Chapter 20 - Sometimes life is a homecoming.
December 23, 2005

Sard. Is she crying? Gareth ducked his head to try and see, but Deirdre had turned away from him. He'd meant the gentle jibe to be encouraging. She'd occasionally made comments about him being a pureblood, that his education was better than hers, or that he was spoiled. Yes, he'd had a stronger family, been surrounded by people who loved him and took care of him. And she'd raised herself, trying to take care of a mom who'd been strung out on drugs and trailing home any number of men behind her. But the werewolf reservation hadn't been some bastion of wealth and plenty. They all worked hard maintaining the facility and growing a good bit of their own food with a limited number of wands. There'd been several years where drought or storms had decimated their crops and they'd experienced weeks of sparse, rationed meals waiting for help to arrive from MCUSA. He'd just wanted her to see that his childhood hadn't been so extremely different than hers. He let out a slow breath, wishing she'd turn towards him instead of away from him.

The reservation was certainly putting its best foot forward. It looked like something out of a Christmas carol, fresh snow coating the ground and evergreens trimmed with red ribbons adorning doorways and porches. He drew in a deep breath, feeling the sharp, cold air ease down into his lungs. Jeez, how long had it been since he'd been here for Christmas? At least three or four years. A couple where he'd been too busy and a couple where he'd been too ashamed. "We, uh, we didn't usually do presents for Christmas," he said, hoping if he just kept talking she'd relax and come back from wherever she'd pulled away to. "I think it was part of MCUSA's bid to sort of keep us in our place. Grams said when they tried to order extra things to be delivered for the holiday there were somehow always delays or shortages. If it wasn't deemed a necessity it didn't come. So after a while they gave up asking. They'd request a few extra things here and there throughout the year and stockpile it, so we could at least have a feast, some extra desserts and things. Then people would save all the gifts to give on birthdays."

He reached for her hand, and was relieved when she didn't pull away. He so desperately wanted things to go well right now, to not be the cause of anymore heartache or complications.

"It looks like something from a Christmas card," Deirdre said softly.

"We built gingerbread houses," he went on, hoping it didn't sound like he was babbling. "And had snowball fights, all out wars really. We'd transform and race through all the snow drifts. Xander said it was like a Norman Rockwell painting. We didn't know who that was, so Oscar ordered a book about him the next time he requested supplies. I was ten or eleven." The memory of sitting down with Oscar and slowly flipping through the pages of artwork made him catch his breath. He stopped talking, trying to shove down all those emotions. It was too much to try and face in the moment. He recognized a little knot of anxiety forming the closer they got to the dining hall where the rest of his family waited, the family he'd been avoiding.

"Gareth!"

Isabel's shout drew his attention. She flew out of the dining hall, blonde hair tied up in a messy knot on top of her head that bounced and wobbled with each step. She was dusted with glitter and a piece of greenery stuck to her shoulder, which obligingly left her and stuck to him as she flung her arms around him in a savage hug. "Oh it's been ages! You're so thin! Isn't this weather delicious! So crisp and cold and so much thick snow! Hi Dee!" She let go and gave Deirdre an equally fierce hug, then tucked her arm in the crook of Gareth's elbow, pulling him along. "You guys are the last to arrive. George and I came last night. I've just about finished the decorating. The rest got here this morning. Cat and Jane and are cooking up a storm."

He let himself be caught in her wake, bustled up the steps and into the large, warm room. A huge tree had been cut and set up in a corner near the fireplace. Garlands of evergreen boughs and fairy lights were strung and looped from the ceiling. Gareth peered up and then blinked in surprise. It looked like the lights might be actual fairies, though how Isabel had convinced them to move in for the holiday was a mystery. The room was a cacophony of greetings and laughter from the two dozen people gathered. The older boys didn't waste any time escaping the room to run and shout back in the snowy outdoors. Gareth found himself passed from person to person. Jane hugged him swiftly, patting his cheek and leaving a dusting of flour on his shirt before she disappeared back into the kitchen. Her husband, Hawthorne, shook his hand and clapped him on he shoulder. "Fac fortia et patere," he pronounced, and then stared at Gareth expectantly.

Gareth hesitated, his mind a complete blank. Of course the man who had been their teacher would throw in a Latin quiz just for the fun of it.

Hawthorne smiled through his bushy gray beard, wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes. "Do brave deeds and endure," he said solemnly, and then patted Gareth's shoulder again. "I'm very proud of you."

Taken aback by the pronouncement, Gareth was passed on to Ellie and Artemis, each hugging him as tightly as Isabel had, Ellie muttering something in Irish that was probably not as complementary, before smiling and saying, "We miss you. Now stop acting the eejit and come home once in a while!"

Her husband Keiran, for all intents and purposes their pack's Alpha, stared down at him, his dark eyes warm and kind. "What she said," he chuckled, before wrapping Gareth in a bear hug.

Nana, the reservation's oldest resident enveloped him in an embrace that smelled of cloves and peppermint, evidence of a recent baking spree. The plump grandmotherly figure, in a red dress and white apron, cloud of curly white hair piled up in a bun with a sprig of holly, delighted in trying to convince the younger children that she was really Mrs. Claus, taking time off from the busy holiday workshop to help them bake cookies and enjoy the season. He remembered being very skeptical as a child, but also intrigued, and he and Joshua had spent several nights trying to stay up late and spy on her to see when she might leave to go back to the North Pole. Of course when they were about twelve she finally told them her real adventures of working as an Auror for MCUSA and fighting Grindelwald, which they found much more impressive.

Xavier, Catherine's quiet and thoughtful husband, his arms full of their squirming youngest son Caleb, who was two, simply smiled and nodded. Catherine gripped Gareth's arms and studied his face for a moment, her eyes worried. "I'd shove you into a snowbank if I thought it would knock some sense into that hard head of yours," she said softy. "Just because you think you have to take care of the rest of us doesn't mean you don't take care of yourself." Then she smoothed his hair back and hugged him, holding on longer than the others. "Te amos, mi querido."

He let himself feel the sting of that, the words their adopted mother, Rosa, had spoken over them every night before bedtime. We love you, my darling. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She released him and smiled. "Daisy's helping the kids string popcorn and cranberries over by the fireplace." She turned him by his shoulders and nudged him forward. Like something out of a sappy, sentimental movie, the crowd of people mysteriously all shifted to give him a clear line of sight to his sister, sitting in a rocking chair near the fireplace at the far end of the room. Her head was bent low to listen to something Catherine's older son, Nathaniel, was telling her, her curly dark hair loose and falling over her shoulder, a gentle smile on her face. Then Daisy looked up and caught his gaze, her smile widening. She set aside the string of decorations in her lap and slowly lifted her heavily pregnant body from the chair.

Gareth moved towards her, relieved at her smile even though the anxious churning in his stomach was still there. She held him for a long, silent moment, then much as Catherine had, smoothed his hair back and studied him. "Thank you," she said gently. "We don't tell you enough, but we do know that you are carrying a responsibility the rest of us don't have to bear. We do know that."

"I—" The words caught in his throat and he felt hot tears gather. "Daisy, I'm so sorry," he choked out. "About the baby, about everything—"

She cupped his face in her hands and just stood there silently until he finally looked at her, her face slightly blurry through his tears. "It was not your fault that our son died," she said scrunching up her freckled nose as if the idea was completely confusing to her. She placed a hand over his heart. "You have been set free, and now no matter what happens, you need to remember that way down deep that freedom and peace will always be there." She patted his chest as she said it.

"Is Josh here?" he asked hoarsely.

She smiled. "He's around here somewhere, but it might take him a bit to talk." She tilted her head slightly as if she were looking straight into his soul. And who knows, maybe she was? "Joshua needs to understand why," she said after a moment, giving a little nod as if that explained everything.

Gareth shook his head, feeling a sense of desperation. "But I don't understand why," he muttered. "I didn't want to become an addict. I made some stupid choices and didn't see who she really was, and—"

But Daisy was shaking her head, the scrunched up look of confusion back on her face. "No, before the stupid choices, silly," she said. "He just needs you to explain why."

And Gareth didn't say anything more. Sometimes Daisy was like that, her window into the supernatural layer of the world made things obvious to her that confounded other people. And she didn't usually spell things out, she just let them unfold. So he nodded, and feeling a little ridiculous, sent a quick wish to the golden man that whenever Josh was willing to talk to him, he'd know what to say.

"Now, let me say hello to Deirdre and then you can all drop your things in your rooms. I think Izzy has you sharing a house with Jane's son, Joel, and Deirdre is with Gemma—"

She was cut off by a scratchy old voice behind them. "Boy, come here and give me a hug. Have you been off galavanting all over the world so long you've forgotten how to respect your elders?"

Gareth turned around to face Grams, the wizened matriarch of the reservation, the pack's first Seer. Lois Evans had been living here since the mid 1950s, having been turned by a werewolf that interrupted a group of Ku Klux Klan members that had her in their sights. She survived. None of them did. The Creator's Justice, she would proclaim regally when telling the story, then shake her head with a wry look. He knew y'all needed me to straighten things out up here. The tiny woman looked up at him, a grin stretching her wrinkled brown face. She looked so much more worn than the last time he was here, and Gareth bent to hug her gingerly.

But Grams was having none of that. She gripped him tight, thumping him on the back. "You know, Carl Jung said shame is a soul-eatin' emotion. Had some interesting ideas, that man. Not right about everything, but in this case he labeled it pretty good. Now you best leave that shame right outside our boundary lines, you got that?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, swallowing back more tears.

"Good," she said with a final thump. "Now where's this pretty gal that your sisters have been talking about, and why hasn't she been to visit yet?"

Daisy giggled. "Grams you already know why."

But Grams waved away the comment. "Daisy, you got to keep people on their toes. If they think you know everything then they won't try to work it out for themselves. Now I need to get me a cup of coffee and then we can all sit down and have a nice chat. Jane!" she shouted in her gravelly, aged voice. "That coffee ready yet?"

"Coming up!" Jane called back from the pass through window of the kitchen. And Gareth found himself passing around cups of tea and coffee and watching a little trepidatiously as Grams hauled Deirdre to a table and began talking animatedly. He didn't know whether to be worried that the old woman was airing his secret sins or his childhood shenanigans.

Daisy returned to her rocking chair, and Nana joined her, hauling Catherine's older son, who was five, into her lap and letting him help hold her wand as she added sparkling candy canes to the tree.

"Nothing like family, eh?" George Weasley said, taking a cup of tea from his tray. "All right, mate?"

"Hey, George," Gareth said, and set the tray down to shake his hand.

George sipped the tea, gazing around at the boisterous crowd. "Reminds me of Sirius' house during the war, when you lot first came to England."

Gareth huffed a laugh, grateful for the distraction. "Feels like a million years ago."

"It was," George nodded. "Oh to be young and naive again. Only I didn't think I was naive." His eyes grew thoughtful, and Gareth followed his gaze to where Isabel was surveying the room, probably trying to decide how over the top she could be with the glitter before people started complaining.

"Isabel said she'd gotten…a little out of hand," Gareth said cautiously. "Are you two doing ok?"

George sighed and took another swig of his tea. "Getting there," he finally said. "Her being on the road so much was rough." He hesitated and then glanced at Gareth, offering a rueful smile. "She said you'd been having a hard time too, so I'll tell you…she almost had an affair, some promoter from California. Almost. She didn't. But it's been hell trying to work through all that."

"I'm…so sorry," Gareth stammered. "But…" he clutched on to the last sentence like it was a lifeline. "You're trying to work through it? You think…you think she's still worth it, even though she…betrayed you?" His voice had fallen to a hushed whisper as the words rushed out. He couldn't come right out and say what he meant, couldn't ask if George thought his choices could be equally forgiven. That Joshua would forgive him and be willing to work through things. That Deirdre would.

"I think she's worth it," George said quietly. "But I had to think I was worth it too, that what we had together was worth going through the hard work and hard conversations. I joined her tour for the last six months, left Fred to manage everything back home. I had to be willing to show her I was as invested in her as I was in my own business. And she's going to stop touring after the New Year's Eve concert in New York City, just do studio work."

"I see." Gareth didn't know what else to say. It was mind boggling that Isabel would willingly give up her dream. But equally shocking that George would up and leave his brother to manage their business for six months. He sank into a chair and took a cup of coffee from the tray. He'd thought about moving for Deirdre, working out of the London office and just going to Lima for necessary meetings or factory inspections. But he hadn't thought about walking away. Was that what it was going to take? He didn't care one bit about what other people thought, but he hated the idea that she would be continually subjected to crude comments and innuendo because she was with him. She may not have understood the language today, but she wasn't stupid. Or could he simply leave and hire someone else to do his job? Just step away as the captain of industry and hope the ship continued on its course?

"Look, sorry mate," George said, taking the chair beside him. "I didn't mean to bring you down. We set this whole thing up for you, to give you a proper Christmas with your family again. And Izzy will murder me if she thinks I cocked it up by talking about us."

"Oh it isn't that," Gareth said, turning the mug round and round in his hands. "I am sorry you've had to go through all that, and I'm glad you're working it out. I guess I just…I was wondering if I could do that… should do that. Walk away."

"Chuck in the job, you mean?" George asked, his eyebrows rising so high the disappeared under his red hair. "You love that job, at least, everyone thinks you love it. Do you?"

"I do," he said smiling ruefully. "I like the people at the factories, I like the administrative staff, I like brainstorming innovative ideas with people and thinking through how to execute them. I like the drive and the pulse of how…how interconnected things are — the mining, the manufacturing, the distribution."

George looked thoughtful. "The thing with me and Iz, is that we're not either one giving up what we love, not completely. I took a break, but I'm with Fred to the bitter end. And Izzy's going to take a break from touring, but she's not giving up music. So maybe you're thinking a little too 'all or nothing' about this. You're on holiday right now, so there's no call to make any sort of decision. Give it some time; think on it."

The front door banged open, and Gareth looked up to meet the eyes of his brother, following a levitating pile of wood into the room. Joshua looked away from him and headed for the fireplace. "This is the last of the cut logs," he mumbled to no one in particular, then neatly deposited the stack into the woodbox. Gareth kept his eyes on him as he turned back, but Joshua studiously ignored him and headed back towards the door.