Work Text:
She always likes the week that stretches between Christmas and New Year's Eve. The days exist in a kind of purgatory; halcyon days that serve as a prelude for the incoming year (or a grand finale).
If she wants to be romantic about it, the week kind of serves as a final chance at all of the things and feelings she's done a good job avoiding for the 51 weeks leading up to it. A last chance at love, fortune, happiness.
Of course, Kerry doesn't indulge in the romantic very often. She's never really been able to get a good return on that kind of investment.
Work remains steady throughout the week. Steady, not crazy. It's an important distinction. Nothing extreme or out of the ordinary comes through the doors. Some of the nurses have started calling it a belated Christmas miracle. A lot of gastroenteritis, even more odd hand and finger injuries on parents assembling Barbie Dream Houses sent from Santa Claus. It doesn't snow at all that week, making MVAs sparse.
Of course, no one working dares say anything out loud about their good fortune (lack of patients, whatever). The nurses' whisperings are as much as anyone will allow without accusing the other of jinxing things.
Two nights before New Year's, Kerry walks in and overhears Carter threatening anyone who dares say the "q-word" out loud to be hung by their toes from the basketball hoop in the ambulance bay. It makes her laugh.
She tips her gaze up to the board, still relatively empty. It looks better than how she left it.
Kerry rounds the corner to the lounge, wondering if Carter's kidding. She secretly hopes he isn't.
What does end up receiving the bulk of the ER staff's attention that week is silly — at least by Kerry's metric. On Christmas Eve, a group of carolers stopped by, a'wassailing their way through chairs in the hopes that they would provide some holiday cheer to the poor folks stuck at the hospital that night, both patients and doctors alike. One of them, an older gentleman, left Malik with a fresh sprig of mistletoe, who quickly decided that he would spend the rest of his shift dangling the bushel over whichever unsuspecting pairs he could find. He bombarded duos standing behind the admit desk and in the lounge as they impatiently waited for a pot of coffee to finish brewing.
It, of course, was rather well received. "Good bit," Doug had said to Malik after he held his fistful of mistletoe over his and Carol's heads, which prompted them to lean in for a tame kiss. Days later, Malik got a good laugh out of holding it over Jerry and an unsuspecting Mark.
Kerry wasted no time warning Malik that continuing to do so would result in a disciplinary hearing with human resources, which promptly put an end to his ambush act. Instead, the mistletoe ended up showing up in different spots around the ER. It would move from hanging over a work light in the suture room to springing out of someone's locker when they opened it, like some kind of makeshift Christmas jack-in-the-box.
"I'm glad Malik gave it a rest with the mistletoe," Kerry overheard Susan say from the medicine lockup one afternoon. "I was afraid he'd hang it over me and Weaver next."
Kerry quickens her pace as she walks towards the coffee machine, an oasis in a desert. Maybe this will be the year she actually follows through on her perennial resolution of switching from coffee to green tea (cutting herself off from caffeine all together would be masochistic). A frustrated hiss breaks through her lips as the coffee machine's empty pot comes into focus. In the face of the opportunity to get a head start on that new year's resolution, she leans her crutch against the counter and reaches for the Folgers.
She's lifted out of her frustration by a familiar voice behind her.
"G'morning, Kerry."
A small smile breaks across her face. She doesn't need to turn around to know it's Jeanie.
"Are you making a fresh pot? I forgot my wallet at home; I couldn't grab any on the way in." Kerry gazes over her shoulder, catching Jeanie at her locker out of the corner of her eye. Jeanie moves in a flurry, hurriedly exchanging her winter coat for her lab coat; her feet kicking out of her winter boots and slipping into the pair of sensible clogs she keeps in her locker. Kerry looks down at her watch. Jeanie's running late.
"I was, yeah," she says. "Y'know, no matter when I come in here for a cup of coffee, day or night, it seems like I'm always the one stuck making a new pot of this stuff." She scoops the pre-fab grounds into the machine's cradle. "Anyway, go into my purse and grab my wallet. I think I have a five in there. Go get a cup outside before your shift starts."
Jeanie smiles, walking over to Kerry at the counter. "This is fine," she says, tipping her head towards the coffee machine. "You make some of the better pots of coffee around here."
Kerry turns to her friend, brow wrinkling. "How can you tell which ones are made by me?"
"I'm just observant, I guess." Jeanie looks down at her hands, picking at a cuticle. "It wouldn't be totally out of character for you, Kerry." Kerry smiles.
They alternate between their spaces at the sink, Jeanie washing her hands and Kerry shuffling in to fill up the coffee pot. A silence hangs over them that doesn't feel uncomfortable, but Kerry feels an urge to fill it.
"Did you and Al have a nice holiday?" Kerry asks, doing her best to maintain a poker face. She swallows her pride — something she's never been particularly good at, but it's a muscle that can be exercised; toughened up. It's worth it for her friend.
She likes to hope that Jeanie will one day realize that it's in her best interest to pursue a life outside of the small one she confines herself to with her husband. She's told her as much. It's a sticking point between them, one she wishes they could be rid of.
A small part of her, almost too small to be worth identifying as something real, wonders if she could be the one to fix this problem that is so nagging and apparent to her. She isn't sure how that would happen, but she wants it to. She willfully ignores the thought as soon as it comes to her. It's silly.
"It was nice," Jeanie murmurs, "some of my cousins who I never see came up from Mississippi. We ended up ordering Chinese food and then shopped all of the sales on Michigan Avenue the next day." Kerry notices a smile twitch at the corner of her mouth.
"You'd have to ask Al how his Christmas was," Jeanie adds. "We didn't spend it together." Kerry doesn't look over at her, but notices her pulse quicken. "We haven't seen each other in a while, actually."
Kerry blinks. Swallows. "Oh," she says. She feels her cheeks flush. "Jeanie, that's… great." A pause. She jostles her playfully with her elbow. "I'm proud of you." She pauses, then. "Right? Should I be proud of you?"
Jeanie grins, reaching into the cabinet above her for a mug. "I think so." Kerry looks over at her and smiles.
"It'll be nice to have a fresh start in the new year," Kerry adds. It makes Jeanie smile.
"That's what I thought, too."
Jeanie slides two mugs along the countertop. Kerry notices that she nudges the one with Wile E. Coyote chasing the Road Runner around its edge towards her. They all have their own unofficial mugs that they tend to reach for more than others, and the Road Runner one is Kerry's. Kerry isn't even sure why she likes the Road Runner mug so much. She chalks it up to enjoying routine and being particular. She's always been particular. Jeanie seems to be the only one who appreciates that about her.
"I had a friend tell me recently that she knew I could do better than that," Jeanie adds, casting a knowing glance at Kerry. She drums her fingers against her own favorite mug; a cobalt blue one emblazoned with 'PROZAC' in flashy gold letters (a party favor left behind by some pharmaceutical rep. There's a joke in there somewhere about Jeanie drinking her daily coffee out of a mug labeled with the name of a mood stabilizer. Kerry will have to workshop that one). "I decided to listen to her for once."
Kerry smiles. "Sounds like a good friend." She flips the on switch to the coffee maker and the percolator gurgles to life. They look at each other for a while, smiling. Kerry bites back a small laugh, hoping it'll distract Jeanie from her obvious staring. She decides to change the subject. "I got Malik to give up that stupid mistletoe thing," she says, laughing. "That had HR violation written all over it."
"Oh, c'mon, Kerry," Jeanie teases. "Where's your Christmas spirit?"
"Christmas is over," Kerry reminds her, grumbling. "I don't need to worry about Christmas spirit for another year." She rolls her eyes playfully. "Anyway, people have been hanging around different spots around here, so… just hope no one catches you standing underneath it."
"I'll keep an eye out," Jeanie says, feigning seriousness. Kerry smiles weakly.
"Actually, you should probably hope you don't get stuck underneath it with me," she adds, lips twisting into a smirk. "That seems to be what everyone else around here is afraid of." She feels her heart hover up into her throat then, hoping she isn't coming across as feeling sorry for herself. Far from it, of course.
Jeanie smiles affectionately. "I don't know," she says, lowering her head. Her voice softens, like she's telling a secret. "You don't give yourself enough credit sometimes, Kerry."
Kerry's gaze snaps up at Jeanie, breath catching in her chest. A silence hangs over them then, filled only by the coffee maker sighing. She tries to think of something quippy to say in return, wanting to break the sudden tension that's built between them, and she's nearly come up with something really good when Jeanie laughs — bright and unstifled — at her.
Kerry's brow furrows. "What?"
Jeanie flicks her eyes up above her and Kerry's heads to the window over the sink. There, stuck on the glass with a piece of Scotch tape, is Malik's (now slightly wilted) sprig of mistletoe.
Kerry's mouth hangs open slightly. She doesn't know what to say. A rare occurrence for her. Figures that Jeanie's the one to get her to this state.
"Oh, come on," she says, a small laugh breaking through her resolve. "Jeanie, I swear, I didn't know that was there, and —"
Before she can string her next thought together, Jeanie leans in and cuts her off in a kiss. At first, Kerry freezes, feeling her entire body seize. She braces herself against the countertop, knowing that she wants to — needs to — kiss Jeanie back.
She does. Almost instantly, Jeanie pulls away from her, biting down on a smile. Kerry exhales, hoping her disappointment isn't obvious.
"I should get to work," Jeanie says, reaching for the now steaming coffee pot and filling her mug. Kerry watches, thinking she notices her cheeks pinken. She searches for something to say again, trying to save both of their egos. By the time she decides on what she wants to say, Jeanie's nearly out the door.
"Hey, Jeanie?"
Jeanie pauses in the doorway, turning back to Kerry. With the door swung open, she straddles the chaos awaiting both of them in front of the admit desk and the peace and quiet of the lounge. Kerry wishes she could take her by the hand and pull her back inside so they can lock themselves in here forever.
Kerry smiles, causing Jeanie to do the same. She braces herself against the counter again.
"…what are you doing New Year's Eve?"