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Oz's first Christmas without his dad was... dull.
He had tried to get into the holiday spirit— after all, what's not to love? LA was finally cooling down, the bullpen was covered in festive lights, and he had an absolutely hideous sweater that played "O' Christmas Tree" at the touch of a button-- fuckin' awesome. Daphne had always hated it, telling him to get rid of it. He had considered it, whatever, but he had kept it purely out of spite, sending her a photo of him wearing it each year on November 1st, to which she always complained “Halloween was yesterday,” sighing lovingly.
This year, though, as he uncovered the stupid sweater from the depths of his closet, he felt... off.
That same rush he had gotten years beforehand was gone, and instead, he felt a nauseating pit inside of his stomach, insides hollow.
Something; someone, was missing: his father.
After all, Christmas had forever been their thing— buying the tree together, making trays and trays of baklava, picking out and wrapping gifts for his younger sisters.
Even after Oz had moved out, going halfway across the state for college, Christmas remained important to them. Hell, it was one of the only reasons his father would drive down to LA, apart from escaping the muggy San Francisco winters each year.
Little did Oz know that last Christmas would actually be their last, and instead that he would be the one driving to see his dad-- and not for the reasons he'd hoped.
And, being the eldest child and all, the funeral responsibilities were all on him.
At the time, as he went over it all in his head on the drive home, it felt like his life was over; he was never going to be whole again. Grief can do that to a person— even someone as lively as Oz.
So, here he was. Well into December, with Christmas rapidly approaching, part of him still feeling like the same guy he was the day he received the news.
But, he had to push through. Not just for his own sake, but for the people around him. The last thing he wanted was for the Major Crimes team to see him so fucking miserable.
It was nearing nightfall, and the rest of the team was preparing to go, shutting down their computers and grabbing their bags. Oz, however, had other plans: working overtime so as not to actually face his problems. Maybe he’d hit the gym afterwards, literally running away from his problems.
Everywhere he went, he was met with reminders of his father, and quite frankly, he just wasn’t strong enough to deal with that right now. He was one small, unintentional reminder away from breaking down.
Soon enough, however, Daphne had begun to pick up on his shit. Admittedly, he had spent the day ridiculously quiet and unfocused— or, at least, for his standards, watching from the sidelines as Morgan and Karadec were in the midst of the action.
Nudging him on the shoulder, coat in hand, she flashed him a concerned look.
“You okay? You’ve been pretty quiet all day. I know how hard this time has been for you—”
And there it fucking was. It was always something so unintentional, so stupid, that reminded him of his father, causing him to break down.
Tears welling up in his eyes, he kicked his desk, chair gliding away from Daphne.
As his voice broke, he replied, “I’m fine.”
“You clearly aren’t, Oz,” she observed, turning around to look him in the eye.
“Talk to me. I’m worried. You’ve been acting off— not just today, but the whole month. I know it’s hard. I just want to help. Please.”
“Fine, whatever. I— just. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” His breaths were short and shallow, and he felt trapped; as if he was drowning. As tight as him and his father were, emotions had never come easily to the two.
“Breathe. I’m here.”
“First Christmas without my dad, whatever. It’s just… challenging. Don’t know how else to put it. It used to be our thing, and now he’s gone, and it all just fucking sucks. I’m sorry, Daph— I’ll stop.”
“Don’t apologize, Oz. I’m listening.”
“Thank you.”
For a second, the two sat there, motionless; silent, expecting one another to break the silence— Daphne expecting Oz to say something more.
Taking a deep breath, he stood up, brushing a handful of crumbs off of his shirt. Daphne had been surprising him with treats each morning, but today, it had sat there, untouched, until Oz realized just how little he had done for the day, deciding to eat away his feelings instead.
“I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. I know how much he meant to you—”
“Also, thank you. For the pastry,” he added abruptly, saving himself from being on the receiving end of another soliloquy about his grief. These first ten months without his dad, he had heard tens of hundreds of people apologizing for his loss, letting him know that they understood how he felt, about how hard it is to lose someone so important to you.
Of course, he appreciated the gesture. Every act of kindness and understanding he had been shown— even if it was subtle— frequented his mind.
But to his core, he felt as if no one understood how he felt, including Daphne, his best friend. That feeling in itself— of isolation, of loneliness— made him feel selfish to begin with: feeling the way he did, despite having such an incredible support system, including a boss who allowed him to slack off on days his grief felt more intense than others, and a best friend who even bothered to put up with him in the first place.
Nevertheless, Oz’s grief had so many levels; so many hues, most of which he could barely grasp himself. It was so much more than it appeared on the outside. He didn’t just lose his dad, he had lost his best friend, the man who had held the Ôzdil family together. Now, the pressure was on him— to keep his sisters and mother from fighting, to organize family gatherings, to attend recitals and performances, to keep up with both his job, and take care of his sisters and a grieving mother.
It was a lot, to say the least.
“And for taking care of what I should’ve been doing. And for being here. Just— thank you, Daph. For everything.”
“Of course. You deserve nothing less.” As much as she poked fun at him, she had always been there for him, from bad fights with his mother to the day his father died— she was the first person he had called, even above his sisters. Shitty move on his part, but they had lost their father too, and how were they to help? They were as heartbroken as Oz was.
Oz and Daphne’s friendship first sparked when they had been two of four kids in the dorkiest club in school. In their earliest days of working with the LAPD, Oz would always joke, “Look where it got us.” The club was in no way related to police work, by the way. It was just an odd coincidence; that a stupid club had led to this.
“Man, what did I do to deserve you?”
“It was your headgear and dorkiness when we were 16 that really charmed me,” she joked. “Now, c’mon. Grab your shit. I’m going for a run, and you’re coming with me.”
“How’d you—?”
“You have been bouncing your leg all day. You’re so restless, like a damn dog who needs to get out in the yard 3 times a day,” she teased, rolling her eyes. She had a point, honestly.
“Plus, this new dessert place opened up nearby. Really extensive menu, I’ve heard, and I’m ravenous. We’ll make a game plan later— you’re not leaving my side tonight.”
“Seems a little extreme, doesn’t it?” He joked, looking up at her.
“I just hate seeing you like this,” Daphne frowned.
“Okay, okay,” he groaned, cleaning up his workspace for the night. He had barely done anything the whole week, but somehow, it was still a mess.
Finally arriving home for the night, after a three mile run and dinner at a nearby café, Oz clung to Daphne, who had offered to stay the night with him.
On days he felt like this, his first instinct, of course, was to hide— to push down his feelings, acting like nothing was wrong. His second, however, was to take comfort in the little things: the way Daphne’s fingers intertwined perfectly with his, her radiating warmth seeping into him, the way she allowed him to be himself around her, without fear of judgment.
As she rummaged within his closet, attempting to find the stash of her stuff she kept at his house, she felt him leaning on her, weirdly catlike.
“C’mon, Daph. I’m tired. You can borrow some of my clothes,” he mumbled.
She giggled, feeling his breath on her neck. She raised an eyebrow. “Where’d my stuff go, Oz?”
“Doesn’t matter. C’mon, it’s been a long ass day,” he groaned, gesturing towards his bed.
Of course, his sadness wouldn’t simply disappear after just a couple of hours. The pit in his stomach was still there, and would remain for weeks on end. But he didn’t need to run away from his grief, or it would come back to bite him when it was least expected.
Being with Daphne, however, had led his feelings to subside. At least, for the time being.
When he was with her, he simply had a hard time focusing on anything else.
Letting go of her waist and separating from her, he dug through his dresser, grabbing a baggy t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts for her.
“Here. Go,” he handed her his things, gesturing towards the restroom.
He surely wasn’t as sad as he was in the bullpen, but there was no doubting how exhausted he was. The last thing Daphne wanted to do was do anything more to bother him. Without saying anything else, Daphne grabbed his clothes, leaving the room.
Oz began to crash into his bed, shuffling through various pillows and blankets to reach a comfortable position. When Daphne had reentered the room, he had finally drifted off, sprawled awkwardly across the bed. She crawled into bed opposite him, face laying within the crook of his neck.
At this point, he’s very much asleep, having fallen into a deep slumber within minutes. Still, she links her fingers with his, aligning his calloused fingers with hers, almond-shaped and painted a wine red.
Outside, she can hear the faint sounds of trees blowing in the wind and a squirrel rummaging nearby.
More importantly, however, was what was in front of her— Oz, breathing steadily, chest rising up and down. Taking one last glance of him, she shut her eyes. They had work in the morning, and she also needed a good night’s rest.
“‘Night, Oz. Get some rest. You deserve it,” she whispers into his ear.