Hello there, my dears!

Well, here it is- my little contribution to intheflesh-art's ITF Advent Calendar project (seriously go look up the rest if you haven't already- many great stories and artworks, plus amazing accompanying artwork for this fic by laurazel!)

Just a little shot of festive happiness for y'all- although it did turn out slightly longer than intended xD I hope you're all having a nice fuzzy Christmas yourselves- and if you aren't I'm sorry, but you can talk to me and I promise I'll reply whenever I get access to a computer, my PM and asks are always open!

Enjoy, my lovelies!

New Dawn, New Day

"Take 'em off, Steve!"

"Shan't, it's Christmas!"

Kieren chuckles at his parents from his vantage point on the stepladder, watching in amusement as his mum tries to knock the garish light-up reindeer antlers from Steve's head. His father always loved an opportunity to wear ridiculous headgear.

The atmosphere was festive in the Walker household- overplayed Christmas number ones trickle from the radio in the kitchen, adding to the colourful sense of occasion as Kieren's parents festoon the room in tinsel and fairy lights. With them in charge of interior decorating and Jem mysteriously out at some undisclosed location, Kieren finds himself with the job of adding finishing touches to the tree. All that remains is the angel.

He looks down at the figure in his hands, the one he'd spent days carefully crafting by hand to a very specific picture in his head. Built from wire and lightweight clay, painted in colours to match her personality, the tiny Amy tribute beams up at him.

It still seems so strange, so raw- he can scarcely believe she's been gone for an entire year. Just a few days ago on the twelfth of December, the anniversary of her death, he'd visited her grave bearing gifts- flowers for the drab soil, a cuddly leopard to make up for the tiger that mysteriously disappeared after her funeral (although he suspects that Philip probably kept it as a memento of their time together).

For about an hour, perched on the grass at the foot of her grave, he'd talked to her like he used to about anything and everything. He'd told her about Jem's time in therapy, and how much it was helping her- it had been a long time since she'd flinched at the sight of a bare undead face. He'd told her about Philip and his forays into local politics, attempting to get back to his old position in the council and actually do something with it this time (he's been talking about trying to get the local Give-Back Scheme discontinued all year). He'd told her about Simon and how aimless the ex-disciple had been since losing his flock.

And perhaps most ground-breaking of all, he'd told her about the day his heart started beating again.

It had been touch and go until mid-summer- the headaches and short term memory loss had been no picnic- but around early August he'd started feeling again, feeling the sun on his darkening skin and the wind in his hair. A few days later he'd felt the long forgotten lurch in his chest of a heart finally picking up the slack, sending warm blood pumping once more through his veins. It had been a cause for celebration all round- that night his mum had cooked him more lamb than any human being should safely consume (not that that stopped him), he'd got tipsy with Jem on cider and had his first full, uninterrupted night's sleep in five years with no nightmares left to bother him.

Sadly, not everything was perfect.

"Kier?"

He yanks his gaze from the ruffled feathers on Amy's wings, looking at his mum questioningly.

"You expecting Simon?"

He opens his mouth, but closes it and instead gives a sad shake of his head. Sue nods, upset but unsurprised- Simon hasn't exactly been around lately.

Kieren sighs, reaching up to perch the Amy angel on top of the tree. Something's changed in Simon recently. He's distant, aloof. He was never the most reliable guy to begin with, but this…

He checks his phone- still no response to his text. Lately he's starting to wonder if there was even any point buying the thing when his primary contact keeps avoiding him. Frustrated, he fires off a text to Jem.

Where r u?

Usually he likes to write words out in full on texts, but he's too irritated to be bothered. A few minutes later, when he's off the ladder and busy folding it away, he gets a reply that's so cryptic she might as well not have bothered.

Recon mission- doing ur dirty work, talk l8r.

He has no idea what she means, but he's already dreading the outcome.

The cryptic sister in question is currently sat on a threadbare sofa beside a certain undead Irish man, scoffing crisps and flicking through his CD collection while he reads his poetry and tuts at the crumbs she drops on the floor. He's such a fucking granddad.

"Please come," she whines, glaring at him over the cardboard crate in her lap. "If you don't Kieren'll be grumpy all fuckin' weekend."

"I'm sure you'll all have more fun without me," he grimaces.

"You're not that bad," Jem says generously (and a bit begrudgingly), pausing at a CD and humming appreciatively.

"Don't you know how to flatter a fella," he chortles, ignoring the poisonous look she throws him.

She's been doing this for a few months now, dropping by unexpectedly to listen to his music and eat all his food (which he only keeps in stock for Kieren's sake, to be fair). She claims she just wants to get to know her brother's boyfriend better, but he thinks her therapist has been badgering her to keep up regular contact with all the friendly PDS sufferers she knows- get her settled into a routine. Whatever the reason, he's happy to help. She's actually a nice girl when she lets her guard down.

She pouts at him, dropping a less favourable disc back into the box in disgust. "Why won't you come? Really?"

He hopes to get away with a mumble and a noncommittal shrug, but she'll have none of it. "Simon…" she says warningly, and he suspects that his CD collection will shortly find a new calling in life as projectiles if he doesn't come out with it.

He puts down his book with a heavy sigh. "Look, I just think you'd all be happier without me there... deading up the place."

Her eyebrows practically shoot up into her hairline. "You've changed your tune."

It's true- he hasn't quite been the confident, collected disciple in a long time. He's even taken to wearing cover-up from time to time, especially at Kieren's house. His boyfriend never says anything, but he catches the questioning looks and worried glances. It's becoming harder and harder to be the only one in the room without a pulse.

Jem pushes the box aside, folding her legs beneath her on the sofa. "What's wrong with you?"

She's never been a fan of sugar coating things. He glares at her, but she doesn't even flinch.

"Nothing," he says bluntly, rolling his eyes as she waits impatiently for him to elaborate. "Look, you're all alive, you're all happy- well, happier than you were- and you're all together, I just think you should all enjoy it."

She narrows her eyes at him, and he can feel those steely grey orbs boring into his soul. "This is about Kieren."

Damn her. "Yes," he says tightly, offering no more information. She'll probably dig it up herself.

"What?" she presses, sounding offended on behalf of her sibling. "He not good enough for you now he's alive again?"

"I'm not that fickle," he mutters angrily.

"So?"

She's going to drag it out of him eventually- might as well give up fighting it. "Other way round, okay?"

Her eyes widen. "Oh."

He stands up, walking to the wall on the pretence of straightening out a picture frame so she won't see his face. His hands on the frame are still pale, cold and steady as a rock. Kieren's been warm and alive for close to six months now, and Simon can only watch from the outside. It's frustrating enough to be sitting right next to Kieren with his hands pressed over his chest, unaware and unfeeling of the warm heart beating beneath. What's even worse is knowing what it must be like for Kieren, to be so warm and to have to cuddle up to a walking corpse. He still kisses him now and then, and it takes Simon by surprise every single time.

"Si," Jem calls from the sofa, waiting until he turns round to meet her gaze. She isn't joking or aggressive, just sincere as she speaks. "You know Kier doesn't care about that stuff, right?"

"Maybe not," he says with a grimace, the 'but he probably should' hanging unspoken between them.

"Look, you can still make it work," she says, clumsily trying to smooth over the awkwardness. "What about Amy and Phil? They made it work, didn't they?"

"For three days," he says grimly. "And then she got stabbed."

"Okay, bad example," she hastily backpedals, running her hand restlessly through her hair. It's a lot shorter now, choppy around her shoulders- sometime last spring she'd just decided she couldn't be bothered maintaining it anymore. "But to be fair, that was nothing to do with-"

"I know," he grits out.

She nods, wisely deciding it's probably time to let the matter drop. She glances up at the clock on the wall with a sigh, standing up. "Well, s'pose I'd better get off- Christmas Eve dinner and that."

"Yeah," he agrees quietly, picking up her jacket from the hook and holding it for her as she slips her arms in. Jem doesn't usually appreciate chivalry ('fuckin' Hell, this isn't the eighteen hundreds') but she makes an exception for Simon. She's used to it from him. She automatically falls behind him so he can hold the door open for her, leaning up to press a quick peck to his pale cheek as she steps over the threshold. She turns to face him from the snow, arms crossed tightly over her chest against the cold.

"Just think about it, yeah?" she asks, not sounding hopeful.

"Yeah, 'course," he responds, not sounding convincing.

She glares, but there's no heat behind it anymore. "So," she says moodily. "Anything you want me to tell Kier?"

He shakes his head, but then a thought occurs to him. "Wait here a second."

He disappears into the bungalow again for a moment, and emerges with something small clasped in his hand. He holds it out to Jem, whose eyebrows once again ascend as she feels the black velvet surface beneath her fingers.

"Is this a ring box?" she asks incredulously, and those eyebrows are going to start waggling suggestively any moment if he doesn't stop them.

"It's nothing like that," he grumbles. "Just a little present- give it to Kieren, would you?"

"Yeah, sure- but I bet he'd appreciate it more straight from you," she adds temptingly. She tucks it into her pocket with a snort. "Well, see you round."

"Yeah," he says quietly as she turns her back and walks away, boots crunching in the snow. For a moment he can almost feel the icy wind biting his skin. "See you."

"Where 'ave you been?"

"Just out, Mum," Jem says with a roll of her eyes as she shakes the snow off her jacket. Her gaze flickers to Kieren meaningfully. "Bumped into Simon."

He's embarrassed at how quickly his head shoots up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she smirks, fumbling in her pocket.

Kieren turns his face away, unaccustomed to the feeling of blood rushing to his cheeks. "What'd he say?" he asks lightly, in a transparent attempt to sound nonchalant.

"Nothin' much," she shrugs, eventually freeing the box from her pocket. "He still isn't coming. Told me to give you this, though."

She tosses him the box, and he narrowly avoids dropping it- no way he would have made the catch if he still had clumsy corpse hands. He frowns at the velvet-covered case, tied shut with a silver ribbon. If he was going to give him a present, why not bring it himself? "He say anything else to you?"

"Nah," she says with a tight-lipped smile (time-honoured Jem language for 'If I told you I'd have to kill you'). "Well, I'm off to bed- since you'll be jumping on our beds like a fuckin' kid at six in the morning I'd better get some sleep!"

She scurries upstairs as the family mumbles their goodnights, and Kieren considers the box for a moment longer before tucking it into the low-hanging branches of the tree. Might as well open it with the rest of the presents.

He flips on the TV, watching the news without really concentrating as the rest of the family slowly trail off to bed. He waits until he's alone before he once again fishes the phone from his pocket, selecting Simon's name and holding it to his ear. As expected, it goes straight to voicemail, a toneless automated female voice ringing out.

"You have reached the voicemail of:"

Simon's voice chimes in, grumbling, and it brings a smile to Kieren's face as he remembers the day he recorded this.

"Feckin' Christ, Kieren, you're the only one who calls me, why do I need to-"

The automated voice is back, reminding him in flat tones to leave a message after the beep. He takes a deep breath that reverberates in the dead silence of the empty line.

"Hey, Simon," he begins, chewing his lip in thought. "Still not talking to me, huh? Well, thanks for the gift I guess…"

He sighs, massaging his temple with his hand as the sound rattles in the speakers. "Look, Si, I don't know what I've done wrong, but… I really want you to come tomorrow, okay? Can we just talk about this? It's okay if you don't want to come, I won't hold you to anything… Mum and Dad wanna see you- y'know what Mum's like, she worries. I think Jem misses you too, not that she'd admit it. Please don't tell her I said that, she'll murder me. Not trying to guilt you into coming round or anything, but… well, after all the shit we had to deal with last year I guess I was looking forward to an easy, non-tragic Christmas this time round, and I'd like you to be part of it."

He glances up to the mantelpiece, and the small framed photo put there by his mum a few months previously. Kieren, still pale and undead, arms wrapped around Simon from behind and an impish grin on his face as the Irish zombie leans into the embrace. Simon may not have done much more than smirk at the lens, but the relaxed slant of his shoulders and the creases round his eyes speak loud and clear. Kieren smiles, squeezing the phone tighter.

"It won't be the same without you," he murmurs, cheeks colouring as he hangs up.

He runs a hand back through his hair, hair that he really needs to wash- sometimes he forgets that his scalp's back in the business of oil production. He stands up with a heavy sigh and a last glance at the box in the tree, phone forgotten on the sofa as he slouches upstairs to the bathroom.

Kieren may not have been jumping on beds, but true to form he was the first awake. Steve wakes at seven a.m. to the sound of Kieren clattering around in his bedroom with his art supplies, no doubt trying to fill the time before the rest of the family surface. Nudging Sue awake on his way, Steve blearily steps into his slippers and shuffles to the stairs to put the kettle on.

Water boiling, mugs set out (including the cup of milk in the microwave for Kieren's hot chocolate, he'd never been much of a tea drinker), Steve ambles across the living room to the door, morning routine dictating his movements.

As he stoops down to scoop up a solitary letter on the floor in the entryway, groggily ignoring the writing on the front, something catches his sight through the glass. A moving figure, pacing by the looks of it. Steve walks the last step to the door and slides the bolt back, pushing it open a crack.

The soft creak snaps the nervously pacing Simon from his stride. He looks up almost guiltily, eyes flicking from Steve's dressing gown to his ratty slippers and wisely not saying anything about it. "Morning," he says gruffly.

"Mornin', Simon," Steve greets him with a nod. "Didn't think we'd be seein' you today."

"Just thought I'd drop by," he mumbles, burying his hands in the pockets of his bulky coat. "Sorry, it's too early, I can come back-"

"No, don't be daft," Steve says, stepping back and holding the door open. "Come on in, kettle's on."

"Simon?"

Steve turns round to see Kieren, hovering in the doorway with his arms crossed, the baggy t-shirt and pyjama bottoms making him appear even slighter than usual. "Mornin', Kier!"

"Hi, Dad," Kieren mutters in greeting, eyes still fixed on Simon.

Steve glances between them both, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Well, I'd best get back to the tea!" he says brightly, shuffling past Kieren in a hasty getaway.

Simon makes no move to step into the warmth, ignoring the light snow falling on his head.

"Hey," Kieren murmurs, uncrossing his arms.

"Hey," Simon responds with a guilty smile.

"So," Kieren says, taking a step closer. "You got my message, then?"

Simon nods, white eyes fixed on Kieren's rich brown. "Yeah. Sorry, guess I should've called…"

"You think?" Kieren says dryly, eyebrow raising.

Simon doesn't laugh. He meets Kieren's gaze with a straight face, the picture of solemnity. "Kieren, 'bout how I've been acting… It's nothing to do with you, alright?"

Kieren looks down at his sock-clad feet, tongue in cheek.

"You haven't done anything," Simon continues, shamefaced. "It's just me being paranoid, I don't want you to think you've-"

"Paranoid?" Kieren interjects quietly, looking back up in time to catch Simon's solemn nod. "Why?"

The dark-haired man shrugs, and Kieren knows his mannerisms well enough to spot the blush even without a blood flow behind it. "I just thought you'd all have more fun without me hanging around."

The silence hangs between them a moment.

Simon flinches as he feels pressure, soft yet firm enough to be felt against his numb skin, on his cheek. He looks up, and finds Kieren's warm eyes a few short inches from his own. The eyes roll in fond exasperation, his warm pink lips twitching into a smile.

"You're an idiot."

Simon grins. "Love you, too."

Kieren closes the distance, soft lips pressing to dry ones and not so much as flinching at the cold. Simon's hands find their place at his neck, steady but not restraining, fingers tangling in the short but growing strands of golden-red hair at the nape. Maybe one day he won't have to imagine how the silken strands feel between his fingers.

As Kieren pulls away his hands slide from Simon's chest down his arms, finally coming to rest as he links their fingers. Simon doesn't resist as the younger (but now slowly catching up) man tugs him across the threshold and into the warmth of the house.

"Come on," Kieren says, a contagious grin spreading across his face. "Jem'll be up soon- and there'll be Hell to pay if we keep her waiting!"

"Sure I won't ruin the big family dinner?" Simon asks teasingly, hiding the genuine concern in his voice.

"Not possible," Kieren says, eyes flashing with mischief. "Maybe cut down on the accidental innuendoes this time."

Kieren can't recall ever being quite so perfectly, blissfully happy before. Only an hour in, and this day is already shaping up to be one of the best of his life- maybe not the most eventful or exciting, but perfect nonetheless.

Anything bad has been shelved for the day, any and all hard feelings and arguments postponed until further notice. For today at least, everything is in balance.

Of course, presents were first on the agenda- and Simon was gobsmacked to find himself the recipient of several himself. A new jumper from Sue (which he of course changed into immediately and is now wearing like some kind of badge of honour), a can of body spray from Jem ("No offense, mate, but you smell like a crypt."), and a large box from Kieren which he unwrapped to find a record player, old and worn but still serviceable.

"Found it last time we went to the city- that old music shop," Kieren had said with a grin. "Bought it while you were ogling the guitars. Thought you'd actually want to listen to those old vinyls you collect sometime!"

"And take them out of their mint packaging?" Simon joked, laughing at the playful slap to his shoulder. If his heart could beat, it would be soaring.

For a while, he forgets about the tiny velvet box.

"Saw you eyeing them yesterday," he says with a smirk as he hands Jem the small stack of CDs, tied with a red ribbon.

She grins, wrapping him in a hug as her parents admire his bottle of wine across the room. It's only as she pulls away that he feels a familiar presence at his back, and turns to see Kieren turning the box over in his hands.

"So," Kieren says lightly, holding it out. "Wanna give this to me yourself since you've decided to show up?"

Simon chuckles, taking the box only to pass it right back. "Merry Christmas, Kieren."

Kieren smiles and yanks away the ribbon, brimming with childish excitement as he fumbles with the catch on the box. As the latch gives and the lid swings open, he finds himself gazing at a thick, decorative golden ring. Holding his breath, he carefully lifts it from the velvet pad and rolls it between his fingers, the light catching the design- a heart, topped with a crown and held between two hands. "Simon…" he murmurs, transfixed.

Simon shuffles about nervously, fiddling with the sleeves of his new jumper. "It's a Claddagh ring," he explains hurriedly as Kieren examines the pattern. "Old Irish tradition- my parents had 'em, gave them to each other after they'd known each other a few years…"

Kieren grins, tracing the outlines with his finger. "What does it mean?"

"Well," Simon says softly, leaning in closer to touch his finger to each part in turn. "The crown represents loyalty, and the hands are friendship. The heart, well…"

There's no need to finish the sentence. Kieren tilts his head to press a gentle kiss to Simon's surprised lips, slipping the ring onto his finger as he does so. "I love it," he murmurs sincerely, glancing down to admire the gold against his new pink skin. It fits perfectly- Simon must know his hands off by heart and had it made to measure. Just a small detail that makes the gift that bit more wonderful. "I love you," he adds in a whisper, away from the curious ears of his family.

It still feels so strange, giving those words away so freely. But as Simon's relaxed smile grows into a dazzling grin he can't bring himself to regret it for a second.

He's so lost in Simon's adoring white eyes for a moment that he almost misses the interesting trappings of conversation on the other side of the room.

"What were you doin' up so early, Steve?" Sue asks, amusement colouring her tone.

"Same thing I'm always doing- making the tea, getting the post."

"It's Christmas, there was no need to…" she trails off, brow furrowing. "The post?"

Kieren and Simon look up in unison, intrigued.

"Yeah, there was a letter on the mat…" now it's Steve's turn to look confused. "Wait, when did they start delivering the post on Christmas…?"

Kieren leaps up from his seat, Simon close on his heels as he darts to the letter rack. He's not sure why he's suddenly so eager- chances are it's just a Christmas card from the Wilsons. But as he reaches the envelope his father had been too sleepy to read his gut feeling turns to a flare of hope.

Printed neatly on the cover, in familiar cursive, are the words: 'Dum-Dum'.

He can hear Simon's sharp intake of breath at his shoulder. His hands shake as he slides a finger beneath the flap, ignoring the paper cut that stings the pad in his haste. Inside the envelope he finds two folded sheets of paper, one clean white and one stained with what appears to be dirt. With bated breath he thumbs open the crisp white sheet, and as he reads the words he can't decide if he wants to laugh or cry.

Merry Christmas, Handsome!

Sorry I couldn't give this to you in person, had to dash off, I'm afraid- there's someone else I need to say hi to while I'm here! But don't worry your pretty little head about me, gorgeous- I can take care of myself! Give a big Crimbo hug to the fam and that moregeous boyfriend of yours from me!

Love,

A xxx

P.S. I'm sure you and Mr. Disciple are being all shmoopy and romantic these days- it's alright, I officially release you from our engagement! But if you ever find yourself single again, give us a call- you're still my back-up hubby!

The words blur and tremble on the page, and he realises with a start that he's crying.

He drops one hand from the paper, reaching out to the side in search of Simon's. He feels the Irish man's fingers twine gently with his own, cold but tender, and sees his other hand reach for the dirt-stained page on the table. As Simon carefully unfolds it Kieren finds himself looking once again at a familiar drawing, Amy's face picked out in fading pencil lines. The drawing he'd last seen settled on top of her coffin.

A stupid, breathy laugh escapes his lips.

"Giving me my own drawing as a present," he laughs, shaking his head with a goofy grin on his face. "Fuckin' cheapskate."

At half past four in the morning Christmas Day has come and gone, but the gentle feeling of relaxation remains.

Sue and Steve sit side by side on the sofa, her head on her husband's shoulder as they snore gently in the soft bluish glow of the TV screen. On the floor in front of them Jem dozes with her hand still buried in a glass bowl, the remains of the popcorn strewn across the floor after she flopped to sleep and took the contents with her.

Now they are in the final minutes of Love Actually, and as a young Thomas-Brodie Sangster chases the girl of his dreams through the airport Simon and Kieren are the only ones awake. Kieren's head keeps nodding, his eyelids drooping, and Simon suspects that soon he'll be down for the count.

He feels the younger man shift against him- they're pressed together on the armchair, in many ways too close to be comfortable (Kieren has some sharp elbows on him), and Kieren is practically sitting on his lap at this point, but neither of them has it in them to move. To get up now would be to break the spell, this gentle haze of tranquillity wrapped around their sleepy bodies like a blanket. Simon can take a few jabs to the stomach if it means making this last a little longer.

"Simon?"

He looks up to Kieren's face, hand settling on his thigh where it rests over his own. "Yeah?"

Kieren lifts his arms, draping them around Simon's neck and nuzzling his hair sleepily.

"Merry Christmas," he whispers, voice slurred with tiredness.

Simon smiles, raising his own hand to pull one of Kieren's away from his shoulders, gently stroking his finger and the gold ring that encircles it. "You too," he says softly, pressing a light kiss to Kieren's cheek just as the sleepy boy's eyes flutter closed. Within moments his breathing is slowing, and Colin Firth is only just confessing his love in stilted Portuguese when he drifts off completely.

Simon smiles, burying his face gently in the crook of Kieren's neck. He can barely remember what being warm feels like after so long trapped in his cold-blooded shell, but he likes to think it's this. This is the scene he'd paint for anyone who asked him to describe warmth in a single image- or at least he would if he had a single artistic bone in his body. Fortunately, he has Kieren for that now.

He raises his hand, still clasping Kieren's gently, and presses the back of it to the younger man's chest. He thinks of the heart beating in there, warm and strong as it pumps new life through Kieren Walker's veins. He feels a sudden surge of gratefulness to that heart- even if he never joins Kieren in this new life he has, even if he never feels the heat of it for himself, he will love and protect it for as long as he exists.

He feels his own eyelids growing heavy as he takes one last slow look around at his new family. His grouchy little sister asleep on the floor amongst the snacks, his parents snuggled together under one of Sue's embroidered blankets. The letter on the table from his other sister, now alive and happy somewhere in the world, who's gifted them with hope in the form of two crumpled pieces of paper. His boyfriend, his love, his heart, curled around him in his slumber.

As the end credits roll and he slips with them into unconsciousness he presses his hand closer, flush against Kieren's chest.

And maybe it's just wishful thinking, but for a split second he swears he can feel every gentle beat of a warm new heart against his numb skin.

Merry Christmas, my dears, and a happy new year- here's hoping 2015 is a good'un for all of us!

Check out the rest of the project- lots of super cute stuff including amazing art for this fic, show it some love! :3 intheflesh-art on tumblr is the place to be for all the wondefulness!

Until next time! X