trisha wanted pete and angelo and bad egg nog, but I totally read it wrong and thought it said jono and ange. um.


but I always thought I'd see you again


"C'mon, get up you guys! Off your asses and outta bed!" Jubilee threw open the blinds, and got ready to bounce on the bed to wake up Jono and Angelo, when she realized that, no, the two of them weren't there. Again.

She started grumbling, and pounded up the stairs yelling, "Monet! M, you'd better get your ass outta the bathroom, because I need your help."

Frosty wasn't going to like this even a little bit. They had stayed out all night. Again. They weren't home for the holidays. Again.

Monet came out of the bathroom with a towel around her head, and raised an elegant eyebrow. "What is it you want, Jubilee?"

"Ange and Jono skipped out again. You'd better, like, do something to find them."

Monet sighed. "Perhaps, we should respect the fact that they are gone."

"What?" Jubilee frowned.

"And that they wish to stay gone."


You open one eye, slowly, and find yourself sleeping in the car again, and a crusty carton of egg nog on the dashboard. Check your watch; eight fifteen. There's something hard and really cold sticking into the small of your back. You roll, gently, and groan softly. The seatbelt buckle is what was abusing your back all night. That's going to leave a bruise.

Beside you, someone else is groaning, too, and then you remember. Right. Egg nog. December 24th, merry fucking Christmas, Angelo Espinosa. You stretch, and the stab of fear as your limbs don't react properly, as they don't snap, elastic, like they used to, it vanishes as Jono hits you in the face with his arm.

"Ow! Watch it!"

Jono just grunts, and you roll onto your stomach, or try to. You end up rolling onto the floor of the Nova, instead, and find a pile of potato chips. "Oh, gross, Jono. We need to vacuum."

Jono has his jacket over his head, and the blanket wrapped around him tightly. You pick yourself up, dust off the crumbs as best you can and shove him over enough so that you can lay back down. "Amor, what did we drink last night?"

He mumbles, "mmmrphle", but you translate it as, "get the fuck off me, and turn on the car heater," so you do - at least, turn the car and the heater on, because it is cold and he has all the blanket.

You put your freezing fingers on his stomach, and he lets you under the blanket because it's easier than shoving you back on the floor.

"Gracias, Jono," you murmur right in his ear, and then, "D'you know what day it is?"

He finally looks at you, and his eyes are completely red and none too happy. "Sunday."

"It's Christmas Eve." Your hands are still too cold.

He's still not amused. "So you woke me up. Is there any more egg nog?"

You make a face. "I'm pretty sure not."

He scrunches his face up, as if he's trying to remember something very important. "Right." His face clears, says, "Where are my pants, then?"

You sit up carefully, to prevent yourself from hitting your head on the roof of the car. You say, "I think you're wearing them."

"Oh." He lifts the blanket, which is pooled around your waist and covers him from head to toe, and nods. "I am, too. Good plan, that was."

You lay on your side, and stroke his shoulder a little. "It was," you say, and then he shoots up, a terrified expression on his face.

"Sunday?!" he asks you, and then, "Shit. Shit. Jubilee's gonna have a fit."

You don't understand. "What?"

"It's Christmas, wanker. Where the fuck are we?"

You drop your hand. "How the fuck should I know?"

"Well," he grins, grabs your thigh, "Hey, listen, listen to me. This is Jubilee. She's gonna have everyone on a search party if we don't call'er or something."

The car is rumbling softly under both of you, and the heater is finally blasting warm air over you. Your sweatshirt is all bunched up. Your back still hurts. You say quietly, "Yeah, we should get back, hey hombre?"

"Ange." Jono rubs his face, muttering, "God, never bloody mixing drinks again - Ange." He grabs you, and puts a clumsy kiss on your forehead.

You kick the blanket off, and mutter, "My back fucking hurts." The carton of egg nog is tossed out the window, and you let him drive back to the Academy; you're only an hour away, good planning, again.

Jubilee is looking out from a second story window, watchful, and waves a little when the two of you drive up. It's nine thirty - everyone's probably up and having breakfast. Jubilee will be glad to see you; Jono touches the bruise on your back, unconsciously, when you get out of the car.