Day One
Happy December, everyone! What I've done this year is write sequels to the ficlets I wrote last year. So under the cut you will find last year's story En Famille followed by this year's sequel, A Deux.
I hope you enjoy!
En Famille (from 2009)
Sophie was knelt before the fire, looking not much older than the twins as she helped Charlotte undo the buttons on her new doll’s pelisse. The Yule log made a merry, crackling blaze behind them. Fanny, not yet recovered from a bad cold, was curled up next to her dozing grandmother, three quarters asleep herself in the middle of the afternoon, but still retaining a fast grip on her own new doll.
Little George, industriously sucking on a section of orange, swayed on unsteady legs and clutched onto his father’s breeches with a sticky hand. Jack stroked his hair fondly. “I missed this last year, Stephen.”
“Sure, Christmas is a time for family,” Stephen agreed, managing to sound disagreeable in the process.
“And so you are to us, brother,” Jack responded, peering at his friend. “Is something amiss?”
“No, not a thing, joy. Only that England is so cold at this time of year.”
Last year it had been warm, exceedingly warm. They’d been not far south of the equator when Christmas Day had arrived. They’d exchanged gaily wrapped trinkets over breakfast, swum together naked to cool their limbs before dressing far too warmly for the far too heavy meal that the wardroom had invited their Captain to partake of. Some of the men had caroled their way through the ship in the evening, and Jack and Stephen had responded with a few very old traditional songs that they had transcribed for cello and violin.
Late that night, they had quietly given each other their true gifts, and Stephen’s skin had burned beneath Jack’s palms as they clung to one another damply.
Jack swallowed. He stood, hoisting George up into his arms. “As the snow is flying on the outside I find that we must warm you on the inside.” He walked behind Stephen’s chair and laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “What say you to some rum punch?”
“I say that you ask very foolish questions.” Stephen looked up at Jack with a crooked half-smile.
“Rum! Rum!” George said loudly.
“That’s right, little man,” Jack told him with approval.
“Jack?” Sophie called questioningly.
“I’m just going to start water boiling for some punch. Stephen’s feeling chilled.”
“Oh!” Sophie scrambled to her feet. “Stephen, can I get you a rug? I hope you will not have caught Fanny’s cold. Does your head ache?”
“No, my dear, not a bit. I beg you, do not fuss. The very thought of imminent punch warms me to the core, I assure you.”
With a frown, Sophie reached out to feel Stephen’s forehead.
“Who of us is the doctor, here?” Stephen said with mock sternness.
Jack chuckled and held out a hand to his wife. “Come and peel the lemon for me, sweetheart, and leave Stephen be.”
They went towards the kitchen together and Stephen watched their retreating backs over his shoulder until they disappeared. When he turned around, Charlotte was there, beginning to climb up onto his lap, but finding it difficult while holding onto her doll. Stephen lifted her up obligingly. She settled in with a wriggle and held up her doll for his admiration. “I am very nearly decided that her name will be Tabitha. I think it’s a very nice name, don’t you?”
“A lovely name, mo leanbh.” Stephen stroked Charlotte’s cheek with one finger and sighed. Jack’s booming laughter came from the kitchen, and it warmed Stephen more than any punch ever could. He pulled Charlotte a little closer, smiling. “Very nearly perfect.”
~~~~
à Deux (2010)
“I don’t know what I would have done without you this past week,” Jack sighed. “With Sophie’s mother off to visit Cecelia, Charlotte trying her very best to catch her death and poor Sophie coughing so that she barely could rest, we would have been a pitifully sad and sorry lot without our very own doctor to tend to us.”
“Nonsense,” Stephen said, waving the hand that did not contain his brandy snifter. “It was more nursing than doctoring that they required. Any woman from the village could have done it.”
“Not as well.”
“Just as well.”
“Well, then, if you must be modest,” Jack’s bleary eyes managed a twinkle, “at the very least you must admit that no one from the village could have kept me company in the evenings, nagged at me to stop worrying like a fool, read to George and Fanny for hours at a time, and nursed Sophie and Charlotte so splendidly.”
Stephen felt a warmth settle inside of him, and allowed himself to be seen to smile.
“It’s a pity though that Sophie couldn’t stay up to see the New Year in with us,” Jack said with another sigh.
Stephen reached over and tapped Jack’s arm. “But it is good to hear how quiet the house is.” No deep, hoarse coughing from the master bedroom, no feverish child calling brokenly for her mother, no sobbing from a little boy whose perfect world was stood on end. “Your family is on the mend, joy.”
Jack smiled. “I was quite impressed with how long George lasted, were not you?” Jack had told Fanny and George that they could stay up until midnight if they wished, if it would stop them from begging him so. Fanny had been sound asleep not even an hour beyond her usual bedtime, but George had played happily with some toy soldiers and very tiny cannon and one horse that towered over all until very nearly 10 o’clock.
After Jack had deposited his son safely in his bed, and checked on the girls and Sophie, he and Stephen had eaten some cold ham and mince pie, and finished their bowl of punch. Now they were relaxing side by side on the sofa with their brandies, watching the clock tick down the final minutes of the old year as the fire burned lower and lower.
“One minute left, Stephen.” Jack pushed himself to his feet and reached a hand out to pull Stephen up.
Stephen swayed a little as he came up off the sofa, bumping against Jack, who laughed at him. “It was most excellent punch,” Stephen excused himself.
“I hoped I was leaving you your share of it,” Jack said with a grin. “I think I have my answer.”
“I drank my share more slowly than you,” Stephen said. “Else you would be toasting the New Year quite alone, and I would be snoring in that chair over there in a most disgusting fashion.”
“That would never have done! How glad I am that you have stayed with me right through until midnight.” Jack patted Stephen’s arm affectionately.
“My pleasure, brother. An Irish toast to us! ‘May we be alive at this time next year.’”
“Amen,” Jack said, relatively soberly. They touched their glasses together and drained them dry.
The clock began to chime.
Jack set his empty glass down and took Stephen’s from his hand and set it down, too. “Happy New Year, Stephen.”
“Happy New Year, Jack.” They embraced warmly, and after a few seconds Stephen felt Jack’s lips on his cheek. He pulled back though, when the lips moved closer to his own. “Stay, Jack,” he whispered, his hand against Jack’s broad chest. “Under this roof?”
Jack blinked at him and smiled. “Don’t be silly, Stephen. How does it dishonour my wife to kiss the best friend either of us has in all the world and wish him everything that is good for the year ahead?” He put a warm hand to Stephen’s cheek. “She is not here to do it herself, and I know she would not mind in the slightest. She loves you so dearly.” He bent and kissed Stephen lightly on the mouth. “And she is very understanding, you know.”
Stephen did not know; not quite, although he often wondered. But now was not a time for such ponderings.
Now was a time to take Jack at his word.
Their kiss was sweet and deep and loving.
The New Year was off to a splendid start.