"You know" Jaime started, clucking his tongue as he spoke. "That's kinda… mundane of you."
The weapons room fell into silence.
Turning around, Emma walked towards the Mexican man and eyed him from head to toe, staying silent for about a minute - just like everyone else in the room did. The changing into gear and getting weapons could wait until her response. Her arms crossed over her chest. She smirked.
A Santa hat shone bright in contrast against her golden tresses.
"Says the one sleeping with a teddy bear".
Laughter erupted around them instantly.
…..
Julian would never get it, he swore on the Angel time after time.
The red little dresses that hugged her figure so tightly.
The green bra straps that slid from her shoulders just slightly whenever they trained.
Those sexy white-fur boots that had kicked his butt more than just once.
The crimson lipstick.
When did his parabatai become so obsessed with Christmas?
…..
(He realized he didn't care when he found out how painstrikingly hot red lingerie looked on her in his night dreams.)
…..
"I'm 99% sure she's gone insane".
"Don't be so mean, Tibs. She just… likes Christmas, I guess".
"So does Mark and we don't see him talking to fat, bald, old mundanes dressed as Santa on Sunset Boulevard".
"He actually did. Once".
"That's something I would have preferred to not know, Olivia".
…..
Emma had been laughing for about five minutes – or enough for her face to turn purple and her lungs to seriously consider the idea of shutting down when oxygen was denied to them.
She finally breathed, and when she did, she laughed again. And again.
Julian turned even redder at her giggles. He tried to keep the poker face, although he was thinking of fast escape routes to run away given the case he needed to.
"Jules" she managed to let out in a gasp while unsuccessfully trying to suppress the laughter. She held the freshly painted canvas between her index finger and thumb. "What- what is this supposed to mean?"
He shut his eyes and sighed.
Emma wiped away the tears blurring her eyes as she eventually realized she wouldn't stop laughing for as long as that painting of herself in a Santa's Little Helper costume existed on this earth.
…..
They were all fast asleep on the library floor.
The fire cracked every once in a while, but none of the Exclave's younger members woke up at the sound, or even stirred a little. Several blankets had been thrown at random before they gathered to roast chestnuts on the hearth, and apparently sleep won over their bodies as the night arose.
He could tell the three youngest were the first to succumb. Drusilla was lightly snoring with her arms around Octavian and Ariadne, who had each their heads resting on their older sister's shoulders. Tavvy kept his mischievous looks with his eyes closed, but both he and Ari resembled little cherubs despite all.
The twins were cuddled next to them. Tiberius was impossibly stiff for someone asleep, like a soldier on guard who had dared to close his eyes while on duty. Olivia clung to him nonetheless, like a koala attached to his back. Her arms were around his neck and shoulders and her legs wrapped around his waist, but he didn't seem to mind.
Right across from them, the only two parabatai in the group had their arms around each other and their mouths gaping as they breathed. It was a humorous sight. Emma and Julian embraced even in their sleep, like the pair of warriors they were, protecting each other's lives in the realm of dreams just like they did when awake. Emma snuggled in Julian's chest and frowned unconsciously, something he seemed to have noticed, for he stroked her back even when he was far along the fifth dream. She sighed and relaxed, and a few seconds later a smile curved her lips. The connection between those two never ceased to surprise him.
His eyes drifted towards the second oldest, Mark Anthony, who was sprawled in the middle of the blankets with all limbs extended, like a sea star. Like a sea star meant to bother Jaime Rosales. He was sleeping with a scowl on his face, but it didn't seem to bother his niece, Cristina, who was using his stomach as a pillow. Her own legs worked for Helen and Aline to sleep next to each other, and not even the family kitten was missing in the picture – a white, fluffy little thing that had its tiny claws attached to a rug he had probably been scratching before.
It all made his heart leap a beat in his chest. He wished he had a camera to capture the moment, or a way he could make sure he would remember it forever.
But mostly, he wished his wives were there to see it with him.
They would have been proud.
Silently, Arthur Blackthorn closed the door of the Los Angeles Institute's library on that merry Christmas Eve.
Please, review to let me know how you liked it. Merry Christmas to all and a very happy New Year!