It's the most wonderful time of the year :) [Party Post]
[OOC: We did this post last year, and it became our highest comment count post ever. 2,267 comments. It doesn't matter if we get up to that number again, but it has become tradition! This is open for all of December through January for any holiday/winter shenanigans. :> Tag in with the same character multiple times, make multiple new threads, think
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Not properly, mind. Oh no, no sitting primly on the seat like most would. No, she's got her Target-knockoff-Ugg-shod feet planted on the seat of the bench and she's sitting up on the back, her eyes lifted heavenward.
But this is no pious display of faith, nor even a wonder-filled tracking of the odd snowflake flurrying its way down from the sky. Hell no. She's scowling in a way that clearly conveys, I want to cut a bitch.
Where by bitch she means the sprig of mistletoe just out of reach above her head, that's resisted all attempts at evasion, argument, and injury so far. Oh, and in the meantime she's been kissed by three men (one of whom also groped her and got a Target-knockoff-Ugg-clad foot to his testicles for his troubles) and one woman and she has about had it with this mistletoe right here, okay ( ... )
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"You settlin' back in alright?" he asks. The question is posed lightly but the concern is there. After a moment's pause, he adds, "Darned mistletoe not withstanding."
And he's a little tempted to make another joke in regards to that, but he's still navigating through the waters. What it means to have her back at all.
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And there's figuring out her place in Wes' life, too. The Rift swept her away and that's no fault of hers or his. She was gone, and he was left here, and his life continued. If he'd decided there was no place for her, she wouldn't have blamed him at all, wouldn't have resented it.
But it is clear he wants her in it. Despite the hesitance on both their parts, she can sense how much each of them wants to make a place for the other, despite their separation, despite all the changes between and around them. Rachel doesn't know how to tell Wes it's okay. She doesn't know how to tell him that there's all the time in the world to figure it out and make it work again, and she'll be as patient with the process as the process needs her to be, because she's doing it for him. For themIt's a ( ... )
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None of it is fair, and he's always wanted more for her. He's always wanted better. That feeling persists, it wins out over any other, and he's no longer her Guardian. There's grief at knowing that, too. He can't feel what she's feeling. He can't know where she is instinctively, should he ever need to find her ( ... )
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She feels it now, just as strong as ever, as he pulls her close, as he rests his chin atop her head. She feels surrounded by Wes' strength, by his warmth, by the fact that he's still here despite the Rift's best attempts to take everything from them.
"Yeah, I remember," she says softly. Doesn't tell him she had another Christmas in between, a quiet and lonely affair in Reno. It'd only break his heart and she can't have any more of that, not today, not in this lifetime.
Rachel slips her arms around his body, holding tight. "This one will be even better. I know that already."
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He's a damn grown man, and they still feel like they're pulling tight within his throat. So much has been taken from them already. If he thinks about it for too long--the weight in his chest starts to grown, and he can't have that.
There's been enough sadness. There's been enough loss.
She'll have a damn fine Christmas, if he has anything to say about it.
"Course it will," he says with a quiet laugh, pulling her in even closer. It doesn't occur to him in this moment to remember what was eight months for him was eighteen for her. Wes should think about it. But he doesn't. He's only letting himself revel in the fact she's near and warm and here. "You got anythin' in particular you want to do? I know it ain't surfing but hell, you might even get me to do the whole ice skatin' thing."
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She's all but clinging to his side now, eyes closed, turning her face to bury it in the front of his coat. She takes a slow, deep breath in, needing those moments to make sure she remains composed--her emotions are threatening to overwhelm her right now. She doesn't want to cry. Wes might not understand and the snot would probably freeze to her face and nobody wants that.
Eighteen months without Wes, without his presence, felt like an eternity. But she's not bitter, not angry. Because she was sure, when she found herself in Reno, that she'd never see him again, so these moments now negate all of the loneliness and heartbreak of that year and a half. They really have lost too much, the two of them, and she refuses to focus any more attention on times of loss when she has him again, here and now ( ... )
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Senses, but can't know for sure. He's not her Guardian anymore.
"Rachel," he says, and his voice is filled with warmth and love. There's a little bit of rawness there as he attempts to keep his voice from shaking. "You're never alone. Even when you were gone, darlin'. Even when I wasn't allowed to remember you. I was right there."
He places his hand over her chest, and pulls her even closer.
"But we'll do that. Course we will."
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Rachel's fought-for composure crumbles and she sobs quietly into the front of Wes' coat. It's a year and a half of pent-up emotion, every emotion finding its way out, but above all, it's relief at being in Wes' arms again, and gratitude, so much gratitude.
In a place that isn't big on second chances they've managed to get their hands on one. It's already a better Christmas than any that have come before.
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Her being given the gift of knowing all about engines. It means something. Just like her being here, sitting next to him, means something.
"It's all right, darlin'," he whispers into her hair. There's no one around. It's just them on a bench. Them and that darned mistletoe above her head. "It's all right."
She'd always been taking care of everybody over her own feelings. Wes has never and will never make her forget them.
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She draws back gently, sitting up so she can wipe at her face with her gloved hands, the worn leather sweeping lingering tears from her cheeks. She doesn't say anything--doesn't know what to say, really. But she looks up at Wes, eyes studying his face like she intends to commit each detail to her memory all over again, and she musters a wan little half-smile for him.
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And he feigns a very unimpressed frown at the sight of that half-smile.
"Now I know you can do better than that, girl."
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She reaches up and puts her hand over his, gently pressing his palm against her cheek. She lifts her chin, and her gaze, though when her eyes meet Wes' her mouth twists like she might cry all over again. Rachel pulls it together, though, lips pressed together in a line while she composes herself, and then they curve into another smile, this one warmer and more sure of itself if still a little uneven.
"Is this better, you magnificent pain in my ass?" she asks, with what's so clearly mock insult. "So demanding, Wesley."
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His thumb presses against the corner of her lips once the smile curves into it. "Much better," he whispers, brushing his lips against her forehead.
"So feisty, Rachel."
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Doesn't stop that smile from edging ever so slightly into a smirk as she looks up at him. "You know you love it," she shoots back.
And then she takes his hand again, holding it, turning her face to press a kiss into his palm. She leans up and his cheek gets another kiss before she rests her head on his shoulder.
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He loops an arm around her shoulders once she's rested her head against him, and grows quiet, watching the snow fall in front of him. He has no problem with the silence.
It says something when you can just sit in the silence with someone. He'll take this moment and make it last as long as he can.
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