him to 'mysteriously disappear' before they could leave. "You're…not backing out? You'll really come with me?"

"Only if you'll stop acting like I'm about to break."

Beth shook her head. "You drive one helluva bargain, but…I can try. I can't say I will, because I have a tendency to be overbearing with those I care about."

Only too late did Beth realize what she'd said. But it was early, maybe he didn't notice. He probably didn't. And it wasn't like she said she was irrevocably in love with him; she merely 'cared'. In any case, she couldn't worry herself too much over it—she couldn't afford to; she still had to fix food for the party. And get ready.

"Anyway, I say you cook breakfast; I get ready—then we switch? Unless you want some help…"

John shook his head. "Better off without you in the kitchen, trying to command everything."

"Just because I like to have an organized kitchen…"

"Go."

She stuck her tongue out at him, but got up to get ready. Sooner she got ready, the sooner she got breakfast and the sooner the Christmas party would come around.


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