missingthekeep | [for Meredith]

Entry tags:

[for Meredith]

Let it not be said that Sean has no Christmas spirit. Granted, the only reason he's up on the roof in the first place, stringing lights stolen from some nearby trees along the edges of his bloody cabin, is because he needs the distraction, but the point here is that he's doing it at all. The fact that he's heading towards another major holiday without Maeve, one of many, many more to come, the memory of how hard last year had been, running into Moira and everything that entailed, Sean isn't so oblivious as to not realize this is really just about finding something to keep his thoughts from heading to any of the old dark places and he hasn't suddenly turned over some festive new leaf. Really, it's almost the opposite, like he's cheapening genuine appreciation for the season by faking it for all the wrong reasons, but he doesn't care. He's up there, he's got his lights, he's got his Christmas spirit, and he's distracted enough by the simple act of not falling off for all the confusing thoughts and worries that having a girlfriend from the future show up apparently bring to be miles away. It'd be nice if he didn't have to look so damned ridiculous while he's at it, but it's a small enough price to pay for peace of mind, however brief.

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Meredith ducks her head, strangely self-conscious. "Then you really should come decorate," she says lightly, then leans in to kiss him once more. It's a sentiment she can understand, though; there's a certain pleasure in getting him to laugh, even if it's not quite as rare as it used to be. Reaching behind her for one of his hands, she bites back a grin. "I'm sure that'd give me all kinds of reasons to laugh. I can't believe it's almost Christmas already. Again."

"Again," Sean echoes, still smiling, but sounding suitably shellshocked by that as he threads his fingers through hers despite the slightly awkward angle. "Guess it's jus' one o' those things that sneaks up on ye." It's all the more stunning when he considers that last Christmas was pretty much his lowest point here, that it's all been on something of a steady uptick since then, so long ago. "Ne'er dreamed I'd still be here, let alone be here with ye."

It's been twenty-three months now, give or take a few days, and the thought that she never dreamed she'd want to be here now makes Meredith want to turn and walk again. She stays where she is, though, shaking her head with a dazed little smile. "I know," she says, "me neither. I used to think I'd be long gone by now. I guess that was pretty silly to think. But it's worked out for me." She has to believe that -- that even if she doesn't see a third Christmas here, even if he vanished tonight, it would be worth it. It's better to love, better to be loved, or she's got no reason to be here at all.

"Worked out f'r me, too, f'r that matter," Sean says, quiet and fond. He's never stopped counting the months himself, but somewhere along the line, around the same time they started flying by a whole lot faster, the tone it took on became one of thanks instead of hopelessness. "S' long as things hold out, this is pretty much guaranteed ta be the best Christmas I've spent in... a very long time, anyhow." Which would normally be a pretty good sign that things aren't going to hold out, but he's not thinking about that right now. He's distracted, after all.

"Unless everyone switches bodies or there's a blizzard," Meredith deadpans. The one she's really afraid of, she can't even mention. It's too close to home to joke about, the idea of one of them disappearing, and she's lived it before and she can't think about it right now. Maybe she believes all this is worth it, but she knows, too, that's easy to think when he's still standing right here. Smiling, she pulls her hand from his to rest on his shoulder. "Otherwise, yeah, I think it's gonna be a good one. Better than last year."

"Honestly? E'en then," Sean chuckles, reaching a hand up to absently play with her hair. So long as he's got Meredith, Terry, this brilliant and undeserved life he's managed to carve out for himself, a little island trickery isn't going to be enough to ruin things for him. Not that this place isn't capable of a lot more than that, but that isn't the point. "It'd take a whole hell of a lot f'r last year ta beat this one."

"Okay," Meredith says, grinning, "but I'd really prefer it if you spent it as yourself. And with me. I don't really know how to celebrate here, though. No tree, no presents, no obnoxious family party you don't want to attend." She suspects Ellie might put something together, being as she's Ellie, but that doesn't fall under 'obnoxious,' at least. All she really asks from this year is that he's not gone when the next one starts anyway.

"Meredith, I havenae had any o' those things in a long enae time, I'm nae one ta be picky," Sean supplies, unhelpful but entirely earnest. "I'd imagine there'll be a decent dinner somewhere wi' the people that matter, an' we c'n wing it from there. 'M nae gonna be askin' f'r all that much."

"Good, because that's all you're getting," Meredith says with a quick laugh. "The last time I had a real Christmas, it was only because Izzie made us. She covered my house in -- in glitter and reindeer. It was a little worrying. I'm good with winging it." All she really needs is her friends there anyway, or at least as many of them as she can get.

"Dear God," Sean says, making a face and laughing incredulously. Frankly, it sounds like Izzie would have been right at home with the island looking the way it does, so it's almost a shame in a way. Still worrying, though. "Well, 'm sure ye an' I'll do a foine job o' makin' Christmas real enae wi'out all o' that, it's about the spirit o' things, nae the trappings." He pauses, raising an eyebrow as a smirk continues to tug at his lips. "Least if mem'ry serves."

"That's what I've heard," Meredith agrees. "Even from Izzie." Maybe it's for the best Izzie's not here after all; it saves her from coming home to drown in tinsel. "I'm a little lacking in spirit, but we'll manage somehow." That she kisses him then isn't so much an indication of intent as to how they'll manage, though, as it is that he's there and smirking like that and she can. It's not a novelty anymore, but there's still a certain appeal.

"Mmm," Sean hums contentedly, letting the kiss linger briefly before he pulls back just a touch, still smiling. "Somehow. Seems like ye've got plenty o' spirit, lass, least from where I'm standin'." And then it hits him like a ton of bricks, something in the way she leaves him wanting for absolutely nothing, at least in this, reminding him of everything he hasn't let himself want out of this place ever since coming here. Simple as that, it finally makes sense and Sean understands just what part of this whole business with Moira had him in such a tizzy earlier.

If some future love of his can show up here, who's to say a past one won't? If a man loses the love of his life, the idea of her miraculously coming back to him shouldn't suddenly be one to dread. Christmas or not. The thought terrifies him more than he can let on, and as he feels his expression begin to falter, he kisses her, deeper this time.

If something changes or his expression shifts, Meredith misses it entirely, wrapping her arms more tightly around him. She's never considered herself the kind of girl to flaunt her relationships, but then, she's always been short on relationships and she never can bring herself to care how public a place might be anymore. Not, of course, unless Theresa's around, but that's a completely different matter, one far from her mind now. "It's not very holiday-oriented," she murmurs, slipping her gloves off to hold in one hand. Eyes still closed, she doesn't break the kiss for long. She's got more reasons to be happy this Christmas than she could have possibly expected, but right now, he's top of the list.

It's exactly what he needs, because the longer these thoughts linger on his mind while she's around, the worse they're going to be. Best to tamp down on it now, while the pain's still fresh, and pay the price later. "Yeah, well, neither 'm I," Sean mumbles against her lips, his chest twisting for reasons that he's fine with attributing entirely to her right now. The warmth of her compared to the nip in the air around them, the feel of his tongue sliding against hers, it's all just too good, too perfect for him to consider the alternative. He'll never understand how the hell he got through miserable revelations like this before she came along, but he's not in any rush to go back to that, one arm tightening around her waist as he cradles her face with his hand. He'll get through this. He always does.

The cold of his hand on her skin is almost startling, but that only makes it better, the heat of him more desirable still when even her hair feels frozen. The contrast is a pleasant one and, tangling a hand in his clothes, Meredith presses against him, grateful for the arm circling her, keeping her from just stumbling along backwards. As it is, she likes him the better for not being holiday-oriented; no holiday's as good as this. "Keep that up," she says breathlessly, "and we'll just have to turn around and go home." That doesn't stop her from going right back to kissing him, fast enough that she doesn't have to think about calling his place home either.

Sean doesn't catch that particular bit of phrasing, if only because it just sounds too right, too natural, to bother taking any special notice of. That, and he clearly has other pressing concerns to be aware of. "Was that s'posed ta get me ta back off?" he asks, and even if he's not quite smiling anymore, that teasing lilt to his voice is back. Even when dealing with problems that no man ever should (or has, for all he knows), even Sean can only be so serious while making out in the snow like some stupid, lovesick teenager. "'Cause if so, ye might'n want t' try a different tack."

If they can't make it a mile down the road without hormones turning them back, Meredith can think of worse flaws to have. "I don't think I said that," she replies, chin tilting up as she smiles. "I was just making an observation. It's too cold to stop." That's hardly the best or only reason, but regardless of cause, she's pressed closed, hand finding the back of his neck. Whatever else she's forgotten, willfully or otherwise, fine though he seems, if there's one thing she's good at here, it's being a distraction.

"I'm nae so sure, 'm startin' ta feel pretty warm here, meself," Sean says, the barest hint of a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth as he trails his knuckles gently down her cheek. It's not much, but it's a good start. Well, restart. "Still, I'd nae say no ta gettin' a head start on all our Christmas merrymakin'. Seein' as we're both so unholiday-oriented an' all."

"I don't know, if that's how you celebrate Christmas, I might learn to like it," Meredith counters, leaning into the touch. She's got two of her best friends and him; for once, things are looking bright. This here is just a bonus. Granted, he's right about one thing -- she's feeling pretty warm now -- but that might just be more reason to get inside and out of her coat.

"Well, maybe it's nae somethin' I've seen implemented all that much," Sean considers with a smirk, looking about as thoughtful as he can without it being legitimate. Actually thinking is a bad thing right now. A bad, dangerous thing. "But I'd nae be averse ta startin' some traditions o' our own; how 'bout ye? Lord knows it's nae as if we've done much o' anythin' by the book here." Which probably has a lot to do with why they've lasted as long as they have, come to think of it. Never mind that calling something a tradition in the making, even something as obvious as a little holiday nookie, implies that they'll get a chance to do it again, which, even with as far as they've come already, seems even more outside the realm of possibility than ever before. Again, this is why thinking isn't something that's going to end well for him here.

Meredith arches an eyebrow, equally as adverse to thinking about that. It's hard to avoid it, though, to do anything but consider the implications and how absolutely impossible it seems that they'll both be here this time next year. And then there's the idea of committing to another year with him -- that she could love him that much, that that could be enough, when she doesn't know how to make that long even back where, if people vanish, it's of their own choosing. Though her smile doesn't fade, it shifts, a touch more strained as she shrugs. "I'm not really big on traditions," she says, and that serves her better here even than it did at home. It's safer not to make plans, safer not to expect anything, she's known that for a long time. "But I think I could make an exception."

"'M nae so good at 'em meself, ta be honest," Sean admits with a hint of a shrug, mostly just glad he hasn't completely spooked her like he sort of has himself. Making plans is all well and good, it's the sticking to them that Sean's always had trouble with. The traditions that he winds up actually hewing to in the end always seem to be the ones that he'd really rather not. "But 'm a big fan o' exceptions. 'Specially where ye're concerned, darlin'."

It's difficult, reconciling the part of herself that likes hearing these things with everything else, with the part of her that knows nothing lasts, least of all something so good. That he's as bad at all this as she is can be comforting, admittedly, up until Meredith starts to think how they're making plans anyway. Right now, it feels like just a little too much, even if she couldn't explain what or why, and saying so isn't an option, not to her.

"I know," she teases instead, just a touch too bright because she does know. It's as terrifying as it is pleasing. She kisses him, light and quick, and pulls away, grinning, drawing her gloves back on as she kneels down to pack a snowball. "I get away with a lot. Like this, I'm hoping." And she throws the snowball squarely at him, continuing to back up as she does so.

Sean steps back when he sees what she's doing, but turns away just a fraction of a second too late when she actually throws the damn thing, letting out a shout that gives way to a laugh as snow scatters across his shoulder and into his face. "Depends on what ye mean by gettin' away wi' it," he says, not bothering to brush himself off before bending over to scoop up a handful of hastily-packed snow to toss right back at her. It's such a silly little thing, getting to goof off like this, immediately calling to mind winters back in County Mayo with Maeve and Tom years ago, but for once, the remembrance isn't an unpleasant one. It's a good memory.

"'Cause ye're nae gettin' off easy, that's fer damn sure."

That's better, even as the snow explodes off her arm and she gives a shriek of laughter that, to her own ears, sounds foreign, childish. This is simple and that's all Meredith wants right now, the sudden panic of a moment ago lifting away as fast as it came over her. She doesn't have to think about it, she doesn't have to think, so it's okay. She scrambles backwards, trying to put space between them and retaliate all at once. "We'll see about that," she says, leaning down to pack another snowball quickly, throwing it barely formed. "I don't go down without a fight."

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