S is for Santa

CHRISTMAS PAST...

"Damn it."

"Who'd you pull?" queried Adam.

In silence, Timmy read the name upon the slip of paper. He read the name several times more, then aimed to stick it back inside the glittery green and red box upon the break room table.

"Nuh-uh!" scolded Adam. "No tradesies. Secret Santa is a sacred tradition, you get who you get. Who'd you get? Ah, well, I guess it wouldn't be a secret then...wait, did you get me? It's me, isn't it? Ah!" A crooked grin and a wag of his finger stood as scolding as Adam walked away. "Almost told me."

Timmy stood defeated, glancing back towards the likeliest of names. Likely, of course, because it was bound to happen sooner or later.

Russell Dunbar . And why not. He always bought Russell a Christmas gift. And a birthday gift...and on Boss's Day. Valentine's Day, once. Of course, he'd never bought any of them personally .

Russell bought them for himself, deducting Timmy's pay.

It's the thought that counts.

However, this was different...Timmy was now forced to buy a personal gift for his tormentor, a nice little present wrapped in a jolly little bow...what did he even want? Sex, he supposed, the only thing the man ever truly desired, and he was not about to give him that .

What else did he like…? He'd been known to wear clothing. And eat...food. Ugh, what an incredibly dull human being.

Then it struck him. The perfect gift for someone undeserving of a gift, the classic "screw you" from the man in red himself. But then...Timmy was better than that, surely. Even in revenge, such treatment was beneath him, and in being honest with himself, he knew his boss well enough that he could come up with so many more viable options.

He could never be so mean. He could never…

"Hey, Timmy?"

Timmy turned to face Russell, who held festive costumes from either hand.

"Last year you did the elf thing, this year for the Christmas party I'm thinking we put you in this Frosty get up, doesn't do much for the figure and I know, I know , a brown snowman? But listen, I think if anybody can pull it off…"

Timmy walked swiftly past Russell, curtailing the conversation. He knew what he had to do.

Ah, the Christmas party. The most magical time of the year. People had joked all evening about spiking the flat and tasteless punch, but one person had finally done it (to be fair, they were a little drunk already). Everyone loved the Dunbar Christmas parties.

Everyone.

It was Adam who first suggested they open Secret Santa gifts, in classic Adam style. He'd put on the Santa hat, "ho ho ho"-d a bit, gone entirely overboard with the entire scenario.

At this time, Russell had settled on sucking several candy canes into shivs in the hopes of killing everyone in the room. He hid his latest weapon in his jacket pocket, gulped down spiked punch, and sighed defeatedly as Adam whisked him towards living people.

In proper Santa's helper fashion, Adam delivered presents to all the good little children, arriving with a spin for flourish at Timmy's side.

Timmy was not dressed as a snowman. "Oh, thank you." He sent Adam on his way with a cheerful smile, gazing down upon neatly wrapped silver and gold. A swirl of a ribbon and careful detailing of his name on the gift tag completed the picture of a perfect Christmas gift. "Well, somebody certainly made an effort."

He looked about. Everyone opening gifts: coffee mugs and tacky scarves. Candies and novelty singing whatsits. Typical holiday at the office. He looked down at his gift, nearly hating to spoil such lovely presentation.

Nearly. He tore at paper, finding a box; inside the box…

He stared. His heart raced, just a bit. He looked all around the office, seeking answers.

This was a real gift. A thoughtful, personal gift of sentimental value. Not some knick-knack to be thrown out or regifted next year. This came from somebody who knew him on a deeply personal level. Nobody in this office. Nobody-

Oh. Oh, no. It couldn't be. It was impossible.

With eyes of horror Timmy looked to Russell. In agonizingly slow motion he was opening his gift; Timmy's mouth opened equally slow, a pitifully weak "noooo-" aching to escape his lips, but no! Hold back, he mustn't reveal the truth, for it was too late now. A crowd was forming, tipped off by whisperings earlier this evening of, "you won't want to miss this," and now it was too late, now-

"The hell is this?"

He'd opened it. Russell Dunbar, grinch of the century, standing in the center of a snickering party with his box of coal.

Timmy Patel's heart shrank three sizes that day.

Russell looked around the room slowly, anxiety crawling up his throat. "Uh...heh. Check it out, got an office clown." Then, in an ultimate save face, holding a piece of coal, he coughed once and assured: "These are actually imported chocolates from Italy, very highbrow."

To sell the illusion, he bit down, then, turning to hide face, set in the direction of his office. "Timmy, a word!"

As bodies dissipated with murmurs and laughter, Timmy coiling unsteadily towards Russell's office, congratulatory slaps upon the back and assurances of "good one, man" felt heavily displaced.

As soon as Timmy closed the door, Russell shook the box. "These aren't chocolates."

"No, sir…" Timmy's head hung in shame.

"You think this is funny?"

"Well, I…"

"Everyone else thinks it's hilarious. But they all hate me. You're the only one I can trust, Timmy. You have any leads?"

Timmy's head jolted to attention. "Leads?"

"Who would give me a box of coal, I mean who hates me that much?"

Dumbfounded, Timmy queried: "You're serious…?"

"I mean, I know Secret Santa is supposed to be a closely guarded secret, it's in the name and everything, but as my best friend-"

Oh no.

"-I know you'd do everything in your power to help take down a thief of Christmas joy."

Timmy's hands ran down his face, holding back a groan of despair. He inhaled sharply, brain speaking for him in quick retort: "Yes. Yes, sir, of course, and you wouldn't happen to know, I suppose, who pulled my name this year?"

He had to be sure his guilt was well placed.

Russell's demeanor shifted; he spoke quite softly. "I believe we were discussing coal bandits."

Ah, yes. Quite. Timmy nodded. "I'll find the perpetrator." He made it to the door before pausing; soul heavy, he turned back to find Russell staring at a box of ashen misery.

"Sir?"

Russell glanced up with weary eyes.

"I'm sorry, sir, that anyone could be so cruel."

Russell turned away. He laid the box atop his desk, running fingers along the edges...without looking back, he replied in kind, "I'm sorry, too."

Timmy nearly spoke too soon, words hanging on his lips; but no. They'd said enough. "Merry Christmas, sir."

Russell listened for the sound of the door. "Merry Christmas, Tim."

CHRISTMAS FUTURE...

Christmas morning, and a fresh fall of snow found Timmy wake to an empty bed. He traced careful steps out to the living room, finding his partner rustling amongst packages beneath the tree, shaking each in search of secrets. He appeared every bit a small boy having just woken to discover Santa's great arrival, and Timmy grinned in pleasure.

Russell was making up for lost time, and Timmy held no desire to curb his joy. Still, he found the lure of a gentle tease enticing. He snuck up from behind, leaning towards an ear and whispering: "Has Santa been, darling?"

Russell quaked, turning with nervous laughter. He found Timmy's eyes bright, holding nothing to fear.

"Stockings first," said Timmy, urging Russell towards the fireplace. Timmy, appearing overly enthused upon arrival, did well to raise Russell's suspicions.

"What'd you do, booby trap it?"

Timmy groaned in agitation. "Why would I booby trap the stockings?"

Russell, laying out several possibilities in his mind, finally relented. He accepted his fate with open arms, reaching inside a stocking to discover…

He rose a brow Timmy's way.

Timmy stood very still, nerves setting in. "You, uhm...you see, it's…"

"It's coal, Timmy."

"Okay, yes," spoke Timmy very quickly, "but I assure you this time they're all-"

Russell had already grabbed one. He peeled back a black layer, taking a bite. "Chocolate."

"You see because...because the time in the office where...where someone gave you-"

"You gave me coal, yeah." A flippant, passive recollection.

Timmy, wide-eyed, watched Russell stoically unwrap another chocolate. "So...so, you remember then. Russell?" He wasn't speaking. This wasn't good. "Russell, I'm sorry, I thought it would be-"

Then, it happened. Russell looked to him, with the smallest hint of a smile. "Babe, shut up and eat chocolate."

"Yes. Okay." Smiles and sweets exchanged, the world settled.

Through chocolate coal sang rising laughter, two men pieced together by memories repaired, one by one. Life was deliciously stupid.

"Merry Christmas, Russell."

Russell gifted chocolate kisses upon welcoming lips, whose owner left shortly in a pleasured sigh for shimmering lights and more presents beneath a perfect tree.

Nothing underneath that tree would compare to Russell's biggest gift this year.

His greatest present. His future.

"Merry Christmas, Tim."