#he sprinkles them in his conversations like raisins on top of oatmeal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-blind-assassin-12 · 4 years

Text

Nothin’ Big

A/N: The 12 Days of Christmas start on Christmas Day and go into the new year. But the 12 Days of Christmas Fics starts RIGHT NOW. Starting the countdown with the sweetest Mafioso that ever lived. This is MM Nick. There’s a “chapter 3″ floating around unfinished, and this little interlude to the main story comes chronologically after it, but luckily non-linear storytelling is a game i like to play, so out of order it is!

Word Count: 4,097

Prompt from: @its-my-little-dumpster-fire

“Just open it.”

“It’s not weird, it’s tradition.”

“I didn’t know what to get you. You’re not exactly easy to shop for.”

It was warmer in your drafty home than it had been since the weather turned. The heat still wasn’t working right, but for once you had all four burners on the stove going, and the tiny oven had been set to 375 all morning. The sweet smell of sugary confections filled the air as you pulled a batch of cookies from the center rack, setting the tray on top of the waiting trivets on the counter. Red, green and blue sprinkles covered the crisp, golden forms of trees, mittens and snowflakes, and you smiled as you slipped the quilted pot holders from your hands and stuck them into the pocket of your apron. Just need to finish the chocolate chip, then I can get dinner in and start cleaning up. You turned and grabbed the second tray, already loaded up with rounded dollops of dough, and placed it in the oven. The timer beeped as you set it for twelve minutes, the microwave chiming in to let you know that your coffee was once again an acceptable temperature. You grabbed your mug, a chipped ceramic snowman that was nearly as old as you were, noting the time as you took a sip of the warm nutty beverage. I’ve got three hours. Perfect.

Setting your coffee down, you started sliding the sugar cookies onto a sheet of tin foil so that they could cool. You’d admittedly gone overboard- one batch of cookies would have been more than enough, but you’d let yourself get carried away by the nostalgia of the beat up old recipe book, the stained apron and festive pot holders, ending up with two dozen each of the sugar cookies, chocolate chip, and oatmeal raisin that you’d made the night before. Gonna be eating cookies for breakfast lunch and dinner. You made a mental note to find the green tins in the closet upstairs so that you could fill them up and bring the leftover sweets in to work with you on Thursday. For tonight though, you’d pulled out the long glass tray etched with little reindeer that had once belonged to your grandmother. You ran your fingers over the design before arranging the cooled cookies, letting your mind wander back to Thanksgiving, and the start of this entire holiday hullabaloo.

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

The wind lashed at the screens, causing them to buckle and knock against the glass panes, the windows shaking in their frames. You nestled deeper into the pile of blankets that you’d disappeared beneath, eyes shut tight as you sighed contentedly, pressing your cheek into the soft green pillowcase. Rain pattered against the roof, adding to the stormy symphony, the clouds contributing to the colorless sky. You loved sleeping through storms, especially on rare days off from work when you didn’t have to pull yourself from your cocoon before you were willing to do so. Normally your alarm would be blaring by 7am, alerting you that it was time to start your day, but turning your face to the clock on your side table, you pried one eye open just enough to see the bright red numbers reading 10:57. A sleepy smile pulled your lips upwards. Still so much time to sleep. You flipped your pillow, relishing the cool side as another strong gust rattled the glass and screens above your head.

But just as you felt yourself giving in to the waves of slumber that would take you back into dreams, your phone rang. It buzzed and vibrated against the wooden surface of your bedside table, causing you to jolt, nearly falling out of bed in a tangle of sheets and covers. What the- you groaned, slowly realizing that you’d forgotten to turn your phone on silent. You never got calls on your days off, so you didn’t bother to switch the setting before crawling into bed. Glancing at the phone clutched in your hand, you read the caller ID, blinking questioningly at it. Huh? What’s he calling me for? Sudden panic mixed with your sleepy confusion as you swiped your screen to answer.

“Hello?” Your heart pounded three times in the half beat it took him to respond.

He spoke your name in a sigh of relief. “Where are you? Ya good? Ya okay?” His questions tumbled out one after the next, accent thicker than you’d heard it in person.

“Nick? Yeah, of course I’m fine, what are you…what do you mean? What’s going on?” You raised yourself up on your knees and turned to peer through the curtains, nothing to see but a gray sky and a few seagulls swooping through it. “Why are you callin’ me?”

“You’re okay? You’re not…” he let out a heavy breath. “You’re not hurt or…or anythin’?”

His tone was only making you more nervous and unsure. Hurt? Why would he think that? “Nick, calm down. I’m fine. Where are you, what’s going on?” You sat back against your pillows, pulling your knees to your chest.

“I’m…at work. I’m outside, it’s,” you heard the rattle of the door handle as he tried to yank it open. “It’s locked and the lights are out. There’s no cars here. No one’s here and you usually are so…” The door rattled once more as he let it go. “So I wanted to make sure nothin’ happened.”

He was worried about me? You couldn’t really blame him, considering how things had gone only a few weeks before when you’d gone from cashbox girl to getaway driver to…whatever new label your latest antics had earned you. “Nothin’ happened, Nick, everything’s okay.”

He sighed again and you heard a soft thud, imagining him collapsing back against the locked door, that one section of hair falling in his face as he tucked his chin to his chest. “Okay. Okay, good, I… Okay…so where is everyone? No Steve? No Ralph?”

Pfft. I wish no Ralph, ever, that’s the dream. “No, Nick. No Steve, no Ralph, no me. Dockside’s closed today, it’s-“ The adrenaline had cleared the drowsiness from your brain, and it socked you in the gut that he had absolutely no idea why things weren’t operating like business as usual today. “Nick, it’s Thanksgiving. Even we close on Thanksgiving.”

He was silent for a few seconds, just the sound of the waves crashing against the vacant boat slips echoing in the background. The smaller sailboats and scuppers had all been plucked from the water to dry dock inland for the winter the week before, and soon enough the remaining ferries and large fishing boats would don festive lights and evergreen roping to usher in the Christmas season. “Shit,” he finally whispered. “Shit, I forgot about Thanksgivin’…” There was sadness in the silence as his sentence tapered off, and it sent a chill through your chest as the screen banged against the glass above your head. “I’m sorry, I- you probably have holiday plans and…and family an all that an-“

“I don’t.” You cut him off, biting your lip. “I uh…well, my plan was to sleep ‘til noon but some jerk had to call me and wake me up, so,” You gave a nervous laugh, hoping to erase whatever tension or uneasiness he was still feeling. “So I’m up now. Nothing planned but football and beer today if you wanna… I mean if you got nothin’ to do, you could come watch the games with me.” You said you’d be careful with this one. What are you doing inviting him here? You told yourself to shut up while you waited for his response.

He sniffed. “Yeah? You…you sure you don’t mind me crashin’ your party?”

Again that chill swam through your chest. He was trying to joke, but there was something there, something that sounded like loneliness and regret, and it was something you understood. Oh, Nick, of course I’m sure. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you were feeling just as lonely as he sounded, despite telling yourself over and over that you enjoyed the way that you spent your holidays, and company might just be the cure for that misery. “Yeah, I mean, don’t go expecting a turkey and stuffing and all that jazz or anything. I’m pulling out exactly zero stops here,” you paused and the sound of his chuckle chased some of that chill away. “But yeah, you’re welcome to join me. If you want.” You held your phone tightly to your ear, the backs of your earrings digging into the skin behind the lobes as you tried not to get your hopes up too much that he’d say yes.

“Alright,” he said a few hour long seconds later. “Alright, yeah, that’s…”

“Alright? That a yes, Nick?” You flung the sheets from the bed and stood, your free hand combing through your hair as you headed for a shower you wouldn’t have taken if it was just going to be you.

“Yeah,” he said, and you couldn’t help but grin at your reflection as you passed the long mirror hanging on your closet door. “Yeah, it’s a yes. Text me your address…I’ll see you for the games.” You were about to wrap up the conversation before hurrying to make yourself and your place presentable when he spoke your name, solidly, like it mattered. “Thank you. For doin’ this.”

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. ..

By the time you’d finished in the kitchen, plating everything on the festive dishware that hadn’t gotten any use in over a decade and cleaning up the inevitable mess that your cooking space became every time you made a foray into the culinary arts, it was nearly 3pm. You hung the apron you’d been wearing all morning and afternoon on the hook next to the fridge, and ran upstairs to change and freshen up, the steps creaking beneath your socked feet as you took them two at a time, the framed photos that lined the staircase blurring by the corners of your eyes.

You exchanged your oversized tee shirt and dark green flannel pajama pants for a bright red cable knit sweater that fell off your right shoulder and a pair of black jeans that clung to your hips and thighs. Smoothing your hands down over the material of your top and picking off a few stray pieces of lint, you looked yourself over in the mirror. Your hair had been pulled up and clipped in place, soft tendrils falling around your face, and you’d dug your green and silver droplet earrings out from the bottom of your jewelry box. They sparkled, light bouncing off of the emerald facets, but you opted not to do your makeup. This is still just… we’re just friends. This is just two people spending a holiday together, so they don’t have to do it alone. No need to… I don’t need lipstick for that.

The fact was that it had been becoming increasingly difficult to see Nick as just a friend, and impossible to see him as simply a co-worker. Whatever had changed that night when you’d helped him pull off his inaugural job for Steve had deepened at Thanksgiving, when he’d shown up at your door with two turkey subs and a side of mashed potatoes from Wawa. He’s such a good guy. How’d he ever get caught up in all’a this? You’d laughed as he brandished the bag and a grin, opening the door for him and wondering if he questioned the same about you.

.. .. .. .. .. ..

You were on your third beer and Nick his fourth, empty, crumpled wrappers and a few shreds of lettuce all that remained of your holiday meal, when the second game of the day cut away to the halftime show. Both of you had gotten comfortable on your well-worn couches, you curled up in the corner where the two sides formed an L shaped angle, and Nick sprawled out on the reclining portion, shoeless feet propped up on the extended foot rest. “S’a nice place,” he said, looking around the room while the game was on hold.

You laughed, a warm fuzzy tickle in your brain from the beer, and it yanked the corners of his mouth up into a smile that wrinkled the skin on the bridge of his nose. “No it’s not. It’s drafty and old and creaky. The pipes freeze, the heat’s toast, and –“

“Yeah,” he said, draping one arm over the back of the couch. “Maybe all that’s true. But it’s yours. And it’s,” he looked around at the few decorations and knick-knacks that defined the space, some old, some new, all of them having some kind of meaning. “It’s cozy. I dunno, feels,” he shrugged. “Feels homey.”

“That’s because it’s the only home I ever had,” you explained plainly, blinking at the eyelet lace that lined the curtains. You sighed, facing him with a small smile. “This is where I grew up. Pretty much everything you see has been here longer than…well longer than I have, actually.” The tickle in your brain faded and you felt a tug behind your ribs, reminding you of memories made and teasing you about the ones that would never come to fruition. Time for another round. You stood then, grabbing the deli wrappers and the empty potato container.

“Lemme help ya” he stood, swinging his legs over the side of the recliner and leaving it extended. In just half a step he was right next to you, so close that you could smell his cologne mixing with the beer on his breath. You could feel the warmth coming off his body, his socked feet only a few centimeters from your own, the heavily worn orange carpet tufting up in the space between. He bent down to reach for the wrappers, knuckles nearly brushing yours.

You turned, the paper and container in one hand and four empty bottles between the fingers of the other, to face him. “Nah, sit, I got this.” You looked up into his dark brown eyes, wondering if the chocolate in them was bittersweet. He tried to protest, swiping his hand over his hair as he opened his mouth, but you cut him off. “I said sit, Nick, guests don’t help.” And I need to pull myself together, here. “I’ll grab you a beer, ‘kay?”

He nodded, a sideways smile lifting one rounded cheek into his eye, lips twitching beneath the scruffy stubble. “‘Kay,” he did as he was told and sank back into his seat while you ducked into the kitchen. “Hey what’s this shelf up here for?” He called as you stuffed the trash into the can under the sink. “S’empty.”

You sucked in a breath as you reached for two more brown bottles in the fridge and thought about how to answer. The shelf in question ran the length of the wall above the couch from corner to corner, held up by carved maple brackets stained a rich amber color. “Uh, yeah.” You let the refrigerator door swing closed with a soft smack, and returned to the living room. Handing him his drink, you followed his eyes up to the one item on the shelf- a small snow globe depicting the lighthouses of the Outer Banks, the base sculpted to look like the crashing waves of the Atlantic.

Using the neck of your bottle, you pointed up to the lone trinket. “Used to be more of those…” you took a sip, the hoppy IPA doing nothing to dislodge the knot that unexpectedly formed at the memory of that shelf when it was full. “A lot more.” You finished, punctuating your thought with another swig.

You hadn’t turned around, but you could feel his intense eyes on you. “What happened to ‘em?”

Short answer? “They broke.” You blinked twice and gave a minute shake of your head to clear the images of shattered glass, your father’s desperate, tear stained face, the heartbreak in the vibrations of his vocal chords as he threw each one to the ground.

“All these goddamn perfect moments!” He grabbed two more pieces of your mother’s collection and hurled them downward, glittery liquid splashing over the floorboards. “All these perfect fuckin moments of hers and what good are they now?!”

You’d gotten him to stop in time to save the last one, a memento from a family vacation from a decade past- from before she’d gotten sick and lived vicariously through the memories trapped inside the crystal globes. It was all you had left that meant anything to you. You turned back to face Nick, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand before you did. “But what can you do, right? Things break.”

His forehead wrinkled as his brows gathered together. “Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Things break.”

.. .. .. .. .. .. ..

At 3pm on the dot you heard his knuckles rap against the borders of your screen door. He’s here. Setting the last bowl on the table, you tugged at the sleeves of your sweater and headed for the door. He was standing on your front step, vapor puffing from his mouth as he let out a breath in the frosty winter air. As usual, he was dressed all in black, a stark contrast to the white sky, frozen blanket of crusty snow and unlit decorations all around him. He turned as he heard you opening the door, a smile on his face. “Merry Christmas Eve, Nick,” you greeted him, welcoming him in from the cold.

“Merry Christmas Eve to you too,” he responded, scraping his boots against the doorframe before entering your home. You let the screen swing closed and bolted the front door against the chill. When you turned back, he was looking at you with a shine in his dark eyes. “You look…” he gestured up and down your height. “You look nice. Real festive.”

You felt your cheeks flush and rolled your eyes inwardly at yourself. “Oh, thanks,” you mumbled through a smirk.

Nick looked around your living room, taking in the tree, lights, and other decorations before landing on the table in the dining room, laden with trays, dishes and serving bowls. “And all this is... “ He grinned with a small shake of his head.

“Go big or go home.” You shrugged and winked, reaching for the coat he’d just removed. The top lines of the ink on his neck peeked over the collar of his shirt, and you swallowed the flush before it made it to your cheeks this time. Stop it, will you? You can’t...he can’t… It was only after you’d hung his coat and you were about to offer him a glass of eggnog or a hot cider when you realized he was holding a small gift bag. “Nick,” you tilted your head as he extended his arm out to hand it to you. “What did you...you didn’t have to-”

He stepped closer and you curled your fingers around the gold ribbon handles, the contents of the bag shifting and feeling heavier than you assumed as he let go. “Just open it.” He cocked his head over towards the couch before taking a seat himself. You followed, sitting down beside him, leaving enough space between your thigh and his. “It’s nothin’ big or anythin’, just…”

You reached in, digging through the crumpled tissue paper. When your fingertips found a smooth, round surface, your heart skipped off rhythm. Is that..? Closing your grip around the round object, you pulled it from the gift bag. Oh, Nick. You turned the object over in your hands, the white glitter floating magically through the clear liquid and falling down around a bright green Christmas tree topped with a shiny gold star and surrounded by colorful gifts. “Nick…” you whispered his name, staring at the globe in your hands before lifting your eyes to his. “Nick, it’s…” He smiled and you couldn’t keep one from your own face, from your own heart. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Ah, your welcome, like I said, it’s nothin’ big, just...ya know,” he pointed to the shelf above where you sat. “Figured you’d wanna fill that back up.”

It’s huge, Nick. You don’t know how big that is to me. You stood on the couch cushion and placed his gift next to the lighthouse globe, catching a flush leaving his cheeks as you came back down. “Well, Tortano, you figured right.” You fixed the pillows, smacking a holiday throw as you stood back up. “And I actually…” you toyed with your earring before your hand fell behind your neck. “I did something for you, too.”

“What? C’mon you didn’t have ta get me nothin’, it’s nice enough you invited me over and-“

“Relax,” you laughed and held up your hands, palms facing him. “It’s not… it’s not a gift really. Not that you can open anyway. I still don’t know you that well, so I didn’t know what to get you. You’re not exactly easy to shop for.”

It was true, and it was by design. You and Nick shared very few personal details with one another. He knew you were estranged from your father but didn’t know why. You knew he had a brother but didn’t know where. Mostly, you kept things light, which was what both of you needed. But with each week that passed you felt things take on more and more weight. Like when he’d told you how much he’d miss spending Christmas Eve with his family this year; how he’d miss his cousins and brother, his aunts and his Nonna, all the food and the laughter. It would be the first one that he’d missed, and though he tried to shrug it off you could tell that it hurt him more than he was letting on.

.. .. .. .. .. ..

“Does your family do the six fishes thing?” You’d asked, trying to learn what you could about the man you’d just spent Thanksgiving with. “I always thought that was weird, but hey who’m I to judge?”

He’d been turning a bottle cap over in his long fingers, and he tossed it at you breaking into a grin. “It’s not weird, it’s tradition,” he protested. You laughed, swatting the small metal projectile away from your face. “And it’s seven, not six.”

.. .. .. .. .. ..

“So, yeah,” you gestured toward the dining room table and the array of seafood that sat atop the holly patterned tablecloth. Nick gripped the back of one of the chairs, staring at the spread. “It’s not much, but,” You’d stopped at the Fishery in Keyport and picked up two or three each of shrimp, crab legs, scallops, and mussels, as well as a filet of flounder and one of salmon. “I know it’s not like your family’s cooking but… traditions are important.”

He turned to you, mouth open and eyes wide. “You…” you watched him swallow the words that he couldn’t get out, then shake his head before dragging one hand down over his mouth, letting out a stunned burst of air. “This is amazing,” He finally said, not taking his eyes off of yours. A spark ignited in them as a slow, mischievous grin spread up his face. Here it comes. You’d been waiting for this moment, knowing it would make him laugh. “But I’m only countin’ six here.”

“Count again, Tortano,” you smirked, watching him scan the table, and knowing exactly when he’d found the seventh “fish” by the twitch of his lip and the crinkle near his eye. Between a pot of penne and a dish of green beans sat a small snack bowl full of goldfish crackers. You grabbed a small handful, tossing one at his chest and popping the rest in your mouth. “Seven fishes.”

In a moment that happened too quickly for either of you to stop it, he wrapped his arms around you, one behind your waist and the other draped over your shoulder. He pulled you tight against himself, so close that you had no choice but to lean your cheek against his chest. You found it easy to slip your arms around his torso and reciprocate the embrace. Too easy. “Merry Christmas”, you felt more than heard him say the words, and before you could respond he released you, his watch sliding back down his arm as it fell to his side.

Way too easy. “Merry Christmas, Nick.”

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @songtoyou @poindexted @thesumofmychoices @gollyderek @zaffrenotes @traeumerinwitzhelden @breanime @roses-in-your-country-house

#12 days of christmas fics #12 days of christmas #christmas countdown #nick tortano #nick tortano x you #nick tortano x reader #by the gun fanfic #made man #christmas traditions #nicky tortano #the danger dipped cotton candy man

24 notes · View notes