#damhsagreine 09

[croinagreine]

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

The boys are awake first thing in the morning, and Lugh manages to keep them contained to let Ms. Buckley sleep in as late as she can. She finds the boys at breakfast with their father leaning against the counter, nursing coffee while behind him the window lets in very little light as Boston is being covered by a blanket of snow. “’M fraid were going t’ have t’ fend fer ourselves, the Ravenchenko family are taking t’ day off.” His voice is warm as it is informative. “Dinnae ye fret though, I hired caterers for supper.”

One hand leaves the cup to rub sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Oh, and Michaeline’ll come some time after noon, so once we’ve let t’ wee beasties a’ Saint Nick’s bounty, ye’ve t’ day t’ yerself. If ye find d'at pleasin’.”

Lorcan gives his father a devious stare, to which Luka snickers. She doesn’t know what’s coming, they’d all done their best year. There were treats aplenty in her stocking, and various little and boring presents but then there were some that were special. “Can I pour ye some tea before we get started?”

~*~ x  |  x  |  x 

She’d...attempted to sneak down stairs. Just to grab a little coffee and vanish again because Christmas was meant for family and--for all that she was growing comfortable and familiar with the children she tended ~~and their father~~--she wasn’t family. So when she’d finally woken up at a horribly late 8am (she can hear her mother’s tsking still) she’d made herself presentable and stolen down the stairs. Or at least...that had been the idea.

Yet rounding the door frame that leads from the back stairs...she’s met with a rather---well she’d expected them to be in the sitting room. Swimming through the mass of presents. (More than she’d ever seen in her life under one tree to be sure) as Mister Sweeney looked on like one of those picturesque Christmas portraits you saw hanging in department stores. But they’re...not. 

No instead of ripping wrapping paper and echoing yells of excitement. It’s quiet. The boys sitting proper at the counter. Snitching food from each other’s plates, with only a few lost cause bits of pancake on the floor from trying to stick it to each other’s faces. Mister Sweeney himself leaned to against the counter, like a tree that can no longer be arsed to stand straight. Providing shade over the tiny little ‘pond’ of his coffee, from the wee bits of light that manage to make it through the snow drifts outside. And right then she really wishes she had a camera. From her stand point in the door way. Because it’s a moment. A moment she could have had with---none o’t’at now, Caity--she thinks. Letting the moment be just that. A moment. That she tucks away.

But like most moments it doesn’t last. Mister Sweeney inevitably breaking the silence to explain the absence of the cook. And now she’s wondering...exactly who made those small mountains of pancakes the boys are eating. Logically it had to be the only other adult in the room, but to be honest? She had never occurred to her--the idea the man could cook. Not because she thought him incapable just...why learn what you never actually had to do for yourself? And its added to the mental tally she keeps, of all talents the master of the house has. Though he’s reassuring her in the next moment that dinner will be catered.

A comment that has her giving the snow outside and only so dubious glance, as she pulls herself out of the doorway. Settling opposite the trio she’s come to care about. Some of them more than she probably should. Though at the mention of Michaeline and having the rest of the day to herself---right. Of course. That...makes sense. In so far as Christmas is generally a holiday.  one in which most people that can afford it do not work. Still it draws up the memory that Michaeline just might be as lone as she is this year. Perhaps...more so given she’s alone by choice rather than because there’s no other option.  But he could have family? Ones he doesn’t speak too. The man is rather private. Almost more so than their employer.

             “Oh...ah, yes. Yes, that be agreeable.”

It’s a quiet response. Something to the way he worries at his neck nudging her to look elsewhere. As if some kind of small embarrassment has traversed the counter from him to her. Fingers fidgeting with each other, just out of sight. Green glancing ever so carefully down the kitchen before Luka’s snickers pull her attention. A lift of a questioning brow that has him swallowing the noise, planting an elbow in his brother’s side; that instantly realign’s the other boys attention back upon their mostly devastated breakfast.

             “Tea, sounds lovely. T’ank, ye.”

It’s gracious and she does not fuss over the idea of him fussing over her. She lets him have the moment. The moment to be gentlemanly. The moment to pretend there are not certain boundaries between them. Pretend that she shouldn’t be the one pouring his coffee instead the other way around. And once they move from breakfast to presents? It’s...a bit overwhelming. 

Paper and ribbon and boxes o’plenty in the aftermath. Presents that she truly had not expected at all, and treasures twice as much. The boys screeches and hollers and so very many thank yous that you would think them never had a Christmas before, at all. And she has to wonder how much more of that is their father’s doing verses her own. Though she likes to think she helped mold manners already instilled. 

And she laughs at the shirt and cup. Promises to wear and use them always. But it is the wooden piece that catches her up most. Because it was so much more than just itself. It was acknowledgement her interests were taken notice of. Acknowledgement that they were aware of her even when it was not required, even when they did not rightly need her. Acknowledgement of...a lot more than just her knitting fancy. And it is perhaps the most precious of her small treasury of goodies. One that even if they don’t understand, will be held nearest her heart. Always.

#damhsagreine #damhsagreine 09 #tw: christmas #tw: holiday #Fall Into Your Sunlight || Lugh and Caity #Loved As Mine Own || Luka Lorcan Caity #Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious || A Nanny In Boston AU #Letters || Answered Asks #submission