Rocky Horror does not belong to me; it belongs to the eternally awesome Richard O' Brien.

This chapter is brought to you by "Cosmic Love" and "Merry Christmas, Darling."

First off, I didn't mean to disappear again; another long story short, I graduated with my MLIS in July and have been working on finding a job ever since. Also, I didn't mean to write a Christmas chapter in October; this scene just happened to be the next part of my planned timeline.

Another long one. Get comfy, folks.

Also, I'm probably hitting you over the heads with the themes because subtlety, what's that?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

8. Drowning

She stumbled into the kitchen, breathless. Who'd have thought the house could fit that many representatives from the galaxy of Transylvania?

Each planet had its own look: Transsexual, with its ragged costumes and extravagant masks; Transverse, with its black suits and colored hats; Transgress, with its lingerie (In this weather? she puzzled).

It had been quite an evening. Frank had gone all out, like always, for his Christmas party. Decorations were draped over everything, including an impossibly long garland wound through all the railings and velvet, cherry red bows around every doorknob. Trees in every corner, mostly fake, except for the giant in the living room, so buried under lights and ornaments (if they could even be called that) she doubted there was any tree left. (It wasn't so much the spirit of giving that appealed to Frank; it was more the spirit of partying and getting things, although that wasn't any different from the rest of the year.)

That morning, she'd hung around the kitchen after breakfast, watching Magenta getting some platters ready. (She'd offered to help, but Magenta's only response was a flat "No.")

They talked about nothing in particular, but the conversation eventually turned to their thoughts on the party. As she worked on various platters, Magenta shared her relief that the guests were encouraged to bring their own food, as a way to encourage what Frank called "interplanetary mingling."

Her own thoughts were mostly on what she would be doing with herself that night. Interacting with people was one thing, but keeping their attention was something else. Of course, her lifeline at other parties was putting her tap dancing to good use, whether at Frank's call or because she really got into the music. No doubt that was going to happen tonight, but considering Frank had someone else to show off now…

Magenta nudging her shoulder literally shook her out of her thoughts. "So, you think you can handle tonight?" the maid asked, looking concerned (or the closest to concerned that she could get).

She just laughed weakly. "I can keep my head up for one party."

Obviously, that was a mistake. Diving in headfirst without a plan might have sounded good when she was making the rounds as the party started, greeting everyone who came through the door and saying Frank would be down shortly (and doing her best to avoid answering questions about "the Creation").

Things really went downhill when Frank made his grand entrance, with Rocky on his arm. The whole house erupted with applause and the guests surged forward, desperate for a look – and to possibly get a hand on – Frank's success.

Before, Frank usually shot her a look as the party really began, to reassure her that tonight was going to be a success; even if she couldn't see him, she could feel his eyes on her, urging her to do what she did best. Tonight, as the crowd swallowed her up to get to Rocky, she knew Frank wouldn't even think of looking her way. Instead, he'd only keep his eyes on two things: his precious Creation, and his adoring public. Hell, tonight he wouldn't have noticed even if she threw herself in the swimming pool and started thrashing for dear life.

It turns out she had jumped the gun, at least at first. She'd danced to three versions of "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," five versions of "Winter Wonderland," and she'd lost count of "Jingle Bells," her tap shoes always at the ready when she heard Frank's call. Not that she spent the whole party waiting for him; she'd wandered around, introducing herself and trying to learn about life in Frank's galaxy.

On one such loop, she found herself in the ballroom, staring up at the tree. It had the usual strands of lights and popcorn – done by Riff Raff and Magenta, of course – but then the rest looked like a department store had thrown up on it. Clothes, shoes, fishnets, stuffed animals, records, magazines, furniture; anything that struck Frank's fancy went onto the tree.

Then, there was the star, hanging crooked at the top. That was typically Riff Raff's job, to climb a rickety ladder up to the ceiling and get the star in place, but this year, Frank decided Rocky should do it, to make his first Christmas special. She thought Frank couldn't bear to let his precious creation do anything risky, as she watched him slowly make his way up, star clutched in one hand (though she wouldn't admit the tiny twinge of fear in her heart every time the ladder shook).

Speaking of Eddie's replacement, she had barely seen him at all. Frank was obviously keeping him close, and the guests had unknowingly created a barrier around the two.

She didn't care. She tried not to. She had people to entertain and songs to dance to, and she really had to keep up her strength. When she got the call from Frank – which, this year, kept coming from either the servants or guests playing a drunken game of telephone – her feet would fly over the floorboards like Santa's sleigh. Of course, as soon as she finished a number, it was like she wasn't even there. There'd be some applause, but the music would immediately move on to the next song and people would turn back to each other.

The same thing pretty much happened at last year's party. Of course, Eddie had been there…

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. After all, she'd come into the kitchen to get away from everything, and that included how many memories the party was bringing back.

That did it. She couldn't stay anymore.

She could run. No one else was here; they were all partying and fawning over Rocky. The kitchen door was right there. All she had to do was open it and walk out into the clear, December night. Never mind the snow, or the fact it was 20 degrees out. She could make it to town on adrenaline alone (and if that ran out, hitchhiking).

But what about her stuff? Her clothes, her other tap shoes, her records…Eddie's gifts. Well, they're just things, right? She thought, although she noticed how she was fingering the black cuffs on her wrists.

She could hitch a ride out of Denton to one of the big cities. She could make ends meet – busking, singing telegram, maybe a job as a dance teacher. She'd done it before, when she really had no one and nothing to keep her afloat.

Now? She had a comfortable place to sleep, she never had to worry about paying for rent or food, she had people to talk to (sometimes).

But for what? That one time, Frank might decide to spend the night with her? How much longer could she wait around for that again?

She was going to do it. Her hand was on the knob, the metal cool.

"Blue Christmas" started blaring from the jukebox, and even in another room, she could clearly hear Frank crooning along to Elvis. Her heart stopped and her knees were weak. That was why she couldn't leave. Regardless of her frustration and loneliness, something always pulled her back. Why could she never name it?

The fact that, when he didn't need her showing off, she could do whatever she wanted here? No one lecturing her about getting married and dressing appropriately? That no other man, except for one, could measure up?

Was she that pathetic, needing help when she already knew how to swim (so to speak)?

Maybe she was just tired of treading and let herself sink below the surface again.

It certainly wasn't love. She'd gotten over that a while ago.

Her head pressed against the cold glass. Outside, snow started falling again, and the common sense she usually ignored spoke up, pointing out that she would easily freeze if she went outside with nothing but what she was wearing now. Fishnets, silk shorts, and a leather blouse could only get her so far.

As her hand slid off the knob, her attention turned towards the cabinet next to the fridge – the liquor cabinet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He stumbled into the kitchen, breathless. He didn't mind some attention, but that out there was just smothering. Frank had gone all out to make their first Christmas together memorable, which apparently included inviting as many people as he could until the house was stuffed.

Meeting new people wouldn't be so bad if Frank wasn't dragging him around to be fawned over every few seconds. The guests stood out appearance-wise, since everyone's outfits were wildly different, but he couldn't tell a single thing about them otherwise. He couldn't even talk at all; as soon as he opened his mouth, Frank immediately grabbed his wrist (a little too tightly, if the red marks were any indication) and hauled him over to another group of people that seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

The only reason he finally escaped was after a few drinks, Frank had gotten to talking to some other guests. He didn't know what the conversation was about, only that his creator became more and more animated, drawing a crowd very quickly. No one noticed that he had slipped down the hall and into the first quiet room he could find.

That happened to be the kitchen. Which, it turned out, was occupied.

Columbia sat at the counter, a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass in front of her. Her head was turned toward the back door. She didn't react at all.

He hesitated. She probably didn't even see him; maybe he could slip out, doing one thing for her that she'd actually appreciate…

Don't leave her alone.

Although he never knew Eddie in person, that tone of voice sounded like he meant business. But he knew she would never want him near her. He started taking small steps to the side; he could just stand in the corner, watching and making sure she was all right from afar.

That is, if he hadn't bumped the baker's rack, causing it to scrape the floor a little.

The sound caught her attention. Her head whirled around. He froze, thinking he'd been better off out with Frank at the party.

Actually, that sounded like a better idea. He turned to make a quick exit.

"You."

He looked back. She was pointing at him, or in his direction, at least. He looked over his shoulder; maybe someone else was coming through the door.

Nope, it was just him.

"Come here."

Nobody else had come in, so…

Wait, was this really happening?

Don't get your hopes up, kid. This isn't gonna be good.

Maybe, but it couldn't hurt.

He headed to the counter and took a seat on the stool opposite hers'.

They both sat there, the kitchen quiet except for the muffled music and voices of the partygoers.

Under the bright counter lights, her eyes were red and puffy. They were also glaring at him (he should have been used to it by now).

"What're you doing here?" Her voice was slurred and dangerously low.

Careful what you say here, kid. Eddie's voice warned.

Well, it couldn't hurt to be honest, could it? "I needed to be alone."

She raised an eyebrow. "You? I thought you'd like having all the attention. You don't even have to do anything for it, you just enter a room and people go nuts." She stopped to take another swig, opting to skip the shot glass. "But I shouldn't be complaining, right? Now that Frank couldn't give a shit, I can get away with anything." A sharp, bitter laugh ended the conversation.

His mind raced. He had to make the best of this before the dead air swallowed them both…or until someone else came into the kitchen.

Finally, he settled on something; it was simple, but that felt like a safe place to start. "How are you?"

You don't learn, do you? Eddie was shaking his head, even if he couldn't see it.

She froze, the glass halfway to her lips. Everything – even the party sounds – stopped along with her, until she straightened herself and put the glass down. She locked eyes with him, and he felt pinned to his seat.

"Let me tell you about this dream I keep having. I'm walking down a long hall covered in mirrors, and it doesn't seem like it's going to end. But it does end, and I find Eddie there, waiting for me. I run to his arms, and everything is going to be alright. But it's not, 'cause you know why? He changes into you, and I try to get away, but I can't." She downed the shot she had put down, which just seemed to give her more energy. "And if that wasn't enough, I had another dream last week that was Eddie's death all over again. The worst part was I had a chance to save him, but I couldn't do it. Something wouldn't let me, and he was looking at me as he died, and he was blaming me for everything." She was nearly panting as she finished. If she was going to cry, she was trying hard to keep it in."

What? I don't blame her for anything. She knows that, right?

"I'm sorry."

Her eyes narrowed. "For what?"

He froze. He hadn't thought this far.

"What do you have to be sorry for? For getting my boyfriend's brain in your head? For taking away my one real chance of getting out of here? For being better in every way possible?"

He wasn't that good at hiding his emotions, but she probably didn't care about the stung expression on his face.

Hey, don't take it personally. That's just the Jack talking. He doubted that.

"I mean, sure, I could just walk out of here, but how far do you think I'd get before realizing I had nothing?

He wanted to say something, anything, but what was the right thing when even the simplest question set her off?

"After all," she said as she started pouring another shot, giving a lopsided smile, "no one should be alone on Christmas, right?"

"But you're not!" The fact he just said that didn't register until the bottle slipped out of her hand, banged against the edge of the counter, and shattered on the floor.

She was off her stool before he could react, cursing and wondering what Frank would do as she grabbed a rag out of the sink.

Don't just sit there! Help her!

That finally got him to jump off his stool and race around to the other side of the counter.

The sight of her made him stop again. She was on her knees, pressing the dishrag into the pool of whiskey and broken glass…and she was sobbing.

How did he keep doing this? He never meant to make her cry and yet he always knew how.

Hey, don't beat yourself up. Remember, the "Mary Lou" incident was my fault.

Well, talking to her wasn't going to work tonight. But what about doing something?

He spied another rag next to the sink and picked it up. What would be the best thing to do? Hand it to her to dry her eyes? Get on the floor and help her clean up?

Maybe he would just get down on the floor, but wait to see what to do next. He started to kneel.

"There you are!" An all-too-familiar voice sang from the door to the hall.

Dammit!

He shot up, the rag slipping from his fingers. There was Frank, sauntering towards him like Freddie Mercury. No matter what condition his creator was in, whether drunk or just completely exhausted, he was still a master at walking in those heels.

"I have been looking everywhere!" Frank cried, pouting his dark red lips. "You don't know what–"

The sight on the floor cut the scientist off, his dark eyes roaming over the broken bottle and Columbia, working to hold in her sobs. "Well, well, what happened here?"

Would she get in trouble for it? Maybe he could explain. He opened his mouth.

"It's my fault, Frank." She spoke up, in an unusually calm voice. He stared at her; how did she do that? "I lost my grip on the bottle. I guess I've had enough for tonight." She finished with a little, half-hearted giggle.

Frank clicked his tongue and waved a hand dismissively. "No matter. I'll just send Magenta in. Come on and rejoin the party. We're looking forward to another number from you."

"Okay." She nodded, getting to her feet. "I'll be right out."

"As for you," Frank purred, taking his creation's face in his hands, "why'd you disappear like that? You had me worried."

His heart raced. What kind of explanation could he give? "Sorry, I just…needed some air."

To his relief, this actually worked as Frank smiled. "I understand. They can be a little much sometimes." An arm slipped around his shoulders, steering him towards the hall with a tight grip. "Well, don't worry. I think everyone's calmed down by now."

At the door, his creator stopped and looked over his shoulder. "By the way, Columbia, darling, take it easy with that stuff. You don't want to drown yourself."

If looks could kill, he was sure Frank would be dead on the spot.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thanks for reading! See you next chapter!

Will there be such a big gap between now and chapter 9? Tune in to find out! Same Rocky fic, same Rocky channel!