REAGAN DID NOT believe in Christmas miracles, but one fell unexpectedly into her lap that holiday season as she prepared to wrap up another work day at Wilson's. She stood behind her usual counter, sliding her arms into a jacket to combat the freezing temperatures outside. With the sun setting, it was only going to get colder.

What she did not know was that Tommy had appeared behind her, quietly debating the best plan of action on how to speak to her. He was wringing his hands together nervously, watching her dark red hair swing past her shoulders as she maneuvered herself into her jacket.

It had been weeks since they'd last spoke. At first, Reagan had been hurt by Tommy's cold shoulder, but she'd eventually gotten over it. She wasn't the type to play petty games, and although she might have been in the wrong, Tommy's refusal to even look her way felt borderline childish. She'd decided that it was easier to ignore him right back.

But Tommy had felt a compelling burst of need to talk to Reagan that day. He'd watched her all day long from the garage, noticing the things about her that she probably did not even know herself. Like the way her lips screwed up to one side, evidence that she was nibbling the inside of her cheek while in deep thought. Or how she always tugged at her braid, making it steadily messier as the day progressed. It was those things that kept Tommy from fully separating himself from her.

"Hey," he said, clearing his throat.

Reagan turned around, caught off guard by Tommy's greeting. She spun on her heels so fast that pieces of her hair became caught in her mouth. She'd unthreaded her braid after she had clocked out.

"Hey," she said back, bewildered that Tommy had suddenly decided to speak to her again. A part of her was regretful to say anything after the behavior Tommy had shown, but Reagan was more genial those days. The grudges she'd once been able to hold seemed far, far away.

"You've been working a lot," Tommy said lamely. It was a stupid thing to say. Reagan was always working a lot, yet Tommy said it as if it were some kind of big news.

"Yeah," she replied, untucking the hair that had gotten caught in the hood of her jacket. "Christmas is right around the corner. I'm saving up extra to buy gifts for the kids."

She knew that Tommy would understand what she meant. She always made it a priority to buy gifts for the twins and Robbie. They were young and Christmas was distinctly important to them. She always bought a gift for Kate too, but for the sake of being concise, she lumped her sister in with the little ones.

"Yeah . . ."

Tommy's voice trailed off, leading Reagan to guess that that was the end of their short-lived conversation. She was willing to talk to him longer, as long as it was not about Dave. That was an off limits subject that she refused to acknowledge in front of him.

"Have a good night," she said politely, reaching for her things. She walked around the counter and headed straight for the door, but Tommy called out to her.

"Reagan wait."

She hesitated. "Yes?"

Tommy looked nervous as he clutched the edge of the counter, swaying towards her like he wanted to be closer to where she stood. There was urgency in his eyes.

"Can . . . can we still be friends?"

The part of Reagan that had nearly convinced her into ignoring Tommy hissed in response. He didn't deserve to be her friend, not after how rude he had been to her upon finding out about Dave. She would have normally cursed at him, content to make him suffer for his actions. But like she had thought earlier; she'd been feeling more forgiving lately. And it was Christmas time, after all. People were supposed to be nicer when it was Christmas.

"Yeah," she said with a nod of her head. "We can still be friends."

________

Reagan had always known that adding a boyfriend to her life would have made her much busier. She'd been trying to juggle the addition of Dave to the best of her abilities, still setting aside proper time for work, family and of course, Chris.

It would have been easy for some people to forget their best friend in lieu of a happy, new relationship. But for Reagan, Chris was as vital to her as a major organ. She didn't even want to imagine her life without her, let alone think about forcing her out of it just because she'd gotten a boyfriend. Time had become of great value to Reagan, but she would always keep Chris around. She was her best friend — as close to her as a sister.

From Wilson's, Reagan had gone straight to Chris's house. They rarely hung out there, mostly because of Chris's fussy parents, but they'd found solitude on the front porch steps away from her parents' incessant babbling about what they should or should not be doing as 'young ladies.' Plus, they'd wanted to smoke, and Chris's mom and dad hated smoking. So, they'd retreated out into the cold, puffing on their Marlboros and watching the sun fade into swirls of orange and pink.

"I still don't see why we can't sit in the car," Chris said. Her eyes were nearly crossed as she concentrated on blowing perfect smoke rings from her lips.

"Because that's wasting the car battery," Reagan shot back. Her cigarette trembled between her shaking fingers, but not even the cold was enough to make her want to deal with Chris's obnoxious parental unit.

"Live a little."

"You call living a little having to pay for a new car battery? No thanks."

They stopped talking, instead closing their mouths around their cigarettes and simply savoring the other's presence. Those kinds of moments were easy with Chris. Reagan appreciated that they could be silent for long stretches of time without ever finding the need to fill the void between them with meaningless words. With Chris, she still had the capability to get lost in her own thoughts.

"Are you going to see him after this?" Chris asked.

"Yeah. I am."

She felt a familiar prod of happiness at the reminder of seeing Dave later in the evening. She always capped off her nights with him, even if she chose not to sleep over in his bed for the sake of secrecy from her parents. He was the best remedy for a long day spent at work.

"You're so in love, it's sickening."

Reagan gave Chris a narrow-eyed look, lowering her cigarette. It was true that she was in love with Dave, and Chris knew all about it, but she didn't like being made fun of. It was still unfamiliar for Reagan to admit that she loved someone as deeply as she loved Dave. She'd sworn herself away from men, but of course had ended up with one.

"How is it sickening? I've been fine," Reagan protested. She'd told Chris that if she began to display any sort of gross, mushy behavior common amongst the lovesick, then Chris would be allowed to call her out on it.

"Yeah, you have. I might even go as far to say you've been pleasant."

"I'm always pleasant."

"Pleasant to me, maybe. But you were so angry before you met Dave. Being around you was like having a personal bodyguard. Everyone knew that if they fucked with you, they were going to end up six feet under."

"You make me sound like the Terminator."

"Aw, you weren't that bad. I'm only joking. But you are different. It's a good different, though."

As far as Reagan was concerned, any kind of different was bad. She might have loved Dave, but she didn't want to change because of it. On the night when she'd first told Dave about her feelings, she'd promised herself that she wouldn't ever lose sight of who she truly was.

"Great," she griped, stubbing out her cigarette with frustration.

"Don't be that way," Chris said. She wrapped her arm around Reagan. "I'd tell you if you were being a clown, and you're not. It's just cool to see you so happy. Not even your wicked real-mother has been getting you down."

"As long as I'm not going crazy," Reagan sighed.

"Trust me, you're crazy, but I like it. I like crazy Reagan. Crazy Reagan falls for drummer boys and takes the pizza out of the oven for me because I'm too lazy to do it myself."

Reagan grinned and jostled Chris with her elbow, earning a laugh out of her best friend in response. She quickly got over the fear that she'd changed in the blink of an eye, knowing Chris would have told her the honest truth. And so far, she thought she'd done a good job at the whole balancing act.

"Speaking of drummer boys, how's Michael playing? Still want to secretly kick him out?"

Chris groaned and tilted her head back. "You have no fucking idea, Reags. Shit, the only thing that would make crazy you even better is if you decided to finally join my band."

"I'm not that crazy."

"What? We're a good band!"

"That's not what I meant!"

"When Nirvana gets big, you'll end up joining," Chris declared. "I know you, Reagan Abner. You won't let Dave get all the glory."

"I wish I could tell you something different, Chris. But I can't join Yellow Fellow. I'm sorry," Reagan apologized, holding fast to her original decision to stay clear of bands. That was one thing that had yet to change for her.

"I'll never understand why," Chris said, reaching for her pack of cigarettes. "I mean, you were born to be a drummer. You're amazing at it. What else are you going to do for the rest of your life? Work at Wilson's?"

Reagan immediately tensed at Chris's comment, wishing she had not said it out loud. Chris took notice of Reagan's reaction and frowned.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," she said, retracting the remark and squeezing Reagan's shoulder.

"It's okay. You're right. I can't work at Wilson's for the rest of my life," Reagan agreed, pulling her knees closer to her chest. What Chris did not know was that this had been an ongoing worry of Reagan's for a few passing weeks. She had no idea how she would ever escape the stagnancy of Wilson's and all that came with it. Despite meeting Dave, her life felt like it was stuck on neutral drive going nowhere.

"You won't," Chris promised. "You'll find something. No matter what you do, you're going to be great at it."

Reagan smiled half-heartedly and leaned her head against Chris. She was a realistic kind of friend, but never too realistic to stroke Reagan's ego and assure her of good things to come.

"What time is it?" she asked, not looking up from her place against Chris's shoulder. A sheet of stars was beginning to appear in the night sky, blending easily into the sinking sunset.

"Looks like it's a little past six. Why? You going to Dave's?"

Reagan stood up from the porch step and dusted off the back of her jeans, trying not to smile at Chris's accurate assumption. Her friend looked up at her coyly with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah," she confirmed. "It's about that time."

________

In the privacy of Dave's room, Reagan was having a hard time focusing. Her back was pressed against the wall behind Dave's bed and her eyes were closed, her mind clouded as Dave kissed her neck hungrily and ran his hands up her t-shirt. This was usual for them both, seeing as how Dave could hardly keep his hands off of her, but they were also trying to hold a conversation in the midst of making out.

"So you'll come to the New Year's show?" Dave asked breathlessly, kissing beneath Reagan's jaw. He nicked his teeth against her skin, making her whimper softly.

"Yes," she said, though she was not even sure what she was agreeing to. All she was aware of was Dave's mouth on her skin, leaving traces of moisture where his lips passed.

"It's in Portland. You can ride with us," he insisted. His hand abandoned trying to slip past her bra and instead snaked downwards, past the waist of her jeans and the barrier of her underwear. She jerked her hips forward in response.

"Yes," she sighed, the word melding into a moan.

Dave drew back, pulling his hand out from Reagan's jeans and grinning. He looked her seriously in the eyes, wearing the kind of chiding expression meant for scolding a child.

"That wasn't a yes or no question," he smirked.

"It's your fault!" Reagan cried, pushing at his chest. She was partly miffed by the smug look on his face, but also because he'd stopped his hand from exploring further inside of her jeans.

"I'm willing to take the blame," he said. He kissed her nose, a guaranteed way that he had learned make her smile.

"You better be."

She wriggled out from underneath him and got off of his bed, going towards the shabby dresser Kurt had kept inside of the room before Dave moved in. Looking in the mirror, she began to undo the clasp of her locket necklace.

"What are you doing?" Dave inquired. He too left the bed, joining Reagan in front of the dresser where he wrapped his arms around her waist.

She stared forward at their reflections, her heart jumping when she drank in the sight of them together. He was so perfect, no matter how imperfect he thought himself to be. His nose skimmed the side of her face and it was like heaven, feeling him cradle her close and savor her like fine wine.

"Taking a shower. I might spend the night, if that's okay."

"Sure. Can I take a shower too?"

Reagan bit her lip as Dave pushed the collar of her t-shirt down, kissing at the skin between her neck and shoulder.

"I think we should keep it PG rated outside of your room. There's only one bathroom and Kurt lives here too, remember?"

"Right," Dave sighed with disappointment. As Reagan set her locket down, he scooped it up in his hand and pried it open with his thumbnail. "You don't have a picture in here yet."

"I'm saving it," Reagan explained.

"Saving it?" Dave said with a laugh. "What for? You could put a picture of me in there, you know."

"True. But I think I need to keep it empty until I find something that I really want to put it in there. No offense, of course."

"None taken. Unless you don't let me take a shower with you, that is."

Reagan grinned in spite of herself, throwing her arms around Dave's neck and kissing him excitedly. He roped his arms around her waist as he smiled against her lips, knowing that he had gotten his way.

"Kurt's going to kill us," she laughed. She didn't stop to consider this sentiment any further.

She was too busy locking her lips firmly against Dave's again, content to forget the world and immerse herself in only him.