Author's Note:

I have a soft spot for Schwartz, always have. I'm not sure why – it might be because I found RD Robb adorable as a kid in the original movie (I was a kid too!) and that I still find RD Robb adorable. LOL. But after seeing A Christmas Story Christmas, I just feel so bad for Schwartz. (Yes, I know it's slightly odd to feel sorry for a fictional character.) So I decided I wanted to write a sweet, somewhat dark love story for him.

And so that's what this is. Ralphie and other A Christmas Story characters will be making appearances, of course.

Please note: I am basing this entirely off only A Christmas Story and A Christmas Story Christmas. I have not seen the other movies in the family. (I did read a bit of a script for A Christmas Story Musical and took some information about Esther Jane from that.) This will have spoilers for A Christmas Story Christmas.

The first name I gave Schwartz and Flick are based on an article I read about the real people who influenced the characters Jean Shepherd wrote.

I also gave both Flick and Schwartz made-up backstories.

Originally, I had assumed the shirt Schwartz was wearing in his first scene in A Christmas Story Christmas was a work-related shirt. Upon a rewatch, I've realized that Schwartz's shirt is a "league" shirt that he and his shuffleboard teammate had made for that purpose, as the opposing players are also in matching shirts. I had read an article in which Scott Schwartz (Flick) said that Schwartz (the character) is unemployed. I resisted that, but in reconsidering a particular plot point, I have decided that his unemployment would serve the story better. So, he's unemployed.

This will have some mature language and some adult situations and implications.

There doesn't seem to be a big demand for A Christmas Story fanfiction, but if you read this, I hope you enjoy it!

Just One Night

December 27, 1973, Hohman, Indiana

Flick's Tavern, 11:45 pm

It was just another night in Hohman, Indiana. Just another night in Flick's Tavern. Just another night spent drinking (without paying) and making bets destined to be lost (and not paid off).

Yep. Just another night in the fine, successful, exciting life of Paul Schwartz, after just another dinner with his mother. After just another day looking for a job and finding nothing, or of finding something and not having any luck in getting hired.

In three days, it would be 1974. A new year. Just another year like the past twenty-five.

He stared at what remained of his beer. Half an inch. For some reason, he had no desire to drink it.

"I suppose you want another one."

Schwarz looked up. His best friend (and the tavern's owner) Flick smirked at him, of course, the way he always did. Arms crossed, indulgence that right now seemed more affectionate than irritated. Wasn't always the case, that, but it usually was. And Schwarz figured he ought to be grateful for it. "Nah," he said. "I'm done."

Flick didn't move except to tilt his head slightly and raise his eyebrows. "You okay?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

It was a good question. And one Schwarz couldn't even answer himself. He tapped his fingertips on the edge of his glass. Watched the beer bounce slightly from the vibration.

"You've been a little off ever since Ralphie left."

It had been so good to see Ralph again. Hadn't seen much of him since he'd left Hohman. Schwarz couldn't really blame him for that. Hell, if he'd found a way out of this town, he'd have stayed away too. Though it wasn't really that he wanted to leave. His mother was here. His father's grave. His sister and her family. His buddies here at Flick's. Flick. Everything he'd always known. Comfort.

But God, wasn't there more to life, even in Hohman?

He sure as hell needed a job. Mom wasn't going to be around forever. He hadn't had a date in two years. Sex? Even longer than that. And forty-two going on forty-three – he wasn't getting any younger. Not that he wanted to get married or anything. Not that he didn't want to, either.

"Schwartzy?"

Now Flick sounded concerned, and so Schwarz forced a smile. "I'm fine, man. Really."

Flick hesitated, but then shrugged and straightened the towel over his shoulder. "Okay."

Schwartz watched as his friend and best sparring partner turned away to fiddle with the bottles of alcoholic heaven lined up on the counter.

"Do you ever want more, Flick?"

"More what? Beer? Customers? Money? Sure."

"No. More than this. More…life."

Though really, Schwartz thought, Flick already had more life than he did. He'd been married and widowed – may Alice rest in peace. Had a long-term girlfriend, a Higbee's saleswoman named Lois, who was a ton of fun, wasn't pushing for marriage and had an independent streak a mile long. She'd spent Christmas with her sister in Florida this year and was due back after the New Year. Flick was popular, and not only because of the tavern. Hell, he was still legendary in Hohman because of the tongue and pole incident. Schwarz figured he deserved at least a little credit for that, but that wasn't forthcoming from anyone. Not even from Flick.

His own claim to fame, riding the ramp, the god damn ramp, and surviving, had been forgotten in less than a week.

Flick turned around, frowning. "I think maybe you need some coffee, buddy."

Schwartz nodded and looked down at the bar top. Figured. It wasn't as if he and Flick had serious conversations all that often. Hell, it wasn't as if he ever allowed them to, really. He tapped his fingers some more, this time on the bar top. Shouldn't surprise him that Flick wasn't taking him seriously now.

"Schwartzy." Flick sounded closer. Must have come to stand right in front of him. "What's going on, brother?"

Then again, maybe he was.

And Schwartz' gut tied itself up in knots. His cheeks warmed up to the point he knew it showed. What in the hell was he supposed to say?

He forced another grin, lifted his chin but didn't look directly at Flick, just in his direction. Shook his head and chuckled. "Nothing. Nothing. You're right. I just need to sober up. Give me a cup of coffee."

Flick stared at him just long enough Schwartz began to squirm, but then nodded and headed toward the coffee pot.

Schwartz pushed his abandoned beer away from him. Flick came back and set a mug in front of him. "How much do I owe you?"

"It's on your tab."

"I'll pay. Everything I had tonight." Schwartz reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He managed to meet Flick's disbelieving eyes and loaded his voice with sarcasm. "You understand English or what, Flick?"

"Fine. Twenty bucks."

Schwartz stared at him. "Twenty bucks?"

Flick grinned. "You want to see the math, buddy? Or don't you know how to do addition?"

"Fine. Whatever." Schwartz opened his wallet and pulled out the one twenty-dollar bill he had left. Tossed it at Flick. "Bloodsucker."

"First time I've ever gotten blood from you. You know what they say about getting blood from a stone."

Schwartz shook his head and took a sip of coffee. The bitterness of it, the slight burn of it, suited him. "Keep talking and it may be the last time."

"Well, there's always the Nightcap. If they'll take you. And frankly, I'm not sure they will."

Schwartz nodded, looked down at his coffee, trying to hide the sting he felt at Flick's mocking words. Because he'd made a point. A damned good point.

Someone sat down on the stool next to him, and Schwartz was startled to see that it was Flick. Their eyes met, but just for a few seconds, and Schwartz looked back at his coffee.

"Alright, come on. What's wrong?"

Schwartz said nothing.

"Paul. What is it?"

Schwartz could count on one hand the number of times Flick had called him by his first name. Two fingers, actually. The last time was ten years ago when Schwartz's old man died.

"I just…I don't want to live like this anymore. Look for a job. Interview for a job. Don't get the job. Eat dinner with Mom. Come here. Every single day it's the same thing." The words came out before he could stop himself. "Ralphie seemed so happy. And don't get me wrong, I'm happy for him. He deserves it." He looked at Flick and smiled. "That story he wrote was great wasn't it?"

Flick nodded. "Yeah. It was."

"It just made me think that I'm not." Sounded like a damn sap, but hell. It was the truth. "Happy." He rolled his eyes. "Or great, for that matter."

He couldn't look at Flick.

But whatever Flick was going to say, if anything, was lost to the phone ringing. And the usual gasp of the stool rats went up, immediately followed by fearful silence.

"Go on. Get it," Schwartz said and gave an elbow to Flick.

He watched Flick walk over to the phone. In all the years he'd been coming here, no one had ever called looking for him. Not even his mother.

"Carl? Is there a Carl here? Carl Swanson?"

Schwartz sometimes wondered what it would feel like to have someone looking for him.