-9-

Although it was the holiday season, by no means did it imply that Andy didn't have to return to work eventually after his perilous accident a month ago. It had taken him a while to recover, and the manager at his station had been kind enough to give him an ample amount of time to fully heal, but now, he had to return.

It wasn't precisely something he was all too eager to do, but, nevertheless, he had set the alarm to wake early the next morning to head out for work then next day, leaving one fast-asleep doll still curled up under the covers and clutching onto the pillows around him.

It was a good few hours later before Chucky finally awoke, bleary eyed and a bit dizzy. He sighed angrily and rolled over, determined that he really didn't want to leave the bed until another hour or so. He'd always been a lazy sort, and even though he'd told himself he was going to start trying a hand at being a bit more productive, he'd in fact done quite the opposite.

He yawned and stretched out, still debating on whether to stay or get up. What was there for him to really do, at any rate? It's not as if he had a job, himself. And- he lifted his head up to scowl about at the room- it wasn't as if there was any house work to do, and even if there was, you wouldn't catch him doing it. He shook his head and lay back against two plain covered pillows.

No- Charles Lee Ray was not a house-wife. He would be doing no such thing.

He glanced over to the clock, which proudly shone 1:24 in red lights. He stared at it for a while, still holding onto one of the smaller decorative pillows. About six hours ago, Andy had left for work. He wouldn't be back until at least six or seven, depending on how work and the traffic home fared.

That would make it at least five or six more hours until he'd be home.

Some days, Chucky could wait that long. He could occupy himself with other things- watching television, bothering Eddie, or even visiting a certain young blonde down the street who liked to talk to him about wanting to be a wicked witch when she grew up. He was certainly just fine being alone as well, bumming about and not doing very much at all.

Today was not one of those days.

He absolutely despised days like this. He wasn't all too keen on having to shove down these more (what he considered) weak emotions. He'd rather not have them at all. But every once in a while, they would flood up anyways, against his will, and he was never quite sure what to do with himself when they came around for a visit.

He knew what he really wanted. Deep in the abyss of himself, he knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted Andy to come home right at this moment. He wanted to have woken up that morning and still have seen Andy sleeping right beside him, eyes shut and breath even.

In fact, he truly wanted to just phone Andy right this minute and tell him to come back.

But he really wanted to spare himself of the embarrassment, though it was only embarrassing to himself. Andy, in all respects, wouldn't have minded or though strangely of it, but Chucky had a more generous portion of pride in his core, and the last thing he wanted was for that to be broken. Heaven forbid.

It didn't change the fact, however, that this sickening need inside him was growing more and more by the second. His heart was pounding uncomfortably, and felt heavy as a brick. He presumed that it had started yesterday, back when he and Andy had had their small conversation on age on the couch. He felt an annoying prickle stinging at the corners of his eyes (and before he knew it, his cheeks were astonishingly wet, but don't tell a soul you heard this from me).

He growled in desperate frustration and tried to push himself back into his usual demeanor, burrowing deeper under the cover and dragging some of the pillows from the end up over his head along with it. Three of them were lined up against his back, and a fourth and fifth were straying somewhere about his legs. They weren't heavy, but he could still feel them against him; an almost comforting presence. They felt a bit like when Andy would cradle him closely underneath him, despite the doll's unconvincing protests.

Chucky sat up and looked across the bed in a sudden thought. He pushed up the two plain pillows that had before held his head against the headboard. He grabbed at the five that had been about him, shoving them here and there until he was satisfied. There was one long pillow at the very end of the bed; he lay forward and stretched his fingers out until at last he grasped onto the corner of it. He pulled it up closer to him, dragging it up over himself along with the covers again. The smallest pillow that he'd been holding he clung at again, feeling very clever and satisfied with himself.

He hadn't planned on staying all day, he'd only planned to stay tucked in there until he felt better.

He didn't even hear the sound of Andy unlocking the door to come in after work at somewhere along the time of six-thirty, nor did he hear the young man walking into the room. In fact, he became so far gone in distancing himself from reality that he was quite alarmed when the cover suddenly left his head and two curious brown eyes suddenly appeared over him.

"Chucky," Andy started, a playful mockery beginning in his voice. "Have you really been in bed all day long? What in the world were you doing all day?"

To which Chucky replied- very convincingly for someone who was in his state, may I add- with a very menacing, "Nothing, you stupid son of a bitch! Do I look like I need to explain myself to you?"