Chapter Text
Snow had been falling since mid-afternoon, softening the world outside until the streetlights glowed like they were reflecting off the glass of a snow globe. Inside, Dave’s home was warm as the heat from the fireplace was held by stone, and the low hum of Sinatra echoed down the halls, flowing with the scent of the burning cedar.
Aaron sat at the kitchen island with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and a glass of whiskey cradled loosely in his hand. He hadn’t realised how tense his shoulders had been until the first sip burned its way down and forced him to breathe.
Dave moved around the kitchen with the ease of routine as a pot simmered gently on the stove and the scent of garlic and herbs filled the space.
They hadn’t talked much at first, the case still clung to them— too many loose ends, too many moments where things could have gone differently, and far too many questions left unanswered.
The entire team had scattered the second the wheels hit the tarmac, desperate for the distance of familiar arms and places that didn’t smell like stale concrete and petrified iron this close to Christmas.
Derek had flown to Chicago.
JJ, Will and Henry had gone to Pennsylvania to spend time with her family.
Spencer had gone to stay with his mother.
Penelope had disappeared into whatever brightly decorated chaos her brothers had planned.
Emily had flown to London to meet her mother.
And Aaron— Aaron had driven here to avoid the deafening silence of the first Christmas without his son.
“Rough one…” Dave said eventually, breaking the quiet as he stirred one of the pots bubbling away on the stove.
Aaron released a sharp huff of air through his nostrils in acknowledgment. “That’s one way to put it.”
Dave huffed out a low chuckle. “You know, when I was younger, I used to think the worst cases were the ones with the highest body counts.”
Aaron’s mouth curved faintly. “Yeah… Me too.”
Dave lifted his glass in a small, wordless toast before taking a drink and letting the quiet take over again.
“This is the first year you haven’t headed up north for the holidays.” Aaron said after a minute or two, changing the topic away from the darkness of Quantico.
Dave arched a brow. “Up North?”
“You know what I mean,” Aaron said, a hint of dry humour slipping in. “The rich and famous. Champagne, catered meals, living the life of luxury under million dollar chandeliers surrounded by Christmas trees taller than my house...”
Dave barked out a laugh. “Please. You make it sound far more glamorous than it is.”
“So I’ve been lied to all these years?”
“Yes. Well, no. I’ve just embellished, maybe.” Dave grinned as he reached for his glass again. “But this year’s just bad timing. We got back later than I planned, so I pushed my flight. I’ll head out tomorrow.”
Aaron absorbed that, nodding once. “Right. Yeah.”
Dave turned back to the stove, giving the sauce another stir as he silently contemplated Aaron's situation. “You’ll stay for dinner, obviously. Flights or no flights, I’m not eating all of this by myself.”
Aaron laughed under his breath. “Dave… You’ve cooked enough food to feed a family of five for the next three weeks…”
“I’m Italian Aaron, this is barely enough food to feed my family for one meal…”
Aaron laughed loudly this time, his palms coming up in defence. But before he had a chance to speak the doorbell rang causing both men to freeze in place.
The sound cut cleanly through the house, sharp and unexpected as they locked eyes across the kitchen wearing matching furrowed brows.
Aaron’s mouth twitched. “You planned a dinner party I don’t know about?”
Dave huffed out a not entirely convincing laugh. “No—I’m not expecting anyone.”
All remnants of humour evaporated from the room in a single breath.
The case rushed back into their thoughts with the speed of a flash flood, and for once it wasn’t the blood or the crime scenes or even the victims. It was the unsub— the way he’d smiled when the team entered the room like he knew who they were, the way his eyes had lingered, stripping them down to something far more personal than the badges and FBI vests that labelled them.
“I’ll see you soon…” He’d murmured, a sickly smirk curving his features as he locked eyes with each member of the BAU while the local PD dragged him away in cuffs.
The memory caused Aaron’s fingers to curl around the edge of the counter, and his shoulders to square as muscle memory snapped them into place.
He met Dave’s gaze again and saw his own unease reflected there— making it clear he had just retraced the same memory Aaron had.
Dave turned toward the hall, movements deceptively casual as he opened the drawer and wrapped his hand around the grip inside. Aaron mirrored him, setting his whiskey aside and reaching for the holster he had removed from his belt, before angling his body so he had a clear view of the hallway.
Neither of them spoke, simple glances and barely perceptible hand gestures said more than words could.
Dave’s address wasn’t public. And the timing of this unexpected visitor made the normally regal sounding doorbell feel wrong— intrusive, almost.
The house seemed to hold its breath around them—the fire crackling softly as Sinatra crooned faintly in the background, completely oblivious to the tension that had suffocated the ambiance.
Dave tilted his head toward the hallway. “You ready?”
Aaron was already moving. “Always.”
They advanced together, slow and measured, side by side the way they’d done a hundred times before.
As they reached the door, Aaron positioned himself just off to the side, hand gripped firmly on his weapon and eyes fixed on the frosted glass panel that revealed nothing but blurred light and falling snow.
Dave leaned in just enough to whisper. “If this is someone selling charity calendars I swear to god—”
Aaron’s mouth twitched, tension coiled tight beneath it as Dave hand reached for the handle.
There was a final nod shared between them, then the handle turned.
The second Dave saw a familiar face through the gap the tension didn’t ease so much as collapse.
“Jesus,” he breathed, the word leaving him on a long exhale as his shoulders fell. His grip loosened, the weight in his hand no longer necessary as his arm fell to his side like a released spring.
Emily stood on the porch, her silhouette framed with falling snow and the soft halo of the light. She was bundled into a dark coat with a scarf pulled high, snow flakes clinging to her hair and lashes like she’d arrived straight from the centre of the storm.
She’d been smiling—warm, tentative, hopeful maybe—
—and then she saw the gun dangling from Dave’s finger tips.
Her expression changed instantly— eyes widening, breath hitching, both arms shooting up without conscious thought as muscle memory overrode surprise. The bottle of wine she’d been holding lifted awkwardly with them, trapped between raised hands as she turned her palms outward.
“Woah— hey. It’s just me,” she said quickly, her voice light but edged with nerves as a small, breathy laugh followed and fogged in the air.
Dave swore under his breath then laughed, though more out of relief than humour as he shook his head. “Sorry, bella.”
He stepped back and swung the door open wider, ushering warmth toward her and allowing her gaze to slip past him and onto the other company he had present.
Aaron stood just inside the threshold, half-shadowed by the hallway light with his own weapon now too hanging loose by his thigh. His posture had softened, though not completely, as if his body hadn’t quite caught up with the sudden normality of her presence.
For a split second, none of them moved.
Then Emily’s composure snapped back into place a beat too late.
“Oh—god, I’m sorry,” she rushed out, words tumbling over each other as she took in the scene properly. “I didn’t realise you had plans. The last I heard you were— I thought you were on your own tonight, so I—”
She faltered, colour creeping into her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
She took a step backward, instinctively retreating toward the stairs as the cold air crept back in around her ankles.
Dave immediately shook his head. “No— no. You’re not intruding,” he said firmly.
She hesitated, uncertainty written all over her face. “It’s okay, really! I don’t want to impose,” she insisted, plastering a smile on her face and holding the bottle out toward him like an offering. “I brought this for you though—at least let me leave that.”
Dave opened his mouth to argue, but Aaron cut in first.
“Aren’t you—” he paused, glancing down at his watch with deliberate casualness, “—supposed to be about halfway to London right now?”
Emily let out a small, nervous laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah. Um— change of plans, I guess.” She gestured vaguely toward the snow still falling in sheets around her. “Flight got cancelled. Weather.”
Aaron’s gaze stayed on her for a fraction of a second too long. He could tell she was lying, there was just something about the way she’d said it— too quick maybe, too precise but perfectly vague— that gave her away. But he didn’t let that thought take voice.
Dave, mercifully, brushed right past it. “Perfect,” he said, clapping his hands once. “Looks like everyone’s changing their plans tonight. So you’re staying.”
Emily started to shake her head again. “Dave, really, it’s okay, I—”
He cut her off with a sharp look and a line of rapid Italian that left absolutely no room for debate.
“Non lascerò che la mia figlia preferita trascorra il Natale da sola.” [I’m not letting my favourite daughter spend Christmas alone.]
Emily scoffed softly, laughter breaking through as she rolled her eyes. “Non sono tua figlia,” [I am not your daughter.]
Dave stepped forward anyway, already reaching for her elbow. “Il sangue non decide la famiglia, bella.” [Blood doesn’t decide family, bella.]
She smiled—soft and genuine—before nodding once. “If you’re sure…” she said quietly.
Dave ushered her inside without another word, pulling the door closed against the storm.
Aaron moved automatically, taking her coat as she slipped it off. It was more white than black now, snow clinging stubbornly to the fabric as he hung it carefully before turning back just in time to see her shake her curls out in a half-hearted attempt to dislodge the rest of the snow.
It didn’t help much— the flakes lingered in her hair anyway, melting slowly in the warmth the fire had created and Aaron found himself absurdly aware of how close she was.
“Sorry,” she murmured, pushing a curl back from her face.
He shook his head, voice so low it was barely audible. “Don’t be.”
Emily’s gaze flicked around the room as if she were only just letting herself take it in now—the fire, the half-set table, the low lights.
Her expression softened. “I really didn’t mean to derail your night,” she said again.
Dave waved a hand without looking at her. “You didn’t derail anything. You improved it.”
She smiled at that—small, but Aaron caught it anyway.
“Drink?” Dave asked, leading them into the kitchen and already reaching for another glass.
“Just wine,” Emily said, then paused, glancing at Aaron. “Unless you guys are still on whiskey?”
Dave took the wine bottle from the counter and set it aside with care. “We’ll save the wine for dinner, the one you brought will pair perfectly with what I’m making.”
She laughed softly as she accepted the whiskey he handed her without hesitation, curling her fingers around the glass and taking a small sip.
Dave watched her over the rim of his own glass, then shook his head fondly. “You know, you could’ve just used your key.”
She snorted. “I thought about it,” she admitted, then winced playfully. “I rang the doorbell to be polite— just in case you had…” She flicked her gaze toward Aaron with a smile. “Company.”
Aaron lifted an eyebrow in amusement.
Emily just laughed, shaking her head. “Though I will say—I wasn’t expecting to be greeted like an armed robber.”
Dave barked out a laugh. “Yeah. Sorry...”
She waved it off easily. “Occupational hazard.”
As the adrenaline finally bled out of her system, she rubbed her bare arms, the elegant black dress and Louis Vuitton heels she was wearing clearly chosen for a flight, not a snowstorm.
Dave noticed immediately and pointed in the direction of the staircase. “Go and get changed,” he said gently. “Get comfortable.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I might just grab a sweater.”
Dave leaned in and pressed a brief, affectionate kiss to her cheek before waving her toward the stairs. “Take your time.”
She smiled, turned, and padded up the steps, the clicking of her heels fading gradually until the door upstairs closed and the house settled again.
The silence lasted exactly three seconds.
“Key?” Aaron asked.
Dave didn’t look up from the stove, just nodded as he adjusted the heat. “Yeah. She swings by sometimes. Saves me from having to get up and open the door.”
Aaron’s brow furrowed. “She comes here a lot, then?”
“We have dinner regularly.”
“And she has spare clothes here? Unless… She’s wearing yours—?” Aaron pressed.
Dave laughed, finally glancing over. “You know, this is starting to sound like an interrogation.”
Aaron hesitated, then lowered his voice. “You’re not—”
“Not what?” Dave asked mildly.
Aaron barely breathed the next words. “Sleeping with Emily… Are you?”
Dave nearly choked on his whiskey as he laughed so hard he had to put the glass down, shaking his head emphatically. “No. Absolutely not. No. She’s like a daughter to me, Aaron—God, no.”
Aaron exhaled, relief loosening something tight in his chest.
Dave lifted a hand before he could say anything else. “That said—” He pointed between them with the glass. “She comes here because it’s… uncomplicated.”
Aaron frowned slightly, but said nothing.
“Since she got back from Paris, everyone has been… in shock. The stages of grief don't just disappear when the person you’re grieving walks back in the door, they just… change shape. I understand that. I really do. I grieved for her too.”
He turned then, leaning back against the counter with his arms loosely crossed over his chest. “But she was alone Aaron— while she was gone. Truly alone. And when she came back… well…”
He shrugged, his eyes falling to the floor. “She came back to people who don’t know what to say to her anymore. So she comes here,” Dave said simply. “Because I don’t expect conversation. I don’t expect explanations. Sometimes we eat. Sometimes we sit. Sometimes we do nothing at all.” A small, fond smile flickered across his face. “But either way, she knows she’s welcome here.”
Aaron felt that familiar, uncomfortable tightening in his chest as he opened his mouth, then closed it.
“Even you— you look at her like you’re afraid if you blink, she’ll disappear again. You check in without checking in. You hover at the edges like you don’t quite trust the ground beneath her. But you’ve barely said a word to her since she got back, and it’s been months Aaron.”
Aaron stared at the floor, shame creeping up his neck and making the back of his neck burn.
“I get it,” Dave said quietly. “You two were close. Closer than most people realised, closer than you’ll ever admit to me. And then everything fell apart.” He shrugged slightly.
“But it’s Christmas.” He added as a door upstairs closed softly.
He pushed off the counter and turned back toward the stove, giving Aaron the gift of not being watched while he said the last part.
“So if you can’t do it for her, or even for yourself—” He paused, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Do it for me.”
Aaron looked up.
“Muster up a few more words than ‘wheels up in twenty.’ Just for tonight. Please.” Dave finished.
Emily reappeared a moment later, and Aaron noticed the change immediately.
She’d pulled a red sweater over the dress she’d arrived in, the hem of it tugged and tucked just enough at the waist that it looked intentional—more skirt and sweater than afterthought. The colour softened her, looking warm against her skin and festive without trying, though the same couldn't be said for the red and green Christmas socks covering her feet, forming a bright contrast against the white tile.
“Well,” Dave said mildly, eyes flicking down with obvious approval, “that answers the question of whether this is a formal or informal dinner.”
Emily glanced down at herself and laughed softly. “Yeah,” she said, wiggling her toes just enough for the socks to be impossible to miss. “A gift from Penelope.”
Dave nodded, slow and knowing. “Of course they were.”
He lifted the spoon from the pot, the sauce thick and fragrant as steam curled up between them. “Taste,” he said, holding it out to her. “Tell me if I’ve ruined Christmas.”
Emily stepped closer without hesitation, leaning in to blow gently on the spoon before tasting it. Her eyes closed for half a second as she considered, then she hummed softly.
“Oh, that’s unfair,” she said. “You know that’s good. A little untraditional for a Christmas dinner, but I think we can all live with that.”
Dave smiled, satisfied, and went back to stirring. “High praise.”
The kitchen settled into soft heat, the low murmur of the stove, and the faint crackle of the fire in the other room. Outside, snow continued to fall in lazy, unhurried flakes, blurring the world beyond the windows.
Emily glanced between them, something thoughtful flickering across her face. “You want help with anything?” she asked, already half-turning toward the counter.
Dave shook his head. “You’re helping by staying out of the way.”
She smiled at that, and leaned back against the counter instead. “Story of my life.”
Dave laughed. “Only when it comes to the kitchen.”
Emily rolled her eyes, but there was affection in it as she took another sip of her drink, settling more fully against the counter. She seemed lighter now—shoulders relaxed, weight shifted onto one hip, almost like the house had coaxed her into exhaling.
Aaron watched it happen in real time.
It struck him, not for the first time, how easy she was here. How she didn’t hover near exits or stand like she was waiting to be dismissed. She belonged in this space in a way she still didn’t quite seem to at Quantico.
Dave checked the clock on the stove and nodded once to himself. “Five minutes,” he announced. “Emily you’re in charge of the wine, Aaron, you get the plates.”
Emily gathered the glasses first, cradling them against her chest before setting them down carefully on the table and spacing them just so. The table already felt lived-in— candles lit, napkins folded with Dave’s particular brand of practicality— but she moved around it quietly, deliberately, almost mindful of every sound she made.
Aaron turned back toward the cabinets, reaching automatically for the top shelf where the plates had always been.
Empty.
He frowned, checked the shelf beside it. Still nothing.
“Huh,” he murmured, then, without thinking, added lightly, “What have you been doing, Dave— rearranging the entire kitchen?”
Dave shot him a warning look sharp enough to stop him mid-movement, before lifting a finger and pointing to a lower cabinet near the sink.
Aaron’s brows knit together as he followed the gesture, crouching slightly to open it and finding the plates stacked neatly inside, exactly where Dave had indicated.
He straightened slowly, a faint sense of unease settling in his stomach.
He didn’t quite know what he’d said wrong— but he knew he had.
He glanced toward the table where Emily had made herself busy pouring the wine, eyes fixed on the glass as the dark red filled it. When she was done, she set the bottle aside, picked up her whiskey instead, and finished it in one unguarded swallow before sitting down without looking up.
Aaron carried the plates over and set them down carefully. When Emily finally met his eyes, her smile was there— but it was tight, careful, as her hands twisted together in her lap, fingers worrying at each other like they needed something to do.
“Thanks,” she said softly.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, just as quietly.
Dave cleared his throat. “Aaron— come help me before I burn something.”
Grateful for the reprieve, Aaron turned back to the kitchen. They worked side by side, Dave narrating the process like it required commentary. It didn’t—but Aaron understood the kindness in it.
Dave sat first, immediately launching into a story as he picked up his fork, something about a case years back where a suspect had tried to outrun them in a stolen snowplough. It was ridiculous, the kind of anecdote Dave saved for dinners like this, and he told it with enough dry timing to pull a soft laugh out of Emily before she could stop herself.
Aaron had taken the seat across from her.
She kept her gaze on her plate at first, cutting her food into careful, even pieces. The red sweater pooled at her waist as she leaned forward, sleeves brushing the edge of the table. She ate slowly, methodically, like she was grounding herself in the act of it.
Dave kept talking. About the snowplough. About the paperwork. About how Christmas used to mean terrible sweaters and worse wine back when he’d still been pretending he enjoyed holiday parties.
Emily chimed in here and there—short comments, small smiles, an occasional laugh that came easier the longer Dave held the reins of the conversation. Aaron added a remark once or twice, but mostly he listened, his attention flicking back to Emily again and again despite himself.
Dave wiped his mouth with his napkin as he finished, leaning back slightly causing his chair to creak. “You know, for all the years we’ve worked together, it’s rare for us to actually have a normal dinner. It’s usually takeout eaten over files.”
Emily smiled faintly. “Or cold pizza at two in the morning.”
Aaron nodded. “While someone insists it’s still technically dinner.”
Dave pointed at him. “It is if you haven’t slept.”
Dave pushed his chair back slightly and stood, gathering plates with ease. “Dessert?” he asked, nodding toward the kitchen. “I’ve got cannoli.”
Emily leaned back in her chair, one hand resting lightly against her stomach. “No,” she said, smiling apologetically. “Thank you, but I'm so full I might burst.”
Aaron waited for it—the familiar insistence, the gentle pressure, Dave pretending not to hear the first refusal.
It didn’t come.
“Okay,” Dave said simply, and moved on.
The absence of it landed louder than the insistence ever would have.
Emily smiled and nodded, before pushing her own chair back and rising to her feet. “I should probably—” she hesitated, glancing at the clock, then back at them. “I should get going.”
Dave waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. I’m leaving early in the morning anyway.” He tilted his head toward the stairs. “You stay. Finish the leftovers for me tomorrow so they don’t go to waste.”
Emily paused, fingers still curled around the back of her chair, then let out a small breath that sounded like a concession rather than resistance. “Okay, well… If it’s okay I might head up to bed.” She glanced between them apologetically. “It’s been a long few days. And I’ve already interrupted your evening enough.”
Dave shook his head immediately, expression warm and entirely unbothered. “You didn’t interrupt anything,” he said, then nodded once. “But—okay. Goodnight bella.”
She stepped closer to him and touched his arm briefly. “Thank you for dinner. I’ll see you in the morning before your flight.”
“Count on it,” Dave replied.
Emily turned then, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before looking at Aaron. “Night,” she said, quieter now. “Oh—and… Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas Emily.” He answered, just as softly.
She held his gaze for a heartbeat, then nodded and headed for the stairs. Her socks flashed red and green against the wood as she climbed, the sound of her steps fading until a door closed upstairs with a muted click.
They moved into the front room without really discussing it— muscle memory guiding them the same way it always did after long days and heavier conversations. Dave poured the whiskey this time— generously, despite Aaron's hand coming up to say that was enough— before taking the chair opposite him.
For a while neither of them spoke, just allowed the crackling of the fire to fill the space.
Dave took a sip, then another, studying the amber liquid like it might offer him patience. “You know, I thought you might… try a little harder tonight.”
Aaron’s jaw tightened as he shrugged. “I did try.”
Dave shot him a look over the rim of his glass, flat and unimpressed, before rolling his eyes and exhaling through his nose. “Aaron. You said maybe six full sentences to her. One of them was about socks, and one of them was ‘Merry Christmas’...”
Aaron stared into his drink. “I didn’t want to push.”
“That’s not pushing,” Dave said. “That’s talking.”
“She needs to know she still matters to the people she came back for. To the people she died for… And quite frankly the lot of you have been doing an awful job of reminding her of that.” Dave went on quietly but firmly.
Aaron’s hand clenched around the glass. “You think I don’t know that?”
Dave held his gaze. “Then what is it then? Are you not happy she's back? Is what she did so unforgivable to you, that you wish she’d just… stayed gone? Because if that's the case how about you spare her the misery of trying to earn back your trust and transfer her out—”
“I loved her Dave.” Aaron said, cutting Dave's sentence off before he even had the chance to land the final blow.
Dave paused, mouth still half open while his brain locked on to Aaron’s words.
“I was in love with her. And I never told her. Because it was against the rules. Because I was her unit chief. Because I convinced myself that loving her wasn’t worth risking everything for.” Aaron continued, voice low and growing increasingly rougher around the edges.
He laughed once, bitter and hollow as he shook his head. “And then I killed her.”
Dave’s brow furrowed, “You didn’t kill her, Aaron. Ian Doyle—”
“I planned her funeral. I signed off on the reports. I told her family and friends she was dead and watched everyone grieve for her. I buried my memory of her in the ground because that was the only way I knew how to survive it… I told myself it was necessary, that it was the right call.” He shook his head slowly. “But all I did was fail her. In every way possible.”
Dave leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees.
“I took her name and gave her new ones, I ended her life, her existence, and convinced myself that protecting her meant erasing her.” His throat tightened. “And now she’s back. And she hates me for it.”
Dave opened his mouth, but Aaron kept going.
“What can I possibly say to her? ‘I’m sorry’?“ He let out a breath that sounded more like a fracture than a sigh. “That’s not enough. Nothing I can say will ever be enough…”
Dave stared at him for a long moment, eyes sharp but full of grief and understanding tangled together.
“She doesn’t hate you,” he said simply.
Aaron looked up, disbelief written plainly across his face.
“She’s tired. She’s trying to figure out how to exist in a life that moved on without her.” He shook his head. “But hate? No.”
Aaron’s shoulders sagged as he took in a deep breath and practically collapsed backwards against the back of the chair.
Dave shook his head lightly. “You’re so busy trying not to make things worse, that you’re not making them anything at all. She’s suffocating here… Your silence— everyone’s silence— is drowning her. And the more we all push her away…” He shrugged, pausing to consider his next words before continuing.
“She’s thinking of leaving…”
Aaron's head snapped towards him. “What?”
“She hasn’t told me. Not exactly, but… There's only so much a person can take Aaron…”
Aaron’s breath left him like the floor had dropped out from under his chair.
Dave didn’t rush to fill the silence this time. He let it stretch, let it settle where it hurt.
“She’s tired,” Dave said, softer now. “She’s not angry. Not dramatic. Just… tired of feeling like she’s a complication instead of a person.”
Aaron straightened slowly, spine rigid and jaw tight. “what do I do?” He asked finally. “How do I fix this… I can’t lose her again Dave.”
Dave didn’t hesitate. “You talk to her.”
Aaron let out a strained, almost humourless breath.
“About everything you just said,” Dave replied. “About the love. About the fear. About the anger you don’t know what to do with.”
Aaron stared into the fire, eyes glassy. “And if it’s too late?”
Dave stood, crossed the room, and rested a hand briefly on Aaron’s shoulder. “Then at least she leaves knowing she mattered,” he said quietly. “And not wondering if the silence meant she didn’t.”
Dave’s hand lingered on Aaron’s shoulder for a moment longer than necessary—solid and grounding— before he straightened and nodded toward the hallway.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “Go upstairs and get some rest.”
Aaron shook his head automatically. “I should head home.”
Dave snorted, already turning toward the kitchen. “You’re not going anywhere. You’ve had too much to drink, and even if you hadn’t—” He gestured vaguely toward the windows, where the snow was still falling thick and steady. “We’re snowed in.”
Aaron dragged a hand down his face, fatigue catching up with him all at once. “Dave—”
“I’ll turn on the snow-melting system for the driveway,” Dave cut in calmly. “It’ll be clear by morning.” Then he paused, glancing back over his shoulder, something wry and pointed in his expression. “Besides. It’s Christmas.”
Aaron looked up.
“No time like Christmas Day for clearing the air, right?” Dave added.
Aaron let out a slow breath, rubbed at his eyes, and finished what was left of his whiskey in one decisive swallow.
“Fine,” he muttered.
Dave clapped his hands once in satisfaction. “Spare room’s made up. Take the one next to my room, Emily is at the end of the hall so you shouldn't disturb her with your snoring.”
Aaron rolled his eyes. “I don’t snore…”
Dave raised a brow. “You do when you drink…”
They headed upstairs together, the house quiet now as Dave flicked on a light and gestured Aaron inside.
“Get some sleep,” he said gently.
Aaron nodded, too tired to argue anymore as he shut the door behind him and sank down onto the edge of the bed, staring at nothing as the weight of the night finally caught up, and Christmas morning loomed.