A/N: Welcome to the D-K Christmas special! This is (for now, anyway...) the last past of my Christmas story! Will Christopher get over Etain? Will David get over Christopher? Will Jalil ever find his leather pants?

This and more in part five of 'Liff'!

Oh, and Kay? I'll find David a mesh raver shirt if you can get Jalil in the leather. Nmmmm... leather... Thanks for the Christmas slash- even if it wasn't specially for me. And curses and acidic snails on you for brining my David/Galahad plot bunnies out of hibernation.

some quick Warnings: The Christmas 'carol' played during the first portion of this fic is a real song (I swear). If you are disturbed by the thought of Santa kicking ass... I'm sorry. For the rest of you the song is by the Arrogant Worms. To know them is to love them, and to not know them is to... uhm, not love them I guess...

Now, string up your lights, and get out your cookies for...

It's a Wonderful Liff, Part Five: Shut Up, Christopher

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of the for too substantial void. It was a strange brown, iridescent color, rather like an oil slick on a sidewalk. The swirls of deep purple and mouldy green seemed to reflect his spinning, tumultuous mind perfectly. Maybe it was his mood. Who could tell in the void that wasn't a void, with Senna the Christmas angle?

He absently plucked at the blanket he was sprawled on with one hand. It was a powder blue flannel affair, covered with small bats, blood dripping from their fangs. He'd made a mental note never to ask Senna for decorating advice.

And yet, despite the swirling ceilings, and scary blankets, and decided lack of anything to drink (he really should've saved some of that eggnog...) There was only one thing really on his mind. The words he had heard from David's subconscious had taken up permanent residence in his head, like the last relative that refuses to leave on Christmas evening after dinner is over.

"He'd find someone else. Christopher always did..." It had never occurred to him that there could be anyone else. Never crossed his mind that there could be anything as all-encompassingly perfect as his moments with Etain. But David's words, and his sureness in them had made him wonder. Put a crack in his certainty of spending the next twenty or thirty years alone.

Mabe there could be someone...

/No./ he shook his head. His didn't want 'someone'. He wanted Etain. His one and only. His slice of perfection. His love.

/*You're backsliding.*/ Senna warned from some unseen corner. He jumped in surprise, rising to his feet in shock.

"You're back!" his voice was half accusatory, half desperately thankful.

/*And now I'm leaving. There's a woman in Uzbekistan...*/

"You can't leave me!" he cried, throwing himself in the direction of her voice, only to bounce off the void much like the remote control before him. "Take me with you..."

/*I'm supposed to keep them from killing themselves, Christopher.*/

He had to admit, she had a good point. But the void was lonely, and quiet. It would figure the only void-like things the void had managed to pull off were the ones he couldn't stand "Can I at least have a Christmas carol?" he asked.

The degree of pathetic in his voice must have melted even Senna's heart, because suddenly music flooded the void.

Oh... Santa's coming and he's gonna kick your ass

He's gonna kick your ass

He's gonna kick your ass

Santa's coming and he's gonna kick your ass

Cause you've always been a rotten little brat.

For someone who had been expecting Nat King Cole, or maybe a Sinatra tune or two, this was something of a shock. At any other time Christopher might have been amused, might even have tried to sing along. But it was Christmas eve. And he'd been trapped with his own feelings for too long.

And that's when something in him snapped. "OH SHUT UP!" he yelled at the void, pulling the bat blanket over his head.

Reindeer coming and they're gonna bite your ears

Gonna chew you welcome mat

Swallow your kitty cat

Reindeer coming and they're gonna eat our begonias

Cause Santa hasn't fed them in a month.

Unfortunately bat blankets, though fuzzy, do not block out sound all that well. Especially sound made by Canadian comedy bands. But he kept it on, just in case, waving a threatening fist at the sound from under his shelter.

Elves are coming and they're gonna steal your turkey

Wreck your TV

Burn down your Christmas tree

Elves are coming and they're gonna trash your home

Cause they ain't got nothing else to do

His face turned the color of that paint often called 'holiday red' in draft shops as he yelled. Then again, it might just have been the heat from the blanket. "What the hell do guilt trips, lukewarm eggnog, nasty carols and scary blankest have to do with proving that my life isn't as pathetic as it really is?" he shouted at no one in particular. "All it's really done is prove that things are getting worse! You are the worst cheerer upper I have ever seen!" well, maybe a few of the choice phrases were uttered with a certain blonde witch in mind.

Santa's loaded with attitude,

He'd loud and drunk and smelly and rude

His workshop's been closed by an auditor

And Mrs. Claus ran off with a chiropractor...

Then finally, in the middle of the night, on December the twenty fourth, Christopher Hitchcock ripped off the blanket, flung his arms out to the sides and stood, staring up at the murky ceiling. And asked the right question, "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"

The answer the echoed over the walls came not from Senna, but from a voice that sounded much like his own, crossed with Jiminy Cricket . "GET ON WITH YOUR LIFE!"

And in the middle of the night, on December the twenty-fourth, for the fist time in a long while, Christopher Hitchcock listened to his conscious, and sat down to really think...

The door to David Levin's room creaked when it opened, a sound much like two pieces of styrofoam being rubbed together. It creaked now. David, who had (through necessity) become something of a light sleeper bolted into a sitting position at the sound before he was even awake.

He was greeted by the sight of one dishevelled Christopher, hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, pants looking as though they'd been on his head at some point in the last few hours. His mouth dropped open at the sight. One or two more interesting dreams of his had begun this way. Except Christopher could not, would not, would *never* be in his room for anything of the sort. And he'd promised himself he wouldn't start in on that train of thought tonight, or any night ever, for that matter.

The other boy plopped down on his bed. "I had the weirdest dream, except I don't think it was a dream. Ok, I have the weirdest divine intervention. That stuff on TV? Nothing like it. It was hell. Sort of. Well, heaven actually, but hell-*ish*."

Why was he here, telling him this? Why? Why? Why? What god had he pissed off enough to deserve a ranty and possibly drunk Christopher in his room in the middle of the night when all he'd really wanted was a decent night's sleep?

"And anyway, Senna was an angel- seriously, who saw that one coming? And she told me your were in love with me and..."

He froze, not listening to the rest of the blonde's monologue. "Go back to bed Christopher." he was amazed at how calm his voice sounded, when it was taking all his energy not to start shaking and babbling.

"Oooooooh no. I did not just spend six days of Senna-time in a void so you could get off with a 'go back to bed, Christopher'. This is all your fault, and I have some questions to ask you! Now, let's start with the DVD menu..." All David could do was sit and listen as the other boy recounted his strange and sometimes sordid tale. Sit, listen, and wish he was dead, or at least sinking into the granite floor.

"There was something you said, when I was watching your thoughts," it was sad that someone could use that phrase in public and actually be understood. Christopher halted for a second, then continued, as though his hole world hung on the answer to his question. "Could I really find someone else?"

His voice, when it came out was flat and distant, "Of course. You could have any girl you want. You'd know that if you'd stop pining, so you don't need to ask me." A deep, painful cold had flooded his veins, turning his blood to ice. "Now why don't you go back to your room, and we can pretend that you never had a visit from and angel. Senna. Whatever."

"But what if I don't want another girl?"

"Than spend your whole life sitting outside Etain's door, wishing you had something you won't." He growled, "And see if any of us care. Waste your life. I don't care."

Then, to his surprise, Christopher laughed softly. "I didn't mean it like that, David." he felt a shudder run up his back at the sound of his name, " I just don't want a girl..." the blonde reached over and, without warning, gently ran a hand through David's hair, brushing the long, floppy strands out of his eyes.

He pulled back. This couldn't be... had to be some elaborate joke. Had to be a prank. He couldn't be serious. But as he dared a quick look into his friend's eyes he saw none of the usual sparkle of mischief that accompanied his jokes. No, for the first time in some time Christopher was one hundred percent serious.

Unrequited love is easier than most people give it credit for. True, it has its share of heartbreak and pain. But on the whole unfulfilled desires are safe. Nothing comes of them, and as such there are no consequences.

Real love and real relationships of any kind, on the other hand, is a looming gorge someone asks you to jump into while holding an anvil.

Which may explain why, at the crucial romantic moment of his life David pulled himself from his bed and fled the room, leaving Christopher alone to ponder how such a perfect (he'd thought) plan could go so perfectly wrong.

He ran without thought, without direction. Ran until a dead end corridor trapped him and he slid to the floor, gasping for breath. His mind was a vast, swirling black hole that his sense of coherency had vanished into long ago. Only one thought remained. Christopher wanted him. Something that should have made him so happy to the point of giddiness, but instead brought a stab of fear through his heart.

A fantasy was one thing. A fantasy didn't involve the whys, or hows, or what-ifs of real life. A fantasy was something you could wake up from afterwards and maybe feel a little guilty about, but the guilt would fade along with the dreams. Anything else...

A small shudder ripped through him. He could hear the mocking voice in the back of his mind again. The voice that could drive him to madness or tears in his own mind. /Would you let him touch you the way he did?/ Oh not now, this wasn't the time. He was supposed to be over this. /Would you do what he asked even if it hurt? Even if you cried? Let someone take you and than throw you away again?/

No. That wasn't Christopher. He knew him, trusted him.

/You trusted him too./

He pressed his palms to his head, trying to squeeze the voice to death, trying to stop te flood of memories that always seemed to accompany it. He'd thought he'd exorcised these demons back in fairy land. But the voice rang through his head.

/Coward.

Weakling.

Failure.../

He wanted to hit something, hurt something, destroy something. Maybe himself. Didn't matter. Something had to give as the torrent of images and sound washed through his mind.

"David..." He didn't look up.

He felt Christopher kneel next to him, reach out to him, wrap his arms around him and pull him close. It took everything he had not to tremble.

"I'm sorry."

He looked up in surprise.

"I... maybe I picked a bad time. Or, I'd understand if you don't feel... uhm... sorry."

For some reason there seemed only one appropriate course of action for that statement.

He punched him. Across the cheekbone, not hard enough to do any serious damage, but enough to knock the blonde off balance, and send them both sprawling on the floor.

"You idiot."

Things were not going to plan for Christopher. Granted, he had David lying on top of him, which was kind of nice. But previous to that he had been called an idiot and punched. In his experience this was never good.

"You idiot." David repeated, softer this time. "You big, dumb, stupid, moronic idiot." The words were coming softer and softer, to the point where he had to strain to hear himself be insulted. "You dense, brainless..." the smaller boy was shaking against him now. He felt a fist connect with his shoulder as the other boy accented each word with a punch, "...idiot."

He caught David's wrist in his hand, trapping it between them. The other boy looked up at him, eyes filled with pain. "You don't get it, do you?"

He shook his head. And the brunette almost smiled, "I... I... I love you. Love you. God knows why, but I do. Love you." the words tumbled from his lips, until they became almost a wordless sob. "*I'm* sorry. I can't help it. And I shouldn't. You shouldn't. We-"

Christopher cut him off the only way he knew how.

David's lips were rough against his own, his whole body flinching at the contact. But he held onto him until he felt him relax against him, kiss back. Shaking hands wrapped around his neck as his own moved to the other boy's waist, gently holding him.

It was a strange kiss on both their parts. Christopher unused to chastity, and David a complete stranger to romance. And yet it felt...

Right.

David would wake the next morning to find a small envelope at the foot of his bed. It contained one picture of a blonde and a brunette locked together in a tight embrace, and a card with a picture of a bat on the front.

To: David Levin

(Isn't this a much better gift than socks?)

Merry Christmas.

From Senna.

The End.

Happy Holidays Everyone.

"Merry Christmas to all... and to all a good night."