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For yuletide 2006, I volunteered to write a back-up story for lilly_rose, who requested Tru Calling, with sweet and holiday-themed Tru/Davis.

Title: The Wise and the Lovely
Author: voleuse
Fandom: Tru Calling
Pairing: Tru & Davis
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
Notes: No spoilers



i. So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been

Aside from the chill in the hallway, more brisk than the usual gloom, the morgue isn't any different during the holiday season. The muzak in the elevator isn't tinny Christmas carols, nobody's placed poinsettias in the restroom, and there aren't inappropriately placed Santa hats anywhere.

To be honest, Tru's a little disappointed.

Two days before the 25th, Tru fills a thermos with non-alcoholic eggnog. She twists red and green ribbon around her belt, and picks up three gingerbread men from the grocery store on the way to work.

The first cookie goes to Lannie at the reception desk. She hands the second one to Fred, since he's stuck processing files this week. When she walks into Davis's office, she sings a faux-fanfare before presenting him with the final cookie. Its candy buttons are crooked, but its icing smile is pristine.

"I love gingerbread men," Davis says, smiling.

Tru breaks off the cookie's left arm for herself. "I know."


ii. Into the darkness they go

Every time Fred slams the doors open, Tru cringes and waits for the whisper. Something up there (or wherever) is looking out for her, though, because the two bodies that come in are natural causes. As far as she knows, she can't do anything to cure cancer or prevent pulmonary embolisms.

Maybe someday she'll try.

The autopsies are routine, the sort they do to placate insurance companies. The bodies turn Tru off the eggnog, though, so she hands her thermos to Davis.

"You get used to it," he tells her. "You should have seen us in med school--"

Tru holds up her hand. "I'm taking gross anatomy, thanks. Their jokes are bad enough."

"Jokes?" Davis looks at the body. "Why would they make jokes?"

"Never mind," she tells him. "It's not important."


iii. The answers quick & keen, the honest look

Davis stitches neatly, making the Y-incision a temporary violation.

Tru leans across the table, stares at the gleam of the needle. "I was never good at sewing. I can't even do buttons."

"You'll learn." Davis doesn't look up, and his fingers are steady. "You'll have to, especially if you work here."

"Yeah, I guess."

Davis pauses, then stands up straight. "I mean, if you want to work here. I don't expect you'll continue here after you graduate." He lifts his hand, to run it across his forehead, then realizes he's still wearing gloves. "Certainly you could work anywhere."

"Thanks, Davis," Tru interrupts. "I appreciate the compliment."

"Oh," Davis says. "Yes." He bends again, returns to his task.

"But you're right," she continues. "I'll have to learn."

Davis nods, and ties off a knot.


iv. of what you felt, of what you knew

At 6:30 that night, Lannie brings them a tray of persimmon bread before heading home. Barring disaster, they have another hour and a half before closing. Tru digs out two packets of hot chocolate from behind the coffee filters, and Davis garnishes the bread with the margarine he didn't use on his morning bagel.

Davis lends Tru his coffee mug, and he washes out the thermos for himself. The water cooler provides them with lukewarm water, and the hot chocolate mix lumps.

"We look ridiculous," Tru laughs.

Davis shrugs. "What better reason to toast?" He holds forth the thermos, and Tru clinks his mug in answer. They sip and grimace together, then turn to the persimmon bread.

"This was nice of Lannie," Davis observes. "I think it's home-made."

"Yeah." Tru takes a bite and hums. "My mom used to bake stuff like this, I think."

Davis offers her another slice.


v. More precious was the light in your eyes

It's close to eight when Fred wanders into the morgue. He has a file in hand, and he starts apologizing before Tru can even groan. "It can wait until morning," he says. "We just need to tag it."

Davis takes the file before Tru can swat Fred, and flips through the report. "Looks easy enough," he notes. "How close are they?"

"Ten minutes," Fred estimates.

Tru pretends to slump over an empty gurney.

"Thanks," Davis tells Fred, ignoring her. "You can take off after they're logged, if you want."

Fred nods, and pats Tru on the shoulder as he exits. Tru stands and wanders around Davis, trying to peek at the file.

"You don't think it's for me, do you?"

Davis closes the folder and taps it against his mouth. "Maybe."

Tru frowns. "Car accident? Suicide?"

Davis leans forward and whispers, "Santa."


vi. Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind

Santa's name is actually Clyde Zimmerman, and the cause of death is a stroke. Davis reviews the police report, the circumstances, and time of death, and Tru holds her breath as he reads.

Waits.

Nothing.

"Luckily, the store was closing when it happened," Davis continues on. "All the kids were gone."

"Lucky them," Tru murmurs.

There's a span of silence, punctuated by paper shuffling. "His eyes were blue," Davis finally says.

But Clyde doesn't open his eyes.


vii. Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave

They tag the body and put it into storage. All they need is the final police report--if it doesn't come in tonight, they won't get it until New Year's. Davis puts a call into the station, and the desk promises they'll have it before nine.

Tru, perched on the freshly-polished table, swings her legs in the air. "Any big plans, Davis?"

He taps on the fax machine and shakes his head. "There's some kids in my building that go caroling. I usually make cider for them." He checks the paper tray, which is still full. "You?"

"I don't know." Tru drums her fingers against steel. "Mom and Dad weren't big on the Christmas thing. We usually just had a big dinner and watched a movie."

Davis checks the paper tray a second time. "Don't you have plans with Harrison?"

"Nothing special. We're ordering a pizza." She laughs. "We'll flip a coin on the movie, I guess."

"Sounds fun."

Tru hops off the table and saunters over to Davis. "You're welcome to join us, you know. If you want."

"If you don't mind."

"Davis."

"I don't want to impose."

Tru claps him on the shoulder. "Bring popcorn, then."

Davis smiles. "Deal." He sighs. "Now if they'd just fax the report, we could get out of here."

Tru reaches over and punches the powersave button, and the fax machine hums to life.


###

A/N: Title and summary adapted from Edna St Vincent Millay's Dirge Without Music.

Originally archived here.

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