Christmas Eve...
Dec. 25th, 2008 12:11 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
lanfykins.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
zg_shadows"Miss Mackenzie?"
"Err, yes?" Rae blinked in the sudden light, turning away from the faintly glowing screen with a guilty expression.
"Aren't you going home?"
"I always work late."
"On Christmas Eve?" The security guard took a step into the room, which was more than enough to catch sight of the borrowed phone. "Isn't that one of the emergency lines?"
Rae shrugged awkwardly. "Shit doesn't stop just because it's Christmas. I figure someone ought to be here to take the calls."
"All night?"
"Yeah?" There was a slightly hunted expression on the Director of Outreach's face. The security guard came all the way in and sat down on the other side of the desk.
"You got no family waiting for you?"
Rae looked down at the mousepad. Family. That was one of the trickier ones. Her mother had done her best, but she'd had all the life stamped out of her before Rae was born, and they'd stopped having anything to say to each other long before she'd left home. The Firebreaks had been her family for years, escaping to one another with stolen cake and wine on Christmas afternoon as soon as they could; but the Firebreaks had been massacred, years ago.
She still missed Kieran, though she tried not to let it show.
The four last Christmases she'd spent with Seraph and Susanne, sharing their joy, helping them make their own Christmas traditions. But Seraph was dead and Susanne drifted around their huge house like a ghost, and only occasionally could Rae find glimpses of the girl she'd thought of half as a sister.
"Shit, I'm sorry," the guard said, reading her expression.
"No. It's OK. You weren't to know." Rae looked up from the desk and gave him a gentle half-smile. Spot, woken by their conversation, sat up from his mat and butted her hand with his head, and she automatically fondled his ears.
It wasn't, after all, as if she were alone. She had Spot, she had Daniel, she had Kansas, she had more than she had ever dreamed of when she was an anonymous alcoholic, one of thousands spending Christmas night sleeping rough wherever they could find.
She looked at the golden-coated dog, wagging a hopeful tail, that her boyfriend had given her when she'd expected to be dumped. She looked at the phone, and thought of the people who would call her tonight; lonely people, desperate people, people like she had once been, who needed help as she once had. And then she smiled at the guard, a brilliant, unexpectedly happy smile.
"Don't worry about me. I've got all the family I need, right here."
"Err, yes?" Rae blinked in the sudden light, turning away from the faintly glowing screen with a guilty expression.
"Aren't you going home?"
"I always work late."
"On Christmas Eve?" The security guard took a step into the room, which was more than enough to catch sight of the borrowed phone. "Isn't that one of the emergency lines?"
Rae shrugged awkwardly. "Shit doesn't stop just because it's Christmas. I figure someone ought to be here to take the calls."
"All night?"
"Yeah?" There was a slightly hunted expression on the Director of Outreach's face. The security guard came all the way in and sat down on the other side of the desk.
"You got no family waiting for you?"
Rae looked down at the mousepad. Family. That was one of the trickier ones. Her mother had done her best, but she'd had all the life stamped out of her before Rae was born, and they'd stopped having anything to say to each other long before she'd left home. The Firebreaks had been her family for years, escaping to one another with stolen cake and wine on Christmas afternoon as soon as they could; but the Firebreaks had been massacred, years ago.
She still missed Kieran, though she tried not to let it show.
The four last Christmases she'd spent with Seraph and Susanne, sharing their joy, helping them make their own Christmas traditions. But Seraph was dead and Susanne drifted around their huge house like a ghost, and only occasionally could Rae find glimpses of the girl she'd thought of half as a sister.
"Shit, I'm sorry," the guard said, reading her expression.
"No. It's OK. You weren't to know." Rae looked up from the desk and gave him a gentle half-smile. Spot, woken by their conversation, sat up from his mat and butted her hand with his head, and she automatically fondled his ears.
It wasn't, after all, as if she were alone. She had Spot, she had Daniel, she had Kansas, she had more than she had ever dreamed of when she was an anonymous alcoholic, one of thousands spending Christmas night sleeping rough wherever they could find.
She looked at the golden-coated dog, wagging a hopeful tail, that her boyfriend had given her when she'd expected to be dumped. She looked at the phone, and thought of the people who would call her tonight; lonely people, desperate people, people like she had once been, who needed help as she once had. And then she smiled at the guard, a brilliant, unexpectedly happy smile.
"Don't worry about me. I've got all the family I need, right here."
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