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Whether one was religious or not, Christmas Eve dinner was somewhat of a thing in the hitman team base. All of the members had been conscripted – or more precisely kidnapped, according to some of them – into helping prepare some thing or the other, both in and outside of the kitchen. The dinner had the followed, for a long time, a very long time, and everyone had ended up nursing their overstuffed stomachs while playfully poking fun at each other, if only because they were all companions in their shared pain and the slightly nauseating awareness that tomorrow was going to be more of the same. And may whatever god you pray to show mercy on your poor soul when you have to go to the bathroom, amen and all that.
After the table had been cleaned up and all remaining leftovers put away in the fridge to hopefully feed nine very hungry assassins in the days to come, Ghiaccio insisted on a few rounds of tombola and card games, as was tradition. And to bet actual money on them, as was tradition obviously, and turned to fuming very violently in a corner when it became clear that luck wasn’t on his side that night. Pesci swept most of their rounds of tombola, Formaggio and Prosciutto cleared what little money their unlucky comrades had left at cards, and then it turned out that Sorbet was the one who had the biggest pile of winnings: he’d been racking up cash all night, he was just quiet about it.
Finally, everyone gave up on the last shreds of their dignity and settled on the living room couches armed with blankets and fluffy slippers: Gelato and Sorbet settled on their shared armchair and fell asleep; Illuso curled up in a corner of the sofa with a blanket all of his own; Risotto instead sat square in the middle and was sandwiched by Ghiaccio and Formaggio, with the former falling into a food-induced coma soon after; Prosciutto, who had taken time to change into his favorite silk pajamas, sat down into Pesci’s lap and, ignoring how his protegé promptly flushed crimson, explained that he was very cold and since Pesci, on the other hand, always ran very warm, he would be needing his help as a human sized heating pad; Melone sat down on the floor and started typing very intently on his laptop.
Outside, the calm pitter-patter of rain that had lasted all evening built up gradually into the roaring crescendo of a full-blown downpour.
Formaggio sighed contentedly and tucked his legs under the blanket, stretched over Risotto’s lap to get to the remote, and turned on the TV.
“Please do let us watch something decent this time” said Prosciutto “I would rather avoid a repeat of last year’s Cinepanettone marathon.”
“You’re no fun” he replied, switching through the channels “Oohh, Trading Places!”
Prosciutto relaxed into Pesci’s chest “That one’s fine, I guess.”
“I humbly thank you for the approval, Your Royal Highness” teased him Formaggio with no real malice, glancing up at him. Then he did a double-take.
A big lazy smile spread out over his face.
“Hey hey, Prosciutto” he piped up again, mischievous “Didn’t you say you wanted to go to midnight mass tonight? And yet I see you’ve changed into your fancy boy nightclothes and settled down with us, what’s up with that, huh?”
The glare he received from Prosciutto could have melted through steel. It communicated a mixture of ‘don’t you dare even try that, asshole’ and ‘if you ruin this for me I will shrivel your dick into dust’; despite this, Prosciutto’s answer was composed and light in tone “It’s pouring up a storm outside, and I’m tired. I’ve decided I’ll go to tomorrow morning’s service instead if the weather holds up.”
“Hmm, sure thing, man.” Formaggio smirked knowingly at him. Prosciutto continued to give him the stink eye as and scooted closer into Pesci’s lap.
He was saved from further needling – or maybe Formaggio was the one who was saved – by Melone gently closing his laptop and nudging Formaggio’s leg with his shoulder.
“You all look very cozy under there. Got room for one more?”
“Hell yeah, man!” Formaggio flapped open his corner of the blanket “Get your chilly ass under here.”
Melone hummed. He slipped under the blanket, and then promptly turned sideways and shoved his freezing feet under Formaggio’s ass.
“Fuck, dude!”
“Your fault for wearing booty shorts in the winter.” Melone grinned at him “Whose ass is chilly now, baby?”
Formaggio grumbled good-naturedly “Well damn, you got me good.” He slung an arm around Melone’s shoulders, and Melone snuggled against him with a smile. “I hope you’re having fun, making me sit on these two blocks of ice.”
Melone puffed up his chest and answered with a solemn voice “No other Christmas Eve activity can compare.”
Formaggio, getting caught up in their game, exaggerated a shocked expression “Really? Not even going out to drink alone on Christmas Eve after the infamous Babyface incident?” Melone elbowed him lightly under the blanket, but he didn’t stop smiling.
“Um” Pesci bent down slightly to whisper not-so-quietly into Prosciutto’s ear “Do I even want to know what he means by ‘Babyface incident’?”
“Well…”
“Ooohhh ohhh Pesci” Formaggio perked up all at once, eager to tell him the story despite his reticence, or more likely because of it “This is team history! You weren’t here yet when that happened, right. You should have seen it, his laptop just sprouted limbs and scurried into the hallway, it was so freaky-”
“But doesn’t it do that all the time?” asked Pesci, skeptical.
“The context is” said Risotto “that when Melone took the arrow test, his stand didn’t manifest right away, so Polpo assigned him to our team-”
“More like he dumped him on us because he didn’t know what to do with him.” Illuso interjected from his corner. Melone stuck his tongue out at him.
“He already had the laptop with him” said Prosciutto “It was one of his personal possessions. So you can imagine how… surprised we were when a couple of weeks later it suddenly acquired arms and legs and started running all over the base.”
“Yeah, I admit that left me quite unsettled, too. Don’t look at me like that, I was surprised.” Melone leaned back against the sofa and sighed, to a quiet ‘oh’ from Pesci. Then he snorted suddenly “Point is, I really needed something strong to drink after that, so I went to a bar, on Christmas eve, like a total loser. I wasn’t the most miserable patron of that establishment, thankfully, but it’s still pretty embarrassing thinking back to it.”
“Hmm?”
“Oh, you know that one guy on Buccellati’s team? Tall, goth?”
“Uhhh, Buccellati, who was he again-” Formaggio snapped his fingers a couple of times, trying to recall “Oh, you mean that guy, Polpo’s favorite pet soldier? Wait, are you talking about the ex-cop? Abba… something…”
“Leone Abbacchio, yes. I don’t think he’d joined yet at that point. He was a fucking disaster and halfway to the road of being wasted already. But not a bad drinking companion! We toasted to how much our life sucked a bunch of times. Afterwards I held his hair back for him when he threw up in the alley behind the bar, and that’s how I spent my early Christmas hours two years ago. Sweet memories.” he finished, sarcastic.
Formaggio cringed in sympathy “Ugh, you never told us about that bit. Do you think he remembers you or was he too sloshed by that point?”
“Oh, I’m sure he remembers alright.” Melone’s smile was tiny and smug “I met him again a few months ago. His stand is honestly amazing for tracking down targets’ past movements: I was able to get the DNA samples I needed with ease. But he seemed very embarrased even without me saying anything, so he probably remembers something.”
There was a beat of silence “Well” said Formaggio “Well, since we’re reminescing, remember the year we had a Christmas miracle?”
Prosciutto smirked “It was more of a case of you not noticing that your cat was in fact pregnant instead of very fat.”
“That is true, however!” Formaggio straightened up, inspired “I would call waking up to an adorable litter of tiny newborn kittens on Christmas morning a Christmas miracle.”
Suddenly, Pesci sniffled. Everyone who was still awake turned to stare at him.
“I’m sorry” he said in a wobbly voice “It’s just, I thought about… tiny kitten feet…”
Illuso, who had until that moment only listened silently to his teammates conversation, snorted out a laugh “Of course you’re an emotional drunk.”
“Pesci, you baby” Prosciutto’s voice tone was exasperated, yet he also spoke with fondness “How are you drunk on just prosecco and champagne, when you barely had half a glass of each? Huh?” He reached up with both hands and pinched Pesci’s cheeks while he said this, and went on to squish them for good measure.
“’Mmm not drunk fra!, just, I got a bit emotional, that’s all.” whined Pesci as best as he could while his face was getting pushed and pulled relentlessly almost to resemble a reflection in a funhouse mirror.
Melone giggled under his breath along with his teammates, and had to choke down a snort as Prosciutto went on to say “And I even saw you water down that champagne after we toasted. You thought you were being sneaky, didn’t you? I should have smacked you.”
“I’m sorry fra! It just made my mouth burn, and I didn’t like it- ow ow, pleaseee stop pinching me, fra!”
“Mammone.”
A ripple of laughter swept through the room. Melone leaned back and sighed happily “As far as Christmas Eves go, I think today was pretty much perfect.”
He paused “Well, everything besides all that panettone. That was way too much panettone, and panettone in general isn’t even that good to begin with.”
Ghiaccio startled awake, sensing the opportunity for a fight with animal precision “What!! How can you not like panettone!! It’s traditional for a reason, cause it’s good!”
“Pandoro is also traditional as far as i know.” muttered Melone under his breath.
“Yeah, but it’s not traditional traditional like panettone is, panettone is a true Christmas staple.”
“Well maybe I would like panettone a lot more if you didn’t insist on buying the nasty one with raisins and candied fruit.”
“But that one’s a classic!”
“Yeah, and it’s nasty! You know why pandoro’s good? It’s simple and versatile: it tastes good on its own already, but you can do so many things with it, like… dip it in melted chocolate, spread nutella on a slice, put whipped cream on it, frosting, basically anything you want. Panettone could be like pandoro if you let us experiment with the fillings.”
“I heard there’s a small bakery downtown that’s been experimenting with stuff like that” said Prosciutto “they’re doing panettone with figs and walnuts, chocolate and pears, coconut and chocolate, mixed berries, pomegranate…” he trailed off “they were drowned in orders last I heard.”
“Ooh, those all sound so good, fra! Capo, do you think maybe next year we could order one if they make them again?”
“Yeah, cause we’re totally gonna have the money to buy artisanal panettone next year.” grumbled Ghiaccio, still sleepy and surly that his teammates were insulting his Christmas sweet of choice.
“We could just swipe one if it comes to that.” Formaggio wiggled his fingers to better illustrate his point.
“We will not lower ourselves to stealing panettone, of all things” said Risotto in his low tone, and everyone fell silent “We can save up the money for it if we really want to try one, as I am sure you will all be more conscientious and in wasting money on frivolous things next year.” He scanned the room intently. A chorus of “yes capo” s and “yes sir” s of varied enthusiasm and volume followed his words, and he settled down satisfied, adjusting the blanket on his lap.
After that, a warm, contented silence fell down on the base. Rain continued pouring violently in sheets outside, and the sound of it along with the low hum of the television and the movie playing lulled everyone into a sleepy haze. Melone cuddled up closer against Formaggio’s side and lowered his head on his shoulder, not really paying attention to what was going on on the screen, happy to just bask in the warmth under the blanket and let his thoughts drift.
Eventually, Illuso spoke up from his corner “I think we’re probably past midnight by this point.”
“Well then” Melone said, happy and warm and lazy, and not really caring about if it was actually the right hour or not “Merry Christmas, everybody.”