Snow didn't really settle this close to the sea, but on the clifftop where the Radcliffes had made their home, a light dusting remained to welcome Christmas morning. After the noise and wildness of the party on the Grove the night before, it had been a relief to get home and settle in to sleep in their own beds, even if a certain amount of rearranging had taken place since Peter's arrival in their little family. For whatever reason, Peter was already deeply attached to baby Cora, almost unable to sleep without her nearby, and as a result, her crib had been moved into his room for the time being. It meant that collecting Cora when she woke up crying in the night had to be done quickly and quietly, but James and Ashlyn were getting used to that, too. They were hoping for just a normal morning this Christmas, since Peter wasn't quite as educated about Santa as the other children in the family, but perhaps that was a vain hope, too. After all, he'd spent much of the evening before with Lyneth and their cousins filling him in on all the magic surrounding Christmas itself.
Though Peter was no ordinary boy, like other boys his age, he'd woken early Christmas morning, just before sunrise, full of excitement and anticipation at the magic that had taken place while he'd been sleeping. Quietly, he'd tip-toed to the window, the sun just starting to rise, a dusting of snow sparkling in the first light of morning. He frowned over at Cora, who was still fast asleep, wishing she'd wake up so that he could share all of this with her, but he knew she was still too new to really appreciate it yet. The new ones were always that way, but it wouldn't be long before she was toddling around and following her big brother everywhere. The thought of that made him smile.
"It's Christmas, Cora," he whispered. "Lyneth said Christmas is magic."
"Lyneth said there will be presents from Father Christmas and Santa ....and from Mama and Papa," he told her further, though she was still sleeping. "Do you think there will be presents for me?" he mused aloud, a small, thoughtful frown on his face. He couldn't imagine it really, despite Lyneth's assurances. What kind of presents would there be? It wasn't likely they were going to give him a new dagger. And despite all the friends he'd made in his new home, no one would ever replace Tink.
Perhaps one might, when her flower grew big enough to let her out and meet Peter herself. But for now, Peter had only James and Ash, and his little sister, to guide his steps at home. The sound of a warm yawn from the landing outside his door made itself known, shuffling footsteps betraying a yawning, stretching Ash on her way to the stairs as she pulled a festive sweater on over her head.
Peter smiled as he glanced over to see his new mother was already up, yawning and stretching and shuffling her way to the stairs. He padded on bare feet toward the door with nimble steps, tentatively looking up at Ash and hoping she wouldn't be angry at him for being up so early. "Mama" Did Father Christmas come last night?"
Still stifling a yawn, Ash turned at the sound of that young voice behind her, her eyes brightening above a warm smile for her new son. "Why don't we go and find out?" she suggested, her gaze sparkling impishly as she stroked her fingers through his hair. "Happy Christmas, Peter."
"But where's Papa?" he asked, looking around for James, who had once been his friend and then his enemy and now his adoptive father. He slid a small hand into Ashlyn's, happy to follow her wherever she might lead, but wondering if they shouldn't wait for his father and sister.
"He's still in bed, sweetheart," she told him, leaning down to whisper loud enough that James could probably hear her. "He drank too much of Grampa's stinky bottle last night and is going to be grumpy bear until after breakfast."
"I'm here," replied a bleary-eyed James, who had seemingly just crawled out of bed, his dark hair mussed, his face a little too pale, his pajamas rumpled.
"Papa!" Peter exclaimed as his new father came into view. "It's Christmas!"
"A little less noise there," James murmured, waving a hand at Peter to keep his voice down, as it currently felt like a train was rumbling through his head.
Ash laughed softly. "Go and get Cora," she suggested to James. "I'll put the coffee on. And we'll see about breakfast, won't we, Peter?" She flashed their son an encouraging smile, winking down at him. After all, she knew what changes the living room had undergone last night, but Peter had missed all of it.
"You want me to wake Cora?" James asked, as if he hadn't heard her right. They were used to getting up early most days, but not quite this early. "Can't I get a cup of coffee first?"
Ash laughed again, rolling her eyes. "Fine, coffee first," she allowed. "But we're not opening presents until after breakfast."
"We're not opening presents until my head stops aching," James grumbled, as he started down the stairs. He was deeply regretting all the drinking he'd done the night before, though he'd been having fun at the time.
"Does Papa always get grumpy when he drinks?" Peter asked, looking up at Ashlyn again.
"Only when Humphrey opens his special cupboard," she promised the boy fondly. "And that only happens once a year. You should have seen us last year ....we were both like that. I remembered not to do it this year."
"But ....if it makes you feel sick, why do you do it?" Peter asked with a child's naive curiosity. He'd seen the pirates drink plenty and they always made such fools of themselves when they did. He had forbidden the Boys from attacking when the pirates were drunk, as it wasn't a fair fight.
"It's a little difficult to explain," Ash admitted as they followed James down the stairs. "You know how, when you have sugary things, it makes you feel good and happy' But when you have too much, it makes you feel sick" It's a little bit like that."
"Oh," he said, frowning thoughtfully. "You mean, like the time I ate all the cookies in the cookie jar and then I throwed up?" he asked, remembering it well. The cookies had tasted good going down, but not so good coming back up.
"Yes, just like that," Ash nodded in agreement. "After a while, you forget about the part that made you feel sick, which is why people do it again. But it doesn't happen very often, Peter." As they reached the bottom of the stairs, she glanced quickly to the living room door. A soft sparkle of colored light played through it, which was a relief. James must have remembered to hit the switch on his way through to the kitchen.
As soon as they rounded the corner, Peter audibly gasped at the sight of the Christmas tree, all lit up and shining, and the pile of presents beneath it. He came to a halt, frozen in place, his mouth hanging open and eyes as wide as saucers. Meanwhile, a pot of coffee was brewing in the kitchen.
Ash paused with him, smiling delightedly at his reaction to the tree and presents. She was pretty impressed with them herself, seeing as she'd been half-cut while decorating the tree last night. "Happy Christmas, Peter," she told him again, letting him drink in the display in front of him. "Looks like Santa came after all."
"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," the boy whispered, almost afraid to speak any louder, hence he break the spell. After all, Lyneth had said it was magic. It certainly hadn't been there when he'd gone to bed the night before.
"It's all real, sweetheart," she promised him, squeezing his hand. "It'll still be here when we finish breakfast. Because I have to feed my boys before our girl wakes up and screams the house down because she's hungry!"
And suddenly, Peter was flinging himself at her and wrapping his arms around her waist, sobbing with joy, his face buried in her nightgown - and he hadn't even opened one present yet.
This was something Ash hadn't predicted. Tears didn't have a place in her vision of a happy Christmas morning, so suddenly having a sobbing little boy wrapped around her waist was a bit of a shock. Her arms wrapped around him as she glanced around, hoping for rescue before remembering that she was supposed to deal with this. "Sweetie, what?s wrong?"
Though Peter was no ordinary boy, like other boys his age, he'd woken early Christmas morning, just before sunrise, full of excitement and anticipation at the magic that had taken place while he'd been sleeping. Quietly, he'd tip-toed to the window, the sun just starting to rise, a dusting of snow sparkling in the first light of morning. He frowned over at Cora, who was still fast asleep, wishing she'd wake up so that he could share all of this with her, but he knew she was still too new to really appreciate it yet. The new ones were always that way, but it wouldn't be long before she was toddling around and following her big brother everywhere. The thought of that made him smile.
"It's Christmas, Cora," he whispered. "Lyneth said Christmas is magic."
"Lyneth said there will be presents from Father Christmas and Santa ....and from Mama and Papa," he told her further, though she was still sleeping. "Do you think there will be presents for me?" he mused aloud, a small, thoughtful frown on his face. He couldn't imagine it really, despite Lyneth's assurances. What kind of presents would there be? It wasn't likely they were going to give him a new dagger. And despite all the friends he'd made in his new home, no one would ever replace Tink.
Perhaps one might, when her flower grew big enough to let her out and meet Peter herself. But for now, Peter had only James and Ash, and his little sister, to guide his steps at home. The sound of a warm yawn from the landing outside his door made itself known, shuffling footsteps betraying a yawning, stretching Ash on her way to the stairs as she pulled a festive sweater on over her head.
Peter smiled as he glanced over to see his new mother was already up, yawning and stretching and shuffling her way to the stairs. He padded on bare feet toward the door with nimble steps, tentatively looking up at Ash and hoping she wouldn't be angry at him for being up so early. "Mama" Did Father Christmas come last night?"
Still stifling a yawn, Ash turned at the sound of that young voice behind her, her eyes brightening above a warm smile for her new son. "Why don't we go and find out?" she suggested, her gaze sparkling impishly as she stroked her fingers through his hair. "Happy Christmas, Peter."
"But where's Papa?" he asked, looking around for James, who had once been his friend and then his enemy and now his adoptive father. He slid a small hand into Ashlyn's, happy to follow her wherever she might lead, but wondering if they shouldn't wait for his father and sister.
"He's still in bed, sweetheart," she told him, leaning down to whisper loud enough that James could probably hear her. "He drank too much of Grampa's stinky bottle last night and is going to be grumpy bear until after breakfast."
"I'm here," replied a bleary-eyed James, who had seemingly just crawled out of bed, his dark hair mussed, his face a little too pale, his pajamas rumpled.
"Papa!" Peter exclaimed as his new father came into view. "It's Christmas!"
"A little less noise there," James murmured, waving a hand at Peter to keep his voice down, as it currently felt like a train was rumbling through his head.
Ash laughed softly. "Go and get Cora," she suggested to James. "I'll put the coffee on. And we'll see about breakfast, won't we, Peter?" She flashed their son an encouraging smile, winking down at him. After all, she knew what changes the living room had undergone last night, but Peter had missed all of it.
"You want me to wake Cora?" James asked, as if he hadn't heard her right. They were used to getting up early most days, but not quite this early. "Can't I get a cup of coffee first?"
Ash laughed again, rolling her eyes. "Fine, coffee first," she allowed. "But we're not opening presents until after breakfast."
"We're not opening presents until my head stops aching," James grumbled, as he started down the stairs. He was deeply regretting all the drinking he'd done the night before, though he'd been having fun at the time.
"Does Papa always get grumpy when he drinks?" Peter asked, looking up at Ashlyn again.
"Only when Humphrey opens his special cupboard," she promised the boy fondly. "And that only happens once a year. You should have seen us last year ....we were both like that. I remembered not to do it this year."
"But ....if it makes you feel sick, why do you do it?" Peter asked with a child's naive curiosity. He'd seen the pirates drink plenty and they always made such fools of themselves when they did. He had forbidden the Boys from attacking when the pirates were drunk, as it wasn't a fair fight.
"It's a little difficult to explain," Ash admitted as they followed James down the stairs. "You know how, when you have sugary things, it makes you feel good and happy' But when you have too much, it makes you feel sick" It's a little bit like that."
"Oh," he said, frowning thoughtfully. "You mean, like the time I ate all the cookies in the cookie jar and then I throwed up?" he asked, remembering it well. The cookies had tasted good going down, but not so good coming back up.
"Yes, just like that," Ash nodded in agreement. "After a while, you forget about the part that made you feel sick, which is why people do it again. But it doesn't happen very often, Peter." As they reached the bottom of the stairs, she glanced quickly to the living room door. A soft sparkle of colored light played through it, which was a relief. James must have remembered to hit the switch on his way through to the kitchen.
As soon as they rounded the corner, Peter audibly gasped at the sight of the Christmas tree, all lit up and shining, and the pile of presents beneath it. He came to a halt, frozen in place, his mouth hanging open and eyes as wide as saucers. Meanwhile, a pot of coffee was brewing in the kitchen.
Ash paused with him, smiling delightedly at his reaction to the tree and presents. She was pretty impressed with them herself, seeing as she'd been half-cut while decorating the tree last night. "Happy Christmas, Peter," she told him again, letting him drink in the display in front of him. "Looks like Santa came after all."
"It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," the boy whispered, almost afraid to speak any louder, hence he break the spell. After all, Lyneth had said it was magic. It certainly hadn't been there when he'd gone to bed the night before.
"It's all real, sweetheart," she promised him, squeezing his hand. "It'll still be here when we finish breakfast. Because I have to feed my boys before our girl wakes up and screams the house down because she's hungry!"
And suddenly, Peter was flinging himself at her and wrapping his arms around her waist, sobbing with joy, his face buried in her nightgown - and he hadn't even opened one present yet.
This was something Ash hadn't predicted. Tears didn't have a place in her vision of a happy Christmas morning, so suddenly having a sobbing little boy wrapped around her waist was a bit of a shock. Her arms wrapped around him as she glanced around, hoping for rescue before remembering that she was supposed to deal with this. "Sweetie, what?s wrong?"