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Merry Christmas, Darling

Rated PG-13 for violence. Many thanks to my beta ChibiJelly, who did much work and waited patiently as always. Much love to the Jelly, yes? Yes.

Christmas was not Olaf's holiday. After a few failed attempts to put together some kind of celebration, he quickly came to the realization that, simply put, he had no idea what to do. But Christmas was in, according to Esme, so he had little choice in the matter. He was determined to make an effort on his girlfriend's behalf.

All day he had allowed the troupe free reign to do what they wanted with the house, though only the two powder faced women had done any actual decorating. The rest of the troupe was more interested in drinking, eating burned cookies courtesy of Flo, and gossiping about each other.

The twins had done their best with what was available, Tocuna hanging the last of her precious candy canes on the scraggly Christmas tree.

"Where the hell is she?" Olaf growled as the clock struck eight.

"No worries, Boss. She'll show up."

"I wanted to be sober for this," he said, popping open a bottle of wine and pouring some into glasses for Lucafont and himself.

The minutes dragged on and eventually turned into hours. The candles were long since burned out and the candy canes were gone, stolen back one at a time by a bored and hungry Tocuna.

Olaf was well into his third bottle when he heard the clattering of high heels on the walkway outside. The front door swung open.

"You are incredibly late," Olaf said, not bothering to look up from his glass.

She shook the snow from her hair and hurried over to give Olaf a kiss.

"Sorry, love. Work kept me--"

"Don't lie. I've given you the world and the only thing I ever asked of you is not to lie. What could have possibly been so important for you to miss dinner on Christmas Eve?"

"I was just--"
"The truth, Esme," Olaf snapped.

"Work was--"

"No, you've already tried that one." He paused. "Come here, what is that?"

He pulled her closer and examined the fading pink love bite just below her ear, hastily covered with makeup. Another was further down, half-obscured by the high collar of her shirt.

"Working?" he said, his voice dangerously quiet. The troupe waited eagerly for her response, murmuring to one another in anticipation.

"I'm engaged," Esme blurted out.

The room fell silent.

Olaf motioned to his troupe, and they one by one stood and disappeared into the kitchen, either to avoid the storm about to erupt, or to eavesdrop in a more discreet fashion.

"Since when?"

"Since last night. I'm getting married," she repeated, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. She looked to the floor. "Aren't you happy?" she finally asked.

"No. Not especially," Olaf replied. His hands were clenched together in fists of rage. Trying to control their shaking was nearly impossible. He would not hit her, no matter how monstrous she acted.

"I'll still come around," Esme said. "Just not every night. It's not like you were ever going to propose. Somebody had to."

In one motion, Olaf stood up and overturned the table with a deafening crash.
He was going to break her neck where they stood, end it forever, make it stop once and for all. Esme only made it a few steps before he caught up with her and wrapped his hands around her throat.

He pressed upwards on her neck and felt her gag in response, choked whimpers between gasps for breath.

Olaf stopped. Her eyes were welling up with tears. He released her.

"I don't care anymore," Olaf muttered. "Just get out."

---

Olaf settled down on the edge of the dock to think.
The water stretched out in front of him, a black trembling void that made no discernment between itself and the angry winter sky.

He took out a box of matches and lit them one by one, letting each burn down to his fingertips before he dropped it and lit another.

Olaf reached into his pocket again and this time removed the present he had been keeping for Esme. It was a small velvet box tied with a blood red ribbon.

He carefully opened the box and removed the silver band of filagree that just fit her delicate finger. It had cost him the equivalent of a new television set.

What a waste.

He flung the engagement ring into the water and watched it as it sunk into the murky darkness.

Merry Christmas, darling.