5 Times Jon Stewart Celebrated Christmas
Title: 5 Times Jon Stewart Celebrated Christmas
Author: Yours truly
Fandom: The Daily Show.
Pairing: Jon/OFC (she’s insignificant - trust me), Jon/Denis Leary, Jon/Tracey, Jon/Stephen
Rating: We’ll call it Arrrrrr (aka R)
Warning: There’s an OFC but, seriously, she doesn’t matter. Oh, and I know ther are a lot of pairings but this is not a whore!Jon fic. It's just from five different instances in Jon's life. Also, there is drug use. Hooray!
A/N: So I decided to write this and yay it is finished. I had a hard time with the end. Lame. Anyway, Merry Christmas bitches!
Length: 4374
Feedback: Always welcome with open arms and loads of metaphorical cookies.
Summary: Jon doesn’t really like Christmas and it’s no surprise why.
5 TIMES JON STEWART CELEBRATED CHRISTMAS
“Merry Christmas, Everyone
Except for you FUCKING JEWBOY.”
~Jon Stewart on why Christmas sucks for the Jews.
One.
“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Everywhere you go…”
Jon Stuart Leibowitz rolled his toy truck, a small sigh escaping his lips. The tree looked all right, he supposed. His mom had done a good job with trying to make the room look Christmassy; she’d even put tinsel on the Menorah that he had insisted on keeping out since his grandmother had given it to him. Larry had made fun, calling him a pussy and in the scuffle that followed Jon had somehow ended up giving him a bloody nose (the welt on his skull told him that he had probably delivered a swift whack to his brother’s face using his head as a weapon). Overall, it was pretty okay. He guessed.
Of course, he would have preferred that cool chemistry set or a book or an erector set to the dumb fire truck he was currently trying to occupy himself with. His mother seemed hellbent on not understanding that Jon was no longer five and actually had varied interests in contrast to his brother. It wasn’t that his mother didn’t approve of him liking to read or build things or blow stuff up… it was just that she didn’t seem to embrace the idea that Jon wasn’t a stupid little kid anymore. So there he sat, playing with the dumb truck that went “wooo” when you rolled it a certain way. He didn’t complain though; the hopeful look his mother had given him when he picked up the toy with a sad little bow on it had made him feel ill and guilty and he had pretended it was what he had always wanted.
At least he was getting to celebrate Christmas, anyway.
Of course… it was kind of hollow, wasn’t it? Jon knew they were doing it wrong. They were just pretending. Larry was probably the best at it, at the pretending. He had that normal pre-adolescent boy thing down pat. He’d ripped through the presents and afterwards gone to the family room to watch the new TV mom had gotten. It had been a pity gift, too. Just like their Christmas celebration.
See, dad would not have let them do this. Dad never let them have Christmas and somehow this desperate ploy by their mother to make them happy just accentuated how unhappy they really were, how gone their father really was. Sure, Jon had hated it when he couldn’t celebrate Christmas like all the other kids… watching them eat decorated cookies, give each other ornaments, and glance at the little Jewish kid who was trying his hardest to act like he gave a rat’s ass about Chanukah. Because, really, it wasn’t even that important of a Jewish holiday but he supposed he could at least pretend that it was awesome. He’d show off his dreidel like it was made of magic even though he personally thought the stupid thing was boring. Inside he’d secretly pine for the day when he’d be grown up and able to celebrate Christmas with no father to tell him that, no, it was time to light the Menorah and, if he was a proud Jew, he wouldn’t want a Christmas tree.
So this - this sad Christmas celebration that felt like it had taken its cues from washed-up greeting cards - felt a bit like a slap in the face. Because it wasn’t their holiday, was it? It wasn’t their tradition. They were just pretending. They weren’t in on the magic that everyone else seemed privy to.
And, at age 9, Jon decided that he probably never would be.
Two.
“Chesnuts roasting
On an open fire
Jack Frost nipping
At your nose…”
Jon was uncomfortable. Okay, so he was kind of uncomfortable about 90% of his waking life, but he figured that sort of went with being 16 years old. You know. The awkwardness. But right now, right at that very moment, the awkwardness had spiked to a point so unbearable that he was pretty sure he was going to a.) throw up, b.) start laughing hysterically and never stop, or c.) laugh hysterically and never stop throwing up.
“So Jon,” Lauren’s mother was asking him as he took a nervous sip from his eggnog. He hated eggnog. Especially when it was nonalcoholic. “You’re… Jewish?”
Jon tried to ignore her tone and nodded. “Uh, yeah.”
“So I suppose… Happy Chanukah!” With that she laughed as if she had just made a clever joke. Jon gave her a tight smile and tried to ignore the way her bony fingers gripped the stem of her wine glass like the claws of a hawk. God, he hated WASPs. “Lauren’s never dated a Jew before.”
Jon just nodded again. “Well… our people are glad to see she’s interested. We’ve been talking about it at the meetings.”
This shut the old bat up for a minute and Jon hid his smirk by taking a sip of the disgusting eggnog again. Jesus Christ, the stuff was horrible. Leave it to the Christians to think drinking raw egg shit was a good way to celebrate their savior’s birth.
Thankfully, Lauren took that moment to show up again. Her hair was big, her lipgloss was sticky when he kissed her, and she didn’t really get many of his jokes (or really anything for that matter), but she had nice boobs and let Jon get to second base on their third date. And she was nice enough. He supposed that should make him like her. But not really enough to warrant the hell that was this party.
“Jon, there you are,” she said sweetly, sidling up to him and wrapping an arm around his waist, pressing against him in a way that made his palms begin to sweat. “I see you’re entertaining Mom.” She eyed her mother’s wineglass, her expression wary and in that moment Jon actually felt bad for the girl. When her eyes met his again he smiled, trying to convey the odd sense of compassion he felt in the moment. She smiled back, a glint in her eye that made him feel a bit light-headed.
“Well,” her mother grumbled, “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”
Ignoring the older woman, Lauren slid her hand into Jon’s. He hoped to God that it didn’t feel as clammy as he knew it must. She tugged lightly, the smile still playing on her face. “Come on,” she said, a suggestive curve to her body language. “I want to show you something.”
In what seemed like no time, Jon found himself wondering how he had gotten to this point as he moved inside Lauren right on top of her grandmother’s bedspread. It was fast and sloppy and not at all well-executed; he was a jumble of nerves and his stupid, jittery sweating seemed to spread over his entire body. Lauren was quiet afterwards, her shoulders tight, her mouth set like she was trying not to cry. It reminded him of his mother somehow… which certainly didn’t help matters.
He had apologized but broke up with her the next week anyway, too ashamed to really right the situation. He felt like an unbearable asshole about it all, truth be told. But what could he do? He was 16 and, sure, he wasn’t exactly stupid but that didn’t mean he knew what the hell he was doing.
He guessed all he could hope for was that his interest in sex could be revived somehow and he wouldn’t be scarred for life. He wasn’t so sure that he could hope for the same about his views on Christmas.
Three.
“The holly green, the ivy green
The prettiest picture you've ever seen
Is Christmas in Killarney
With all of the folks at home…”
Jon liked Denis’ family - that much was for fucking sure. Actually, fuck that. He fucking loved them. See, the Irish know how to do things right. They have alcohol.
This wasn’t like how fucking WASPs do alcohol though. No. This wasn’t sad and tense and on the edge of disaster - this was joyous and loud and rambunctious! Sure, someone might get punched and a few lamps might get broken, but it was fun. It almost made Jon wish he was Irish. Of course, then he’d have to be Catholic.
“Fuck it!” he cried out loud, throwing an arm around Denis. “Denis! Denis.”
“Yeah?” Denis swung his head to look down at Jon. He was too tall for his own good but sometimes, when Jon was too drunk to care, he kind of liked Denis towering over him. It made him feel… safe. Or something.
“I,” Jon stated, pointing a finger into his friend’s chest, “will become fucking Catholic. Just for you. Because I love your family!”
Denis grinned down at him, his smile lop-sided before he turned to his family. “Hey! Hey everyone!” Once they all looked up, Denis threw up his arms. “Jewy Jewerson wants to become part of the Catholic way! YEAH!” Everyone cheered and Denis dropped his arm back to Jon’s shoulders. “See? We’d be glad to have you. Wouldn’t we mom?”
Denis’ mom stumbled over and kissed Jon on both cheeks. “Of course! May the road rise up to meet you and all that!” She kissed Jon again and wandered off to sing with her sister.
“See? Your family is kickass,” Jon said, raising his voice to talk over the music. “I just… I love them. Yeah.”
Denis’ arm tightened as leaned into Jon, his smile turning a bit lecherous. But, then again, Denis always managed to look smarmy. Frankly Jon thought it was charming… in a way. “They love you too,” Denis whispered in his ear, smiling into Jon’s hair.
Jon just smirked and leaned his head away. “You are such a two-beer queer.”
Denis rolled his eyes. “Better than a no-beer queer.” He didn’t release Jon’s shoulders though, instead holding Jon so close he was practically in a headlock. Jon marveled at how touchy-feely Denis got when drunk. “Besides, I’ve had way more than two beers. I’ve had at least…” He began to count on his fingers before giving up. “Well, way more than two, anyway. Oh, and besides that, this is not beer, Jonathan. This is Guinness. There’s a difference.”
Jon snorted. “Oh, right, my apologies to your people.”
Denis only grinned again, his arm slipping off of Jon as he gave a sharp nod to his left. “Come on,” he said, waggling his eyebrows before heading off into the back of the house. Jon followed, a smile affixed to his face.
Though Jon wasn’t especially fond of cocaine, he didn’t mind doing it on special occasions. He supposed this qualified. Denis however thought every day was a special occasion and seemed to get strange pleasure from coaxing Jon into partaking, if he ever could. Jon guessed that he thought it was some sort of bonding experience. Or something.
So there Jon found himself, snorting coke off of Denis’ mom’s porcelain sink in the back bathroom, Denis leaning heavily into him and muttering words of encouragement. Jon wished they could just smoke pot instead. Coke made him twitchy, nervous… he said (and usually did) stupid things that were hard to remember in the morning. The loss of control bothered him but he tried not to show it. Hell, he was in his twenties. He shouldn’t be afraid of a little cocaine.
“You really think I’m a two-beer queer?” The question startled Jon and he turned to find Denis’ eyes on him. He didn’t like it when Denis got that way… all intense and full of dark intention. It made a strange feeling roil in his stomach, dizziness filling his head and his skin becoming too tight. But that could have just been the coke. So Jon didn’t react, instead offering Denis a half-shrug as the drugs made his body pulse.
“Why, would that bother you?” he asked, not being able to fight smirking any longer. He couldn’t help that he was such a smartass.
Much to his surprise, Denis didn’t say anything. Instead he just wrapped one of his arms around Jon again but, instead of just leaning against him as he normally did, he pressed their mouths together with such intensity that Jon was paralyzed in shock.
”Denis, what…?” he began when Denis pulled away for a moment. He didn’t receive an answer, just Denis shoving their mouths together again, sliding their bodies to fit against each other.
“The drugs,” Denis murmured against Jon’s neck as he kissed him there, causing him to moan, “they make things better, easier. Yeah?”
Jon just nodded.
Flies were opened and shirts removed; Jon found himself spitting into his hand and then he was moaning - knowing he was good at this, surprised that Denis was too, perhaps even better - and he was coming, muttering curses and something incoherent as Denis did the same. It was stupidly fast on top of just being stupidly, well, stupid and as he came back down his eyes found their focus again. He looked around the room, dazed, only to find that Denis was already getting dressed.
“Um…” Jon said, feeling sluggish and awkward. He shouldn’t have done those stupid drugs. Stupid, he chastised himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “What…?”
Denis let out a harsh laugh, his eyes not meeting Jon’s. “Maybe we just shouldn’t talk about it, okay? Ever.”
Jon thought maybe he should feel angry, betrayed even. Instead he just felt relieved. That was somehow worse.
“Okay,” he said. And they never did.
Jon figured it was for the best.
Four.
“Just hear those sleigh bells ringing and jing ting tingaling too
Come on it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you”
“I look awkward. Do I look awkward? I feel like I look awkward.”
Tracey tsked, straightening his tie. “You don’t look awkward! Stop fidgeting.”
“I wish I didn’t wear the suit… I always look like I don’t belong in one.”
“I told you that you didn’t have to wear one.”
“Yeah, but it’s, you know, something you dress nicely to go to. I don’t - I don’t know…”
Tracey smiled, looking at him with soft eyes. “I know, Jon. You’re going to do fine. I know you want to impress them but, seriously, they’re going to like you just for you. Though they may think you have Tourette’s or something if you don’t stop twitching.”
Jon ignored the last comment. “Why would they like me?” At the look Tracey gave him, he spread his hands. “Seriously!”
“Come on, Jon,” Tracey laughed, sliding her arm around his waist. “Who doesn’t like you?”
“Plenty of people,” Jon grumbled, straightening his tie again. “People think I’m a smartass and they’re right. I have verbal diarrhea problems and tonight won’t be any different.”
Tracey just smirked, rolling her eyes. “Well, that’s the defeatist attitude I know and love.” At the continued puppy-dog eyes Jon gave her, she sighed. “Okay, I just won’t leave your side all night and if you start to say something stupid, I’ll, I don’t know… make a birdcall or something. So then you’ll know to stop talking and everyone else will be distracted by me looking crazy. That work?”
Jon grinned and gave her a soft kiss. “See? That’s why I love you.”
She rolled her eyes again but Jon could see from her smile that she was pleased. “All right, enough dilly-dallying. We’ve been standing in front of this door for, like, ten minutes now and I’m freezing my ass off. Ready?”
Jon nodded, trying to look braver than he was feeling. “Ready.” Just as Tracey lifted her hand to knock, Jon grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Wait, wait.”
“What, Jon?”
“They… they know I’m Jewish, right?”
Tracey just eyed him for a minute before huffing out a sigh. “No. They’re expecting a 6’4” Aryan god with an Adonis build who’s a doctor and a good Catholic.” Before he could say another word, she had knocked and the door was flung open.
“Tracey!”
“Mom!”
Jon feared this was going to be a long night.
He somehow managed to not make too much of an ass of himself. Luckily (or perhaps not so luckily), the spotlight had been taken up by the drama that was Tracey’s parents; though still married, they acted like a couple that had been divorced for years, yelling curses at each other by the time the Christmas pie was on the table. Jon however considered himself to be pretty much the guru of family dysfunctionality (that time when his brother’s girlfriend had called their dad out for cheating on their mom in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner made this seem like a walk in the park… and that hadn’t even been one of the worst arguments in his family’s turbulent history), so he easily slid into damage-control mode. Tracey remained tense though she seemed to relax just a bit whenever Jon would slide an arm around her waist, pressing a kiss into her hair.
Jon felt kind of asinine for it but he was almost glad for the distraction; the whole family was so engrossed in the barbs Tracey’s parents were exchanging that he was barely interrogated at all. Also, in a moment of down-time, he’d gotten to play with some of her nieces and nephews. Though he normally didn’t broadcast it all that much, the fact was that Jon adored children. And, as an added bonus, Tracey’s eyes seemed to soften as they rested on Jon braiding one of the little girls’ hair, listening intently to her story concerning what exactly her teacher had told her about how baby chicks hatch. Jon liked it when Tracey looked at him like that.
She hadn’t cried that night as Jon had half-expected her to. No, Tracey didn’t really do things like that. She just lay there, her breathing controlled but a little shallow. She didn’t reach out for him but he held her anyways, his hand running up and down her bare arm as her hair pooled in his collar bone. Her breathing became more even, the tense furrow of her brow relaxing and her face smoothing into an expression of calm comfort as she drifted off.
Dear God, he loved her. And in that moment Jon knew he had to marry this woman. It was a punch to the gut, this sudden revelation, and he had to stop himself from shaking her awake in his giddiness. But, no, just randomly telling her wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all. He had to find a good way to ask. An awesome way. A totally kickass way.
As he drifted off, he smiled and decided that maybe Christmas could be okay sometimes after all.
Five.
“HERE WE COME A-WASSAILING AMONG THE LETHAL GREENS!
GLO-OR-OR-OR-OR-OR-OR
OR-OR-OR-OR-OR-OR-OR-ORIA
GIVE US FIGGY PUDDING!”
“Oh, God.” Jon put his head in his hands. “You made me watch them skin a squirrel. You made me watch them skin a squirrel! Oh, God. Oh, God.”
Stephen halted in singing his off-key and mismatched carols to give Jon a look as he handed him a beer. “Pssh. It wasn’t that bad, city boy.”
“Oh my God. Are you joking? There was blood! And… and blood!” Stephen just laughed and Jon deflated. “Do you think your brother was insulted that I didn’t take the tail?”
“Naw, he was just fucking with you. Besides, I don’t think you’d make it through airport security with that thing.”
“Oh, thank God. I was worried I was violating some Colbert family initiation ceremony or something.”
“No, don’t worry. You saved face by actually taking a shot.” Stephen paused as he dropped next to Jon on the couch, one of those shit-eating grins crossing his face. “I have to say, I was impressed.”
Jon sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Well, I had to try to fit into the Southern way of life somehow.” He gave Stephen a dark look. “I still can’t believe you made me watch them skin it though.” The grin aimed at him just beamed all the brighter. “Bastard.”
Jon figured he was getting along well enough for a self-declared nature-avoider who had only spent time in the south when work necessitated it. Sure, he had gone to college in Virginia but this was South Carolina which was a whole different bag of racism. Of course, Stephen’s family didn’t seem plagued by such prejudices at all; instead they almost seemed to love the fact that there was a bona fide Jew in their midst. One of Stephen’s cousins (Jon could tell she was a fan by the way her eyes went a little loopy when she met him but she declined to do anything save smile at him like her face was going to break, an action that seemed virtually universal in the Colbert clan) had even suggested that they listen to Bruce Springsteen’s version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” The girl had sneaked a knowing glance with Stephen who found it hilarious when one of his aunts dragged Jon to his feet, forcing him to dance. He did about as horribly as usual but, somehow, with the Colberts he just… didn’t mind as much.
In fact, the whole family was so damn functional that Jon found himself waiting for the other shoe to drop. When was the yelling going to start? When was someone going to get drunk and either hit someone or make them cry? When were the barbs going to make the room descend into awkward silence when something long-repressed was dragged to the surface? He sat there, his fingers tapping the tabletop in anxiety as he waited. Surely someone was going to flip a shit soon. This just wasn’t normal!
But it didn’t happen and it continued to not happen until Jon was almost lulled into a sense of complacency. Well, at least he would have been if he wasn’t so familiar with the fact that allowing yourself to get lulled in such a way always meant getting side-blinded even worse in the end. So he watched and he waited but, aside from some good-natured ribbing and Mrs. Colbert getting emotional when they did something in memory of Stephen’s father and two brothers, it seemed that nothing was going to happen.
And Jon, much to his surprise, felt… happy. He hadn’t expected this. Usually trips offered to you out of pity by your recently divorced friend in order to get you to stop dwelling on your own recent divorce aren’t fun. Jon assumed that meant they’d be getting drunk and crying a lot or something. But Stephen had taken him here, to the land of overly-functioning family love, and the positive attitude of these people was infectious.
Jon sipped his beer, grinning as he saw Stephen staring into the fire with a thoughtful look on his face. “Hey,” he said, his voice quiet. Stephen looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Thanks.” Jon glanced down at his hands, trying to find the right words. “This is… this is way nicer than I was expecting.”
Stephen grinned in turn. “Don’t you feel like an ass for being so hateful towards the south for all those years now?”
Jon rolled his eyes but laughed a little. “Yes, yes. I was wrong and you were right. The south is not full of inbred, toothless hicks and I’m very sorry for spreading such villainous lies.”
Stephen nodded, apparently satisfied. “Good. I’m glad you’ve learned your lesson.”
“Just… Stephen?” The other man lolled his head Jon’s way again, his eyes questioning. “I, well, I have to say, I wasn’t really expecting to feel, well… anything again after the shit that went down with Trace. And then with finding out she wanted the kids over the holidays… it just made everything worse, you know? I mean, Christmas isn’t exactly my time of year anyway.” As he let out a dry chortle, Stephen smiled but furrowed his brow and seemed about to ask what exactly that meant. Jon just waved his hand. “No man, that’s a story for another time. Just… this has been great. Really. I never thought I’d feel peaceful again, you know?” Jon stared into the fire, that very peaceful feeling settling even more in his chest.
“It’ll all be okay, Jon,” Stephen said, his quiet tone matching Jon’s. “The beginning is the worst. I mean, I know I never thought I’d recover after Evie. But… it can only go up from there. Things can only get better. Being around people who love you helps of course. And, hey,” he let a silly grin spread across his face as his hand found Jon’s knee, “I love you.”
Jon would never be sure who leaned in first (Stephen of course would claim that it was Jon, citing the fact that he was a known “horny man-whore”) but as Jon’s lips found Stephen’s, it felt exactly like what he needed. Sure, having a messy make-out session on Stephen’s mom’s couch may have been a bit adolescent, but between the breathless “I need this” and “I’m sorry”s, Jon felt something click into place that he hadn’t realized had be unaligned.
They somehow made it to Stephen’s room. Jon knew he was being a little frantic and a lot desperate, but Stephen didn’t seem to care. In fact he seemed to respond well to Jon’s urgings, his long fingers finding their way up the sweater Jon had borrowed from him. He laughed when Jon got frustrated with the pants, smoothing soothing hands over Jon’s shoulders, whispering for him to calm down. It was okay. He was so, so sorry, but it was okay. It would all be okay.
Jon believed him.
Sure, he would later have the token hetero-male freakout that any man who had just had his gay cherry popped usually has (of course, he wouldn’t count what had happened with Denis until later after a drunken confession to Stephen), but the next morning he couldn’t be bothered to care.
So as the morning light filtered into the room, the words, “It’s snowing,” reverberated through the chest his head was leaned against and all Jon could do was smile.
“Merry Christmas, Stephen,” he whispered, and for once he felt like it actually meant something.
FIN.
Disclaimer: Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual persons is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person).
Any mention of 'The Daily Show', 'The Colbert Report', 'Viacom', any associated entities, or any copyrighted material pertaining therein is reasonably protected by the Fair Use Rule of the United States Copyright Act of 1976 and is not intended to infringe upon any copyrighted material.
Author: Yours truly
Fandom: The Daily Show.
Pairing: Jon/OFC (she’s insignificant - trust me), Jon/Denis Leary, Jon/Tracey, Jon/Stephen
Rating: We’ll call it Arrrrrr (aka R)
Warning: There’s an OFC but, seriously, she doesn’t matter. Oh, and I know ther are a lot of pairings but this is not a whore!Jon fic. It's just from five different instances in Jon's life. Also, there is drug use. Hooray!
A/N: So I decided to write this and yay it is finished. I had a hard time with the end. Lame. Anyway, Merry Christmas bitches!
Length: 4374
Feedback: Always welcome with open arms and loads of metaphorical cookies.
Summary: Jon doesn’t really like Christmas and it’s no surprise why.
5 TIMES JON STEWART CELEBRATED CHRISTMAS
“Merry Christmas, Everyone
Except for you FUCKING JEWBOY.”
~Jon Stewart on why Christmas sucks for the Jews.
One.
“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Everywhere you go…”
Jon Stuart Leibowitz rolled his toy truck, a small sigh escaping his lips. The tree looked all right, he supposed. His mom had done a good job with trying to make the room look Christmassy; she’d even put tinsel on the Menorah that he had insisted on keeping out since his grandmother had given it to him. Larry had made fun, calling him a pussy and in the scuffle that followed Jon had somehow ended up giving him a bloody nose (the welt on his skull told him that he had probably delivered a swift whack to his brother’s face using his head as a weapon). Overall, it was pretty okay. He guessed.
Of course, he would have preferred that cool chemistry set or a book or an erector set to the dumb fire truck he was currently trying to occupy himself with. His mother seemed hellbent on not understanding that Jon was no longer five and actually had varied interests in contrast to his brother. It wasn’t that his mother didn’t approve of him liking to read or build things or blow stuff up… it was just that she didn’t seem to embrace the idea that Jon wasn’t a stupid little kid anymore. So there he sat, playing with the dumb truck that went “wooo” when you rolled it a certain way. He didn’t complain though; the hopeful look his mother had given him when he picked up the toy with a sad little bow on it had made him feel ill and guilty and he had pretended it was what he had always wanted.
At least he was getting to celebrate Christmas, anyway.
Of course… it was kind of hollow, wasn’t it? Jon knew they were doing it wrong. They were just pretending. Larry was probably the best at it, at the pretending. He had that normal pre-adolescent boy thing down pat. He’d ripped through the presents and afterwards gone to the family room to watch the new TV mom had gotten. It had been a pity gift, too. Just like their Christmas celebration.
See, dad would not have let them do this. Dad never let them have Christmas and somehow this desperate ploy by their mother to make them happy just accentuated how unhappy they really were, how gone their father really was. Sure, Jon had hated it when he couldn’t celebrate Christmas like all the other kids… watching them eat decorated cookies, give each other ornaments, and glance at the little Jewish kid who was trying his hardest to act like he gave a rat’s ass about Chanukah. Because, really, it wasn’t even that important of a Jewish holiday but he supposed he could at least pretend that it was awesome. He’d show off his dreidel like it was made of magic even though he personally thought the stupid thing was boring. Inside he’d secretly pine for the day when he’d be grown up and able to celebrate Christmas with no father to tell him that, no, it was time to light the Menorah and, if he was a proud Jew, he wouldn’t want a Christmas tree.
So this - this sad Christmas celebration that felt like it had taken its cues from washed-up greeting cards - felt a bit like a slap in the face. Because it wasn’t their holiday, was it? It wasn’t their tradition. They were just pretending. They weren’t in on the magic that everyone else seemed privy to.
And, at age 9, Jon decided that he probably never would be.
Two.
“Chesnuts roasting
On an open fire
Jack Frost nipping
At your nose…”
Jon was uncomfortable. Okay, so he was kind of uncomfortable about 90% of his waking life, but he figured that sort of went with being 16 years old. You know. The awkwardness. But right now, right at that very moment, the awkwardness had spiked to a point so unbearable that he was pretty sure he was going to a.) throw up, b.) start laughing hysterically and never stop, or c.) laugh hysterically and never stop throwing up.
“So Jon,” Lauren’s mother was asking him as he took a nervous sip from his eggnog. He hated eggnog. Especially when it was nonalcoholic. “You’re… Jewish?”
Jon tried to ignore her tone and nodded. “Uh, yeah.”
“So I suppose… Happy Chanukah!” With that she laughed as if she had just made a clever joke. Jon gave her a tight smile and tried to ignore the way her bony fingers gripped the stem of her wine glass like the claws of a hawk. God, he hated WASPs. “Lauren’s never dated a Jew before.”
Jon just nodded again. “Well… our people are glad to see she’s interested. We’ve been talking about it at the meetings.”
This shut the old bat up for a minute and Jon hid his smirk by taking a sip of the disgusting eggnog again. Jesus Christ, the stuff was horrible. Leave it to the Christians to think drinking raw egg shit was a good way to celebrate their savior’s birth.
Thankfully, Lauren took that moment to show up again. Her hair was big, her lipgloss was sticky when he kissed her, and she didn’t really get many of his jokes (or really anything for that matter), but she had nice boobs and let Jon get to second base on their third date. And she was nice enough. He supposed that should make him like her. But not really enough to warrant the hell that was this party.
“Jon, there you are,” she said sweetly, sidling up to him and wrapping an arm around his waist, pressing against him in a way that made his palms begin to sweat. “I see you’re entertaining Mom.” She eyed her mother’s wineglass, her expression wary and in that moment Jon actually felt bad for the girl. When her eyes met his again he smiled, trying to convey the odd sense of compassion he felt in the moment. She smiled back, a glint in her eye that made him feel a bit light-headed.
“Well,” her mother grumbled, “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”
Ignoring the older woman, Lauren slid her hand into Jon’s. He hoped to God that it didn’t feel as clammy as he knew it must. She tugged lightly, the smile still playing on her face. “Come on,” she said, a suggestive curve to her body language. “I want to show you something.”
In what seemed like no time, Jon found himself wondering how he had gotten to this point as he moved inside Lauren right on top of her grandmother’s bedspread. It was fast and sloppy and not at all well-executed; he was a jumble of nerves and his stupid, jittery sweating seemed to spread over his entire body. Lauren was quiet afterwards, her shoulders tight, her mouth set like she was trying not to cry. It reminded him of his mother somehow… which certainly didn’t help matters.
He had apologized but broke up with her the next week anyway, too ashamed to really right the situation. He felt like an unbearable asshole about it all, truth be told. But what could he do? He was 16 and, sure, he wasn’t exactly stupid but that didn’t mean he knew what the hell he was doing.
He guessed all he could hope for was that his interest in sex could be revived somehow and he wouldn’t be scarred for life. He wasn’t so sure that he could hope for the same about his views on Christmas.
Three.
“The holly green, the ivy green
The prettiest picture you've ever seen
Is Christmas in Killarney
With all of the folks at home…”
Jon liked Denis’ family - that much was for fucking sure. Actually, fuck that. He fucking loved them. See, the Irish know how to do things right. They have alcohol.
This wasn’t like how fucking WASPs do alcohol though. No. This wasn’t sad and tense and on the edge of disaster - this was joyous and loud and rambunctious! Sure, someone might get punched and a few lamps might get broken, but it was fun. It almost made Jon wish he was Irish. Of course, then he’d have to be Catholic.
“Fuck it!” he cried out loud, throwing an arm around Denis. “Denis! Denis.”
“Yeah?” Denis swung his head to look down at Jon. He was too tall for his own good but sometimes, when Jon was too drunk to care, he kind of liked Denis towering over him. It made him feel… safe. Or something.
“I,” Jon stated, pointing a finger into his friend’s chest, “will become fucking Catholic. Just for you. Because I love your family!”
Denis grinned down at him, his smile lop-sided before he turned to his family. “Hey! Hey everyone!” Once they all looked up, Denis threw up his arms. “Jewy Jewerson wants to become part of the Catholic way! YEAH!” Everyone cheered and Denis dropped his arm back to Jon’s shoulders. “See? We’d be glad to have you. Wouldn’t we mom?”
Denis’ mom stumbled over and kissed Jon on both cheeks. “Of course! May the road rise up to meet you and all that!” She kissed Jon again and wandered off to sing with her sister.
“See? Your family is kickass,” Jon said, raising his voice to talk over the music. “I just… I love them. Yeah.”
Denis’ arm tightened as leaned into Jon, his smile turning a bit lecherous. But, then again, Denis always managed to look smarmy. Frankly Jon thought it was charming… in a way. “They love you too,” Denis whispered in his ear, smiling into Jon’s hair.
Jon just smirked and leaned his head away. “You are such a two-beer queer.”
Denis rolled his eyes. “Better than a no-beer queer.” He didn’t release Jon’s shoulders though, instead holding Jon so close he was practically in a headlock. Jon marveled at how touchy-feely Denis got when drunk. “Besides, I’ve had way more than two beers. I’ve had at least…” He began to count on his fingers before giving up. “Well, way more than two, anyway. Oh, and besides that, this is not beer, Jonathan. This is Guinness. There’s a difference.”
Jon snorted. “Oh, right, my apologies to your people.”
Denis only grinned again, his arm slipping off of Jon as he gave a sharp nod to his left. “Come on,” he said, waggling his eyebrows before heading off into the back of the house. Jon followed, a smile affixed to his face.
Though Jon wasn’t especially fond of cocaine, he didn’t mind doing it on special occasions. He supposed this qualified. Denis however thought every day was a special occasion and seemed to get strange pleasure from coaxing Jon into partaking, if he ever could. Jon guessed that he thought it was some sort of bonding experience. Or something.
So there Jon found himself, snorting coke off of Denis’ mom’s porcelain sink in the back bathroom, Denis leaning heavily into him and muttering words of encouragement. Jon wished they could just smoke pot instead. Coke made him twitchy, nervous… he said (and usually did) stupid things that were hard to remember in the morning. The loss of control bothered him but he tried not to show it. Hell, he was in his twenties. He shouldn’t be afraid of a little cocaine.
“You really think I’m a two-beer queer?” The question startled Jon and he turned to find Denis’ eyes on him. He didn’t like it when Denis got that way… all intense and full of dark intention. It made a strange feeling roil in his stomach, dizziness filling his head and his skin becoming too tight. But that could have just been the coke. So Jon didn’t react, instead offering Denis a half-shrug as the drugs made his body pulse.
“Why, would that bother you?” he asked, not being able to fight smirking any longer. He couldn’t help that he was such a smartass.
Much to his surprise, Denis didn’t say anything. Instead he just wrapped one of his arms around Jon again but, instead of just leaning against him as he normally did, he pressed their mouths together with such intensity that Jon was paralyzed in shock.
”Denis, what…?” he began when Denis pulled away for a moment. He didn’t receive an answer, just Denis shoving their mouths together again, sliding their bodies to fit against each other.
“The drugs,” Denis murmured against Jon’s neck as he kissed him there, causing him to moan, “they make things better, easier. Yeah?”
Jon just nodded.
Flies were opened and shirts removed; Jon found himself spitting into his hand and then he was moaning - knowing he was good at this, surprised that Denis was too, perhaps even better - and he was coming, muttering curses and something incoherent as Denis did the same. It was stupidly fast on top of just being stupidly, well, stupid and as he came back down his eyes found their focus again. He looked around the room, dazed, only to find that Denis was already getting dressed.
“Um…” Jon said, feeling sluggish and awkward. He shouldn’t have done those stupid drugs. Stupid, he chastised himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “What…?”
Denis let out a harsh laugh, his eyes not meeting Jon’s. “Maybe we just shouldn’t talk about it, okay? Ever.”
Jon thought maybe he should feel angry, betrayed even. Instead he just felt relieved. That was somehow worse.
“Okay,” he said. And they never did.
Jon figured it was for the best.
Four.
“Just hear those sleigh bells ringing and jing ting tingaling too
Come on it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you”
“I look awkward. Do I look awkward? I feel like I look awkward.”
Tracey tsked, straightening his tie. “You don’t look awkward! Stop fidgeting.”
“I wish I didn’t wear the suit… I always look like I don’t belong in one.”
“I told you that you didn’t have to wear one.”
“Yeah, but it’s, you know, something you dress nicely to go to. I don’t - I don’t know…”
Tracey smiled, looking at him with soft eyes. “I know, Jon. You’re going to do fine. I know you want to impress them but, seriously, they’re going to like you just for you. Though they may think you have Tourette’s or something if you don’t stop twitching.”
Jon ignored the last comment. “Why would they like me?” At the look Tracey gave him, he spread his hands. “Seriously!”
“Come on, Jon,” Tracey laughed, sliding her arm around his waist. “Who doesn’t like you?”
“Plenty of people,” Jon grumbled, straightening his tie again. “People think I’m a smartass and they’re right. I have verbal diarrhea problems and tonight won’t be any different.”
Tracey just smirked, rolling her eyes. “Well, that’s the defeatist attitude I know and love.” At the continued puppy-dog eyes Jon gave her, she sighed. “Okay, I just won’t leave your side all night and if you start to say something stupid, I’ll, I don’t know… make a birdcall or something. So then you’ll know to stop talking and everyone else will be distracted by me looking crazy. That work?”
Jon grinned and gave her a soft kiss. “See? That’s why I love you.”
She rolled her eyes again but Jon could see from her smile that she was pleased. “All right, enough dilly-dallying. We’ve been standing in front of this door for, like, ten minutes now and I’m freezing my ass off. Ready?”
Jon nodded, trying to look braver than he was feeling. “Ready.” Just as Tracey lifted her hand to knock, Jon grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Wait, wait.”
“What, Jon?”
“They… they know I’m Jewish, right?”
Tracey just eyed him for a minute before huffing out a sigh. “No. They’re expecting a 6’4” Aryan god with an Adonis build who’s a doctor and a good Catholic.” Before he could say another word, she had knocked and the door was flung open.
“Tracey!”
“Mom!”
Jon feared this was going to be a long night.
He somehow managed to not make too much of an ass of himself. Luckily (or perhaps not so luckily), the spotlight had been taken up by the drama that was Tracey’s parents; though still married, they acted like a couple that had been divorced for years, yelling curses at each other by the time the Christmas pie was on the table. Jon however considered himself to be pretty much the guru of family dysfunctionality (that time when his brother’s girlfriend had called their dad out for cheating on their mom in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner made this seem like a walk in the park… and that hadn’t even been one of the worst arguments in his family’s turbulent history), so he easily slid into damage-control mode. Tracey remained tense though she seemed to relax just a bit whenever Jon would slide an arm around her waist, pressing a kiss into her hair.
Jon felt kind of asinine for it but he was almost glad for the distraction; the whole family was so engrossed in the barbs Tracey’s parents were exchanging that he was barely interrogated at all. Also, in a moment of down-time, he’d gotten to play with some of her nieces and nephews. Though he normally didn’t broadcast it all that much, the fact was that Jon adored children. And, as an added bonus, Tracey’s eyes seemed to soften as they rested on Jon braiding one of the little girls’ hair, listening intently to her story concerning what exactly her teacher had told her about how baby chicks hatch. Jon liked it when Tracey looked at him like that.
She hadn’t cried that night as Jon had half-expected her to. No, Tracey didn’t really do things like that. She just lay there, her breathing controlled but a little shallow. She didn’t reach out for him but he held her anyways, his hand running up and down her bare arm as her hair pooled in his collar bone. Her breathing became more even, the tense furrow of her brow relaxing and her face smoothing into an expression of calm comfort as she drifted off.
Dear God, he loved her. And in that moment Jon knew he had to marry this woman. It was a punch to the gut, this sudden revelation, and he had to stop himself from shaking her awake in his giddiness. But, no, just randomly telling her wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all. He had to find a good way to ask. An awesome way. A totally kickass way.
As he drifted off, he smiled and decided that maybe Christmas could be okay sometimes after all.
Five.
“HERE WE COME A-WASSAILING AMONG THE LETHAL GREENS!
GLO-OR-OR-OR-OR-OR-OR
OR-OR-OR-OR-OR-OR-OR-ORIA
GIVE US FIGGY PUDDING!”
“Oh, God.” Jon put his head in his hands. “You made me watch them skin a squirrel. You made me watch them skin a squirrel! Oh, God. Oh, God.”
Stephen halted in singing his off-key and mismatched carols to give Jon a look as he handed him a beer. “Pssh. It wasn’t that bad, city boy.”
“Oh my God. Are you joking? There was blood! And… and blood!” Stephen just laughed and Jon deflated. “Do you think your brother was insulted that I didn’t take the tail?”
“Naw, he was just fucking with you. Besides, I don’t think you’d make it through airport security with that thing.”
“Oh, thank God. I was worried I was violating some Colbert family initiation ceremony or something.”
“No, don’t worry. You saved face by actually taking a shot.” Stephen paused as he dropped next to Jon on the couch, one of those shit-eating grins crossing his face. “I have to say, I was impressed.”
Jon sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Well, I had to try to fit into the Southern way of life somehow.” He gave Stephen a dark look. “I still can’t believe you made me watch them skin it though.” The grin aimed at him just beamed all the brighter. “Bastard.”
Jon figured he was getting along well enough for a self-declared nature-avoider who had only spent time in the south when work necessitated it. Sure, he had gone to college in Virginia but this was South Carolina which was a whole different bag of racism. Of course, Stephen’s family didn’t seem plagued by such prejudices at all; instead they almost seemed to love the fact that there was a bona fide Jew in their midst. One of Stephen’s cousins (Jon could tell she was a fan by the way her eyes went a little loopy when she met him but she declined to do anything save smile at him like her face was going to break, an action that seemed virtually universal in the Colbert clan) had even suggested that they listen to Bruce Springsteen’s version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” The girl had sneaked a knowing glance with Stephen who found it hilarious when one of his aunts dragged Jon to his feet, forcing him to dance. He did about as horribly as usual but, somehow, with the Colberts he just… didn’t mind as much.
In fact, the whole family was so damn functional that Jon found himself waiting for the other shoe to drop. When was the yelling going to start? When was someone going to get drunk and either hit someone or make them cry? When were the barbs going to make the room descend into awkward silence when something long-repressed was dragged to the surface? He sat there, his fingers tapping the tabletop in anxiety as he waited. Surely someone was going to flip a shit soon. This just wasn’t normal!
But it didn’t happen and it continued to not happen until Jon was almost lulled into a sense of complacency. Well, at least he would have been if he wasn’t so familiar with the fact that allowing yourself to get lulled in such a way always meant getting side-blinded even worse in the end. So he watched and he waited but, aside from some good-natured ribbing and Mrs. Colbert getting emotional when they did something in memory of Stephen’s father and two brothers, it seemed that nothing was going to happen.
And Jon, much to his surprise, felt… happy. He hadn’t expected this. Usually trips offered to you out of pity by your recently divorced friend in order to get you to stop dwelling on your own recent divorce aren’t fun. Jon assumed that meant they’d be getting drunk and crying a lot or something. But Stephen had taken him here, to the land of overly-functioning family love, and the positive attitude of these people was infectious.
Jon sipped his beer, grinning as he saw Stephen staring into the fire with a thoughtful look on his face. “Hey,” he said, his voice quiet. Stephen looked up with a raised eyebrow. “Thanks.” Jon glanced down at his hands, trying to find the right words. “This is… this is way nicer than I was expecting.”
Stephen grinned in turn. “Don’t you feel like an ass for being so hateful towards the south for all those years now?”
Jon rolled his eyes but laughed a little. “Yes, yes. I was wrong and you were right. The south is not full of inbred, toothless hicks and I’m very sorry for spreading such villainous lies.”
Stephen nodded, apparently satisfied. “Good. I’m glad you’ve learned your lesson.”
“Just… Stephen?” The other man lolled his head Jon’s way again, his eyes questioning. “I, well, I have to say, I wasn’t really expecting to feel, well… anything again after the shit that went down with Trace. And then with finding out she wanted the kids over the holidays… it just made everything worse, you know? I mean, Christmas isn’t exactly my time of year anyway.” As he let out a dry chortle, Stephen smiled but furrowed his brow and seemed about to ask what exactly that meant. Jon just waved his hand. “No man, that’s a story for another time. Just… this has been great. Really. I never thought I’d feel peaceful again, you know?” Jon stared into the fire, that very peaceful feeling settling even more in his chest.
“It’ll all be okay, Jon,” Stephen said, his quiet tone matching Jon’s. “The beginning is the worst. I mean, I know I never thought I’d recover after Evie. But… it can only go up from there. Things can only get better. Being around people who love you helps of course. And, hey,” he let a silly grin spread across his face as his hand found Jon’s knee, “I love you.”
Jon would never be sure who leaned in first (Stephen of course would claim that it was Jon, citing the fact that he was a known “horny man-whore”) but as Jon’s lips found Stephen’s, it felt exactly like what he needed. Sure, having a messy make-out session on Stephen’s mom’s couch may have been a bit adolescent, but between the breathless “I need this” and “I’m sorry”s, Jon felt something click into place that he hadn’t realized had be unaligned.
They somehow made it to Stephen’s room. Jon knew he was being a little frantic and a lot desperate, but Stephen didn’t seem to care. In fact he seemed to respond well to Jon’s urgings, his long fingers finding their way up the sweater Jon had borrowed from him. He laughed when Jon got frustrated with the pants, smoothing soothing hands over Jon’s shoulders, whispering for him to calm down. It was okay. He was so, so sorry, but it was okay. It would all be okay.
Jon believed him.
Sure, he would later have the token hetero-male freakout that any man who had just had his gay cherry popped usually has (of course, he wouldn’t count what had happened with Denis until later after a drunken confession to Stephen), but the next morning he couldn’t be bothered to care.
So as the morning light filtered into the room, the words, “It’s snowing,” reverberated through the chest his head was leaned against and all Jon could do was smile.
“Merry Christmas, Stephen,” he whispered, and for once he felt like it actually meant something.
FIN.
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