Disclaimer: "They're not mine, but they're not yours either, so back off, biatches." (You can thank Andrea for that.) Or, you know, I don't own 'em. Way to burst my bubble.
A/N: Thanks to Nette for encouraging me to take a study break and write something anyway, although I'm sure she wasn't expecting something this…ugh. But you rock my world all the same, Nette, and maybe one day I'll finish that aerogram. *hug*
Song used is the traditional carol 'O Holy Night' (used in a secular sense, believe it or not). I don't know who wrote it, but it surely wasn't me.
Summary: Written in response to a challenge at the OCOH board – had to be about a 'fuzzy and Carby Christmas.'
O Holy Night,
the stars are brightly shining…
*~*~*
Stepping off the El, he hurries towards the steps leading down to the street.
To her.
It had been a reasonably quiet shift, cut short by Susan's insistence that he go home and spend Christmas Eve with his wife, that this would make up for her not having found the time to buy them a gift yet.
And who was he to argue with such logic?
He reaches their building, glancing up at the windows, looking for a sign that she is still awake.
A dim glow is visible through the curtain, and he can see the white lights of the Christmas tree, proudly standing by the living room windows. Their tree, picked out at 5:00 one morning as they walked home from the El after a particularly grueling shift. He remembers how she'd said she needed something to cheer her up, and had decided, in one of the bursts of concession to holiday cheer that were becoming more and more common, that a proper Christmas tree was the cure.
Pleased to be able to surprise her, he digs in his bag for his keys, knocking the ice from the lock on the main door, rushing in to the warmth and the stairs leading up to their apartment.
And he smiles in anticipation of what he would find there.
*~*~*
Long lay the world in sin and error pining,
'til He appeared, and the soul felt its worth…
*~*~*
He opens the door quietly, taking in the familiar sight and smells of their home.
Their home. Even after all this time, it still makes him smile.
And, of course, what always makes him smile most.
His wife.
Abby.
Abby…in a compromising position.
Abby, crouched before the tree, her back to the door, softly shaking a present, and trying to peer under the edge of the wrapping paper.
Try as he might, he can't disguise the grin in his voice. "And just what do you think you're doing?"
Startled, she jumps, falling backwards, landing with a soft thump on the carpet, pushing the festively wrapped box she'd been holding away from her.
"You're home early." She stands up, quickly brushing her hair back from her flushed face.
"Susan's covering for me. What were you doing?"
"Nothing…uhh, just fixing an ornament…the rocking horse one…it, uh…looked like it was going to…fall. I'm thirsty. Are you thirsty? I'm thirsty." She hurries towards the kitchen, refusing to meet his eye.
"Uh huh." Disbelieving and smirking, he raises one eyebrow at her as she shuffles by, attempting to look nonchalant, her pink cheeks giving her away. He calls after her, "Kinda jumpy for someone who was just fixing an ornament, aren't you?"
"Shut up, Carter."
*~*~*
The thrill of hope –
the weary world rejoices…
*~*~*
They've been lying on the couch for a while now – he's not sure exactly how long – each just enjoying the other's presence. Joni Mitchell plays low on the stereo, and the pillar candle burning on the coffee table provides the only light besides the shining tree.
He thinks she's fallen asleep when he hears her giggle. Smiling, he whispers into her hair, "What's so funny?"
He can hear her smile more than see it, as she replies, "Just thinking about what happened under that tree after we set it up…"
His own mouth twitches as he remembers. "Oh yeah…that was…"
"Yeah, it was."
"Maybe we should make that our new holiday tradition."
She laughs. "Right. Some people visit family, some people put out milk and cookies, we have sex under the Christmas tree."
"Nothing wrong with that," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss her neck.
"No-oo, nothing at all." She laughs again, a low, throaty chuckle, as she rolls over onto her back, pulling him on top of her.
*~*~*
Fall on your knees…
O hear the angel voices…
*~*~*
The room is dark when he stirs, the candle out, the tree unplugged. He sits up, dazed, wrapping himself in the afghan thrown over his body, as he looks around for her.
She is kneeling at the window, arms propped on the sill, a tiny figure swallowed by the shirt he'd worn at some point last night. Her eyes are closed, face tilted slightly upward, serene and calm, lit by the moon. He very suddenly has a vision that this is what she must have looked as a little girl, before her childhood fell apart, and realizes that he has never seen anything more beautiful.
His foot hits a creaky board, the one he always forgets about, and her eyes open slowly. He looks apologetic, worried that she'll be angry at the interruption, worried that she'll revert back to her old method of pushing him away, he having found her vulnerable twice in one night.
But instead she smiles, accepts his hand when it's offered, and stands to wrap him in an embrace.
"Ab…?"
"Everything's fine." She knows the question before he says it, and there is no trace of defensiveness in her voice. But still he worries, and she seems to know this as well.
"I was just…watching for Santa."
He knows there's more to it than this, but decides to leave it, to let her keep this secret. She's smiling, her comfort real and genuine, and this is more than enough.
*~*~*
O night…
O night divine…
*~*~*
Grasping her shoulders from behind, he guides her towards the bedroom, eager for the warmth of their bed.
She crawls in, moving across to her side, pulling the comforter over them both as he settles down.
She is already curled up against him when he reaches out his arm, wrapping it around her small frame. He feels her sigh against him, and glances down to see a small smile tracing across her lips.
"Merry Christmas, John," she murmurs, as sleep claims her.
"Merry Christmas, sweetheart."
*~*~* Fin. *~*~*