8. Birthday

With the bedroom lights dimmed and herself warmly tucked in her bed, the book in her hands was the only thing that managed to keep Natarle awake in the quiet night. She let out a small yawn as she slowly turned the page, and then took a quick look at the clock sitting by her bedside. Ten to midnight. 'What's taking him so long tonight?' she wondered, starting to get worried.

Just as she was to pick up the phone, she heard the sound of a car coming up the driveway, its headlights shining through the bedroom window. She instantly dropped down her book and got out of bed, rushing downstairs to meet the person she had been waiting for all night.

"Arnold." She softly called to him the moment she spotted him coming through the front door. Her call caught his attention, and he turned towards her as she walked up to him. "Natarle, you're still up?"

She nodded lightly, helping him with his suitcase while he took off his jacket, "I wanted to wait for you."

Arnold smiled, slightly delighted about the fact that she stayed up late just to see him before going off to bed. 'She must have been lonely,' he thought, 'for being stuck in the house alone most of the time.'

It was three months after armistice, and due to the injuries by the hands of the blonde genocidal lunatic that almost took her life, she had spent all this time in this new home of theirs recovering, and mostly alone. Holidays were such a rare occurrence that it had almost become a myth, and hardly any of their former crewmates were spared from the dealings with the aftermath of the war. Pretty soon she had started asking if she could join them — which he every single time refused quickly and firmly, before she could even finish her question. He guessed that being lonely and idle had contributed to her eagerness to help out, but he knew that it was most probably her guilt that played a bigger part in her motive, something that he was still working hard to convince her out of, but that was another problem. She was making good progress in her recovery, and he knew sooner or later he would no longer have a valid reason to keep her at home, yet he did not trust to let her go back to work yet. Considering the stressfulness of the job in keeping this uneasy peace, she would most probably overwork herself, and the last thing he would want was anything that put her health at risk. She would just have to stay like this for a while longer.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting for so long," he took her hand in his own and gave a small peck on her forehead. Her cheeks went red, just as he predicted, and she looked away from him to hide her embarrassment. He took a quick look at the clock on the wall, and pulled her along with him towards the kitchen. "Come on, we've still got ten minutes."

She looked at him curiously, then at the clock, and the back at him again. He sat her down at the table, and laid down in front of her a cake box. And then she remembered — it was Christmas Eve — and she finally understood. She frowned, and in a tone that sounded slightly disapproving, yet trying not to hurt his feelings, she asked, "You still believe in Santa Claus?"

He stood dumbfounded, and it took a second or two for him to recover from her unbelievable question. He laughed as he opened up the box, showing her the pretty looking cake that sat inside, "No, silly. This is your birthday cake."

She sat up in surprise, her eyes focused carefully on the cake, reconfirming his words by the chocolate writing on the top. "Ah. You remembered?"

"Of course I did. Happy birthday, Natarle."

"Th-thank you," she replied quietly and sat still in her seat, a bit unsure of what she should be doing next.

Her response confused Arnold; it was not quite what he was expecting, especially because it involved a cake, which in most cases she would be thrilled. But then again, it was her birthday, and for him to take only ten minutes to celebrate with her obviously did not make it look like he had put much effort in it, and as reasonable a person as she was, she was probably still a bit disappointed. "I know this isn't much, I'm sorry I couldn't get home earlier."

"No, no! It's not that!" She immediately tried to explain, not wanting Arnold to get the wrong impression. "I know you're busy, I understand. It's just… I'm not quite used to celebrating my own birthday."

Once again her reply surprises him. He was aware of her affluent background, and from what he understood, she had a really nice relationship with her family; he had always imagined her being pampered with parties and presents on that special day every year, because he just could not see how something as important as her birthday would be ignored by those whom she had always talked fondly of. "Did your family not celebrate your birthdays with you?"

"They used to, when I was still a child," she recalled. "But then as I grew older, birthday parties became Christmas balls, because with all those connections my family had, we were always on the guest list, and I guess it was a kind of responsibility to turn up for those events. As time passed I just felt that my birthday didn't really mean much anymore." She recounted her past easily with a nonchalant voice, but when she was to start again, her tone became slightly more expressive, with a small hint of disappointment, "People never seem to remember my birthday anyway, since it's so close to Christmas, which gives them a better reason to celebrate."

Hearing this, Arnold gave a loud chuckle. He would never have guessed she had such a Christmas/birthday complex, and seeing her mope over such a matter with the childish pout on her face reminded him of how he fell in love with her in the first place. He slipped his fingers between hers and held on tight, "But I will always remember, because it's the most important day of the year for me."

"How is it the most important?" Natarle asked with a look that showed she was unconvinced.

He leaned in closer, and there was confidence in the smile that he gave her in his reply, "Because that special day twenty-five years ago decided what we've become now, and how our future will be."

She blushed at his words, and in an attempt to look less awkward she retorted, "Why can't it be the other way around?"

"Because I was born first, six months before you," Arnold answered matter-of-factly, "I was the one who did the waiting." He watched as her already pink cheeks turned into a deeper shade of red, and the troubled look on her face as she tried to think of something else to say. It was too nice of a scene, and at that moment he kind of wished Santa really existed, because he already knew what he would ask for.

"Thank you, Arnold," she mumbled after moments of silence. With her cheeks still bright red, she gave him a genuine smile of thanks, "Thank you for remembering my birthday, and thank you for everything you've done for me. And thank you…f-for…"

He knew what she wanted to say, and he also knew it would probably take some time for her to finish those few words, because she was simply too shy to let those words come out as easily as other could. He did not bother to wait, instead decided to finish the job for her himself; he tipped forward, and pressed a kiss on her lips.

"Happy birthday, Natarle. I love you."

A/N: Happy birthday to Natarle!! And Merry X'mas to everyone else!!

Heh, I can't believe I actually managed to finish this in time. I wrote this whole thing in about two or three days, so it's kinda rushed, considering how slowly I write these days. Nor did I double check my work. :P But at least I kept to my words (it's prolly a first)!! And I realized that every since I started writing FMN I never updated this story collection, and I haven't written anything that's NOT about angst and drama either, so here's something slightly more refreshing. Have fun reading, and happy holidays to all of you!!