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bitletsanddrabbles · 1 year

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The Gift Reflects the Giver

Since I did Valentine’s Day fiction last Christmas for @alex51324 ‘s Island of the Gays, I decided I should do Christmas for Valentine’s Day. Got an idea all thought up...made a false start...or two...and then burned out on writing for ages.

It being Christmas time again and me being stuck at home for the day (It’s raining! IT’S RAINING! Go little rain drops! Melt that ice!) I decided it was a good time to write it.

This probably won’t actually go up on Ao3 for Christmas...at least not the first day. Might get it up before the 12th, we’ll see. I need to read back over the Island and see if I can’t get Mr. Braceridge sounding more...well...himself. Turns out it’s kinda hard to write from his PoV and still have him sound right. But for now, Merry Christmas, everyone.

John looked around the cottage’s parlour, frowning. The place looked as festive as one could ask, but there was something missing. Much of the village had gone out gathering greens for decorating. Timothy had been kept at home by his rheumatism, John had eagerly lead the party, pointing out which plants had weak branches that could be sacrificed for the cause, which were too young and should be left alone, and which plants - namely ivy - were invasive weeds that didn’t belong but which somehow kept making their way to the island and could be ruthlessly harvested for the season. Berries had been added to the collection and strung on strings for garlands. John and Timothy had gotten their fair share of these and they were now strewn artistically around the room. An empty bird’s nest from the barn perched on a particularly sturdy set of boughs, for luck.

Timothy had proclaimed it perfect, but there was something missing…

“We need a tree.”

Timothy looked up from where he was working on notes for the coming Sunday’s sermon. “We do not need a tree, John.”

John turned his frown on his husband. “But it’s tradition! Surely you want one.”

“I’m happy with the room the way it is,” Timothy informed him, setting down his pen. “Besides, if we get a tree, other couples will want one too. We can’t afford to chop down that many, especially the conifers. Alders, perhaps, but alders don’t make very good Christmas trees, even if you could find one that would fit in here.”

“If you say so,” John muttered, turning back to his examination of the room.

“I do.”

John let the subject drop, but despite the other man’s assurances, he couldn’t bring himself to believe his husband wouldn’t be happier with a tree. He looked at the time and shook his head. “Ah well, time for me to get started on the stew, I suppose.”

Timothy had gone back to his sermon notes. Without looking up he said, “It’s raining cats and dogs outside, so cook it in here or you’ll catch your death.”

“Yes, dear.”

The tobacconists shop had a shipment of mistletoe shipped over from the mainland, since unlike the ivy it hadn’t made its way over. Fitzroy had also gotten in a selection of Christmas cards and ornaments, which other island residents had purchased for hanging off the greens they’d gathered. After a boat shipment had brought over a collection of ornaments from Brancaster castle, specially requested from Lord Hexham from some cousin he had on the mainland, John could stand it no longer.

If the Marquess was surprised to find the former scout master on his doorstep, he hid it well, simply inviting the other man in and offering him a cup of tea.

“I wouldn’t say no,” John replied, taking in the interior of the other man’s cottage. It was certainly well turned out, and far more glamorous than his own home, although John privately thought he preferred the strings of berries to the glittering gold and silver of Lord Hexham’s ornaments. At the other man’s gesture he took a seat in what proved to be a very comfortable wingback chair as Lord Hexham placed the order for tea with his butler. John didn’t think a cottage this size really needed a butler, but it did, he suppose, provide employment for at least one of the villages residents.

“Right then,” the Marquess settled himself in another chair, which was a completely different design than the one John occupied, but no less elegant. “What can I do for you, Mr. Braceridge?”

“Well, it’s like this,” John explained, frowning, trying to gage the best approach to his request. “I think Timothy would like a Christmas tree. I know,” he added hastily, “we’ve never had one before. Everyone’s said that, including Timothy.” He had, by this point, broached the subject with several other members of the community and run up against just that protest. “But I can’t help feeling that he’d be happier if he did.”

“Alright,” the other man replied, frowning slightly. “Er, has he said he’d like a tree?”

“He hasn’t, but that’s because there are so many reasons not to get one. Lack of room in the cottage, lack of proper trees…they’re all good points, but the don’t mean he wouldn’t like a tree.”

Lord Hexham didn’t look overly convinced, but he didn’t interrupt.

“But I’ve been thinking and there’s that spruce just off the cricket pitch, between it and the church, that’s not too large -”

Here Lord Hexham did cut him off. “I say, old thing, I’m not overly familiar with Father Timothy, and I’d certainly not imply that you don’t know your own husband better than I do, but I can’t see him smiling on the idea of cutting down a village land mark like that. More to the point, I can’t see anyone else smiling on the idea either.”

“Oh, no, of course not!” John hurried to assure him. The thought honestly hadn’t crossed his mind. He wasn’t certain whether Timothy would disown him, skin him like a hare, or simply write a year’s worth of very cross sermons, but none of them bore thinking about. “No, I had something else in mind completely. Still, I’d like it to be a surprise, and so I’d need help pulling it off…”

John was up and out of bed early enough on Christmas morning to have the tea brewed before he heard Timothy stir. He quickly poured a cup, added the cream, and made his way into the bedroom where his husband was just blinking awake.

“Heavens, you’re up early,” the other man noted in a groggy sort of manner, propping himself up on the pillows and reaching for the offered beverage. “Thank you.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” John explained, trying to make it sound off handed, as if he’d simply suffered from a bit of insomnia rather than being too excited to lie still any longer. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” Timothy smiled at him over the rim of his cup. “Did you make breakfast too?”

John shook his head. They normally made breakfast together for Christmas, instead of the meal being made by whoever was up first, and he wasn’t about to break that tradition. Then he admitted, “No, but I did get the eggs laid out and the pan ready and sliced the bacon, so that’s ready to go.”

Timothy gave a little laugh of surprise. “Gracious, and here I am lounging around in bed! I should get up so we can get started on the cooking.”

“No, no, you have a lie in,” John protested. “It’s Christmas and you’ve been busy. I’ll just get myself a cup and come sit with you.” Before his husband could reply, he ducked back out and went to pour himself a cuppa’. While he was in the kitchen, he sporadically checked the weather again. Not that it would hurt if it was raining - and would be quite picturesque if it was snowing - but he was quite pleased to discover it was still dry, if overcast. That would allow for good visibility. Armed with his tea and a triumphant smile, he headed back into the bedroom. “Weather’s looking good for caroling later,” he announced, settling himself on his side of the bed. Caroling was one of Timothy’s annual projects, although since most of the village came along the actual door-to-door part was rather short. It ended with everyone in the parish hall having a general sing along and good time.

“Good,” Timothy sighed. “Not that I mind the snow, but it will be nice not to have my rheumatism acting up. And rain just isn’t very festive.”

“Not very, no.” The two of them drank their tea in companionable silence. John thought he did a very good job of acting natural through the whole thing, as if he wasn’t dying to suggest that Tim get up and dressed and they go make breakfast and that Tim look out the window…

Finally, after what seemed twice as long as normal, Timothy set his cup aside with a sigh. “That was a wonderful start to the day,” he smiled up at his husband, “thank you, dear.” With a stretch, he pushed back the covers and swung himself out of bed.

“It was no problem,” John assured him. “None at all. Christmas deserves something a little bit special, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

John waited as patiently as he was able for his husband to get up and dressed, which wasn’t very patiently at all. In fact, he left after a couple of minutes to putter around in the kitchen and check out the window. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed like the overcast had lifted a little, making the world lighter and the scenery more visible. He smiled, then stoked the stove, got the lard ready, and pulled out the remaining kitchen utensils.

Timothy walked into the kitchen to find everything ready and waiting. He gave his husband a puzzled smile. “Are you particularly hungry today, dear?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” John smiled. “More that I’m invigorated. Ready for the Christmas festivities to begin.”

Still looking bemused, Timothy went over and looked out the window, clearly checking the weather.

John held his breath.

The other man blinked once. Twice. Then, without turning from the window, asked, “John?”

“Mm?”

“Are there berry strings on the spruce?”

Slowly, careful not to rush or betray any signs of excitement, John slid over to the window.

“And, are those ornaments?”

Unable to contain his excitement anymore, John grinned from ear to ear and slipped an arm around his husband’s waist. “Merry Christmas.”

Timothy laughed, shaking his head. “How did you manage it? You were inside all night, I know. It’s cold enough I’d have felt if you got up.”

It was true, the one down side of the whole project had been that he hadn’t been able to help decorate. That would be fixed next year. “I was, yes. It was supposed to be a surprise, after all! I asked Lord Hexham, as one of our foremost citizens, if he’d take control of the organizing the thing. He got some of the lads, not sure which ones, to slip out with lanterns after we’d turned in last night, and dress it up.”

“So that’s why you were in such a hurry to get to bed!”

“I was thinking we could make it an annual tradition,” John continued. He could see future trees in his minds eye as he spoke. “Since there aren’t enough trees for everyone to have their own, I thought we could have a community tree. Lord Hexham has already donated some ornaments, along with a few other people, but I thought we could have everyone donate something each year. Maybe have Bill Thorn teach people how to carve their own. That way it would really be our tree. What do you think?”

By now Timothy had turned and was watching him with a warm, if perhaps slightly exasperated, smile. He glanced back out at the tree and said, “I think it’s a lovely idea. And I’m glad I could give you an excuse to get your Christmas tree.” He leaned over and kissed his husband’s cheek. “Now, let’s get started on breakfast.”

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