Twelve Hours of Xmas

by Benway

6h 25/12/97

The kitchen was silent as she made the first pot of coffee of the morning. She could have asked for some help, but had decided against it. Cook had put most of the basics together the previous night, before returning to her own family on the mainland. No, she wanted these first hours of the morning to herself. All on her own, before the chaos of the rest of the day. Her mother had only supervised in the kitchen, but she enjoyed doing the cooking herself. Her father had found it odd, but it was the least unusual thing that he found about her. She didn't want to be reminded of anything to do with that, so she thought instead of how she had looked in on Rahne first thing in the morning. Rahne had almost managed to look convincingly asleep, and she had almost called her bluff, but then had reconsidered. Solitude was good, before the chaos. She tried the coffee and winced. Not enough cumin, she decided.

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7h 25/12/97

Rahne Sinclair heard Mummy passing in the hall, and tried to look as if she were sleeping. She heard the footsteps stop, and wanted to get up and wish her a Merry Xmas, but then it would have been obvious that she had been up all night. She was more than a little ashamed of it. It seemed such a childish thing. And yet, she had never slept through a Christmas Eve, not once. When she lived with Reverend Craig, she only had a few hours between the Evening service and the morning one. She would clean the church until 2 or 3, then lie in her bed praying that the good Reverend would not have a bad spell the next day. If he didn't have one, the worst that would happen would be cleaning up any vomit that had fouled the church floor. If he did, he might beat her. She hated Xmas then, and hated herself for it. Each year gave her a new set of horrors to recall, until she went away. She recalled them still, but now she had something to fight back with. The first Xmas in Westchester, when she was given gifts that she did not have to give to the poor. She had spent the entire day in a state of shame, they hadn't understood why she kept crying. In the end, she only gave half of her gifts away. She didn't do that anymore. Well, not often. The Xmas in a bunker in the Arizona desert, with Cable regaling them of stories of Askani festivals celebrated during wartime, eating C-rations and rabbits that Sam and Rictor had trapped in the grasslands outside. No gifts, that year, though Rictor ahd woven a necklace for her out of some dried grass.. The big celebration in Westchester with 50 people including Lilandra and the Richards there. There had been a buffet that year, and she and Franklin Richards had gorged themselves. Franklin had thrown up on the hall carpet, and she had to go to wolf-form to avoid following his example. That was an idea. She switched to half-wolf-form in her bed and took it all in. Scone batter being mixed, the coffee on, lots of sex pheromones. She switched back before she could identify who was excited. They did deserve some privacy after all. She closed her eyes and sleep took her, unexpected.

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8h 25/12/97

He was walking along beach. The night was lit by a fire. Well, maybe a bonfire. No. Not a bonfire. Something else, burning. The wind would bring the smell of what was burning to him. He wanted it to go away, but it wouldn't. If anything, it seemed to be blowing directly into his ear. He felt something soft brush his face. He opened his eyes to see her there, retreating under the covers. She had the eiderdown pulled up to just below her chin.

"Hi," she said in a breathless, quiet little voice. "Merry Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Love." He wasn't quite entirely awake, but at least he wouldn't have to go back to the beach for a few hours. He reached for her, but she drew back an inch and nodded her head in disapproval. A hand reached out from under the covers with a stack of small, carefully wrapped presents in it.

"Presents first."

"Oh, love."

She drew away again, giving him a mischievous grin. He sat up in bed, she stayed where she was. It was bloody cold. He retreated a bit.

"I thought we were going to wait, for the others."

"These are special. Start on top."

He started on the top one. It was very tightly wrapped, as he expected. Every seam covered with a layer of tape. It was one of those moments that he wished he hadn't chewed off his fingernails. He was going to stop, come the new year. He was.

After a struggle, he had it open. There was a very nice red box inside. Whatever it was, it was expensive. Very expensive. He opened the box. It was a lighter, Not one of the plastic kind, not one of the cheap American metal things. This thing was a major piece of Victorian engineering. It had a complicated arrangement at the top that left him wondering how on earth he would use it.

"I'll show you how to use it. Later."

He started on the next one. It was definitely a book. Shelley. But he already had Shelley, and she knew it. It was an older edition, but still..

"Open it. Anywhere."

His wasn't like this. This one was annotated. One of its owners had written notes in the margins. Either this person had had a very active sex life, or he had been one of the Victorian era's great original pornographic imaginations. He read, spellbound.

"Psst."

"Oh. Sorry. Where did you find this?"

"In Edinburgh, last month. Bookseller I know found it. We got to talking about Victorian pornography, and he sold it to me. You like?"

"Wonderful."

"Hey."

"What?"

"One more."

The eiderdown was a bit lower now. He could see bit of red peeking out from underneath. He shifted it down a little more, revealing her long neck with a scarlet ribbon wrapped around it. She was grinning, flicking her eyebrows at him, Groucho-style.

"Saving the best til last."

And it was.

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10h 25/12/97

Kurt was at the closet again. He had the white broadcloth shirt out, the white pirate shirt, and the red wool sweater.

"Amanda-"

"The pirate shirt. I like it."

"Yes, I like it too, but it is a bit informal."

"The other shirt, then."

"But then I should wear a tie."

"So wear a tie."

"But then I'll feel like I'm choking."

"Not the sweater."

"It would be formal."

"You'll roast. It's the only day she turns the heat up."

Amanda pulled out a red silk shirt.

"Wear this. It looks stupid with a tie, but it will be formal enough for the Scots."

"I don't know..."

"Put the damn thing on and tell me what's really on your mind."

He did with such deliberate slowness that she knew it couldn't be something easy.

"Piotr."

"I thought you had a talk with him. I thought he was ready for it."

"So did I, until yesterday. We were supposed to have a talk at 3, and he canceled. I had to use the home system to find him. He was in his room, and he made it very clear that he didn't want to be disturbed."

"He may have just been moody again."

"Perhaps."

"There's more to it, isn't there?"

"I think he may have started drinking."

"So? We all do, except Rahne and Brian."

"No. I mean _drinking_. Three bottles of whiskey have gone missing from the kitchen since Monday."

"Pete."

"He's still working on that supply that Kitty bought him for Hannukah."

"He still drinks a lot."

"I know."

"Have you thought of doing something about it?"

"I have followed Kitty's advice. She says that he cuts down sometimes, for a week or so at a time. Doesn't tell her, but he does it all the same. She thinks that if we push it, he'll drink just to spite us."

"I could see that. It doesn't seem to affect his performance."

"No. But I'm more worried about Piotr. I know this is bad, but I'm hoping that if he feels awful, he'll just stay in his room."

She took him in her arms.

"That's not so terrible. It's not just his Christmas."

"No. let's go downstairs."

On the way down, they saw Brian, Meggan and Douglock coming back to the house through the snow. Mad robot boys and Englishmen, she decided. Kitty and Pete were already in the kitchen, eating scones. Pete was instructing Kitty in the etiquette of Christmas morning marmalade, and Kitty was playing along, looking ever so diligent the student. They both broke into laughter.

"You two, said Moira, from beside the stove.

"Do you need-". Moira's glare stopped her from going further. Then Moira smiled.

"No, pet. I've got everything under control. This is my task. I'll give you a call if I need help."

"We've been told off already," said Kitty.

"We tried to tell her that you had to take the feathers off before it went into the oven," said Pete.

"I can't, because that's your portion," said Moira.

Kurt chuckled, and she was relieved. Rahne wandered in, looking a mite dazed. The masochists followed her. None of them had been wearing parkas. Of course, Douglock hadn't needed one, but she felt cold just looking at Meggan , who was wearing a snowflake-covered sundries more appropriate to Benidorm than this Arctic place. She would have to suggest Benidorm for next year. Tapas for Christmas breakfast. Yum. Better than marmalade. It always reminded her of the things that she cast spells with. Only chutney was more off-putting.

"There are too many people in the kitchen," announced Moira.

"Presents!" exclaimed Kitty, taking Pete by the hand. Moira took off her apron. She knew that Moira had planned everything to give them an hour together before the guest came. Everyone knew about it, including Piotr.

She felt the cold again, this time from within.

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11h 25/12/97

They sat among the wreckage of half a Christmas. There were still a number of parcels under the tree. Most were for Piotr. Brian swirled the grape juice in his tumbler around, sneaking surreptitious glances at the beer that Kurt was drinking and the Scotch that everyone else was laying into. Nothing tasted like a good Scotch. He almost crushed the glass. Not good. The previous Xmas had been his first without the drink, and he had thought it went rather well, until Kitty had suggested that she was very proud of his sobriety, but wasn't he overdoing it a bit? He had been, he decided, but he was still a bit put out about her pointing it out. Still, she was an American, and her heart was in the right place, even if it was on her sleeve. He wondered what it would take to get those people to get their emotions under control. Annoying, it was, but there was only one of them here, and he really did like her. She had been in her element all morning, and even had Rahne laughing. Somehow, she had them feeling like they were all there. But where was Piotr? It was typical of the Russian to do something like this. Not a sporting type at all. He wasn't going to let him get away with it.

Piotr's bedroom wasn't near the other ones. It was down a corridor off the kitchen, above an old stable. It had been decided that this room was the best for use as a studio. It was mere coincidence that it was the furthest room in the house from Kitty's, of course. He rapped on the door. No response. He rapped again.

"Piotr, lad. No time to be sleeping."

Stirring, perhaps.

"The scones are almost gone."

A muffled grunt. He opened the door a crack. The smell of vodka hit him, full on. He almost lost his temper. Almost, but not quite. This was a lack of civility that was not in any way appropriate. He went into the room and opened the blinds. There was a groan from the bed. He turned the still form lying there.

"Come on then."

He was trying very, very hard not to get upset. Rasputin rose slowly, then swung his feet over the side of the bed. He turned to Brian with an utterly blank look, then returned his attention to floor in front of him.

"Well?"

"I will come. Leave me."

Rapsutin started to dress.

"Perhaps a shower-"

Rasputin shot him a glance of pure hostility, then started undressing.

"Look, I've been through-"

"Leave me. I will come."

He was tempted to see it through, but something suggested that this might lead to unpleasantness. Instead, he shrugged and returned to the others.

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12h 25/12/97

Brian had returned, looking worried. He had said that Piotr was on his way 45 minutes ago. Piotr was still nowhere in sight. Kitty was going through the photo albums with Wisdom and Amanda. He was watching, but not really paying much attention. Moira was back in the kitchen, Rahne was curled in the corner reading either the bible or that old edition of Burns that Kitty and Wisdom had bought for her. Douglock had a sensor pointed at the albums, but the rest of him was engaged in a game of cribbage with Meggan and Brian. Brian was reaching over into a wooden crate of tangerines beside him. A dish had filled up with fruit skins beside him. Brian appeared to be winning. No surprise there.

>From behind, a thump. Piotr was standing there, looking at him uncertainly. He had a pint glass in his hand. It was filled with water. He looked at Brian. Brian was staring at the glass as if it were the only thing in the room. Vodka. He was about to take Piotr out of there when Rahne intercepted him. He gave Piotr a huge hug.

"Merry-"

She must have smelled his breath.

"Christmas. I'll be back. I must get Mummy."

She fled. Everyone was staring at Piotr. Kitty put the albums away and went up to him, giving him a smaller hug.

"Merry Christmas. Are you all right?"

"Of course I'm alright. And a good Christmas to you all too. As you can see I am here to celebrate it in the time honored manner."

He sat down heavily in an overstuffed chair. Even Wisdom was looking worried. But then, he had cause to be.

Moira returned, looking perturbed. Piotr greeted her with a grunt. More silence. He wondered what he should do. Everyone must be wondering the same thing. He had the impression that they were all giving him sideways glances. Piotr looked up at him and smiled. A real smile, fleeting, just as the one before when Rahne had hugged him. He went over to where Piotr was sitting, and shook his hand.

"Merry Christmas, Piotr."

Original.

"Thank you."

The rest went by mercifully quickly. Piotr opened his gifts, trying to appear polite even though he was obviously not fully aware of what he was doing. Even so, he managed not spill a drop of the vodka. Bryan had broken out in a sweat watching him drink. Not good. At the end, he was given the present from Kitty and Wisdom. It had to be a book. All of their other presents were, excepting that remarkable lighter that she had given to Wisdom. It was a book. Icons, as painted by Andrei Rublev. Piotr was lost in it almost at once. He turned the pages slowly, running fingers along them. Kitty and Pete were holding hands now, Kitty looking less worried than she had  a moment ago. Amanda gave his tail a squeeze. A long established signal, Stop swishing that tail! He did that when he was nervous. But there was no reason to be nervous now-

Piotr slammed the book closed, startling everyone. He was pale.

"I must go and lie down. I am not feeling well. I am sorry, Lady Moira, I may have to miss dinner."

He rose slowly to his feet and walked out of the room. Rahne started to follow, but Moira held onto her sleeve. Piotr closed the door behind him without looking back.

"Christ," said Wisdom, after the footsteps died away. "I need a bloody drink."

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13h 25/12/97

They were all seated around the dining room table. Across from her was the guest, whose name was John Smith. Not the Labour leader, of course, he had joked, just a visiting researcher in the lab. Meggan wondered if he knew that John Smith the Labour leader was dead. She didn't understand him at all. He barely seemed to be there. He lived in Surbiton, he had told her that as if it was of great significance. Perhaps he had been put off by her question about his jacket. She ought to have known better, asking a question of a stranger. She knew they tended to react strangely sometimes.

No, the stranger was the least of her worries. It was one of those times when being an empath was not an advantage, and it was just so disappointing after the early start that morning. Brian had made love to her no less than five times. He had gone down on her once, which was nice, since it didn't happen very often. Then again, it was Christmas, and he always made a big deal of it. And it wasn't as if she needed him to do it. She could always tune into Kurt and Amanda or Kitty and Pete if necessary. Pete and Kurt were more attentive, and she could pick up the vibes from half-way across the island. It wasn't as if she could help it, and she was sure that they wouldn't mind if she had a good time too.

The morning walk had been nice, too. They had gone out for a walk at six, and Brian had started talking about snowflakes. He had some very odd ideas about them. Why should two snowflakes be the same, after all? They had spent the next two hours comparing snowflakes. Douglock with his sensors, herself and Brian with their extra-fine eyesight, they had looked at every snowflake they could find. Brian had enjoyed it even more than the sex, and she had enjoyed his enjoyemnt almost as much as her own.

The presents had been fun, but when Brian came back things had started to go downhill. When Piotr had come it, it had been horrible, but he had warmed to them. After he left, the tension was still there, but it was lesser. There were nice little flashes of joy. Kitty tasting goose for the first time and loving it. Rahne chewing on the neck, Pete and his tumbler of Glenlivet. Food was always good for a few thrills. She barely ate a thing, herself.

It was almost good again when Piotr came back. She could feel the effect of the alcohol in him. It made her head swim. Underneath, there was something ugly lurking. He sat down at the empty spot at the table. All was silent for a moment.

"Merry Christmas," he mumbled. He had a tumbler of whiskey with him, full. Moira introduced the guest. Piotr grunted, then picked up half a goose carcass from a serving plate and began chewing on it. Rahne flushed deeply. Kitty smiled nervously, and she could feel Kurt's tail twitching again. Piotr's rage formed a dense cloud, choking out everything around her.

"Do not mind me," he said. They tried, They truly did.

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14h 25/12/97

It had been 15 minutes since the Russian had entered the room and John Smith was wishing sincerely that he were somewhere else. The American girl beside him was trying to distract everyone from the drunken swine, and the rest of them were just being their usual discrete selves. The Scots were even worse than the English at this sort of thing.

He didn't want to go. He didn't really celebrate Xmas. It was a waste of valuable research time. He was in his fifth temporary position, and at 42, that didn't look good. He wanted to settle down, get a wife and kids. He would, when he had a stable position. He had been waiting long enough. She Who Must Be Obeyed had more or less threatened to cut off the power to his lab if he didn't promise to come to dinner. It was his duty, he supposed, to be entertained. Not a pleasant one.

The food was all right, he supposed. His allergies hadn't allowed him to taste food for years. The company was dismal. She kept asking him stupid questions, which he answered as modestly as he could. Eventually she took the hint and turned her attentions to he daughter, who didn't look like her at all. Adopted apparently. Probably stupid too. Adopted children were rarely brighter than their parents. Next to her, that mechanical thing that wandered around the parts of the lab that he normally wasn't allowed into. It looked human today, presumably for his benefit. He would have asked it not to bother. Next to him, Captain Britain no less, and his faithful Meggan. The Captain appeared to be staring at people's drinks all through the meal, but watching him kept his eyes off her tits. Fucking amazing, they were. He wondered what it would be like to fuck her. The thought entertained him tremendously. She was ever so much better looking than the other ones. The German was attractive in an ordinary sort of way, but she must have something wrong with her if she dated a freak. The American was painfully thin, probably had an eating disorder. Worse, a yid. She had a lover too, that stupid looking little man who was trying to outdrink the Russian. He was a smoker too. Dead long before he would be. And still, he had the American to fuck. Just wasn't fair. She just wouldn't shut up. She was telling some sort of treacly Christmas story that was getting on his nerves.

Then, something clicked. He had a story almost like hers. He would tell the story. He _had_ to tell the story.

"It happened when I was eight. I was at my Uncle Harold's for Christmas with my Mother and my Father and my Sister. Uncle Harold told us a story just like the one you did. He was out on the ice on a river when he was young, with a friend. The ice was thin, they fell through. Uncle Harold managed to hang onto a branch and to his friend's hand. The water was cold, and flowing very fast. Uncle Harold held on for almost five minutes until help came. He said that he knew, the entire time, that if he let go his friend would die. He did not let go. he said that he knew how God felt."

He could have stopped there, perhaps, but he didn't.

"On the way home, I asked to hold my sister's hand. She did as I asked. I held it for four and a half minutes as we walked back to the Underground station, then I let go. I knew what Uncle Harold meant."

He looked up. Meggan was staring at him, her face filled with horror. She backed off her chair, then ran from the room. Captain Britain followed her. The Russian started to clap, loudly and slowly.

"Finally, a man of character. After my own heart."

He didn't know how to describe what he felt. The American was looking at her plate, her face clouded with rage. She stood up abruptly and turned to the Russian.

"You stupid fucking asshole," she said, then left. The drunk followed. He noticed that she didn't open the door as she passed through. The Germans converged on the Russian, and hid him from view.

Moira was looking quite upset. He made his apologies and left. On his way back to the laboratory, it occurred to him that he had never felt this good at Christmas in years.

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15h 25/12/97

She was in her room again, pacing. Pete was there too, drinking. Drunk.

"I mean, I told her not to invite him if he didn't want to come. I mean, it's not like he has a personality or anything."

"What a bleeding nutter."

"No fucking kidding. I mean, what were we supposed to make of that stupid story anyways?"

"Maybe he didn't know himself."

"Right. Take his side."

"This isn't about sides."

"Don't start into that shit again. What's it going to be this time? I take sides because I'm young and naive, or because I'm just a stupid ignorant American?"

"I never said that."

"You bloody well never say anything. You certainly implied it though."

"I did not imply-"

"Bullshit."

"Why don't you take it out on him?"

"BECAUSE YOU'RE JUST AS DRUNK AS HE IS!"

She must have been screaming, because she could hear it ringing in her ears. She was taken by a terrible sadness, almost immediately.

"I didn't-"

She couldn't finish. She was crying too hard. He took her in his arms. She couldn't imagine why he would, after what she had just said. She wanted to get out of herself, get away, but now she was hugging him and she couldn't let go.

"Why do you put up with me?" she asked when she could. He didn't answer. He did look terribly sad. She finally found the strength to let go of him. He looked at her, gave a weak smile, and shrugged. She almost lost it again.

"I'm sorry. I was so angry at him. It was just, I mean, did you have to drink that much? I thought you were going to have a go at him."

"No bloody way I would have a go at him."

"You were glaring at him all through the meal."

"That was because I wouldn't take a go at him. I was angry at him too. You were wearing yourself out all through dinner, while the rest of us were just sitting there, being British."

"Wasn't very effective was it?"

"At least you tried. It's not even your holiday."

"What do you mean?"

"Being Jewish and all."

"We used to celebrate it at home. My Mom and Dad weren't at all religious. I was the one who made a big deal out of Hannukah. I mean, for me it's a chance to celebrate with you and Rahne and Moira and all the other wonderful people that God put here. I'm sure he doesn't mind."

"Raputin wasn't all that wonderful. There was no excuse for what he did."

"No. There were explanations, but they don't excuse it. I mean, he ruined it for everyone."

"Well, he helped to, but he wasn't alone."

"No. I should go and apologize to Moira.

"No. You only said what everyone was thinking. That's what Americans are for, after all."

"If it wasn't for us, you'd all be so full of bad karma that you would have all detonated by now."

She sat down in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Er, I've had rather a lot-"

"Shh. Just hold me. I want to remind myself of what it's all about."

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16h 25/12/97

Piotr Rasputin sat on a rock in front of the house. He had thrown off the clothes and armoured up. The last bottle was under the snow somewhere. he didn't care. They fell on him, slowly. All the little snowflakes.

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17h 25/12/97

Douglock wandered back in from the snow, passing Piotr Rasputin on the way in. He waved, but the Russian did not respond. He did a quick check on the human's vital signs, but they were within acceptable parameters. Barely. He had been out looking at snowflakes for the last two hours. No two _were_ alike. Like the humans, he decided. Kitty would approve of that idea, he concluded. This also elevated his mindstate.

It had been such a strange day, so full of extremes. His mindstate quality measures had maxed out earlier in the morning, but the meal had been baffling to say the least. He had many questions. He started in the kitchen, where he found Rahne. There seemed to a parity error. Rahne was in a calm mindstate, standing over her quasiparental unit, who was in a distressed mindstate. He concluded that they wished to remain isolated. He asked after Kurt, but they had told him that Amanda and Kurt had both gone to Westchester on an emergency trip. He left the room and went looking for Brian.

Instead, he found KittyPeter in the parlour with the lights out. They were sitting on a sofa unit. His arm was around her shoulder. They were both watching the snow fall on Piotr Rasputin. Their condition indicated to him that they also sought isolation. He turned to leave when she called out to him.

"Hey, come back here. Sit down. Not there, beside me."

She put her arm around him. Pete looked over and gave him a salute. Pete was in a highly modifed state. Douglock occasionally felt so modified after receiving an electrical overload. He was not sure why anyone would actively seek such a state. Then again, Piotr was also in a modified state. Kitty was also in a modifed state, but to a lesser degree. Her mindstate was similar to Pete's. This modified his mindstate in the same direction as theirs.

"Kitty, why is he out there?"

"Cause he's fucking pissed," said Pete.

"He's very sad."

"Piotr is also very cold."

"He is."

"Thought all that bloody steel made him invulnerable or something."

"Not invulnerable. It's not cold enough to damage him, but he can feel it."

"Why would he do this? It does not follow. You all pursue modifications to avoid the state he is now in."

"No, it doesn't follow. I wish I knew what to do help him."

"Bloody typical. He doesn't want help. We tried to help him all day, and it didn't help him at all."

Kitty elbowed Pete in the side, but not enough to cause damage. He understood that this was not a hostile act. Outside, Piotr stood up and walked towards the house. They heard the door open and sat in silence as his footsteps retreated into his room, behind the kitchen.

"Why do you do this to yourselves?"

"Do what?" asked Pete.

"Modify yourselves, on this particular day."

The response was unexpected. Both of them broke out laughing, so hard that they could not speak. He resigned himself to the discovery of yet another question that humans could not answer.

FIN

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