I'll Always Know It's From You (A Sterek Novella)

Chapter 17

 Sheriff's POV

December 20th - 5 Days until Christmas

Watching the two of them leave, brings a smile to my face, a sense of nostalgia washing over me like a tidal wave overturning a surfer.

Reminds me of the earlier days with Claudia. Before she got sick.

Sighing, I take another sip from my Snowflake white mug, the eggnog burning as it slides down my throat, the warmth thawing the frozen wasteland inside my heart.

Setting down the mug, I hear the emptiness of it, a notification I should refill it. Using that as motivation, I pull myself from the couch, turning the TV off, the show not doing much to keep my attention.

Moving into the kitchen, I turn on the radio, the Christmas station already on, Nat King Cole softly serenading the voices of the listeners with his sweet voice speaking of Christmas time as if it's a bedtime story for little children.

"Everybody knows a turkey and some mistletoe
Help to make the season bright
Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow
Will find it hard to sleep tonight


They know that Santa's on his way
He's loaded lots of toys and goodies on his sleigh
And every mother's child is going to spy
To see if reindeer really know how to fly."

I grab the eggnog from the fridge, the gallon about a quarter gone, from my mouth alone. The sight makes me laugh.

"Have I drank that much? Wow Christmas is seeping into me again." I laugh again, setting the jug back into the cold fridge once my mug is filled again, and I take a sip, savoring the creamy taste of the drink, such a simple concoction that can be bought at the store for under $5.

The silence settles back as the song finishes, the last few notes one of utter silence. So much could happen in just a few seconds: the end of a song, a kiss of pure love, the opening of a Christmas gift, a breath, a fire of hate igniting, and a murder.

Rubbing my face, and blinking fast, I head back into the living room to make sure the two boys are actually gone. I still have wrapping to do. Noticing the absence of Stiles' Jeep, I take that as the sign the two left: and that the time I have until they get back is limited.

Abandoning my mug of eggnog on the kitchen counter, I re-clear the table, putting the plates and silverware beside the mug for now. Moving my legs as fast as I was trained to during my police exam, I grab the wrapping paper and a plastic bag from my room, practically sprinting back to the kitchen, as if in a marathon.

Emptying the contents of the bag, I put the plastic beside me on a vacant chair. Undoing the wrapping paper, I size the gift up, shearing off just enough wrapping paper for it, if not a little extra for the corners.

The music wraps around me as I wrap up the gift, the cute Santa and present filled wrapping paper crunching with my fingers' commands, becoming the shape of the gift, something a liquid would do to any container.

Looking at the clock and into the living room to check for headlights, I manage to get the gift completely wrapped in record time, placing a final piece of tap on top for the name-tag.

On the tag I write one name in black sharpie, the marker squeaking on the hard plastic of the tag: Derek.

I continue on with the other contents of the bag, wrapping the small packages accordingly, making some look obvious, while downing others in the festive paper. Once down with each and other one, I proceed to putting them back into the back, for easier transporting.

Grinning to myself, I move the present and bag from the assembly table to under the tree, where some other gifts lie, like some of my presents to Stiles, and Derek's gift to Stiles.

Moving over to the mantle, where two stockings hang, I take another one from the bag in my hand, placing it next to Stiles'. The light blue letters glitter in the faint light from the kitchen, spelling out the name of a sourwolf, another part of the Stilinski family.

I sigh again, content with how the holiday season is unraveling, about how we're actually celebrating the holidays again. It's amazing how everything once lost, can be found again.

I think that's the true meaning of Christmas.

At least for me.

And I'm okay with it.

Thank you Claudia for everything the years I was with you, all the fun Christmas things we did with Stiles that he doesn't remember, all the great times we had. I know you would've wanted us to do this, especially with a new member to the family.

I love you Claudia, and I'll never forget you.

A tear rolls down my cheek, dampening my dried out skin, my lips trembling into a smile, the plastic bag falling from my hand as I clutch both of them to my chest, where my wife now lies.

Taking a moment, I stand in front of the stockings, a muffled Christmas song playing in the background, as I just stand there. And remember. Remember my wife, all the fond memories I can, all the times she smiled, the times where all I could think about was her. Claudia.

As I bend down to finally pick up the bag I dropped, I hear my radio click with an incoming call. Furrowing my brows with confusion, I head back to the kitchen, setting the bag down on the table on my way over to the counter. Picking up the radio, I silence the clicking noise, answering the call.

"Stilinski."

"Sheriff. We didn't want to call you in, but it looks bad."

"What and where is it?"

The other line hesitates, muffled noises telling me the other officer is in a possibly crowded public space.

"It's at the high school. A 187."