[FIC] Glad Tidings, Silent Hill 3, Douglas and Heather, G
Title: Glad Tidings
Fandom: Silent Hill 3
Characters: Douglas and Heather
Notes: For June fic-a-day
Requested by chiave_trust here (previously filled)
Douglas hadn't done much for Christmas in years, with his wife gone and his son dead there just didn't seem much celebrating. So he switched to cassettes once every station started playing carols twenty-four-seven, avoided every store but the grocers with the worst baking section from the end of November onward, and caught up with every decent-looking movie that had come out during the year that he'd never gotten around to watching when his TV became stuffed with Santa. He told himself that he was well out of it, that his winters had gotten a lot more peaceful when he didn't need to worry about the holidays.
His first sign that this year was going to be different was coming home to find a holly wreath decorated with a bright red ribbon hanging on his front door, but he didn't have much time to wonder at it before he'd opened the door and found the tree sitting in the corner of his living room. Heather was standing on one of his kitchen chairs in front of it, adding more ornaments to branches that already looked overloaded to his eyes. "Oh, hi," she said when she noticed him there. "I hope you don't mind, but since it didn't look like you were doing anything for Christmas I want over to the apartment today and picked up our boxes of decorations."
He knew that she was playing his sympathy for her against him by opening like that, and from the quirk of her lips he suspected that she knew he knew and wasn't even trying to be subtle about it. She never went back to the apartment she'd been living in when he'd found her, even getting her clothes out of her room had been left to Douglas. She went to visit her dad's grave often but she just couldn't face the place where he was murdered again, though she was equally unwilling to let go of the home they'd lived in together so every month a chunk of her inheritance went towards paying the rent on an apartment she hadn't set foot near in ages. If this was important enough to her that she'd go back there, go back there on her own without even him by her side to give her support, than it was too important for him to tell her to box everything back up and take the tree out back to burn. So the only complaint he allowed himself was, "You could have asked first."
"Don't you know it's better to beg forgiveness than ask for permission? Don't worry, I'll deal with all the fallen needles and watering it and everything, you won't need to lift a finger."
He crossed the room to take a better look at the tree. It was a bright and glittering thing, that looked like it was only going to get brighter before she was done judging by the unopened packages of tinsel sitting on the coffee table. "I'm surprised you're a fan of Christmas. I would have guessed that neither you or your dad would have wanted anything to do with a holiday that's all about God."
She pulled a face, and though the expression was humorous he could the quickly hidden flash of pain in her eyes. "Hey, do you see anything religious on this tree?" she asked. He had to admit that he couldn't. There were plenty of snowmen and brightly-colored glass presents, little animals and candy canes, but he couldn't find a single angel or manger or even a Santa Claus. She told him, "I didn't even know that the holiday had anything to do with all that for other people until I was, like, nine. In the Mason family December 25th is just the annual day of many presents, nothing to do with anybody's god. It had to make up for my birthday being the annual presentless day of my dad getting super-depressed and locking himself in his room at night to cry when he thought I was asleep and couldn't hear. Which makes so much more sense now. And speaking of presents, I know you don't have anything planned for next Tuesday so we're heading for the mall then; it's still early enough that it shouldn't be that bad on an off day."
So much for avoiding the stores.
She was probably right about it not being too bad for that time of the year, but compared to what he was used to after so many years of avoiding the holiday crowds as much as humanly possible it was still enough to make the press of people feel almost overwhelming to him. Heather didn't have that problem, she hardly even seemed to see the crowds, her eyes just skimming over the people to find the spaces between them, never really focusing on anyone but Douglas himself whenever she turned back to talk to him. He suspected that if she wanted to she'd be able to move through the horde like it wasn't even there, finding the next spot large enough to slip her body through even as she fitted herself through the first, but she chose to stick by his side instead.
"Consider yourself lucky," she told him, leading him into a bookstore. "Next year you're gonna have to surprise me, but since it's your first time doing this with me I'll help you find things I like."
"I think I could figure out a thing or two on my own," he said, shaking his head at her. "You might think I'm an out-of-touch old man, but what you like isn't that mysterious."
"I don't think you're out-of-touch," she told him, and he could tell just looking at her that she was waiting for him to call her on not saying anything about the 'old' so she could laugh in his face. When he didn't take the bait she seemed disappointed but just went on, "Okay, Mr. Detective. What have you detected that I'd want?"
He stepped in close to her, knowing that he was drawing a few looks for getting so close into the personal space of a young girl for all the world to see but even more aware that they'd be risking a lot more than a few nasty looks if he stayed far enough away for anyone to overhear what he was about to whisper to her. "A concealed carry permit for that gun of yours so I don't need to worry about what might happen if you get pulled over every time I realize you've managed to sneak it out of the house again is the first thing that comes to mind."
She whirled around with a look on her face like she was a little kid who'd just been told the whole world was secretly made out of candy and it was all theirs to eat. "Really? You'll help me get one?"
"Once you're a little older. Right now I'd rather keep working on getting you to realize you don't need it every time you walk out the door before I give you what you need to keep it with you all the time."
"I don't know how you could live through all that with me and say I don't need it all the time, just in case," she told him, practically pouting. "Anyway, as far as the state's concerned I'm twenty-four, and that should be too old for them to care what kind of permits I want."
"I'd know. But maybe next year."
"Okay, okay. I won't keep bugging you about it." She had lead him to the mystery section and picked a book off the shelf. He'd just made out the Mason name on the cover when he realized that maybe this was one he wasn't supposed to be paying attention to; with all the manuscripts tucked safely away in her room, she couldn't be picking one of those books out for herself. "This is the only thing I need to grab here," she said, tucking the book under her arm and turning towards the cash registers, "but if you want to get me anything that'll get my brain moving, I'm going right next door after this to get something for one of my old neighbors so we could meet up right outside when we're done, and I haven't read any books that came out this year so you're safe if you stick with the new releases. Mystery, horror, and humor are good, but if I open up any schmaltzy romance novels on Christmas morning I'm declaring you the worst detective in the history of the world for thinking I'd actually like that."
"With instructions like that it would be hard to get it wrong."
He felt a little foolish tiptoeing up to the attic in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve. The light up there was burnt out so he was lucky that he didn't accidentally kick anything on his way to the corner of the room he wanted; the sound of things banging around over her head would wake her up in a heartbeat.
What he wanted was in the far corner of the room, the boxes covered in years worth of dust. The specific box was easy to pick out of the group, it was the smallest of the lot, separated from the rest so it would be easy to find on the one night they needed. Maybe the stocking inside of it wasn't one that she'd be happy with, there was a big picture of Santa Claus knitted on it front and center which went against her 'no religious things' rule, but she hadn't brought one of her own and it didn't feel right to have the tree and its pile of presents while the mantel was bare.
He hadn't gotten much to put into it. An orange and some nuts at the toe, some candy, warm socks, a journal, two boxes of ammo for her handgun and new batteries for the stungun. The last time he'd done this it was filled with toys, but she was too old for those.
On his way back to his room he stopped at the door to what had once been his study and had now been converted into her bedroom and looked in. She didn't often sleep peacefully, but just this once she looked like her dreams were treating her gently. Hopefully it was a sign of a good day to come.
"You are such a sap," she told him fondly when she saw it the next morning.
"It was just something missing." He sat down on the floor beside the tree, ignoring a twinge in the leg Claudia had broken earlier that year. "Stocking first or presents?"
"I'll take the stocking, you get to work on your presents," she told him as firmly as if it were a matter of law.
She'd gotten him more than he'd expected. Sweaters, movies, a new blender to replace one she'd broken trying to make herself a milkshake awhile back. But he couldn't find a book in the bunch, a mystery whose answer was only revealed once she'd finished opening all of her things and looked up at him.
"Hey, um, there's one more present I need to deliver today. I wouldn't mind you coming with me, if you want to get dressed."
It wasn't a long trip to the cemetery; she'd picked the one closest to Douglas' house as soon as he'd agreed to let her stay there. There was snow on the ground but she ignored it, sitting down in it like it was nothing. To her it probably was; he'd noticed that she loved the cold almost as much as she hated heat. "Merry Christmas, Daddy," she said to the grave, holding up the wrapped gift she held in front of it. "Maybe this isn't the best present since you already know what happens, but I thought maybe you'd like it." She stripped off the paper revealing the book inside, the latest and last Harry Mason mystery novel. "I know you never had a chance to see how it came out."
Douglas rested his hand on her shoulder, and bowed his head to the gravestone. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Mason." It didn't seem right not to do anything.
She stared forward for a minute more, shaking slightly, then propped the book up against the cross and looked back at him. "Don't you have someone you'd want to visit here too?"
With almost anyone else he'd get any with them for thinking they knew what he should be doing that day, but this time he closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "You know? I suppose I do."
Fandom: Silent Hill 3
Characters: Douglas and Heather
Notes: For June fic-a-day
Requested by chiave_trust here (previously filled)
Douglas hadn't done much for Christmas in years, with his wife gone and his son dead there just didn't seem much celebrating. So he switched to cassettes once every station started playing carols twenty-four-seven, avoided every store but the grocers with the worst baking section from the end of November onward, and caught up with every decent-looking movie that had come out during the year that he'd never gotten around to watching when his TV became stuffed with Santa. He told himself that he was well out of it, that his winters had gotten a lot more peaceful when he didn't need to worry about the holidays.
His first sign that this year was going to be different was coming home to find a holly wreath decorated with a bright red ribbon hanging on his front door, but he didn't have much time to wonder at it before he'd opened the door and found the tree sitting in the corner of his living room. Heather was standing on one of his kitchen chairs in front of it, adding more ornaments to branches that already looked overloaded to his eyes. "Oh, hi," she said when she noticed him there. "I hope you don't mind, but since it didn't look like you were doing anything for Christmas I want over to the apartment today and picked up our boxes of decorations."
He knew that she was playing his sympathy for her against him by opening like that, and from the quirk of her lips he suspected that she knew he knew and wasn't even trying to be subtle about it. She never went back to the apartment she'd been living in when he'd found her, even getting her clothes out of her room had been left to Douglas. She went to visit her dad's grave often but she just couldn't face the place where he was murdered again, though she was equally unwilling to let go of the home they'd lived in together so every month a chunk of her inheritance went towards paying the rent on an apartment she hadn't set foot near in ages. If this was important enough to her that she'd go back there, go back there on her own without even him by her side to give her support, than it was too important for him to tell her to box everything back up and take the tree out back to burn. So the only complaint he allowed himself was, "You could have asked first."
"Don't you know it's better to beg forgiveness than ask for permission? Don't worry, I'll deal with all the fallen needles and watering it and everything, you won't need to lift a finger."
He crossed the room to take a better look at the tree. It was a bright and glittering thing, that looked like it was only going to get brighter before she was done judging by the unopened packages of tinsel sitting on the coffee table. "I'm surprised you're a fan of Christmas. I would have guessed that neither you or your dad would have wanted anything to do with a holiday that's all about God."
She pulled a face, and though the expression was humorous he could the quickly hidden flash of pain in her eyes. "Hey, do you see anything religious on this tree?" she asked. He had to admit that he couldn't. There were plenty of snowmen and brightly-colored glass presents, little animals and candy canes, but he couldn't find a single angel or manger or even a Santa Claus. She told him, "I didn't even know that the holiday had anything to do with all that for other people until I was, like, nine. In the Mason family December 25th is just the annual day of many presents, nothing to do with anybody's god. It had to make up for my birthday being the annual presentless day of my dad getting super-depressed and locking himself in his room at night to cry when he thought I was asleep and couldn't hear. Which makes so much more sense now. And speaking of presents, I know you don't have anything planned for next Tuesday so we're heading for the mall then; it's still early enough that it shouldn't be that bad on an off day."
So much for avoiding the stores.
She was probably right about it not being too bad for that time of the year, but compared to what he was used to after so many years of avoiding the holiday crowds as much as humanly possible it was still enough to make the press of people feel almost overwhelming to him. Heather didn't have that problem, she hardly even seemed to see the crowds, her eyes just skimming over the people to find the spaces between them, never really focusing on anyone but Douglas himself whenever she turned back to talk to him. He suspected that if she wanted to she'd be able to move through the horde like it wasn't even there, finding the next spot large enough to slip her body through even as she fitted herself through the first, but she chose to stick by his side instead.
"Consider yourself lucky," she told him, leading him into a bookstore. "Next year you're gonna have to surprise me, but since it's your first time doing this with me I'll help you find things I like."
"I think I could figure out a thing or two on my own," he said, shaking his head at her. "You might think I'm an out-of-touch old man, but what you like isn't that mysterious."
"I don't think you're out-of-touch," she told him, and he could tell just looking at her that she was waiting for him to call her on not saying anything about the 'old' so she could laugh in his face. When he didn't take the bait she seemed disappointed but just went on, "Okay, Mr. Detective. What have you detected that I'd want?"
He stepped in close to her, knowing that he was drawing a few looks for getting so close into the personal space of a young girl for all the world to see but even more aware that they'd be risking a lot more than a few nasty looks if he stayed far enough away for anyone to overhear what he was about to whisper to her. "A concealed carry permit for that gun of yours so I don't need to worry about what might happen if you get pulled over every time I realize you've managed to sneak it out of the house again is the first thing that comes to mind."
She whirled around with a look on her face like she was a little kid who'd just been told the whole world was secretly made out of candy and it was all theirs to eat. "Really? You'll help me get one?"
"Once you're a little older. Right now I'd rather keep working on getting you to realize you don't need it every time you walk out the door before I give you what you need to keep it with you all the time."
"I don't know how you could live through all that with me and say I don't need it all the time, just in case," she told him, practically pouting. "Anyway, as far as the state's concerned I'm twenty-four, and that should be too old for them to care what kind of permits I want."
"I'd know. But maybe next year."
"Okay, okay. I won't keep bugging you about it." She had lead him to the mystery section and picked a book off the shelf. He'd just made out the Mason name on the cover when he realized that maybe this was one he wasn't supposed to be paying attention to; with all the manuscripts tucked safely away in her room, she couldn't be picking one of those books out for herself. "This is the only thing I need to grab here," she said, tucking the book under her arm and turning towards the cash registers, "but if you want to get me anything that'll get my brain moving, I'm going right next door after this to get something for one of my old neighbors so we could meet up right outside when we're done, and I haven't read any books that came out this year so you're safe if you stick with the new releases. Mystery, horror, and humor are good, but if I open up any schmaltzy romance novels on Christmas morning I'm declaring you the worst detective in the history of the world for thinking I'd actually like that."
"With instructions like that it would be hard to get it wrong."
He felt a little foolish tiptoeing up to the attic in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve. The light up there was burnt out so he was lucky that he didn't accidentally kick anything on his way to the corner of the room he wanted; the sound of things banging around over her head would wake her up in a heartbeat.
What he wanted was in the far corner of the room, the boxes covered in years worth of dust. The specific box was easy to pick out of the group, it was the smallest of the lot, separated from the rest so it would be easy to find on the one night they needed. Maybe the stocking inside of it wasn't one that she'd be happy with, there was a big picture of Santa Claus knitted on it front and center which went against her 'no religious things' rule, but she hadn't brought one of her own and it didn't feel right to have the tree and its pile of presents while the mantel was bare.
He hadn't gotten much to put into it. An orange and some nuts at the toe, some candy, warm socks, a journal, two boxes of ammo for her handgun and new batteries for the stungun. The last time he'd done this it was filled with toys, but she was too old for those.
On his way back to his room he stopped at the door to what had once been his study and had now been converted into her bedroom and looked in. She didn't often sleep peacefully, but just this once she looked like her dreams were treating her gently. Hopefully it was a sign of a good day to come.
"You are such a sap," she told him fondly when she saw it the next morning.
"It was just something missing." He sat down on the floor beside the tree, ignoring a twinge in the leg Claudia had broken earlier that year. "Stocking first or presents?"
"I'll take the stocking, you get to work on your presents," she told him as firmly as if it were a matter of law.
She'd gotten him more than he'd expected. Sweaters, movies, a new blender to replace one she'd broken trying to make herself a milkshake awhile back. But he couldn't find a book in the bunch, a mystery whose answer was only revealed once she'd finished opening all of her things and looked up at him.
"Hey, um, there's one more present I need to deliver today. I wouldn't mind you coming with me, if you want to get dressed."
It wasn't a long trip to the cemetery; she'd picked the one closest to Douglas' house as soon as he'd agreed to let her stay there. There was snow on the ground but she ignored it, sitting down in it like it was nothing. To her it probably was; he'd noticed that she loved the cold almost as much as she hated heat. "Merry Christmas, Daddy," she said to the grave, holding up the wrapped gift she held in front of it. "Maybe this isn't the best present since you already know what happens, but I thought maybe you'd like it." She stripped off the paper revealing the book inside, the latest and last Harry Mason mystery novel. "I know you never had a chance to see how it came out."
Douglas rested his hand on her shoulder, and bowed his head to the gravestone. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Mason." It didn't seem right not to do anything.
She stared forward for a minute more, shaking slightly, then propped the book up against the cross and looked back at him. "Don't you have someone you'd want to visit here too?"
With almost anyone else he'd get any with them for thinking they knew what he should be doing that day, but this time he closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "You know? I suppose I do."