Vinnie quickly turned a respectable shade of pink, now properly rendered into a speechless, bashful flower. He'd forgotten about the festivities lighting up the city, and generously spread in the form of poisonous hanging foliage - Christmas seemed like such an alien thing while convalescing. And the air of hate and mistrust certainly didn't give any feeling of December's usual tidings.

Vinnie was returned to his hospital room, and his bed, and to the same dreary scenery of IV drips and pinned wings. Hopefully Sasha didn't see his blush. (She probably did.) Hopefully he could figure out how to scrounge up presents out of nothing for the people he couldn't completely articulate his gratitude for. Hopefully no more people would get hurt, the situation would diffuse, everything would go back to normal.

But that was an awful lot of hope he needed, when he was already running on smoke. Erika's words would have to sustain him, and what little patience he could hang on to.

It felt difficult to look forward to the future and the coming new year.