Chenford: One Shot to the Heart

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

A/N: Though I have literally no inspiration there was no way I was leaving you guys hanging especially on Christmas. Even though I only have an hour and ten minutes from the moment I write this to officially say this is a Christmas gift but WHAT THE HECK! Merry Christmas!

Everyone has their year, unique and individual unto themselves. Good, great, bad, beyond-words-awful. Maybe you were promoted. Maybe you adopted a dog. Maybe you were demoted or lost your job. Maybe you lost your best friend. Maybe you have a raw hole in your chest that you are struggling to fill. Maybe you don't know what to fill it with. Maybe it just hurts. That phrase, "just hurts," may seem simple. But it is the simplest, rawest, purest way of conveying absolute heartbreak. Raw terms are real emotion. 

Despite all of that, Christmas, of this Lucy Chen was certain, was a reason to celebrate life. A reason to celebrate every good thing no matter how apparently arbitrary. A chance to reflect on the bad and take all the good that you could from it. So that is what she would do. Of course, she couldn't do it alone... 

That's where Angela's connections came in handy. The very day after Thanksgiving, she and Angela began making plans for a relaxing and casual Christmas party. She knew Angela was under an immense amount of stress what with the new baby, the job, and whatever hint of a mess it was that Wesley had gotten himself mixed up in. But planning the party at least seemed to distract her for a little while. 

With the help of her mother-in-law (Angela's, obviously) they acquired a spacious air-b-n-b for two days. The party would be held the evening of the first night, and the second day would be spent cleaning. Not that they planned on the place becoming trashed. But, come on. Alcohol? Off-duty cops under stress? Not the most considerate bunch.

They planned up and down the line. The food, games, set up, drinks. It being Angela and Lucy, they even made game plans based on the different attendees' tolerance levels as well as ability and behavior under the influence. Given that they were a little tipsy themselves at the time, planning morphed into a giggle fest.

Angela gasped for breath. "And then! He jumped onto the table. He was brandishing a balloon animal, a corkscrew stuck in his belt loops, and a bandana tied rakishly over one eye. No one knows where the hell the balloon or bandana came from. And he was yelling gibberish punctuated by the word "Skarsgard!"  No one knows what he was going to do next. And we never found out." Lucy giggled, snorted, and giggled again. "Why?" 

"Well, Grey got him off the table. But that's not even the best part. Grey tackled him off the table like a sack of flour."

"No!"

"Yes! And that," Angela concluded, "Is why Smitty should never be invited to anything. However, being the courteous, forward-thinking women we are, we will invite him. But, he cannot have more than two beers."

"Agreed. Hey, what about Tim?"

Angela got very, very quiet. 

Lucy glanced around. Um, okay. What the heck? "Ang? Is everything okay?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I am so sorry. Tim. Actually, before I dish on him, how is he?"

"Quiet."

"That doesn't answer my question. Lucy, come on, girl, we both know you can do so much better."

Lucy shrugged. "I'm sorry. It's just, it's like working with a robot. Not in a bad way. More of a frightening way. And for his sake, not mine. He's just completely shut down. It's different though. I can feel, he isn't pushing away. He's just kind of sitting there. Gaging... something. I don't know what."

"I guess that's all I can ask for."

"I'll try to keep you up to date."

"Thank you. And, in return, I have the confidential file of our very stand-up Tim Bradford. It consists of the fact that he is a whiskey man. He'll typically cut himself off at an appropriate moment and slip out the back door. He'll usually have a ride home. I honestly have no idea if he ubers home sometimes and then comes back for his truck or... I have no idea what the man's system is. It is some complex sheet. And yes, I said sheet. Wesley says we need to protect Jax's innocent ears. Like super early. I'm sorry I don't have dirt on Bradford that I can share without violating treaties and contracts and causing the demise of poor countries and whatever else happened when we drink together."

Lucy laughed. "It's okay."

Author break: 32 minutes. SO MUCH PRESSURE. 

The party was a hit. Smitty was cut off almost immediately. He almost left, grumbling like a baby but was persuaded to stay for appetizers. People pretty much lounged around, drank, ate, played games, and just talked. It was nice. It also wasn't Lucy's typical speed. But, hey, they were there, they were happy and enjoying themselves, and they were alive. 

She almost missed him. He slipped in and nearly slipped out just as quietly. Well, actually, he did. But a frantic Angela, (who had deemed herself privileged enough to be exempt from the alcohol cut off), had, in a jumble-worded message, managed to get across the point that Tim was leaving. Lucy slipped out like just another cold shadow and followed him.

He had been too quiet ever since his final confrontation with his dad. He and Genny had finished up the house. Tim did exactly what he said he would do. There was that loyalty in him that she admired so much. But then he shut down. Well, shut down was the wrong way to put it. More like... it was more like the man that was Tim Bradford was only a shadow of who he once was. She didn't push despite her every fiber screaming at her to do so. She couldn't. She felt like the moment she pushed, he would shatter into a million pieces. She hated that feeling. She used to fear him. She learned to respect him. She learned how to be his friend. She never used to have to walk on eggshells around him. He wasn't weak. Tim Bradford just wasn't as strong. And it scared her. 

She ran after him, not sure what she would say if she would say anything. She wanted him to feel guilty over the way he made her feel for the past six weeks. And yet it wasn't in her. Whatever was missing in him was taking a part of her down with him. Catching up to him, he turned. Let's just play it safe. She smiled. Well, not too safe... She threw her arms around him. "Couldn't let you leave," she said and pulled away, "without saying goodbye." It had felt good. The warmth of his body. The way his arms had rested for a brief moment around her back. Now she felt very, very small, as he looked down at her from his 6'3 frame. And very, very uncomfortable. "Well, goodnight," she said.

He stopped her dead in her tracks. Not with words. But with his warm, whiskey-ridden lips against the cold of her cheek. 

She had had drunk kisses before. They were sloppy and usually lacking in any emotion other than a blur of confusion and lust. This wasn't even on the lips and she was getting weak in the knees. 

"Thanks, Luce," he whispered. Then like a fucking ninja, he was gone. Leaving her in a state of pure confuzzlement. As she rambled back toward the house in a sort of stupor, she had one thought: Damn, I need tequila. Angela had also offered her a no-cut-off card. 

She was pulling it. 

Endnote: my fingers kept slipping and so I was typing "Breadford" instead of "Bradford." It was funny but started pissing me off. Any way. I will have finished with about 7 minutes to spare! So, yes, I can still say that this IS Merry Christmas to you all!