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After careful consideration and plotting out the various pros and cons in a notebook (or on Post-It notes…or napkins when things are slow at the club and Hank is sufficiently distracted), Barry poses the question to Joe first. Guy to guy, a newbie to someone who’s been there – and very recently so. Nice and casual. Solid plan.
Kind of.
“Gotta make it romantic, whatever you do.” This comes after two hours of Joe listing off the most ideal locations in a way destination magazine editors should take note of. “The key is to make sure they remember it. Like, they bring it up every chance they get because it left that good of an impression. Trust me. You want to see them come two seconds away from fainting on the spot.”
Helpful suggestions in their own right, but Barry is still paying off the costs of Hank’s last fainting episode – vet bills for Sofia cutting her paw on the neighbor’s wire fence and ER bills for Hank dropping dead at the sight of his little princess wailing at her injury and cracking his head on the kitchen tile.
Time for a second opinion.
***
Hayley is next, mostly because she’s one of three people who invite Barry’s company without being put off by his complete lack of social awareness and emotional intelligence. And because he really wants to hear her side of it.
“It was definitely romantic. No question about that.” Her smile, light and congenial, definitely doesn’t belong on a woman who just pummeled the gym bag until it sobbed for mercy. “I mean, I don’t think I was close to fainting, but if that’s what Joe wants to believe, I’m fine with it. I was very moved, so maybe my eyes fluttered and he thought I would…yeah. Well, at any rate. I have to give him props for not stumbling over his words. He’ll deny it, of course, but Joe can turn into the most adorable schoolboy when he’s going for romance. It’s like he’s terrified to get it wrong. Which is absurd. Nine times out of ten, the effort always counts more than the execution. It’s the thought that counts, almost always.”
Funny. Hank says the same thing every time Barry gives him the world’s ugliest-looking present because a past life as Marine and hitman did not adequately prepare Barry for the hellish death trap that is cutting a straight line on a piece of wrapping paper, measuring enough paper to fully cover the gift, and then performing a geometry experiment to get all the edges lined up.
And don’t even get him started on the ribbon debacle. The only positive thing to come out of it was how adorable Sofia looked sleeping on a pile of discarded red and gold velvet.
***
Stuck in the endless no man’s land of despair and immobility that is the grocery store checkout line around the holidays, Barry turns to magazines. He finds suggestions that amuse him, recommendations that make him raise an eyebrow (or two – seriously, the blindfold works? On sane, reasonably educated people? Does no one question another person’s intentions and just willingly hand over ability to locate escape routes?), and lavishly detailed plans that turns his cheeks ten shades of red.
The perky blonde behind the counter wags her eyebrows at him with a knowing grin. “So, when are you gonna do it?”
“Haven’t decided yet,” is more damning a phrase than Barry anticipated. Instead of moving through at due pace, it takes forty-five minutes, and he leaves not only with his groceries but an extensive (and by default, somewhat impressive) rehashing of what the magazines recommend. Buying the magazines would have saved him time and spared him a long line of dirty looks from the poor folks stuck behind him.
Story of his life.
***
Joe calls with some more ideas while Barry is hip-deep in Christmas decorations and negotiating the ascent of a tree which seems determined to refuse all attempts towards the endeavor. Barry barely gets the phone between his ear and shoulder when text messages from Hank start coming in – how to decorate the tree, a few things he wants to add to the Christmas menu, two paragraphs about a new craft he found on Pinterest…
The tree falls on him not two seconds after he hangs up with Joe. Hank was utterly offended at the thought of artificial trees, but Barry would be the one cleaning up pine needles if they got a real one – and arguing with Hank about throwing anything out when it could be “repurposed” or turned into Hank’s latest passion project. After two weeks of arguing, times had turned desperate and Barry finally pulled out the only trump card he had:
“Sofia might eat the needles off the bottom branches and get sick.”
Whether or not ingesting pine needles makes dogs sick was never a point of discussion. Hank had folded like a house of cards and spent the whole night cradling and cuddling a very confused German Shepherd, promising he would never lose her to the evils of a pine tree. Not the way Barry prefers to win an argument, but…well. Desperate times and all.
Sofia starts nosing at his arm under the (thankfully) soft branches, then creeps back as Barry slowly rolls out from under the fallen tree. He checks himself for real injuries, and finding none, gets back to work. The tree is finally standing when Hank walks through the garage door. “Looks great, man!” He chirps. “Here – I get changed and then help—Barry! What happened to you?!”
Let it never be said Hank doesn’t have utmost concern over his wellbeing when a handful of scratches and a couple red bruises warrant this level of panic. “The tree and I had a disagreement. No big deal.”
“You look like lost fight with cat! I should throw tree out with trash!”
“Noho Hank,” Barry turns too sharply and gets slightly tangled in the Christmas lights, “it took us three weeks to find this thing. We are not throwing it out.”
“It hurt you!”
“I got worse scratches from Sofia when she used my hand as a teething toy.” And that made working at the club a real delight. Customers thought he was the owner of a disagreeable mountain lion. “I’m fine. Weren’t you going to get changed so you can help me with the lights?”
“Oh! Right! Da, I totally am.” It takes five minutes for Hank to return in his most treasured flannel sweatpants and a t-shirt he bought at the flea market last year – a garish pink, white, and orange design that Hank adores and Barry thinks makes him look like a spray-painted Dreamsicle. “Okay. Where you want me to start?”
They put on some Christmas tunes for background noise. Hank loves it. Loves this time of year, really. The lights, the decorations, the traditions. Especially the traditions. He likes to follow most of the established American trends and then “spice it up” with others that he finds on the internet. He adores shopping the rest of the year and the opportunity to frolic through the stores when everything is on promotional sale never fails to turn him into a little kid.
Honestly, the Christmas season just turns back the clock and inflates Hank with childlike joy, rapture, and wonder. He strings the lights while humming “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” and reflects out loud on something he read, or heard, or listened to. Then he goes back to humming until the next thought presents in his mind.
It isn’t until Barry passes a hand over his face that he realizes how much he’s been smiling.
***
Joe and Hayley’s Christmas Eve party starts at five and goes until eleven. Barry and Hank arrive home with fifteen minutes to spare before midnight, strewn with confetti and festive glitter. Barry isn’t quite sure how (or if) he’ll get this mess out of his clothes.
Then he glances over at Hank. Hank, who is crouched down to give Sofia pets and light kisses to her furry head while she whines in delight. Hank, with the dog he bought for Barry on a Christmas much like this one, two years ago. Bought her because he remembered a totally random set of comments Barry made at one time. He’s getting glitter in Sofia’s dark fur and they’ll have to give her a bath to get it out.
“Hey. You good?” Hank nudges Barry out of his thoughts. “You, like, have that look that says you’re totally thinking hard about something. All good?”
“…not quite.” Barry says, and though it pains him to see Hank’s face fall, to know his partner is desperately thinking up twelve ways to make whatever is wrong better because this is Christmas and nothing should be wrong, he carries on in the same neutral tone. “Actually, I need something from you.”
“Dude, that is why you have that look?” Hank stares at him like Barry just grew a couple extra heads. “You know I give anything you need. Do anything for you. Thought this was, like, totally square. One-hundred-percent set in stone.”
Barry refuses to acknowledge the way his stomach just flipped about nine times at Hank’s raw sincerity. He’ll acknowledge it later when, hopefully, theoretically, it will be more appropriate timing. “Glad to hear it.” He says, forcing himself to keep the same tone, and pulls a little black velvet box from his pocket, where it’s been burning a hole for the last four weeks. “Then you can say yes.”