Boxing Day Gift Exchange


abby_icon.gif hagan_icon.gif

Scene Title Boxing Day Gift Exchange
Synopsis Abby takes care of Hagan's rotten lungs and liver. He gets a second chance, but he's sure he'll screw it up. She's sure too, in a kind way.
Date December 26, 2008

Abby's Apartment

It's not overly spacious, It's a New York area apartment. But it suits it's residents purposes. An open kitchen, crammed with all the accoutrements needed to cook, a dining table shoved against the far wall with chairs tucked in. A livingroom with a fairly new red suede couch shoved up agaisnt a window and TV set opposite on a stand makes up the rest of the communal living area. It looks fairly newly occupied and the personal touches not put to it yet. Five doors down a hall lead to three seperate bedrooms, a bathroom and linen closet. What's behind the doors remains a mystery unless one of the residents leaves a door open, though if someone knows the residents, the simple gold cross above one door indicates where the woman in this place lives.

Afternoon, early afternoon. Because her morning was taken up with Elisabeth down at the police station. She's now however, a registered Evolved. A message was left at the bar, and on his voicemail that she had time, and energy this afternoon to follow through on her debt to Hagan. Her home address given, since she trust the guy, and an expectation that he not arrive while she was out. Things are in order, though quiet in the apartment. Oprah plays in the background on the TV, and Pila's perched on Abby's shoulder, feeding the budgies seeds,

Spending Christmas alone has a way of…depressing a guy. It doesn't help when the guy's Hagan who swings between manic and completely down. He's probably bipolar, come to think of it, but at least he manages to function. There's a ragged knock at the door. When she opens it, she'll be greeted by the Irishman with his hair mussier than usual, in a Dubliners T-shirt with a long, multicoloured burgundy and white scarf looped around his neck. He looks like crap, but he's carrying a brightly wrapped present. "Merry Boxing Day."

Pila's shoved, carefully, into her cage. She doens't want to chance the budgie flying away down a hall and incurring Teo's wrath should something happen to his baby. So it is, in jeans and simple purple sweater, Abby answers the door, head tilted to the side, taking in the view that is Hagan. "Boxing day?" With a further opening of the door and motion for him to come in, Abby closes the portal behind him. "Please tell me that's not for me?"

"Boxing Day. You know. The day after…right. Right. You don't know what that is here, do you?" Hagan pulls back the hood. "Right. Well, it's a day for visiting friends and mauling people over sales. That and something about servants and masters switching positions." He pushes the box towards her. Very, very nicely wrapped. Well, he is a designer. "This isn't a day you come round empty handed, and I didn't think you'd like a bottle of gin."

The gayly wrapped present is taken. "No, no I don't much care for Gin. There's some alcohol around here, but only because Teo and Al like to have a drink now and then. But I'll have to look that up. The boxing Day things. I avoid the stores, for the most part, unless I need something. I have better things to usually do than wander and look at stuff that I have no need for, or can afford. But, Happy Boxing Day to you to as well Hagan. Sorry, about running off on you that day. Stuff came up, I was needed badly. But like I left on your message. I have the time today. If you have the time to sit that is" She's getting back to normal after her Christmas eve run in.

"It's the holidays. I have nothing but time." Which is usually the opposite of what normal people say. Hagan shrugs off his jacket. "I admit I don't know you well, but I tried for something generic and un-offensive." Hey, it's the thought that counts.

'Shall I open it later then, so that if I don't like it, I can throw it at your head and then ask god to fix that as well?" It's utter and abject teasing, trying to dissolve the awkwardness that always ensues the two of them meeting. "Welcome to my place not as big as yours, and nowhere near as grand and I don't think you'll find a computer here. Take a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?" The aroma of coffee swills about the apartment, a pot almost perpetually in the making here.

"Fuck. I don't care. My ma and I lived in a one-bedroom flat until my father finally started paying child support. I'm not old money. I'm bloody Irish, for god's sake." Hagan gets even more crotchety when he's feeling awkward. "Open it now, later. Doesn't matter to me. Coffee's fine." He sits on the couch after kicking off his shoes.

over she bends, picking up the discarded shoes and dropping them by the door neatly. "MY house. language. Gods name isn't taken in vain here please" Calm as you may. She detours then to the kitchen to get two cups of coffee. One really big mug, the other normal. "It's better than my last place and i'm not alone. There's no cockroaches that I can see and I can't hear the neighbours two floors up fighting, so, it's a vast improvement"

"I try. I really do try. But I'm trying to cut back on g…d… cigarettes. And booze. I can only tackle so many vices at once!" Hagan knits his fingers through his hair and leans forward, averting his gaze from her.

"Admirable. Okay. Here's the deal then. Don't take his name in vain then, and I'll overlook the swearing in my presence. Deal?" Back around she comes, setting his cup in front of him, then her cup. Over the divide she reaches, grabbing creamers and a bowl of sugar for Hagan. "How was Christmas?"

"I'm Catholic. We do it all the time and just confess. Makes life easier." Except Hagan hasn't been to confession in years. He looks down at the coffee and doctors it up with unconscious motions. "Went to Mass. Came home. Called my ma. Opened a few things she and dad sent. Then I had some Christmas cheer and went to bed."

"Sounds quieter than my Christmas. Though I had a nice coffee with some friends, where no one tried to kill me, or I didn't need to ask god to heal someone. Got some sleep in and no one brought back thier drink and complained. So all in all a good day" She holds her coffee with one hand, the other held close to it. "You okay with my hand on your chest, or would you rather I held your hand?"

Hagan rubs his hair and averts his gaze again. He shifts and sets the coffee down. "Whatever you need to do." He's like a two year old at the doctor's.

"Hand. Save my modesty. It's not like your unconscious. be a little awkward to sit here for 20 minutes while I fix you up, with my hand planted on your chest. I don't think my cheeks could handle the red. Her now warmed up hand is offered to Hagan, arm resting on the chair of the armchair beside the couch. Under her breath she's asking god, couching it in a prayer to help Hagan, to revert damage done.

Hagan very, very stiffly holds out his hand. It's calloused where he holds the drawing tablet pen and a little stained from the smoking. "What do I need to do?"

'Sit there. Watch Oprah. Drink your coffee" Soon as he touches her, his hand placed in hers, there it is. What he felt that first time around. Abby lans to the side, resting her head on the back of the armchair, feet tucked up and the coffee on her lap. "It's really quite… I don't know, there's no fanfare. Just.. what you feel"

"Right…" Hagan tries not to look at her. Oprah gets his attention for half a second, but really, he's a guy. He'd rather look at the wall. Or the carpet. That's what he focuses on.

"Or you know, you can tell me about Ireland, or what you got for Christmas, and the like. You don't have to stay quiet. I can carry on a conversation while doing this" She gives his hand a squeeze, letting god's work start in on his lungs, on his liver and everywhere else that needs a little bit of attention. Even, a little surprised, his wrist.

It's not something dirty! Hagan uses a pen tool for his design work. "I'm horrible at small talk."

"So am I." Abby confesses. "With a bunch of people. Mike, you, a few others. Sometimes quiet is nice. You wrapped that present very beautifully. Most people don't care what presents look like. They just slap paper and then tape and that's it" Abby gestures to the wrapped gift with her free hand.

"Well, I'm a designer. Can't do much else except make things look good." Hagan rubs the side of his cheek. "It's why they pay me the big bucks."

'What did you end up getting your mother? and it does look good. you did a good job. I'm tempted to never open it and just leave it there" Abby sinks back into the chair a little bit more, turning her head just enough to gulp down a few mouthfuls of coffee.

"It's your gift," says Hagan. "Do whatever you want with it." He picks up his own coffee and sips. "Em. I got her this big gift basket with gardening things."

'See, you thought of something. Almost done" The last two words likely a relief to him to hear. She's wilting slowly, the expended energy to get him back to rights. Abby smiles as she diverts her attention Oprah and the obvious rerun.

"She's not going to use it for awhile. Earlier than people here." Hagan shrugs. "I kind of have to order anything big, you know, from a store there. And have it delivered. Otherwise it takes forever and costs a fortune." Hagan sounds distracted.

"She'll enjoy it, I'm sure. She seems like a good woman, what I've heard of her" He eyes go to hagan's chest, then his wrist. "Take a deep breath?"

Hagan does as he's told. He pulls in his breath slowly and coughs a little. "She's a teacher, you know. One of those selfless types." Not at all like him!

Not finished yet. "I've met a few of those types" She's not about to label herself that kind. The wrist is done, no more bypass for the healing, it goes to work on his lungs and she gives it the boost, pushing more of it as she can, through to him. "How do you feel?" She's getting tired, she can feel is in her own bones almost as minutes pass.

"I…don't know? How should I feel?" It's hard for Hagan to tell at rest. He takes a deep breath. This time he doesn't cough. "Are you all right then?"

"Nothing coffee and a nap won't cure. He doesn't give it more a cost than I can't bear. Don't worry" Just a little more then, remove it all. His lungs were bad, she could feel it just soak up what she gave it. "Your get out of cancer free card"

"Was it really almost cancer?" Hagan's voice cracks. He's not being quite as frantic as he normally is. Fear actually trickles in, past the eccentric facade.

Her blue eyes look over at him, lifting up from his chest. "It took a lot Hagan. It was something. I can't tell. But usually, that's what it is, or it was close to it" She squeezes his hand. "You'll be fine Hagan. Whatever it was, it's no more, in about… five seconds…"

She'll feel a shudder run through the hand she holds. Hagan closes his eyes and tilts his head down. There's a difference between thinking something is bad for you and knowing it could have killed you.

"Second chance Hagan. Not many people get it you Deserve. Do with it, what you will, use it as you will. Whether you repeat it all again, or change. I can't cure an addiction, it's of the mind, and of the heart, but I can help it, like I just did. No Strings, like I promised. Our debt is squared, wiped off the board, and there's nothing more between us" The healing ends, there's nothing more, even the bipolar, if it's chemical in nature would be wiped away, as if it never existed. She still holds onto his hand though.

Unfortunately, she didn't cure his strange personality. That's behavior more than anything. The depression might be lessened though. Hagan opens his eyes and looks up at her. "Nothing more? All right." Leave it to him to take that as a rejection instead of something kind. He stands and starts for the door. "Bail รณ Dhia ort."

"No more debts between us Hagan. But i'll be disappointed if one of my favourite barflies never comes for a drink, or even a soda again. For better or worse, i've taken a vested interest in seeing you alive. That and, like Mike, I kinda like you" She's not going to stop him, she's tired, the bone weariness that settles in after something major. "Thank you Hagan, for the present. I hope you enjoy yours. It's a new year coming. I hope it finds you well"

"I don't know if I can keep this gift like new for long," Hagan admits. Hey, it's the Catholicism again. Man as a flawed, sinning being. "I'm sure I'll see you around. I'll let you rest." He pulls on his shoes, and if he's not stopped, he's out the door quickly.

"No strings Hagan. I swear it" And she doesn't stop him, just rising once he's out the door, the wood thunking home. behind him he can hear the four locks sink home, barring herself inside the apartment. The walls aren't thin enough however, to offer up the sound of the young woman shuffling off to her bed with a self satisfied smile on her face. "Merry Christmas Hagan O'Sullivan. Keep it new long as possible"

December 26th: Starbucks vs. Hospital Coffee
December 26th: They Who Give Up Essential Liberty
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