But, on the bright side, at least she wouldn’t have to work on the store’s parade anymore.

Every year, Natalie spent waaaaay too many hours trying to help out with that stupid Thanksgiving parade.

She’d finally found a way to avoid it. Of course, if she could have chosen, she probably would have found a method which didn’t involve her gruesome death, but at least it was sure to work.

She found herself unable to look at Oz anymore, it was too absolutely heartbreaking.

Both because she wouldn’t get to see the man again and because he…

he’d close himself off even further after this.

Oz wasn’t really a “people” person. He kept to himself and did his job.

As far as she knew, it was all he had. And she was the only non-coworker he seemed to talk to, despite the fact that she was also a coworker.

But either way, dying now felt like a failure. A betrayal of her friendship with this man.

She knew she never should have gotten involved with him. It put him in too much danger.

Fucking Ronnie. Her ex had somehow managed to hurt Oz through her.

She stared in silent contemplation at the turkey drawings that someone’s kid had made using their hand and a crayon. The bottom read “Happy Tanksgiving!” in a childish scrawl.

Jesus. Learn to spell, kid.

Thanksgiving was shit.

But if there were tanks involved, she could probably get behind it.

Thanksgiving decorations in an ICU were also the height of cruel irony. “Aren’t you glad for everything you have? Oh… wait. That’s being taken away from you, isn’t it? All well. Piss off, then.”

Mull wasn’t a fan of Thanksgiving, in general.

It was just a reminder that she didn’t have any friends, her family didn’t know who she was, and she was completely insane.

Thanksgiving was the one day a year when she was supposed to sit around and reflect on all she had been given.

But her life was basically shit. Which wasn’t exactly something that Norman Rockwell painted on magazine covers.

The whole basis of the holiday was an artificial thankfulness, masking one of the most commercial holidays around.

Christmas got all of the attention, but at least it had a veneer of religion.

But Thanksgiving was an entirely made up holiday, its commercialism was worn on its sleeve.

A few hundred years ago, a bunch of white people decided to take one day off from killing Native Americans and eat all of their food instead, then a couple hundred years later, some states decided to take a day off from slaughtering each other in the Civil War, and bingo.

A joyous holiday. Where families took one day off from hating each other, and planned to gorge themselves on slaughtered turkeys, then on cheaply priced personal electronics.

But everything about Thanksgiving was fake.

Turkeys, parades, the family get-togethers.

Those were all designed by marketing people and artists, in order to sell specific kinds of foods and encourage certain kinds of behaviors.

The only reason why turkey was the unquestioned Thanksgiving food was undoubtedly that the people at Butterball had paid more for that privilege than the people at Fruit Roll’ups, back in the day.

None of it meant a damn thing.

Mull tried to rearrange herself on the bed.

Oz continued to stare at the floor.

“You okay?” She finally asked him, recognizing what a stupid question it was.

He nodded tiredly, wiping at his eyes. “I’m… I’m just not ready to lose ‘The Kid,’ Miss Quentin.”

That was the single saddest thing she’d ever heard, and all she could do was nod in understanding. “Hey, imagine how I feel.” She finally got out, voice breaking, not for her but for Oz.

The fact that Oz was so handsome just made this all the sadder.

His normally polished and pristine appearance was all rumpled and messy, which only made him look better.

Or, at least like he needed a hug. God , she wanted to hug him.

To be in his arms and have him tell her that everything was going to be alright.

Because, she’d believe him if he told her that.

There was something about Oz that made it seem like he could do anything.

From the second she’d first seen him, she’d felt it.

But not even Oz could save her from this.

Mull was going to die tonight.

And she’d never even gotten to hold that man’s hand.

A deep sense of failure filled her. Roy had been right about the problems with being a Cape and trying to have a personal life. It inevitably led to pain.

What a shitty, shitty day.

She went back to silently critiquing the artistic merit of the child’s drawing on the wall, doing anything she could to avoid the things she didn’t want to say.

It wasn’t like she and Oz were in a relationship, relationship.

But it was always something that Mull cherished and thought would someday go somewhere.

It was one thing in her life that made her feel normal.

And… wanted. She liked whatever it was she had with Oz.

She liked it more than anything else she had in her life.

But in a few minutes, it would be over. And she’d been too much of a coward to ever take it anywhere. For all of her bullshit about living each day to the fullest, Natalie had completely failed in that regard.

Fuck Natalie.

A moment later, Holly Claus wandered into the room, smiling widely.

“Hey, girlfriend!” She paused in the doorway.

“Sweet baby Jesus, you look terrible.” She frowned slightly.

“Or so I assume anyway. I’ve never actually seen your face before.

” She walked closer to the bed, squinting at her.

“Do you normally look like this or is today just a bad day?”

Holly was a perky, perfect Christmas-themed blonde villainess, who had more friends and more family than Mull could ever possibly hope to have. Holly was the kind of person Mull would ordinarily detest on general principles, but who was so damn happy and badass that she ended up liking her anyway.

“Bad day.”

“Damn.” Holly made a low whistling sound. “Must be a really bad day. I’d be so pissed if someone dyed my hair that color.”

Mull snorted in amusement, careful not to move too much. “No, my general fastfood mascot appearance is the result of shitty genetics.”

“I think your hair is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Oz assured her softly.

Mull was taken aback by that and turned to look at him in amazement.

Now?

The bastard picked now to start complimenting her!?!

Poacher walked in a second later and distracted her, focusing on the handprint turkey on the wall like it was somehow baffling. “The fuck is that ?” He wondered aloud, looking at it like it was some ancient alien god he didn’t yet recognize.

Mull’s squinted her bruised eyes at what was in Holly’s arms. “Whose baby is that?”

Holly beamed down at the child in question. “Harlot’s.”

“Is she downstairs?”

“No, she’s overseeing the investigation.”

“Then why do you have her baby?”

“Are you kidding? Look at this little fella!” Holly held the child up as if to prove a point.

“Every time she turns her back I snatch little Petey and run away. I have to! He’s so impossibly cute!

He’s saying,” Holly bounced the baby up and down, waggling him like a puppet and taking on a high-pitched baby voice, “’I want to go on an adventure with my Aunty Holly. She’s my best-est friend!’”

“Uh-huh.” Oz turned to look at the child in Poacher’s hands. “And whose baby is that ?”

Poacher shrugged. “Beats me.” He pointed over his shoulder towards the nursery down the hall.

“They got a whole mess of them in that little room over there.” He gestured at the baby in question.

“This one was the best I could find. I think it’s The Cheerleader’s or something.

You know, that pregnant bitch from The Roustabouts?

” He shook his head. “She ain’t pregnant no more. ”

“Why is there a room of babies in the ICU?” Mull asked, feeling confused.

“I had you moved to the Maternity Ward.” Oz informed her calmly.

“I’m in the Maternity Ward?” Mull looked around. “I’m not actually pregnant though, am I? Because if I am, one of you has a lot of explaining to do.”

Oz cleared his throat. “Given the attack on your life, I thought it best to place you in another area of the hospital, just in case.”

“That’s so paranoid.” She pursed her lips, then immediately regretted it as they split open even worse. “I respect that.”

Holly waggled the baby in her hands as if it were a puppet again. “’What about me, Uncie Poacher? Don’t you think I’m the cutest?’”

“Right now, your voice is kinda pissing me off.” Sydney shook his head. “So, no.”

“He can hear you!” Holly gasped, clutching the baby closer as though to sooth its hurt feelings. “It’s best not to anger the future leader of our team! One day, this little heartbreaker is going to be in charge!”

“Hell, I say we put him in charge now .” Poacher snorted sarcastically. “Couldn’t do any worse than his father does.”

Holly waggled the child at him, taking on a baby voice again.

“’Don’t make me ang-gwee, Uncie Poacher, or I’ll kick your ass with my tiny tiny little baby feet.

’” She started playing with one of the instruments of death in question, then looked up at Poacher excitedly.

“Shit! He’s got little toes and everything!

Oh my God! Aren’t they just the cutest things you’ve ever seen!

?!” She nodded her head in growing certainty.

“Yep, I’m totally keeping him. Harl can just have another one. This is ‘Petey Claus’ now.”