Work Text:
Alicia Wilkershire has no qualms with working through the holidays; it's an extra bit of cash, coming from desperate clients with low enough expectations. Her off-work calendar has been empty for the past.. year? Years? She hasn't checked it. So, she's not usually going to dismiss a case handed to her. Alicia Wilkershire has an image to maintain, as someone who can be relied upon.
Holidays have little importance compared to her work, anyway. If anything, they're more of an annoyance, since everything shuts down for a couple of days. She makes sure to ration enough cigarettes to get her through it and tries to enjoy the solitude of her own apartment, aided by the faux peace of mind nicotine and alcohol brings her.
This year, though, that solitude is gone.
“Don't you have anyone else to spend this time with?” Alicia asks, half sarcastic, half genuine. “What about your parents? Friends, maybe?”
Beaford takes a long, hearty swig of hot chocolate, the same way Alicia’s downing warm wine. It feels a little mocking, but she doesn't care enough to point it out, she just shoots him a glare. “My dad’s still at work. My household was never particularly festive, I'd just be paying them a regular visit. And I don't really feel like doing that.”
“I get it.” Alicia sighs, resting her thumb against the tip of the cup handle. “Holiday traffic makes me want to crash the car into everyone around me.”
“I feel like this isn't holiday-exclusive for you.” Beaford mutters, before taking a smaller sip.
“Don't doubt my driving capabilities.”
“I’m not doubting that.”
“Then?"
“I’m doubting your sanity.”
“Don’t doubt that either.” Alicia scowls, then downs the remains of wine in her cup, and Beaford stares at her like his point is proven.
She leans back in her seat, stretching her legs and kicking Beaford's chair while she's at it. Beaford doesn't react, and Alicia doesn't comment on it, groaning audibly.
“So…” Beaford begins, clearing his throat. “When can we put up the decorations? Can I see them?”
Alicia takes a long pause. “I don't know where they are.”
Beaford stares at her. Again. This time, it's much more pointed and accusatory; he squints, trying to gauge her reaction. His proficiency in telling when she's lying is very irritating to her.
“Do you own any?”
“...”
Alicia tugs on her collar.
“Alicia.”
“I forgot about them when I was moving in.” Alicia mutters quickly, picking her cup off the table and trying to take another swig, only to find it empty.
“Wasn't that… years ago? When did you move in here?” Beaford asks, in his unfortunately frequent disappointed-concerned tone. His stare is unrelenting.
“Doesn't matter.” She brushes him off, preparing to get up. “Do I look like the type of person to value Christmas?”
“No, but don't you have… I don't know, anything? Not even a garland? Stockings?”
Alicia sighs. She makes her way towards the stove, turning his back on Beaford as she pours more regular wine into the pot. “I do have stockings, I guess. They're just kind of thin, I don't see a point in hanging them. Cartoon Saint Nicholas doesn't care about you when you're 30, and biblical Saint Nicholas wouldn't be too fond either.”
“I think he does. I mean, he came for Scrooge, and Scrooge was pretty old.” Beaford points out. “Also, are you boiling wine by itself?”
“...Are you talking about the Charles Dickens novel? Saint Nicholas isn’t a part of it.” She says, baffled. “And, no. I'm not letting it get to boiling point, I just want it a little warm.”
“So you're just drinking regular wine.”
“It's warm. Festive. Not as much alcohol.”
“Alicia, it needs to get to boiling point for the alcohol to dim.”
“Whatever. I don't see a point in wasting the alcohol, anyway.”
“...”
She feels like groaning again. What is his problem? Beaford should mind his business. She has her unhealthy habits, he has his unhealthy habits. He's in no place to judge her when he's spending Christmas the same way as her, albeit sober.
“This is kind of sad.” He says, voice oddly pitying. She’s not fond of his tone.
“It’s not. If I decide to celebrate, I visit my family. They have the decorations and all that.”
Beaford tilts his head. Alicia puts out the flame, then pours her cup full, and makes her way towards the couch. “Your family… On this topic, what’s up with them? I've never heard you talk about anyone but your grandpa, nor have I seen you guys interact.”
“Well, they're devout Catholics. I don't feel like being dragged to my old church, especially on Christmas.” Alicia yawns. “I do talk to them sometimes.”
“I understand, I think. Catholics are really scary… Christians in general.”
“Boo.”
“...?”