#claracivry

I sucked in a deep, calming breath and held it. I could do this — I laid a successful three-day siege on a neighbouring army with half the number of soldiers. I could buy a simple pine tree.

Maybe I looked strange, marching across the street the way I did. But I knew that would be one of my only tells. After all, my darling had suited me up nice, appropriate for a human given the weather. A pair of trousers, a greatcoat, even a scarf.

But when a beaming woman stepped deliberately into my path, I was genuinely startled and glared at her as I broke my stride to avoid running her over. Already, a hitch in my plans.

There was a quick pulse of panic when she met my yellow eyes, but the veneer of ‘professionalism’ fell over her in the next moment. That almost-emotion stemming from the surety of routine and the dull duty of a job to fulfill, no matter how unsavoury. It was something I encountered often — the unflappability of many waitresses that have crossed my path. Maybe I did frighten them, but so had many patrons before, and it wouldn’t shake them.

“I’m guessing you’re looking for a good pine?” the woman asked, pasting on a big smile that I didn’t need to check was fake — didn’t need vampiric vision to see it didn’t reach her eyes.

But it didn’t need to, I just needed her to leave me alone. “Yes,” I grunted, letting out precious air from my lungs. But she’s undeterred, unfortunately stead-fast in her job.

“Well we have a great selection here!” the woman chirps, “There’s even still a few Douglas Firs left, what kind of pocket change are we working with?”

I shook my head, taking a step to the side of her, “Not looking for any help,” I mumbled, but the woman continued to beam and stepped with me.

“Come on now! Tis not the season to be sour!’ the woman gave me a wink, and to my growing discomfort, I felt the faint brush of desire from her. 

Nuts — some women really looked for trouble. “Look, I’ll even give it to you straight, I’ll find the trunk with the shortest needles,” she added in a purr.

I felt a flicker of irritation within me, as I knew I’d need something more to shake her off. “My baby wants a short tree,” I managed, glaring openly at the silly thing, “she’s little but she’ll want to put the star on top herself.”

The smile on her face became brittle but it didn’t shatter — surprising fortitude. “Well — a baby, how sweet,” she walked to a scraggly, thin hunk of kindling. “Here’s one of our best, white pine,” she said as she watched me shuffle over to the overgrown splinter as I eyed it dubiously.

“Too thin,” I said with the last bit of my air. I pursed my lips — knowing I didn’t have the stamina to breathe again in such close quarters with a human. I’d only been at this practise for a short eight months. Had to drain two stray dogs — and a horse that was certainly no stray — just to drive to the tree lot.

But this woman had no clue of all the trouble I’d been to, she just smiled widely. “Well, babies don’t know no different! Just switch her rattle for a jolly old bulb!” she said gayly and I let the opportunity she neatly presented me with slip away.

I took a couple steps to a much lusher tree, and leaned into it. I pressed my face, and most importantly my nose, past the needles, until I ran the risk of scratching my nose on the trunk. In the most safety I could manage, I risked quickly sucking in another deep breath. My gambit paid off — I inhaled nothing but the smell of fresh pine.

Pulling away satisfied, I glanced at the sales woman, who stared at me in open confusion. Her eyes flicker downward, and I glance down at myself and see what had caught her attention. In my haste to embrace the tree, I’d caught the flap of my jacket against a branch, rendering me slightly askew. At least enough for the woman to see the swell of my breast underneath the boxy suit and below the ample shoulder padding. She glances into my face again, a mixture of fear and disgust welling up inside of her, throbbing out and brushing against me.

I managed a grimace in her direction as I made my way further into the trees and away from her. As I passed by one of the lights on the lot, there must have been something either in my expression or deep in her gut that sent that spike of real fear through her. It made her cringe back from me, finally.

I turned to throw a, “I’ll choose my own tree, girlfriend,” over my shoulder as I went.

It was a genuine relief that she didn’t try to follow after me. I knew I’d rather eat her, and my darling had advised me that the best way to approach abstinence would be to ignore temptation entirely.

That woman had been much too much temptation indeed — and not in the way she clearly wanted to be. At least until she realised she was talking to one of her own sex, if not her own species.

But alone it was easy to pick a squat tree with a conical shape and green needles. With an upturn of my chin, I caught the eye of a rougher-looking man. He seemed to have something of a perfunctory manner, and I needed to get this done quickly. He stuck his thumbs in his pockets as he sidled over to me.

I nodded to the tree.

“Your dime might be a bit too thin for that one, son,” he grunted. I could have laughed at the overt suspicion, if I could have afforded to. Older than this man by at least two generations, and certainly no-one’s son, yet he was none the wiser.

But as it were, I had to get this over quickly. My long years had honed me enough that forgoing breathing bothered me less than a vampire used to a peaceful existence. It was an old trick to keep from letting hunger distract you in a battle. But that didn’t mean I liked it.

I simply withdrew a few notes from my pocket and handed them on to him, thankful for the gloves he wore, as I hadn’t bothered with any.

He seemed happy to accept the cash, and offered to help me ‘pin my prize’ to my car. But I waved him off, saying nothing as I gripped the trunk at the base, flipped the tree gently to its side, and started dragging.

“You’d give the strongman shows a run for their money!” he called out after me, but I really couldn’t spare a comment.

It was agony, the burn of thirst clashed against my full belly. My physical fullness wasn’t fooling my mind. Like filling up an empty stomach on a gallon or two of water instead of a meal — the rest of me still knew exactly what I needed. I felt sick with the want — no, the need.

But I managed it. I was quick with lashing the tree to the car and I let myself sigh once as I drove away.

The hotel had a valet that knew better than to try and speak to me, usually. But today, the skittish little man balked at the tree I was hauling.

“Sir — ma’am!” he yelped, “You can’t bring it inside!”

I growled in frustration. This was not part of the plan, and not something I really anticipated. I slowly climbed out of the car, and sent a small ripple of fear through the man, amplifying what he was already feeling speaking to me.

After all, an undead bulldagger probably wasn’t the most respectable guest for such an upscale type of place. I was mostly dressed as a respectable man, except for the slightly womanly hat. My darling picked it out for me as especially flattering. She vaguely assured me that she was sure the strangeness of the get up would hide the inhumanity of the woman wearing it.

I thought about what my darling would do, and how she’d manage this tricky type of human interaction.

I grinned to myself as I reached into my pocket and flicked out a few notes. The valet grabs at them as they flutter across his chest. “W-we could get you a much nicer tree!” he declares eagerly as he gazes at the messy fistful of bills.

But I shake my head. “I’ll handle this,” I tell him curtly, wishing I’d taken a larger breath in the car.

“Ma’am!” he hisses quickly as I reach up to untie the ropes, “you’ll have to drive it down to the back door!”

It was another trial.

But I did as he instructed, driving down to something like a loading dock around back. It was slightly easier with his specific plan — slip some money to the head garcon, be led behind the kitchens to the larger service elevator to my floor. After having me wrap the tree in a large tablecloth for the needles.

Darling had to choose the penthouse.

Luckily, the garcon didn’t offer to help haul the tree more than once, obviously not willing to be any closer to me than I was to him, and was blissfully silent in the elevator. Though being in an enclosed space with me and my quickly-blackening eyes was obviously affecting him, not to mention how much it was affecting me. I could see a bead of sweat make its way down his cheek and was glad that I could hold my breath, no matter how uncomfortable. Even in his current state I knew I would find him a tasty meal.

He murmurs a ‘sir’ as I step out of the elevator, dragging the wrapped tree to the second front door.

When I finally made it inside, I huffed out a short sigh of relief. Inside, it smelt very vaguely of some maid, but more overwhelmingly, of my sweet mate. She made a good effort to cover most of the penthouse to ensure the smell of a human wouldn’t tempt me, with the double benefit of her scent calming me down.

I dragged the tree further inside, and to the bucket I’d prepared myself, packed with earth to stand it in. I realised I wasn’t alone when I heard the faint little giggle, and ignored it as I realised the squat little tree would look incredibly ridiculous in our huge apartment.

She sprinted from the bedroom, leapt off the couch, and I turned and caught her in my arms like my little bride as she grins at me. “You did it!” Alice declared, taking my face in both her hands and pressing our foreheads together, “I’m so proud,” she coos, kissing my nose.

I let the pride swelling in her chest swell in mine, and jerked my head up quickly to nip at her chin. “I thought you’d be later,” I was a little put-out that she'd been waiting, as it made me feel a little baby-sat, “I wanted to surprise you.”

She laughs lightly, smacking my shoulder as she clambers out of my arms and whips my coat and my suit jacket off my shoulders. She herself still wore her fur-trimmed red coat, that she had instructed me was definitely outside wear for humans — but I was far from qualified to comment. Alice had to show me everything about fashion, to her intense delight.

“Oh, you know I can’t be surprised!” she reminds me, skipping over to hang my clothes up, and again I felt that little bubble of feeling in her, warm and tender.

It had taken me awhile to understand it, and even longer for me to explain to her exactly what emotion I’d been trying to pin-point. It was something paired with the pure love that she radiated towards me. It was affection, something inside of love that became apparent to me later. It had taken me a while to become accustomed to it — now it enfolded me as sure as the sunset swallowed and enveloped by the night. Instead of bowling me over entirely.

But that little bubble was the sweet satisfaction of a smaller, nicer vision of hers coming true. It was nearly always minor, domestic. The first time I took her hand, held open a door for her, tried to hold an umbrella over her without crushing the handle (that had been a soggy failure). I wondered how often Alice had seen herself hanging my coat tonight, and for a moment, I ached for the long decades she’d anticipated it. But I knew she couldn’t be lonely now that I was with her and in the next instant I scooped her into my arms again and kissed her forehead.

“You spoke to the woman at the tree lot,” she says and kisses me squarely on the mouth, “the man at the tree lot,” she darts another sweet kiss to my waiting lips, “the valet,” another, “and the waiter!” she presses up close to me, opening her mouth against mine and her fingers slide through my hair, as the kiss lasts a long, slow moment.

When we pull apart, she snuggles closer into my neck and points over to a few boxes that smelt slightly damp from the snow. “You also forgot decorations in your careful little plan,” she whispers in my ear, and I feel slightly better about the oversight when she seals it with one last kiss.

I walk us over to the boxes and sit her on top of one, before staring at the tree. This was the real test, as I unwrap the cloth and reveal that I’d gripped a few of the branches too hard, leaving it pockmarked. I frown lightly to myself, and Alice does too.

“It’s a little puny,” she says with a wide shrug, but I only wrinkle my nose at her slightly.

“I wanted you to be able to reach the top with no trouble,” I explain, gratified by her genuine delight, the way her face lights up. She mustn’t have been watching me that closely.

She props her chin in my hand and watches as I pull the cloth away from the tree entirely. “Want to help me make sure I don’t make wood pulp?” I ask her, but she only shakes her head.

“I’m sure you can do it!” she chirps and her faith in me is not necessarily reassuring.

“Have you actually Seen me do it?” I press her, and she waves a hand to the tree.

“Not yet,” she says meaningfully and it forces a small chuckle out of me.

Carefully, I hoist the tree in my hands, line the stump with the bucket, and push it upright, hoping the tree would sink into the dirt with its own weight.

No such luck entirely and I frown as I’m forced to lightly as possible twist the trunk further in. I let out a short curse as the trunk begins to splinter in my hands, and then Alice steps in.

“That was very good!” she assures me as she presses the trunk straight into the earth and begins to pack the dirt tightly. She’s much better able to judge the amount of force needed to set the tree straight, and it’s a relief when we both draw back.

She nods once with satisfaction, and claps the dirt from her own hands.

It looks a little like a child’s toy, against the long windows behind it, but Alice is perfectly pleased, so I must be too.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” she tells me, wrapping her arms around my waist and putting her chin between my breasts, as I grin down at her and echo the same words. “This is going to be good practise — all our family are going to be so impressed by the way you won’t even break a single bulb!” She chirps, and I incline my head, feeling something bittersweet at her projections of the future. Another vision that she anticipated. I didn’t need it, this family she knew we would have — everything was perfect now. I only needed her, not the complication of another group of vampires — and such a strange one at that.

But I knew I’d meet them, and do my best to join them, as that was what she wanted. As though I’d let some of the bitterness slip out, Alice looks at me with a small smirk. “Well, this Christmas will be just about us, and how good you’re getting at not ripping any of my night gowns,” she adds with a wink.

I grin toothily, as she goes and reaches behind the plain brown boxes, revealing the sleek flat, white box of her current favourite department store — I spotted specifically the ribbon used in the lingerie department.

The manager also American, which means that this is short for him, who also promises that this is the fastest way. Roger thinks it might almost be worth it to have another hour added on to stop the jarring from the potholes. Seriously, how does a road have so many?

He glances towards the back of the bus where Brian took up residence almost ten. Freddie is scream-singing to try and wake John up, and it appears that John is winning that battle. Roger raises an eyebrow and wanders to the back of the bus. Mostly to get away from whatever terror John will bring once Freddie succeeds in his task.

Brian’s face is screwed tight and goes tighter when they hit another pothole that sends Roger stumbling onto the back bench. He notes that Brian is holding his stomach and looks paler than normal. Roger raises his eyes in thought, Brian hadn’t been sick when they left the hotel. Superstitiously he checks Brian’s fingers and is happy to see that they’re free from yellow staining.

“Bri, are you getting sick?”

What if its something to do with his appendix? Maybe it is the hepatitis?

Brian shakes his head. Then seems to regret that action. Roger is about to argue when they go over another bump and Brian swallows thickly.

“Are you getting motion sick?”

“Yes.”

Brian barely moved his lips, as though he’s afraid of opening his mouth. Roger stands up and tries to keep his balance as he moves towards the seat next to Brian’s head. He places a hand on Brian’s head. After a few moments, Brian cracks a hazel eye open.

“Fred and John are busy. Well, Fred’s busy, John is asleep,” Roger explains.

There’s a beat of hesitation and then Brian’s head is in his lap. The motion causes him to pinch his lips together. Roger waits until Brian is more comfortable and then starts stroking through his hair.

“Don’t.”

Roger tangles his hand in the curls and then keeps it still. Brian lets out a sigh of relief. He hums one of their songs. The bus starts to take an exit and the long curve sends Brian upright and into the bathroom stall. Roger follows him and isn’t surprised to hear soft retching noises. He kneels and puts his hand against Brian’s back.

When the retching noises finally calm down, Roger pats Brian’s back. Brian leans back against the wall of the stall, which is too small to comfortably fit his long legs. Roger steps out to give him more room.

“You’ve never been motion sick before?”

Brian shrugs, “must be the road.”

“We switched highways, so maybe it’ll get better.”

He bights back a laugh at Brian’s grimace, “think you can get back on the couch?”

Brian shakes his head.

“We’re still four hours away from the city,” Roger frowns, “you’re going to feel awful if you stay here.”

“Not possible.”

Roger rolls his eyes, Brian was naturally only dramatic when it came to him being sick.

“C’mon cuddle will make you feel better.”

Brian keeps his lips pressed together and his eyes closed. Roger frowns, and tilts his head out of the stall.

“Does anyone have any water or medication for motion sickness?”

“Here’s a water bottle.”

One of their roadies tosses the bottle down the length of the bus. Roger lets it roll to him and grabs it. He opens it and the presses the mouth of it to Brian’s lips. The guitarist shakes his head minutely. There’s another bump and the water goes over Brian’s front, who groans.

“Sorry.”

Roger reaches up for one of the paper towels and dabs them on Brian’s front. Once the paper towels are soaked through, he tosses them into the bin.

“You have to drink,” Roger says.

Brian reluctantly takes a sip and Roger preens. It’s going to be a miserable trip, but hopefully, once they stop moving for a few hours Brian will perk up.

Brian does not perk up. Roger is pretty sure that it’s not motion sickness either, considering Brian’s complaints of a headache and slowly rising temperature. They’re alone in the hotel room, John and Freddie have taken Ratty to go buy medication. He’s glad that the concert is tomorrow so that Brian can rest some.

At the very least, Brian’s stomach is better. Compared to the bus when he wouldn’t open his mouth for anything, now he won’t close it.

“I’m going to die here,” Brian groans, “in this shitty hotel in Boston.”

Roger rolls his eyes, “don’t say that.”

Brian’s nearly died once, and Roger does not need to repeat that time again. Besides, it’s not serious if Brian is being a baby about it. That’s what experience has taught him at least since Brian didn’t say a word the entire time his arm was rotting or his liver was swelling. Roger rests his wrist against Brian’s head again, it’s not dangerously warm. Then again, if this something worse it could hit at any moment. He wants the medicine so that he can mitigate the symptoms if that’s the case.

“My head feels like an egg boiled in a pressure cooker.”

“Can you cook eggs in pressure cookers?”

Brian cracks an eye open and then immediately shuts it with a whine.

“Sorry, love,” Roger kisses his cheek.

He settles back against the headboard, ready to pull the bin up to their bed if it is needed again. Brian rolls over and latches on to one of his legs. Roger playfully attempts to tug it free, but Brian’s grip isn’t strong enough to hold onto it. Ratty should have enough common sense to buy a sports drink, or John should because he’s a dad and they seem to know those things.

“This is hell,” Brian grumbles.

Roger hums. He’s not having the time of his life babysitting a whiney Brian, but there’s nowhere else he would be.

“You’re going to be okay.”

“Says you.”

“Who’s the biologist here?”

Brian snorts and digs his nose into Roger’s hip. There’s a knock on their door.

“Come in, I’m trapped by a big baby.”

He feels the warning squeeze on his thigh.

John enters holding bags up like they’re the Olympic torch, “Freddie doesn’t want to come in, in case it’s contagious.”

“Won’t really matter if both your drummer and guitarist are out with the same thing,” Ratty chirps.

Roger tilts his head, “point.”

“Yes, but this way we don’t have to deal will an ill Freddie.”

“Also, a fair point.”

John sets the bag on the nightstand and looks down worriedly at Brian. Then to Roger.

“Just residual motion sickness, I think, and the rest is caused by dry heaving bile for three and half hours.”

Brian getting sick is a sore point for everyone in the band.

“Well, we got something to stop nausea and some painkillers. There are water bottles and crackers in there as well. Also two of those sports drinks you like and fizzy soda.”

Roger nods, “thanks, I’ll make sure he takes the meds and drinks.”

“Ring if you need help.”

Or he gets worse. Went unsaid.

Once Ratty and John have left them alone Roger tries to coax Brian into sipping the sports drink and taking the pills.

“It’ll make you feel better.”

Brian shakes his head and nearly turns green with regret.

“Do it for me, please?”

“Playin’ dirty,” Brian mumbles.

“We’re not playing at all,” Roger waggles his eyebrows when Brian looks at him.

“I look gross right now.”

“You look absolutely stunning, but I don’t feel like kissing your sick breath.”

Five minutes later Roger is happy to see a quarter of the sports drink gone and both of the pills taken. Brian is resting on his own pillow, still too uncomfortable to sleep. Roger wiggles down from where he was propped against the headboard and over to Brian. He takes one of the guitarist’s hands.

“Sleep some more, and then we’ll try the crackers, okay?”

Brian wrinkles his nose.

“You’ve kept everything down so far, we can at least try.”

“Remind me never to ride on American roads again,” Brian grumbles.

Roger nods, “I’m with you there.”

“I love you.”