Author's Note: Is it the Christmas Eve or Christmas day dinner that is
made such a huge deal?
December 24, 2005, 615 PM, Asher's Childhood Home, Switzerland
On the drive home again, Asher and Richie stopped in the food store to buy some pastries for Christmas morning breakfast, and also some last minute pick-ups for the dinner. Asher seemed significantly lighter than she had on the drive there: she now knew how to prepare for Sam (should she need to), and she also had had something of reconciliation with her grandfather. He had cried, she never remembered seeing her grandfather cry before.
Once back at the house, and the groceries away in the kitchen, Asher slipped outside, telling Richie she would be gone for a while. When he peeked out nearly half hour later, she was still out there, practice sword fighting atop her beloved hill. As much as he wanted to practice too, as much as he needed the practice, he knew he should give her some more time alone. Not for the first time since Duncan and Adam had left for their world tour last May, he wished Duncan was hear so he could talk.
Instead, he called New York. Nick answered on the third ring. "Hello, Nick Wolfe speaking."
"Nick, it's Richie. How are you?"
"Hiding from Amanda," he laughed. "Think anymore of that offer about meeting for New Years?"
"I don't know. Why hiding from Amanda?"
"She's taking this Christmas thing a little too far. We're having some friends over for dinner tomorrow night, and she's obsessed with making everything perfect."
"Definitely sounds like Amanda," agreed Richie, laughing as well. "Everything else good then?"
"Everything else is great. How about with you? How's Switzerland?"
"Beautiful. We're about two hours outside of Geneva. Reminds me a little of Glen Finnan, Scotland."
"That's where Mac's from, right?"
"Yeah. Listen, Nick, does the name Sam Clarke ring a bell?"
"Sounds vaguely familiar, why?"
"Just asking." Richie should his head, and sighed. He looked outside again. Still, Asher practiced. Her sword was raised over her head, and she turned to the left, slashing the sword against her imaginary opponent's chest. She looked beautiful. "He mentioned he knew you. He was your Watcher for a while."
"No kidding," commented Nick wryly. "But, I need to go. Amanda's very close to destroying our kitchen. Don't get me wrong, she's a great cook, but she should never cook under such pressure. Talk to you soon, Rich?"
"Of course. Merry Christmas, Nick."
"Merry Christmas, Rich."
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Two hours later, a glass of white wine and a turkey sandwich later and a newspaper reading later, Asher still was outside practicing. Bored, and in his own hands aching to hold his sword, he walked to the hill, standing for a few minutes to watch her.
When she noticed him, she smiled, lowering her sword slightly. "Hey. I left you too long?"
"Yeah, kind of. Want to spar?"
"Sure," she smiled. "Call home?"
"Sort of. Called Nick. Asked him if he knew Sam."
"Did he?"
"Not really," he shrugged. He bowed slightly, and Asher echoed the move. "You are so going down, Asher Jacobs."
Asher laughed, and lunged towards him.
December 24, 2005, 615 PM, Asher's Childhood Home, Switzerland
On the drive home again, Asher and Richie stopped in the food store to buy some pastries for Christmas morning breakfast, and also some last minute pick-ups for the dinner. Asher seemed significantly lighter than she had on the drive there: she now knew how to prepare for Sam (should she need to), and she also had had something of reconciliation with her grandfather. He had cried, she never remembered seeing her grandfather cry before.
Once back at the house, and the groceries away in the kitchen, Asher slipped outside, telling Richie she would be gone for a while. When he peeked out nearly half hour later, she was still out there, practice sword fighting atop her beloved hill. As much as he wanted to practice too, as much as he needed the practice, he knew he should give her some more time alone. Not for the first time since Duncan and Adam had left for their world tour last May, he wished Duncan was hear so he could talk.
Instead, he called New York. Nick answered on the third ring. "Hello, Nick Wolfe speaking."
"Nick, it's Richie. How are you?"
"Hiding from Amanda," he laughed. "Think anymore of that offer about meeting for New Years?"
"I don't know. Why hiding from Amanda?"
"She's taking this Christmas thing a little too far. We're having some friends over for dinner tomorrow night, and she's obsessed with making everything perfect."
"Definitely sounds like Amanda," agreed Richie, laughing as well. "Everything else good then?"
"Everything else is great. How about with you? How's Switzerland?"
"Beautiful. We're about two hours outside of Geneva. Reminds me a little of Glen Finnan, Scotland."
"That's where Mac's from, right?"
"Yeah. Listen, Nick, does the name Sam Clarke ring a bell?"
"Sounds vaguely familiar, why?"
"Just asking." Richie should his head, and sighed. He looked outside again. Still, Asher practiced. Her sword was raised over her head, and she turned to the left, slashing the sword against her imaginary opponent's chest. She looked beautiful. "He mentioned he knew you. He was your Watcher for a while."
"No kidding," commented Nick wryly. "But, I need to go. Amanda's very close to destroying our kitchen. Don't get me wrong, she's a great cook, but she should never cook under such pressure. Talk to you soon, Rich?"
"Of course. Merry Christmas, Nick."
"Merry Christmas, Rich."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------
Two hours later, a glass of white wine and a turkey sandwich later and a newspaper reading later, Asher still was outside practicing. Bored, and in his own hands aching to hold his sword, he walked to the hill, standing for a few minutes to watch her.
When she noticed him, she smiled, lowering her sword slightly. "Hey. I left you too long?"
"Yeah, kind of. Want to spar?"
"Sure," she smiled. "Call home?"
"Sort of. Called Nick. Asked him if he knew Sam."
"Did he?"
"Not really," he shrugged. He bowed slightly, and Asher echoed the move. "You are so going down, Asher Jacobs."
Asher laughed, and lunged towards him.