an. Written for the #TLSHolidayFest2021.
1997 is compliant with the St. Augustine universe. This can be read as a standalone, or if you'd like to read the initial flashback, go to Chapter 14: 'Every December' of that fic.
2012 is a St. Augustine universe divergent flash-forward had Sasha and Tom reconciled as planned, and serves as a prequel to the next story I'm drafting, which is currently unnamed. It can also be read as a standalone and will be posted separately tomorrow.
Anyway, here's to some Christmas fluff (as close to pure fluff as I seem to be capable of getting). Happy Holidays everyone! ❤︎
1997
.
.
"We should have stopped so I could get them something."
Tom turned off the ignition. They'd been fooling around for months, since March specifically, but he supposed they'd only made it official in June—as official as dating your direct subordinate could be—which meant she'd only been introduced to his family at Thanksgiving. A last-minute change in plans that Tom, if he were honest, was still surprised she'd agreed to. Of course, it was only after assuring her that the Chandler's would neither care, nor object to keeping her attendance secret.
Mostly, Tom found it endearing, if confusing, that Sasha was this worked up about spending Christmas with his parents. Another not exactly planned thing sprung after a fight with her own. Tom couldn't say he grasped the full scope of their issues. From what he understood, there'd been a slew of words on both sides resulting in crossed lines, and while Sasha had pretended to be fine, it had still tainted her voice. A near indiscernible quiver. She wasn't the type to cry. Instead, she'd doubled down and tried to convince him—or herself—that Christmas had no meaning. That spending it in Annapolis alone was acceptable, and the subject of their fight wasn't anything he should be concerned with.
He'd been halfway to Richmond when that call came.
"Mom hates gifts, and Dad wouldn't accept it. They'll just be happy you're here." It was not the first time they'd had this debate, and Tom still couldn't grasp why she was so skeptical. Even if she wasn't on great terms with her own.
"You don't think it's rude to just show up and expect them to host me?"
No, and he'd told her that twice already—once when she'd called, and then at a gas station after making it past the bottleneck traffic on the 495 spewing out of D.C.
"Sash, why won't you just believe me on this?"
She made a vague, dismissive motion with her head, some kind of thing between a shake and a shrug, and after Tom stared long enough to force the issue, cracked. "I just… want them to like me."
He unbuckled the seatbelt and shifted until his arm rested on the console between them. "They like you."
She seemed exasperated. "Thanksgiving doesn't count. We were only there for a few hours. This is a whole week, Tom."
Nine days, actually, but he wasn't aiming for pedantic. "It's not a big deal—Mom does this all the time. Last year we had an exchange student from Ecuador that went to college with my sister. I promise you; they'd be more offended if you stayed in Annapolis."
After holding eye contact and judging the statement, she conceded. "Fine, but what am I supposed to say if they ask about my parents?"
"Whatever works, or nothing." He shrugged. "Just be you, Sash. That's all they want, trust me."
Before Thanksgiving, Tom would have scoffed at the words 'Sasha' and 'nervous', but that, he'd realized, wasn't fair. Not when he'd merely begun to decipher what lurked beneath her exterior. Sasha was like a challenging puzzle, one that took smarts and patience to crack, and sometimes Tom pondered if even a lifetime would suffice. Conversely, Sasha Kunić had read him like a book. A clichéd sentiment, of course, but it was apt. And Tom hadn't even felt her turn the page.
Where everyone else chose sympathy upon seeing the damage—which itched under his skin like unsavory pity—Sasha had shrugged. That was it. Didn't even ask for the how. It seemed accidental at the time. There were clothes flying, he recalled, but later, it was deeply intentional, and that's when it clicked. She got him. Whether or not she intended to. She did.
x x x
The Chandler's was a proud Colonial. It reminded Sasha of the house from Home Alone. It was, of course, more modest, but its balanced facade framed handsomely by Georgian windows and black shutters evoked a similar charm. Theirs was clad in white siding, however, not red brick like the McAlister's, and Sasha decided that was nice. Preferred. It wasn't Tom's childhood home. He'd had four of those growing up she'd learned—à propos for a trailing military clan—rather, this was the house that Catherine Chandler had envisioned and dreamed about in her youth. A dream realized when Jed retired and took up a private contract with the DOD. Their decorations were festive but not tacky, four wreaths hung with red bows on each of the lower floor's windows, and a simple line of white string lights draping the roof. That was nice too, she thought. Sasha hated the multicolored kind, and although she cared little for snow, she had to admit it was missing.
Instead, the day was a little overcast—cold but not freezing—and damp. The kind that seeped into her bones and made it hard to keep warm. Also the kind that screwed with Tom's knee—the one he was pretending didn't hurt after driving so long. She felt mildly guilty about that. If she hadn't gotten into with her parents, he wouldn't have turned around, and if she hadn't started drinking at ten that morning, she could have driven herself.
The salt on his parents' driveway crunched underfoot as she rounded the truck; breaths puffing and then dissipating like clouds in the chilly air.
"We can get the bags later." It was nonchalant, and she settled beside him. Leaning against his truck while she studied the neighbor's decorations. By that, she meant she'd let him carry hers when his knee was done cramping. Some things just mattered to Tom, however trivial. That and managing his stubborn was like a full-time job.
"They're kind of tacky," she surmised. When his brow creased a little further, she pointed across the street. "The inflatables? I hate that crap. It looks like a Walmart threw up on it."
"It's not quite the Hamptons," Tom quipped.
Sasha sucked on her cheeks and threw her head back in an exaggerated manner. "I'm not comparing it. I'm just saying it looks bad."
He smirked. "Dad hates them too."
She pushed away from the truck, flashing him a bright smile. "Would you look at that. We have something in common."
By the time they'd reached the kitchen, after using the mudroom entrance, and waiting until Tom could reliably put weight on his leg, Sasha was back to being nervous. Standing straighter than any superior officer could order, and more engaged in returning Cathy's over-animated hug than he'd seen her be at anything. Perhaps apart from putting him to shame on the gun range.
"The house looks beautiful," Sasha said.
Things his mother loved to hear.
"Thank you, you're sweet. Between you and I, I think Jed's just happy it was only one set of lights this year."
She was rounding the counter, approaching Tom and he stooped so it would be easier for her to reach.
"How was the drive?"
"It was fine. Traffic wasn't too bad."
Cathy squeezed and placed a kiss on Tom's cheek before letting him go. "Well, you're the first to arrive. Matty's flight got canceled, they're grounded for a couple of days until the snowstorm passes, and your sister and James won't be here until tomorrow."
"Oh," Sasha acknowledged, glancing at him with a wide-eyed look like she was panicking when his mother turned her back to check the oven.
"Are you guys hungry? Can I get you something to drink?" Cathy called, adjusting the temperature and then closing the door again. Tom caught himself, immediately correcting his posture like he hadn't been trying to peer over her head to figure out what kind of cookies those were.
Cathy shot Tom a very specific look that he remembered well. "They're not for you."
Sasha smiled. "The infamous cookies?"
"These are some cookies, which are not meant for my bottomless eater of a son. They're for Mark and Nancy across the street. They had to put their dog down yesterday, I thought it might be nice, and I invited them to dinner tonight."
"Come on, Mom. You made a whole pan."
Cathy waved her hand and put her dishtowel on the center island. "No. Go say hello to your Dad, he's out back."
That didn't surprise Tom one bit. 'Out back' was a euphemism for 'in his shed'. The place where he liked to disappear, as Tom labeled it. A thing that had been consistent across all their homes. Wherever they went, Jed had a shed. Or workshop, as his mother insisted.
"I'll take a glass of water, if you don't mind," Sasha said.
"Of course I don't." Cathy's tone was a unique mixture of reassurance and admonishment.
Before he left to put in an appearance with his father, Tom grabbed Sasha's hand discretely and squeezed. Leaning over to place a kiss at her temple.
"Okay?" he murmured while his Mom busied herself with the icemaker across the room.
Sasha squeezed back, inhaling like she was about to contemplate jumping off a cliff rather than simply making small talk with his mother for five minutes.
"Yeah," she whispered. Leaning closer and tiptoeing until she was speaking directly into his ear. "But do you think she knows I'm still kind of drunk?"
He snorted, his mother choosing to mind her own business, though he was sure she was eavesdropping. Cathy had a unique talent for that. "I don't think she cares—but no, just stick to short sentences."
Sasha's features morphed and deadpanned like she was replaying the very few words she'd spoken to determine if they were slurred or not. He smiled widely and bumped her hip with his.
"I'm kidding, Sash. You're fine. But you should try and convince her to give us some cookies." Winking, Tom dropped her hand while she chewed on the inside of her cheek in an attempt to maintain a straight face.
x x x
It was late. She'd eaten more food than she knew what to do with and unceremoniously unbuttoned her jeans, thankful she'd gone with a sweater long enough to hide it. The guest room, or Tom's room, she supposed, was nice. Cozy. Thanksgiving had been a day trip, not an overnight affair, and Sasha hadn't the chance to make it upstairs. There were a few pictures on the dresser, Tom, Matt, and Jed fishing up at the cabin as kids. The whole family down in what looked like Disneyland, or World… couldn't quite tell. Then Cathy and Jed, much, much younger—looked like it was taken during his graduation at West Point.
It was all so normal. So very, very normal—and it was everything she'd never had.
With a heavy sigh, Sasha flopped down on the bed, trying to muster the energy to take a shower. Didn't even realize she'd fallen asleep until the feeling of being shifted roused her.
"Sorry, I was trying not to wake you up."
Sasha stretched and rolled so Tom could pull back the covers, trying to make him out in the sliver of light peeking in from the street. The damn wall was glowing green from Mark and Nancy's shitty Walmart decorations. Except now that she was less drunk and had met the Grinnan's—she felt a little bad for her judgment.
"How long was I out?"
"Twenty minutes? Not long."
He'd already showered, shaved, and changed, she noted. She made another noise while she stretched, back popping audibly while Tom trailed his fingers across her stomach where the sweater had ridden up.
"We might need to go to the mall tomorrow so I can buy bigger pants or at least ones that stretch."
"You could just take them off…"
She pointed a finger. "No sex in your parent's house."
The hand that had been trailing higher stilled while he processed, eventually settling on an expression Sasha could only define as 'how?'
"They could hear us!" she hissed.
"Did you forget what we did in my office? Pretty sure half the faculty was in the next room…"
She raised her brows. "That's different."
His lip quirked. And she could tell he was trying to take her seriously, yet failing.
"Stop—don't laugh at me."
"I'm not laughing at you."
She sat up and fixed him with a glare.
His eyes were gleaming at her. "Do you know you're a walking contradiction?"
Sasha canted her head in the other direction. "Do you know that you're not that cute?"
She hated when he smiled at her like that, all teeth and dimples, and ridiculous eyes that made it hard to remember the original point. Especially when he was propped against the pillows, in bed, shirtless, and snaking a palm against the angle of her jaw. Maybe in her head she offered more resistance when his lips pressed against hers. In reality, she found herself melting against his form, tasting his toothpaste and crawling closer while his other hand insinuated itself beneath the waistband of those jeans.
Katie was still in tears, floods of tears, and Sasha was biting her lip, trying hard not to laugh. Jed looked as though he'd served latrine duty for three and a half hours, which, in a way, he had, and Sasha could sympathize. How Cathy had even convinced him to come was beyond her, and once they made it back to the house, Sasha intended to ask.
"It was stupid. If she'd just moved her damn ass over they could have shared the door." Jed's declaration was nothing short of brash, and he punctuated it by shoving his hands into his pockets. Cathy lopped her arm through his, and though she and Tom brought up the rear, meaning Cathy's back was turned to them, Sasha imagined she was enjoying this a lot.
"Dad, he didn't fit—" Katie protested.
"Course he did." In a word, all Sasha had heard was 'nonsense.' "I should have stayed at the house with James—and your brother's lucky he's not here yet."
Katie turned around and stopped walking. "Tommy, tell him."
Sasha wondered just how many times his sister had employed that tactic growing up. Burying her chin deeper into her scarf, Sasha hid her grin and stole a glance through her peripheral. His easy smirk and humored eyes only made it harder not to laugh.
"Have to agree with the old man on this one, Kitkat. It was dumb."
"Seriously?" Katie huffed, before turning the appeal to her. "Sasha, back me up here. It was romantic."
Eyes wide, Sasha untucked her mouth and took a deep breath, torn between being nice and affable—because that's what parents wanted in a son's girlfriend—or being honest. Apparently, her hesitation spoke volumes because Tom started laughing, only igniting his sister's ire.
"I'm sorry," Sasha offered, the curve in her brow genuine. "But it was… pretty bad. I mean, they did a great job with the ship at least, that part was cool, but the rest of it… not so much. And the song is really awful."
Both Jed and Cathy had stopped by now, their group huddled just beyond the movie theater doors and off to the side. The crowd of people leaving flowed around them like a river diverted by rock.
"So you're saying you're not interested in recreating that scene with my brother? King of the World?"
Sasha figured she looked horrified, and for two seconds, she was.
Right until Katie's expression cracked into a shit-eating, smile. "Ha. I totally got you. I'm kidding—Tommy wouldn't know romantic if it punched him in the face."
Tom gestured with the hand that wasn't occupied by holding Sasha's. "I'm standing right here?"
"Well, that's what you get for picking Dad's side. Ass."
Tom rolled his eyes. "You'd know—you're the biggest pain in mine."
Feigning hurt, Sasha shifted, so she was standing in front rather than beside Tom. "I thought you said that was me?"
Behind her, she heard Jed chuckle. "I like this one, Tommy—now let's move. I'm hungry, and I lost three hours of my damn life."
'Hangry,' Katie mouthed to Sasha.
They fell into step, following Jed's lead out and onto the streets of downtown Richmond. Tom squeezed her hand, which was buried in the pocket of his jacket, away from the cold, and Sasha peered up.
She didn't know what to do when he looked at her like that.
"I told you," he murmured, leaning closer to where their shoulders and hips bumped when they stepped. "They like you."
There was hair tickling his face. Very soft, exquisite hair that's scent, Tom realized, he associated with home. Couldn't tell if that's what had woken him, or something else. It was later; the movie was over, Gizmo playing the keyboard the last scene Tom could remember before sleep had taken him. Knew the fire was running low by the lackluster crackling snaps, and then registered deep, familiar breathing right below his chin. There was a cool spot on his shirt which meant she was out hard, her cheekbone pressed against his sternum, and body tangled atop his. He was hot. Sweltering, actually. Someone had thrown a blanket over them, and she was still wearing one of his pullover hoodies. They were alone, but someone was out on the patio. There were muffled voices, one of which he could identify as his mother's, and if he died right now, Tom decided it would be okay. He was happy. Found. Doing exactly what he ought to, and present enough to cherish it.
It felt different. In a very big, very permanent way.
It's why he stayed there, despite the ache in his damn knee, and the drooling all over his shirt and ignoring the need to pee so that he could savor it. Chose in favor of trailing his fingers against her scalp and listening while she breathed. The cadence hovered just beneath snoring. Soft and yet heavy. And he'd been floating through various thoughts when she stirred; her airflow changed and the limp dead weight against his body eased.
It took a few moments before she lifted her head. Rubbed a hand down her face and considered their surroundings before looking up with sleepy eyes.
"Hi," he whispered, smoothing several strands of hair and then tucking them behind her ear.
"Hi."
Tom didn't know how a word could smile, but it did.
"Do you know what time it is?"
She'd shifted her hand, fingers uncurling and then resting against his collarbone.
"No, but it can't be too late, someone's sitting outside."
The noise she made to acknowledge was distorted by a yawn, and she considered the room again. It was dim, the dying fire and tree lights casting a low orange glow that flickered against her skin. Sasha was always beautiful, but whenever she was soft like this, stripped away from her cool exterior, it clenched a fist beneath his ribs.
"I like it here," she said.
A simple unprompted assessment.
He swallowed away the tightness in his throat.
"I'm glad you convinced me to come."
Done pondering the room, she brought her gaze back to his with a smile that emanated from her every feature; he wished he could frame it. Keep it. Forever.
Lazy, and unbidden, he traced the curve of her cheek with his thumb. "I love you." It was simple, a statement delivered in a low murmur. Something Tom figured she knew already. The part where he'd deferred an entire year spoke volumes, but he'd wanted to be sure before saying it. Sure that she wasn't in a space where those words would scare her.
Her cheek creased and then dimpled. "You do?"
He blinked, lip curling up on one side. "I do."
"Well, that's good. Cause I kind of love you too."
He quirked the corners of his mouth down, shifting his head left. "Yeah?"
The things radiating from her eyes were breathtaking. "MmHm."
Tom drew her closer again—until her temple was squished against his lips, and every available part of her body tight against his and squeezed. Breathing in deeply, with his nose buried at her crown.
"Still have some work to do on marriage, though," she quipped, voice muffled by his chest. "You're biased, and your parents are the exception, not the norm."
That was the closest to admitting he was right that Sasha would get, and Tom basked in it. "Sounds like a challenge."
He felt her smile against his neck. "Just stating facts."
"Well, if we're stating facts, then you should know I'm going to marry you. Even if I have to ask you every day for years."
Sasha snorted. "How many are we talking?"
"Ten?"
He felt the way she quirked her neck despite still being pressed against him. "Twenty, give me some credit."
"What if we just go with the rest of my life?"
Shifting, she lifted her head again, propping herself onto elbows against the sofa on either side of his chest. "And Katie says you're not romantic." Her hands were still somehow cooler than his skin when she framed his face, thumbs resting against his cheekbones.
"Kitkat doesn't know what she's talking about—and I've never loved anything like I love you."
"Wow." There was no awe, only dry humor. "I think Hallmark should consider hiring you, could probably make a lot writing cards. Your talents are wasted in the Navy."
Tom went on the offensive, attacking her sides with his fingers and she yelped, writing hard enough that he had to break her fall from the couch.
x x x
"So much better than Jessica," Katie said, fingers laced around her mug while the sounds of Sasha telling Tom to stop tickling her carried beyond the patio doors. Fun and spontaneous was something Katie hadn't witnessed from her brother in years. "You know she asked me if he'd be in town this year?"
Cathy raised her brows. "What did you say?"
Katie's features scrunched. "No. Obviously."
"Kaitlin—",
"She's a bitch." At Catherine's shock, Katie immediately added, "I'm sorry, Mom, but it's true."
"It's not your place—"
"Not my place to what? Look out for my brother?"
"You're meddling, and you shouldn't be. I know it's been hard, but he's doing better now, and we have to let him make his own path." Katie hated that look, the one her mother was pinning her with while wrapped up in the blanket Dad brought over.
"He's doing better because of Sasha—so imagine what would happen if she showed up."
Cathy tilted her chin down and peered over the rim of her reading glasses. "Nothing except for seeing that he's moved on, and I'm sure he's told Sasha everything."
Katie looked more than skeptical. "Why? Did he say that?"
"No." Her mother turned the page on the catalog she was browsing.
Katie uncurled her leg and shifted closer. "Then how do you know? Sasha told you?"
"She was massaging his knee," Cathy said softly. "Earlier on the sofa, you all missed it watching the movie."
Huh. Only the sound of the outdoor fireplace and the gas space heaters on either side of the sitting area filled her stunned silence.
"As I said—don't meddle and tell your brother she called so there are no surprises."
x x x
"Tommy mentioned you had a fight?"
Damnit. She knew this would come up at some point. Worse still, it was Jed asking. Jed who, for some damn reason, she couldn't bring herself to lie to. There was just something about his demeanor that demanded respect, and frankly, he was too sharp to fall for her bullshit anyway.
Sasha finished re-filling her glass and leaned against the counter by the sink to face Tom's father. He stood proudly in the center of his kitchen, one hand in the pocket of his chinos and another wrapped around a stiff bourbon. She glanced through the living room. Tom and Matt had re-stoked the fire, brought in some firewood from outside, and Cathy and Katie had come in from the patio. His sister was currently engaged in setting up Monopoly on the oversized coffee table with James. A game they were all about to join.
Clutching the wine glass, Sasha met Jed's quiet but curious gaze. "I tried to tell them about him… not in detail, just that I met someone—and when they figured out he's Navy—they basically told me he's not good enough." She broke off and shrugged a little, lip quirking in more of a nervous gesture. "I told them to go screw themselves, and not to speak to me until they apologized… which if you knew my parents, you'd realize will probably never happen. That, and they still think I'm a failure for joining in the first place."
She pursed her lips, dropping eye contact again to stare at the granite counter island, recalling the way he'd waltzed Cathy through the kitchen hours before to an old Christmas ballad. "My parents hate each other. Sometimes I think they're only married because my Dad doesn't want to lose half his money, and Mom's so religious she thinks she'd go to Hell."
The way Jed narrowed his eyes in response was so reminiscent of Tom… or maybe Tom picked that up from his father. Either way, it was jarring.
She swallowed. "You have a beautiful family." It was quiet, and she hoped her smile didn't appear tinged with the kind of sadness she'd detected in her tone.
"Wise man told me years ago that families' what you make it—and the way my son looks at you, you should consider yourself part of ours."
Something tight lodged in her throat.
The warmth spreading across Jed's features was another uncannily similar thing.
He crossed the small distance and patted her on the shoulder. "Merry Christmas, Kiddo."