The Boy That Broke America

0.9

0.9

THE NEXT FEW days passed in a blur. Lane's mornings consisted of additional classes; frantically typing notes, recording lectures, the occasional eyebrow-raising session, more frantic note-taking, more lecture recording...and it goes on. The rest of the day held cold afternoons, mugs of tea and cups of coffee gradually staining her once-pristine desk, and warmer afternoons either spent curled in an armchair sipping warm ciders, or exchanging niceties at various holiday parties whilst sipping champagne.

Ivor had given up on the cocktail-party scene not long after the Ivanov's gathering, and this meant that Lane took to attending these functions either alone or on the arm of Carson or Flynn, provided each wasn't pre-occupied with their own lives.

It was only after her final examination that Lane looked up to breathe, and before she knew it, it was the mid-morning of the twentieth and her brothers were due to arrive in T-minus seven hours. Pulling herself out of bed, weary from the previous night's champagne-celebrations at the completion of her exams, Lane wandered out into the kitchen, where she was greeted with a grinning Marcy and a chuckling Ivor.

"Is this an attempt at kidnapping?" Lane said cautiously, stopping at the edge of the floorboards signalling the start of the kitchen-dining area. "Because I hate to break it to you, but y'all aren't exactly subtle."

Marcy laughed lightly, shaking her head, "No, not exactly. More of an...intervention."

Lane raised her eyebrows in doubt, "An intervention?"

"Yep." Ivor said, popping the 'p'. "A shopping intervention. Firstly, because this apartment is dismally un-Christmassy, and secondly, because I know for a fact you are running severely behind on the present-buying front."

Lane looked outside and groaned, sinking into the dining-room chair next to her and bringing her feet up to the chair, arms encircling her knees. "But it's colddd. And icy. And windy."

"Then dress warm," Marcy shrugged, "We're leaving in thirty. Meet us at Joe, and we'll get you a coffee then head off."

Lane groaned again, and dragged herself off the chair, "Ugh, okay, fine. Do we want the car, or should we just catch a cab?"

"Cab's fine. See you in thirty. Don't be late." Marcy instructed, heading for the front door with Ivor close behind.

*

Exactly twenty-nine minutes later, Lane was outside Joe, the coffee shop she'd found Ivor in front of only a few weeks ago, clutching a café au lait in her already icy-cold fingers.

Ivor emerged from the olive-green shop-front, clutching his own coffee in his hands as his breath fogged in the crisp air, shortly followed by Marcy, whose was doing the same.

"Okay, so, what exactly do we need to buy?" Lane asked as they headed ambled the fifty metres to Fifth Avenue, and an abundance of cabs.

"So I'm thinking some more decorations for your tree. Then, just some random decorations I guess; a wreath for the door maybe; some more fairy lights. Just general decorations like that. Then we'll deal with the present front when we get to it."

Lane nodded succinctly as she and Marcy stepped off the curb of Fifth Avenue to hail a taxi, Ivor still trailing behind. They slipped smoothly into the smooth leather interior of the car, and Lane gave the instructions.

"To Madison Avenue, please."

*

A few considerable hours later, the group of three had met up with Flynn, and were sat on the 15th floor of the Hudson Hotel, sipping French Rosé at the Sky Terrace. The wind had eased, and the sun was dipping in and out of the clouds to occasionally grace them with its presence. It was still bitterly cold, however, and they had adopted an outdoor heater, which Lane was more than happy to take a seat next to.