Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You said you’d be back!”

Sarah’s disappointment is clear even through the phone speaker, despite the distance and the shitty audio quality. Kiara runs her fingers through her hair, pushing loose strands away from her face.

“I know, I know!” she says, apologetic, “It’s just… something came up at work, and it looks like I won’t be able to take time off. But I promise I’ll be down for New Year’s! Promise!”

“Kie.” Sarah’s voice is stern. “That’s what you said at Thanksgiving. And Labor Day. Should I go on?”

Kiara sighs. “I know, you’re right. Look, I really wanted to come, if that makes it any better. This is an absolute bummer. But you know I’m going for that promotion in January, and they asked me to cover Christmas and I–”

“Yeah, yeah, we know. Work comes first, however else are you going to save all the turtles?”

Kiara bites down a snarky reply. Sarah is exasperated, but her comment was more tongue-in-cheek than anything else.

“I’ll see you in a week, okay?” Kie says, conciliatory. Sarah sighs.

“Yeah, sure. We’re all here waiting for you.”

“Love you! Say hi to the guys!”

And with that, the call ends.

Kiara wouldn’t exactly consider herself a workaholic, not in the traditional sense of the term at least. She’s not one for climbing the corporate ladder, and she’s never in her life been motivated by capitalist metrics of success such as money or status or a big office or whatever. Her life has turned out significantly differently than what it looked like it would when she was a kid, squashed by the expectation put on her shoulders by her parents. 

After emancipating herself at 17, Kiara has worked her way up to stay afloat, put herself through college and eventually landed her dream job at a non-profit working to remove plastic waste from the oceans. So yeah, it’s not that she’s a workaholic, but the work they do is so urgent and important that it’s hard not to dedicate all of her energy to it. And having your work be your passion is great, and such a blessing, but it also means that the line separating professional and personal life gets really blurry at times. Is volunteering at a beach cleanup work or non-work? Kiara has been doing it in her own free time since she was a child, but does it count as downtime if the cleanup is sponsored and organised by her employer? Tough questions. Now in her mid-twenties, Kiara is still not sure of the answer, and has been trying to navigate this facet of adulthood best she can. Sometimes that means working weekends for a month in a row without realising, sometimes it means falling asleep at her desk at the end of the day and having to brush her teeth at work before clocking in the next morning… So yeah, she is kind of a workaholic. 

Which is why it’s way past nine o’clock at night on Christmas Eve when she walks through the front door of her apartment (a tiny studio on the mainland a couple of hours north from Kildare. It’s very small and cluttered and it’s been her home for the past four years because non-profits are great but they pay what they pay). She takes two steps in towards the generously-named ‘bedroom nook’, completely pooped, and flops face-down on her bed. Dinner was a granola bar a few hours ago and she thinks she is quite hungry, but if she remembers correctly there should be nothing edible in her studio save for some instant ramen – and even that feels like too much effort right now. Eventually, she forces herself to get up from the bed to brush her teeth, wash her face, and change into pyjamas before climbing under the duvet and passing out in three seconds flat.

She wakes up with a start to banging sounds inside her apartment. Dread gripping her chest, she gets out of bed as quietly as she can, moving swiftly towards the baseball bat she keeps just by the nightstand. Her bed sits in a little nook in a corner and she’s hung a curtain to attempt to separate it from the main living area. She mentally thanks her past self for this bright idea, now, as she hides behind the thick fabric scouting the room, her fingers clasped tight around the slick wooden handle of the bat.

The scene in front of her is not what she expected. The burglar, or home invader, or whatever, is first of all not the burly man of her mental images but rather a fairly small and unthreatening-looking girl. Second of all, she doesn’t seem to be doing much burglalring at all, instead opening and closing all of Kiara’s kitchen cabinets and studying her collection of herbal teas with interest. Finally, in a rather disorienting twist, she appears to be none other than…

“Wheezie?!?”

The girl jumps a foot in the air before turning on her heels to face Kiara like a deer in headlights, the tin of Rooibos still in her hand.

“Ah, there you are,” she says brightly, a smile blooming on her face. “Hello, Kiara. I understand the confusion but I regret to tell you I’m not actually Wheezie. Sorry to disappoint.”

Kiara blinks a few times in rapid succession. “I- What?”

Wheezie perks up and smiles a toothy smile at her. “I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past, pleased to make your acquaintance,” she says with a decidedly un-Wheezie-like tiny courtsey. 

“You… what?”

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past,” she repeats, in a manner not dissimilar to that one would use while condescending a particularly thick child.

“Like, the distant past, or…?” Kiara asks, sending an unconvinced look at her tiny stature.

“No. Your past.”

The more she looks at her, the more something seems off. The girl in front of her looks like Wheezie Cameron, all right, but also kind of… doesn’t. She sort of looks like Wheezie did years ago, a gangly teen more than the twenty-something woman she is today. Kiara studies the strange intruder under the faint light of the single low-voltage light bulb hanging from her ceiling. “Wait, so, if you’re not Wheezie… how the hell do you look exactly like her?”

Not-Wheezie sighs rather theatrically. “Technically, I am nothing but a non-corporeal object. I have no natural form, so I decided to take on a familiar shape to you, so you wouldn't freak out seeing me.”

Kiara’s head has started spinning rather unpleasantly. “Uhm… and you thought that breaking into my apartment at one in the morning wouldn’t freak me out?”

“I thought you’d be happier to see a familiar face rather than a stranger, yes.”

Kiara blinks tiredly at her. It seems that sarcasm would be lost on this weird version of Wheezie, and she’s too tired to waste energy talking, so she just gives up. Instead, she asks, “Are you going to tell me why exactly you are standing in my apartment in the middle of the night, or…?”

Not-Wheezie startles, as if she’d just suddenly remembered where she is. “Right! Of course.” She clears her throat and her voice lowers a good octave as she declares, “Kiara Carrera, it has come to our attention that you’re onto a very bad path. A very bad path!”

“That seems a bit excessive,” Kiara protests, flinching at the Ghost’s ominous tone.

“Have you not neglected your friends then? Your family?” not-Wheezie insists. “Have you not buried yourself in your work and committed crimes against Christmas?”

“I wouldn’t call it a crime, no–”

“Well, the Powers That Be sent me here tonight to try and save your un-festive soul. And thus, here I am. Chop chop, we’d better get going!”

“Wait… going? Going where?” Kiara says, her eyes wide at this unexpected turn.

“Why, back home, obviously,” not-Wheezie says.

Just like that, she kicks off the ground and starts floating mid-air.

“Jesus Christ!” Kiara shrieks.

“I’m not him either,” not-Wheezie says, rather sorrowfully. “Just your friendly neighbourhood Ghostie. Now hold on, we have a long journey ahead.”

Kiara eyes her bed longingly, the warmth of the covers. She’s only wearing her pyjamas, and not-Wheezie doesn’t seem so inclined to give her time to change into warmer clothes. Truth be told, Kiara finds her a little too intimidating to even dare ask. “Can I at least grab my coat?” she tries, “It is rather chilly outside, you know, December and all…” 

Not-Wheezie doesn’t deign a response. She’s now floated to the window and opened it wide, and is alarmingly standing on the parapet, ready to take off. She turns around and looks expectantly at Kiara – and an unpleasant knot forms in her stomach at the realisation.

“I am mortal, you know,” Kiara remonstrates, “and liable to fall.”

“Hold my hand there, you’ll be fine.”

And before Kiara can so much as protest, they’re plunging into the cold winter night.

The feeling is comparable to that stomach-in-the-throat sensation caused by some particularly vicious rides at an amusement park. Kiara shuts her eyes preparing for impact with the hard surface of the asphalt below, but it never comes. Soon, the world around her stops spinning, and the ground reappears under her feet.

“You can open your eyes, now,” not-Wheezie says helpfully.

Kiara does so, tentatively at first, one eye at the time. And she realises the sight in front of her is more than a little familiar.

“You took me to The Wreck? Why?” 

Like most things tonight, this feels somewhat off, too. The colour on the walls is the bright yellow she remembers from her childhood. Hanging from the ceiling are some dated Christmas decorations her mother retired years ago, switching them around for something a little classier. Kiara is so enthralled in the little details that her heart literally stops when she finally notices the people sitting at the bar on tall, sturdy stools. Her mother and father, both looking younger and brighter than she remembers them being; and a tiny version of Kiara herself.

The sight is so disorienting Kiara does a double take. This version of her parents are smiling and doting on her, sending her younger self to look into hidden corners to find wrapped presents waiting for her. She remembers this, is the thing. She remembers these Christmases from her childhood, Christmas day spent at the restaurant because there was nobody else to cover, just the three of them and Jorge, who at the time was just a busboy instead of the manager.

“How is this possible?” she asks. Next to her, not-Wheezie gives her a noncommittal shrug.

“It’s a Christmas from your past. I thought you might like to revisit this one.”

Her mother turns in their direction and Kiara automatically takes a step back, looking for a hiding spot behind the nearest corner. Anna, however, seems to look straight through her without noticing anything’s amiss.

“Can they not see us?” Kiara wonders aloud, although the answer is already evident.

Not-Wheezie confirms. “These are but shadows of the things that have been,” she says. “They have no consciousness of us.”

Kiara struggles to keep hold of her emotions. Her relationship with her parents has been fraught since that cursed summer of the gold and the fallout that came after. The memory playing out in front of her eyes speaks of simpler times, easier times – when she was the well-loved only child of Mike and Anna Carrera, aspiring restaurateurs, working day and night to put The Wreck on the map in the competitive market of the OBX. Kiara finds herself transfixed by the warmth of the scene before her eyes. The golden lights, the Christmas decoration. Her dad smiling, bringing out elaborate dishes from the kitchen, her mom sitting at the bar with her – 10 years old and two messy braids framing her face, hideous tartan bows adorning her head as a nod to the festivities.

“Do you remember what it feels like?” not-Wheezie asks. “How special Christmas used to be?”

When Kiara fails to answer, not-Wheezie leans in closer. “What’s this, now. Are you crying, Kiara?”

“Am not,” Kiara quickly answers, wiping her cheeks on the back of her hand and pouting at the nosy Ghost . 

With one last longing look at the scene in front of her, she then turns her back to the picture-perfect family and saunters towards the door. 

“I’ve seen enough,” she declares resentfully over her shoulder. “Frankly, I don’t know why you took me here.”

Not-Wheezie trots behind her through the front door of The Wreck. “Very well, then. There’s one more Christmas I want to show you. I think you’ll like this one.”

And, without warning, she grabs Kiara’s hand and drags her up in the sky, floating above Kildare island at light speed.

They land pretty much in the same fashion as the first time, and as the world stops spinning like a pinball around her ears, Kiara recognises where she is from the sound and smell before anything even comes into focus.

“You took me to the Chateau? Oh my god!”

As soon as she’s stable on her feet, Kiara runs towards the porch like second nature – all resentment towards the Ghost long forgotten. A sense of excitement mixed with the overwhelming feeling of being right where she belongs suddenly fills her heart, warm and joyful in a way she hasn’t felt in ages. Her hand already on the handle, she stops in her tracks right in front of the glass doors. On the other side, in the glowy light of the living room, stand her favourite people in the whole world. The boys are wearing matching Christmas jumpers knitted by Mama H, their faces flushed as they run around the room hanging decorations.  In the midst of their chaos stands a younger, happier version of Kiara herself, bickering with them about something she can’t hear, the loud sound of cackling laughter seeping through the thin walls to where she’s standing on the porch. Judging by the jumpers, and by the fact  that Sarah and Cleo are sitting back on the couch, Kiara immediately recognises the scene as the Christmas of Junior year – barely seventeen, back from their gold chasing adventures.

A pang of nostalgia hits her right in the chest. That particular year, right after coming back from being stranded on a desert island, was such an intense period in all of their lives. Kiara had fallen out with her parents over their threat of Blue Ridge and moved into the Chateau for good. Even just watching the scene replay in front of her now brings back all of the chaotic energy of those years, her sharing the limited space of the fishing shack with JJ and Cleo, John B and Sarah. Pope was technically still living at home, but practically he spent 80% of his time with them – already back then circling around Cleo more and more. And Kiara… Well, watching her past self now, she’s hit with the undeniable realisation of how obvious her thing with JJ was, to anyone but the two of them.

After the Coastal Venture everything had changed. Something so intense and traumatic is bound to tie you together somehow. Kiara remembers the feeling of not wanting to let JJ out of her sight, and how he’d noticed her uneasiness and quietly accommodated it, checking in with her like it was second nature, always finding her eyes in a crowd. And yet, despite it all, it had taken them months to realise what that meant. Months more before they ever gave it a go and tried to explore this undeniable connection between them as more than friends. Which is why it is so surprising now to see how totally and completely obvious they were, months earlier. It’s a true mystery how the other Pogues didn’t pick up on it.

Past Kiara is laughing and relaxed, so genuinely happy. Her eyes twinkle with pure joy as she and the Pogues step on each other’s feet as they clumsily attempt to decorate the saddest Christmas tree (a Frankenstein monster they had made themselves out of free offshoots from the christmas tree farm, metal wire and lots of willpower). She’s play-arguing with JJ over the way he’s hung the star on top all lopsided, and after she fixes it he runs his arms around her shoulders, smile bright on his face, and plants a kiss on her cheek. The memory of the gesture fills her heart with a warmth so strong it’s almost an ache. She misses him so much, she now realises. Misses them all, every single one of her Pogues, but more than anything she misses what she used to have with JJ and then lost, and never managed to find anywhere else in the world.

“It’s time to go, now,” not-Wheezie says, and Kiara jumps out of her skin – having completely forgotten she was there, too.

“Already? But we’ve just arrived!” she complains, not quite ready to let go of the warmth of the Chateau just yet, of this memory in all its golden sparkle.

“My time grows short,” not-Wheezie says. “We have to go.”

At her words, suddenly the scene rearranges itself around them. Kiara finds herself walking along the interstate that from the Cut leads into town – the road she’s walked so many times she could tread it in her sleep. Still discombobulated from the visions of her past, Kiara muses aloud.

“It’s crazy, I hadn’t thought about this particular Christmas in so long,” she tells not-Wheezie. “That was such a fun day. We baked cookies, JJ and John B were practically covered  in green icing by the end. That would have been so fun to relive, now. Why did you have to take me away?”

“All in its time, Kiara. All in its time.”

“What does this even mean? Aren’t you the Ghost of the Past? Can you not literally go back in time as you please?”

“It means,” not Wheezie says, stopping still in her track to fix Kiara with a glare, “that the past shall stay in the past. A little reminiscence here and there is good and helpful, but you don’t want to lose yourself in your memories, Kiara.”

Just as abruptly as she had stopped, not-Wheezie starts walking again. “There’s a whole life in front of you, Kiara. Not behind,” she adds over her shoulder, and then falls silent once again.

Kiara shakes herself out of her stupor, and gets on walking in her tracks.

They cross the bridge into Pelican, trek down Main Street with all its shops. It’s almost all too vivid, the details so bright and sharp that the edges start smudging together. Not-Wheezie takes a sharp left, and suddenly Kiara finds herself in front of the Kildare County Police Station. She stops in her tracks, this place still giving her chills all these years later, and barely notices not-Wheezie marching straight on until the girl turns back on her heels and glares at her.

“Come on! My colleague is waiting for you inside!”

Slightly discombobulated, Kiara follows.

To Be Continued...

Chapter Text

A tall figure is standing by the front desk, her back towards them. As Kiara’s eyes adjust to the dim light and the person comes into focus, her heart drops straight down into her stomach.

“...Peterkin?”

The woman turns around and, lo and behold, Susan Peterkin’s intense dark eyes meet Kiara’s. 

“Carrera. Hi,” she says, completely unfazed, while Kiara gapes silently at her. Peterkin then turns her sights towards not-Wheezie just behind Kiara’s left shoulder and nods briefly in her direction.

“Comrade,” not-Wheezie greets back, offering a quick two-fingered salute before turning her attention back to Kiara. “Regretfully, our time together has come to an end. Remember what you saw!” she says – rather ominously for such a tiny person – and then with a soft pop! she disappears into nothingness. 

Kiara flinches back as a reflex, studying the empty space where the girl used to be. She then turns towards Peterkin, eying her suspiciously.

“Let me guess, you’re not really Peterkin, are you?” she asks. She might have been momentarily taken aback by the unexpected encounter (and the resemblance is really uncanny) but by now she can’t be fooled anymore by this weird reality she’s finding herself in.

“That I am not,” not-Peterkin says kindly.

The lobby of the police station is covered in greenery. Four huge Christmas trees adorn each corner, garlands of fresh spruce and holly and mistletoe hanging from every square inch of the ceiling. The reception desk is covered with a bountiful spread of Christmas foods – roasts and casseroles, potatoes in five ways and all kinds of desserts. 

“You also a Spirit?” Kiara asks.

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” says not-Peterkin. Then, gesturing to her, “Come, I want to show you something.”

Baffled, Kiara walks up to the richly adorned front desk. not-Peterkin produces a TV remote and points it at the monitor hanging from the wall in front of them. The screen buzzes to life and after a few moments of static, a black and white scene comes into focus. 

“What is that?” Kiara asks, squinting at the small screen.

“Watch closer,” the Ghost instructs.

And Kiara does. Immediately, she recognises exactly what she’s looking at. It’s her own office, the big and bare open space of her non-profit headquarters. It’s perfectly empty, the lights off, save for one person at a desk in the corner. She doesn’t have to look closer to know that person is Kiara herself.

At work, alone, on Christmas Day. Frankly, quite on brand to be honest.

The red-and-green glow of the sad little Christmas tree in the lobby is reflecting on the wall. The sound of festive music is coming from the cafe down the street, filling up the office space through the big windows. The Kiara on the monitor sighs, then buries her face deeper into the matching pair of computer screens in front of her, typing away furiously at her keyboard.

“I know what you’re doing,” Kiara tells not-Peterkin, her eyes still fixed on the small monitor, “showing me this. But you don’t fool me, you know.”

“Mh-mhm,” the Ghost agrees.

“I guess it is kind of sad of me to spend Christmas Day alone at work,” Kiara concedes. “But hey, it’s just another day. Our work never stops, and someone has to do it.”

Kiara turns her head towards not-Peterkin only to find her munching away from a paper plate with Merry Christmas looped in pretty red cursive letters along the edge. Apparently, the sight of Kiara’s lonely Christmas was so boring that she has dug into the festive spread sometime throughout the viewing.

“You ever tried this?” she asks, pointing with her fork at the greyish looking meat substance on her plate. “It’s called haggis. It’s a Scottish delicacy. Delicious, if I do say so myself. Do they serve it round here?”

“I… can’t say I’ve ever come across it, no.”

Kiara looks on in vague amusement as not-Peterkin shrugs and proceeds to stuff a giant forkful of haggis into her mouth, humming approvingly.

“Pity,” she decides, her mouth full. “Anyway. You ready to go?”

Kiara sighs in resignation. “So long as you don’t fly me there like your colleague did. I didn’t quite like that method of transportation.”

“Come on, follow along.”

They step out of the station, and not-Peterkin marches on in the direction of the marina. Kiara struggles to keep up the pace, the Ghost jetting down the road at impressive speed even for Susan Peterkin’s longer than average legs. Kiara wonders if she might be half-floating, and leaving her back to sweat in her steps. Not-Peterkin comes to a halt, and Kiara takes a look around.

“We’re at Pope’s? Why?”

Not-Peterkin nods towards the Heywards’ front door. 

“Your friends are inside,” she says. “Go on, go have a look!”

Hesitant, Kiara steps towards the house. A warm light glows from the other side of the big windows on the ground floor, and Kiara nips her head through the gap in the curtains. 

A big table is set in the middle of the Heywards’ living room, complete with a white tablecloth and gold-rimmed plates – the festive set. They’re all there – Pope and his parents, his uncle and cousins, and all of the Pogues. Except for her, holed up alone in her office on the mainland, alone on Christmas Day.

It strikes her how long it’s been since the last time she’s seen them all. Her friends, of course, but also everyone else. She’d been down to Kildare over the summer but just for a quick visit – a few days at most, as the summer months are some of their busiest times at work. She genuinely can’t remember when the last time was that she saw Heyward or Mama H. It must have been at the same time, right? She must have come down to the store at least once, even just to say hi. Or maybe she didn’t, and that’s why it feels like so long ago.

Heyward’s getting older, she notices. Since when has he started limping when he walks, taking his time lowering himself into a chair? He waves off Pope’s attempt to fuss over him, but then accepts Sarah’s proffered hand, smiling gratefully at her. 

Mama Heyward appears from the kitchen with a steaming pot of roast, and immediately sends JJ and John B back where she came from to grab the sides. The boys jump on their feet and chase each other to the next room, as if they were a whole decade younger than they actually are, shoving each other’s shoulders to be the first through the door. They come back out moments later, each holding two big serving dishes overflowing with food.

There’s cheering at the table as the food is set. Plates are passed around and food piled up high, and everyone happily starts digging into their meal and profusely complimenting Mama H for her cooking.

Everyone, except for JJ.

It takes her a little while to notice, in the general chaos, but when her eyes lay on him, he’s sitting hunched over in his chair, moving food around his plate with his fork and sending furtive glances towards the door while the rest of the party are distracted.

Pope and Cleo are laughing at the other end of the table, John B engrossed in conversation with Mama H. It’s Sarah that’s the first to take notice of JJ’s strange behaviour, his lack of usual cheer. She leans towards him slightly from her seat at his left side and nudges him delicately on the shoulder. JJ’s head jerks towards her, his eyes blinking a few times – distracted gaze refocusing on her.

“She’s not coming, J,” Sarah says gently. 

JJ’s eyes bug out wide, his shoulders taking a defensive stance, rigid. “Ugh… yeah. Yeah, I know,” he says. 

Sarah’s still looking at him like she’s two seconds away from coddling him, and the only thing stopping her is that she probably knows he would spontaneously combust if she did.

“She had to work though the holidays,” she says. “I’m sure she would be here otherwise.”

JJ makes a noncommittal grunt in response, and then proceeds to put as much distance between him and Sarah as physically possible. Kiara’s heart aches in a way that she didn’t know was possible.

“Is this real, then?” she asks not-Peterkin, who in the meanwhile has quietly stepped right next to her by the window. “Is this what’s actually going to happen today, or is it just a twisted ruse you’re putting up now?”

Not-Peterkin glances over the Pogues, her dark eyes pausing on JJ a second too long before turning onto Kiara. “It’s real, dear.”

Kiara’s mouth suddenly feels very dry.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Kiara suddenly says, turning away from the windows. “Let’s go.”

She starts walking back the way they came, not-Peterkin following placidly behind.

Kie slows down almost immediately, quickly realising she doesn’t have anywhere to go. She’s not actually here, here is not actually a place – just an echo, a vision of sorts. She is a ghost in this world and nobody can see her. She could nip into some random people’s living room and crash their Christmas party, but they wouldn’t see her, and the whole thing would be utterly pointless.

So, she falls back in step behind not-Peterkin, letting the older woman lead the way.

“Your friends, they seem to miss you greatly,” the Ghost says, as if an afterthought.

Kie scoffs, her heart still heavy from the recent vision. “Not really. They seem to get on perfectly fine without me. As they should.”

“Not the blond one, though,” not Peterkin observes. “I know you’ve seen it. It’s why you wanted to leave.”

 Her dark eyes bore unflinchingly into Kiara’s, and she jerks her head away, annoyed.

“Well. I’m only going to be a few more days. They’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.”

They come to a halt back where they started, a few feet away from the Police Station.

“Well, dear. My time here has come to an end,” not-Peterkin says. 

She reaches deep into her pockets and inexplicably re-emerges holding a living, breathing hedgehog in her hands. At Kiara’s stunned lack of reaction, Peterkin raises an eyebrow and insistently shoves the hedgehog towards her. Kiara springs into motion as a reflex, reaching out her hands and taking the small animal from the woman’s hands.

Not-Peterkin nods her head in recognition, her eyes unmoving, and with no additional fanfare she disappears into thin air, leaving Kiara alone with the hedgehog. 

Kiara blinks at the little creature in her hands. It blinks back. Then, displaying impressive agility, it leaps out of her grasp and onto the ground, where it lands squarely on four tiny feet and begins scurrying away along Main Street.

Kiara collects her strength, resigned, and follows along.

“So… am I in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?” Kiara asks, feeling rather silly, in the hedgehog’s general direction. As expected, the little creature pays her no mind, instead continuing to trek along the street.

“You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,” Kiara pursues. “Is that so?”

For a brief moment, it looks as if the Ghost-Hedgehog had nodded in response. It’s blink and you’ll miss it, though, and Kiara is not quite sure whether she’s simply losing what little sanity she has left. She quickly resolves to stop trying to talk to a hedgehog, just to err on the safe side.

She follows the Ghost-Hedgehog on a loop around town and into the park, and the whole exercise feels rather pointless until the tiny animal abruptly stops in the middle of the path – so abruptly, in fact, that she almost squashes it under the sole of her shoe without noticing. It might be a trick of the light, but it looks like the hedgehog is pointing at something. Kiara’s eyes follow in that direction to find a group of three people walking leisurely in the opposite direction. Two of those people are her parents – their faces marked with a few more wrinkles than she’s familiar with, her dad’s hair mostly grey. The third figure is unmistakably an older version of Kiara herself. 

Kiara knows the drill by now, and yet being confronted with a version of yourself so unfamiliar and yet so intimately recogniseable is quite the experience. Reassured by the knowledge that these future people cannot see her, she stalks closer to them to try and get a better look. This older Kiara has lighter hair, with blond highlights throughout. Her outfit is prim and proper, something her mom would approve of. It’s sort of disorienting, and frankly quite confusing. What is she doing here with her parents, dolled up as if to try and appease them? Back in her own timeline, they barely talk. On the rare occasions when she comes down to Kildare, Kiara spends most of her time with the Pogues, only paying her parents the quickest of courtesy visits – and even that only in recent years as they’ve been trying to rebuild some kind of rapport. Even this older version of Kiara, despite the effort, doesn’t seem to be particularly enjoying herself. 

Baffled, Kiara wonders which turn in her life might have brought her to this scene playing out in front of her, to this walk in the park. She’s stepped so close to them she could basically touch them – safe in the knowledge of being invisible to them – and this up close, she can’t help but hear snippets of their conversation. 

“That tall man in your office, what’s his name again?” Anna is saying, “He seems so nice from the way you talk about him, sweetheart, I wonder why you haven’t gone out with him yet.”

Older-Kiara does a double-take, her eyes bugging out. “Who… Paul? You’ve never even met him, how would you know if he’s tall?”

“Well, isn’t he?” her mom insists.

Older-Kiara twists her face into a grimace Kiara recognises as her own, and regretfully admits that this Paul, whoever he is, is in fact quite tall.

“See,” Anna exclaims triumphantly, “I knew it! Us moms have a sixth sense for these things, I keep telling you, Kiara.”

Older-Kiara sighs in exasperation. “Mom, for the upteenth time, my workplace is not a dating app! I’m not gonna date one of my colleagues, period.”

“Yes honey, you keep saying that. But you spend all of your time at work!” Anna insists. “At this point if you don’t you’ll be alone forever. Is that really what you want?”

“It doesn’t matter, this is a non-issue. I’m not going to date Paul or anyone else I work with, so forget it!”

“What about children, Kiara? You’re not getting any younger, you know, and honestly I’d rather have my grandchildren while I’m still in good enough health to help you take care of them. At your pace I’m going to be eighty before you make me a grandma, I swear…”

Anna’s tirade is interrupted as a new group of people come into view. Even from a distance, Kiara immediately recognises them – they are, in fact, the Pogues. They look older, the same way this version of herself does too. John B and Sarah are still together – fingers intertwined as they stroll down the park in matching hats even all these years later. Cleo and Pope are, too. Less sickeningly-sweet, just as she remembers, holding themselves at a small distance and occasionally leaning to whisper a joke into each other’s ears. And JJ… 

Something unpleasant tugs at Kiara’s heartstrings. JJ is pressed flush against the side of a woman – long curly blond hair and bright green eyes. His arm is slung around her shoulders and he’s laughing, dimple in his cheek, head ducked to the side and resting on top of hers. Savannah Jones, Kiara immediately recognises her. They used to know each other, vaguely, went through the same school, hung out with the same crowd – not that there are many options in the vibrant town of Pelican, NC. All the kids who are roughly the same age end up knowing each other, here. Savannah used to live not far from Kiara, right at the edge of Figure Eight, in a bright white house that was spacious and elegant but not quite the level of extravagance of the mansions two blocks down. Kook-adjacent, kind of like Kiara herself.

Kiara turns to check on the future Carreras and finds older-Kiara scowling at Savannah in a manner not dissimilar to what she herself was just doing. Good to know some things never change – including her unjustifiable and unjustified possessiveness over her best-friend-turned-more-than-friend-turned-ex-turned-back-to-friend, apparently. She doesn’t step in the Pogues’ direction though, nor hollers a greeting like Kiara would. The feeling of something being totally off starts creeping on her, and Kiara whips her head between her older self, standing there doing nothing, and the Pogues, seemingly unaware of her presence.

With a crippling feeling of dread, she turns to the hedgehog and asks, “Ghost… am I not still friends with the Pogues, in the future?”

It – unsurprisingly – fails to answer her.

“No, that… that can’t be right,” Kiara insists, urgently. She and the Pogues have gone through so much together. They’ve quite literally grown up together, they’re practically family. More than that, really – the family you choose when the one you’re actually related to disappoints.

And yet the scene in front of her is clear: this version of Kiara is not even smiling in the Pogues’ direction, let alone making a move to go say hi. And the Pogues – her Pogues – look happy and carefree, having effectively replaced her, Savannah now standing where she should be. She doesn’t know what hurts the most, the idea of having let them down and left them to miss her in the present Christmas, or the fact that a few years down the line they might not even miss her at all.

Older-Anna links her arm with older-Kiara and nods in the Pogues’ general direction.

“She doesn’t even speak with her parents anymore,” she says of Savannah in a grave tone. “The Joneses are so heartbroken. I’ve heard she might be pregnant, too. Can you imagine? What if she doesn’t even let them see the baby, their own grandchild?” 

Kiara’s heart does a cartwheel in her chest. Pregnant. JJ would be a dad, and she wouldn’t be around to see his child grow up. It feels so wrong, on so many levels. Older-Kiara barely flinches, though. Frankly, Kiara finds her lack of reaction as disorienting as all these continued revelations.

Anna leans in closer to older-Kiara. “You know,” she says conspiratorially, “I thought it would have been you – ending up with one of them, I mean. Heaven knows, I’m glad we dodged that bullet.”

And that’s it – that’s the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“You can’t speak about them like that!” Kiara snaps at her mother. “God, this is why I never want to come home and see you guys, don’t you get it? You’re so judgemental!” 

As if a dam had just broken, words keep flowing out of her, unstoppable. 

“You never, ever took the time to get to know my friends, just lurked from afar waiting for them to do something wrong to confirm your prejudice. They’re the ones who were there for me when you kicked me out, in case you’ve forgotten! I shared a room with JJ for over a year because you’d rather ship me off than deal with me. You’d only be so lucky to have someone like JJ in your life, but you’re too sad and bitter and judgemental for someone like him to ever put up with you!”

The silence is almost deafening, reverberating with the echoes of her anger. It feels good. It feels so good. Years of pent up anger, all the things she’s always wanted to yell at her mother – finally out in the open.

But, Anna Carrera doesn’t even blink at her – despite Kiara spitting out all of her feelings two inches from her face. She hasn’t heard her, because she’s not really there. The slightly older, more mellow version of Kiara is standing four feet away, looking longingly at JJ and Savannah (and pretending not to). Her parents don’t even notice.

“No, no… this can’t be…” Kiara looks around in dismay. For a moment she forgot where she was, forgot her ghost-like status, forgot the hedgehog leading her here. Forgot that this is not her reality. She whips her head around to stare at JJ – happy and laughing, his arm slung around Savannah. The others are just behind them, Cleo and Pope, Sarah and John B. They pay no mind to the version of herself standing just across the grass from them, are unaware and uncaring of the cutting words her mother just spared for them. They’ve moved on from her, and there is no space left for her in their group. And it’s all her fault.

Endless lists of missed calls come to mind, messages left on read. All the times she bailed on them for a work event, a beach cleanup, or just because she was too exhausted to drive three hours back to Kildare to see them. Was it worth it? These people are her family. They’ve been there through her best and worst memories, they’ve always, always had her back. Is a cool job really worth more than that? Is impressing her colleagues, getting a promotion, saving the turtles worth anything , if they’re not there to share her success?

Kiara turns around in a frenzy, looking for the hedgehog and finding it still standing placidly where she last saw it. “Ghost,” she pleads, “there must be something I can do. This cannot be how it ends, right? The future is not here yet, it can be changed. Free determination and all. Right?”

The hedgehog remains quiet. Kiara grows increasingly more frantic.

“This is why you showed me this, for sure, as a cautionary tale. So that I can turn my life around and avoid making these mistakes. It must be, otherwise it’s just cruel! I know you’re just a hedgehog, Ghost, but really – a little nudge if I’m guessing in the right direction would be appreciated. Oh crap, what’s happening now?”

The scene around them has started changing, morphing into something different. Everything looks a little blurred around the edges – her parents, the Pogues, her future self – and colours start dripping, merging together, swirling around her like a psychedelic trip. In the midst of the chaos, the hedgehog breaks free from the perfectly still stance it has maintained so far and suddenly starts moving at impressive speed for such a tiny creature towards the very centre of the spiralling blur, the eye of the colourful storm.

“What’s happening? Where are you going? Ghost?”

A strong wind breaks all around her, whipping KIara’s hair back in her face, and she loses sight of the hedgehog.

“Ghost? Ghost? Don’t leave me here! Ghost!”

Without really seeing where she’s going, Kiara starts running in the direction the hedgehog has disappeared into. The wind is getting stronger, its whiffs louder. Her feet trip onto something she can’t quite make out and Kiara falls forward, bracing for impact with the ground… 

She wakes up with a start, the bedsheets tangled all around her, restricting her movements. It takes her a second to recognise her surroundings – her small studio apartment, the curtain screening the nook with her bed from the rest of the space.

Light is filtering through the windows and hitting the glasses left to dry by the sink in the kitchenette area. The reflection bounces off, painting shapes and colours against her ceiling.

All at once, jumbled memories of the night before come back to her. The three spirits, the visions, the Pogues. The fight with her mom at the park, JJ with Savannah, the final Ghost disappearing, the chaos…

Her alarm goes off, and Kiara struggles against her thick duvet to reach for her phone on the bedside table. She swipes on the alarm, silencing it, and then gets a glimpse of the screen. 06:45. 25 December. 

It’s Christmas Day.

It’s Christmas Day. And she has a chance to make it right. To avoid the dreadful future the Ghost-Hedgehog showed her, to prevent the heartbroken look she’s seen on JJ’s face with not-Peterkin at the Heywards’. To go back to what they used to have, just like not-Wheezie has shown her.

She can’t go to work. She has to do this. 

She gets washed and dressed at the speed of light, gathers two bags with all the presents she got for them, back when she was still planning to go home for the holidays. She has her car keys already in hand and a foot through the door when she stops. Wait, she can’t do this. She’s supposed to go to work, today. The dream she had last night is already becoming fuzzy, shapes and colours merging together in one big blur. There were… spirits? Time travel? Kiara doesn’t even know, all she knows is that she has this strong urge to go back to Kildare immediately and see the Pogues. Back where she belongs, with them.

She stalls where she is, halfway through her front door. Vague flashes of the odd dream she had keep coming back to her, most of all JJ’s face – his smile, his arm around her, the hurt in his eyes. A sense of uneasiness at something going wrong, something she can’t quite remember.

Kiara shakes her head. This doesn’t make any sense. Nothing has happened, with JJ or with any of the others. She’s just had a weird dream, it must have been the skipped dinner. Or the stress. What is she doing, driving home on a hunch? She’s supposed to get into work. People don’t just walk out on their responsibilities because they’ve had a dream.

And yet, the feeling persists, the pull towards Kildare – towards her Pogues. Her family. Kiara taps her fingers against the doorjamb, pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. Finally, she pulls up her phone and texts her supervisor.

I can’t make it to the office today, family emergency, she lies. I’ll come in this Saturday and make up the hours. Hope that’s okay. Merry Christmas!

Her heart’s beating furiously as she shoves her phone back into her coat pocket. Well, if she doesn’t have a job anymore tomorrow… She hopes this is worth it.

She drives the three hours back to Kildare in a haze. Stops only once for coffee because in her haste she forgot to pack her thermos with her own. Gets her reusable cup refilled at a drive-through and chucks it down as she speeds down the interstate, straight on to the ferry terminal. She’s jittery on the ride across the Sound, jittery as the familiar shapes of Pelican come into view, as the ferry docks and she drives off into the island.

The road to the Chateau is ingrained in her brain, she could drive it blindfolded. She passes the bridge and enters the Cut, the trees sparse and greyish-brown this time of year, the lush canopy of the summer long gone. The Chateau appears just off the road, a dirty white shape behind the bare shrubs, the derelict outbuildings littering its yard, the Twinkie and Heyward’s truck parked out front. She leaves her car on the driveway and walks to the front steps on wobbly knees, her arms heavy with the bags of Christmas gifts.

Her heart pumps in her chest. This is so stupid. These are her friends – her family. Why the hell is she nervous, now?

She knocks on the front door.

A beat passes, and the tension in her chest increases. They’re probably not even here. Wait, they’re actually not here, weren’t they all going to the Heywards for Christmas lunch–

The door opens, and a mop of blond hair greets her on the other side.

“I– Hi!” Kie says, chipper, and a genuine smile blooms on her face.

JJ blinks at her a few times in rapid succession.

“Kie?”

“That’s me!”

“Oh my god, is that Kie?” comes Sarah’s excited voice from somewhere within the house. There’s the scrambling sound of people getting on their feet too quickly, and suddenly the whole gang is piling up in the tiny entryway, each falling onto one another as they struggle to make it to the door.

“I thought you weren’t coming until New Year’s!” says Pope, out of breath. “Sarah said–”

“Well, I’m here. Surprise!”

The excitement is palpable as the Pogues all talk over each other, getting stuck through the narrow doorway in the effort to reach her the fastest. Kiara smiles so bright her cheeks hurt, reaching out to touch all of their hands as they scramble to get to her, laughing at the pained sound Sarah is making while John B practically runs her over to get to the door.

“Well, took you long enough,” JJ says. She turns to look at him and finds him leaning against the doorframe, a quiet smile, a dimple in his cheek. His bright blue eyes twinkle with joyful mischief.

“Couldn’t miss Christmas, now, could I?” she says, and winks at him. 

For one brief moment, as they look straight into each other’s eyes, it’s like no time has passed. Like she still lives here, still shares a room with him. Still cuddles up under his arm after a long day, sharing the couch and a joint and some quiet downtime.

Then, the rest of the Pogues finally make it through the door – all at once. Four pairs of arms find their way around her, squeezing her into a giant group hug. Sarah shrills into her ear, Cleo pats her on the back; Pope holds her tight and John B grabs JJ by the collar and pulls him in as well, to join in on the chaos.

The moment passes.

She’s immediately dragged into the kitchen, where Sarah is braving the ancient stove to attempt a batch of gingerbread cookies.

“I’ve promised Pope’s mom we’d bring dessert. These can’t burn now, it’ll be a disaster!”

John B puts a hand on her shoulder, smiles at her calmly until she relaxes. “It’ll be fine, babe.”

“You know Mama H doesn’t really expect us to bring anything edible,” JJ volunteers. “I bet she has a back-up trifle already made, like, days ago.”

Pope brings a hand to his chin in contemplation, then nods back at him. “Accurate.”

“So, what you been up to, girl?” Cleo asks, bumping a fist into Kiara’s shoulder and offering her an already open Natty Light. Kie clinks the can to hers and smiles.

“Ah, the taste of my youth.”

“Can’t beat a good ole’ Natty,” John B agrees, smiling.

“I’m good,” Kie answers Cleo’s question. “Work’s busy, but I manage. I couldn’t miss Christmas, though.”

“I don’t know what kind of dark magic you worked, Kie, but I’m so happy you’re here!” Sarah gushes, re-emerging from checking on the cookies, sweat matted on her face.

Kie smiles, and it’s wide and genuine. 

“Yeah,” she says, “me too.”

The Pogues heading to the Heywards is a sight for the annals. A chaotic procession of too many people packed into too few vehicles with too many trays of cookies (only a third of which are slightly charred. Sarah’s baking has improved considerably) and, like, at least half an hour later than planned.

“It’s okay,” Pope reassures them, “I think my mom gave y’all the wrong time anticipating we’d be late.”

“She is smart like that,” JJ sighs, and the mood finally settles.

When they step through the front door at the Heywards’ they’re greeted with warmth and hugs and cheerfulness and a spread of appetizers, ‘Just to tie you over ‘til we sit down to eat.’ Mama H is in and out of the kitchen, repeatedly refusing Kiara’s offers to help. She does hug Kiara tight though, when she first sees her.

“It’s good to see you, dear,” she says, in her light southern drawl. “We weren’t sure you’d make it this year, but we were hoping you would.”

The small house is bursting at the seams – Pope’s Aunt and Uncle and his teenage cousins running around, all the Pogues and their chaotic energy, loud voices talking over each other. It’s Christmas, and it’s family, and Kie can’t stop smiling.

She catches JJ’s gaze, amidst all the chaos. He’s sitting in a corner by the Christmas tree, Pope and John B at his sides chatting around him, and he’s looking at her almost curiously, his face relaxed into a smile. A certain feeling pulls at the strings of her heart and she’s not quite sure why. She tries to remember what happened with JJ in the strange dream she had last night, but she can’t put her finger on it. A flash of long blond hair, JJ’s smile directed at someone else. A pang of jealousy that she shouldn’t be feeling, unwelcome and disorienting. 

She smiles back at JJ, winks at him. He grins wider, and that dimple of his cuts deep into his cheek – just like when they were little. She’s always had a sweet spot for that.

Hours later, the food is gone, the presents opened, the kid cousins disappeared to go meet their friends. The party has quieted down, the conversation made easy by the few glasses of wine everyone’s had. Sarah is giggling loud and wide like she does when she’s a bit tipsy, face red and flushed. JJ bumps his shoulder into Kiara’s, winks at her conspiratorially.

“Wanna step outside?” he asks, showing her the blunt he’s had in his pocket this whole time. Kie matches his smile.

“Sure.”

They walk down towards the water, not wanting to be caught smoking right outside of Pope’s parents’ home. They might not be teenagers anymore, but certain things never change. It’s late in the afternoon by now, the sky is dark, the streetlight reflecting on the black water. It’s Christmas, and the marina is pretty deserted. JJ offers her a hand as he jumps down on a dock, and she follows. They both sit on the cold wooden deck, legs dangling over the edge. JJ’s zippo flicks into the night, the fiery red edge of the blunt lighting up.

Kie’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she digs her hand in to pull it out while JJ takes the first drag. She hasn’t checked her phone all day – she honestly can’t remember the last time she went this long without it.

It’s her boss, responding to her text she sent in early this morning, ten odd hours ago.

Monika [6:23]

Of course you’re not! It’s Christmas, Kiara! Enjoy time with your family. Happy holidays!

Kiara blinks at her phone, then scoffs.

“All good?” JJ asks. “Troubles at work?”

“No,” she says, switching off her screen and dropping the phone back into her pocket. She accepts the blunt JJ is offering, takes it to her lips and inhales. “No, it’s all good. Nobody is in today, anyway.”

JJ leans back, arms stretched just behind him holding his weight. “How did you manage to get out of it, in the end? From what we’ve heard from Sarah, it sounded like some catastrophe only you could fix.”

Kiara lets the hot smoke burn through her lungs. Exhales it quietly. 

“This is more important,” she says – and she means it. “Coming here, I mean. Seeing you all. Spending Christmas together.”

JJ nods, doesn’t say anything. He takes the blunt back from her and takes another puff, blowing off white smoke against the dark sky.

“I’ve missed you,” she says – merely a whisper.

JJ clears his throat. Passes back the blunt. “Yeah. We’ve missed you, too.”

“No, not that. I’ve missed you ,” she says, gesturing between the two of them with the lit blunt between her fingers. “I’ve missed this.”

JJ’s looking at her now, properly looking – in that intense way he has, his eyes twinkling in the feeble light reflecting from the lampposts. He always did seem like he could read into her soul, when he looked at her like he is now.

“Kie,” he says, nothing else. 

Her heart is thumping in her chest once again, but she also feels an uncharacteristic sense of calm. She and JJ have been dancing this dance for a long time, since back when they were kids. They know each other too well, there are no secrets anymore. She knows they’ll always be a part of each other, no matter what – friends or more than that, it doesn’t make a difference. Nothing bad happened when they stopped being a thing, life just moved on, Kie moved away, they slipped back into what they’d had for a long time before ever crossing that line in the first place.

But now, under the cloudy dark sky on this cold December night, sitting next to him on a dock sharing a blunt like they’re sixteen again, Kiara suddenly feels that thrill again. Like she could just reach out and touch him, and he’d be there. So she does.

She leans a bit closer to him, her arm brushing with his through the sleeves of their coats. JJ doesn’t drop his gaze from her eyes, barely even blinks at all.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, soft.

“I’m sure,” she says. “Are you?”

JJ smiles – small, gentle, and yet as bright as the stars.

Her lips are on his, then. And it feels right.

Fin.