CHESS: Together and Apart
Title: Together and Apart
Characters/Pairing: Freddie/Florence, Florence/Anatoly
Word Count: 272
Rating: G
Summary: Two Christmases, seperated by five years...
Notes: Written as a Christmas Eve drabble for harbek. Yes, is it late. I know. Hush.
Disclaimer: I am not and have never been Tim Rice, or a member of ABBA. Therefore, I don't own chess.
December 24, 1981
You just can't have Christmas trees in New York City. For one thing, they're all but impossible to find, much less get into the apartment. For another, they take up space, and no one wants that when there's little enough space in the apartment anyway.
Florence has lived in the city for less than a year and knows this. Freddie, apparently, has yet to admit it.
But it could have been worse. At least he went for the small tree instead of an actual full-size Christmas tree, but still...
As he walks in carrying the pathetic little thing, beaming like he carries with him the true meaning of Christmas, Florence raises her eyebrows, studies him, and says simply, "It's not exactly Dickensian London, is it?"
*
December 24, 1986
There are no decorations in Florence's flat. She is not a holiday person, left to her own devices, and Anatoly doesn't care, so Christmas goes largely ignored by the two of them.
She still can't help but think how Christmas used to be, with a tiny tree, lights Freddie insisted on putting up, her wanting to strangle him at least twelve times a day on Christmas and the days leaning up to it, and kiss him just as often...
And she calls him, while Anatoly is out for milk and a few other things. She holds the phone to her ear, and says, "Freddie, I just... I wanted to call and say... happy Christmas." And she hangs up as the phone continues to ring, and ring, and no one picks up.
Characters/Pairing: Freddie/Florence, Florence/Anatoly
Word Count: 272
Rating: G
Summary: Two Christmases, seperated by five years...
Notes: Written as a Christmas Eve drabble for harbek. Yes, is it late. I know. Hush.
Disclaimer: I am not and have never been Tim Rice, or a member of ABBA. Therefore, I don't own chess.
December 24, 1981
You just can't have Christmas trees in New York City. For one thing, they're all but impossible to find, much less get into the apartment. For another, they take up space, and no one wants that when there's little enough space in the apartment anyway.
Florence has lived in the city for less than a year and knows this. Freddie, apparently, has yet to admit it.
But it could have been worse. At least he went for the small tree instead of an actual full-size Christmas tree, but still...
As he walks in carrying the pathetic little thing, beaming like he carries with him the true meaning of Christmas, Florence raises her eyebrows, studies him, and says simply, "It's not exactly Dickensian London, is it?"
*
December 24, 1986
There are no decorations in Florence's flat. She is not a holiday person, left to her own devices, and Anatoly doesn't care, so Christmas goes largely ignored by the two of them.
She still can't help but think how Christmas used to be, with a tiny tree, lights Freddie insisted on putting up, her wanting to strangle him at least twelve times a day on Christmas and the days leaning up to it, and kiss him just as often...
And she calls him, while Anatoly is out for milk and a few other things. She holds the phone to her ear, and says, "Freddie, I just... I wanted to call and say... happy Christmas." And she hangs up as the phone continues to ring, and ring, and no one picks up.