Author: Karen
Disclaimer: The characters of "Roswell" belong to Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, WB, and UPN. They are not mine and no infringement is intended.
Pairings/Couples/Category: CC – M/M
Rating: Teen – but with swearing lol
Summary: Just a little holiday fluff. Enjoy
“I think we should get a tree.”
Reclined on the couch, Michael Guerin lowered his Spin magazine and found his girlfriend, Maria Deluca, looking at one corner of his living room. One hand was on her hip, while the other was on her chin, her index finger tapping her lips speculatively.
“We?” he echoed. It was, after all, still his apartment.
Maria whirled his way, her eyes narrowing slightly. She hated it when he pointed out that while they were together, they weren’t really together. It made sense only to Michael.
“Okay, then I think you should get a Christmas tree,” she amended, no lack of sarcasm in her tone.
Michael didn’t hesitate, simply shook his head, popped out a “Nope” and returned to his reading.
“Scrooge,” Maria mumbled.
He lowered the magazine again. “What?”
“I called you Scrooge!” she replied, much louder this time. “Where is your sense of Christmas spirit, Michael?” Her body was tilted forward, the way it always did when she was looking for a confrontation.
And tonight Michael didn’t feel like a battle. Especially when it came to all things Christmas. Maria may had have warm and fuzzy remembrances of the holiday, but for Michael a good Christmas was the rare year when Hank only became drunk and not drunk and abusive together.
“I’m not a Scrooge,” he sighed, feeling his chance to finish his article on Staind quickly fleeing. He folded the magazine, sat up and dropped it on the battered coffee table. “Have you seen the wiring in this place? A tree would be a fire hazard.”
Maria’s face lit up, which was something he totally hadn’t expected. He’d anticipated doom and gloom and mass amounts of pouting. He hadn’t thought she’d look excited as she hurried across the room to sit in the chair opposite of him. She was wearing a red plaid skirt mini-skirt and a green sweater – he had to wonder if the outfit was of Isabel’s influence.
“Then we could do a Victorian tree,” Maria blurted.
Michael raised an eyebrow. “Eh?”
“You know, no lights, paper decorations, that kind of thing.”
He could practically hear the gears turning in her head. “Where would we get all that crap?” he asked without thought for her feelings.
A small cloud passed over her features and was quickly hidden behind her eyes. Less experienced individuals might mistake that it was gone for good, but Michael knew better.
“It would not be crap,” she said levelly. “And we would have to make them.”
“What?” Michael recoiled visibly. “No fucking way.”
“Michael,” Maria jumped in immediately. “It would be fun, something we could to together!”
“I don’t want to cut out paper snowflakes, end of story,” he replied bluntly. “I don’t want a tree, also end of story.”
Maria sat back in the chair so hard that the old wingback groaned in protest. Her arms crossed over her chest and the pouting that he’d expected before was now in full display.
“Don’t you have a tree at your mom’s house?” he asked logically, straightening the magazines on the table.
“It’s not the same,” she mumbled.
“Why not? A tree’s a tree.”
She looked at him like he ought to get it, but he simply didn’t. And apparently she didn’t get him either – he’d never had a tree as a kid, why should he start now? Waste of money, waste of space, just a waste period.
“If you’re worried about fire, you could get an artificial one,” she reminded in a flat tone, the fight and hope gone from her.
Michael felt a pang of sympathy for her – he wasn’t entirely emotionless. He got the feeling she was trying to do something nice for him, perhaps even for them, but how could he tell her that none of that stuff mattered to him without hurting her?
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied, no sarcasm in his tone.
She met his gaze for a long moment, then got up and went into the kitchen to check on the pizza she’d put in the oven. Michael watched her go, frowned to himself. On the outs – again.
Just about the time he was considering going to make amends, the door flew open and Isabel entered in a swirl of holiday cheer. It seemed that she got worse every year and he couldn’t help but notice a whiff of pine. Was she now leaking Christmas from her pores?
“Ah, what a long day!” she spouted, dropping into the chair Maria had vacated. “Hey, Maria,” she called over her shoulder.
“Hey,” Maria responded without enthusiasm from her stooped position at the stove.
“I couldn’t believe how busy the mall was,” Isabel continued, rolling her eyes at Michael. He noticed that she had dropped several shopping bags at the door.
“You didn’t have to shop today,” he reminded her. She would forever annoy him with her quest to have a perfect Christmas.
“I didn’t really,” she said, kicking off her boots. “I picked those up when I was leaving work.”
Work. He never thought he’d see the day when Isabel would take a job in retail, and yet she had. Even more unbelievable, she’d taken the job during Christmas time, working the perfume counter for the holiday season. All of that working had to interfere with her planning the perfect Christmas.
“And now my feet are killing me,” she grimaced as she rubbed her toes.
Maria returned to the living area and had no choice but to sit by Michael now that Isabel had claimed the chair. As she sat, her arm brushed his and he could have sworn he felt a cold breeze pass between them.
“You should wear better shoes,” Maria told Isabel, eyeing the boots. “You can’t stand in shoes like that all day – take it from me.”
Isabel almost looked affronted. “But they go with the outfit.”
As the girls began the debate of whether it was better to look good or feel good, Michael retreated into a daydream, one where he spent an entire afternoon alone, reading whatever and whenever he wanted. A dream where people knocked before they entered, or simply explained why they were there in the first place. It wasn’t that he didn’t love the girls, it was just that sometimes there was no escaping them.
“Oh, that would be a GREAT job for Michael!”
At the mention of his name and the sense of foreboding that accompanied it, Michael looked quickly to Maria, who was grinning from ear to ear. Like the Grinch as he unraveled his most evil plan.
“What?” he asked.
“You weren’t paying attention,” Isabel chided lightly as she sat forward in her chair. “Santa was fired today.”
Michael’s brow furrowed. He wasn’t really sure what that meant and he wasn’t even interested enough to ask.
“Apparently he was dipping into the eggnog before his shift began,” she continued without waiting for him to ask for more information. “And the eggnog wasn’t a virgin, if you know what I mean.” She sighed. “So, we’re Santaless.”
“You don’t have more than one?” Michael asked, puzzled at that hole in the Christmas Nazi’s plans. Her next words, however, explained that.
“Well, if I were in charge of hiring Santas, we’d have three – two to alternate shifts and one as a back up.”
Ah, yes. Of course. “But the Powers That Be don’t share your wisdom?” He’d become so adept at sarcastically picking on her that she couldn’t tell the difference anymore.
“Nope, apparently not. So we need a new Santa – quick.”
“And I said you should do it,” Maria piped in, mischief in her eyes.
Michael chuckled, but not in a humored kind of way. “Are you kidding me?”
“Not at all.”
“It might not be a bad idea,” Isabel interjected, though she was somewhat less anxious about the prospect than Maria was. “It would get you out of here over Christmas break. Put some cash in your wallet.”
“I get out of here,” Michael replied defensively. “And I still have a job to put money in my pocket, thank you very much.”
“It pays fifteen dollars an hour.”
His mouth was half open with the next protest as he stopped cold. “Fifteen?” he finally asked.
“Oh, that’s not fair,” Maria pouted, thinking of her meager wages at the Crashdown.
“Why fifteen?” Michael asked Isabel, ignoring Maria.
Isabel shrugged. “Well, I did say there’s only one of you.”
“But that just means more hours.” In his head, he started doing the math. Eight hours every day for the next week, times fifteen dollars an hour…
Isabel started to retrieve her boots. “It doesn’t look like you’re interested. It’s okay. I can ask Max.”
“No, wait,” Michael said, finally arriving at a number over eight hundred dollars.
Both girls looked at him quizzically.
“What would I have to do?”
Isabel tossed a hand in the air. “Hold them on your lap, take a picture, ask them what they want for Christmas.”
“You’ve done this before,” Maria pointed out. “That year that I had to be an elf.” She wrinkled her nose at the memory.
“Yeah, but that was different,” Michael replied. “Back then I was just doing it so that I could try to get into your pa-”
Maria held up a hand. “I wouldn’t finish that if I were you.”
She had a point there. “I’ll do it,” Michael said to Isabel.
“Yay!” Maria squealed, throwing her arms around him.
Michael hugged her in return, not having the heart to tell her that dressing up in the fat suit had nothing to do with a newfound Christmas spirit and everything to do with the cash.
* * * * *
“I’m going to sweat to death,” Michael mumbled as he looked in the mirror in the employee bathroom.
The suit was flannel and very heavy. The boots were rubber and also very heavy; already a film of sweat had pooled on the arches of his feet. He’d been instructed by a rather abrupt personnel representative that Santa was supposed to be in full costume all the time – that meant hat, jacket and pants, boots and gloves. And don’t forget the beard and white wig. Then she’d told him he was too young for the part, but since he was the best they could do at the last minute, he’d have to do. Upon which time he’d told her that she needed to get her stocking stuffed to loosen her up a bit…okay, not really, but he’d wanted to.
As Michael was pushing the last bit of his white mustache in place, a toilet behind him flushed and an elf emerged from the stall. He watched the man approaching in the mirror and realized he wasn’t getting much taller – the guy was five one, tops. Michael looked down at him and pitied him the green and red costume, complete with tights and pointy shoes – until the little man spoke.
“Dontcha just love Christmas?” he spouted, his cheeks ruddy with excitement.
“More than life itself,” Michael deadpanned. “Nice tights.”
“Do you like them?” the elf asked happily, lifting his red leg to inspect them. He put the red one down and next pulled up the green one. “I had to sew two pairs together to get this effect,” he explained. “It wasn’t easy, but the good thing is that I got two complete pairs out of the deal!” He beamed proudly.
Mentally, Michael made a list of everything that was wrong with the whole conversation:
1) The guy was very short, though he had to give him some slack there because that wasn’t necessarily his fault.
2) The guy hadn’t caught Michael’s sarcasm about the tights being nice.
3) The man had actually taken the time to SEW custom tights for the job and…
4) …he was proud of that fact.
5) Worst of all, Michael was stuck with him for the whole day, perhaps the whole week.
Where were Snowflake and Candy Cane when he needed them?
“You’re a good Santa,” elfman said. “But you’re very tall. Don’t stand up too often or you’ll frighten the little ones, okay?” There was genuine concern on his face.
“Sure, whatever,” Michael replied, while a mantra of “Fifteen dollars an hour” looped in his head.
“Gimme a minute and I’ll put on my ears,” the elf said. “Then we can go out.”
Michael raised an eyebrow.
The elf sighed and put a hand on his hip. “We always travel together. How would it look to see an elf roaming around a mall without a Santa?”
“It wouldn’t look stranger than anything else I’ve seen in Roswell,” Michael quipped, then deflated when he saw the seriousness of his new friend’s expression. “I’ll wait in the lounge.”
Hell, he’d wait all night if he had to – he was already clocked in and getting paid.
Apparently elf ears weren’t easy to apply as Michael found himself bored out of his mind waiting for the man. Boredom led to restlessness which led to a bag of potato chips from the vending machine. This, elfman was not so happy to see. He stood with his hands on his hips and a scolding look on his face. After forcing Michael to throw away the remainder of the bag and wipe the crumbs from his beard, he abruptly ushered him from the room.
“Aren’t there any girl elves?” Michael asked as they left the office area and entered the store.
The elf was smiling and his words were spoken from the corner of his mouth. “You can’t ask questions like that, not now. People can hear you.”
“I’d rather have a girl as an assistant,” Michael said bluntly.
At that, the elf whirled on him, his face one of defiance. “I’ve been doing this for twenty years!” he hissed. “I’m the best there is and you’re damned lucky to have me.”
“Tsk,” Michael said, waggling a gloved finger at him. “Watch your language among the little ones.”
The elf turned deep red and marched straight for the center of the store. Inside, Michael was rolling with laughter. Maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad after all.
But it was.
I want a Play Station. I want an iPod. I want roller blades. I want I want I want. Kid after spoiled kid, begging some fictitious character for things they thought they needed. It made him sick. Not one of the kids asked for their father to quit hitting them, or for their parents to be sober for a change or for their lousy foster father to pay the heat bill so that they didn’t spend the night shivering beneath the covers.
It only affirmed to Michael that he alone had suffered, that he alone had drawn the short straw. He returned home dejected and seriously considered not returning to the job, no matter the good pay.
Of course, Maria was there when he returned and for once he wished she wasn’t. He wanted to be alone to brood.
“How did it go?” she asked, meeting him at the door. She was all smiles, but he couldn’t match it.
“I’m tired,” he managed, dropping his jacket in the chair and flopping down on the couch. “Do you think maybe we could do this some other time?”
Maria’s expression fell and she nodded slowly. “Okay, sure.” She grabbed her coat and gave him one last look before she left. “Bye.”
Michael watched her leave, then rolled over onto his side. In the corner, where she’d been telling him he needed a tree, she’d taped a paper cutout tree on the wall. It was made out of green construction paper and looked like something a first grader would have made. It tugged at Michael’s heart, but only because he’d sent her packing after she’d made him a present.
The rest of the week was the same. More kids wanting everything under the sun. I want a PSP. I want an Xbox. I want a cell phone. Even picking on the elf lost its fun and Michael found himself simply going through the motions. Ask the kid what he wanted, smile for the camera, wish the brat a Merry Christmas and on to the next kid.
Ho Ho Fucking Ho.
Christmas Eve came and he hadn’t heard much from Maria since he’d dismissed her earlier in the week. He missed her, but her absence was probably okay – he wasn’t in the mood to cater to her mood swings and a fight was just around the corner. He figured he’d finish up his shift at the store, which was closing at six that night, then he’d go home, scrounge for a hockey game and maybe order a pizza. The perfect Guerin Christmas.
Visitors to Santa were light, probably because parents only used the trip to see Santa as a way to find out what their kids wanted, Michael mused. By Christmas Eve, it was too late to act on it. And who had the heart to bring their kid to ask Santa for something when it might be impossible to grant their wish?
Fifteen minutes before closing time, a woman and a boy of about seven years approached the red carpet leading to Santa’s throne. The woman was young but haggard-looking, her clothes worn though neat and clean. The boy was also wearing ragged-looking clothes, his toes threatening to peek through the ends of his sneakers. These people were poor.
Great, Michael thought. This little bastard is going to ask for everything under the sun…
“Well, good evening, fine sir!” the elf spouted, greeting the down-and-out child like he was a prince. The kid seemed to like it. “Would you like to visit Santa this evening?”
Wonderful, here we go.
“Ho ho ho,” Michael said, reaching for the boy and putting him on his knee. The kid had large brown eyes, inquisitive. “What would you like for Christmas this year?”
The boy remained silent. Michael sneaked a peek at the mother, who had one hand to her mouth, as though she was barely holding it together.
“I’ll bet you want an iPod,” Michael guessed. Didn’t everyone want an iPod?
The boy shook his head.
“A PSP?” Another shake of the head. Most curious. “An Xbox then?” More denial. “Well, surely you must want something.”
“I want my daddy back,” the boy said in a small voice.
Michael was stunned into motionless. He couldn’t think of anything to say to the boy, since he wasn’t even really sure what that statement meant. Instead, he simply looked into his wide, innocent eyes and felt like the most helpless being alive.
“I’m sorry about that,” the mother said as she reached for the child. There was a hint of tears in her eyes. “We didn’t mean to put you on the spot. He kept saying he needed to speak to Santa until I finally brought him. If I had known…”
Michael watched in confusion as she started to descend the steps, the boy looking at him over her shoulder. “Wait,” he called, forgetting to use his Santa voice.
The woman turned and he cleared his throat, dropping his voice back to Santa’s baritone.
“What happened?” he asked.
The woman looked at the child, who laid his head on her shoulder. “His father got sick and left us,” she explained gently. “Just this past summer.”
Michael’s eyes shifted to the little boy and he felt a stab of pain in his stomach. He understood that child’s loss in an odd way. The boy had had what Michael had always wanted – and then he’d lost it. He might never have it again. That was a pain that Michael definitely understood.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
The woman gave him a small smile. “You can’t change it.”
The boy lifted his head. “Can you bring my daddy back?”
It was the hardest admission of his life. Michael slowly shook his head from side to side. The elf watched him with sympathy. The boy didn’t cry or throw a tantrum, simply laid his head back down and looked into space.
The woman wished them a Merry Christmas, then headed for the exit as the announcement came that the store would be closing in ten minutes. Michael watched them until he couldn’t see them any longer.
“Well, I’m going to head home to the little missus,” the elf said, stretching.
“Yeah,” Michael agreed absently. Before the word was entirely out of his mouth, he was down the steps and running for the exit, his boots squeaking against the highly polished floor.
As he ran, he pictured the whole situation in his head – the man took ill, the woman quit her job to take care of him. It sapped their savings and left her without much to raise their son. And now she was alone on this Christmas Eve, with a child who wanted nothing more than the past undone.
He found the woman and boy just as she was reaching for the door handle.
“Wait!” he called.
The woman turned, surprise and curiosity on her face.
“I want to help,” he said, catching his breath.
“There’s nothing you can do,” she said kindly. “But thank you anyway.”
“Do you have anywhere to stay?” he asked.
She nodded her head.
But they were hungry. And probably cold. And without gifts this Christmas. He didn’t have to ask her – he already knew the answers to these questions because he could read them in their eyes. He knew desperation when he saw it.
“Come with me,” he said. He started to walk toward the lounge, only getting a small ways away before realizing they weren’t behind him. They were still at the door, looking puzzled. “It’s okay. Come on.”
Wary, they followed him to the employee lounge, where the elf was packing up his costume for another holiday. He gave the boy a candy cane, then left the area. Michael turned the combination on the locker he’d appropriated and pulled out a brown envelope. Just that morning, the store manager had handed the envelope to him with a big grin – like he was Ed McMahon and Michael had just won the Publisher’s Clearing House.
“It’s not much,” Michael said, holding out the envelope.
“I can’t take that,” the woman said, looking nervous.
“I want you to,” he said, looking at the boy.
He couldn’t make this woman understand that he’d been a poor boy once, too. Sure, he wasn’t rolling in millions now, but he had a warm apartment and a full belly. More than he could say for them.
“I know it’s too late for…” He pointed at his suit. “You know, ho ho ho. Most stores are closed now. But this might help in other ways.”
The woman was eyeing the envelope like it might sting her.
“No strings,” he assured her. “I just want to help. You don’t know how much I want to help. Please, take it.”
Tentative, she reached out and took the envelope. When she started to open it, Michael stopped her.
“Don’t open it here,” he said. If she saw how much money was in it, he knew she wouldn’t accept. “It should be a surprise for when you get home.”
She looked at the envelope, then her hand fell limply to her side. “I don’t know what to say.” Tears had reappeared in her eyes.
“Then don’t say anything,” he said, hoping she’d leave before she broke into a full sob because he might just join her.
“Thank you,” she said. “So much.”
“Merry Christmas,” he replied.
The mother and son moved for the door, but not before she turned around to give him one last look. “What’s your name?”
Michael chuckled. “I’m Santa Claus.”
* * * * *
“Jesus Christ, what is the hurry?” Maria grumbled as she padded to the front door of her mother’s house. Someone was on the other side, banging repeatedly, incessantly. That someone turned out to be Michael Guerin. “What the f-” she started, but stopped when she saw that he was smiling.
“I need your help,” he announced.
“For what? You need a verbal punching bag?”
“No, and I apologize for that,” he replied without missing a beat. He pulled a pack of white paper and some scissors from behind his back.
“What’s that?” she laughed.
“Snowflakes,” he replied, then shrugged. “And paper dolls, if you’d like.”
Maria lifted a lip. “What are you talking about?”
Michael stepped out of the way and motioned to Max’s car, roof down, a pine tree protruding from the back seat. “It’s not a very good one. It’s the only one they had left.”
Maria’s mouth dropped open. “You got a Christmas tree?”
Michael nodded. “Now I need help decorating it.”
Suspicious, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay, Guerin, what gives?”
“Nothing,” he replied, though his voice went up slightly in pitch, a sure sign he was lying. “Okay, okay. If you come with me and help me with this tree, I’ll tell you all about it.”
She didn’t look convinced.
Michael sighed lightly. “Alright, here it is. I’ve spent a lot of time dwelling on what I never had. So much time that I’ve overlooked what I do have. That includes you. I love you Maria and I’d love it if you came home with me and helped me decorate my tree.”
Maria’s eyebrows were raised in surprise.
“That’s not a euphemism,” he added.
So Maria went home with him and helped him decorate his tree.
Both literally and metaphorically.
The End