Fic: Tannenbaum
Title: Tannenbaum
Author: blacktop
Characters: Joss Carter, Harold Finch, Taylor Carter
Rating: G
Warnings: Fluff, household chores
Word count: 1,000
Summary: Joss Carter's Christmas tree was way past its prime; her son was an unwilling draftee in the job of dismantling it. Harold Finch swoops in to offer timely help.
Author's Note: This double drabble was written in response to a challenge from GretS on the POI Discussion Forum. She asked for stories in which the POI heroes tackle ordinary tasks.
Taylor’s phone buzzed and he almost knocked over the stack of empty ornament boxes in his rush to answer it.
Two months after Christmas and it was high time to dismantle the tree.
At least Carter had managed to unplug the tell-tale string of lights so that the fir cast only a dark foreboding silhouette in the window of their apartment. All the neighbors, who had long since deconstructed their holiday decorations, wouldn’t know that her tree, dry and sagging, was still in its original festive garb.
Not that she spent every waking hour fretting over the delay or worrying about what her neighbors would think. But it did feel sloppy to have such a visible reminder that her life was so complicated, so unkempt and irregular that she couldn’t even accomplish the simple job of packing away the Christmas ornaments.
She was never going to win the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval for domesticity, of course. But this Yuletide lapse irritated her sense of self-discipline; she needed to remove the ornaments, take down the damn tree, and get on with the year. Before Easter rolled around.
So she had announced over their Friday night dinner of deli sandwiches that the two of them would tackle the tree the following morning. Taylor was a reluctant recruit, but her ambush caught him by surprise and he didn’t have an excuse at the ready.
They slept late on Saturday morning, but by eleven she had piled an impressive stack of shallow boxes on the floor next to the drooping tree. Each box was divided by cardboard partitions into nine or twelve empty and accusing compartments, challenging mother and son to find yet another excuse for dodging the task.
So the eagerness with which Taylor leaped for his buzzing phone was particularly annoying.
The exchange was brief - was it pre-arranged? - and his plea was heartfelt, if not air-tight.
“Carlos is two weeks behind on his trig homework and if he doesn’t get it done and then ace the quiz on Monday, he’s gonna flunk.”
“And just how do you fit into this sorry tale?”
“I promised I would coach him, Mom. You know, not do the homework or anything. But just go over it with him. Like tutoring or something.”
“And this urgent task has to be done right now?”
Pulling his down jacket from the hook in the hall closet, Taylor tossed the explanation over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
“He’s supposed to spend all day tomorrow with his grandma in Newark. It’s her birthday - ninety, I think. So he only has today to work on the math. I gotta go, Mom! Carlos needs me!”
+++++
The door banged shut and Carter dropped onto the sofa, studying the dismal tree and the nest of empty cartons scattered on the floor around it.
With the snow-heavy clouds obscuring the sun, she didn’t know precisely how long she sat there. The shadows in her living room seemed just as deep as when she had first started this chore in their post-breakfast optimism.
She felt annoyed, certainly, but below that vague frustration a prickling sense of anxiety scratched at her heart. How competent could she be, what kind of mother was she, if she couldn’t even keep her own house in order?
In the silence of her living room, she heard a gathering choir of all her aunts, her grandmothers, her sister, her mother. The voices of every tired but determined woman who had raised her now murmured in a chorus of disappointment.
The rude squawk of the front door bell startled her from this reverie.
Finch, his cheeks shiny and red, his head wreathed in frosty plumes, was leaning into the buzzer with vigor.
“Harold, what in the world is the matter?”
She backed against the door to let him inside, shivering in the cold blast that accompanied him.
“Oh, nothing at all, Detective. I was just in the neighborhood running errands before this next blizzard hits and I thought I would stop by, pay a friendly visit…”
His airy account trailed off, punctuated by a half smile, a rare gesture that warmed her through and through.
Without asking permission, another rarity, he laid his wool top coat on the wing chair next to the Christmas tree and surveyed the room.
“Have I interrupted you? I didn’t mean to keep you from your task.”
“No, I was just taking a break.” She waved him into a spot on the sofa and sat down next to him there.
They stared at the tree.
After a moment Harold spoke in his softest voice.
“Dismantling a Christmas tree is such a disheartening chore, I always felt. I mean, it is such fun to put it up, re-discover all those lovely ornaments, deck the room in festive good cheer and celebrate the season.”
She nodded but said nothing.
“But then comes the hard part: taking it all down and facing the gloomy fact that the year has moved on.”
“Yes, every year I seem to have trouble getting my act together after Christmas, but this time it's worse than before.”
This admission slipped out before she could contain it, but she didn’t regret the honesty.
His response was chipper, but rang with such sincerity that it tugged her from her dark mood.
“Well, I always say that a dull task is only half as bad if there are lots of hands to tackle it. Actually, Joss, it was my mother who used to say that, a long time ago.”
Matching his actions to his words, Harold picked up a carton and pulled off its cellophane-windowed top.
“I haven’t un-decorated a tree in many years. So I may have lost the hang of it. But I’d like to try, if you don’t mind me joining you.”
He faced the object of their concern and plucked a tear-shaped ornament from a branch. He held up the fragile glass, turning it in his hand to let the faint sunlight glance off its red surface.
She knew this visit wasn’t a chance event, but she didn’t mind the invasion of privacy that prompted it. In fact, she felt lighter for the surveillance, uplifted and cherished.
Joining Harold at the tree, she touched a bright blue ornament whose inscription proclaimed in scratched silver: Baby’s First Christmas.
The task did seem easier now and together they made short work of it.
Author: blacktop
Characters: Joss Carter, Harold Finch, Taylor Carter
Rating: G
Warnings: Fluff, household chores
Word count: 1,000
Summary: Joss Carter's Christmas tree was way past its prime; her son was an unwilling draftee in the job of dismantling it. Harold Finch swoops in to offer timely help.
Author's Note: This double drabble was written in response to a challenge from GretS on the POI Discussion Forum. She asked for stories in which the POI heroes tackle ordinary tasks.
Taylor’s phone buzzed and he almost knocked over the stack of empty ornament boxes in his rush to answer it.
Two months after Christmas and it was high time to dismantle the tree.
At least Carter had managed to unplug the tell-tale string of lights so that the fir cast only a dark foreboding silhouette in the window of their apartment. All the neighbors, who had long since deconstructed their holiday decorations, wouldn’t know that her tree, dry and sagging, was still in its original festive garb.
Not that she spent every waking hour fretting over the delay or worrying about what her neighbors would think. But it did feel sloppy to have such a visible reminder that her life was so complicated, so unkempt and irregular that she couldn’t even accomplish the simple job of packing away the Christmas ornaments.
She was never going to win the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval for domesticity, of course. But this Yuletide lapse irritated her sense of self-discipline; she needed to remove the ornaments, take down the damn tree, and get on with the year. Before Easter rolled around.
So she had announced over their Friday night dinner of deli sandwiches that the two of them would tackle the tree the following morning. Taylor was a reluctant recruit, but her ambush caught him by surprise and he didn’t have an excuse at the ready.
They slept late on Saturday morning, but by eleven she had piled an impressive stack of shallow boxes on the floor next to the drooping tree. Each box was divided by cardboard partitions into nine or twelve empty and accusing compartments, challenging mother and son to find yet another excuse for dodging the task.
So the eagerness with which Taylor leaped for his buzzing phone was particularly annoying.
The exchange was brief - was it pre-arranged? - and his plea was heartfelt, if not air-tight.
“Carlos is two weeks behind on his trig homework and if he doesn’t get it done and then ace the quiz on Monday, he’s gonna flunk.”
“And just how do you fit into this sorry tale?”
“I promised I would coach him, Mom. You know, not do the homework or anything. But just go over it with him. Like tutoring or something.”
“And this urgent task has to be done right now?”
Pulling his down jacket from the hook in the hall closet, Taylor tossed the explanation over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
“He’s supposed to spend all day tomorrow with his grandma in Newark. It’s her birthday - ninety, I think. So he only has today to work on the math. I gotta go, Mom! Carlos needs me!”
+++++
The door banged shut and Carter dropped onto the sofa, studying the dismal tree and the nest of empty cartons scattered on the floor around it.
With the snow-heavy clouds obscuring the sun, she didn’t know precisely how long she sat there. The shadows in her living room seemed just as deep as when she had first started this chore in their post-breakfast optimism.
She felt annoyed, certainly, but below that vague frustration a prickling sense of anxiety scratched at her heart. How competent could she be, what kind of mother was she, if she couldn’t even keep her own house in order?
In the silence of her living room, she heard a gathering choir of all her aunts, her grandmothers, her sister, her mother. The voices of every tired but determined woman who had raised her now murmured in a chorus of disappointment.
The rude squawk of the front door bell startled her from this reverie.
Finch, his cheeks shiny and red, his head wreathed in frosty plumes, was leaning into the buzzer with vigor.
“Harold, what in the world is the matter?”
She backed against the door to let him inside, shivering in the cold blast that accompanied him.
“Oh, nothing at all, Detective. I was just in the neighborhood running errands before this next blizzard hits and I thought I would stop by, pay a friendly visit…”
His airy account trailed off, punctuated by a half smile, a rare gesture that warmed her through and through.
Without asking permission, another rarity, he laid his wool top coat on the wing chair next to the Christmas tree and surveyed the room.
“Have I interrupted you? I didn’t mean to keep you from your task.”
“No, I was just taking a break.” She waved him into a spot on the sofa and sat down next to him there.
They stared at the tree.
After a moment Harold spoke in his softest voice.
“Dismantling a Christmas tree is such a disheartening chore, I always felt. I mean, it is such fun to put it up, re-discover all those lovely ornaments, deck the room in festive good cheer and celebrate the season.”
She nodded but said nothing.
“But then comes the hard part: taking it all down and facing the gloomy fact that the year has moved on.”
“Yes, every year I seem to have trouble getting my act together after Christmas, but this time it's worse than before.”
This admission slipped out before she could contain it, but she didn’t regret the honesty.
His response was chipper, but rang with such sincerity that it tugged her from her dark mood.
“Well, I always say that a dull task is only half as bad if there are lots of hands to tackle it. Actually, Joss, it was my mother who used to say that, a long time ago.”
Matching his actions to his words, Harold picked up a carton and pulled off its cellophane-windowed top.
“I haven’t un-decorated a tree in many years. So I may have lost the hang of it. But I’d like to try, if you don’t mind me joining you.”
He faced the object of their concern and plucked a tear-shaped ornament from a branch. He held up the fragile glass, turning it in his hand to let the faint sunlight glance off its red surface.
She knew this visit wasn’t a chance event, but she didn’t mind the invasion of privacy that prompted it. In fact, she felt lighter for the surveillance, uplifted and cherished.
Joining Harold at the tree, she touched a bright blue ornament whose inscription proclaimed in scratched silver: Baby’s First Christmas.
The task did seem easier now and together they made short work of it.