Title: A Brief History of Humanity
Fandom: General Hospital
Characters: Tracy Quartermaine
Prompt: #21 New
Word Count: 5,618 words
Rating: PG
Summary: Tracy celebrates New Year's Eve with her own private tradition.
Author's Notes: Okay, this is going into AU territory. According to everything I've read, the Qmaines didn't arrive in Port Charles until Alan was a resident at GH. So the flashback couldn't have happened the way it does here, since the family didn't live in Port Charles when Tracy was seventeen. I don't care. I'm running with it.

December 31, 2005

The book was heavy in her hands, its leather binding cracked and faded with age. The gold-rimmed paper was onion-thin, with print so tiny and cramped it hurt her eyes more with each passing year.

Tracy wondered, as she always did, why she subjected herself to this torture every New Year's Eve. She wasn't much of a history buff, really, and she had things to do. Appearances had to be made, this year more than ever. She listened to the staff downstairs, preparing for the family's annual New Year's party. This year, the family had to present a unified front.

Maybe she'd read her chapter tomorrow.

Tracy was just about to convince herself to stall--like she did every year--when she turned back to the inside front cover--like she did every year. And there it was, like it had been every year since she was seventeen, that crooked scrawl, the shaky handwriting, the simple words.

"Tracy. I knew you'd pick this book. Thanks for pushing me off the chair. Twice. Tom."

It worked. Just like it had worked last year, and every year before since the first time she'd read it. Tracy sat down on the bed, rifled through her purse to find her glasses, and thumbed through the book to find this year's chapter.

December 24. Some forty odd years earlier…

"No. Way." Tracy Quartermaine scanned her reflection in the full length mirror, turning to one side, then the other, hoping against hope that perhaps at least there was one angle from which she didn't look completely atrocious. "There is no way in God's green Earth that I'm going out of the house like this."

Tracy loved her mother more than anyone in the world. And she was not above the occasional act of charity.

But this? This was unreasonable.

"Mother!"

Lila came breezing into her seventeen-year-old daughter's bedroom, her hair decorated with fake holly sprigs, her green and red dress the picture of holiday cheer. When she saw Tracy, she clapped her hands together in delight. "Oh, darling, you look adorable!"

Tracy turned slowly to face her mother, her face dark with the impenetrable haze of anger only a teenager could summon. "Mother. I am not leaving the house in this thing. I refuse." She stomped her foot, only to be accosted by the unnerving sound of jingle bells as her pointy-shoed foot hit the floor. The elf costume fit her perfectly, much to her dismay, from the green felt shoes with the pointy toes and little bells, to the jagged-edged short skirt right up to the floppy hat with the big bell on the end. "I look ridiculous!"

"Now, Tracy, darling, it's not that bad. The suit looks precious on you. It fits you so well, and the children will be delighted."

"I look like a demented Tinkerbell!"

"You look like someone who could bring a lot of joy to sick little children on Christmas Eve," Lila countered.

Tracy groaned. Her mother sure knew how to turn on the guilt when she needed to. She'd spent the better part of the previous day laying it on thick, talking about the poor children, reminding Tracy how fortunate she was to have her health, the whole nine yards, until Tracy agreed to do it just to be done with the lecture.

"Mom, there has to be someone else who can do this. Someone without a social life? Someone without pride? Someone who is color blind and has no sense of fashion?"

"Tracy Lila Quartermaine, you agreed to do this!"

"Under duress," her daughter reminded her. "And nobody mentioned an elf costume, Mother. I absolutely would remember if you'd mentioned the damned elf costume."

"Language, Tracy!"

Tracy sighed, sitting on the bed to the sound of dozens of tiny jingle bells. "Look, Mom, I feel sorry for the kids. Really, I do. I mean, it must be awful being stuck in the hospital on Christmas." She lifted her arms in display. "But look at me! Please, Mother, look at me. Not through the eyes of a 40 year old, but through the eyes of someone who once was a seventeen-year-old. How can you ask me to parade around the halls of General Hospital like this?" She gave Lila her most plaintive look, hoping against hope that her mother would take pity on her.

Lila considered it for a long moment, her face tired and frustrated as she sat next to her daughter, taking Tracy's hand in hers. "I'll admit the outfit is a little silly."

"Jerry Lewis is a little silly, Mother." Tracy swept her hands downward like a presenter at a car show. "This is utterly absurd."

"It's not that bad."

"It's hideous."

Lila frowned, then nodded. "Yes, dear. It's hideous. But it's also the only costume we could get on short notice, and you're the only person we have to wear it." She brushed a strand of Tracy's hair out of her eyes, pushing behind her ears. "Beverly Hawkin's daughter had originally volunteered to do it."

"Squawkin' Hawkins?" Tracy giggled.

"Now really, Tracy!" Lila shook her head. "She developed measles just two nights ago."

"Lucky her."

"I've called everyone on the committee. Nobody had anybody who (a) was available and (b) would fit the costume."

"Couldn't I just wear a colorful skirt and blouse? Something with a holiday flair?"

"The children are expecting Santa and his elf. We've got a Santa." Lila looked her daughter up and down. "You're the elf."

"Aw, Mom…"

"Think of the children…"

"Think of the humiliation…"

"Think of how good it will feel to help people."

"Think of how bad it will feel when I snap from the utter mortification and ruin everyone's party by turning into a blithering lunatic right there in front of Santa and the kiddies!"

Lila blew out a hard breath of air, her frustration with Tracy showing for the first time. "Tracy!"

"Mother, no!"

"Oooh. I didn't want to d this, but you leave me no choice." She narrowed her eyes, fixing them on Tracy. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

Tracy pulled slightly away from her mother. "What…sort…of desperate measures?"

"Bribery."

"Huh? Tracy's ears perked up, and a smile spread across her face as it registered what her mother was suggesting. "I'm listening.'

"Remember the dress you've been begging me for all throughout the holiday break?"

Tracy's eyes got wide. "The dress? The powder blue strapless, three-quarter length cocktail dress with full skirt and silver accents across the bodice? The dress that will catapult me from ordinary to the heights of fashion? The dress that will make me the envy of every girl at Ryan Jackson's New Year's Eve party? That dress?"

"Yes, that would be the one," Lila said glumly.

"You said that dress was too mature for me."

"I'm desperate, dear."

Tracy did the math in her head. Three hours of abject humiliation to buy her the most fabulous party dress in the history of all humanity. Was it worth it?

She turned to her mother, smiling sweetly. "Okay, Mother. I'm ready to negotiate."

Four hours later, as she ducked down the hallway to avoid yet another kid playing hot rod with his wheelchair, Tracy began to wonder if her math had added up correctly. In the past three hours, she'd had cake thrown in her hair, a screaming baby spit up all over her, and the beginnings of a killer headache from all the shouting and noise. Somebody, somewhere, was reading the Christmas story to the kids, and she took the opportunity to make herself scarce. Santa wasn't scheduled to arrive for another forty minutes, so she figured she had time for a break.

She opened the door to one of the rooms and ducked in. It was dark in there and quiet (except for the damned jingle bells which she had wanted to rip off the costume with her bare hands from the moment she'd tried it on.) A perfect hideout.

"Hey." There was a voice in the darkness, and Tracy practically jumped out of her pointy shoes. "You in the elf costume. Would you hit the light?"

"Uh, okay." She hit the light switch, seeing for the first time a scrawny boy lying on the bed. He looked like hell--all tubes and bags and pale, splotchy skin. "I'm sorry. I thought this room was empty," she said lamely. She could tell that the kid was really sick, and suddenly she remembered just exactly where she was. "I can…"

"Hey, don't leave, will ya?" The boy pushed himself up in his bed. He had thin blond hair that seemed to fade into the pillow, and his hands were bony and large. "You're Tracy, aren't you? Mrs. Quartermaine's daughter?"

"Uh, no," she lied quickly. "I've never heard of her."

The boy laughed, then started coughing loudly. Tracy rushed to his side, not sure what to do, but certain that she didn't want her lie to be the last thing he heard before he hacked himself to death.

"Do you need anything? Some water? Um, uh--" She floundered. Her knowledge of medicine was pretty much limited to aspirin and where the hospital coffee shop was, and she felt horribly out of her depth. "Should I call someone?"

The boy shook his head, still coughing. "s'Okay, really. Just…" He coughed again, wheezing, before he began to calm down. "I'm not good for much excitement these days."

"Is that why you skipped the party?"

He laughed again, delicately this time to avoid another coughing jag. "Nah, I skipped the party because I didn't want to be around a bunch of noisy four-year-olds." He leaned back, breathing hard but calmer now. "You are Tracy, aren't you?"

She looked in every direction but directly at him.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he continued, smiling weakly.

"Should I?" Tracy tried to think where on earth she could possibly know this boy from. She spent most of her year at school in Switzerland, and during breaks, she had her own circle of friends to run around with. "I'm sorry…"

"It's okay. I wouldn't guess you'd remember me. My father and yours were in business together, back when we were kids. My mom used to visit your mom sometimes, and she'd bring me to play with you. Last time, we were about five."

Tracy's eyes widened. "You remember that?" She couldn't remember what she'd had for lunch yesterday, and this guy remembered back to a few visits when they were five?

"You were very memorable." He looked her up and down. "You know, you're welcome to hide out here for a while. They shouldn't be finished with the story time for another half hour or so."

She grinned, and took the chair he gestured for her to sit in. He was nice enough, and it was definitely better in here than out there. "You sound like you know the drill."

"I've been coming to these things for most of my life," he said. "After a while, the thrill is gone, you know?"

"I'll bet." She stared openly, then realized what she was doing. Finally, curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, "What's wrong with you?"

"Practically everything," he said, shrugging as best he could in his octopus-like mess of tubing and wires. "I was born with a congenital heart condition, which made me weak and susceptible to disease. Then, when I hit eight or nine, I really started cracking up, medically speaking." His voice was nonchalant as he rattled off his ailments. "Liver problems, pituitary gland problems--I'm seventeen, but I look fourteen--my hormones didn't shoot straight, and frankly, my lungs aren't worth the tissue they're made of. I've had seven major surgeries and a dozen minor ones." He reached over and pulled a tin from the little table next to his bed. "Want some peanut brittle? I'm not supposed to eat a lot of sugar, but at this stage of the game, who the hell cares, right?"

"Wow." Tracy didn't know what to say. What was there to say, really? "Hey, you never told me your name."

"Tom. Tommy, Milford," he added as an afterthought.

"Milford, Milford…" The name rung a bell. "Charles Midford? Of Midford Aeronautics?"

"That's my father. What, do you memorize The Wall Street Journal?" He popped a tiny piece of brittle between his thin lips, and pushed the can toward her. "Sure you don't want any?"

"I don't remember you, though. You said we used to play together?"

"Well, a couple of times. Then, when we were five, I must have said something to tick you off, because you shoved me and the little chair I was sitting in right over. I was sprawled across the floor, and my mom threw a fit!"

Tracy felt her face going red. She vaguely remembered an incident like that, getting punished--but after a while….

"You still don't remember me? I remember you getting punished really bad."

"Ha! If I had a dime for every time I got punished really bad, I'd own the Chrysler Building." She took a piece of peanut brittle, since he seemed really determined to share it with her, and popped it into her mouth. It was actually sort of good, and she chewed slowly as she tried to remember the incident in question. "I can't believe I would have smacked a sick kid, even if he did annoy me."

"I wasn't that sick at the time. In fact, that was the healthiest I've ever been, which is why Mom would take me out." He smiled at her, his thin lips wide as he gazed on her with admiration. "You were incredible."

"I was a monster," Tracy said in horror.

"No, it was great! There was a huge commotion--I think my dad even threatened to sue your dad. I never had so much fun in my life."

She stared at him, trying to figure out if he was pulling her leg. "You're kidding, right?"

He spread his arms wide. "Look at me, Tracy. People have been handling me with kid gloves since the moment I was born. You are quite possibly the only person in my entire life who ever treated me like a regular person. When you knocked me out of that chair, it was like being a normal kid…just for a little while."

"Well…" She still thought he was nuts, but if her bullying ways made him happy, who was she to argue? "Glad I could be of service."

He laughed again, hard this time, which caused another coughing jag. She apologized profusely, moving to his side to help him sit up, patting his back gently for lack of anything more useful to do. When he was done, he took her hand in his. It was weak and clammy, but Tracy didn't shrink back. "Thanks," he said as he leaned back against the pillow. "Laughing hurts, but it's still better than being bored out of my mind."

From her new angle, Tracy noticed for the first time a rolling tray covered with books. There were tons of them, enough for ten people to read. "Are all of those yours?"

"Yup. I've read most of them. Trade lots of them with other patients."

She walked around the bed, searching the titles until she came across one of the newer books. "Holy cow!" It enormous--so big she could barely put her fingers around it--with leather binding and gold trimmed pages. "A Brief History of Humanity. Sounds ambitious."

"Your mom gave it to me," he said to her surprise. "Yeah, I know. She's an optimist." He watched as Tracy flipped through the pages, squinting at the tiny print. "It'd take a lifetime to read that thing. I'll be lucky if I'm alive long enough to get to the Golden Age of Rome."

"Don't talk like that!" She slammed the book shut, putting it back on the shelf so quickly the whole thing rattled. "You shouldn't talk like that," she repeated, shivering against a sudden chill.

"Tracy," he said calmly. "I've been dying since before I was born. I shouldn't have lived long enough to learn to talk. I'm lucky."

She felt the tears burning against her eyelids, and turned away so he wouldn't see her fighting it. Here he was, so calm and collected about dying. "Isn't there…I mean, medical science is amazing. It's amazing what they can do--can't they…?"

"No, Tracy. They can't cure what I've got, which is basically a crappy body." He reached out for her, and she hesitated just a moment before turning, moving closer, standing at his bedside. "I guess it's easier for me, because I've had time to get used to it."

"It's not fair."

"Life's not fair." He reached out, taking her hand in his. "But you have to just be cool about it, you know? I mean, here it is, Christmas Eve. I could whine about being sick, about not going to parties, about not going to regular school." He grinned. "Or I could be happy, because a pretty bully in an elf costume is keeping me company."

Tracy's face went red. She'd forgotten all about the stupid elf costume, only to have this dying sweet guy remind her of it at the worst possible time. "Oh, this…I just…my mom…"

"You're lucky. The elf costume is an improvement. Up until last year, the poor slob whose mom roped them into volunteering had to wear a reindeer costume!"

Tracy began to laugh, feeling ridiculous and relieved and happy at the same time. Tommy was laughing, too, and that's how the nurse found them when she came in to check his vital signs.

"I'd better go," Tracy said, still laughing as she backed out of the door. "You want me to bring you something from the party?" she asked. "Some punch, or something?"

"Surprise me," he said as he lifted his arm for the nurse to check his blood pressure.

Tracy walked back into the hallway, grinning from ear to ear. It was still too early for her to go help Santa pass out the gifts, so she wandered the hospital, looking for something to give him. When she spied it, she got that shiver of excitement she always got when the perfect plan was hatched. She nabbed the item in question, tucking it quickly in the sleeve of her costume before anyone noticed she'd taken it. It was a few minutes before the nurse left Tommy's room, and she knocked before entering.

"Come in," he said, and she hurried in, closing the door behind her. The nurse had turned off the lights again, leaving only the little night lamp burning next to his bed. "Hey, you."

"Hey, you," she said.

"I just had my meds. Better start with the present-giving, because I'm gonna be sound asleep in about ten minutes." He looked her over carefully, trying to see if she was concealing anything. "What did you bring me?"

"Something…" She flashed him a flirty smile, and walked over to his bedside. "Close your eyes."

"Oh?" He closed his eyes, and she pulled the tiny sprig of mistletoe out of her sleeve, holding it over his head. "Can I open them yet?"

"Not yet," she said quickly, pulling off her cap and fluffing up her hair. With a quick look at the tiny mirror on the other side of the room, she figured it was the best she could do on short notice. "Okay, open them."

"What?" He didn't see the mistletoe at first, so she shook it a little to catch his attention. When he realized what it was, his eyes got enormous. "Oh…."

"What's the matter, Tom?" she said, leaning over, letting her hair fall over his shoulders. "Never seen mistletoe before?" The steady beep of his heart monitor got a little faster, and she had to suppress a giggle. "Scared?"

"I know you might not believe this, but I'm not really much of a ladies' man." His voice was weak, and she was worried that just the anticipation would send him over the edge. Tracy wondered for a terrifying moment if this had been a horrible mistake, but his breathing began to calm, and the beep returned to normal.

"You do know what happens when somebody catches you under the mistletoe, don't you?" She raised an eyebrow. He wasn't that cute, honestly. But he was sweet, and she found she really wanted to do this. "You aren't going to run away, are you?"

"Uh, nope. I'm pretty much here to stay," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat as she leaned down to brush her lips against his. There was a brief moment when neither of them could breathe, then Tommy's seventeen-year-old hormones discovered themselves. He pushed forward, kissing her hungrily, savoring it, reveling in what might possibly the only real kiss he'd ever receive. Tracy felt the kiss down in her stomach, the thrill of it, this kiss with a boy she barely knew, a boy who probably wouldn't reach his eighteenth birthday. It wasn't the smoothest kiss she'd ever had, or the most skilled, but it was definitely the most appreciated, and the most enthusiastic. She lingered there for several long moments, half-afraid the nurse might come back in and catch them, half-praying that it could go on for hours.

When they finally came up for air, Tommy was having a hard time breathing, but he was grinning hugely. "Damn," he choked out. "You knocked me out of my chair again."

Tracy laughed softly, tickling his forehead with the mistletoe. "You kiss like you've had practice."

"You kiss like an angel."

"Devils are more fun," she corrected, twisting the mistletoe between her fingers. She was about to kiss him again when she heard the sound of bells in the hall. "Damn!"

"Santa Claus is coming to town," Tommy teased. "I think that's your cue."

"Want me to come back later?" she asked.

"I'll be knocked out before you have the first gift unwrapped." He reached out a single hand to play with the bells on her collar. "Come back on New Year's?"

"It's a date." She kissed his cheek, and hurried off to finish up her duties as a Christmas Elf.

December 31; the same year.

She shivered as she hurried through the doors of General Hospital. It was obscenely cold outside, but Tracy had refused to wear her heavy overcoat, opting instead for the more stylish mink stole she'd borrowed from her mother. It went perfectly with her party dress, a charming accent to her upswept hair, the diamond solitaire necklace she wore, and her fabulous shoes. She felt like a million bucks, and looked it too. A little thing like a sudden cold snap wasn't going to keep her from looking amazing tonight.

She paused at the reception desk to sign in, grabbed her volunteer badge, winked at the cute orderly who stared as she passed, and headed straight for the fourth floor where Tommy's room was. She only had a few minutes to visit, and she was afraid she'd get there too late after his medicine and he'd be asleep.

She hurried down the hallway, her heels clicking against the linoleum tiles as she went. Several of the staff recognized her, and complimented her on how pretty and grown up she looked. Some of them even seemed sincere.

She knocked before entering Tommy's room. When there was no response, she knocked again. "Damn," she muttered. She'd probably gotten there too late. She cracked open the door, not wanting to wake him. She'd just leave the mistletoe on his nightstand, so he'd know she'd been there when he woke up.

The room was fully lit when she walked in, the bed made, and the all signs indicated that the room was no longer occupied. Tracy felt a rock forming in the pit of her stomach. She looked around for Tommy's chart, for the little shelf of books, for anything of his that might be there… Finally, she slammed her hand down on the nurse's call button. The machines were gone. Her stomach did flip-flops as she pressed the button again. The books were gone. She kept hitting the button over and over, fighting the wave of hysteria she felt rising in her.

A nurse came running, stopping short when she saw Tracy. "Where is he? Where's Tommy?" she shouted, advancing on the nurse as if in attack.

"Miss Quartermaine," the nurse began. "You shouldn't be here."

"Where is the boy who was in this room last week?"

"I think your mother is still downstairs. I'll call her, and she can talk to you."

"I don't want to talk to my mother, you moron. I want to talk to the boy who was in this room!"

"Just…wait here," the nurse turned, running into Lila, who was hurrying through the door. "Oh, thank god. Lila, she wants to know where the Milford boy is."

"I'll take it from here, Rebecca, thank you," Lila said calmly. "You go finish your rounds."

Tracy had sunk onto the bed, her dress rumpling beneath her as she let the fur stole fall behind her onto mattress. She could feel the tears streaming down her face, ruining her make-up. "Mom?"

"Tracy, I'm sorry. I knew you were coming to see him today--Tom talked of nothing all week. I tried to telephone the house, but you had already left."

"I had some errands to run," she said blankly.

"He passed very easily, sweetheart." Lila sat next to her daughter on the bed, pulling her into a gentle embrace as Tracy began to weep openly. "He was receiving palliative care, love. All anyone could do was ease his pain."

"It's not fair, Mommy. It's just not fair." She allowed her mother to rock her, letting Lila comfort her the way she used to do when Tracy was just a little girl. She didn't know why this was affecting her so much. She barely knew the boy. Why should she be so broken up by it? "It's just…" she said, answering her own question aloud. "It's just so unfair. He never got to do anything." She sniffed. "He'll never get to do anything."

"He was a remarkable young man," Lila agreed, kissing Tracy's forehead. "He was so happy with your visit on Christmas Eve. He hardly spoke of anything else in the last week."

Tracy buried her head in her mother's shoulders, trying to hide the blush. She wondered just exactly what Tommy had revealed about her "visit," and if he was the type to kiss and tell. In the end, though, it didn't really matter. She'd kissed a boy she barely knew under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve. It wasn't such an unusual thing to do.

Just like he was a normal boy.

She sniffed again, burrowing into her mother's arms. "When did…when did it happen?"

"This afternoon. Around one."

"I was getting my nails done." Tracy felt like the most shallow, vapid creature on the planet. While this boy was breathing his final breath, she was having a manicure and wondering if she should let Ryan Jackson get to second base tonight.

"Did it…was he in a lot of pain?"

"No, dear. He was very peaceful."

Tracy breathed deeply, as if trying to shake off the feelings of guilt. "What happened to all his stuff? His books?"

"His parents asked that we box up his belongings and give them to charity. The books are going to the Port Charles Community Library. He did say that you should take one, if you wanted."

"He did?" She smiled. It sounded like him.

Lila hugged her gently. "I believe Tom was quite taken with you, dear. Do you want to go look through the books?"

"No, I know the one I want. The book you gave him, the history book."

Lila looked at her in surprise, but nodded. "I'll have Rebecca get it out of the box before it goes to the library."

"Can't I go get it now?"

"But what about your party?"

Tracy shrugged. "I don't feel like going yet. I just want to sit here for a little while and read."

Lila searched her face for a long moment, then nodded. "The books are in a box behind the nurses' station. You can stay in here for a while, if you need some privacy."

"Thank you, Mommy." Tracy got up, leaving her mother's mink on the bed as she walked towards the door. "Are the Milfords going to have a service for him?"

"Next week," Lila said.

"Can I go?"

"Of course you can."

"Thanks, Mom." Tracy opened the door and headed for the nurses' station. She wasn't really tracking well. The whole world seemed different now. Everything seemed a bit fuzzy, and she couldn't quite make sense of anything anymore. She found the box where her mother said it would be, and dug through it until she found the volume she wanted. With effort, she wrested it free, ignoring the curious looks from the nurses and nurses' aides, who knew from experience that Lila Quartermaine's bad seed daughter wasn't exactly the bookworm type.

When she got back to what had been Tommy's room, her mother was gone, and the mink stole was folded neatly on the bed. She sat down in the chair she'd sat in on Christmas Eve, just staring out into space for a while. The book felt cool against her hand, its soft leather against her fingertips. She just sat quietly, feeling its weight in her lap, thinking of mistletoe and jingle bells and wondering how Christmas would ever be the same again.

Finally, she managed to open the cover of the book. To her amazement, there was an inscription inside the front cover.

"Tracy. I knew you'd pick this book. Thanks for pushing me off the chair. Twice. Tom."

She began to laugh, and then to cry, still laughing as she wept. Carefully, she opened the book to the introduction and began to read. After about ten minutes, she sighed deeply. "Gawd, this is boring."

December 31, 2005

Tracy was just about to convince herself to stall--like she did every year--when she turned back to the inside front cover--like she did every year. And there it was, like it had been every year since she was seventeen, that crooked scrawl, the shaky handwriting, the simple words.

"Tracy. I knew you'd pick this book. Thanks for pushing me off the chair. Twice. Tom."

It worked. Just like it had worked last year, and every year before since the first time she'd read it. Tracy sat down on the bed, rifled through her purse to find her glasses, and thumbed through the book find to this year's chapter.

There was a knock on her bedroom door, and Tracy shut the book as her husband walked in. "Spanky, what are you doing? Shouldn't you be getting ready for the party?"

She shook her head. Luke looked fairly dapper in his party clothes, although she knew for a fact that any care he'd taken in his appearance was for the benefit of Skye, not his wife. "I have time," she said. "I have to finish this first."

"What are you up to, my pretty pink peppermint Popsicle? Some dastardly scheme to ring in the new year?"

"If you must know, I'm reading." She showed him the book.

" u A Brief History of Humanity /u ?" Luke picked up the book from her lap, groaning with the effort. "Spanky, I find it hard to believe you'd choose this for a little light reading. Ugh." He handed her back the book.

"I've been reading a chapter of this book on New Year's Eve every year since I was seventeen," she said.

"Really? What chapter are you on?"

"Ha, no. You'll just do the math and try to figure out my age. Let's say I'm somewhere between Fred Flintstone and George Jetson, okay?"

"You gonna be long?"

"Not if you let me read," she said testily. She really didn't need the distraction. It was hard enough motivating herself to wade through this thing every New Year's.

"I can't believe you've lugged this thing around with you since you were a teenager."

"I haven't. This one stayed here all along. Where-ever I was, there was always a library around that carried it. The damn thing's been reprinted and translated more times than the Bible, I think." She grinned. "I suppose there are more history geeks than any of us would suspect. When Dillon and I were in Provence, I read my chapters in French for two years straight."

Luke looked at her thoughtfully, reaching out to stroke her hair. "Why do I get the feeling there's a story behind this book?"

"Because there is."

"And why do I get the feeling that you're not going to tell me that story?"

"Because I'm not. Now, toddle off and find something expensive of Daddy's to drink. You don't want to get a slow start on the new year." She waved him off, trying to get him to leave her alone so she could get this over with.

"Don't be long, wife?" He paused at the doorway, winking. "It wouldn't be a party without you."

"I'll just be a little while," she said softly. When he shut the door behind him, she opened the book "Chapter Forty-One. The Ottoman Empire. Oh, joy," she muttered and began to read "I hope you appreciate this, Tommy. Wherever you are…"

After about ten minutes, she sighed, looking heavenward. "Gawd, this is boring!"

The End

Written for the 100 Situations Challenge.