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"So…that's everything, right?" Jeff starts shuffling papers together in something resembling order. Jensen will probably just come through later and arrange them at precise ninety degree angles to the desk or to the horizon, or to Mecca, for all Jeff knows. The thought makes him smile and he stops trying to straighten the pages, letting them fall where they will.
"No, not quite everything," Kane says, surprisingly, considering they just spent the last six hours going through contracts and sign-offs.
Jeff looks down at the papers, flipping through all the meticulously flagged pages to check his signatures. "What else you got?"
Kane sighs, sounding put upon. Which is pretty normal. "It's Christmas in two days. You want to talk about what you're getting for Jensen?"
"Oh." Jeff blinks. Of all the people he'd expect to get this speech from, Kane doesn't even rank in the top one-hundred. "No, actually. I've already got it taken care of."
"Okay, no. I'm going to lose way too many man-points for having this conversation with you—and we must never speak of this again—but you give shitty presents, man. And this isn't like you giving Ever some dog that she's allergic to or giving Sam an Albert Einstein Chia Pet. This is Jensen. Who thinks every little gesture you make shines out of God's ass. And I don't want to deal with the fucking kid moping around this place all hangdog, because you got him a shitty present."
Jeff is cool, Jeff is calm. Smugness is his bullet proof armor. "Yeah, well…I didn't get him a shitty present. I got him an awesome present. I got the perfect present." He gets up from the desk. "There will be shock and awe when all of you see how perfect my present is." Kane opens his mouth. Jeff points a finger at him. "Shock and awe, asshole Wait and see."
***
"Why you telling me?" Chris filches a slice of ham from the platter in front of him. "I know what day it is."
"Well, one of us needs to talk to Jeff about what he's getting for Jensen." Sam lifts the pan off the burner and commences to beat the hell out the fragrant goo inside. "Because a Chia Pet isn't going to cut it. And if you touch that ham again, Christian, I swear to God you'll lose those fingers."
"Look, I already talked to him. He says he's got it covered."
"Chris." She sets the pan down and plants both fists on her hips.
"Don't look at me like that. I know!" Chris tucks the last of the ham in his cheek like a wad of chaw. "I talked to him. He says he's got it covered."
"And we're just supposed to take his word for it?" Sam scowls but she goes back to beating her mixture. Chris thinks it's icing.
Chris shrugs. His shopping, what little there is, is done. "What else do you want to do?"
"We could go out and get something for him ourselves. Wrap it up, swap it out for whatever monstrosity Jeff's put under the tree."
Chris shakes his head, straightening up on the bar stool. "Nuh-uh. I am out of the ass-wiping business. That's why we have Jensen in the first place. Jeff says he has it under control, I say let him have it under control. Let him do it his way."
Sam's lips twist with uncharacteristic uncertainty. "But it's his first Christmas," she says, sounding almost plaintive. "It should be good, don't you think?"
"I think he'll be stunned stupid to get anything at all," Chris says, wondering how he got tied up in all this melodrama. How he always gets tied up in it. Looking after Jeff is more than a full-time job.
Sam tilts her head at him. "You got him a gift, didn't you?" she says speculatively, smile flirting on her lips.
"I ain't saying nothing about what I got for who." Chris gets off the stool before tossing back the last of his Coke. "You'll have to wait for Christmas morning just like everybody else."
"Yeah, all right." Sam chuckles quietly under her breath and turns her back on him. "I got him something, too."
***
"Why is everyone asking me that question?" Jeff demands.
Ever and Leah give him identical looks, which just shows that they've been together entirely too long. Jeff wonders if he and Jensen will get like that over time, finishing each other's sentences, making the same expressions. It's not as worrisome a thought as he'd think.
"I give good presents!"
Ever's nose squinches up. "Like…sea monkeys good or the entire series of The Partridge Family good?"
"You are just never going to let me live that down, are you?" Jeff asks, with wounded dignity. "You liked The Partridge Family!"
"I had a crush on David Cassidy," Ever corrects, biting her lower lip as she struggles not to laugh. "It's not the same thing. And besides, I was seven at the time. That's no excuse for buying the DVDs when I was twenty-seven!"
Jeff shakes his head regretfully. "You've changed, man. Gotten mean in your old age."
"Don't listen to her," Leah says, a laugh shivering through her voice as well, even though she's standing downcast and demure. "She still has a crush on David Cassidy."
"Leah!" Ever's eyes get huge and she swats Leah in the arm. "You swore! You swore you would die with that secret!?"
"I'm dying on the inside," Leah answers, dry as the Mojave.
***
"Fuck that," Jeremy says, twirling his empty between his fingers. "I want to know what he got me."
"But can anything compare to that stuffed parrot he got you a couple years ago?" Adrianne giggles.
"I think it was a macaw, actually." Sandy plucks the bottle from Jeremy's hand with the neat economy of a pickpocket—which she was, apparently, once upon a time—and tosses it in the garbage bag in her other hand.
"Whatever. It was fugly."
"I love that bird!" Jeremy exclaims, clutching his heart as if wounded. "I named him Stumpy!"
Is that why you have that thing? Misha signs, his expression somewhere between amused and enlightened—either of which might have nothing to do with the parrot (or macaw), since they're pretty much Misha's normal expressions when dealing with Jeremy's circle of friends.
"It's some big secret," Wendy volunteers. She's been nursing the same cup of nog all night. So far, neither Zach nor Jeremy has noticed and Misha hasn't made up his mind to mention it. There could be lots of reasons Wendy might want to avoid alcohol. "Jeff doesn't want anyone to know."
"Sandy, honey. Sit down. Put the garbage bag down. You are hereby ordered to enjoy yourself, okay? Somebody, take that bag away from her." Sam isn't drinking either, though Misha thinks her reasons are considerably different—a headache. "Jeff's pretty damn smug about the whole thing." Sam switches back to the subject at hand, swinging her feet up to rest them across Kane's knees. "He thinks he's found the perfect gift."
It's interesting to see the promptness with which the entire room breaks up, drunk, stoned and sober alike. Misha's witnessed Jeremy's fondness for the stuffed parrot first-hand, which doesn't give him a good gauge of Jeff's gift giving abilities. Maybe he's just good at giving Jeremy what he likes.
The unintentional double entendre makes Misha frown.
"What time was Ever's flight getting in? They should be back by now, right?"
Not with Christmas traffic around the airport, Misha thinks, but it's an opinion he keeps to himself. He wonders if Jensen will like the present Misha got for him.
He'd picked out gifts on Vincent's behalf, of course, but it seems strangely different—strangely more significant—when you're doing the giving on your own behalf, because you have a connection to these people, different and separate from whatever relationships your master has.
Misha shifts quietly on the sofa, to an answering movement inside him, and wonders if Jeremy will like the surprise Misha has planned for him.
***
There's a part of Jensen that wishes they didn't have to get up at all, that they could stay here in the sleep-warmed cocoon of blankets, morning breath, sleep frowst and all. There aren't many mornings they can do this: lie tangled in bed and murmur stupid, inconsequential talk to each other.
"I'll like whatever you give me."
"Yeah, I know…" Jeff's smile is sheepish, soft and goofy. "But I don't want you to like it just because I gave it to you, I want you to like it because you like it."
"I will." Jensen thinks about mentioning that none of his masters—even Lord Hutton—had ever given him a Christmas present before, but talking about his former masters always makes Jeff weird and uncomfortable and Jensen doesn't want to wreck the moment.
"I just…" Jeff clears his throat. "It's come to my attention recently that I apparently give shitty presents. And I just…I want it to be perfect."
"It will be." Jensen slips forward a little bit, just enough to claim his master's mouth and revel in the license to do so.
***
"Not even on a bet, Kane."
Jensen ignores the peanut gallery and keeps peeling back the wrapping paper with reverent fingers, literally stunned speechless.
"I just got those for show," Jeff says, in the offhand voice he uses when he's embarrassed and trying not to be obvious about it. "Just 'cause I thought they looked nice, but there are disposable, stainless steel needles somewhere under there, too. And, and other stuff."
In the background, Jeremy and Zach are cooing at each other in baby voices, clutching each other's arms and making slurpy kissing noises. It might as well be a million miles away as Jensen sets the box carefully aside, the bottles of massage oil, and climbs up his master's body to straddle Jeff's thighs.
"Thank you," Jensen says, for Jeff's ears alone. "It's perfect." Jeff's hands light on his hips, heavy and possessive, making Jensen want to arch his back like Pickles (who is playing destroyer among the scattered pinwheels of wrapping paper and dodging Ryzer and Bodhi's every attempt to catch him). "Everything is perfect."