On New Year's Eve ... -- Carrie

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Title: On New Year's Eve ...
Author: Carrie
Rating: PG.
Author's Note: First I tried to write a Thanksgiving fic, then a Christmas one, and the only reason this is posted is because I ran out of Holidays. :D It's far from my best piece of writing, so please be gentle. Also ignore all typos and gramatical mistakes-- I have to post and hit the hay, unfortunately no time to proof-read. So if it sucks, um, pretend I proofed it and it doesn't. :D

31 December 2001, 7PM.

"Katie?" Simon called from the kitchen into the living room, barely having to raise his voice due to the minuscule size of their apartment.

"Hm?" She looked up from her novel, wondering what odd request he was going to come up with this time.

"Can you run out and pick up some beer?"

"We just got some yesterday, did you look on the bottom shelf?" She paused, then set down the book and headed into the kitchen. "Simon, this is the third time in the last hour you've tried to send me out for something we didn't need. Why are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Don't you trust me?"

"No." She glared at him for a moment, then, unable to stay angry, began to plead. "C'mon, you must have a surprise planned. Tell me, Simon!"

"No, no surprises. I just… I don't like this kind of beer. Can you get the other kind?"

She sighed. "Ok. I‘m not sure why you want me gone, but I'll go. Is a half-hour long enough?"

He smiled. "Perfect. Just like you."

Twenty minutes later, Simon had transformed the apartment into a honeymoon suite… not the Plaza, but close enough. The ratty bean bag chair had been stuffed into the hall closet, the beat-up coffee table covered with a table cloth, and candles lit on the overturned milk crates that they used as end tables, both in the living room and bedroom. He'd put a pillowcase around an old sand bucket they kept under the kitchen sink, to make it look festive, and filled it with ice, to chill the champagne that had never been drank last Christmas.

He sank onto a folding chair, covered with a patio cushion, and surveyed his handiwork. He hadn't done too poorly, considering. It really was quite amusing—he'd spent his entire adult life marrying for money, living the high life, yet when he married for love—or, rather, married, then fell in love,-- it was to a woman just as broke as he was. Surprisingly, though, he wasn't unhappy—their apartment, simple though it was, felt like home. He had insisted for so long that Oakdale wasn't him home, but the fact of the matter was that he just didn't know what a home was. Somewhere to be comfortable, to be totally yourself—and Katie had given him that.

He heard the key turning in the lock and smiled. She was home.

She walked in, beer in hand, and he leapt up to take it from her. "Is this right?" she asked, with a slight amount of frustration.

"Sure baby, it's perfect," he replied, spinning her such that her back was to the room. He took her coat and gave her a kiss, then said, "I have a surprise for you."

"Hm," she grumbled, pretending to be angry, but unable to hide the excited sparkle in her eye. Finally she lost the battle and broke into a grin. "C'mon, Simon, tell me!"

"Okay. First, close your eyes."

She complied.

He flicked the lights off, then turned her to face the room. Setting his chin on her shoulder, he whispered, "Surprise."

Her eyes flew open, and she gasped. "Oh, Simon, it's beautiful."

"Well, you did say that… what was it? That I needed to surprise you to keep the universe in balance?"

"Something like that."

He sat her in front of the coffee table, Indian-style, which was how they always ate, and went into the kitchen. He returned, moments later, with two champagne flutes and two paper plates full of mac ‘n' cheese. As he sat the items down, he apologized. "It's no crock pot chicken, but I guess that's why you're the cook in the family."

Katie laughed. "It's fine, honey. Certainly no worse than our turkey TV dinners because there were no turkeys left by the time I hit the store."

"That's true." He sighed. "It's been quite a year, hasn't it? From broke in the garage to living it up with Craig to broke again here, we've certainly come a long way."

She nodded, knowing exactly what he was thinking, but not daring to say, for fear he'd ruin the evening. She smiled, not wanting to make him feel bad, and attempted to turn the conversation. "Yet you still need cooking lessons," she ventured, and they both laughed.

He fed her a bite of macaroni, laughing, and said, "It's not so bad, is it?"

She shook her head, no, as she swallowed.

He fed her another bite as he continued. "I have learned one thing this year, though." He paused, and then, "No, make that two."

Simon stood and walked again into the kitchen, returning this time with his hands behind his back. "The first," he said, fighting back a smile, "was how to make this." He produced the mystery item and placed it atop Katie's head as she shrieked gleefully. "A crown of daisies for my queen."

She pulled him down for a kiss, and he sat beside her, dropping his voice to barely louder than a whisper. "And the second thing I've learned… is how to love. I don't think I realized I could love until Lily… but you, Katie, you're the one who showed me what love is. It's wanting happiness for the other person, no matter what, it's doing crazy, insane things, it's humor, it's being with your best friend forever… it's what I feel for you, Katie. That's love."

Katie looked at him with adoring eyes, speechless. A year ago Simon had defined love as angst; had seen love as something hurtful, something that would be happiness, not that was happiness. And now… now he knew. Because he loved her. In that moment, she loved him more than she ever thought she could.

"Oh, Simon… somehow just saying, ‘I love you too,' doesn't seem like enough."

"It's not the words, sweetheart, it's the meaning behind them. And I know what you mean… better than anyone."

She smiled; it was true, he did. "Let me show you what I mean," she said, beginning to stand.

He was faster than her, though, rising and scooping her off of the floor and carrying her to the bedroom, crown of daisies and all.

Later, Katie wriggled out of Simon's arms to peer at the clock. 11:57. Perfect.

She grabbed her robe and threw it on as she padded out into the living room to grab the now-lukewarm champagne and unused flutes. She filled the glasses and headed back into the bedroom, perching herself on the edge of the bed. Softly, she called to her sleeping husband, "Wake up, sweetheart!"

He squinted at her, as his eyes adjusted to the dim light provided by the few candles still burning.
Recognizing the sight before him, he smiled and sat up.

Katie tilted her head towards the clock, now reading 11:59. "Just in time," she smiled, as she handed him one of the flutes.

"Happy New Years', baby," he said as the clock flipped to midnight.

"Happy New Years'," she replied. Then she raised her glass. "To us."

"To us," he echoed. "And to 2002, and all of the adventures it will bring." Then, beginning to laugh, he concluded, "And with you in my life, as my love and my wife—see, I can be a poet, too!—we know there will be more than a few."

She began to laugh as well, and they talked and laughed and drank until the dawn, when they fell asleep in each others' arms, thanking their lucky stars that they'd come together in the past year, and hoping that they'd spend many more as they were then, perhaps even happier. As if that were possible.

The End