A/N: A very belated Christmas present from the queen of over-emotional Specs and Tucker stans. I'm actually super surprised with how long this turned out. I mean, I struggle to spew out more than 2,000 words at my best but the second my boys come in I'm completely word vomiting. I seriously could just write them all day, though. Make it my job. (And happy holidays/New Year to everyone!)

ALSO. There are minor spoilers for the film Black Christmas in this fic. If anyone is asking, yes, this is indeed a real film. I consider it one of the greats so add it to your watch list before the Christmas spirit comes to an end entirely.

Dreaming of a Black Christmas

or

The Specs and Tucker Slasher Film and Ugly Christmas Sweater Extravaganza

"It's in the closet."

Tucker's voice was hushed, yet urgent. He leaned forward to see better, an almost ludicrous intensity contorting his features.

No response came. Only the deep creaking of the aging house, distant footsteps coming closer.

"I'm telling you, it's in the goddamn closet."

Slowly, the door opened. Through the thick silence, the sound of frenzied whispers could just barely be heard. Tucker waited for something, anything, holding his breath from the looks of it.

A guttural scream emerged from the TV screen, and Tucker groaned in response. He shook his head and watched as Olivia Hussey stumbled down the stairs with the killer hot on her heels, only to emit a shriek of her own when caught seconds later.

From his spot further from the TV, Specs wondered why he even let Tucker watch Black Christmas every holiday season if he always got this riled up. Tucker insisted that he truly did enjoy it, and that it was his own personal way of getting into the spirit. Yet still, every year after finishing it, he'd go to bed muttering about the choices made by the characters and his resulting headache.

It was Christmas Eve, and the Spectral Sightings boys were taking part in their usual traditions as best as they could. Earlier in the day Specs had dragged in a miniature Christmas tree that would make Charlie Brown proud, and was now decorating it with ornaments they'd made themselves over the years. Tucker had helped at first, but quickly got bored and had dug out his annual DVD and a fresh tin of caramelized popcorn.

This was something they'd usually done with Elise. Though she'd never exactly belonged to any religion, she loved Christmas. She'd always drag Specs and Tucker out to search for the best lights to ooh and ahh at, and then help them decorate the tree the night before the big day. With time, she even affectionately tolerated Tucker's penchant for his movie.

Though her favorite part by far was knitting them their ugly Christmas sweaters. Every year, Specs and Tucker would each get a new one of their own, and Elise would always go all out with them. She'd start working on them sometimes months ahead, finding the most intentionally garish patterns that they could all laugh over. They both wore the garments proudly, knowing that Elise meant well and feeling her care in every little stitch.

This time around, they'd been forced to make due with last year's sweaters. Specs' was an obnoxiously bright shade of a green with Rudolph's face blaring from the front, light-up nose included. Tucker had also been spared nothing, and wore a bold red thing with yarn ornaments actually dangling from it. As Specs watched, the spheres swung rather comically each time Tucker jerked in reaction to the TV.

Overall they'd tried their best, yet things were still just a little off. Even the slight snugness of the aged sweater reminded Specs of the nagging feeling that was probably in both of their heads. He felt a pang in his chest, and suddenly had to swallow past a lump in his throat.

This would be their first Christmas without Elise there to knit them new sweaters that actually fit them. This would be their first Christmas without Elise.

He resolutely hung the last ornament, a disc for Tucker's trifield meter that they no longer used. Enough was enough. He couldn't handle any more sadness. They'd had enough of that during the year. Wouldn't she want them to at least have that?

After one last glance at his work, Specs made his way over and plopped down next to Tucker. He reached out and grabbed a handful of popcorn that was covered in chocolate, knowing that it wasn't Tucker's favorite.

"You know," he began. "I can't say that this is the most festive thing we could be watching right now."

They'd had this conversation before. Tucker didn't even miss a beat.

"But it's a Christmas movie."

"I'll agree with that loosely. But shouldn't the, I dunno, manslaughter cancel that out?"

Tucker spared him a glance, eyebrows quirked.

"But I like this movie. It's quality cinema. Even you can't miss that." Unconsciously, he'd raised his hands and gestured wildly at the screen as he spoke, as if simple gesticulations could force Specs to see the light.

"I get it, Tuck. I'm just saying that maybe we could appreciate the masterpiece without you getting a migraine."

"I'll appreciate the masterpiece however I want. I know it's just a movie, but again, I like it. We all gotta like something, right? I'm sorry we just can't compete with that thing you have for Renai Lambert."

Specs balked. Despite himself, his mind flashed to the Christmas card he'd opened just last week, which was now sitting on their kitchen table. In the accompanying photo Renai was hugging her children tightly, as if they'd be ripped away from her at any moment. Her bright smile did little to hide to the tense exhaustion he'd come to associate with her. Josh Lambert was understandably not in the picture.

He actually spluttered for a moment, doing a piss poor job of masking his sheepishness.

"I do not have a thing for Renai Lambert."

Tucker smirked at Olivia's face before him.

"Okay."

"I don't."

"Whatever you say, man. But you're the one pressing the subject here."

Specs opened his mouth, a reply hot on his tongue, but then stopped short when he realized Tucker was right. He was just crossing his arms in defiance of the conversation's turn when a faint noise made him freeze. Tucker seemed to notice it too, and frowned at him. He hastily paused the movie with the remote, the resulting silence a stark contrast that unnerved them both.

"You hear that?" Tucker asked, still looking at him. Specs nodded, and strained his ears for whatever it was.

The racket came again, louder this time. They both sat a bit straighter, only to jolt upright when it happened once more, now violent-sounding.

"It sounds like…"

"Knocking," Tucker finished for him. "Or banging, maybe. And it's coming from the-"

"The basement."

Specs finally returned Tucker's gaze. They shared a look, the kind that hadn't happened since before the beginning of Christmas vacation. That intensity was quickly slipping back into Tucker's expression. Specs could only hope he looked the same.

Without any fanfare, Tucker rose and made to leave the room.

"I guess I'll go check it out."

"What?"

Tucker waved him away, stopping Specs before he could stand as well.

"Really, I'm sure it's nothing."

"Like hell, man. I'll go with you."

"You think I can't handle this on my own?"

Specs half-scowled at him. This really couldn't be over some childish sense of pride, could it? He didn't have time to mull it over, for Tucker took his silence as an excuse to flee.

"I'll be right back!"

Specs listened to his fading footsteps, and then sunk back into the couch with an irritated sigh. Feeling extra spiteful, he unpaused the movie, and picked at the popcorn that Tucker actually liked. This eventually grew old, and Specs was left staring at the moving figures on the screen without actually seeing them.

The entire situation put him on edge. Not so much the prospect of whatever was down there, but the simple fact that Tucker had insisted on not needing him. They were supposed to be a team in this field. A bickering, dysfunctional one, but a team nonetheless. Something about this was off.

The minutes stretched ever onwards. Specs found himself drumming uneasily on his knee with his fingers. Cold anxiety began to creep into his chest, only to be doubled when he glanced at a nearby clock. It'd been more than five minutes. Tucker never took this long on the job.

Screw it. If Tucker wanted to feel big and do things on his own, then Specs could go down there alone too. He stood and, not even bothering to pause the movie again, headed purposefully to where Tucker had gone.

His gumption had rapidly faded by the time he was halfway down the stairs, facing the door to Elise's reading room like it was some vicious beast. He hadn't been down there since he and Tucker had discovered Josh Lambert's session tape. Then, the wounds from Elise's death had been fresh, yet trudging down these steps now made it feel as if no time had passed at all.

Standing in the doorway, Specs flipped on the light switch with perhaps more force than necessary. He exhaled loudly when nothing responded to the command. The pitch black of the room suddenly swelled in its ominousness, as if knowing full well that it was in control now. Left defenseless, Specs almost considered retreat, but remembered the task at hand.

"Tucker?" he called, stepping as far as he could into the room while still using the light from the outside. Where the hell was he? It wasn't like this area was even that large. When no answer came, he walked forward, allowing the darkness to nearly swallow him.

"C'mon man, where are-"

Specs froze when he heard a clatter before him, as if objects were being moved just a few feet into the darkness. He cleared his throat, the action a tad more difficult than it would have been just moments earlier. But things were probably fine. Hopefully. Maybe Tucker was in the tape room, having gotten distracted by his own nosiness.

He shakily reached a hand out, feeling for anything that could guide him through the dark…

…and quickly retracted it with a yelp as a resounding THUD filled the room, much closer this time around.

Silence.

"T-t-tucker?"

Specs grit his teeth, cursing their insistent chattering. His heart was close to leaping into his throat. His breathing had gotten to be loud and ragged, a near-wheezing indicator of his condition in the dead silence. Once, Tucker had berated him for just that, how they could never get any readings because his breathing would scare away any entity with good sense. At the time, Specs had scoffed at the notion. But now, with the endless possibilities of whatever was down here with him, he agreed with it all too well.

But then again, it wasn't like the entity wasn't doing a good job of scaring him, too.

Specs took a few more hesitant steps forward, his feet not even rising completely from the floor. It was then that he almost stumbled over some sort of soft mass; thankfully nothing that felt like it was living. He jerkily crouched down to see what it was, and his mind recognized it the moment his hands came in contact. Yet still, he gripped the object and stood, determined to hold the thing up to his face to prove that it couldn't be what he thought it was.

Trembling at this point, Specs pressed the wooly garment to his cheek.

It was Tucker's ugly Christmas sweater.

"TUCKER!"

The name hadn't even left his mouth completely when a loud SCRAAAAAPE came from behind him, making him jump out of his skin. Specs whirled around towards the sound so quickly his neck protested. All at once, the lamps flicked on, flooding the room with light and forcing his eyes shut.

Specs finally opened them, and nearly collapsed in fright.

Before him was Tucker, slumped over in one of their old rocking chairs and moving back and forth at a violent pace. Clear plastic had been pulled taut over his face, freezing in place his horrorstruck expression. Dead. He was dead. Something was in this house on Christmas Eve of all nights and had killed Tucker and he was next he just knew it he-

Specs' panicked train of thought was interrupted by laughter coming from Tucker's dead body.

As he gaped, Tucker stood from the chair and peeled the plastic from his face. With no barrier to obstruct it, his breathless guffawing grew in power until he was hunched over with it, shoulders shaking.

"Man, if you could see your face!" he crowed.

Specs merely stood, breathing hard. The electricity of adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, stuttering and stopping short now that the threat had obviously been false. Of course it was false. Now that his mind wasn't clouded in fear, Specs was able to realize that Tucker had recreated one of the deaths from Black Christmas. He was seeing just how pathetic he'd been with each second of recovery.

Specs angrily threw the sweater at Tucker's figure. He then clamped a hand to his still-pounding heart, and squeezed the bridge of his nose with the other.

"Jesus Christ, Tucker. You were dead," he groaned into his hand.

At that point Tucker's laughter had subsided enough for him to reply, "I know! And you just…" He gesticulated once more, searching for his words. "Went with it! It was perfect!"

Specs' fight-or-flight mode was now long gone, and was being replaced with annoyance.

"Well, that's just great. I'm glad this amused you." He ignored how he'd begun to talk with his hands as well.

At Specs' expression, Tucker's wide grin faltered.

"Oh, c'mon, don't be like that. You have to admit that this was brilliant," he said, as if playing dead was the most profound thing a person could do.

Specs shook his head. "I don't think so. Maybe you do, but my new ulcer says differently."

Tucker looked fully prepared to make his argument again, but seemed to backtrack as he really took in Specs' condition. He finally shrugged, and looked away.

"Okay, I'm sorry. Alright? That was probably...a shitty thing to do."

"Probably," Specs agreed.

They stood in silence for a few seconds, comfortable with not meeting each other's eyes. Once the dead air had become awkward, Specs gave him a nod, and turned to leave.

His back was turned when Tucker said, "You can really feel her in here…can't you?"

Specs faced him again, not even hiding his incredulous reaction to the subject change. Tucker was looking at him earnestly, his sweater gripped in his hands. Looking back and forth from the garment to Tucker's face, he didn't have to ask who they were talking about.

"…yeah, you really can," he replied softly after thinking it through. And he was being truthful. The more Specs opened himself up to it, the more he felt this otherworldly lightness, wrapping itself around him and easing the ache of his chest. He knew it was supernatural, yet it couldn't be any further than those he'd encounter while on the job.

Tucker nodded, and looked down at his own sweater. His expression mirrored the one he wore when sneaking looks at that one picture of him and Elise. His lips parted, though he didn't speak at first, choosing his words with care.

"I know this room is always thrumming with energy. She put so much stuff from investigations in here, you know? But…there's something else, something that wasn't here before." A corner of his mouth rose, almost optimistically. "And I think it's her. She's here, with us. Somehow."

He looked back up at Specs, who hesitantly mirrored the smile. Specs thought to what Tucker had first said when Elise had left them, about the living version of someone always being better. The part of him that was still grieving agreed wholeheartedly, yet there was another that seemed to think otherwise.

Having known Elise for years, he knew that her spirit wasn't to be tarnished easily. She'd always been a headstrong soul, something that the loss of a physical body could never change. Of course, there were times when the grey did flood in, and her loss could be felt everywhere. Yet now, standing with Tucker in the midst of her presence, it felt as if she'd never left in the first place.

"She's still here," he finally said, surprising Tucker and even himself a little. Their eye contact became easier, and their half-smiles wider.

"Look, uh," Tucker began, his voice back to its normal tone. "I really am sorry about this. I still think it's awesome, but you get what I mean."

Specs nodded. He couldn't find it in himself to be quite so upset anymore. "I know."

Tucker looked at the floor, then back at Specs after a moment. Once again, he seemed to be grasping for the right words.

"I'm…really glad that we're still doing this together. Everything."

Specs' eyebrows shot up in surprise. Coming from Tucker, this was essentially a bear hug and an I love you. Words were hard for him to come by most of the time, let alone sentimental ones. Specs would take what he could get.

"Thanks, Tuck," he said. "I…me too."

In its own subtle way, Tucker's face showed his gratitude. Specs let the moment go on for a few seconds before clapping his hands together. Any longer and it'd probably become uncomfortable again.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go recover from my heart attack and watch simulated ones upstairs."

They smiled at each other one last time, and Specs made to return upstairs.

"Oh, and Specs?"

The warm bubble efficiently popped, he turned back to find Tucker pointing upwards. Specs' eyes followed the gesture and noticed a haphazardly placed bundle of mistletoe dangling between them. His jaw unconsciously dropped. Just how much planning had the bastard put into this?

Tucker waggled his eyebrows expectantly. Specs responded by pointing a rather different finger of his own to him. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Specs turned a final time and trudged his way back upstairs through the semi-darkness. Tucker's boisterous laughter followed him until it melded with the screaming still blasting from the TV.

"You're missing your damn movie," he called back over his shoulder. "And don't think I won't eat your popcorn."

…

It was later, when they'd returned to their previous positions and the movie was almost over, that Specs remembered something.

"Tuck?"

"…Mm." Tucker's eyes didn't even stray from the screen, watching intently.

Accustomed to these kinds of responses from his friend, Specs pressed on.

"That noise…that you went downstairs to investigate. Was that you somehow doing that? Or did you figure out what it was?"

Specs watched as Tucker's eyebrows furrowed, as if trying to remember. He registered the topic of the conversation eventually, yet still he made no bother to look away.

"Oh, that." And he sighed, the ultimate picture of nonchalance. "Yeah, I never found out what that was. It really wasn't me. I would've found a reason to get you down there anyway."

Eyes wide, Specs stared down the outline of Tucker's face, lit up occasionally by the screen. He suddenly wished that he actually would look at him for once.

"So….that wasn't you. And we have no idea what it was."

"Nope." His lips popped in emphasis of the p.

"…oh."

It was as if the tension running through Specs had never left his body in the first place. He slumped away from Tucker until he too faced the screen, a dazed feeling washing over him. They both watched the remainder of Black Christmas in silence, though the tangible fear budding in Specs' chest was from a slightly different cause.

And, as the rickety old telephone rang onscreen one final time, Specs wondered if he'd be sleeping with the lights on again tonight, even on Christmas Eve.