Title: Christmas Morning in Increments of Five
Rating: PG-13 for language and implied booty call
Parts: Three of Three
Disclaimer: Love 'em, don't own 'em.
Summary: Alternate title might be "How to Have the Best Christmas Ever."
Notes: Ridiculously fluffy. I hope you enjoy your Christmas morning extra sweet, because you'll probably need the insulin tomorrow. My holiday fic back from 2008. It's even fluffier than I remembered. Un-beta'd.
Christmas Morning in Increments of Five
At Age Twenty-Five
It's early Christmas morning, and several things are confusing Brick as he wakes up. First is the location, but it doesn't take long to remember the hotel room, with its large open windows and king-size canopy bed. Her side is rumpled and empty—no surprise there—but he's astonished to see her shadow against the drawn curtains of the canopy as she moves in the sunlight streaming through the window.
He tries to blink the sleep out of his eyes, tries to form a coherent question with his addled brain, but then there's a knock on the door and he abruptly turns his head. He crawls over her side and fumbles for the opening to the curtains, failing miserably and instead tumbling to an undignified heap on the floor.
"Oh good! You're awake." A fully dressed Blossom thanks the busboy at the door and wheels in a little cart laden with food. "Hungry?"
"What is this?" Brick croaks, trying to right himself. "I thought—I thought you'd be at your dad's by now."
She laughs, a sweet little sound that only serves to baffle him further, and dashes over, pulling him to his feet. "Surprised?"
He lets her wrap a robe around his shoulders and blinks. "Um, yeah. I mean... it's Christmas." He shakes his head and considers for a second. "It is Christmas, right?"
"It most definitely is Christmas," she affirms, acquiring a piece of toast for herself and waving at him to sit. He obediently complies and takes a bite of the toast she offers him.
"So why are you... don't you spend it with your family?"
"Typically, yes," she says as she pours him some coffee. "Here. You very obviously need this."
"But what are you doing here with me?"
She doesn't respond for a second, merely examines her breakfast and plays with the silverware on the cart. "Well," she says slowly, lifting her eyes to his before shifting off her chair and into his lap. "I thought I'd spend this one with you."
Even in his not-entirely-conscious state, the statement slams into his brain like a ton of... well, you know. It's only a few words, but the implications are immeasurable when he takes into account that she's never—ever—chosen him over family when given the choice.
"Merry Christmas, Brick," she whispers, kissing his chin, a little gesture that almost makes him shiver and damn near melts his heart, until he realizes that she's just one-upped him this year, possibly every year for the rest of their lives, should they be so lucky to spend them together. And then he realizes that he really doesn't care.
He wraps his arms around her, pulls her close as she perfunctorily squirms and laughs. He's conscious enough for this.
"The hell with Christmas," he murmurs, meaning every word of what he's said and is about to say. "I love you, too."