Hey, remember that thing I said I'd write for Christmas? It's late. I... kinda rushed to finish it, and it isn't what I'd initially set out to write. And it's too short. And I'm not sure if I nailed NotTim's inner momologue. And I'm sorry if I shouldn't put it up here because it is your thread, OwlTiem, but... I want you to have it. I'll fix it, I promise. ---- There was always a week-long ceasefire period during the holidays so that everyone could celebrate as they saw fit. Christmas was certainly no exception. One might have found it odd to see so much happiness and joy spread throughout a war base usually fraught with explosions, gunpowder, and raw carnage. These men wore the firm skins of brutish mercenaries, and yet when that one magical time of year came by, that roughness melted away into something more accepting, more kind. In the center of the rec room, sofas and game tables had been pushed aside to make room for the towering, robust Tree. It had been harvested and mounted just that day, and already it was almost fully clothed for Christmas. Little candy canes and ornaments hung from ever other branch like a trophy, and even if the candy canes were the same ones used for the Tree every year, old and stale, they were still beautiful against the green. All that remained was the final touch. "Don't—DON'T... fuckin', drop me, dude, I almost had it!" Scout shouted, one foot on Demoman's shoulder, the other daintily bent up behind him (Scout didn't realize he was doing it), and one arm painfully stretching to slip the star on top. It was nearly there, too, but Scout couldn't seem to stretch that last little inch, or else he might send everyone and everything tumbling down. Everyone was there, standing back and watching the precarious ritual unfold. Most of them wanted to help, but Scout had called the star and barked at anyone else who dared try touching it because he'd fuckin' called it, so he got to put up. And far be it from the rest of the team to stop Scout from calling the shots. "Ah said, lad, Ah goot yeh fine. Have a li'le fehth, why doncha?" "With your sense of balance? Yeah, right!" "Jus' geet tha bloodeh star up." "I'm tryin', hold up...!" In the corner of the room, cloaked and hidden, was NotTim. He watched the spectacle with avid but worried eyes. Scout wasn't going to get the star on without taking all the team's hard work to the ground in a crashing heap. And what were they thinking, letting Demoman be Scout's support? Demoman's balance and care was even worse than Scout's! NotTim nibbled his lip, too anxious to watch and yet too concerned about his friend's safety to look away. Ah, there, the gilded star slid onto the top like a glove over a hand, proud and perfectly erect. "Got it!" Scout slunk back, full weight squarely on Demoman's shoulders, then hopped back to solid ground. A few of his teammates cheer; it was a rather impressive balancing act, and the Tree's decoration is finally complete. Oh, good, thought NotTim. They were okay. Scout was firmly on the ground, and the Tree was still up. Good, good, good. They all stepped back, then, and viewed the Tree from tip to toe, silently admiring their handiwork. (Except for NotTim; he hadn't dared to help out. Not that he hadn't wanted to, because it looked kind of fun and Engineer looked like he was really happy, but everyone was there and everyone was talking and laughing and they'd want him to talk, too, and then he'd choke up and stutter like an idiot or he'd break one of their pretty candy canes and then they'd get angry at him and– no, no, no, oh no. Just... no.) "Star is very pretty," Heavy observed. A few of the others nodded. Everyone was smiling, and Soldier was pulling a grimace that kind of resembled a smirk, so it counted. Sniper claped his hands together. "Now, on to the sweets!" Exuberance filled the air. Everyone filed out for the kitchen, eager to sample Pyro's Flaming Sugar Stars and Sniper's home-recipe Gingerbread Boomerangs ("I'd be more than happy to make yer good ol' American Gingerbread Men, Digger, but we ain't got no bloody cookie-cutters, so I'm makin' due. They'll taste the same anyway."), except for NotTim and Engineer, who was still admiring the Tree fondly. Engineer waited until everyone was in the kitchen, well out of earshot. "Beauty, ain't she?" The Texan spoke, knowing NotTim was listening. "Doc gave us that star our first Christmas. Never told us where he got it from, but we stopped askin' eventually. I remember, our first Christmas, seein' ol' Heavy hoist him up onto his shoulders to get Doc closer to the treetop." Engineer chuckled. "Scared the Doc somethin' fierce, I tell ya! He'd asked for a hand, but I doubt he expected anthin' like that. He got it up all the same though, an' by God, it was just lovely." He glanced back into the seemingly-empty corner. "Don't tell Doc I told'ja, though. I'd get one helluvan earful if he knew." No reply. Engineer smiled. "Oh, and Spook? If'n you were wonderin', stale candy canes're just as good'n sweet as fresh ones. An' there's so many up here, I doubt any of the guys would notice if one or two went missin'." Silence... And then NotTim lifted his cloak. "There's my li'l Spook," Engineer smiled. NotTim glued his eyes to Engie's shoes, hands wedged behind his back, but he smiled. Slowly, timidly, he shuffled up next to Engineer. "You like candy canes? I love 'em. They go nicely with a couple gingersnaps an' a little hot cocoa. Here, I'll split one'a these with ya, if ya like." Engineer plucked one vibrantly striped cane, and offered it to him. NotTim tittered and politely shook his head (even though, deep down, he really wanted a candy cane, he loved candy canes, even old ones, but... he– they– he couldn't take these, they belonged to the team. They weren't his to eat! They weren't his to eat at all!) Engineer noticed how NotTim's eyes dilated when he saw the candy cane. The kid definitely wanted it. "What if I let you have some as my little treat?" NotTim's eyes lit. A treat? Engineer was giving him a treat? Well, when he put it that way... NotTim supposed treats were okay. Engineer snapped the candy cane in two. "Would you prefer the straight end, or the bent end?" NotTim's eyes flicked between the two halves. "... E-either." Engie smiled again, friendly and warm, and gave him the straight end. NotTim took it, pulled the wrapping off, and popped the broken end into his mouth. A wave of sweet, cool, pepperminty goodness filled his taste buds, and it tasted so delicious that NotTim sighed. Candy canes were... little sticks of heaven you could hang on trees. Engineer slipped an arm around NotTim's shoulder, slowly, gently, so as not to startle him. NotTim tensed for a moment but relaxed just as soon. It was only Engie. Engie was safe. NotTim let himself scoot closer until their shoulders touched, and he hesitantly let his head rest in the nape of Engie's neck. Engie let him, and that meant the world to NotTim. "Spook?" NotTim looked up. "Merry Christmas." NotTim felt his heart flutter. He loved Engineer. He loved him so much that it almost hurt. But Engineer would never hurt him. Engineer wouldn't let anyone hurt him. Engineer was the best person in the world. ".... Merry Christmas... Engineer..."