Hi all!
Quick ramble first, then I'll get right into it I swear.

I hope everyone (who celebrates) had a wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Here's a little Christmas story that I've written based off of, like, a dozen different prompts I have received over the past month!
The first prompt was 'Tis the Damn Season by Taylor Swift (great song, you should go listen) which I didn't really stick to but I have chosen lines from the song to be the Chapter titles and I feel those lines give off the 'general vibe' of the chapters, if that makes sense? Let's just say it's not a traditional 'upbeat' Christmas song (but, again, it's great. 10/10, one of my favourite songs).

Each chapter has filled a secondary prompt (some even a few prompts) and I will add the prompts to the end of the chapters (because some of them were very specific) to avoid spoilers.

In saying that, I will do my usual "trigger warnings" here:
Mentions of death.
Mentions/depictions of alcoholism and the affects of that on family members.
Mentions of teen pregnancy and 'abandonment' (I use that term loosely).

A quick reminder that I do not hate the character of Meredith and this story only very briefly explains her situation from Rick's point of view.
Just like in real-life situations, there are two sides to every story.
I promise you it isn't an overly long conversation. And it's in part 2 (which will be posted in a day or two).

I know I make such a big deal over this stuff like every single time and it's never that bad but at least you can't say I didn't warn you.

It's been a bit of a chaotic quest to have so many individual ideas integrated into one story (and to try and make it flow 'seamlessly' as one story) but I think I've done it! If it does seem a bit 'jumpy' I do apologise.

As usual, thanks for reading!
I hope you enjoy : )

Chapter One:
The holidays linger like bad perfume.

Every year had been the same: as soon as that biting winter chill rolled in, so did the indescribable melancholy.

Five years ago they had been happy. They were a family. They were whole...

For the three week break over the Christmas and New Year period, Kate's parents had done their very best to clear their schedules. Like always, they wanted to ensure they could make the very most of her visit and spend as much quality time with her as possible while she was back at home. They had spent the days leading up to Christmas decorating the house, putting up the tree and baking holiday themed cookies. And as the sun set on each day they'd eat their dinner on the couch while watching some of their favourite Christmas movies: Miracle on 34th Street, A Christmas Carol, It's a Wonderful Life.

On Christmas Eve the three of them went to The Rink at Rockefeller Centre - as they had each year since Kate was young - and spent hours skating, falling, laughing and observing. People-watching had become a part of the Beckett-family Christmas tradition - and was just as important as the tree, or the dinner, or the gifts.

So much of that magic we feel at Christmas time comes from the people around us, her mother had told her one year when she was only young. On that day Kate learned that the magic of Christmas had nothing to do with a jolly old man or flying reindeer.

It was the children in the park building snowmen and making snow angels, in the laughter that chorused through the air as they chased each other, freshly rolled snowballs in hand. It was the parents that cheered them on, encouraged chaos and silliness in the hopes that their children were forming memories that they could hold onto for a lifetime. And it was in the people who did what they could to help ease the burden for those who were struggling at was was supposed to be the most joyous time of year; volunteering their time or donating their money, charitable acts both big and small.

And when December of '98 became January of '99 Kate had been so hopeful, so inspired by the 'goodness' of humanity.

Here's to another great year! they had cheered.

If only they had known the darkness that was headed their way.

Now, the twinkling of fairy lights felt like an ominous warning. Those first flurries of snow that she used to love so much invoked nothing but sadness and It's a Wonderful Life seemed little more than a cruel and twisted taunt.

Christmas, through no fault of it's own, had lost it's magic.

But she still bought herself a season pass to The Rink at Rockefeller Centre each year. She didn't skate anymore, hadn't been able to step onto the ice since the last time she was there with her mother, just days before everything changed forever.

On the coldest days, the days when the sadness became too much, she would stand rink side for hours just watching the families: the ones that weren't ruined or broken, the ones that still felt the magic of Christmas. Some days these strangers were her only reminder of the joy this time of year once sparked within her. Their happiness could bring her a sense of peace if she tried hard enough and - while it was only ever temporary relief from her pain - that small moment of peace was enough proof that she was capable of healing, capable of finding joy.

It reassured her that one day she might actually be okay again, that one day she might feel whole.

For now, that was enough.

December 20, 2003.

Her December roster was always chaos.

From her very first year on the force she had always volunteered to cover shifts over the holiday season. The logic was simple: the more she worked, the easier it was to avoid... everything: the snow-lined streets, the bustle of last-minute shoppers, the decorated store fronts.

If she was at work then she wasn't alone. And if she wasn't alone then she wouldn't spiral.

Distract, distract, distract: that was the key. Most days it even felt like it worked.

She had just finished the Saturday morning shift - midnight to noon - and, despite being exhausted, was eager to indulge in a little people watching for the afternoon. She hadn't been to The Rink in a few days. She had been working sixteen hour days, would drop to the couch the second she was home and (nine times out of ten) that was exactly where she would stay for the night.

But Saturdays at The Rink were always busy and she liked that. More people to watch meant more moments of joy to witness. The more joy she witnessed, the more at peace she felt. And after the almost two full weeks of shifts she had just endured, she could use a little peace.

She felt the shift in her mood almost instantly as she made her way through the crowd and headed toward the rink. She found somewhere to settle in and made herself comfortable, leaning against the metal railing. She watched as a hundred skaters moved around the rink: some with ease, some as wobbly and unsure on their feet as a newly born giraffe.

Through the hubbub of the crowd - the hundreds of conversations around her all at once - a soft, nervous voice caught her attention.

"But Daddy, I'm scared!"

The voice came from behind her. Kate turned slightly, looked over her shoulder to see a young girl (maybe eight or nine years old) clinging to her father's leg as if her life depended on it.

The man pried the little girl's arms from around his thigh and held both of her tiny hands in his as he lowered himself to his knee and looked into the her eyes.

"It's okay, Pumpkin," he reassured her with a bright smile. He ran his fingers through the girls long, copper waves of hair. "I'm going to be with you the whole time."

"What if I fall?"

"I won't let you fall, I promise."

Kate turned back to face the rink, but closed her eyes and allowed the peace to settle over her.

This man's words almost exactly echoed those of her own father's, many years ago. The first time her parent's had brought her here, she didn't let go of her father's hand once. And despite his promise that the rink wasn't a lake, that she wasn't in any danger, she was terrified that the ice would break and she would slip under.

"I'd never let you fall, Katie."

The image of her father's face formed behind her closed eyes: his sparkling grey eyes, his reassuring smile, the amused sideward glance he shared with her mother. It was so clear in her mind.

She missed this version of her father just as much as she missed her mother.

"I'll be right there with you the whole time," the man behind her continued to reassure his daughter.

"Don't let me go."

Kate risked one more glance over her shoulder, just in time to see the man smile and tap his finger to the girl's nose.

"Never," he promised.

PROMPT:

Meeting AU.
Kate is sad around Christmas time so she goes to the ice-skating rink to remember the good times with her mom.
She is cheered up by watching a father (Rick) skating with his daughter.