Hallelujah: Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire (Piper)

It's so warm inside the small metal shack that when Piper steps inside, steam starts to rise off the damp wool of her scarf, a thin white film that distorts her vision for a moment. She wants to find Nat, to take her sister outside to see the snow. The last time it snowed was when Piper was little - Mom was still pregnant with Nat, and Dad had taken her outside and slid her across the slick white surfaces as she giggled in glee. She has a vague memory of laughing so hard she couldn't breathe, of her dad's smiling face, his eyes bright, of Mom standing in the doorway watching them with one hand over her swollen belly.

Nat is nowhere to be found, though. Piper feels a twinge of annoyance at her sister, at the fact that Nat is so rarely where she's supposed to be. She's probably off with Pete Pembroke again, causing trouble. Piper likes a stiff drink every once in awhile, but the way that boy's mom drinks isn't okay. That family is a mess; if she could keep Nat from playing with him, she would.

But she's not Mom, and she's sure as hell not Dad.

With a sigh, Piper drops her bag and flips her hat off, catching it with one hand and putting it on the coatrack by the door. She peels off her frozen red leather jacket and tattered plaid scarf and hangs them atop her hat, running a hand through her damp hair and wishing it was warm enough to wash it.

Oh well.

She walks to the small dresser in the corner that serves as a bar and pours herself a Nuka-Cola with a dollop of rum in it. A lightweight, she doesn't dare drink much at once, otherwise the world might start spinning. With a flip of a knob, she turns the radio on and goes to sit on the couch across the room, propping her feet up on the coffee table and taking a long, lingering sip of her drink.

There was a time when the winter holidays were special, back before Dad - well, when he was still with them. She wonders idly what he would make of them now, his oldest daughter the most hated - and only - reporter in the Commonwealth. A muckraker, he'd probably call her. She hears the word in his deep Southie accent and it brings a smile to her face. He'd been a big man, burly where their mom was slight, with a thick beard that Piper used to love to grab and form into points and spikes.

Piper runs a hand through her hair again, takes another sip of her drink. Dad always made sure there was a gift for each girl at the holidays, always took care to bring them a special candy or treat. Piper's favorite was bubblegum. The year he'd found Nat an unopened, pristine box of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes is one of her favorite memories; the image of Nat with her cheeks stuffed with cake brings a laugh to Piper even now, years later. She throws her bag a glance, thinking of the item stored carefully inside, and wonders again where her sister is.

As if on cue, the door slams open, snow swirling in on a breeze only to melt in moments at contact with the warmer air. Nat stomps in, shaking her arms to knock the snow off, a broad grin on her face. The sight of it makes Piper smile back - it's so rare to see her little sister happy, she almost can't stand the way it makes her chest constrict.

I wonder if this was how Mom and Dad felt about us, she thinks. Then she descends on her sister, a dervish of arms pulling off the girl's winter clothes and scolding.

"Where have you been? I was worried sick!" She bats some snow off the top of Nat's hat, pulls it off her sister's head and hangs it on the coatrack next to her own. One of her feet darts out to push the door shut, and Nat turns, her cheeks pink with cold or annoyance.

"I had things to do," Nat says defensively, every inch of her a Wright woman, all irritation and frizzy dark hair.

"What kind of things? You're twelve," Piper retorts, taking her sister's jacket and hanging it.

"Well," Nat begins smugly, "Pete Pembroke kissed me under the stands."

Piper freezes in place as if she stepped on a cryo mine. A thin strand of cold runs from her ears into her brain and down her body, ricocheting through her arms and then down her legs into her toes, which seem to lose all sensation.

"What?" Her voice is a croak. She doesn't wait for an answer but plops down on the couch and picks up her drink. She tips it up, drinking the whole thing in one gulp and stares, paralyzed, at her sister, at the self-satisfied and familiar expression on the girl's face.

"You heard me." Nat walks over to the bar, pulls out a Nuka-Cola, and cracks it. She takes a long drink and smirks at her big sister.

"I did but I'm not - I don't -" Piper stops, swallows. Her teeth are thick with the sweetness of soda and now she suddenly thinks she's going to throw up.

Nat walks over to the other side of the couch and sits down, popping her feet up on the coffee table just as Piper had done with hers only moments before. Piper feels a strange, contradictory and maternal urge to tell her sister to get her feet off the table and squashes it. Best to focus on the real news here, and that's Pete Pembroke. Apparently.

"So, wait -" She gets up, crosses to the bar and pours herself another drink. Piper takes a sip of it, then another one and then, when things are warm and soft around the edges, she starts again. "How long has this...thing with you and Pete been going on?"

"Well," Nat shrugs, opening a carton of potato chips and popping one in her mouth. "You know how boys are. It's hard to say."

"No, I don't 'know how boys are,'" Piper replies, tightening her grip on her glass and taking another sip her drink.

This catches Nat's attention, at last. "You don't?" Her eyes go wide as she suddenly understands. "Oh. Oh. Um. Well, then…"

Piper closes her eyes, thinks of the teddy bear in her bag, the threadbare red ribbon wrapped around its neck. Is her sister suddenly too old for it? She opens her eyes again and walks back over to the couch, settling herself back next to Nat, who looks surprised and uncomfortable.

"So...do you like him?"

This earns a small smile from Nat. "I think so, yeah."

Pete Pembroke. Shit. What would Mom and Dad think about this?

That's silly; she knows what they'd think. Dad would beat the shit out of him and Mom - well, Mom was a romantic. She'd want the gory details. Ugh.

"I guess that's a good thing, then," Piper tries a smile that feels more like a grimace. "I'm happy if you're happy."

"I think I am," Nat says, her smile strengthening.

Piper turns and pulls the bear out of her bag, holding it behind her back to hide it from her sister's view. Brown, still very soft, with none of its fur singed; it's practically a miracle that she found one in such good condition. Of course it happened on the day her sister -

No, Piper, take a deep breath, she cautions herself.

"This is for you," she says, thrusting the bear at her sister suddenly. "Merry Christmas, Nat."

Her sister's eyes grow wide for a moment. It's been years since they've been able to give gifts, real gifts, something special and meaningful. The look on Nat's face, the tears crowding the corners of her eyes, make it clear that this was unexpected and her sister -

"Dammit, Piper!"

"Watch your mouth," Piper snipes back.

"It's just -" Nat turns away from her and opens her own bag, and a moment later something is shoved unceremoniously into her own hands. Another bear, its fur only slightly more worn than the one Piper could procure, one button eye loose, with soft brown fur. There's a small green plaid scarf wound around its neck.

It hits them both at the same time, and both girls collapse into giggles.