To: @bexbubbles

From: @eatingfireflies

Happy Holidays to @bexbubbles! He wanted something winter holidays with Free the Soul, but it ended up as ‘Christmas with Dio’ instead. Aaah! I hope you like it, though! >.>

‘And the Word was
made Flesh,’ said A-01, voice the restless monotone of profound
boredom. Despite this, his words carried so that all the younger
clones heard him. The Great Hall was designed for this and A-01, if
nothing else, was a performer. Perhaps the boredom was likewise only
a performance.

D-10 felt the
delicious frisson of horror at A-01’s words. Made
Flesh, how sinful it sounded with all
the trappings of mortality that came with the cage of rotting meat.
Forget that they were all bags of rotting meat, in the end. The flesh
wasn’t what interested Free the Soul.

‘And dwelt amongst
us,’ A-01 was still talking. ‘Like him, we are trapped within our
bodies, along with millions of people who do not realise this and
seek all the pleasures and sins of the flesh. But like him, we
are meant to rise above that.’

D-10 applauded with everyone else. Rising above
the flesh: that was their goal.

They weren’t
allowed to leave the compound until they were of age, and even then
they could only go when they’re on a sanctioned mission: for the
cause of their beliefs.

That Dio was here,
in a pub nursing a Johnny Walker, was as far from a sanctioned
mission as he could get without setting up with a circus troupe and a
dancing bear.

It was 25 December
and he had been expecting the pub to be empty, what with all the family
gatherings and Christmas dinners. But the place was packed: couples
having drinks before going home and fornicating, singles looking to
hook up, friends getting shit-faced and shouting loudly at each
other. You’d think after the Apocalypse there’d be less people gadding about, or that the survivors would be making less noise. It was
overwhelming, so very human and crass.

Dio loved the fuck
out of it.

He was well on his
own way to getting shit-faced when someone sat on the stool next to him
and said, ‘Pretty thing sitting all alone here, imagine that.’

‘Are you,’ said
Dio, waving his hand when the words failed his alcohol-befuddled
brain. ‘Hitting on me?’

‘Oh my god,’
said the girl. A girl, Dio realised, had just come on to him. What
was the world coming to? He had to admit that she was rather pretty,
with a small and gentle face framed by a ragged fringe. But that
wasn’t the point. The point was—

‘I thought you
were a girl and you looked lonely, so I went to ask if you wanted to
hang out with me and my friends,’ girl said, in a rush. She was
blushing, covering her mouth with her hands. ‘Oh my god, I’m so
sorry. It was a joke, and I just.’

‘You’re nice,’
said Dio, surprised into honesty.

She lowered her
hands so he could see her smile. ‘Everyone’s nice if you give
them a chance.’

Dio stood up; hand
resting on the back of his chair for balance when it seemed like the
world was turning upside down on him. Before the girl could ask him
if he’s all right (she was just like that, she had the sort of face
that worried over other people too much, Dio could tell), he left
some bills to cover his tab on the counter and left.

‘I honestly don’t think so,’ said Dio, as
the door of the pub tinkled close behind him.

His last
Christmas—that is, Dio was fairly sure it was
his last, knowing what he did about his upcoming mission and how Free the Soul
felt about him—was spent going through the plans, making sure he
had the blueprints for Rhizome 9 memorised, and praying.

It was a dangerous
and risky mission, only something Dio could accomplish; he understood
that. He also understood that his standing with Free the Soul was
tenuous, and that he might not get out of the moon base alive. They
had nothing to lose, sending him in: if he survived, the mission was
secure and they would have won. If he didn’t, well—he would have to
ensure that they would still win. Getting rid of the problematic
leader of the Myrmidons and putting a stop to the AB Project, it was
practically a coup de grace.

And Dio? He’ll just
have to make sure he survived. That was all. He could still earn back
his Brother’s trust. He couldn’t give himself room for doubts.

He checked the bombs he’d
hidden in the secret pockets of his coat and tucked the detonator
under his hat. He’d like to think he didn’t hesitate before slipping
the pills into his pocket as well. They were insurance, something he
hoped he wouldn’t have to use, but knowing he had them made him feel
at ease. If he had to go, he’d like to do so on his own terms.

He could feel the weight
of them in his pocket, heavier than the bombs can ever be.

He wondered who the fuck
he was supposed to pray to.

Dio sighed and left his rooms. He had a Project to fuck up.

B.

They had a couple hours to
kill. Funny choice of words, after what Dio had done to that old
woman. She hadn’t even had the time to resist.

He chose a bottle from the
bar at random. Planet, it said on the label. There were glasses along
the counter, something Sigma and his group must have used to solve
the puzzles in the lounge, and Dio took one as well.

‘Mind if I join you?’

Dio turned around and saw
the old man standing by the door. He hadn’t heard it open, and Dio
gritted his teeth.

‘I would,’ he said. ‘But
something tells me you’ll come in anyway.’

Tenmyouji just laughed and
shouldered past him. He took more care in choosing his beverage,
bringing out a squat bottle of whiskey from the back of the bar and
making appreciative old man noises.

Dio fought the urge to
whack him on the back of the head with it.

‘Are you old enough to
drink?’ said Tenmyouji. He was grinning, but there was a flintiness
to his eyes. The old man didn’t like Dio; Dio was aware of that. He
hadn’t made an effort to be likeable; that wasn’t part of the plan.

‘I dare you to fucking
stop me,’ said Dio, taking a sip from his glass and raising his
eyebrow at Tenmyouji, ‘even if I weren’t.’

‘Fucking ray of sunshine.’

‘I try.’ Dio snorted.
‘You’ll survive. Or maybe not.’

‘You’re sure of yourself.’
Tenmyouji drank his whiskey and frowned, as if something was wrong
with it. Dio knew that wasn’t the case; the whiskey was pretty good
shit, judging from the label.

‘Wouldn’t be here if I
weren’t.’

To his surprise, Tenmyouji
laughed. ‘You remind me of someone I knew once,’ he said, in answer
to Dio’s glare.

Dio didn’t doubt it. The
years on the old man: he’d probably known all sorts. ‘And?’

‘Didn’t like him much
either,’ said Tenmyouji. ‘But him, I understood. You? Thank fuck I
don’t.’

Dio tried to let this go.
He wasn’t terribly interested in the old man’s memories. But there
was something about Tenmyouji—the expression on his face maybe, or
the dismissive way he talked of Dio. So he said, ‘Remind you how?’

‘Dead eyes,’ said Tenmyouji, promptly. ‘Like I’m looking at the
shadow of a man.’

A.

When Dio opened his eyes,
Luna was crouching in front of him.

‘How do you feel?’ she
said, eyeing the hand that was cuffed to the sink. She was frowning,
looking more distracted than scared, as if she wasn’t alone in a room
with a murderer.

Sure, Dio hadn’t actually
killed anyone in the moon base, but not for any lack of trying.

‘I feel fucking great,’
said Dio. What the fuck do you think? he wanted to add, but she
wasn’t scared of him and he held his tongue.

‘Ms Kurashiki will be here
soon,’ said Luna.

‘Gonna take care of me, is
she?’ said Dio, trying to keep the fear from his voice.

‘She’ll decide what to do
with you.’ Luna stood up. ‘Would you like something to drink?’

Dio thought of the pills
in his pocket and his free hand moved to take one out. Luna sat back
down again and grabbed his hand. She was quicker than he expected,
and stronger than she looked.

‘Please don’t do anything
rash.’

Fuck that. He’d already
failed. What else was there for him? He didn’t even need to die. Free
the Soul or Akane Kurashiki would take care of that.

‘Leave me alone,’ said
Dio, knowing that he sounded like a little boy. A brat, like Quark.
(Quark wasn’t too bad, if Dio was going to be honest, but he was safe
somewhere and Dio wasn’t. Quark was a brat.)

Luna nodded. Before Dio
could react, she reached inside his pocket and took the pills away.
As if in exchange, she gave him a smile before buttoning the door
closed.

Dio started to cry.

They hadn’t killed him
yet. He was out of their reach, so long as Kurashiki kept him close.
She wanted him to break, even knowing the secrets he could spill were
meagre drops from the fount of Free the Soul. She probably knew all
his secrets. And still.

She also knew she wouldn’t have to lift a finger: Dio was perfectly
capable of breaking himself.

‘What’s this?’ said Dio,
looking at the tray of food Luna had placed on the table. They had
him locked up in the Crew’s Quarters; his freedom comprising the run
of four cabins and his only company the lewd poster Sigma and
Tenmyouji had been so sweet on.

And sometimes,
occasionally, Luna.

She was the only one in
Rhizome 9 who bothered. Dio thought she must bored.

‘Christmas dinner,’ said
Luna, proud as if she’d made it herself. Dio was pretty sure all she
did was heat the dishes up. There weren’t any fresh produce in the
moon base, just a year’s supply of pre-packaged slop. There was
turkey and pie and some pudding. They haven’t been starving him, but
the fare hadn’t been too good either. This was definitely a step up.

‘I don’t do Christmas.’

‘Then it’s a normal
dinner,’ said Luna, stoutly. ‘But with better food.’

He couldn’t argue with that
logic.

‘Merry Christmas,
Dio,’ said Luna, before leaving.

Sated with the
not-Christmas dinner, Dio found himself saying, ‘Merry Christmas’ to the closed door.