From Michael JG Meathook: Mother Christmas

Part of my Magical Creature AU

Quarter to midnight, the clock read, with a raging snowstorm dropping powder across London. He could arrive any minute. The cooled shortbread quickly transferred to a plate, the extra bottle of wine went into the icebox to chill, and two steps to the side ensured I had closed the drapes. What else needed doing?

Just cleaning—mostly to avoid having to do it later. Careful slowness prevented noise as I gathered the few dishes I had dirtied, then equally quiet movements prevented pans from clanging, utensils from touching the pans, and a fumbled spoon from hitting the floor. After nearly a year, I hoped to keep my Christmas surprise a surprise. Mary did not know we would have company tonight, much less who would appear in our sitting room.

Or come down the chimney, if he decided to be mischievous. Only fear of discovery had prevented my old friend from attending my wedding, and he had probably watched Mary enough over the last year to know she wrote. I had perhaps an hour before his loud arrival would bring Mary from the bedroom.

"John?"

Unless I woke her first. Even cautious quiet could not change a cooling bed. Soft footsteps padded down the hall, then my lovely wife stopped in the doorway.

"What are you doing up?" Bleary eyes belatedly noted the dishes, my lack of nightclothes, and finally the dessert on the counter. Smiling pleasure pushed fatigue away as she moved to stand beside me. "I just found a Christmas surprise, didn't I?"

I made no effort to halt a chuckle. "You did," I confirmed, enjoying her blush when I kissed her nose, "but not the kind you think."

"Oh?" She picked up the towel to dry for me, a smirk announcing the bite of shortbread more mischief than desire. "What is it then?"

"Company," I answered shortly.

"Company?" A reflexive glance noted the clock. "At midnight?"

"Yes." The blatancy purposely lacing my tone earned me a frown, then a glimmer of what would have been realization—had her guess proven accurate. As I had expected, her mind immediately went to the one person we knew with the strangest hours.

"Why is Mr. Holmes coming in the middle of the night?" A pause reviewed her words. "And how did you convince him to come here?"

Most obvious did not always mean accurate, however. Even if Holmes had wanted to visit tonight, I would have declined. He did not know of the magical.

"Who said anything about our visitor being Holmes?"

Long seconds debated that as two bowls returned to their places. "You would not know a patient was coming," she finally mused, "nor would you cook for them if you did know. Besides, it's Christmas."

And I usually refused everything but emergencies on Christmas, I finished easily. She shrugged defeat before I could decide what to reply.

"Are you going to tell me who you expect?"

"No," I grinned, "but I also don't know when he'll arrive. Do you want to go back to bed for a while?"

"Of course not." She leaned into my side, fingers intertwining mine when the drawer closed on the final spoon. Her other hand retrieved the half piece of shortbread she had set on the counter. "I could make some hot cocoa if you like."

"Only if you want some." I paused to focus on juggling both my cane and the plate. "He usually brings the drinks."

Well, drink, but telling her we would soon have a large skin of wassail risked her deducing our visitor. While I had kept silent about our friendship, I had described Nicolas many times, usually in response to a question.

"But you said you don't know when he'll be here." Nimble fingers stole the plate, then she led the way toward the sitting room, glancing over her shoulder to maintain conversational eye contact. "So you intend to sit up all night, not eating shortbread, until your company decides to arrive?"

"I usually read to avoid falling asleep," I retorted, "but yes. He always comes between midnight and dawn, and as close to midnight as he can get." A weighted pause decided to offer her a clue. "The snow means he'll come earlier."

"Snow?" Rapid thought proved she had caught the hint, but a noise outside abruptly rendered the game unnecessary. Her gaze shot up to meet mine when sleigh bells jingled on the roof. "John, is that—"

Finally.

That Scottish snowstorm was nasty.

You think he'll have biscuits for us?

Hello, John! Can we have some sugar biscuits?

"Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!"

The booming voice drowned out the reindeers', and my laugh bubbled out unhindered. He never announced himself like that, but, more importantly, the stereotypical greeting had sparked pure excitement in Mary's voice. I followed her much faster pace toward the sitting room.

"Father Christmas?!"

"Happy Christmas, Nicolas."

We rounded the doorway to find him standing not five feet from the hearth, his coat slightly singed as if he had found our chimney rather warm for comfort. That wide smile of greeting did nothing to hide the satisfaction of Mary's reaction.

"Pleasure to meet you in person, Mary—I mean, Mrs. Watson. You usually slept through my visits as a tyke."

"Father Christmas." The breathed words became equal parts surprise and greeting, then her own wide smile stretched her mouth. Astonishment quickly faded into pleasure. "Never knew I had a reason to stay up. You should announce yourself more often."

"Ah, but then I would be too busy corralling the world's children and fighting off parents to be able to visit." He seated himself in the armchair as a wave of his hand put a wineskin next to the three glasses I had set out. "And I do enjoy our Christmas mornings."

As did I, but Nicolas did not need me to say as much. Mary finally stopped blocking the door to claim one side of the settee, and I limped closer to uncork the wineskin. That smelled heavenly.

Though it would not distract me from a much more amusing topic.

"I see you singed your coat," I said with a smirk, pouring half a glass for each of us. "Did Comet find the fireworks again?"

Hey! It happened once!

Nicolas' laugh warmed the room far more than the crackling fire did. "No, that happened in Scotland. A worried mother built the fire high to shield her newborn during a raging snowstorm, and you know I usually enter through the chimney the first year."

To avoid running into something on appearance. I did know that, but the knowledge would never prevent my ribbing.

"How far down the chimney did you get before you found a window instead?"

"Less than halfway." He could not quite feign a scowl around a large bite of shortbread. "I left her a note to get the chimney swept. Even that roaring blaze should not have flames licking up the bricks. She will think her husband wrote it, he will think she wrote it, and one of them should decide to get it checked 'just in case' one of them forgot."

Which in turn meant that the child would not be caught in a house fire. Mary sipped her drink before I could reply.

"This is good. What is it?"

"Wassail." Nicolas took a swallow from his own glass, clarifying, "An old variation. I have told the shop clerk several times that if he ever stops selling this, he must give me the recipe. I have yet to find it anywhere but the Pole's shopping center."

"If you ever get the recipe, I want a copy." She took another sip. "John, do you think we could experiment long enough to make it ourselves?"

"We can certainly try," I laughed, "but I already did, many times. I never came close. They use some secret ingredient."

A quiet hum suggested a forming plan, but she looked back at Nicolas rather than voice it. Her impish grin gained a degree of heavy thought.

"I did stay up one year," she remembered, "when I was about thirteen. I was trying to catch one of those rabbits when I heard something from the dorm's common room, but by the time I reached the doorway, the room was empty. Was that you?"

"Probably." He enjoyed my shortbread as much as I preferred that wassail. One hand grabbed another piece. "I would have finished and left in a hurry if I heard you coming. John only caught me because he had stationed himself in sight of the tree to wait."

And because I had somehow slipped past his awareness. We never had discovered how his telepathy had not heard my thoughts until after I spoke behind him.

Not that we would get into that now. A question returned our discussion to the present.

"Did Meredith make it south this year?"

"Meredith?" Mary's surprise interrupted Nicolas' answer, question clear even before it reached words. "Is there a 'Mother Christmas' after all?"

"No." The tone short but laughing, I still noticed the immortal's ruddy cheeks grow slightly redder. He hoped to make her "Mother Christmas" one day, though I doubted anyone would call her by that title. "Meredith lives in the Great House, but she and I are not wed. John introduced us years ago when Meredith needed a place to restart, and she claims to enjoy the Pole and the duties she had assumed. The others certainly appreciate having her there."

Don't spread that rumor. Bad enough the nisse are already calling her 'the missus.'

Immortal telepathy neatly inserted the words into my mind, and I nearly choked on my drink. Of course the nisse had taken to calling Meredith 'the missus.' If those most straightforward of protectors saw anything in that relationship, they would not hesitate to voice it. Most nisse had less tact than Holmes.

The dwarves, too, and a sliver of grumbling leaked through the connection to prove me right.

"To answer your question, though," he continued before Mary could ask. "Yes, Meredith visited the southern continent. Spent nearly a month there and tried to convince me to join her for a few days. Apparently, Khione has turned the confluence into a large resort."

I used a sip to hide my surprise. A magical resort at geomagnetic south would create some spectacular light shows. "How do they hide it from the explorers?"

"Easily," he answered dismissively. "Even the bravest expeditions did not penetrate the coastline, and most have lost interest after finding only vast amounts of ice and snow."

"Khione probably had something to do with that," I mused. "She did love her storms. Does she still lecture about snowmen and how to make the perfect snow fort, bridges, and buildings?"

"Every other conversation." A smirk acknowledged the memory. "Meredith said she discovered a way to harness the energy released in the auroras to have her 'glorious, beautiful snow' without turning every visitor into a block of ice. The place nearly hums with magic. I can feel it as soon as I leave New Zealand for Australia."

Impressive. Even the Pole did not exude that much magic. Mary glanced between us, confusion evident.

"Who is Khione?"

"Her story came out of the old Greek myths," I told her. "Daughter of the cold north wind, her favorite things in the world have always been ice and snow and all the things you can make with them. She has dreamed of making a snow-themed tourist destination for centuries."

"And deciphering that conversion finally let her," Nicolas finished. "They are still working out ways to let humans visit as well, but maybe the two of you will be able to go in a few years."

That sounded like an excellent holiday. I always appreciated a chance to see more of the magical realm, and such a trip would be a good experience for Mary. Planned right, we might even convince Meredith and Nicolas to join us.

Planned exactly right, according to another telepathic grumble. Running the Pole left Nicolas too busy to take a holiday. I would do better convincing Mr. Frost to kick Nicolas out of the Pole for a while.

And leaving precisely how to do that for a time when Nicolas did not hear my every thought. Mary's next question tried to distract him from my scheming, and I tucked the idea away for later.

Of the entire holiday season, I would always enjoy Christmas morning the most.

Hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much to those that have reviewed! :)