One Sweet Dream

by yellowchikadee

When a member of Fairy Tail finds a man among the wreckage of Nirvana, she must make the impossible choice to turn the dark wizard in to the Magic Council, or bring him back to her own guild. What role could Midnight of the Oracion Seis possibly play in Fairy tail, and how will his presence affect the members of Team Derelict Heart? Time will tell what becomes of Macbeth's prayer.

81. EC-6 The Midnight Before Christmas

A/N: Hello, friends! Long time, no see! I'm sorry for the long delay in posting. As you can see, I'm about two months behind schedule here. This chapter was *supposed* to be done by Christmas. Unfortunately, I went through a major life transition within the past few months, and haven't had much time to work. And you guys know me. I won't post unless I have a comfortable amount of cushion to work with. Hence the wait for the sequel.

To reward your patience! Here is an extra long Christmas EC~ Also, for all intents and purposes, this scene is canon to my fic. Not just fluffy filler. If you want a sneak peek into what life looks like, and will continue to look like, for Macbeth and Syllestra now that Dreamer is gone, then look no further! I've also been toying with ideas regarding Macbeth's past, pre-Tower of Heaven, and any family he may or may not have out there. Tell me what you think!

Again, thank you for your patience! I intend to post the prologue for the sequel as one of these upcoming EC's, so stay tuned! And in the meantime, enjoy this feels trip. It's been a while, so do drop a review and tell me you're still out there enjoying the story! Thank you!

(Oh! And this chapter is broken into titled sections. The titles are all the names of various Christmas songs!)

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December 15, X784: Fairy Tail begins its S-Class Promotion Trial on Tenrou Island

December 16, X784: Tenrou Island disappears

December 19, X784: The Magic Council delivers the news to the remaining Fairy Tail members.

December 20, X784: Fairy Tail sends a team to search for its missing members

December 23, X784: Today's Date

December 25, X784: Christmas Day

---

Please Come Home For Christmas

It was an icy night in Magnolia. The surface of the river was frozen over. Patches of dark ice shadowed sections of pavement. Men and women headed home late from work, shivered under layers of coats, gloves, and boots. Their breaths were white wisps, smothered by the cold. Cold and dark… and silent. Eerily silent, as though the town felt the suffering of its heart.

The lights were out in a small home—all but the dim glow of a penguin-shaped lamp in a child's room. Up the three concrete steps to the blue door. Beyond a low-ceilinged living room, cluttered with children's toys and books. Further, on beige-colored carpet, stained in one spot by spilled grape-juice. Through a four-paneled, white door, cracked just slightly to make for a silent escape. Over a fuzzy pink rug, past a plastic vanity covered in glittery makeup products, to a bed with more pillows and stuffed animals than should reasonably fit on the fluffy comforter. Tucked beneath the blankets to shield from the winter chill, freshly brushed hair as black as raven feathers. A yawning girl, eyelids heavy.

Next to her, his weight dipping the bed slightly, was a man with black and white colored hair, plum lipstick, and a dreamcatcher necklace.

"Macbeth…?" Syllest whispered, pink eyes as big and round as ever.

"Hm?" He adjusted his weight on the edge of the bed, propping one leg up.

"Do you think Mommy will be home soon?" Her eyes were searching, pleading.

He looked down at the carpet, then studied the laces of his boot. "…Yes. They'll find her."

"How?" she asked, little fingers kneading the stuffed animal in her arms.

"Pops is looking for her," he said.

"And he's the best finder in the world," Syllest nodded. This brought her some comfort, but her fingers still tugged nervously on the ear of the bunny.

Macbeth waited. He knew this child well enough to know when more questions were bubbling below the surface. He knew by the twitch on the corner of her mouth, and the downward gaze of her eyes.

"Do you think they'll be home for Christmas?" This was a barely audible whisper, almost as silent as the wisps of breathing in the cold.

"Christmas." The word was heavy on his tongue.

"I always have Christmas with Mommy, and Grandpa, and Uncle Piper, and Auntie Mira, and Elfman…" There was a tremble in her voice. "But they're all gone, and Christmas Eve is tomorrow…" Tears began to gather on her eyelashes.

His shoulders tensed at the sight of her near tears. He raised a hand, then awkwardly tucked short strands of hair behind her ear. "Don't cry," he said, hoping his voice sounded comforting and not like a demand.

"There won't be a Christmas this year." Her lips trembled. Silent tears breached the barrier and rolled down her face.

He frowned, eyes following the trail of tiny tears. He stroked her hair. "That's not true," he said, suddenly. "If they're not home by Christmas…" he paused, reflecting on the words before he spoke them. "We'll have Christmas together. You and me."

She blinked, then rubbed her eyes on the blanket. "Really?"

He nodded, slowly.

"I thought you didn't like Christmas, Macbeth," she said, eyes widening, her curiosity taking over.

A hint of an uncomfortable cringe touched the corner of his lips. "It's not that I hate it, Syllest." He moved his hand from her hair, to rest on her shoulder. "It's…" he looked away, so that she wouldn't interpret his growing scowl as being directed toward her. "I haven't had a Christmas since I was even younger than you are."

"Because you were locked up in that scary tower?" she asked. He didn't answer, so she pulled the blankets down further from her face so she could prop herself up, the excitement becoming too much to contain under cuddly sheets. "Did you have Christmas before you got locked up there?"

"Does it matter?" he countered. He felt the snap in his tone, then apologetically squeezed her shoulder.

"Of course it does, silly!" she sat up. "Every little kid should have Christmas!"

He withheld a bitter laugh. "Only the fortunate children are lucky enough to experience trivial traditions of 'peace and love.'" He gazed down at her once more. His eyes softened. "You are fortunate, Syllestra. There are many good people who love you. That's why you've always had Christmas."

"No one ever loved you, Macbeth?" She cocked her head to the side. "Even when you were a baby?"

He sighed, clearly becoming harassed by the personal questions. "Enough," he said. It wasn't a snap, but it was a clear command. Her eyelashes fluttered, and she slumped back down into the sheets. "What do you and your mother usually do for Christmas?" he asked, shifting the subject back on track.

"Well…" she tapped her chin in thought. "She always decorates! There's lights everywhere and a Christmas tree with a star and lots of omelets—"

"Ornaments."

"—and presents under the tree and sometimes she even puts popcorn in the tree, except one time I let in the stray cat from outside and it ate the popcorn and tore down the tree and I was grounded for the rest of my life." She stared at the ceiling while she rambled. "On Christmas Eve me and Mom open our special Christmas Eve presents, but it's always pajamas! They're matching pajamas so we can be twinsies on Christmas morning—so we put on our jammies and then we put the cookies that we made earlier—I forgot to say about the cookies—and we put them out with a glass of milk for the ghost of Wizard Saint Nikolaus, and I write my Christmas wish and leave it out for him too. Then we go to bed and we wake up and there's more presents! Mom and Auntie Mira drink coffee and I have to wait until everyone else gets here so we can open presents! I open them and play with my toys, and then we go outside and me and Romeo build a snowman—we always build a snowman even if there's no snow, cuz Gray always makes snow for us if there's none on the ground. Then we go to the guild hall and have a big Christmas dinner! Then, me and Mommy and Auntie Mira come home and we sit in front of the fireplace and we drink Auntie Mira's best hot cocoa, and sometimes we listen to people singing Christmas songs or we sing together or… I don't know because I always fall asleep… Anyways, that's what we always do for Christmas!"

Macbeth nodded, a look of serious concentration on his face. "You… really do all those things? Every year?"

"Yep!" she nodded vigorously. "So, if Mommy and Uncle Piper and Grandpa Jezran and Auntie Mira don't come home in time for Christmas, then you'll do all those things with me?"

His red eyes swirled with dread. With pursed lips, he gave a forced nod. "…Yes."

"Wow!" She tossed the blanket aside so she could throw her arms around his waist in a surprise embrace. He inhaled sharply, every muscle getting tense at the contact. "I'm so happy you're my dad now, Macbeth."

Dad. Father.

He relaxed. A tiny smile tugged on his plum lips. He returned the child's embrace. "Don't cry anymore, Syllest," he said, quietly. "I'm not your mom, but… I can still give you a special Christmas."

She was satisfied by this statement. She let out a little yawn, released her grip on him, then cuddled back under the blankets. He pulled them snugly to her chin.

"Goodnight, Dad," she whispered, closing her eyes at last.

"…Goodnight."

Her bed creaked when he stood up. He walked to the partially opened door, and lingered by the lamp. "On or off?" he touched the switch.

"Off," she said. "I'm not scared of stupid things like the dark!"

He chuckled, then turned out the lights. He supposed it didn't make much sense for a child who had faced real demons to be afraid of fake ones lurking in the shadows. What is darkness compared to the fear that one might never see their family again?

Family.

He lingered in the hallway, enveloped in darkness.

Dreamer, please come home.

---

A Christmas Long Ago

"You're going to what?"

Macbeth stood in the guild hall, hands buried in his pockets, facing Erik. To the right stood Kinana, watching this exchange. In the kitchen next door, Syllest sat eating breakfast, safely out of earshot.

"I think that's a really sweet idea, Macbeth!" Kinana smiled at him.

"Thank you," Macbeth said, quietly, without looking at her.

"Don't encourage him, Kina!" Erik had one sharp canine bared, and a twitching eyebrow. "You really think you're gonna throw some magical Christmas for that kid? Do you even know what Christmas is about?"

Macbeth met his harsh expression with emotionless silence.

"Let me refresh your memory," Erik continued…

"It was the second Trade War. Feudal lords fought to maintain economic power, but were being pushed back by Fioran mage forces. The enemy soldiers knew that they couldn't stand a chance against magic, so they pulled one of the most heinous stunts in the history of the war. They razed down three villages, burning everything—men, women, even animals."

"I didn't realize you were such a history buff, Erik," Macbeth remarked, a snide sting to his words.

Erik ignored the comment completely. He continued, with just as much severity in his voice as before, eyes still narrowed.

"They killed everyone except for the children. Thirty-seven kids. Twelve boys, twenty-five girls. They kidnapped thirty-seven children and took them back to a military camp as hostages. It turned the tide of the war in their favor.

"There was a Fioran soldier by the name of Christopher Nikolaus. He heard about the kid hostages, and proposed a direct assault on the camp to rescue the children. His superiors shot him down. Nikolaus wouldn't take no for an answer, however. He, alone—without the support of the army or anyone else—went to the military camp. He disguised himself in the red uniform of the enemy soldiers, snuck inside, and found the holding cell where they were keeping the kids.

"This part might be legend, but the story goes that the kids were afraid to leave with Nikolaus because he was dressed as one of their captors. They say that, in order to win their trust, Nikolaus promised each kid that he would grant them one wish, if they were good and followed him. Apparently, this tactic worked, and Christopher Nikolaus rescued all thirty-seven of those kids by sneaking them into the pine forest behind the camp.

"Supposedly, after each of the kids was reunited with whatever family they had left, Nikolaus followed through on his promise. He started granting the wishes of those kids. He learned magic, joined a guild, delivered the things they'd asked for one-by-one. Legend has it that he was able to grant the wishes of all but one of those children. It was a little girl, who wished for peace on Earth Land. He wasn't able to grant her wish in his lifetime, but he worked toward it for the rest of his life, during which he was venerated to Wizard Saint Nikolaus.

"They say that Nikolaus's ghost continues to work toward that goal, and that he will not rest until there's peace on Earth Land and good will toward men. And that, in the meantime, he'll keep granting wishes to children in need."

"Wow." Kinana blinked at him in awe. "I didn't know any of that."

Macbeth looked far less impressed. He stared dauntlessly back at Erik. "So?" His red eyes swirled with surreal calm. "What's your point?"

"Doesn't that hit a little close to home, Midnight?" Erik crossed his arms over his chest. "Kidnapped kids and wishes? Prayers?"

"It reminds you of the tower." Macbeth stated.

"Yeah, except in our story, most of those kids were never rescued. Most of their prayers were never answered." There was fury in his tone. "It's all bullshit."

Macbeth never flinched. "That's completely irrelevant to what I'm trying to do here."

"Really?" Erik scoffed. "What right do we have to participate in a holiday like this, Midnight?" He used the old name a second time. "It's a good holiday for good kids with happy lives. We don't deserve to have any part of it."

"We're not kids anymore," Macbeth responded, smoothly.

"No, we're not." The poison-slayer's eyes darkened. "But think about the other kids. The ones we turned a blind eye to in the tower. The ones whose families we murdered under Brain. Kids who won't have Christmases because of us."

Now, Macbeth's expression shifted.

"I know you never wanted to get your hands dirty with children, but how many parents did you kill? How many kids' lives did you screw over? I bet it was a hell of a lot more than thirty-seven. And you think you deserve to—"

SMACK.

The red imprint of a hand glowed on Erik's cheek. Macbeth's hands were still snugly in his pockets, however. It was Kinana whose face was in a disapproving scowl, her fingers still splayed open.

"That's enough, Erik!"

He blinked at her in total shock. He touched the place where she'd hit him.

"We get it!" she continued, anger and sorrow in her eyes. "Christmas is hard for you! You have a lot of hurt and a lot of guilt, but that's no reason for you to take it out on Macbeth!"

He opened his mouth to retaliate, but she cut him off.

"If you actually listened, you'd know that Macbeth isn't doing this for himself! He wants to do something good for a little girl who just lost her family, which is more than you're doing, Cobra!"

The tips of Erik's ears turned red in shame.

"It's not about having the right to do anything," she continued, a little gentler now. "It's just about doing something good for someone. Macbeth knows it's not going to make up for all the lives he's taken, but it's something, isn't it? He cares about her, and he wants to make her happy, and that's a lot more noble than walking around pissed at everyone, isn't it?"

Erik looked away, thoroughly scolded.

"To answer your question," Kina looked at Macbeth now. "Yes, we'll watch Syllest while you prepare. Won't we, Erik?"

The poison-slayer glanced over at Macbeth. Their eyes locked for a brief moment. Then, without a word, Erik walked away.

Kinana sighed as she watched him leave. She looked back at Macbeth, some guilt on her face. "Do you think I went too far?"

"No," Macbeth answered.

"Look, I'm sorry." Kina bowed her head slightly. "He's… dealing with some things. He didn't mean any of that."

"Don't apologize," Macbeth shook his head. "Just talk to him. That's all he ever needs."

Her cheeks colored slightly. She nodded, determination gleaming in her eyes. "You can count on me~ Now, you better get started! It's already Christmas Eve!"

Macbeth nodded, turned on the heel of his boot, and walked directly into the kitchen. Syllestra sat drawing smiley faces with ketchup on her plate.

"Hi!" She waved when he walked in.

"Syllestra." He crouched next to her. "I have some things I need to do. Stay with Erik and Kinana, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir!" She saluted.

"Syllestra," his tone darkened. "I'm serious. No sneaking away, or I'll burn your Christmas presents."

She stared wide-eyed at him, fear flickering in pink eyes. "Y-You wouldn't really do that, would you?"

"Do you want to find out?" he said, darkly.

"No! I promise I'll be good!"

"Good." He straightened up. "If you get bored…" He cocked his head. His braid swayed. "Then you can work on making a star for the Christmas tree. With your magic."

"Really?!" she gasped out loud. "I'm allowed to use my magic?!"

"I'm asking you to," he said.

"You got it!" She fist-pumped the air.

Macbeth nodded, ruffled her hair a bit, and left.

---

All I Want For Christmas Is You

He stood in front of Dreamer and Mira's townhouse, burrowed in his hoodie against a cold breeze. Red eyes flicked to the left, then to the right. Every house on the street was decorated with lights and wreaths and stupid-looking lawn ornaments. All but one.

How had he not even noticed this until now?

He took Dreamer's key from his pocket and ascended the steps to the door. Inside, in the welcoming heat—though perhaps no closer to his objective. He was somehow to decorate an entire home in only a few hours. Him, the Night Terror, with no experience in this area whatsoever. He didn't even know what sort of shops would sell things like that. Where did the neighbors get their lights? Would such places be open on Christmas Eve? And it wasn't as though he had a surplus of jule, either, what with being temporarily unable to take on jobs while acting as a stay-at-home mom for Syllest.

He stood in the living room and thought. If he knew Dreamer as well as he thought he did, then he knew that she planned things like this in advance. Holiday/celebratory things. Well, so long as they involved Syllestra, anyway. Mira also seemed to take festivities seriously. And their team left on December 15th. Surely, with Christmas only ten days away, the girls had made plans, bought things, wrapped presents… Then again, they hadn't decorated the house, so maybe he was giving them too much credit.

Still… He closed his eyes and tried to place himself in Dreamer's head. If she bought presents for Syllest, and didn't want the girl to find them, where would she put them?

He eyed the key ring in his hand. There were two keys attached to it. One to the front door. One to Dreamer's room, which she had insisted he keep locked. If there were Christmas items to be found at all, they would be there, in her bedroom. Likely stuffed in the closet.

He walked the hall to her room. He paused, remembering the threats she'd left him with.

"Macbeth, if I get home and I think for one second that you've been in my room, snooping through my things then… I'll tell Gajeel what really happened to his favorite guitar pick."

He fought an inadvertent tremble at the memory. These were extenuating circumstances, however. Christmas was on the line. She would forgive him. Besides, he'd respected this rule perfectly up until now, even sleeping on the living room couch instead of her bed. There had to have been credit for that.

He unlocked the door, then stepped inside.

It was unexpected and sharp, like stepping out the door on a winter's night. Like the sudden drop in temperature, and the smack of an icy gust of wind as it hits. The breathlessness as lungs fight to breathe again. It was that same feeling, only instead of icy wind, it was her scent. It assaulted him as soon as he stepped inside, as instantaneous and jarring as a blast of cold air. The scent that always reminded him of key-lime pie, which he could never determine if it came from a lotion or shampoo, or was just the natural sweetness of her skin… That scent robbed him of clarity. Like with icy wind, he was left breathless.

When he could breathe again, he shut the door quickly behind him, as if to preserve this room and its fresh memory of her. His eyes scanned over the décor, as if it was his first time here. But it wasn't. He recalled one of the many times he was in her bedroom, as his gaze drifted to her bed.

It was recent. Maybe only a week or so before they left for Tenrou. They had been together, beneath the pastel sheets. There had been kissing, low murmurs, teasing laughter, fingertips, sighing. His hand had inched up her leg, until he tried to climb beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown, fingers searching for new terrain. He could still hear her surprised gasp, and could replay with clarity the chastisement he received immediately afterward.

"Excuse me?" She had pushed his hand away. "It's a little too soon for that, don't you think?"

"Too soon?" he had scoffed, only a little wounded by the rejection. "We've known each other for almost a year, Dreamer."

"Yeah, but… We've only been dating for a little while," she had sounded uncertain, like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. "These things take time, Macbeth. You know… People go on some dates, get to know each other… You have to earn the right to do that."

He had rolled his eyes. "Dream, I held you in my arms while you bled to death after being impaled right before my eyes. I'd say I've earned it."

She had blushed and squirmed slightly, which had nearly defeated any sanity he had left.

"Please, don't make me feel guilty…" she touched his chest, like a sad child seeking comfort. "I'm… just not ready yet, okay?"

He hadn't answered. Instead, he abandoned his previous attempt, and centered his focus higher, on her chest. He'd looked her dead in the cherry-blossom eyes, watched the way she melted at his touch, and asked, "What about this?"

Her expression had been embarrassed, but blissful. "I-I guess I'm okay with… this."

And he had kissed her again, and they had teased each other a little while longer, until Dreamer wanted to sleep. So, they slept, wrapped around one another under the mess of blankets.

Those same blankets were straight and flat, now—unrumpled by the presence of warm bodies, love, and hormones. And for a strange moment, Macbeth felt a nauseous anger well in his throat. He had the impulse to rip the blankets off her bed and scream. Because she was gone, his prayer, his dream, and he didn't know when he'd see her again. Because he'd give anything, in that instant, to go back to the night they were cuddled under those blankets, to tell her to never leave him. Because time was splintering wood, like the trunk of a pine tree being cut for Christmas, and that night with Dreamer was nothing but a groove on the wood, on the part abandoned.

Christmas.

He'd almost forgotten.

He pushed aside his feelings for now. There were more important things to worry about. Like finding where Dreamer had hidden her Christmas decorations.

He opened her closet. His gaze lingered on the dresses that were hanging there. He almost wandered down another path of memories, beginning to recall each dress and blouse, and the way they fit the shape of her body, or highlighted her eyes, or made her skin seem that much brighter… But he caught himself, and quickly shoved the clothes to the side. He smirked.

Sure enough, Dreamer had hidden bags and totes of Christmas things behind her dresses, where they wouldn't easily be spotted by peeking eyes. He set to work, pulling out every last strand of lights and decorations, and tossing them onto her bed so he could sort through them. He was pleased to find that there were already Christmas presents wrapped for Syllestra, so at least she would have something under the tree.

Once everything was sorted and he had developed a plan to tackle this decoration project, the former-dark-wizard-assassin-turned-fairy set to making a holly jolly Christmas.

---

O' Christmas Tree

Macbeth wiped sweat from his brow, as he admired his handiwork. Finally, over two hours later, he was finished decorating. There was a wreath on the door, tinsel, garland, holly, lights and all the other Christmas junk he found in Dreamer's closet. This type of thing wasn't exactly his forte, so it looked a bit like a group of children had strung things up at random, but it would do. He scanned everything over, eyes narrowed in concentration. He felt a strange nagging in the back of his head, as though he'd forgotten something. But that wasn't possible. He'd used every single decoration in Dreamer's closet, and stacked all of Syllest's presents in the corner next to the fireplace and…

The tree. The presents were alone in the corner of the room, unprotected by pine branches.

He grinded his teeth in frustration. There needed to be a Christmas tree. It was one of the things Syllestra had mentioned, and he'd promised her Christmas.

He closed his eyes and stood completely still as he thought. A clock, now wrapped in gold tinsel, ticked in the background. Then, suddenly, his eyes shot open, the red irises gleaming with determination.

He picked his coat up from the floor, burrowed inside of it, and headed back into the cold. His steps were quick and sure, as he marched to his destination. Past decorated houses and people bundled in scarves who wished him a "Merry Christmas" when they passed. He didn't return the sentiments. All the way past the guild hall to Fairy Hills—the dorm where the unmarried women of Fairy Tail lived.

There was an old myth that Fairy Hills had been enchanted by Freed to zap any male who tried to enter any doors or windows. He knew it was nonsense though, by the number of times Gajeel had ditched him to go help Levy move boxes of books in her room. So, without hesitation, he swung the front door open and stepped inside.

Some nameless girl squeaked in surprise when she saw him.

"H-Hey, you're not allowed—"

"Laki," he interrupted, his voice a dark warning. "I need Laki."

"But—"

He stepped threateningly close to the fellow Fairy Tail member, his eyes flashing like the fires of hell. "I don't have time for games, little girl. Get her. Or I will kick down every door until I find her."

"Geez okay!" The girl shrieked and ran down the hall.

Macbeth waited, impatiently. He tapped the toe of his boot in annoyance, eyes darting frequently to the clock that sat on the front desk. Christmas Eve was halfway over, and he didn't even have a Christmas tree.

A few minutes later, Laki Olietta came down the hall. Macbeth didn't know her personally, but he'd heard Kinana talk about her. The two of them were friends. According to Kina, the purple-haired, glasses-wearing wizard was incredibly skilled at manipulating wood.

"Macbeth?" The woman blinked at him from behind oversized glasses. "What on earth do you want from me?"

"I need your help," he said, cutting straight to the point.

She blinked again, still staring in bewilderment. "My help? Are you sure? I mean, we've never even spoken."

"Kinana said you're a wood-wizard. Am I mistaken?" He tried to contain his glare, but the irritation was still evident on his face.

"No, that's true." She fiddled with the bow in her hair.

"I need a Christmas tree."

He explained the situation he was in, trying to scramble together a Christmas for a little eight-year-old girl. Laki nodded, listening intently.

"That's really sweet, what you're trying to do for her, but… You do know that I can only manipulate wood, right? It's not like I can grow trees."

"Then can you cut one down?" he asked, all business.

"Sure, that wouldn't be a problem, but you'd have to carry it all the way back to town—wait! Where are you going?"

He was already walking back through the front door. He said nothing, just gestured with his gloved hand for her to follow. She quickly buttoned her coat, and ran to catch up.

It was a long, silent, seriously awkward walk to the forest. Macbeth made no effort to talk to Laki. His eyes remained straight forward, toward his objective. She struggled to keep up with his pace, all the while frowning about the entire situation.

"So…" She tried for conversation. "Is it true, what everyone says about you?"

Macbeth glanced at her, but said nothing.

"Are you really a sadist?" she clarified.

He stopped walking, though not to address her question. He was standing in a patch of pine trees, carefully observing the height, width, and general attractiveness of the trees.

"What kind of tools do you use?" She asked, with a glint in her glasses. "What's your favorite? Does that mean Dreamer is a masochist? It's so hard to find people who understand this lifestyle, and honestly—"

Macbeth shot her an icy glare, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh." She recoiled slightly, an embarrassed grin on her face, as she scratched the back of her head. "So, I guess when people say you're a sadist, it's just a figure of speech."

"Laki," he said, eyes still narrowed. "I. Just. Need. A. Tree."

"Right!" She put her fists on her hips. "In that case!"

"That one?" He pointed at a small tree.

"No, the trunk is rotting. Try the one next to it."

"Too tall for the apartment."

"What about the one on the left? It's very healthy. It should last a while before the needles all fall off."

He cocked his head while he examined the tree she'd pointed out. It was the right size… nicely shaped… He could envision it covered in lights in the living room, a few feet from the fireplace. "Yes."

"Alright," Laki lifted her hands. "Stand next to it. You'll have to catch it when it falls. Then we can carry it back together. It shouldn't be too heavy. If it is, I'll make us a cart."

He did as she said and braced himself for catching the tree when it fell. She used her magic and made a clean cut through the trunk of the tree in only an instant. It gave a soft creak, then slowly tipped in Macbeth's direction. He caught it, but received a face full of pine needles in the process.

"Good job! Let me help!" Laki rushed to the trunk-end of the tree and hoisted it up. "Should I make something to carry it on?"

"No." He spat out a needle, then adjusted the position of the tree onto his shoulder. He mumbled something under his breath about "cursed Fairy holidays," then started the walk back to town with Laki's help.

The purple-haired girl helped him squeeze the tree through the front door, crafted a tree stand for it, and helped Macbeth secure it in place. The two wizards then stepped back to admire their handiwork.

"It fits perfectly," Laki noted, as she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"It has to be perfect," he said, gravely.

There was a long moment of silence, as Macbeth stared at the tree, and Laki stood awkwardly with her hands behind her back.

"Well…" she cleared her throat.

"Get out," he said. "I need to decorate it."

She blinked at him. "That's not how you say 'thank you,' you know?" An angry frown. "It's not like I had to go out of my way for you."

Macbeth sighed in obvious irritation. He cut her a sidelong glance. Then, with a scowl and twitching eyebrow… "I'm not ungrateful, I…" He closed his eyes. "I need to make this Christmas perfect for her."

Laki's expression softened. "I understand." She reached out to give his arm a gentle squeeze, then thought better of it due to the "touch me and I'll make your worst dreams a reality" glare that she received. "But remember, Macbeth. Christmas isn't about the decorations or the tree or the presents. It's about kindness, giving, and joy. The best thing you can do for Syllestra for Christmas, is to share moments of happiness with her. Being stressed out like this will only make Christmas miserable for both of you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

His eyes widened in shock at her words. He let them sink in, as he stared at the tree.

"It's hard for all of us to feel joy this Christmas," she continued. "We're all just as worried about the missing Fairy Tail members as you are about Dreamer. But we've got to keep smiling. We have to keep our faith! If we believe with all our strength, our Christmas wishes will come true, and our friends will come home." She smiled gently, when she saw the tears gathering in his eyes. "So, don't worry so much about getting the decorations just right. All you need to do to make this Christmas special for Syllest is to smile, even when it hurts."

He closed his eyes, his plum-lips trembling.

"…Thank you."

She grinned widely, then took a step back from him. "No worries! It's the least I can do for a fellow sadist!"

He raised an eyebrow and sighed at this comment.

"I wish you the best of luck, Macbeth." She bowed her head, then finally left him alone to decorate the tree.

He stared at it for a while longer, thinking over what Laki had said. The important thing was making sure Syllest felt special… but, decorations couldn't hurt.

Ornaments.

There had been no ornaments in Dreamer's closet. Now, a naked, unadorned tree sat in the corner of Dreamer and Mira's living room, and the sun was already going down outside.

Think, Macbeth… Think…

He was struck by an idea, then darted down the hallway toward Dreamer's room. If there were no ornaments to be found, he would improvise…

---

Kissin' By The Mistletoe

Macbeth had been gone all day. It was after sunset, and Erik and Kinana had just finished giving Syllestra an early dinner. Erik's mood had clearly not improved since breakfast, as he wore a scowl as a permanent accessory by this point. Kinana was much more relaxed, and had made the most out of the day with the child. They did crafts, made paper snowflakes to hang up in the hall, decorated windows, and drew pictures of snowmen. The two of them had chicken noodle soup for dinner (while Erik stared out the window in annoyance).

Now, however, the scene was tense. Syllestra was jumping up and down on a table, face red with anger as she pointed at her two babysitters. Kinana was blushing fiercely, and Erik was sneering.

This was the scene that Macbeth walked in on.

"YOU HAVE TO DO IT!" Syllest shrieked, with an especially angry stomp on the table.

"Anyone ever tell you you're an annoying brat?" Erik snapped back.

"No YOU'RE an annoying brat!" She fumed. "And I'm gonna tell my dad you said that!"

"Can we all calm down, please?" Kinana asked, nervously.

"Go ahead, tell Midnight, see if I care!" Erik yelled. "What's he gonna do, torture me? Yeah right, he's a softie now."

"Don't talk about my dad like that!" Her eyes welled with tears. "H-He's not a softie! He'll… He'll kick your ass!"

"Syllest!" Kinana gasped.

Erik winced. "Would you just shut up alread—"

His words caught in his throat as an invisible force constricted his collar painfully tight around his neck. He gave a yelp of pain with an especially hard twist of the fabric.

"Macbeth!" Kinana looked at the doorway in shock.

The dual-haired wizard released Erik after a moment, then put a hand on his hip, a no-nonsense glare in his red eyes.

"Macbeth!" Syllest squealed in excitement. "Uncle Erik was being so—"

"Sit down." Macbeth cut her off. She squeaked before plopping on her rear. "If I hear you use language like that again, you're grounded for a week. And you…" a death glare toward the poison-slayer, who was clearing his throat and tugging his collar in discomfort. "Just because we're fairies now, does not mean I'm incapable of being cruel. Don't forget, Cobra, misery is a lullaby to my ears, no matter what symbol I wear on my arm."

"I hear ya, loud and clear." Erik bared a fang with his shamed scowl.

"Now." Macbeth glanced between the three of them. "What's going on here?"

Kinana and Erik exchanged an embarrassed glance. Syllest started to stand up again, then gripped the table to control herself. Instead, she pointed above Kinana and Erik's heads. "Look!" an excited shout. "It's mistletoe!"

Macbeth looked up at the leaves hanging above their heads. It looked like they had been hastily taped on the wall, and there was a conspicuous stack of books against the wall, which would have enabled a certain raven-haired child to climb high enough to set-up the plant.

"If two people stand under the mistletoe, they have to kiss!" the girl declared. "So, Erik and Kinana have to kiss!"

"I already told you, I'm not participating in your stupid holiday rituals, kid!"

Kinana played with the frills of her skirt, looking harassed.

"Macbeth…" Syllestra looked at him with tears in her eyes. "They have to kiss. Please, make them kiss."

Macbeth walked to Syllestra and leaned to her level. "Syllestra, look at me." She did, pink eyes reflected on red. "No."

Erik gave a victorious smirk. Kinana's head lowered even more.

"You're not allowed to watch people kiss until you're an adult. And even then, you can never force someone to do what they don't want to do. That is not the kind of person you will become."

Syllestra nodded seriously, taking in his guidance like it was sacred.

Kinana glanced up at Erik, her lips trembling a bit. "Erik…"

He looked at her and listened to unspoken words. The tips of his ears turned bright red. "N-No, that's not it at all!" he said, averting his gaze.

"But—"

"I don't want to kiss you just because some creepy-ass kid set us up, okay?" He practically snarled. "If I'm gonna do it, it's going to mean something more than that."

Erik's eyes widened, as if his own confession startled him. Now, he and Kinana were both blushing brightly.

"Oh…" Kina twisted the frill of her dress with even more fervor.

Macbeth watched their exchange for only a moment before scooping Syllest into his arms and lifting her to his shoulders. "Come on."

"But they—"

"Leave them alone, Syllest." He started for the door.

"…Okay. Am I really creepy?" She asked, finally looking away.

"There's nothing wrong with being creepy," he replied.

Their voices drifted off, as Kina and Erik were left in the room, still beneath the mistletoe.

"Finally, she's out of our hair," Erik grumbled. He still avoided her gaze.

"You shouldn't treat her like that." Kinana chastised, quietly. "She's just a child."

"I…" He sighed, and uncrossed his arms. "I'm just in a shitty mood today. I didn't mean to take it out on all of you."

"I know." She tucked hair behind her ear. "I understand that Christmas is tough for you, Erik, but… Can't we make good memories now?"

He finally met her gaze. There was uncertainty etched on his face, as his eyes flicked between hers. "That's easy for you to say," he mumbled. "You've always been more optimistic than me. Even as a snake."

"I was?" she blinked, eyelashes fluttering.

"Yeah. There were a few times…" the corner of his lip turned up in a smile, as he retrieved memories, "when I'd be crying, and you'd slither up to me with a ball, wanting to play. I used to get so mad at you for looking at me like that—like you were smiling. I didn't get it. I didn't know how the sound of your heart could be so happy, when I felt like dying."

"It's because…" Kinana gently took his hands. "I was with my best friend." She smiled now, joy on her round cheeks. "How could I be sad, if I was with you?"

"Kina…" his eyes shone with awe, mouth parted slightly. Finally, a tender smile touched his lips. "Yeah. You always made me feel better back then, too."

"See?" She squeezed his palms. "You shouldn't be so angry about Christmas, because we're together this year. As humans who can hear each other and feel each other. We can make good Christmas memories, together."

He chuckled. "You're always right."

"Of course, I am!" she giggled. "I'm a woman!"

He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, Erik?" she batted her eyelashes up at him.

"What?"

"There's one more thing…" She suddenly stood on her tiptoes, then placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. His tan skin went immediately cherry red, steam rising from his ears. Kinana giggled at his reaction, before letting him go.

"W-Why did you—" His eyebrow twitched, and he covered his face with his hand, to hide the unholy blush.

"It's a Christmas rule, silly." She winked at him. "Now, come on! I got you a Christmas Eve present~ Do you want to come to my room? You could stay the night, if you want!"

"Stay the night?" He covered his face with both hands now.

"Yeah, of course! We used to sleep together when I was Cubellios, right?"

"That was different, and you know it, Kinana." He dropped his hands with a pout. "You're screwing with me."

"It's called teasing." She took his hand, and gave cheery hop toward the door. "And maybe I am, just a little." She blushed too, as she led him out of the room and toward Fairy Hills. "But if you want… we really can sleep next to each other…"

"I'll… think about it." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, what's this about a present?"

The two old friends braved the cold, hand-in-hand.

Across town, an eight-year-old and her surrogate father were stepping out of the same, harsh cold, into a toasty, recently decorated apartment…

---

'Twas The Night Before Christmas

"Wow!" The child skipped through the door. Her eyes twinkled like Christmas lights as she took in her surroundings. "You did it, Macbeth! It looks like Christmas!"

The dual-haired wizard closed the door behind them. He silently set to work taking off her coat and beanie and gloves, while she ignored him to gape at the decorations.

"It's just like Mommy and Mira do it! Except, well usually Auntie Mira puts the tree over there, after they move the couch by the door. And they hang the lights up on the wall instead of on all the furniture, but I like it! And it smells like the forest in here because you even got a Christmas tree and… Wait a second!" She wriggled the rest of the way out of her coat, then ran to the tree. She threw her little head back in laughter so intense that she grabbed her stomach, and dramatically rolled on the carpet. "Heehee! Haha, I can't believe it!"

"What's so funny?" Macbeth asked, with just the slightest edge of a pout to his lips.

The little girl pointed at the Christmas tree, still rolling. "When Mommy and Auntie Mira find out, you're gonna be in big trouble!"

"They won't find out," he countered, "as long as you keep quiet."

She giggled some more, then stood up to better admire Macbeth's creativity. The tree was woven with blinking lights, but in lieu of ornaments, jewelry hung from the branches. Every earring, necklace, ring, and bracelet Macbeth had been able to find in both Mira and Dreamer's rooms and bathroom, were strung up on the tree. There were even a few pairs of particularly shiny heels.

"I bet Romeo's tree isn't this cool!" Syllest declared, proudly. "I bet we're the only people in the whole Fiore with a necklace tree!"

"That's probably true," he commented. "It's missing something, though."

She looked over her shoulder at him. Black eyelashes brushed her cheeks when she blinked.

"The star." He nodded toward the top of the tree.

"Oh yeah!" She put her hand in her pocket. She pulled out a pink diamond star, only large enough to sit in the palm of her hand. "I… I didn't have a lot of time to make it, and it was really hard to make all the legs the same shape, so that's why it looks kind of catterwonky—"

Macbeth cut her off before she could spout any more nonsensical words. He discarded his own coat on the back of the sofa, then took the star from Syllest's hands. She winced, as if waiting for his disapproval—anticipating disappointment.

"Hm." He examined the thing for a long moment, as if truly judging its quality.

"I know it's bad, but I—"

"I think," he cut her off again, as he lifted the star to the top of the tree, "that even celestial spirits would be jealous of this star." He nestled it in the top between some branches.

"R-Really?" Syllest drank the praise. "You really think so?"

He dropped his arm, then looked at her. She was staring expectantly up at him, her cherry-blossom eyes swirling with awe. The expression was so pure, so hopeful, that he couldn't help but smile. "Yes," he stated simply.

Her awe turned quickly to a beaming grin.

"Syllest," he cocked his head, slightly. "Tell me again what you do on Christmas Eve."

"Yes, Sir!" She saluted. "We open our special Christmas Eve presents, Sir!"

He looked down at the presents as he remembered what the girl had said earlier. It was something about pajamas… "There." He pointed at two presents wrapped in yellow paper. They still sported a sticky note with Dreamer's curly handwriting on it and the words, "X-Mas Eve."

Syllestra retrieved the presents. She sat cross-legged in front of the fire, then looked expectantly at him.

He didn't move.

"Come on!" She held one of the wrapped packages out. "We have to open them together! Right here!"

He frowned at the gift, but took it. He joined her on the rug, cross-legged, present in hand.

"Okay, I'll count to three, and then we can open them. But not when I say three, I mean after I say three, so don't start too soon! Ready? One, Two, Three!"

She tore into the present, shredding paper into confetti. Macbeth was far less chaotic when opening his gift. Either way, after only a few moments, they each sat with folded fabric on their laps.

"It's our twinsy pajamas!" Syllest jumped up before holding the onesie up to her neck. It was fleece, red, and included a little devil tail above an old-fashioned butt-pocket with two gold buttons. "Yay! You too, Macbeth!"

He gave the folded-up pajamas a look of disdain. Finally, he stood up and let them unravel to the floor. It was a matching set, complete with its own devil tail and butt-buttons.

"Don't just stand there, silly!" Syllest pointed to the hall. "Put them on! We have to wear them all night!"

Macbeth stared at her in disbelief. Though he tried to his best to contain his reactions around the girl, he couldn't hold back the sneer that touched his lips now. "Wear them? You know your mom bought this for her, not for me. There's no way I'll fit."

"Can't you just try?" she blinked at him, expression pitiable.

"Tch." He looked away. Instead of answering, he took his red pajamas and went down the hall to the bathroom.

"Hurry up!" Syllest giggled after him. "We have to make cookies next!"

Macbeth stripped out of his layers of clothes in the bathroom. He then held the pajamas up to his neck to gauge the severity of his current dilemma. He didn't need exact measurements to know it was bad. Dreamer was shorter than him, and generally smaller except for in the obvious areas. Still… there was a raven-haired child down the hall who was expecting a special Christmas, like the ones she'd always had. A little girl with impossibly high expectations, who was currently absent all her parent-figures.

All but one.

So, with a sigh, he began to maneuver into the pajamas. As expected, they were far too tight. So tight, in fact, that they warranted to need to wear spandex shorts beneath them. There were just some things an eight-year-old should not have to see outlined by fleece. The addition of shorts made the pajamas that much tighter, of course, and unbearably hot. Plus, he couldn't get past how ridiculous the butt-compartment of this thing was.

A pleasant image of Dreamer wearing these pajamas crossed his mind. They would probably have fit snugly on all her curves. And he could think of a practicality to the back-flap on her…

"Daaaaaaaaad!" Syllest yelled from the living room.

He cursed under his breath, did his best to adjust the pajamas to as-close-to-comfort as possible, and finally stepped back into the hall.

"Yay!" Syllest twirled in her pajamas, causing the devil-tail to swish. "We're matching!"

He had never felt more degraded, but… He sashayed his hips slightly, to make his own tail swish. The girl laughed out loud.

"What next?" he asked, hoping the answer would be "bed" so that he could take this ridiculous onesie off.

"Baking cookies for Wizard Saint Nikolaus's ghost!"

"Baking." Good. Something he exceled at. It would be no problem to make a tray of cookies. "Will you help me?"

"Hm?" She shook her head. "No thanks. I still need ta write my Christmas letter! Can you make the cookies by yourself, Macbeth?"

He answered by going into the kitchen, alone.

Dreamer's pink, flower apron hung on the pantry door. He put it on. The act of tying the strings behind his back called forth yet another memory of her. Before they left for Tenrou, a morning in the guild hall. He'd asked her for help tying his apron before going to bake cakes in the kitchen. He could still see her blush when he teased her and suggested she tie around his waist, too.

If only she were here, helping with the cookies. She would hum under her breath the melody she always sang. He would issue orders that she would willingly obey. He would watch her stir the flour, with the scrunched-up look of concentration she always had when she was trying to make things perfect. He'd toy with her a little, just to see her reactions. It would be a game to see how any times he could make her lose focus before she yelled at him.

He pushed his white hair back, off his shoulders, his face taking on a stony expression.

"I hate you, Dream," he lied.

Anything to make him stop thinking about her. Anything to end the worrying.

It had been nine days since they left. Eight days since the island they were meant to hold the trial on disappeared from the ocean completely.

He began to dig in the pantry for ingredients.

He decided upon a peppermint chocolate chip recipe, with a hint of cactus-pear extract. Maybe the pear wasn't exactly a Christmassy flavor, but he'd be the one eating the cookies and it was what he wanted, so there. He'd stocked an entire shelf in their pantry with his own special ingredients weeks ago. It occurred to him that he'd been spending quite a lot of time in Dreamer and Mira's apartment before the S-Class Trial.

The cookies took twenty minutes to prepare, and ten minutes to bake. He set them out to cool, wiped his hands, and hung the apron back on the pantry door. Finally, he went back to the living room, where Syllestra was laying on the floor, ankles crossed, scribbling on construction paper with an oversized crayon.

"Tada!" She held the letter up in triumph. "Are the cookies done?"

Macbeth gave a small nod. The girl scrambled to her feet before folding her handwritten letter up and propping it on the coffee table. "Can I have one, please?!" She jumped up and down.

"Stay."

Macbeth went back to the kitchen. He prepared a plate of six cookies for "Saint Nik," a glass of milk, and two cookies for he and Syllest to share.

He returned and sat the plate of cookies on the coffee table. Wordlessly, he offered Syllest one of the two in his hand. She greedily snatched it from his fingers before plopping on the ground. She took a bite. He watched her, expectantly, as he always did when someone was trying one of his confections for the first time. She looked up at him and beamed, crumbs falling from her chin.

"This is yummy, Macbeth! Saint Nik will definitely eat them all!"

"I'm sure he will," he responded with a slight smirk. He sat on the ground opposite the table from her. They nibbled on their cookies in serene silence for a few minutes. Finally, Syllest wiped her hands, then slid her Christmas letter under the plate of cookies.

"What does it say?" he gestured toward the note.

"I can't tell you!" she looked at him in utter horror. "Only Saint Nik can read the Christmas wish, or it won't come true! Everyone knows that, stupid!"

He narrowed his eyes. "Watch your mouth."

Her eyelashes fluttered and she gave an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry… I forgot you never had Christmas before."

"I've had Christmas," he said. He wasn't sure what prompted this defensive statement. "It was just a long time ago."

She leaned back on her palms and peered into the fireplace. "Don't worry," she said, softly. "From now on, you can have Christmases with us! Maybe not this year because Mom's not home yet, but next year and the year after that and the one after that… We'll celebrate Christmas every year! Like a real family!"

His gaze softened. He cocked his head slightly, felt his braid slide off his shoulder. She turned and caught him staring at her. Her cheeks colored slightly.

"We are a real family," he simply stated.

She drank his words. Finally, she grinned brightly. "Yeah! We are!"

He stood and dusted off the onesie. "Now then. Shouldn't you get to bed so the ghost of Saint Nikolaus can pay a visit?"

She stood up too. A yawn escaped her throat as she rubbed her eyes with her sleeve. "Yeah, I'm pretty sleepy."

"Do you need me to tuck you in?"

For a moment, he felt a jarring sense of surprise at his own question. A year ago, he would have never imagined in his wildest nightmares that he would one day be asking to tuck in a little girl. Oh, how Dreamer and Syllestra had changed him.

"Nope!" She pranced past him. "I'm a big girl~"

He felt a strange, unwarranted sense of disappointment. He'd grown accustomed to tucking her in every night since Dreamer left. He cleared his throat. "Brush your teeth first."

She pouted. "Aw man, I thought you'd forget!"

"Do you want your teeth to fall out?"

She huffed, then walked down the hall to the bathroom. He chuckled under his breath.

"Goodnight!" she said, as she retreated into her room.

"Goodnight."

He listened to the door close. Watched the light go off from under the door. Listened to the creak of her bed as she climbed in.

He waited.

The clock ticked in the background. He sat, cross-legged on the floor, staring at the coffee table. Minutes ticked by. An hour. He supposed he could have gone to the bathroom and changed out of the devil-suit, but… The energy had left him the moment Syllest's door closed. The day caught up with him—all the effort he'd put in to make Christmas for the girl. The tasks had kept him occupied, his mind distracted, but now…

Alone, when the girl slept. When most of Magnolia snoozed soundly in their beds, comfortable, loved, at peace. It was then that the fear crept in. An old, sharp friend. He felt it in his chest, like pressure building. The rapid beating of his heart, paranoia climbing his throat. It was like an insect. A centipede that wrapped around his heart and lungs, and dug dagger-like legs along his throat until he was afraid to breathe. It was alive—writhing, digging, hissing inside of him.

He used to feel this fear all the time. Every waking and sleeping moment. Terror that he hid beneath rage and sadism.

But many months ago, he'd met a woman.

And as time went by, the insect had shrunk. The grip had lessened. The fear had faded.

Now, however, when he was alone at night—abandoned by the one whom taught him to tame the fear inside—it grew. It strangled.

What if she doesn't come back? it hissed. What if she's dead?

"Stop…" he whined to himself, putting his head in his hands. "She'll come back. She promised."

He looked up, desperate to find a way to curb his panic before it got out of control. His gaze drifted to the cookies and milk and letter on the table. He regained a sense of focus as he pulled the plate toward him and ate the cookies. Cookies and milk. Oddly soothing.

He plucked the letter up and unfolded it as he ate. He was curious what the girl had asked for. Another unicorn? A matching Erza costume?

Her nearly illegible scrawl covered the page. He tried to make out the letters and misspelled words.

"Dear Wizard Sant Niklos.

Im sorry I hav not been a good gurl this yer. I did majyk behind moms back and I stol makbeths make up and I tricked unkel gajee and erik. Also I was the one hoo let romeeos hamster out of its cage and it drowned.

I kno I hav been bad but can I make a krismas wish?

I wish my new dad wood hav the bestest krismtas he ever had and I wish mom wood come home soon.

The end or amen or watever"

Macbeth's hand trembled slightly. He sat the note slowly back down on the table. To think that an eight-year-old girl would have endured so much in her life that she would neglect to ask for toys on Christmas. That her desires would be intangible things. Untouchable hopes. Sweet dreams.

Unable to contain himself any longer—alone in the insect-fear night—he finally buried his face in his arms… and wept.

He cried for the fear and for the pain. He cried for children locked in cells and towers who would never get their wishes granted. He cried for the lives he'd taken and the children he'd left alone. He cried for the Oracion Seis, whom he knew were all suffering tonight. He cried for the little raven-haired girl down the hall. And lastly, he cried for himself. He cried because he missed her.

And when he could cry no more, he sat. Cross-legged, somewhere lost in a state close to sleep, but not quite. On the brink of nightmares. In a gray, empty space.

Nearly two hours later, he stirred. His body was stiff as he stood. He left the cookie crumbs and empty cup of milk on the coffee table. The note he took with him. Down the hall and through the locked door. Into the scent. He sat it on the bedside table, stripped out of the fleece pajamas, and crawled into her bed. Felt the sheets touch his bare skin. If he closed his eyes and imagined just right, the touch was hers. It was easy, when surrounded by her scent and by the memories.

He wallowed in the misery a while longer. He promised himself, that come morning, he would set these feelings and the fear aside again. That he wouldn't revisit them until darkness fell once more. But for now, he selfishly breathed against Dreamer's pillow and pictured her face.

He held onto the thought of her, instead of her.

---

Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow

He was woken by the high voice of a little girl.

"Macbeth, are you naked?"

He blinked groggily, then sat up. It took a moment for him to remember where he'd slept. And another moment to process the sight of Syllestra standing at the end of the bed, still in her devil pajamas.

"Why are you naked in Mom's bed?" She frowned at him. Strands of bed-head stuck to her cheek.

"What?" He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"I'm totally telling Mom when she gets home."

"What? I'm not—" he suddenly noticed the door wide open behind her. Panic exploded in his chest. "Shut the door!"

Syllest blinked at him with wide, cherry-blossom eyes. "But it's Christmas!"

He swallowed as he tried to grasp hold of rational thought. "I'll be out in a minute."

"K!" She skipped into the hall and slammed the door behind her.

Macbeth sighed, pulled the sheets off, and sat on the edge of the bed. He put his head in his hands for a long moment. He was losing his grip on reality with all this worry about Dreamer. To think, he was so desperate to preserve simply the smell of her, that he couldn't stand for the bedroom door to be open at all. Erik was right, after all. He'd gotten soft. No… he had always been this frightened little boy, under layers of hatred. It was just that Dreamer had removed the layers, and now there was nothing to protect him.

But today wasn't about that. Today was Christmas. And by Mavis, or Zeref, or gods or goddesses, he was going to make this Christmas perfect for that little girl.

He got off the bed, frowned at the too-small pajamas on the floor, and opted for changing into a new set of clothes. He went to the bathroom, where he'd been keeping his belongings in the cupboard, changed into some new clothes, made a mental note that he desperately needed to do laundry, and finally went to the living room to join Syllestra.

He stopped dead in his tracks at the end of the hall. With an eyebrow raised, his eyes scanned over the room. A few hours ago, there had been a stack of presents under the tree. Now, somehow, at least two dozen more wrapped boxes were stacked all around the room. The gold-flecked wrapping paper and elaborate cloth ribbons hinted at who the gifts might have been from, but the question was: how?

He looked at the window, which sported a broken lock.

Thugs, he thought, with the faintest of chills down his spine. He was thankful, yet again, to be on the good side of Excalibur Family graces.

"Can I start, can I start?!" Syllest already had a box in her hands.

He gave a brief nod, then sat on the couch to watch.

She tore into the presents, scattering bows and wrapping paper in all directions. Macbeth watched in amusement as she "ooh'ed" and "aw'ed" at every new gift for approximately five seconds before starting on the next one. Her excitement was tangible.

Her gifts ranged anywhere from new socks to a piggy bank carved from emerald. Her very own makeup set, which he'd bought for her despite Dreamer's very clear instructions not to. Books, dresses, toys, board games.

"This one's for you, Macbeth!" She dragged a tall box to him, wrapped in pink snowflake wrapping paper.

He eyed the gift suspiciously. "No." She was mistaken. These gifts were all for her. She was the child, the deserving and spoiled one.

"It says your name, right here!" She lifted a tag and flashed it for him. His name was written in a familiar, loopy scrawl.

"Your mother got me something?" He took the box, uncertainly.

"Of course she did, silly! She loves you!"

He felt the heat touch his cheeks. Caught Syllestra giggling out of the corner of his eyes. Snarled at her. "Don't you have more to open?" he snapped.

"Yep! Almost done!"

He set to work unwrapping the Christmas present. His eyelashes fluttered when the picture was revealed on the box below the wrapping paper. "A guitar." She'd gotten him his own guitar to practice on, rather than using Gajeel's all the time. He scoffed, but he was smiling too.

There was a card with the box. He took it, but for some reason, the thought of opening it and reading whatever was written inside made him feel nauseous. It made the centipede squirm.

That card could have the last words you'll ever hear from her.

He ignored the doubt. He opened it without another thought, quick, like pulling a bandage. The only words written on the inside of the card was a slanted "Merry Christmas." Out fell a photograph. He was shocked to see a picture of the two of them, together. He couldn't remember being photographed. In fact, if there was one thing he hated more than sunlight, Piper, and stale cookies, it was having his picture taken. He wasn't sure how, or when, but someone had captured a picture of he and Dreamer together in the guild garden, leaning against each other on the bench. They were both smiling.

For now, he carefully placed the photo into the card, and sat it on the guitar box. He turned his attention back to the tornado of a girl in front of the Christmas tree. She was standing on her tiptoes, looking out the window.

"Macbeth! Macbeth, look!" She gestured dramatically at the window. "It's snowing! It's snowing on Christmas!"

He watched through the glass as the snowflakes drifted peacefully down.

"Can we go outside and play?! Please?" She hopped up and down, hands clasped together. "Please! Please, please, please, please, please—"

"Quiet," he snapped, cutting her off. "Go to your room."

Her pink eyes wavered—her lip trembled. "But…"

"You can't go outside in your pajamas, can you?" He smirked, then gestured toward her bedroom. "Go on."

She broke into a wild smile before charging to the room.

Thirty minutes later, the two of them were bundled up in coats, gloves, and hats. Macbeth made scrambled eggs, noted the empty state of the refrigerator and the looming fact that he hadn't made any money in going on two weeks now. He wasn't sure when Dreamer was coming home, but soon he would have to accept responsibility for providing for Syllest. A problem for another day.

Finally, they stepped out into the cold, where the snowflakes continued to drift lazily onto snowbanks below.

---

Winter Wonderland

The Sola trees branches were heavy with blankets of white. Three other families scattered the park, with small children squished under layers of clothes, making snow angels, forts, and snowmen. Syllest spun around, arms outstretched. She giggled as she stuck her tongue out to catch a snowflake. Her pink eyes glistened like sunlight on fresh snow.

"Let's make snow angels!" She fell backward, with a tremendous amount of faith in the cushion of snow beneath her. Macbeth watched in amusement while she scrunched her face up in concentration and swept her arms and legs. After a minute of this, she held still. She stared at the white sky above, and frowned.

"What's wrong?" he cocked his head.

"If I try to stand up, I'll ruin it," she said, her voice a whine.

He rolled his eyes, then offered a gloved hand. She grasped it, then leapt to her feet. "Look! It's perfect!" The snow crunched under her boots as she hopped up and down.

"Almost." He crouched near the head of the snow angel, and drew horns above it. "There. That's better."

"Heehee," she covered her mouth with a mitten as she laughed. "It's a snow demon!"

He stood, then thrust his hands in his pockets. Before he could ask her what she wanted to do next, the child was rolling a ball of snow a few feet away.

"I'm gonna make the bestest snowman out here!"

He watched her roll the snowball until it was big enough that her face turned bright pink as she struggled to make it bigger. She stepped back, analyzed the snowball for a long time, nodded, then started on the body.

"Last year, Romeo and I had a contest to see who could build the best snowman!" she declared, as she worked. "We asked everyone to be the judge and tell us who did better, but grownups are so stupid, you know? Mira and Mom were like 'aww, they're both cute, you both did a good job,' but I know we did a good job, I wanted to know who did a better job! Nobody wanted to decide so we had to go back to the guild and find Erza because she's the bestest snowman judge in Fiore, she even has a snowman armor that she put on so she could judge us, and she had a notepad and took a bunch of notes and poked the snowmen and I know she was going to say that mine was the best, but then Natsu and Happy were having a snowball fight and Happy dropped a snowball on Natsu's face and then Natsu shot a fireball instead of a snowball because he's so dumb and the fireball hit my snowman and knocked his head off, so Erza said Romeo was the winner and I got mad and kicked Romeo's snowman, and then he got mad and tackled me in the snow and I tried to kill him but then I was having so much fun and we laughed and—" she took a deep breath, lungs contracted in the snow. "Macbeth, can you pick this one up for me?"

He smirked, then lifted his hand. With his magic, he lifted the oversized snowball and plopped it on the base. Syllest stared in awe.

"WOW! If I had you with me last year I would have totally won the contest! We gotta do it next year, okay? You can use your magic and we can build a snowman like a billion houses tall!"

"A billion, hm?" he chuckled.

"Yeah!" She started to roll up the head, but Macbeth stooped beside her.

"Why make a snowman like everyone else, Syllest? Wouldn't it be more fun if you made something else?"

"Like what?" she batted her eyelashes.

"A monster," he said, darkly. "To eat all the other snowmen."

"Wow…" she whispered, as the idea clicked in her head. "YEAH! A snow monster! Help me, Dad, please, please, please, please, please, please, please!"

He shushed her with his hand. Wordlessly, he set to work, adding a spiked tail to the back of the snowman.

A half an hour later, they stepped back to admire their handiwork. Neither of them was necessarily an artist, so the snow "monster" looked more like a snowblob with a few identifiable features. A tail, spikes, horns, and sharp teeth made out of rocks.

"It's perfect…" Syllest sighed in happiness. She leaned suddenly against his arm. He inhaled sharply at the unexpected touch, but then a small smile touched his lips. He put an arm around her shoulders.

"I think so, too."

As he spoke, a group of older kids nearby began to point. They were working on their own snowman, complete with a carrot nose, button eyes, and a hat. They nudged each other, pointed at Macbeth and Syllest's creation, and sneered.

"What is that," a girl asked, not quite out of earshot.

"It's super ugly," a boy jeered.

"Yeah, what a weirdo."

"Isn't that the creepy girl from your school?"

"I don't know, probably! Gross, no wonder the snowman is so ugly."

Macbeth's eyebrow twitched. He felt his grip on Syllest's shoulder get painfully tight in response to anger welling inside his chest.

"HEY!" Syllest jerked out of his arms. She trudged through the snow a few steps toward the other children, then put her hands on her hips. "SHUT UP!" She pointed. "Our snowmonster is special! Me and my dad made it together, and it could eat your stupid snowman!"

The kids laughed at her, rolling their eyes.

"I said shut up!" Syllest started toward them, tears gathering in her eyes, hands clenched in mitten-fists. She only got two steps, however, before Macbeth tugged her back by the hood. "LET ME GO!" she screamed. "They're making fun of us! I hate them! I'm gonna go knock their stupid, perfect snowman over!"

"Enough." He tugged her back, harsher this time.

"But they're making fun of our monster…" she looked up at him, hot tears streaking down her face. "We made it together."

"Hush, Syllestra." He touched her lips, then bent to her level. His next words were a whisper. "There are better ways to get revenge."

"…revenge?" the word was a quivering whisper.

"Hm." He nodded in confirmation. "For now, we wait." He kneeled and began to construct a snow fort, while the other children continued their play, undisturbed. Syllest followed his example, and quietly set to working on the fort wall.

A few minutes passed.

"We forgot the scarf!" one of the children called out.

"Let's go back to my house and get one! And my mom will make us hot chocolate!"

There were hoots of agreement, and the troupe of kids slowly meandered away, leaving their "stupid, perfect" snowman vulnerable and unprotected.

Macbeth straightened up. His vortex eyes followed the children until they were out of sight. Then, he nodded at Syllest. "Do you see that torch by the sidewalk?"

"Yeah!"

"Go get it."

After some direction, a few minutes, and a bit of creativity, she ran back to his side to admire their handiwork. They crouched behind their fort wall, and grinned evilly at the sight of the snowman across the park. It's carrot nose and hat were on fire, and the torch lingered close enough to its face that snow drip had already distorted the carefully crafted features.

"Best. Revenge. Ever!" she squeaked next to him.

"It's not over yet." He tugged her coat, forcing her to crouch lower in the snow. He covered his lip with a finger, shushing her. He nodded in the direction the children had disappeared. The group was returning, refueled and hoisting a red scarf in the wind.

"What the—" A little boy ran to the snowman. The others quickly followed. "WHAT HAPPENED?!"

"It's on fire!" A girl screamed.

"Quick, get that torch away!"

One of the children lunged for the torch. To his shock and dismay, it moved of its own accord, away from his outstretched hand. He faceplanted into the snow as the torch suddenly speared the snowman through the stomach. A girl scampered backward, butt in the snow. One of the boys burst into tears.

"I-Is it h-haunted?!"

"Don't be stupid!" The leader proclaimed. "It was just an accident! Stop being babies and help me—" He reached for the torch. Before he could touch it, however, the snowman lifted its twig arms, slowly. He stared in horror as its arms outstretched, gripped its own snowball head, and threw it directly into his face.

The boy broke into tears.

"RUN!" The children scrambled, screaming and crying, in all directions. Soon, the distorted snowman stood alone, headless and smoldering.

Behind a snow-fort wall, Syllest was laughing so hard that she was crying. "Did you see their faces, Macbeth?!" she rolled in the snow. "That was the funniest thing I ever saw!"

"That's what they get for insulting our creation," he remarked, his eyes glistening with amusement and… joy.

"You're the coolest dad ever!" She threw him into a surprise embrace and squeezed with all her might.

"Tch." He pried her off. "Enough." His tone was harsh, but his cheeks seemed a little brighter pink than the cold would normally allow.

If she was offended, she didn't show it. Instead, she hopped over the fort wall and strode proudly to the destroyed snowman. She stooped down to pick up the discarded red scarf, marched back to the snowmonster they'd made, and positioned it nicely in the rock-teeth mouth.

"See?" She put her hands on her hips and grinned widely. "Our snowmonster did eat their stupid snowman!"

Macbeth chuckled under his breath as he watched her. His cheeks felt strangely sore and stiff after a moment. He touched them, felt his own smile. He hadn't smiled this much in a long time. Certainly not any time in the last ten days. It was an expression he still had to get used to, after years of owning nothing but a condescending smirk. Dreamer and Syllest had taught him how to smile from the heart…

"I'm cold," Syllest declared. "Can we go to the guild hall?"

He gave a brisk nod, turned, and started in that direction. He took two steps, then paused to look back at the child as she caught up. In an act of impulse, he held his gloved hand out to her. She beamed brightly, then clutched it tightly.

They walked hand-in-hand the rest of the way.

---

A few Fairy Tail stragglers were in the guild hall on Christmas Day. Most were not. Romeo, for example, was with his mom and dad for the holiday, though it was unlikely he would have been up for Syllest's shenanigans anyway. Laki was there—and now there was an awkward tension in the air between her and Macbeth. She tried to clear it up by giving him a suspiciously wrapped present in a brown paper bag, along with a heavy wink. Erik and Kinana were there, of course. And it was Kina who kept Syllestra entertained after a lunch that they all shared.

Macbeth and Erik sat on the stage, watching the girls play hide-and-seek.

"Are you in a better mood today, Erik?" Macbeth asked, as he quietly tuned the new guitar that he might have been subtly bragging about for the past few hours.

"…Yeah." Erik's arms were folded over his chest. His eyes lingered on Kinana. "But I'm not going to apologize for yesterday, so if that's what you want, you can forget it."

"I don't need a worthless apology from you." He tilted the guitar slightly so it would catch the light from above.

"Right."

There was silence between them for several, long minutes.

"For what it's worth…" the slayer started, slowly. "I think you're doing a good job playing mom-number-two to the kid."

"Was that a compliment or an insult?" Macbeth raised an eyebrow.

"How long are you going to keep it up?" Erik finally turned his gaze, locking eyes with the other man.

"As long as I need to," came the immediate response.

"Yeah, that's noble for now. Saint Midnight, nurturing the weak and helpless." He tapped his arm. "But how long are you gonna keep it up? You can't pull jobs with a kid on your hip, and I know you're hurting for money."

"I'll handle it." Macbeth's gaze never faltered.

"What if they don't come back?"

The forbidden question hung strangely in the air. Still, despite its poisonous barbs dangling above their heads, Macbeth still didn't look away.

"They will."

"All the faith of a real fairy," Erik scoffed. "Fine. They'll come back. But what if it's not for months? Years? What are you going to do, Macbeth?"

Red eyes swirled with dark, mysterious emotion. "I will not abandon her."

Erik was the one who finally closed his eyes. He breathed a long sigh of defeat. His eyebrow twitched as he listened to unspoken words.

"This isn't just about Dreamer," he stated, though he didn't meet Macbeth's eyes again. "Is it?"

The dual-haired mage did not answer this question. He sat his guitar down, then latched his gaze on Syllest.

"She's not her, you know?" Erik said.

"Stop listening."

"You think that if you protect this girl, it will make up for what you did?"

"No." A faraway look settled in the base of the vortex eyes. "But I will not leave this one behind."

"Look…" Erik sighed. He uncrossed his arms. "It wasn't your fault. You were just a kid, and you were scared. You gonna let that eat you up for the rest of your life?"

"It is one of my sins," he answered, without emotion. "I have to pay for it."

"And this is how you're going to do that? By fostering an orphan kid whose mom could be dead for all we know?"

"Erik." Macbeth frowned. He watched Syllest hide behind a pillar. "If you think you can convince me to leave her behind, you're dreaming. No matter what you think, I will not abandon this child."

"…Yeah, I figured. You've always had a soft spot for kids. I just… wanted to make sure you're thinking it through and doing it for the right reasons."

"…Thank you."

"Don't mention it." The tips of Erik's ears took some color. "And… don't beat yourself up about what happened when you were a kid. We all did what we had to, to survive."

Macbeth didn't answer.

"Nah," Erik responded to a thought. "You don't know that. She could have made it, like we did."

"No." Macbeth closed his eyes. "She wasn't even old enough to walk, Erik. I left her screaming in an alleyway as the city burned. An infant… A helpless, little girl…" his voice trembled. He watched Syllest. "I abandoned her, and she died. I won't let that happen with Syllestra. Even if Dreamer never comes home… Even if I have to raise her… I will not abandon this one."

A strained silence.

"Alright." Erik nodded, slowly. "Then, you've got my support."

Macbeth glanced at him, eyes suspicious.

"I'll always have your back. If taking care of that kid is what you want to do, then I'll help you, whatever you need. I'm sure Kina feels the same way. You don't have to do it alone."

"Hm…" Macbeth smirked.

"What's so funny? What are you chuckling about, huh?"

"I wonder if this is a Christmas miracle," red eyes sparkled. Erik's face flushed and he looked away.

"I'm not saying I'll babysit the little brat, okay? But if you need help with jobs or finding a place to stay or… y'know, whatever you can think of. Just saying that…"

"You'll be my friend."

"Yeah."

"Best friend?"

"Hell no," Erik rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to mess with that metal-head's fantasy."

"So," Macbeth's smirk widened. "You admit that Gajeel is the winner."

"No, because it's not a competition!" he snapped, a little too enthusiastically. "What the hell is a best friend, anyway? You and me are practically brothers. We have been since the Seis was founded, so that iron-munching lug-nut doesn't have anything on me."

"Hm. But you said it's not a competition." His eyes twinkled, mischievously.

"Kina, let's go!" Erik yelled suddenly, looking harassed.

"Okay!" Kinana kissed Syllestra on the head. "Merry Christmas, Syllest!"

"Merry Christmas, Kina!"

Macbeth watched her skip toward the stage, bright-eyed and grinning.

I will not abandon you, Syllestra. The reason didn't matter. Love for Dreamer. Guilt for a past sin. What mattered was protecting her.

What mattered today, was Christmas.

---

Silent Night

At long last, Christmas Day was ending. Exhausted children all over Magnolia were snuggling down into their blankets with new stuffed toys and fuzzy socks. Garbage cans full of crumpled wrapping paper and cardboard boxes lined the streets. The winter sun had set hours ago.

The exhaustion was evident on both the faces of Macbeth and Syllestra. The little girl was physically drained from hours of play in the snow. The man was mentally and emotionally depleted after two days of going completely against the grain of his personality to provide peace and joy to a child. She was bundled up in a blanket, eyelids blinking heavily. He sat cross-legged, head drooping slightly as he struggled to stay awake. Each of them had a mug of hot chocolate clasped between their hands. He'd found Mira's recipe, and added his own splash of vanilla to the concoction. But even the overload of sugary marshmallows and chocolate did little to keep their eyes open.

Syllest yawned loudly. She sat her mug on the coffee table, rubbed her eyes, then crawled to Macbeth's side. Wordlessly, she nestled against him. They faced the fire together, mesmerized by the dancing flames.

"Did you have a good Christmas, Syllest?" he asked, just above a whisper.

"Yeah." She yawned again. "This has been one of my bestest Christmases ever. I can't wait to tell Mommy all about it."

"But not the part about the jewelry. Or the snowman we destroyed."

She gave a quiet giggle. "Okay. I promise."

He leaned with his own mug to set it beside hers. Then, he got more comfortable, allowing the girl to snuggle against him completely.

"Did you have a good Christmas, Macbeth?"

He thought about this. "…Yes. I had fun today."

"Was it your bestest Christmas ever?" She tugged mindlessly on the ear of the stuffed lion she held.

"It was…" he searched his memory. Back, to the one and only Christmas he could remember before this one. "It was the best Christmas I've had in a long time."

She adjusted herself so she could see his face. Her eyes were wide, and they danced with the swirling hues of cherry-blossoms and flames. When he looked into them… the insect-fear seemed to recoil. The memories of warmth, sunlight, key-lime pie, all chased it away. It was a blessing that she had Dreamer's eyes. A blessing and a curse.

"Can you tell me about your old Christmases, Macbeth? From when you were a kid?"

He closed his eyes. "Syllestra, I…"

"Please?" She batted her long eyelashes. "Just tell me one thing! One little, teensy, eensy, thing?"

He sighed. When he opened his eyes, a smile touched his lips. He looked down at her, resisted the urge to stroke her hair.

"Pretty please?" Her bottom lip jutted in a pout.

He averted his eyes, returning his gaze to the fire. "…My mother," he started. His voice was suddenly hoarse, his throat dry. "She sang Christmas lullabies."

"What was she like?" she whispered.

"She was…" The memories were distant. Fragments of old dreams that he'd been forbidden by Zero, and by Jellal, to remember. "Beautiful."

"Did she have curly hair, too?" She asked this while batting at his braid.

"No." The crackle of firewood. "It was black and white like mine, but straight. Fa—" he cleared his throat when the word stuck. "My father had curly hair."

"Were they nice parents, like my mommy? Or were they mean like that mean guy who kidnapped me?" She scowled at the memory.

"Nice." He looked back down at her. "Like your mother."

"Oh…" There was a twinge of pain in her eyes. A longing. Christmas was over. Dreamer was not home.

He caught his error, and was desperately trying to scramble up a distraction when she continued on, as if unhindered in the first place.

"Did you have brothers and sisters?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. He didn't answer.

"It's okay if you were alone like me," she said, trying to be helpful. "I never had a brother or sister! I don't want one anyways, because when they grow up, they just want to take all your clothes! Oh, but, I guess I could have a brother or sister one day and it wouldn't be bad, like if you and Mommy had a baby, then I guess I could probably like it, but not if it pukes on my favorite dress or cries a lot so I can't hear myself sing. Are you guys gonna have babies? Are you gonna get married? If you get married, can me and Romeo be the flower girls? I was just wondering 'cuz—"

"I had a sister."

The firewood continued to crackle, a real-time example of the wood of time fracturing, breaking, burning.

"What was her name?"

He knew it, but the word was heavy on his tongue. He hadn't spoken it since then. Not once. Erik knew only from listening to his innermost thoughts. It was as if the name held power that he was afraid of.

"It was…" he let out a slow breath. "Juliet."

"Wow, that's pretty. Was she your big sister or little sister?"

"Little." He cleared his throat once more. "She was a baby."

"Macbeth…?" She furrowed her brows. "Did your family die?"

"Syllest…" Eight years old, asking about death. All because—

"Like my real mom?" she clarified. "And my mean dad? Did they die?"

He looked down at her. He nodded.

"Your baby sister, too?"

"…Yes."

"Oh." She turned her head. Gazed back at the burning wood. "Macbeth…?"

"Mm?" he rested his hand gently on her bundled up form.

"Can you sing me a lullaby…? Like your mom sang to you?"

"Would that make your Christmas complete?"

"Yes."

He considered her request. After a few minutes, he hummed, picking up the memory of a tune. Finally, while they watched the embers pulse in the fireplace…

"Silent Night. Holy Night.

All is calm. All is quiet.

'Round the fire the mages sing

Tales of wonder as children listen.

Tales of joy and of peace.

Tales of joy and of peace."

It was a song about the thirty-seven children rescued by Saint Nik, all those years ago. If only Juliet had been rescued. If only Christmas wishes really did come true and family members came home. If only…

He thought she'd fallen asleep when he was singing. But, some time afterward, he heard the whisper of her voice.

"I miss Mommy."

He leaned against her. Wrapped his arms around the helpless child.

"…I miss her, too."

"Next Christmas…" she whispered. "We can have Christmas as a family. Me, my mommy, and you, Dad. All of us, together."

"I'd like that."

If only time would be so merciful. If only Christmas miracles really happened. Then, perhaps, they would get to be together next Christmas, and all the Christmases following. Vortex-eyes and key-lime pie and raven hair. Cherry blossoms and snow. Warm bodies tucked under blankets. Laughter. Love.

If only.

But, come next Christmas, Macbeth and Syllest would be far from Magnolia. Far from snow, Christmas wishes, and family. Both captive to the centipede-fear, far from laughter or love. Next Christmas, and the six to follow, would not see the realization of this distant dream.

Time would burn like the logs in the fire. Ashes would scatter, burying only the remnants of beating, hopeful hearts.

…At least, for tonight, there was some peace. Some joy. They found it, father and daughter, cuddled against each other in front of the waning fire. They found it as they fell asleep, after creating a day of memories that would fuel their hope, their love, their determination in the perilous years to come. For tonight, the night of Christmas... they were happy.

Merry Christmas.

---

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