Archive of Our Own

Every year, one of your greatest nightmares stretched into the holidays, filling in the space, blotting out the gaps, consuming your every waking moment.

This great nightmare was a very simple, plain thing; workplaces loved doing dumb things for the holidays. Notoriously, this came in the form of Secret Santas.

You had never ever ever understood the appeal. Workplaces seemed to love the idea of forcing people who already saw one another every day to make torturous small talk, when they could be doing anything else to prepare for the already busy holiday season. It wasn't productive for anyone, really, but your workplace, Hastings Research Institute, seemed eager about this holiday season. You supposed you would have to grit your teeth and go along for the ride.

The initiation to this time of frustration came on a clear December 4th. Everyone was gathered in the cafeteria, where people sat in their normal places for lunch. You normally clustered on the end of a table where similar secretaries and lab assistant sat, one elbow hanging off, so you sat there, blending into the crowd as you normally did and excited chatter flowed in one ear and out the other. After everyone was seated, a sharp tap to the microphone up front drew everyone's attention to the front of the room.

"Hello, everybody. Good afternoon." The man up front gave a short, small smile at everyone. "I'm sure some of us aren't very eager to be wrenched away from our important work, but this holiday season is an important time. It's a time where we can all remember what a team we are here at Hastings, and how we work best when we work together."

You knew of at least three people at your table who secretly hated and bad mouthed each other, in secret, frequently. If this place was a team, you were as good as the worst sports team out there.

"This year, as I'm sure you're all aware, we'll be doing our annual Secret Santa!" The man raised up a large bowl. "We've gathered everybody's names into this bowl. The rules are simple, as always—draw a name, keep it to yourself, and get a secret gift for that person. On our holiday party before Christmas, everyone will get their gifts from their Secret Santa!"

Ah, yes, so simple. How convenient that he did not mention how difficult it was if you got someone you didn't know at all. You were already mentally preparing yourself for some smelly soap to go straight into your garbage bin at home.

People formed a line, called table by table to retrieve little slips of paper. Everyone in Hastings seemed determinedly set to their task, which surprised you. It was your first Christmas there, and despite getting to know people here and there, you clearly hadn't learned enough about them, because even the guy who never said thank you when you brought his group coffee looked excited to do this.

You didn't look at the paper you received until you returned to your seat. Paper half-crumpled in your hand, you rolled it open and cupped it secretly to the side as you read over the name.

Calvin Evans

Your head slowly raised.

Oh no.

You craned your head as nonchalantly as possible to figure out if the man was even there. After a moment, you spotted him, sitting as close to the door and as far from others as possible.

Calvin Evans, the ghost of the Hastings Research Institute.

You had spoken to him twice—only brief interactions, a "Good morning" and an "Excuse me" that could hardly constitute as true conversation. You had seen him plenty more times, of course. He would approach the building in sweaty gray joggers on the dot every morning as you sat in your car and told yourself to stand the hell up and go inside.

He was revered among your coworkers because he funded the place. Because he was brilliant—silently light-years past the work everyone else did.

He was hated among your coworkers because, apparently, he was weird.

Maybe he's just introverted, you thought as the line finished and you stuffed the paper into your pocket. This was, of course, wishful thinking, but a girl could dream.

"Did you get someone you liked?" Your coworker nudged your arm—a nice lady, Marion, who was always pleasant to talk to and normally listened when you told her how you were. "I got that handsome man I talk about all the time."

"Rory?"

"Yes." She grinned. "Isn't it fate? I'll have to think of something nice to give him—not overly romantic, but something that says I notice, y'know?"

"I'm sure he'll appreciate whatever you give him, Marion." You watched people begin to file out. Apparently in the midst of your thoughts you had missed the closing words from your boss. You would get all the details later.

"It can't help to be thoughtful." Marion put a hand delicately over her heart and batted her eyelids. "After all, isn't that what a man desires?"

You knew she was joking, but something about it still made your nose wrinkle. "If I ever start acting like that, poison me."

Marion gasped your name dramatically. "What? Oh, come on, you would never!"

"I know I wouldn't." You stood. "Which is why it would be concerning if I ever did."

You faced a very dangerous obstacle ahead of you. About four weeks to Christmas, and you had absolutely zero plan.

You laid out your options a few days later, scribbling idly on scrap paper.

Option 1: A safe gift. A generic gift. Some kind of candy, or nuts, something easily disposable… yet disappointing and entirely unexciting.

Option 2: Something science related. Like a book or a decor item—something easy and job related, something you'd already heard others planning to do. Yet, still, not very personal.

Option 3: Actually try. Try to get close enough to the living enigma of the Institute in order to get him a good Secret Santa gift.

You'd never been one to turn down a challenge. Option 3 it was.

You got your first chance at infiltration later that day. Deliveries were bi-weekly unless there was some particular accident that cleared supplies from the place. The delivery driver came late, flustered and annoyed because of something happening in his own workspace. You sympathized with him—the holidays got to everyone—and offered to help carry boxes around. This was a blessing, eventually, because after working through the load, you finally arrived to the final box. The box to be delivered to Calvin Evans.

"You've been working so hard the past hour, you could always let someone else grab it." A secretary—Marie? Maddie?—lounged over her desk, watching you stoop to pick up the box. "God knows those boys in the lab could use a walk from time to time."

"I've got it," you said. "I really don't mind, helps me test my memory."

"If you insist."

Calvin Evans' lab was a bit further removed from the others, down a long corridor as a door that others seemed to steer around if they needed to pass it. There was a handwritten sign plastered on the door talking about DO NOT DISTURB, but both for the sake of your research and your aching arms, you managed to knock on the door.

The door swung open around three seconds after you knocked. The man in front of you was noticeably taller than you had ever really taken note of, his hair short and slightly curled in front of his face as the nicest blue eyes you'd ever seen focused straight on you.

"Hi." You greeted.

"… hello." Calvin blinked at you, then the box. "It's Thursday already." This was not a question.

"Yes, it is." You hefted the box a little higher. "Apologies that I'm not the normal delivery man, he got… indisposed, I guess? Something about route mix-ups."

"You've managed to deliver the correct box competently to my door, so I see no reason why it makes any difference." Calvin blinked a few times, not exactly making eye contact but clearly trying to look at you nonetheless. "You're…" He said your name slowly. "… right?"

You nodded. "Yeah. That's me."

"Come in." He offered suddenly, stepping aside.

Though you questioned if this had ever happened before, and if you were perhaps the first person to see the inside of this lab since he had taken residence, you accepted the invitation with a gracious nod and stepped inside. You had seen all the labs in Hastings except for his, and it was… not what you expected. Sure, there were the normal things—beakers and a chalkboard with scribbled notes in handwriting you could slightly catch, but there was also a mess. An abominable mess. And a million crumbs that seemed to be related to nuts.

You stood there for a moment, vaguely bewildered, but Calvin brushed past you. "Come, come here, I have somewhere you can set that."

"Of course." You followed him to the clearest counter, watching him absentmindedly brush aside nut shells. "Do you… want any help organizing them?" Organizing your whole lab, perhaps? You'd worked as some mix of secretary and lab assistant over your year-ish of working at Hastings, which led you into the familiarity of how the other labs were organized. It would be easier, probably, considering Calvin's lab was all his own, but—

"Don't you have anywhere else to be?" Calvin asked. He crooked an eyebrow in your direction, and you faltered, before he barreled on, suddenly switching gear. "Actually. Yes. I… yes. Your help would be appreciated."

You stared at him for a moment and then nodded. You were… afraid to touch anything. Or move, really. Every purpose and reason you were there had sort of been thrown out the window. Your eyes flicked over everything, slowly, slowly, before you took in a deep breath.

You had a mission, right? You had to focus. Stupid, annoying, dickish Secret Santa.

"Do you like nuts?" You blurted.

Calvin looked at you. "Are you being sarcastic?" He asked, a vague twitch to the corner of his mouth.

The switch of expression relaxed you a little. You pushed back slowly as Calvin opened up the box of supplies. "I suppose I'm curious why such a precise chemist has scatterings of nuts all over his lab."

"You're calling me a slob."

"I think it's funny."

"Hmm." He had started you passing you things, and you were mindlessly taking them and setting them aside without really realizing the rhythm the two of you had fallen into. "I do like nuts. They're my lunch."

"Every day?"

"Every day."

You blinked a little. That couldn't really be healthy, could it? You studied him from the corner of your eye for a moment—he looked healthy enough. Pretty, really, with that shaped nose and the vaguest thoughtful frown on his face at all times, like everything was a mystery to him.

"Are you really that constantly at work that you can hardly pause for lunch?"

Calvin made a motion like a shrug as the two of you finished unpacking the box. "Science never stops."

"The human body does." You scratched at your neck slightly. "Isn't the recommendation for calories per day somewhere around 2000 calories for men? I don't think nuts really get you that high up there."

He frowned slightly at you. "I don't think—"

"Oh, what else, you also need proteins and enzymes and vitamins, especially since we are in the winter months." You started ticking off on your fingers. "Vitamin C, protein, minerals like iron and zinc…"

Calvin was just staring at you. "Are you… suggesting I change my eating habits?"

"I'm just saying that Hastings Research Institute's best chemist should have the right diet to keep him up and running. We wouldn't want all this—" You gestured to him. "—to break down, would we?"

He slowly shook his head. "… no. We wouldn't."

"Glad you agree." You gestured to the set-out items. "Now, let's work on these?"

There wasn't much conversation that passed between the two of you for a time. You were pretty sure you'd thrown Calvin off a little, but he didn't seem to mind it, or you, which surprised you. For about a year, all you had heard about him was gossipy whispers about his weird ways and aversion to other people.

Maybe he was just lonely, you thought, watching him from the corner of your eye as he lined up beakers in his supply room.

When you had finished helping him organize his supplies, you cleared your throat in the vague silence. "Well. There you are. If there's nothing else I can do, then I can leave."

He said your name, which made you pause. When he stepped closer, his eyes were very focused on you.

"Do you have specific recommendations for how to improve my diet?" He asked bluntly.

You stared up at him, then smiled. "Are you asking for more help?"

Something like a flustered expression passed over his face, brief as a flash, but he tilted his head. "Are you offering more help?"

You hummed, considering. "Tuesday night. I will come to your house and make you dinner, and we will talk about balanced diets." You stuck your hand out, unsure where this boldness had come from, yet unwilling to back down now. "Deal?"

Calvin smiled, just a little bit, and shook your hand. "Deal."

Three weeks to Christmas, and you had all your holiday shopping done.

Christmas Eve, you would spend with your family. This was the same every year, on the dot, no matter what. They lived close, yet you didn't see them too often, everyone wrapped up in their own life, so you relished the yearly chance to be close, even for a night. It was one night you could at least not worry so much about everything else.

You had a bit more money this year, too. Working at Hastings provided you with a decent enough salary that you could purchase some things you truly wanted to buy, which included Christmas gifts. The one problem was that your car was tiny, so your entire back seat was mostly crammed with the gifts you'd bought.

Calvin Evans found you two hours after you arrived at work, hovering all tall in his crisp white lab coat as he watched you slap at a typewriter like it had insulted you.

"Hi." He said after a moment.

You jumped slightly as you spun to him. "Goodness—what is wrong with you? How in the world did you sneak up on me, you're massive!" You gestured to him.

"You seemed focused on… assaulting a typewriter." Calvin said, tone somewhat teasing as his gaze moved between you and the machine.

"Yes, well, it's not working, so maybe it deserves a smack or two."

"Or seven."

"Hey." You frowned at him ruefully. "Can I do something for you, Dr. Evans?"

He straightened. "I was… wondering when you were planning to come over. To my house."

"Oh." You smacked your lips. "Well, after work, I have to go buy groceries, so I'll buy those and then come over."

"Okay." Calvin paused for a moment. "May I come with you?"

You stared at him for a moment and tilted your head. "You could, if you would like." You smiled. "Is there a reason why?"

"Well, I don't drive, first of all."

"You don—"

"I believe it would be more beneficial if I were able to lead you to my house more directly," Calvin continued. "and I am also curious what choices you'll make towards dinner. If the process of a good diet starts at a grocery store, I believe I should start there with you as well."

The way you were going, you were pretty sure you were going to get him a cookbook for his Secret Santa gift. Either way, there was something endearing about the linear logic of the chemist and the way he seemed so solid and certain, so you nodded.

"Alright, then. Once we get off work, we can go. Sound good?"

"Yes." Calvin rounded on his heel, then paused and gave you a little smile and a thumbs-up.

You tried to ignore the dumb smile over your own face and the little thump in your chest.

When Calvin bent his way into your car later, you saw him cast a curious glance over his shoulder at the numerous Christmas presents in the back.

"For my family," you explained. "I actually have money this year, so… I kind of went a little overboard?"

"Do you like buying gifts for others?" Calvin asked as he fastened his seatbelt.

You blew out a small breath as you pulled out from Hastings' parking lot. You don't know the half of it. "I don't find it easy. But I do like it."

"Finding a path to the heart." Calvin muttered.

You snorted. "Yeah, exactly. Good gifts are… simple, right? Something that makes that connection between people. That shows them you noticed." You tapped your fingers on the steering wheel. "But I still find it so hard, you know? How do you balance the materialistic with the, uh, idealistic? Or—or with a possible experience? It's so easy to just wrap something, but what if what someone needs or wants is bigger and less solid than wrapping?"

Calvin remained silent, though he hummed softly. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and found that he was simply watching you, taking in all your words.

"I want to try," you continued after a moment. "I want to do good, especially during Christmas. Gifts shouldn't mean nothing, you know? They shouldn't be a pointless workplace exercise, either. Secret Santas are stupid sometimes. Sometimes you barely know your coworkers, and you're, what, supposed to buy them a present? Just for fun? Just because? If I exist in someone's space, I want to know them before I buy them something or create something for them. It doesn't feel complete or right otherwise."

Silence lingered for a long, long moment. Then Calvin spoke.

"If the amount of presents in this car means anything, I think you are very good about giving people the right gifts."

Your shoulders eased marginally.

"I think you have a more optimistic and passionate look on it than some people." He shifted. "Christmas doesn't carry the same connotations for everyone."

"What does it carry for you?" You asked quietly.

He paused for a moment, staring out the window instead of at you, hands curling and uncurling in his lap. You pulled into the grocery store parking lot and turned off the car, yet did not move, waiting for his answer.

"I'm usually alone for Christmas." Calvin said quietly after a long silence. He was factual about it, yet you saw a new crease between his eyebrows, something that marred his pretty face with evidence of a pained past you had no idea about. "I would… I would like to put thought into gifts, yet I have very little people to achieve that with. Christmas feels very distant from me. Working is easier."

You looked at him for a moment and then extended your hand, resting it on his shoulder. "I'm sorry you've not had good experiences so far in your life," you said. "but this year, I'm here, and I'm going to teach you how to eat well, and we're going to buy a garland and put it up in your house, and we're going to sing along to Christmas songs."

Calvin blinked at you. "… thank you." he said, then— "In my house?"

"In your house."

He sighed. "Lovely." His fingers brushed over your own as you pulled your hand away and he reached for it at the same time. There was a hesitance there, a sort of in-between, before he exited the vehicle. "Let's go, then."

You had a small little list in your head. Both of ingredients and the plan. The Plan. Trademarked. Underlined three times. Calling it something other than Secret Santa Present made it feel more important, more declared.

And it was important. Because Jesus Christ, Calvin Evans was indeed the world's loneliest person. He was alone, and nobody should ever feel alone on Christmas, so you had decided without really deciding that you would be the guide to the greatest Christmas ever. And also so you could figure out what to get him for the Secret Santa.

The grocery store run was pleasant and strangely domestic. Calvin trailed after you like a lost puppy, never too close and certainly never too far. You talked nearly the whole time, your mouth running words, but you talked about food. You talked about nutrition and balance and flavors and how things did and didn't go together. Sometimes what you talked about went into your cart and sometimes it didn't, but Calvin paid attention the whole time, and if you stopped talking you would start feeling self conscious, so you kept going.

By the time the two of you were checking food out, you found yourself staring at the rising price of the food with an increasingly anxious look.

"Move." Calvin murmured near your ear. You blinked up at him, confused, just in time to watch him pass money to the cashier.

"Calvin—" You hissed.

"Don't worry about it. You're grabbing food for me." He insisted as he looked down at you. "Let me pay for my food, yeah?"

You shut up pretty quick under that firm look.

Calvin led you with perfect geographical instructions into his driveway. His house was lovely—simple yet well-sized in a lived-in neighborhood. Had you not known he was alone in life, you would've assumed he would be married with two children and a pet in this kind of house.

"Let me take some of those." He scooped up bags of groceries and helped usher you into his house, which was neat and plainly decorated. Lived in, but not breathed in. You noted a record player that you passed by on the way in and quirked a lip thoughtfully as the two of you began unpacking groceries.

"I saw a record player." You looked at him. "A fan of music?"

"Oh." He blinked, then nodded. "Yes, I am, I like Charlie Parker."

"You're a jazz fan?" This delighted you, though you couldn't put your finger on why. When Calvin nodded, seemingly puzzled by your grin, you just smiled wider and giggled as you lined ingredients up for dinner. "I love jazz, too. You wanna put a record on? We could use some music while we cook."

Charlie Parker's complex harmonies floated around the two of you, enveloped in the warm light of Christmas spirit. Calvin helped you chop vegetables and mix ingredients, watching with rapt attention as you rattled off to him steps in creating tonight's meal—soup and homemade bread, because a way to win someone's heart over was obviously with homemade bread. His attention was easily the thing that startled you the most—though he often didn't make eye contact and his responses could be blunt and unapologetic, it was clear Calvin Evans was a man who took in every word that was said.

Once, you had heard someone describe him as haughty. A holier-than-thou scientist who thought he was so much better than everyone else.

Now, as you watched him push bread into his oven, a concentrated crinkle to his brow, you thought that he was better than everyone, but he certainly wasn't haughty over it. He was lonely and thoughtful and brilliant, and you'd only properly known him for about a week now.

"Now what?"

You were shaken from your thoughts to find Calvin watching you as he dried off his hands.

"Well," you hummed. "The soup is gonna simmer, the bread needs to bake… we don't have anything else to do for a while."

"Would you like to talk?" Calvin asked quietly.

You stared at him. "Would you like to?"

"I wouldn't offer—" He stepped forward, a little closer than normal, and looked down at you. "—if I didn't want to."

"Garland, then," you said, weaker than you wanted to be. "and talking."

Calvin didn't even need a ladder. He just needed your direction as he stretched up high and explained, breathlessly, his latest science project to you.

"I've been going over things in my head repeatedly. Trying to think of new routes, you know? New directions. Everything in chemistry may seem like it has been done already, but that is not true. There's always new directions to be stretching, as long as the mind allows it."

"To the left a little for that hook."

"Thank you. So," he inhaled. "I've gone back to the basics, really. On what we think of as the modern truth of chemistry. When you think of other great scientific discoveries such as those by Galileo, he did not make those discoveries by simply cruising along and assuming all modern assumptions were correct. Amino acids, for example—those are such a basis for the modern day, but what if it's more complicated, more immense than modern scientists imagine? I'm trying to… expand from that. Combinations, equations, trying to send out in all directions in the hopes that I snag onto something."

"It sounds rather a lot like faith to me," you said curiously. "but I like your reasoning. Do you really think that by simply casting some kind of line out, you'll get a tug?"

"I can't hope for anything but." Calvin finished attaching the garland and finally turned to you, brushing askew strands of hair away from his face. "When science seems to have hit some kind of dead end, that's when you know something is wrong."

The two of you lounged on his couch for a while and just… talked. You couldn't remember the last time you had gotten to know someone, and from the clunky yet endearing way Calvin navigated the conversation, you knew it was the same for him. He was incredibly intelligent in more than just chemistry—he talked about his neighbors, all Black Americans in a world that rejected them. He talked about the intricacies of public law that he had dipped his toe into at one point. He talked about how religion was interwoven into so much that it made people blind, especially considering science.

You liked to hear him speak. You thought that you could listen to him speak forever, with that warm, intelligent voice with a cadence like warm water.

Just as the two of you were cutting the bread into slices, you remembered the mission all over again. It had flitted from your mind in this warm haze of a growing friendship, but now it was back, and you cleared your throat as you set the table.

"So," you started casually. "do you have any Christmas wishes, then?"

"I don't exactly have anyone to give me gifts." Calvin remarked.

"If you did, though." You glanced up at him. "Or if you're buying things for yourself. Anything on the plate?"

Calvin considered this question for a moment as he ladled soup into his bowl. "I would like more casual clothes," he said. "for when I'm home. I also need a second workout outfit."

"You mean your 'I'm running from work to home twice in a day' outfit?" You asked, lips pulled into an amused expression.

He shot you a look. "Yes. That one."

"I think more than one pair of consistently sweat-covered clothing is likely a good idea if you like smelling decent." You said with a nod.

Calvin was giving you a look, but that stopped the instant he ate the first spoonful of soup. You saw his eyes flick to the bowl, then to you, as his eyelids fluttered slightly.

You smiled a little, tentative yet hopeful. "Good?"

"This is…" He ate another bite. "Delicious."

You laughed. "Don't let me stop you, Mr. Genius. Dig in."

Calvin ate with enthusiasm, which encouraged you. You also could not remember the last time you'd shared a meal with someone, so to sit across from a very nice man and speak with him about both foolish and interesting things was really, incredibly, delightful.

"Do you have no other wishes besides clothes?" You asked, poking softly at your mission. Your mission, your mission, was this entire dinner and trip and talk because of your mission, because you were trying to be a good coworker—?

"I like books. And music," Calvin said quietly. "I've tried to look for the last Charlie Parker record I don't have, but it's impossible to find."

"What kind of books do you like?"

"Fiction and nonfiction alike." Calvin dipped some bread into his soup and took in a breath like he hadn't eaten in days. "My favorite book is Great Expectations."

"That's a lovely book. It's been a few years since I've read it, though." You said with a nod. "Okay, okay, let me rephrase the question—do you read to escape or learn?"

Calvin blinked at you. "What?"

"Oftentimes when I ask people about their reading likes and habits, I notice that you can usually group a person on two sides—they read to escape life, or they read to learn."

"Can it not be both?"

"It can," you said. "but normally a person tends to lead. Nobody's ever right and straight in the middle. And it's not like there's a right or a wrong. It's just personality, you know?" You pointed to him with your spoon. "As I asked—escape or learn?"

"… learn," Calvin said after thinking. "I think. I always say that a good book never stops teaching you, y'know? Even a nonfiction book can teach you something, tell you something, give you a lesson or an idea or an out. I like learning."

You smiled a little. Endearing. "I do believe that's your science brain talking."

"I do believe," he repeated, half-teasing, half-mocking. "that you may be right. What about you, then?"

"Escape, mostly. I like fiction and stories. I like the lessons you can get from them, but I also like submerging into someone else's world and problems so I can get away from my own."

Calvin was studying you as you said that, all soft-eyed and quiet. His blue eyes didn't look so blue all the time, you had realized. They looked more brown now, though you knew it wasn't true. Either way, he was listening. This realization, though it had come and gone repeatedly and many times, continued to settle lower in your gut.

"What books do you like?" Calvin asked softly.

You responded in a mumble, something about stories that you never really had shared with anyone before, but he didn't make you feel dumb for it. He just nodded, smiling a little, as he finished his soup.

"I've heard of those." He folded his napkin onto the table. "I think I'll have to take a look at them, when I have some free time."

"Do you ever have free time?" This was the first time you'd ever thought of or experienced him outside of the lab. You realized you'd been thinking of this as an exception.

"That sounds like that one question." Calvin chuckled a little, the sound warming your stomach more than the soup had. "The, ah. 'If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?'."

You huffed. "What would your answer be to that question, then?"

"Of course I make a sound." Calvin said. "I'm a human, and very alive."

"What about the tree, then?"

He scooped up your bowls with a smile down at you. "I'm not a philosopher. I'm a chemist."

"Rude."

He laughed—actually laughed—for the first time, and you just frowned at his back as a million realizations crashed down onto you.

You were not merely doing this for the Secret Santa mission anymore.

One and a half weeks until Christmas.

You liked taking notes. It was an idle habit, but you liked carrying around a small notebook, something that could fit most places inside uniforms and clothing. Small notes, small doodles, average thoughts. You wrote a poem, you doodled a leaf, you did small diary entries, you wrote a grocery list. Your current notebook had been with you for the better part of three years, and thanks to the near-constant use, it was growing close to being finished.

Today, you returned to the four-page section devoted to the mission. Specifically, you were looking at page 3 of this section: POSSIBLE CALVIN GIFTS

-Charlie Parker record

-Great Expectations something?

-Another book of some kind

-Cooking supplies??

-Cookbook

-A coupon for me to cook him dinner I would do that for him anytime he asked actually never mind

-Something really personal that he really really wants.

You sighed and leaned back from the notebook, scrubbing at your face. The party was a week away and you were no closer to deciphering the heart of the man you'd spent every day talking to. You were blaming yourself for that, too. Despite trying to stay focused on what you had to do, every interaction with Calvin Evans turned into something more. Like the fact that he had a comfy chair in his lab that was great for you to rest your legs, or the fact that he had started eating actual lunch in the cafeteria at a table with you. He talked to you in murmurs about science and he never minded your presence, and you felt like an idiot because after everything, you were still going to be the worst Secret Santa to him ever.

The sound of your name made you jerk from your thoughts and slam your notebook shut in the same motion. Calvin stood over your shoulder, blinking curiously at you.

"Hi." You breathed.

"Hi." He repeated, tilting his head. "Could I… have the assistance of an experienced lab assistant?"

"Oh, I don't think we have any of those." You propped your head in a hand and shrugged. "You see, we're very low on intelligence here at Hastings."

"Is that so?" Calvin looked around, shoving an idle hand in his coat pocket. "That's very strange, I could have sworn there was a certain someone here that was incredibly intelligent."

"Hmm. You might've missed them."

Calvin shot you a look. "I don't think I did."

For some reason, you warmed a little. His hand brushed slightly against your back, and you were suddenly shooting up in your seat with a barely restrained squeak as you spoke.

"Wow, I think you've suddenly discovered a great candidate to help you, Dr. Evans! I would be ever so pleased to assist you."

If Calvin noticed how you had said it all in one breath, or that your face felt warmer than usual, he didn't comment on anything, just smiled.

"Wonderful. I appreciate your assistance."

When you pushed inside Calvin's lab, you stopped dead in your tracks.

The inside was clean. Organized. Orderly. Nut remnants swept away, beakers lined, notes organized and spread across counters in a way that wouldn't drive anyone crazy.

Not only was it clean, but there were Christmas lights hanging around the space.

Calvin Evans had fucking decorated.

Your mouth fell open. "Oh my god."

"Do you… like it?"

"Oh my god, Calvin!" You spun around, arms flung up in the air. "You fucking cleaned! Did you do this for me?"

"I…" The scientist suddenly looked very nervous as he closed the door and fidgeted with a pencil in his hands. "I thought that for all the time you spend in here now, you deserved a nice place."

"The thing that made this place nice was you, you silly man, but I like it." You took a glance around and looked at him. "Do you like it?"

"I do." He said quietly. "I did it for myself, too. I just… didn't realize I needed it until you."

You smiled at him. Big and grinning and heartfelt in a way that had been foreign to you for so long. You wanted to fling your arms around him and take all of him in—breathing, breathing, like nothing else mattered.

Still, you held yourself back. You were just friends. Guilt tugged at you, the idea that you were only friends anyways because of a Secret Santa thing. You'd tried not to think about after Christmas, if anything would be the same, or if he would suddenly reject you because of your likely terrible gift.

Maybe you were being silly. Or maybe you were just afraid of losing something you'd just gained.

You shoved the thought away and tried to focus on the present. "This is lovely. I'm glad I could… encourage you, you know? To do something like this."

Calvin nodded. His gaze was soft, lingering on you in a way that had been changing over the last couple of weeks.

"Thank you." He said.

"No, thank you." You said with a smile. "Now—is there anything I can do in here so I don't get accused of slacking?"

"Hmm." Calvin pressed his mouth together. "I need to get some things measured before my final experiment of the day." He looked around and groaned. "There's no—god, I need a watch, what time even is it?" He looked back at you. "Yes—I certainly need some quick help."

"Well, that sounds like a job for a lab assistant." You reached for a drawer and found that you now instinctively knew where he kept his gloves. You smiled to yourself and pulled a pair on. "Where do I start?"

You stood in front of your mirror, turning this way and that as you studied yourself with a small frown.

It was always hard to decide what to wear to holiday parties. Holiday parties were dumb, first of all. There was always some dumb game or drawing that unexpectedly happened that people had to do or watch. The food was usually mediocre. The drinks were oftentimes lukewarm and flat. You could always see it in people's eyes when they started counting down the time until they got home.

And yet there was always a performance one had to put on when attending parties. The first main obstacle being how you dressed.

You were fairly satisfied with the outfit you'd finally settled on. Sweater, slacks, shoes. Things that started with S as an outfit could lead you to no wrongs. It fit you, it looked good, you were fine.

So why were you still nervous?

That was a dumb question, you thought as you started up the car and drove towards Hastings. You know exactly why you're nervous, you fool, it's because of the gift wrapped up in that jacket of yours.

In the backset, covered by your jacket, was your present for Calvin. It was wrapped in deep red wrapping paper with little dogs and Santa Clauses running across. Dog chasing Santa. Santa chasing dog. You chasing nerves.

He would like it, you told yourself. He would like the bow and the present and he would love it because you had tried. Was trying enough for him? He, who tried and excelled in so many brilliant ways?

You wanted to bang your head against the steering wheel. Now was not the time to lose it. You could always cry away your feelings once you got home.

Hmm. Alcohol at home. The thought soothed you as you stepped out of your vehicle into the cool night.

Despite the chill outside, Hastings was lively and well-lit. There was music playing somewhere, and the cafeteria had been arranged differently, giving way to seating to the side and a dance floor of sorts in the middle, which a few people were surprisingly engaging in. You discreetly dropped your present off on the Secret Santa table and glanced around the room for any sign of Calvin, but the only person you located was Marion, who was dancing with Rory. She grinned at you as he spun her around, and you gave her a thumbs up. Christmas miracles did happen.

You found Calvin only because he found you. You caught each other's eye from across the room and you stiffened, straightening slightly and restraining the urge to wave. You furiously fought back the nerves as he got closer, smiling that wobbly and lovely smile at you.

He looked good tonight. So good it made your chest hurt. He'd done something a little different with his hair, slightly more curled yet still neat, and he wore a neat, nice suit in a deep jeweled tone.

"Hi." He said, a complimentary greeting.

"Hi." You said back, a complimentary response. "Get here safe?"

"I'm here." He was standing very, very close, and both of his hands were shoved in his pockets, which was funny, because he normally didn't do that. "I took a bus."

"No running today?"

"I was carrying cargo. Couldn't let it get damaged."

"Ah, right." You nodded to the Secret Santa table. "It's a colorful haul. Looks like Santa came early."

"Santa Claus is not real, but people's effort is."

"I mean… some of it likely can't be called effort, right?" You said as you shot him a look. "I think some people are going to get some great garbage stuffers tonight."

Calvin snorted lowly. Something about it was more distant than usual, which only made the anxiety in your chest spike.

"… everything alright?" You asked quietly.

"What? Yes, of course it is." Calvin blinked down at you. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"You seem… I don't know. Off."

"I am a bit apprehensive," Calvin admitted. "and I don't like loud gatherings like this."

"Yeah, I hear you." You sighed. "I was just fantasizing about being at home and having a drink and, like, relaxing, y'know?"

"That sounds nice," he said softly. "I could go for that kind of thing right now too."

You would be welcome. You thought quietly, but before the thought could leave you, another sharp and fateful tap to a microphone drew everyone's attention to the front of the room.

"Alright, everyone, well. I know it certainly isn't Christmas yet, but tonight we're having a very Hastings Christmas!" Your boss, who had clearly been drinking, was smiling as he stared at everyone. "We've got a table over there of Secret Santa presents. Everyone was instructed to write their recipient's names on the gift somewhere, and to write their own names inside the packaging or gift, so it should be easy for everyone to find their own gift and know who gave it to them." He waved a hand. "Aside from that, we'll have a few fun games to play throughout, but I know everyone's been excited for the presents, so—get at 'em!"

There was a flurry of motion not unlike pigeons descending down upon seeds. You and Calvin stood in the corner of the room, blinking as people rummaged through the pile of presents as if on a treasure hunt, people eventually flaking off as they found what was addressed to them.

You glanced up at Calvin in that moment of observation, watching his face. His long, pretty eyelashes, the curve of his jaw, the steady bob of his throat as he swallowed. You had never been so nervous and so hopeful about a reaction in your life, you thought, which was strange.

Or maybe it wasn't so strange. You were rather endeared by Calvin Evans, after all.

"Should we…?" Calvin gestured, and you nodded, following him. You searched around, finding your present to Calvin, and you turned to him.

"This one has your name," you said with all the nonchalance you could muster. "here you go."

"Thank you." He murmured, his hands closing delicately around your present. A moment or two of searching later, and you found a present with your name on it. Simple candy-cane-stripe paper wrapped around something rectangular, tied with silver ribbon. A smile ghosted over your face at the wrapping before you stepped back from the table and caught Calvin's eye.

The man was searching around the cafeteria with a vaguely scrunched nose. When you called his name, his eyes moved to yours, and you jerked your head towards the doors.

"Wanna go somewhere quieter?"

The front hall of Hastings was quiet, unlike the cafeteria. The two of you settled on the nearby stairs, illuminated by the decorations, gifts in your laps as you sat in a simple silence.

"This is a lot." You said after a moment.

"What is?"

"All of it. Christmas."

Calvin hummed. His arm brushed against yours as he leaned back with a slow sigh.

"This has been… a very good Christmas season for me," He said quietly. "because for once, I've not felt entirely alone during it."

Your heart gave a little tap dance in your chest at that. "I'm glad I've been making it better."

"You don't even know how much better." Calvin swallowed noticeably, eyelids fluttering slightly as he looked down at his lap and opened his mouth, stumbling over his words. "I just—it means—I—"

"It's alright." Your hand landed over his for a moment, and you both paused as your eyes met. You smiled at him, searched his expression.

"I get it," you whispered. "and I'm happy you're here with me."

"… yeah," he said, voice low and thick. "me too."

"I… we should—" You ripped your gaze away, down to the present. "We, should, uh—"

"Right. Yes." Calvin straightened slightly, clearing his throat. "On three?"

You smiled a little. "Of course. One… two…"

"Three." Calvin finished for you, and both of you tore into the presents.

Calvin opened presents like he was operating on a patient. You would have to teach him how to properly unwrap. Your attention, surprisingly, was ripped from Calvin when your eyes fell on your gift.

It was a notebook—sleek and expensive-looking, your initials on the front. As you flipped the first page open dazedly, you noticed familiar handwriting, tentative and neat on the first page.

"For my note-taker, my assistant, my culinary instructor, my listener, and the one who has reminded me this month that for all the loneliness I have suffered, it has all been worth it to know you."

Calvin

You jerked your head up at the exact same time that Calvin's head whipped up.

"It was you—" You both started saying, before you both stopped and stared at each other.

Calvin was cradling a watch in his hand. He'd needed a new one, of course. He told you two weeks ago that his old one had broken on a random day and he'd been completely distraught since. You'd gone to great lengths to research this one, and those lengths had gone far, especially with the quote on the back of the watch.

You must never be fearful of what you are doing when it is right.

You had a note in there. You knew it was simple, sweet. "To the man who is brilliant, smart, funny, and interesting in every way. Thank you for entertaining and caring about me."

The realization clicked into place very slow and very sweet.

You had gotten each other as a Secret Santa.

You began to laugh. One second it was giggles and the next it was soundless laughter, laughing so hard that tears sprang to your eyes. Or maybe the tears were because you loved this gift and you loved the man next to you.

"Why are you—" Calvin was laughing now, too. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because—" You wiped a tear from your eye. "Because this is so funny and you are so amazing and I love you and this gift so much—"

"You love me?" Calvin stared at you, lips parting.

Your laughter hitched, your breath stalling in your lungs. Your fingers clutched tight around the notebook in your lap, and you bit down on your lip as you managed a slow nod.

It was like a dam had broken inside of Calvin. His shoulders eased as a breath slid from his lips like it had been waiting for permission.

"That's—that's really good," he managed. "because I am quite positive that I love you too—"

You leaned forward and kissed him.

He was warm, and he smelled even better up close. His hand was cupping at your cheek and your neck, thumb along your jaw, tilting his head with a low, rumbling sound.

You both pulled back from the kiss. "Come to Christmas Eve," you panted. "with my family? Please?"

"Okay," Calvin agreed, and you dove back into each other again.

You were making out with Calvin Evans on the staircase of a building with an incredible Christmas gift in your lap and you were positive this was the greatest Christmas party ever.

"I'm guessing you like it, then?" He murmured between kisses. "I was—I was scared, I think, worried that you wouldn't like it—"

"I love it. I love it so much, Calvin, you don't even know how much it means to me." You shook your head, grinning as you peppered small little kisses all across his face. "So brilliant and observant, you know that?"

"I love this too. I've gotta—honey, hold on, I have to—" He was torn between continuing to kiss you and wrapping the watch around his left wrist. "The quote's so—how did you even—?"

"Research." You said smugly against his lips.

Calvin groaned softly. "That sounds… very hot when you say that." He kissed you again.

The two of you leaned back after a few moments, sprawled on the stairs. You would have to shower later, of course, you didn't trust where your coworker's shoes had been, but right now you were on cloud nine and nothing else mattered.

"… you're very hard to buy for, you know that?" Calvin murmured, playing with your hand.

"You are too," you protested. "I mean, what was I supposed to get, soaps? It took me forever to pinpoint the right—"

Calvin laughed and shushed you, kissing your knuckles. "I am joking with you," he murmured. "I enjoyed shopping with you. A little too much, actually."

You stared at him for a moment. "… what does that mean?"

Calvin glanced over at you, searching your face. "… spend Christmas with me?" He asked softly. "Please?"

A slow smile spread over your face. "Of course I will. Absolutely."

"Good." He rubbed your arm up and down. "I ended up buying you lots of presents."

Your eyebrows shot up. "… I did too. For you."

"No shit?"

Calvin swearing took you off guard, but you giggled and nodded, and he smiled and kissed you again, and for once, everything was right in the world.

"Oh, I mean it." He said when he leaned back from you, studying his new watch and then looking like you like you were worth billions. "This has been my best Christmas ever."

"Merry Christmas, Calvin." You said as you brushed your thumb along his cheeks.

He shivered slightly, but leaned into your touch. "Merry Christmas." He repeated, lower. His eyes moved to your lips again.

"Do you think I have more time to show my appreciation for the present?" He asked hopefully.

You smiled. "I don't think we'll be missed."

"Good." A hand pulled you closer by the sweater, and you thanked the Christmas spirits for blessing you with the hottest chemist alive. "I think I have a lot to thank you for."

"Merry Christmas indeed." You said with a giggle.

His lips closed over yours again, and in the crook of the Hastings building's stairway, the two of you pressed together, close and warm and happy, and celebrated new love and the right kind of connection the Christmas way.