A/N: Just a very small canon Christmassy drabble in anticipation of the DA finale. Merry Christmas, one and all!
Each year, they decorated the cottage modestly – but very nicely indeed. A small tree stood in the corner of the room, and there were candles on the cabinet to represent the weeks of Advent. A gleaming pair of golden bells secured with red ribbon hung above the fireplace, and on the hearth itself were two stockings, pinned into place as they had been every Christmas that they had shared their lovely little home.
Anna smiled drowsily at the kindling, burning down to deep embers. It was late, too late to get another fire going. She ran her fingers around the edges of the garment in her lap, ensuring that all of the loops and stitches she had crafted were kept in tight. It took a little while for her to shuffle to the edge of the settee, and longer still to heave herself upwards. It had seemed like a very long while since she had had a good glimpse of her feet. She had almost forgotten that they existed, apart from the faint aching of her ankles.
John appeared like a magic trick, moving faster than she had ever seen. It was no surprise, though she still smiled wide at the sight of her husband, slightly flustered. He was the anxious one now, in the later months. Every tiny movement could be interpreted as a sign – that the moment was finally here, after so much dreaming.
Anna knew that it was not just yet, though she did feel the baby shift itself around with quite a tumbling.
"You've been on your feet all day," he stuttered, half-breathless. "Whatever it is, you could have called me to do it."
"I have not," she corrected him with a soft tone. Slowly she craned onto her toes – not quite the tips of them – and John linked her arm fast with his, dipping to her as she nuzzled a kiss to his cheek. "I just wanted to put this up before bed."
She held the miniature knitted stocking by the loop of silky material she had attached to the top, with the guidance of Miss Baxter and her more powerful sewing machine. She still recalled the alarm on his face when he had encountered the loud whirring in the hall, thinking it was rather too much effort for her to put in.
Anna's face lit to regard the depth of her husband's smile, his cheeks full with it as he held his palm to the toe of the little sock.
"Do you think it's too soon?" A note of concern suddenly found its way into her voice, her eyes upon the warm amber of John's. "Given that he or she isn't here yet to open it. Or at the very least, see it."
He didn't say anything, instead choosing to bring her and the very large bump she was carrying closer. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she revelled in the warmth of his lips upon her skin, and the tenderness of his hand as it cradled their child within her.
"It won't be long now," he reassured her, and with his rich timbre she felt all worry melt away like frost.
His hand remained upon the swell of her stomach, covering it with round strokes. He was going to take such care with their little one – he already was - and the notion filled her with the most powerful, overwhelming love.
"Besides, I don't think it would be fair to wait until this time next year." His smile was different again, and so very beautiful.
Anna shook her head in agreement, tingling with a shiver as he brushed his lips at the top of the woollen stocking, before bringing them down and kissing her hand. Together they took the steps over to the fireplace, John's arm around her waist while she hung the smaller sock between both of theirs. She had a pair of boots made from the same wool to hand to fill it, along with a small teddy bear that John had insisted on buying some weeks ago from a shop in Thirsk. Its brown fur-covered head poked out of the top of the stocking, just as eager to meet the newest member of the Bates family.
"I was wrong last year," he announced, smoothing his hand at the small of her back and smiling at the small frown upon her face. "This is the happiest Christmas that I can imagine."
Anna smiled up at her husband as the trio of stockings made the last of the adornments, with moments of the evening to spare.
Once more, she swept her palm beneath the bump weighing her middle.
"Until next year, that is."
The baby decided to stay put for the next morning, but Christmas Day remained as sweet as it could be, the sprig of mistletoe hung from the eaves hardly needed to bring forth kisses between two very happy and excited people, waiting for another day that would very soon arrive.