The wind was howling outside the small cabin but James and Thomas were cozily ensconced on the sofa in front of a roaring fire. James sat at one end while Thomas sprawled the length of it, his head resting in James's lap.
"Thomas?"
"Yes, dear?" Thomas replied, not looking up from the pamphlet he was reading.
"I've been thinking," James began, carding his fingers gently through Thomas's hair.
"Oh, I do love it when you do that. You always think of the most remarkable things."
"Thomas," James sighed, his hand stilling.
"I'm sorry, love." Thomas grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to it before tipping his head back to look up at him. "What is it you were thinking?"
"Do you suppose Davies will have you busy at the shop all this week?" Mr. Davies owned the print shop in town where Thomas had been working for the past few months.
"Well, I have to bring him the proofs for this tomorrow so we can start printing it," he replied, absently waving the pamphlet he had been reading, "and he mentioned a new commission for a book of psalms so he'll likely have me setting the type for that soon. But I'm sure he could manage without me for a few days. Is something the matter?"
"Well, only that it's Christmas in a couple of days."
"Oh," Thomas said mildly, a slightly perplexed expression on his face.
"Would you rather not celebrate it?" James smoothed a thumb over Thomas's forehead, trying to ease away the furrow that had appeared there. "We don't have to if you don't want to." Thomas sat up and turned to look at him fully.
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
"Well, you haven't said anything about it," James said cautiously, "so I thought perhaps, given what happened in the past, you had too many unpleasant memories to enjoy the season." He watched as Thomas worked through the statement before suddenly realizing what he meant.
"Was that today?"
"Yesterday," James confirmed grimly. Eleven years from the day that Thomas had been taken away from them, just days before what should have been their first Christmas together. Instead of the happy celebration they had planned, Thomas had been locked away in an icy cold cell in Bethlem while James and Miranda had been on the ship to Nassau, caught in a winter tempest that mirrored their grief.
"So that's what you've been fretting about for the last week," Thomas noted with sudden understanding.
"I haven't been—" James protested, but Thomas cut him off.
"You have," he insisted gently. "Oh, James, why didn't you say something?" James looked down at his hands, fiddling with one of his rings.
"Because I didn't want to upset you by mentioning it since you seemed so determined not to acknowledge it. Though of course now I've gone and brought it up anyway," he sighed frustratedly. "And because it seemed foolish to be fretting about losing you all those years ago when you're right here with me now," he admitted finally.
"James, my love," Thomas said earnestly, cupping his cheek and gently tipping his chin up to look at him. "I wish you would tell me when something is bothering you. Even if you think it might upset me. I would much rather work through these things together than let you suffer alone. Please?"
"Alright," James agreed softly.
"Good." Thomas pulled James over so he was curled up against his side and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
"Now as to your concerns," Thomas continued once they were comfortably settled, "I haven't been studiously ignoring the date because I was upset. I quite simply had no idea what the date was to begin with."
"What?" James asked, slightly perplexed. That wasn't the answer he had been expecting.
"I haven't known the date in years," Thomas explained nonchalantly. "If pressed, I would have guessed Christmas was another two weeks off judging by the weather."
"How can you not know the date?" James asked, looking more confused instead of less. "You seem to know just fine which days you have work."
"I know the day of the week, yes. The date, no," Thomas corrected. "We had Sundays free from work at the plantation, you'll remember, so weekdays were simple enough to keep track of, same as now. But there seemed little point in bothering with the actual date when each day was the same as the next."
"So you forgot about Christmas because you haven't know when it is, not to mention birthdays or anniversaries, in more than ten years," James said quietly, his heart clenching painfully. Thomas gave a tiny nod of his head.
"It was easier to think about happy memories whenever I chose to than to mark the days that should have been happy ones and weren't."
"Oh, Thomas," James said softly. "I wish I could have done something to spare your suffering. I wish I had known you were there. I would have come for you—"
"Hush, love," Thomas said, pulling James closer and carding his fingers through the coppery strands of hair that were starting to grow out again. " 'Remember that man lives only in the present, in this fleeting instant: all the rest of his life is either past and gone, or not yet revealed.' We both bear the scars of the past, and I know as well as you that we must weather the effects of it. I'll deal with the ghosts of the past when they come calling and I'll remember fondly what I am able to, but we've suffered enough, you and I, without tormenting ourselves over what we cannot change. All we can do is make the most of what we have now. And right now I have you here with me and that's more than I ever dreamed I would have again."
" 'How lucky I am that I am not broken by what has happened and am not afraid of what is about to happen,' " James said with a faint smile. " ' For the same blow might have struck anyone, but not many who would have absorbed it without capitulation or complaint.' "
"Precisely," Thomas agreed, smiling back. "We have survived all that the world has thrown at us and I'll happily face whatever else may come with you at my side. And we'll begin with Christmas."
0 0 0
James was exhausted when he returned home on Christmas Eve. The windstorm that had raged through earlier in the week had uprooted a tree and sent it crashing onto a neighboring farmhouse. James, already earning a reputation in the area as a skilled carpenter, had been hired to help remove the downed tree, repair the damage to the roof, and board up two broken windows until the glazier could come replace the glass. After two days of hard work, he was finally done.
He stamped the snow out of his boots as he walked up the front steps, eager to get inside after a long day out in the cold. He had barely crossed the threshold when he was greeted by an armful of Thomas as he flung his arms around his neck and kissed him enthusiastically.
"Not that I'm complaining in the slightest," James said, slightly out of breath and more than a little dazed, when they broke apart several long moments later, "but what was that about?"
"I decorated," Thomas announced, sounding very pleased with himself. He pointed up at the sprig of mistletoe now hanging in the doorway above their heads.
"I see," he replied, struggling to keep the laughter out of his voice. "You seem to have found no difficulty in locating some mistletoe." A quick glance around the room revealed nearly a dozen additional bundles of the plant hanging above the back door, the doorways to the bedroom and kitchen, the windows, the mantelpiece, the dining table, the sofa, and the armchairs. James was also fairly certain that if he were to check in their bedroom he would find their headboard draped in the stuff. He didn't mind.
"It is a very traditional and important decoration," Thomas said, nodding seriously. "I would have been remiss not to include some."
"Oh, I agree completely," James said, purposely sitting in one of the armchairs directly under a bunch so he could remove his boots. "It's a very important tradition to observe." He looked expectantly up at Thomas who immediately obliged him by leaning down for a kiss.
"We should probably keep it out of the kitchen, though," James mused after a moment of consideration. "It is poisonous, after all."
"Oh," Thomas replied, sounding a bit put out. "I suppose that's wise." He disappeared to the kitchen.
James took advantage of his absence to get a good look at the room. In addition to the ubiquitous mistletoe, the mantle and windowsills had been adorned with evergreen boughs and garlands of ivy, and sprigs of holly had been arranged into a centerpiece on the table. Several new candles had also been placed around the room to augment their usual lamplight.
At that moment, Thomas returned with four more bunches of mistletoe that he had removed from the kitchen. He glanced appraisingly around the room and, not seeing any additional strategic places to put them, began to hang them from the ceiling at random points in the room. James walked over to him as he was hanging the last one and offered him a hand down from the chair he was standing on. Once he was safely back on the floor, James gave him a quick peck on the lips before pulling him into a hug.
"Thank you, Thomas," he murmured, his words muffled slightly against Thomas's neck. "It's perfect. It looks so wonderful."
"You're welcome, my love," Thomas replied, hugging him tighter. "I'm just so glad I have you to share it with."
They stood that way for a long moment until James interrupted them with a yawn and a loud rumble of his stomach. Thomas laughed and let him go.
"I suppose we should get you some supper so you can go to sleep," he said, leading James into the kitchen. "You've had a long day and I'd hate for you to sleep through Christmas.
0 0 0
James woke early the next morning, the dawn casting its rosy fingers across a blanket of fresh snow. It was chilly in the room, the fire having burned low during the night, but he was warm in the bed with Thomas curled up against his back, his arm slung loosely around James's waist and his warm breath ghosting over the back of his neck. When James began to carefully extricate himself to get up, Thomas pulled him closer and grumbled sleepily.
"It's too early to get up," he protested, his voice thick with sleep. "It's Christmas day."
"It is Christmas day," James agreed with a smile, "but if you want a Christmas dinner, you have to let me get up to cook it."
"Later," Thomas insisted. "There's mistletoe. You can't leave; you owe me kisses." James turned back to him with a grin.
"I suppose I could do something about that."
It was much later by the time James finally got out of bed.
"Are you sure you want to get out of bed?" Thomas teased when James's bare feet meeting the cold floor elicited some heated swearing. He pulled the covers back up around himself and showed no sign of emerging any time soon. "It's quite cold."
"Yes, it is cold," James replied as he hurriedly pulled on a thick pair of socks and bundled himself in Thomas's overly large dressing gown. "And it's just going to get colder if I don't do something about this fire." He knelt in front of the grate and stirred up the few remaining embers with a poker before carefully piling on more wood. Once he was sure it had caught, he slowly levered himself to his feet, his knees protesting, and started to dress.
"I suppose I should get up too," Thomas sighed, sitting up and reluctantly pushing back the covers.
"Don't even think about it," James ordered, pushing him back and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Stay here a while longer, at least until I get the house a bit warmer and have some breakfast going."
"You're too good to me," Thomas said warmly, looking up at him with an adoring smile.
"Only because you deserve it." He made sure Thomas was securely tucked up under the covers, kissed the tip of his nose, and headed out to the kitchen.
By the time Thomas shuffled out in his slippers and dressing gown half an hour later, James fires burning merrily in the main room and the kitchen and was busy frying eggs and sausages at the hearth. Thomas wrapped his arms around him from behind, draping himself over James's back and kissing the nape of his neck.
"Don't distract me too much if you prefer your breakfast unburned," James warned with a smile, leaning back into his embrace.
"There's mistletoe," Thomas said innocently, his words muffled against James's neck. "I'm only following the dictates of tradition."
"I thought we agreed no toxic plants in the kitchen."
"We did. I just put up some ivy in its stead." James snorted loudly and looked up at the bundle of ivy that was indeed hanging over the hearth. And the oven. And the counter. And the cutting board. And each of the cupboards.
"Yes, I see you were quite thorough. It may take a bit longer to prepare dinner than I had anticipated." Thomas laughed.
"If you'd prefer, I'm quite happy to keep track of how many you owe me and collect them later at your convenience," he suggested reasonably.
"A sound compromise," James agreed with a grin. "I'd hate to deprive you of what you're owed." He gently disentangled himself from Thomas's grip so he could deposit the food onto the waiting plates. As he did, Thomas retrieved two cups and poured them each some of the tea that had been steeping. Together the two of them settled on the sofa by the fire to eat their breakfast.
Once they had finished eating, Thomas disappeared to dress while James started preparing dinner. By the time he had gathered the ingredients, Thomas had returned to lend a hand. James started on the crust for some pies while Thomas began mixing dough for rolls and the two of them worked contentedly side by side, occasionally reaching over each other for ingredients or stealing each other's utensils.
James was impressed by how quickly Thomas had taken to cooking. At first he had merely watched James while he cooked, observing intently and occasionally asking questions, but after a couple weeks he had self-consciously asked James if he could try it himself. His first few attempts had produced some questionable results but with James's patient instructions he had quickly improved. His repertoire of dishes was still limited but it was growing every week and he could already make better bread than James ever could.
Today, however, James had planned more elaborate dishes than their standard fare so once Thomas had set his dough aside to rise, he contented himself with sitting off to the side, watching James work and occasionally fetching him ingredients, the two of them chatting happily all the while.
Once James had finished with his pies, he went to the pantry and returned with the ham that would be their main course.
"A ham, my goodness!" Thomas exclaimed as James set about preparing it. "And where did my fierce captain of the seas learn to spice and glaze a ham?"
James stiffened at the words, the cheery expression instantly vanishing from his face.
"James, dear," Thomas asked tentatively, his face falling as well at James's reaction, "is something the matter?"
"It's nothing," James deflected, forcing a smile onto his face. "It's just that someone else asked me something very similar once."
"You can talk about him, you know," Thomas said after a moment. "Your Mr. Silver." James looked at him sharply.
"How did you know it was him?"
"Because he's the only one you never like to mention. You've told me about all your friends and foes from the past ten years, about everything that happened, but none of it seems to pain you quite the way he does."
"I told you what happened. You know what he did."
"You did, and I do. But I can also see how important he was to you and I worry that you're burying your memories of him out of fear of hurting me. But you won't. I know what a great capacity you have for love and I would never begrudge you sharing some with someone that means so much to you."
James was quiet for a long moment.
"Thank you," he said finally, his voice thick. "Perhaps the day will come when I can think about him without agonizing over what was and what could have been. But until I can sort out the pain and anger and grief, it's easier to leave him in the past with my other ghosts."
"I understand," Thomas said simply, coming over to wrap his arms around him. He kissed the top of his head softly.
"Shall I read to you while you cook?" Thomas suggested after a moment, trying to lighten the mood. A small smile appeared on James's face once more.
"I'd like that, thank you."
"Anything for you, my love."
Thomas disappeared and returned a minute later with a book. He settled himself comfortably on his chair, flipped open the red cover, and began to read.
0 0 0
"This looks marvelous, my dear," Thomas declared as they placed the last of the dishes on the table. "You've truly outdone yourself." James just blushed happily in response.
It was quite a spectacular feast. The ham sat in the center of the table, next to steaming plates of roast vegetables, a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes, a basket of rolls, a dish of roasted chestnuts and sugared almonds, a tray of meat pies, and a jug of freshly mulled wine.
The two of them tucked in, savoring all the delicious foods. Finally Thomas pushed himself back from the table with a contented sigh.
"I couldn't eat another bite," he announced happily. "I haven't been quite that well fed in a while." He drained the last bit of wine in his cup and slumped back in his chair.
"But what about dessert?" James protested in mock offence.
"You didn't tell me there was dessert!" Thomas exclaimed, perking up again.
"Go sit on the sofa where it's warm and I'll go fetch it," James instructed, already headed to the kitchen.
He returned a moment later with a covered bowl and, after a brief detour to the table to refill their wine glasses, joined Thomas where he was sprawled comfortably in the corner of the sofa. They were both just tipsy enough that everything was pleasantly warm and fuzzy.
"Dessert," James announced, plopping the bowl in Thomas's lap. He whipped off the covering with a flourish.
"Oranges!" Thomas exclaimed excitedly, immediately grabbing one and starting to peel it. "I always loved oranges for Christmas."
"Well you had better enjoy them," James ordered. "I can't believe how expensive they were. I paid two shillings for those."
"That's actually not so bad," Thomas said around a mouthful of orange, sounding mildly surprised. "I think we used to pay at least twice that to get them in London."
"People actually pay that much for oranges?" James asked incredulously, starting to peel one for himself.
"Well what did you pay for them in Nassau?"
"Nothing! They were everywhere. Miranda had a tree in the garden. We had more than we could possibly eat. She would make the extras into marmalade." He grew suddenly quiet. "I wish she were here. We never even got a Christmas with all three of us." He moved to lean against Thomas, his head resting against his shoulder.
"I know, love," Thomas agreed softly, wrapping an arm around him. "I wish she were here too. I never stopped missing her. And you. But she wouldn't want us to be sad at Christmas."
"What's your favorite Christmas memory?" James asked suddenly. "Of Miranda. What was your favorite Christmas together?"
"Gosh." Thomas huffed out a soft laugh. "I'm not sure. I suppose it would have to be the one we spent in the country. That would have been our fourth Christmas together, I think.
"London can be quite beautiful at Christmas, especially when it snows, but the snow never seems to stay clean long enough to enjoy. Before you know it, it's all trampled to sludge by all the passing feet and carriages. But the country is wholly different. There's just acres and acres of pristine snow as far as the eye can see, soft, beautiful blankets of it covering the fields and lining the trees like icing.
"Miranda's cousin gave us use of his country house and we spent two weeks there for Christmas. She used to go there every Christmas with her family when she was a child. She taught me how to ice skate on the same lake she learned to ice skate on and showed me where the best hill for sledding was. We went riding one evening in that magical purple twilight you only get when it snows, when everything is muffled and quiet and still.
"It was so wonderful to get away from the bustle of society and all the talk and gossip that swirls around with it. We could just be ourselves with no need to put on appearances or be available at a moments notice. We could just sit and talk and read and laugh and be unreservedly happy. We never did get enough of that in town."
"That sounds lovely," James said quietly, smiling to himself at the thought. He liked to think of a time when Miranda had been truly happy.
"It really was," Thomas agreed softly. "And what about you? I know things were less than ideal there, but what was your happiest Christmas with her?"
"It was our second Christmas there. It's so strange to think of Christmas when everything is bright and sunny and hot and much the same as every other time of the year but Miranda always managed to make it seem cheery.
"She had done such wonders with that little house by then. It had been so rundown when we first found it. I did all the repairs to the structure and made some of the furniture but she was the one that truly made it into a home. It's amazing how a place can become like a person. It was just a house, and so unlike the one the two of you had in London, but everywhere you looked there was some small detail—a teacup, a stack of books, a comb, a jar of herbs—some tiny thing that made the space unequivocally hers.
"I'd just come back from taking a prize and I'd found an actual spinet in the hold. I think there was barely half a dozen men in my crew who even knew what it was and they all thought I was mad for wanting to keep it once I did explain what it was, but I finally managed to convince them it was worth transporting back to Nassau. The poor thing was horribly out of tune after being transported across an ocean and exposed to the sea air and hot climate of the West Indies. It took two days of searching to find someone who knew how to fix it and a frankly ridiculous amount of money to convince him come to the home of the pirate captain and the sea witch to actually tune it.
"But it was worth all the hassle for the look on her face when I gave it to her. Neither of us had any music for it but there was a piece she remembered from London. Purcell, I think it was. She only remembered the first half but she played it so beautifully. It was the first time I had seen her happy in so long. I think that was the first moment either of us thought we could make a life there. All she wanted was a happy life with joy and music and peace. I couldn't give her joy or peace but I tried to give her music."
"It sounds like you both tried your hardest to make the best of things," Thomas reassured him softly.
"I just wish I had done more to make her happy."
"I think she would be happy that we found each other again, after everything. I know I'm unspeakably happy that we did."
"Me too." Thomas pulled him closer and James buried his face in his neck.
"Speaking of gifts," Thomas said a few minutes later, "I have something for you."
"You didn't have to get me anything," James protested automatically, but his face lit up.
"Of course I did," Thomas said, giving him a quick kiss. "It's already worth it just to see that look on your face." He reached under the sofa and retrieved a small package wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine. James took it and carefully unwrapped it. Inside was a slim volume, bound in deep blue cloth. He thumbed gently through the first few pages.
"It's the first volume of Alexander Pope's new translation of the Iliad," Thomas explained. "One of the customers at the shop mentioned he had it and he kindly allowed me to borrow it long enough to copy it. I set all the type myself."
"Oh, Thomas, it's wonderful!" James exclaimed, carefully setting the book aside so he could hug him properly. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, my love. Perhaps we can read it together."
"I'd love to," James said earnestly. "And I have a gift for you, too."
"Really?" Thomas asked with a delighted smile.
"Truly," James confirmed. "But it'll take me a minute to fetch it."
He stood and started pulling on his boots and coat.
"You're going outside?" Thomas asked incredulously, looking out the window at the snow-filled night. "Now?"
"I'll only be a moment," James reassured him before stepping out the door with a swirl of cold air.
Thomas went to the window and watched curiously as he disappeared in the direction of the outbuilding he had turned into a workshop. A minute or two later, he saw the vague outline of him returning carrying a large, rectangular object wrapped protectively in sailcloth. As soon has he heard loud footsteps and muffled cursing on the porch, he pulled the door open to let him inside.
James edged in sideways, carefully maneuvering his bulky load, and deposited it against the wall near the fire.
"For you," he said, sounding slightly out of breath as he gestured towards the object.
Thomas stepped forward and drew the cloth aside to reveal a small bookcase. It had three shelves and stood about waist height and three feet wide. It was an elegant little piece of carpentry and had been carefully sanded, stained, and varnished until it gleamed.
"It's not much," James said self-consciously, "but I can always make a larger one when we build up our library a bit more.
"It's perfect," Thomas said, pulling him into a hug. "Thank you, James."
"You're welcome." Thomas released him a moment later and returned a moment later with an armload of literature. Meditations went first in the place of honor and James was quick to place his new copy of the Iliad next to it. Thomas then deposited the half dozen pamphlets and lone book of poetry they had managed to acquire since leaving the plantation.
"And many more to come," Thomas said with a soft smile.
"And many more," James agreed.
"And now," Thomas said slyly, reaching up to hang a sprig of mistletoe above the bookcase, "I think I'd like to collect those kisses you owe me."
"Would you really?" James asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "Been keeping track have you?"
"I have," Thomas said seriously, a bright twinkle in his eyes.
"And how many would that be?"
"Three thousand and three hundred kisses."
"Really?" James grinned. "Are you quite sure that's the correct amount?"
"Would you care to dispute it?"
"I thought perhaps it would at least match the grains of sand in the desert, or perhaps the number of stars in the sky."
"Ah, yes. I suppose that would be the correct amount."
"That may take quite a while though," James warned, pulling him close.
"The rest of my life already belongs to you," Thomas replied, "so I don't think I mind."
"Merry Christmas, Thomas," James said with a kiss.
"Merry Christmas, my love."
A/N: Happy belated holidays everyone! I had planned to actually have this done in time for Christmas but that didn't quite work out. Oh well, better late than never. I'll take any excuse to write about these two being happy. I will never be over them.
My classics nerd self included far too many references that I wanted to make sure got credit. The line that Thomas quotes in the first scene is from Meditations 3.10 and is borrowed from the translation by Maxwell Staniforth. James replies (of course) with the bit from Meditations 4.49 that Miranda quotes in 1x03. Alexander Pope published the first part of his translation of Homer's Iliad in London in 1715 so I'd like to think that a copy could have found its way to the colonies by the time this happens (1716 by my guess). And finally Thomas's very precise count of 3300 kisses is a reference to the "da mi basia mille..." bit of Catullus's poem 5. James's response is likewise borrowed from Catullus 7. And of course the title of the fic is taken from "Silent Night". Thanks for putting up with my nonsense and thanks very much for reading!