missingthekeep | [for Meredith]

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[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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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."

Sean had been planning on closing the gap between them before she could widen it any further, but instinct spurs him to turn and seek cover behind a tree just off the path when she nicks him again. "Ye know that I'd nae have it any other way, luv," he calls back at her, unable (or maybe just unwilling) to suppress his laughter as he crouches down to take his time making himself a couple snowballs. Any new worries he's got hovering about him, about Maeve or Moira or whatever, they're all still there, but giving in to them is an exhausting business, and he's got to keep his energy up right now. It's only logical.

"'Specially since ye went an' started it," he adds, peeking out from behind the tree to see where she's gotten herself to before he goes after her.

Meredith's got no sense of strategy. She's competitive, it's true, in play as much as in her erstwhile career, but planning ahead isn't a strength, so while he's making more, she's ducking behind a tree with a snowball cupped in her hands. She bites her lip to keep from laughing and it's a relief even when it bubbles over anyway. Just for a little while, she needs to be anything but serious or worried or thinking of the future when it feels like she's coming up on the finish line, the disappearing act at the beginning of this year hanging over the one about to start. Her luck's just never been good enough to believe in.

For instance, now she looks back over her shoulder and around the trunk to find him closing in on her. Immediately, instinctively, she throws all she's got, brows flying up as she laughs. "I guess I did," she allows, scrambling forward again.

Sean gives a shout when she catches him, but he's ready for her this time and doesn't stop to pelt her with his cache, one right after the other, until he's practically on top of her.

"Think ye'll be the one t'end it as well?" he asks breathlessly, cocky as hell and feeling downright mischievous. It's got to be an odd look on him.

"Yes," she shoots back, playfully defiant, though she's got nothing left to throw and all she's done is put up her hands to fend off his attack. Half bent already, she leans down to scoop up a handful, standing up straight again to press it flat against his forehead. "I always win." That's a blatant lie but she doesn't care, voice half gone with rising laughter.

He scrunches his face up into a frown, but otherwise doesn't flinch when he gets a face full of the white stuff. Instead, Sean just takes a moment to brush snow out of his hair and his eyes, letting her bask adorably in the success of her little stunt for a few seconds before he lunges at Meredith. "That's it," he growls, throwing his arms around her waist to drag her inelegantly down to the ground, "no more playin' nice."

Meredith yelps, hands thumping uselessly against his chest. Laughing, breathless and startled, she struggles without actually putting much effort into trying to get free. "Is that all you've got?" she asks, though it might be undermined by the sudden shiver caused by snow slipping past her collar, cold on her neck, when she eases up a little. "Seems pretty nice to me."

It's difficult to argue with that, especially with the way she settles beneath him in spite of the cold that's no doubt creeping in on them both. "Mmm," Sean murmurs, at once contended and a little smug, voice lowering as he ducks his head and leans in closer, keeping her pinned. "S'pose it does, at that." As he moves, though, he slowly, casually reaches one hand out to the side and brings it back in, dragging with him a tidy little pile of snow until he can push it against her neck, right down the top of her jacket.

The cold hits like a shockwave, sudden and biting, and even though Meredith would have to admit she's brought it entirely on herself, she lets out another yelp. Flinching away, she pushes herself back from him so she can sit. "Hey," she protests, though she doesn't entirely mean it, "not okay." She'd mean it even less if sitting up didn't send the snow sliding downward. Reaching beside her, she scoops up a handful of snow to fling at him, petulant.

He makes only a half-hearted attempt to get out of the way of the assault, and while Sean's not one to grow less stubborn on a matter, even in hindsight, he at least has it in him to look fairly sheepish as he turns back to her, sitting up on his knees and shaking snow off of himself. That doesn't mean he's about to back down.

"That mean I win?"

"No," Meredith says at once. Her insistence doesn't keep her from smiling at his question, though, as she inches closer, shaking her head. That combination of apology and triumph in his expression is absurdly appealing, but she doesn't back down, even in a corner with nowhere to go, knowing absolutely that she has no claim to victory. Anyway, she doesn't when it comes to fighting in the snow. "Never." Moving in closer, hands slipping to his shoulders, she pushes him sideways to try and pin him down in turn, grinning though she knows she won't pull it off unless he lets her, really. "I started it, I finish it."

Sean gives it a couple seconds of gritting his teeth and making a show of pushing right back before he lets her tip him over, slipping his arms back around her waist as he goes down hard.

"So ye keep sayin'," he laughs, as cocky as a person can be from the vantage point of the ground.

"Except I really don't know how to fight all that dirty in the snow," Meredith admits, laughing as she falls forward onto him as he goes, "because when it snowed at home or at school or wherever, I was usually inside with my books or my surgeries or people who were young enough to think they were too cool for that. Or boys. So I am at a distinct disadvantage here." Leaning her weight on him, she reaches up to shovel snow down towards his head as she speaks.

"Ach, ye poor thing," Sean deadpans, flashing her a teasing little pout before he glances upward and sees what she's doing. She's a quick learner, he'll give her that. "Jus' where are ye good at playin' dirty, then?" he asks with a chuckle, making a pointless effort to inch himself down out of the way of her hands, since the only real alternative is throwing her off of him and there's just no fun in that.

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