Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Thete, come on!”

Her mother’s voice calls her, but Thete lingers by the window, small hand resting against the pane. She watches the children down below with wonder, with longing.

“Thete!”

Tecteun’s long strides echo down the corridor, and then her hand is on Thete’s shoulder.

“What are you looking at?” She asks impatiently.

“They’re playing,” Thete says, staring down at the children in the courtyard below, cheering and laughing as they throw snowballs at each other. Children of the staff who work in the palace. Thete thinks she might spot Ryan, Grace’s grandson. She has seen the children around, but she has never spoken to them. She looks up at her mother, blinking. “Can I play with them?”

“No, Thete,” Tecteun replies, voice reprimanding. “You know you can’t.”

Thete bites her lip, swallowing down her disappointment. She already knew her mother would say that, anyway. “Yes, mother.”

“Now, come on. We have dinner to attend.” Tecteun’s hand is on her shoulder as she guides Thete away from the window, and she turns, sighing. Thete does not like dinner. Not big, fancy dinner, anyway, where the guests are all old and boring and all they talk about is politics. Where there are no other children for Thete to talk to, and Thete will be expected to sit straight and eat all her vegetables and not fidget the entire time.

She can already feel herself becoming antsy at the thought, and she thinks of the children playing outside with deepening disappointment. She consigns it, as she always does, for she must, to a metaphorical fire, letting it burn to embers. There is no point in feeling disappointed as she knows she cannot join them. That is not possible.

“Thete,” her mother whispers warningly to her half an hour later as Thete tries and fails to stop herself from fidgeting in her seat. The soup in front of her is full of lumpy, mushy pieces of vegetables and the texture is making Thete’s skin crawl.

She glances to her mother, and then around the table at the councillors and representatives from the cities further away. Yuletide is not simply for families for Thete and Tecteun, as it is for Gallifrey’s citizens. Yuletide is for hosting those honoured by Gallifrey, for displaying their respect and their esteem for their guests through an exclusive invitation to dine with the First Family of Gallifrey.

Politics always comes first at Yuletide, and the table is lined with respected leaders, all looking down at Thete past the end of their noses.

“Sorry,” she replies, forcing herself to be still, to eat a little more of the unpleasant soup.

Across the table from Thete, an esteemed guest laughs. He has a face like a weasel and eyes that glint. “These dinners aren’t much fun for children, are they? Too much boring talk about too many boring subjects!”

“On the contrary, Mayor Saxon,” Tecteun replies before Thete can. Her hand reaches out for Thete, resting on her shoulder. “Thete is very aware of the importance bestowed on her as part of the First Family, aren’t you, Thete?”

“Yes, mother,” Thete replies, and Tecteun hums, pleased, her hand moving to Thete’s hair, stroking through soft strands. Thete fights not to show her discomfort. Her mother’s hands are not as gentle as Grace’s. Still, she craves the affection.

Mayor Saxon watches them, taking a sip of his glass of wine. He speaks to Tecteun. “You have her well trained, My Lord.”

Tecteun smiles, pleased. Thete is not sure what ‘well trained’ means. “Indeed. She is my most precious jewel.”

Thete preens, not minding when her mother accidentally tugs a little too hard on her hair and it pulls at her scalp, glowing (metaphorically) from the praise. She can feel the eyes of the guests on her, and her mother’s praise makes her want to try harder, to be better. She sits further upright, trying to look as confident and mature as she possibly can at eight years old.

She swallows back her displeasure at the texture of the soup and endures through a further four courses, keeping her back straight and trying her best to listen to the conversations had around the table. In truth, they are boring and confusing, and Thete knows barely anything of what they speak about, but she keeps going, keeps trying to make her mother proud.

Tecteun must be pleased by her decorum for, when the meal finally ends, and the guests have retired to their rooms until a later drink meeting which Thete is fortunately not invited to, she beckons Thete to her with a long finger.

“You did well, today, Thete, well done,” Tecteun praises, and Thete beams from ear to ear.

“Thank you, mother.”

“Now that dinner is over, I thought you might like to have your present, yes?” Tecteun asks her. Thete smiles wider.

“Yes, please.”

Thete’s mind whirs, wondering what her mother might have gotten her for Yuletide, as Tecteun leads her by the hand back towards her rooms. When they reach them, Tecteun makes Thete sit on her sofa whilst her mother pads over to her desk, collecting whatever it is she has gotten her.

“Close your eyes,” Tecteun orders, and Thete does as bidden, fingers fidgeting together in her lap excitedly. She hears her mother walking over to her, the soft swish of the fabric of her robes, and then something heavy is being put into Thete’s hands. “You may open them now.”

Thete does, blinking down at the object in her hands. It is a wooden box with two small clasps on the front of its casing. Thete looks to her mother, and Tecteun nods.

“You may open it.”

Thete does, putting the box down in her lap and flicking open the clasps. The lid opens with a small creak, and Thete holds her breath in anticipation as she sees a-

“A sword,” she says. “A small sword.”

“No, Thete, it is a dagger,” Tecteun replies, and she sits down on the sofa next to Thete, taking the small sword- dagger- out of its case and holding it in her palm. “I thought it was about time you began to learn of other weapons, so why not gift you with one for Yuletide? It has been made just for you, to suit you down to the ground.”

“Yes, mother,” Thete says, watching Tecteun weigh the blade in her hand.

Secretly, Thete cannot help but feel a little disappointed. Weapons are a necessary thing in her life, but do not appeal to either Thete’s hearts or mind. She would much have preferred a book.

That feeling, however, is soon overtaken by a wave of shame. She should know better. This is what her mother wants her to have, and she would of course have Thete’s best interests at heart. This is her gift to her, and yet Thete is disappointed.

She breathes past the shameful curling sensation in her gut, offering her mother a smile. “Thank you, mother.”

“Here, darling, you take it,” Tecteun says, handing Thete the dagger. Thete takes it, having to hold it in two hands, it is rather heavy. There are jewels encrusted into the handle, fine carvings of flowers and vines. It is beautiful, but it is also sharp, and Thete keeps the blade far away from herself, lest she get hurt.

Tecteun tuts at her tentativeness, reaching forward and moving Thete’s hands so that they are holding the weapon a little more comfortably. “There’s no need to be so apprehensive, Thete, come on, you’ll like it.”

“Sorry,” Thete apologises, trying to get used to the weight in her hands. She fumbles with the dagger, however, and it falls from her hands, clattering down into the box on her lap. Thete instinctively lets out a small cry.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Thete! Be careful!” Tecteun berates her, picking the dagger up again. “It won’t bite you, not if you wield it properly! You’re only at risk of getting hurt if you fear it! You cannot fear it!”

“Yes, mother. Sorry,” Thete says, words rushed, stressed. Her hearts are pounding furiously. There is a hot, stinging sensation in her eyes, and she blinks it away. Mother does not like it when she cries.

“Now, let’s try again. You hold it like this, see…”

Thete allows her mother to guide her hands into holding the dagger properly, keeping her grip so tight it aches after a while, but Tecteun seems pleased.

“Here, look, see, you can manoeuvre it like this,” she moves Thete’s dagger-wielding hands through the air. “Or like this… You will be taught all these skills properly very soon, but in the meantime, I thought this would serve as an excellent gift and a hint of what’s to come!”

“Yes, mother, thank you,” Thete replies, but cannot deny how relieved she is when Tecteun holds out the box to her and she can carefully place the dagger back in its cushioned home.

Tecteun lets out a pleased hum as Thete closes the clasps on the box, hand reaching out to stroke her hair once more. Thete leans into the touch, looking up at her mother with wide eyes, seeking out the affection. “Yes, you will make a very good solider. I know it.”

“Mother…” Thete says, the word leaving her mouth unbidden, the affection her mother is giving her compelling her to speak. She wants more, she wants… she wants… “Can you read me a story?”

“Hmm?” Tecteun frowns, continuing to stroke at Thete’s hair.

“A story,” Thete explains, words a little more tentative now. She wets her lips with her tongue. “A story for Yuletide? I like the one about the traveller who has to find the flower for her princess.”

“Oh, Thete, I’m afraid I don’t have time for such things,” Tecteun tells her, and despite feeling like she should have known that reply was coming, Thete still feels disappointment sink to the bottom of her heart like a stone. “Yuletide’s very busy for me, remember? I’m the President, I have much more important things to do.”

“Yes, mother…” Thete replies in a small whisper, curling her fingers around the box in her lap.

“But how about tomorrow, nice and early before I have any papers to attend to, we go out onto the training field and have some fun sparring, hmm?” Tecteun suggests in the most enthusiastic tone she can muster.

Thete tries to make her smile look genuine, even as her disappointment sinks deeper. There is snow on the training fields, they could make snowmen…

No, she berates herself, you know you must do what mother tells you. You know that she is doing what is best for you.

“Yes, mother,” she replies, and Tecteun hums, pleased, before letting go of Thete’s hair, patting her shoulder, gesturing she should get up. Thete does, fumbling with the box for a moment before she tucks it under her arm.

“Now, it is getting late, and I think it is about time you were getting to bed,” Tecteun says, walking Thete towards the doors. She pulls them open and then gestures to a guard outside. “Escort my daughter to her rooms, would you?”

“Yes, My Lord,” the guard says, waiting a few feet away as Thete turns, looking up at Tecteun.

“Well, goodnight, darling, I hope you have enjoyed your day,” Tecteun says, bending down so that Thete may press a quick kiss to her cheek.

“Yes, I have, mother,” Thete says as Tecteun straightens, and the president hums in satisfaction, smoothing down the front of her robe.

“Good. Well, get on to bed, now. Go on,” Tecteun instructs. 

“Goodnight, mother,” Thete says, and before she can stop herself, she turns, throwing her arms around Tecteun’s waist as best she can with the box, burying her face in the fabric of her gown.

“Oh…” Tecteun murmurs, before her hand rests on the top of Thete’s head, petting her. “Yes, goodnight, darling.”

Thete steps back, giving her mother a small smile, which Tecteun returns with one of her own. Then, she is stepping back, hands reaching for the doors, closing them.

“Happy Yuletide!” Thete says, but the doors have already closed. Thete sighs, stepping back, and allows the guard to lead her the short distance through the corridors to her rooms.

When the doors have shut behind her, Thete pads across the room, putting the box with the dagger in it down on the ottoman, not really sure what to do with it, now. Perhaps she should get it out, start getting used to it, she is sure that is what her mother would want her to do. But, well, she feels strangely deflated. For a day which should be a celebration, Thete does not feel very celebratory.

She wanders over to the fire, maintained whilst she has been away, and plonks herself down on the ground in front of it. She pulls a book left on the floor by her (and yes, that is how she organises her books, she knows where she has left them and when) but she does not open it, she just lets it rest there. She stares into the flickering flames, thinking.

Yuletide is for being with family, for being happy, and yet Thete does not feel very happy. Why is that? It must be something she is doing wrong, perhaps she has not appreciated her mother’s gift well enough? Perhaps she should have made more of an effort?

“I need to do better…” she mutters to herself. She suddenly feels very hollow, cold, the warmth of the fire doing nothing to ease the chill. No, it is another warmth she seeks to comfort her. Thete rises and, discarding the book back in its place, pads across the room to one of the large windows, pulling back the shutters and peering up at the night sky above.

Immediately, something in her chest bursts with warmth. Thete closes her eyes and smiles. The gift is not so scary now as it had been a year ago when it had first appeared. It is a friend, now. Thete sits herself down right up against the window, curling her arms around her knees, resting her head against the windowpane, feeling at one with the stars for a while.

Her body is beginning to grow heavy with exhaustion when there is a light knock on her door, and then a familiar figure is entering the room.

“Grace!”

“Hello, sweetheart!” Grace says, bending down to Thete’s level as the young girl runs towards her. She puts her hands to Thete’s shoulders before she goes barrelling into her, laughing. “Happy Yuletide, Thete!”

“I thought you would be with your family,” Thete says to Grace as she gains her footing, small hand holding onto the soft fabric of Grace’s cardigan. “Yuletide is for family.”

“Well, I had to see you, love,” Grace explains. Thete blinks, not quite understanding. Grace smiles, and pulls something from her pocket, holding it out for Thete. “And I’ve got you a present!”

Thete gasps, and at Grace’s encouraging nod takes the small, wrapped present from her. Her fingers undo the ribbon impatiently and the cloth covering falls away, revealing-

“A bookmark!” she exclaims, pulling the item out of its box, holding it in her palm. It is light and small, but it shimmers silver, and the stars engraved into it appeal to Thete immensely. There is a blue ribbon tied to the top of it, and Thete runs it through her fingers, delighting in the soft feel of it.

“With all that reading you do, I thought you could do with a proper marker,” Grace says, smiling as she watches Thete.

“It’s beautiful!” Thete says delightedly, beaming at Grace. “Thank you, Grace.”

“You’re welcome, my love. Come here!” Grace replies, bundling Thete up in a tight hug. She sways them to and fro on the spot, and Thete feels a warm burst of something in her chest. She feels safe and secure and so happy all at once. It makes her cling to Grace tighter, reluctant for the hug to finish.

“Do you want to read to me now?” Grace asks her, and Thete frowns, pulling back to look at the woman.

“But what about your family?” she asks.

“Oh, they’ll be alright for a bit, love, Ryan and Graham are washing up after dinner!” Grace reassures. She runs a hand gently through Thete’s hair. “Let’s get your pyjamas on and then you can read to me, yes?”

Thete agrees readily, and soon enough she is dressed in her pyjamas and is curled up into Grace’s side on the loveseat, book open on her lap, bookmark tucked safely into the back, ready to be used when needed. The fire is crackling away in the hearth, the shutters are closed, and her room feels like a cosy cave.

“Ready when you are, love,” Grace tells her, hand moving very gently through Thete’s hair, and Thete opens the book, beginning to read.

Words that start off excited and fast-paced soon turn slower and much weightier in her mouth as exhaustion sets in. Thete finds her eyes drooping closed, her head dipping, and before she knows it, she is asleep, curled up into Grace’s side.

Thete does not know it, but Grace very gently takes the book from her lap, tucking the bookmark between the open pages and closing it, putting it to the side. She then very gently shifts so that she can gather the sleeping girl up in her arms, rising from the loveseat and walking very slowly towards the bed.

She pulls back the sheets, lying Thete down on the mattress gently before pulling the sheets back up, making sure her ward is comfortable. Thete lets out a light sigh, shifting a little. Grace watches her for a moment, a small, sad smile on her face.

“Happy Yuletide, my love,” she whispers, bending down to press a kiss to Thete’s forehead.                                                                                       

“Yaz! My hands hurt!”

Yaz sighs, adjusting her hold on the heavy bucket in her hand, turning behind her to address her sister. She holds out her free hand. “Give it here, then.”

Sonya gives her a smile that would melt butter and holds out her bucket, allowing Yaz to scoop it up in her hand, taking its weight. It is not so bad, seeing as the buckets are currently empty, but Yaz privately dreads the blister-inducing weight that she will have to lug back home once they have collected what they need.

Although, on the plus side, the recent snowfall has meant they are not needing to traipse all the way out to the stream in the woodland to collect the water they so desperately need after the water pump in their quadrant had frozen over; melted snow provides ample amounts for their needs.

Still, with the sweat beginning to break out on the back of her neck, Yaz is failing to feel grateful for the plus sides.

“S’no fair we have to spend Yuletide Day getting water,” Sonya complains petulantly, kicking a stone on the ground. The cobbles underfoot are slick with ice, and Yaz fights with each step to keep her footing. The streets of the lower town are quiet, near-deserted, everyone retreating to whatever warmth they can find inside. 

“Well, we were all set but then Mrs Roberts next door couldn’t move because of the cold, and it would have been rude of us not to give our water we’d collected before the pump froze to her,” Yaz explains to her younger sister. A strand of hair falls into her face, and she blows out a puff of air to push it away.

“I know,” Sonya mutters. Yaz cannot see her, but she can sense the pouting lip. “I just… I wanted to play games.”

“We can still do that!” Yaz reassures her, trying her best to keep her spirits up for Sonya’s sake, even as she can feel her hands blistering. “There’s still plenty of hours left in the day!”

“But it’s going to take us another hour at least to collect all the snow and get home again!” Sonya moans, and Yaz sighs. It will not take that long by any means, but her sister is only six, Yaz knows how distorted time feels at that age. 

“Well, at this pace it will, come on,” she encourages, pushing herself on faster, even as her legs complain under the heavy weight of the buckets. “Keep moving, keep warm.”

“Keep moving, keep warm,” Sonya mutters, running to catch up with her.

“Be careful don’t slip!” Yaz tells her when Sonya slides on the ice, fortunately remaining upright. Yaz tuts but the smirk on her face is fond. “What is mum going to say if you come home with a sprained ankle?”

“Maybe she would give me the soup she always gives us when we’re sick!” she suggests with some excitement.

Yaz chuckles. “But then you wouldn’t be able to have any of the Yuletide meal, if you were so full of soup, would you? Which is why you should be careful.”

“Oh, yeah…” Sonya mutters, her logic floundering. She looks terribly put out at the prospect of missing out on the Yuletide meal.

They continue through the lower town in silence for a while, passing boarded up houses and crumbling ruins, as there always are. The tumbled bricks and deformed remains of houses had used to appeal to Yaz as fun playgrounds to be climbed and explored, but she makes sure Sonya stays away, knowing what had made them that way, knowing the heavy weight Gallifrey is paying for peace.

When they are nearing the gate out of the lower town and to the fields beyond, where the fresh, clean snow that they desire might be found, Sonya gives a big shuddering shiver. Yaz glances to her sister out of the corner of her eye, sees her curling her small hands into the ends of her sleeves. Her stomach pangs. It is freezing cold, and the thin wool gloves they have are not enough to contend with the chill.

As they exit the lower town, Yaz sweating buckets, ironically, Yaz can hear children laughing. Her stomach sinks as she hears a familiar voice, and a sickening feeling swells as they pass through the gates and see a group of children playing in one of the fields to the left. And there, yes, Izzy Flint… oh, for all the stars above!

‘Please don’t let her notice me, please don’t let her notice me…’ Yaz thinks as she hastens her and Sonya’s steps, heading towards a patch of land on the other side of the road.

She would pray on the Star of Hope to get her through this without the other girl noticing her, but it has long since fallen from the sky. Yaz has never seen it, hope is hard to come by. Especially when it comes to Izzy Flint.

“Snowballs!” Sonya unwittingly exclaims, and the attention of the group of children is turned towards them. Yaz tries to keep going, to ignore them, ignore their stares, but Sonya, bless her, is hooked.

“Yaz, please can we play?”

“Sorry, Son, not right now,” Yaz says breathlessly, aching for home but knowing she must collect the snow before they can return. She stops them just off the road at a suitable looking patch, kneeling down. “Come on, help me with this…”

“No, you can’t!” Yaz hears Izzy Flint snipe derisively.

“Wouldn’t want to…” Yaz mutters under her breath, collecting snow in her hands and depositing it into one of the buckets. Sonya works with her small hands to slowly fill the other.

“Don’t want street rats like you getting near us,” Izzy spits, her voice carrying as the snow muffles their surroundings. Yaz works faster, giving Sonya a hand when she has filled her own bucket to the brim.

“What does street rats mean?” Sonya asks.

“Sonya…” Yaz says warningly.

“It means you’re disgusting!” Izzy replies, and Yaz hears the group of children snicker. Her heart plummets.

“Just ignore her, Son, it’s not true,” Yaz assures her sister, pushing herself upright and collecting the now two full buckets in her hands. Her palms scream under their weight, but she has no choice, and she needs to get away from Izzy. She hopes Sonya will listen to her, even as hope is nowhere to be found amongst the snow.

“But we’re not rats, we’re human,” Sonya states as if everyone else is stupid.

Izzy laughs. “Are you sure?”

“Sonya, come on,” Yaz guides her sister to begin moving back towards the lower town.

Into the lower town, past the gates, away from Izzy, back to safety. That is all they need to do, all they must do to remain higher, to not cower because of Izzy Flint. Always raise yourself higher, that is what her mother always tells her, always raise yourself higher…

Suddenly, Yaz’s foot slips out from underneath her, and she tumbles. She manages to keep one bucket upright, saving it before it can topple, but the other falls with her when she lands on her right-hand side heavily. The snow spills out, covering her.

“Yaz!” Sonya cries.

Yaz can hear the children laughing, can feel the sting of tears in her eyes, the red flush of her cheeks. She breathes shakily, adrenaline thrumming through her, struggling upright, staggering to her feet. The whole side of her right leg aches. Yaz knows a fresh bruise will blossom soon enough. Sonya flits around her like an anxious bird, trying to help.

“It’s alright, Son,” she reassures, brushing the snow from her clothes. Her heart is thumping madly in her chest. She bends to right the bucket, now only half full, snow resting messily atop a fallen layer where it has spilled. Yaz gestures to it. “Put some more snow back in the bucket, will you? Then we can go home.”

“But are you hurt?” Sonya asks her, still anxious and wide-eyed.

“No, Son, I’m fine!” Yaz reassures her, tongue a little too sharp. Sonya blinks, looking taken aback. Hurt. Yaz feels guilt twinge within her. She can hear Izzy Flint and her group of friends laughing behind her. Stars, she just wants to get out of here…

“Just, put the snow in the bucket, will you? And let’s get home.”

Sonya does as told, uncharacteristically cowed. It only increases Yaz’s guilt, and she feels it mix with the flames of embarrassment and shame which burn her insides. She hunches her shoulders and turns her back on Izzy and the other children, taking the bucket once Sonya has finished filling it and heading for home.

Their laughs haunt her through the streets, but things are silent between her and Sonya. Yaz knows she should repair things before they reach their flat, and she turns in the doorway, glad for the reprieve it gives from the cold wind. Sonya blinks up at her, confused as to why they are not heading straight inside.

“Sorry I snapped at you, Son,” Yaz says. “It wasn’t right of me. None of it was your fault.”

Sonya blinks again, the tension in her face clearing. “Why do those people hate you so much?” She asks innocently.

Yaz bites her lip, not sure how to answer. I don’t know, she really wants to say. I don’t know what I ever did wrong for them to hate me like they do. Maybe there is something wrong with me, maybe they are right, and I am not good enough.

But she cannot say that, not to her younger sister. “Because they’re judgemental idiots. You shouldn’t listen to them, Son. They’re not worth listening to.”

Yaz sees the way Sonya’s eyes lighten, the awe beaming in them. Seeing her sisterly admiration in her older sister is almost enough to banish all the insecurity from Yaz’s heart. Almost. She is young herself, she does not know how to heal the bruises Izzy Flint has left upon her.

“Idiots,” Sonya mutters under her breath. It is enough to make Yaz chuckle.

“And Son?” she asks, crouching down to her sister’s level. “Don’t tell mum and dad about those other kids. They don’t need to know about idiots.”

Sonya nods trustingly, and Yaz straightens again, appeased she will not be unwittingly given away by Sonya.

“Come on,” she says, kicking the door open with her foot, hands still laden with the buckets. She infuses her voice with enthusiasm for Sonya’s sake. “Yuletide dinner awaits!”

Najia is at the small range in their flat when they return, and she turns when they enter, stirring something in a pot. “What took you so long? If I’d known you’d take that much time, I’d have sent your father!”

“Yaz fell over!” Sonya declares before Yaz can stop her. Hakim, who has been in the process of taking Sonya’s buckets from her, frowns. He looks to his eldest daughter.

“Fell where?”

“Just… on the ice, it doesn’t matter.” Yaz assures, putting her own buckets down on the floor by the small hearth. A meagre fire is crackling away, and she crouches, reaching her aching hands out towards the heat. The movement smarts her leg and her side, however, and she winces.

“Let me see.” Najia demands, striding across the room towards Yaz. She crouches down by her side, Sonya joining her on the other. Najia nods her head at Hakim. “Hakim, stir the pot.”

“Right…” Yaz hears her father’s footsteps move across the room. She keeps her eyes focussed on the fire, trying to control her breathing as the pain flares. She does not want Sonya to see her cry. She will not cry, not because of Izzy Flint.

“And don’t burn it, for goodness’ sake!” Najia shouts back at her husband. Her hands, warmed from the range reach for Yaz. “Where does it hurt, Yaz?”

“She fell on her side.” Sonya unhelpfully supplies.

“Which side, Yaz?” Najia asks. “Sonya, go and take your boots off and put a second pair of socks on, we don’t want your toes freezing!”

Sonya is reluctant to leave Yaz’s side, but with some help from Hakim promising her extras if she helps him cook dinner, Sonya has scarpered away. Najia guides Yaz onto a small stool, and with her daughter’s instruction lifts up her shirt to examine her side. She hisses through her breath when she sees the bruise there, and mutters low under her breath when Yaz pulls her trouser leg up to reveal further bruising.

“How’d this happen, Yaz?” she asks as she applies a soothing salve to the wound. Mrs Roberts had given some to them in thanks for the water, apparently.

Yaz swallows down the pain, swallows down Izzy Flint’s nasty words and swallows down her tears. Her parents do not need to know, Yaz already sees the expressions of stress and shame on their faces everytime something in their cramped flat breaks, or when they have to send their daughters out to collect snow for water. They might not think Yaz sees, but she does, and she does not want to add to their shame. Does not want them to see how derided and judged she is in others’ eyes.

“I just fell,” she mutters in reply, sucking in a sharp breath when her mother presses upon a bruise a little too hard. “That’s all.”

Later, when their small yet gloriously hot Yuletide meal has been devoured and they have listened and participated in the singing of Yuletide songs which has rattled around their apartment block, and Sonya has a few rounds of games to appease her, Yaz sits in front of the fire, legs drawn up to her chest. Her side pulses with a dull pain, but she can ignore it.

Najia is with Sonya behind the curtain they have hung to divide the room and provide a bedroom space, putting her down to sleep. Yaz’s dad is rummaging with something in the large chest their most precious belongings live in, and Yaz quirks an eyebrow as she hears clanging and crashing.

It stops a moment later, and Hakim makes a victorious noise. Yaz hears him climb to his feet, and then his footsteps are approaching her. He crouches down beside her, and Yaz looks to him in confusion as he holds something out to her, covered in cloth.

“This is for you, Yaz,” Hakim says. Yaz frowns, uncurling as she takes the item from her dad. It is heavy, rectangular. She blinks.

“Is this…”

“Open it!” Hakim encourages. Yaz pulls the thin, moth-eaten cloth covering away, and lets out a gasp as she stares down at the gorgeous book in her hands. Its blue cover is embossed with a delicate pattern of the constellations, the fabric smooth under her fingers. She reads the letters embossed down the spine.

“A book on the constellations!” she exclaims.

Hakim shushes. “Don’t let your mother know! Or your sister, for that matter, or she’ll want another present.”

They had already been gifted their presents, a brand-new scarf and a pair of gloves, knitted by Najia.

“Then why…” Yaz trails off, shaking her head as she turns the book over and over in her hands. She can hardly believe she is holding it; these are the types of fancy books she has only admired from shop windows. She had never considered having one of her own.

“I was doing some work for one of the booksellers, and when he realised I was interested in it, he offered me it at a discount price. I couldn’t resist, I know how much you love that stuff!”

“Dad…” Yaz’s throat closes up, but she does not mind the tears that shine in her eyes, for they are happy ones. The small worry still comes, though. “But it must have still been quite a cost!”

“Don’t you worry about that.” Hakim reassures her. He adjusts his legs in his crouched position. “That’s for me to worry about, I’m your father.”

“Oh, dad, thank you!” Yaz throws herself at Hakim, wrapping her arms around his neck. He is warm and solid and dependable, and she allows herself to be the vulnerable young child she actually is in that moment.

“You’re welcome, love,” Hakim mutters, hand cupping the back of Yaz’s head. When they break apart, he wipes the tear trailing down Yaz’s cheek with his thumb. He smiles. “Although, if I might borrow it from you sometime, I wouldn’t mind! Can’t say I’m not interested myself!”

“Of course!” Yaz nods. She looks down at the book, cupped to her chest, a precious bundle. All thoughts of Izzy Flint and the harsh bruises marring her skin are washed away. The warmth of the hearth and her dad’s love soothe her. Sonya’s trust in her and the book in her hands warm her. They remind her that there is still brightness to be found, even when things seem so dark and cold. Like the stars in the sky, there is still happiness to be found.

“I will treasure this forever.” She promises.                                                                                        

Thete looks down at the courtyard, hand resting lightly against the windowpane.

There are children playing down below, the offspring of the palace staff. She does not recognise them, for why would she, but as she looks on at their play, they remind her of another time in the exact same place. She was a lot younger, then, a lot more impressionable.

“Thete?”

There is a hand at her back.

And a lot lonelier.

Thete sucks in a breath, pulling herself away from those thoughts, those memories. She turns to the woman next to her, offering her a smile.

“You okay?” Yaz asks her.

“Mmhmm.” Thete nods.

“What you looking at?” Yaz asks, peering out of the window. There is a moment’s pause as she takes in the children having fun pelting each other with snowballs. The snow has been falling thick and fast since midday. 

“Looks like a lot of fun,” Yaz murmurs.

“Yeah,” Thete replies wistfully.

“Needed to get away for a mo?” Yaz asks her, shifting her weight.

Thete nods, sending her a grin. “Those children are loud!”

Yaz pulls a face, humming in agreement. “You can say that again.”

The celebration thrown for some of the children of the city on the anniversary of the closing of the Tear had gone so well, they had decided to repeat the success for Yuletide. Yaz had dragged the Unity Division into helping with the organisation, as well as Thete, and it has been a long day of setting up and herding the children and making sure there aren’t any upsets.

The event is going very well, with a band playing festive tunes and a large buffet of food. It is quite amusing to have children scampering about and screaming their heads off in excitement, all in the grandiose scenery of the ballroom. Yet Thete thinks it is a huge improvement on the pompous, stiff-collar ceremonies and events that had taken place there before.

Even if the noise levels are extremely loud.

As if on cue, screaming comes from outside, resonating even through the windowpanes. Thete peers down at the children engaged in their snowball fight. Clearly things are getting heated.

“You sure you’re alright?” Yaz asks.

Thete blinks, and lets her hand drift away from the windowpane, from the pain of the past. It no longer defines her; it no longer devours her. It might still lay like a light snowfall over who she is now, but there is a warmth to be found in the life she now lives, in the woman she loves that helps it to thaw.

“I’m sure,” she replies earnestly, smiling softly. Yaz nods, plucking at Thete’s fingers with her own until their hands are entwined.

“Come on,” she says, stepping away and holding out her hand for Yaz to take. The other woman takes it, her fingers entwining with Thete’s. “We should get back.”

Fine corridors are soaked in warm light from candelabras as they make their way to the ballroom. They can hear the music, even from a few corridors away, as well as the excited shrieks and calls of dozens and dozens of children. Thete and Yaz give each other a knowing look, bracing for the barrage of sound that is about to hit them.

Entering the ballroom, Thete has to blink to take everything in for a moment. The chandeliers above are glinting, reflecting off of the shining, lacquered floor, golden light bouncing from mirror to mirror. Music fills the space, sending slight vibrations through the floor and lifting spirits.

The children who flood the space are clearly giddy with excitement. If they are not sat around in packs devouring plate after plate of food they are running around the space, dancing and laughing. Thete can see some of the teachers employed for the school which will be opening at the palace very soon, in the new year. They seem a little flustered, already contending with their charges.

“Whose idea was it to serve sugary sweets?” Thete quips.

Mixed amongst the teachers are the members of the Unity Division, here to lend a helping hand. Thete spots Bill, kicking up a storm with some children by entertaining them with party tricks. Ryan and Rory are looking quite sheepish as they oversee the buffet. Amy is busy haranguing some children into order before their play becomes too rambunctious. Her hair is falling out of its bun and her uniform is askew. Yaz sucks in the air between her teeth.

“Oh, I so owe them one.”

Thete laughs, her eyes trailing further around the room. They rest on a child for a moment, sat on the floor under one of the grand windows. She frowns, but her attention is pulled away by the sound of raised voices.

“Hey!” Yaz calls, suddenly leaving Thete’s side to stride across the room. A group of children seem to be picking on another child, accusing them of something, hence the raised voices. Yaz is already on the case, however, approaching the children in that calm yet authoritative manner that commands respect without being scary. Thete has no clue how she does it, but she smiles at how easily Yaz takes control of the situation, how confidently.

“Are you sure Yaz isn’t interested in becoming a teacher? We could do with her at the school!”

Thete grins and turns to Grace as her mother approaches her, a stack of empty plates in one hand.

“Not sure how she’d like being referred to as ‘miss,’ I think she much prefers ‘captain’!”

Grace chuckles, putting her free hand to Thete’s arm. “Have you got everything prepared for tomorrow, love?”

Thete nods her head enthusiastically. “Yes! I think so! Or, at least, I hope so! Should do, but then again, I did forget to buy bread the other day when I went to the bakery, so who knows! Maybe it will be the worst meal anyone has ever had!”

“Enough of that,” Grace says kindly, her hand rubbing Thete’s arm. “I’m sure it will be brilliant, whatever you do. It doesn’t matter if we don’t have every vegetable under the sun, or if something’s a little burnt, it’s the fact that you cooked it, yes?”

Thete and Yaz’s only wish for Yuletide was that they be able to spend it with loved ones. As a result, both the Khans and the O’Briens are coming round for dinner hosted at theirs. Thete had been keen to test her developing cooking skills when they had agreed on the idea a few weeks ago. Now, however, she is trepidatious as to whether she will be able to pull it off; enthusiasm in the kitchen she possesses in heaps, skill not so much.

Thete nods reluctantly and sheepishly, feeling a little like a child, asks, “You will be coming a bit earlier, won’t you? Just in case?”

Grace’s reply immediately puts her at ease. “’Course I will.”

Thete smiles. “Thanks, mum.”

Her eyes are caught at that moment, by the child again, huddled in the corner. Thete frowns, hesitating for a moment before making a decision.

“I’ll be right back…”

She wonders across the room, narrowly dodging some kids chasing each other in circles, until she reaches the child. Closer, she realises they have a book in their lap, although it is not open. Thete crouches on their level, meeting their eye and offering them a warm smile.

“Hi! What you reading?”

The child looks at her with a little bit of surprise, a little bit of shyness, and just a touch of awe. Thete is quite used to that from most of the children. They still think of her as some sort of god, deep down, as if she is hiding her divinity and will reveal it in mysterious circumstances. She does not blame them, and there is not much she can do about it, except for try her best to just… be herself.

And any part of divinity she might once have possessed is certainly not a part of her now.

“Err…”

“Can I sit down with you?” Thete asks, pointing to the floor. The child still looks unsure, but after a moment they nod. Thete clambers into place, stretching her legs out in front of her. The light from the chandeliers reflects off her leather boots.

“It’s the story of Krefter and her knight,” the child says after an uncertain pause.

“Oh! Nice!” Thete says, grinning. “That’s a good choice!” 

Some of the child’s tension eases. “It’s my favourite.”

“It was mine, too, when I was your age,” Thete replies. She shrugs. “Well, it still is!”

The child chuckles, still tentative but relaxing.

“When the knight journeys through the treacherous forest to find her lady.” Thete grins.

“And then Krefter has to save her from the perilous dragon!” the child perks up, eyes bright.

“I think that copy has an amazing illustration of that scene!” Thete says, poking at the book with a finger. The blue cloth covering, embossed with golden stars, she has that copy amongst her own little library, somewhere. She used to read it over and over as a child. Sometimes Grace would read it to her, when she was sick.

“Yes!” the child enthuses. Their hand strokes lovingly over the cover. “It does…”

Thete watches them for a moment. “Much rather read it than party?”

The child’s mouth squirms into an uncomfortable line. They clutch the book tighter. “I don’t really have any friends to party with… and it’s very loud.”

Thete nods, believing she understands. “Do you want to dance?”

The child shifts, shoulders lifting in a loose shrug as they continue to look uncertain.

Thete grins, shifting onto her knees. “Would you dance with me?”

The child glances up at her, and Thete raises her eyebrows, grinning. They look around the room, at their peers, and still look unsure.

“I don’t know…”

Thete thinks hard, looking around the room herself. She spots Yaz, strolling her way, clearly done sorting out the incident. Her grin widens.

“What if Captain Khan dances? Captain Khan!”

Yaz frowns at Thete, smiling faintly as she approaches. Thete holds a hand out for her, which Yaz takes. She looks between her and the child.

“Yes?”

“Will you dance with me?” Thete asks her, using Yaz’s hand to pull herself up off the floor.

“… Sure,” Yaz replies, still looking curiously between Thete and the child watching them, now with more interest. 

The music playing is lively, which helps Thete in her task. She takes Yaz by the hand and the hip, Yaz’s hand resting on her shoulder. Thete begins to sway them to and fro with growing enthusiasm, which elicits a giggle from the child. Yaz watches her with a curious amusement as she allows Thete to lead her round and round in circles as they dance.

“See? S’not so bad!” Thete says to the child.

The child tentatively gets up from the floor, still with their book clutched in hand. However, when Yaz, who has obviously caught on, extends her hand to them, they take it.

They swing their arms up and down and turn the young child in circles until they are giggling non-stop. Their book they soon tuck away safely in the pocket of their cardigan, participating wholeheartedly in the dancing.

Before long, Thete and Yaz have encouraged a small group of children into accepting them into their dancing circle. The child goes with a small wave at both of them, and Thete catches their eye and sends them an encouraging smile.

“That was sweet of you,” Yaz remarks as they come together again, moving slowly left and right, not really dancing but just swaying to the music.

Thete shrugs. “They looked sad.”

Yaz sends a smile her way before pressing a quick kiss to Thete’s lips. It takes her so by surprise that she stumbles and trips over her own foot. Yaz catches them both before they go toppling to the floor.

“Sorry!” Thete says, scrunching her nose up. Yaz smirks.

“Our first time dancing together was in this ballroom,” she says, drawing Thete closer to herself.

“It was!” Thete nods. “Seems a long time ago now…”

That night, dancing had been a secret way to get closer to each other, and they had both been swept up in how wondrous it had been. Thete forces herself not to think on what followed that evening, and to bathe only in the memory of Yaz being so close to her. That closeness she has in bucketloads, now, but she never takes it for granted.

“It was,” Yaz replies. Her hand strokes at Thete’s side as they turn slowly in a circle. “I much prefer this night, and this music.”

Thete beams. “Me too.”                                                                        

“You really are good with children, you know,” Yaz says as they wander through the snow-covered streets on their way home. Night has fallen, and a light flurry is following in its footsteps. Interspersed streetlamps light their way, glowing lazily golden.  

Thete shrugs bashfully at Yaz’s compliment, eyes averted to the ground.

“No, you are!” Yaz insists. “The way you helped that child earlier…”

“Nothing different from what you did,” Thete replies. 

“Stop putting yourself down, dear heart,” Yaz says kindly, squeezing her partner’s hand. Both of them had neglected to bring gloves, and they are keeping each other warm. “You really are a wonderful person.” 

Thete sends Yaz an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I really am trying not to think so negatively…”

“I know, and you don’t need to apologise.” Yaz lightly nudges Thete’s shoulder with her arm. “Not to me. But maybe to yourself.” 

Yaz can see her partner thinking that over, eventually smiling and nodding. It warms her to see it that way; even though it has been two years since the events of those time, Thete still struggles, understandably, with her sense of self. Yaz leans over to peck a quick kiss to her cheek as they continue to stroll along. “Love you.” 

She herself is looking forward to Yuletide Day more than she ever has. This will be the first in their new home; they had moved in at the beginning of the year, just after the winter snows had begun to melt away and spring was breaking through. 

Yuletide in the last couple of years has been a little bit tricky. The first was not long after the events of the Tear and Tecteun’s death, and they had all been exhausted, Thete at the beginning of the long road to help herself. Last years was better but Thete and Yaz were dealing with the buying of their house and things had been incredibly busy. This year, she hopes, will be a lot more relaxed, in the comfort of their home, and spending time with family. 

Warm and content, with nothing to worry about (although Yaz can sense Thete is getting a little stressed about the dinner). That is all she wants, this Yuletide. To be warm and content with the people she loves. 

She shivers against the cold surrounding, breath clouding in front of her as she huddles closer to Thete. “Stars, it’s freezing! Let’s go quicker.” 

The snow is falling heavier when they finally make it home, and they both turn onto their street gladly, Yaz fumbling in her pocket for her key. She smiles at the collection of small snowmen placed by the steps leading up to their house; Thete had insisted on making them. Dan, their neighbour across the street, had watched her spend an hour doing so with befuddlement that morning. 

“I’ll put the kettle on!” Thete announces once they have stumbled into the entry hall and Yaz has locked the door shut tight behind them. They both kick off their boots, and Thete pads down into the kitchen, lighting the gas lamps as she goes. 

Yaz heads into the living room, stoking the fire that has been glowing with embers all afternoon; at the moment they are constantly maintaining the fireplaces they have, with the weather being so cold. Yaz throws a couple of logs on it to reignite the flames. 

She stands there for a moment, soaking in the cosiness of their home. She crosses her arms over her chest and heads to the window, the curtains still pulled back. She peers up at the night sky, smiling when she sees the Star of Hope glinting brightly

Hope you’re warm up there, sis, she thinks.

Every snowy night reminds her of the Yuletides of childhood, her parents doing their best to carve some joy out of their difficult means. Yaz thinks it is testament to their best efforts that even memories tinged with coldness still possess small sparks of warmth. Still, she is looking forward to this Yuletide immensely, in the warmth of their own home with the hearth of close loved ones surrounding them.

With some stability and peace.

Even if she misses Sonya fiercely.

I wish you here, she thinks, but then smiles. But I’m also glad you’re there.

Reminiscence encourages her to move towards the bookcase, tucked away between the window and the fireplace. It possesses some of Thete’s books and Yaz’s own, smaller collection; the rest of Thete’s books reside in the study upstairs. Yaz runs her finger along her row until she reaches the book she wants, crooking her finger around it to pull it out. 

She smooths her hand over the cover, tracing the pattern of the embossed stars.  Yaz flicks through the pages, inhaling the familiar, comforting smell of the book. There is some damage to its edges, some scuffing and faint staining, but she has always tried her best to keep it as pristine as possible. 

“What you looking at?”

Thete’s voice makes her jump, and the other woman winces in apology as she pads over to Yaz, two cups of steaming tea in hand.

“My dad bought me this book for Yuletide years ago,” Yaz replies, holding up the book for Thete to read the title. “He really shouldn’t have, it was an expense we probably shouldn’t have spent but… he wanted to make me happy, I think. Knew how much I loved reading.” 

Thete smiles, eyes tinted with sadness. 

“I always remember that year because the pump froze over and me and Sonya had to lug buckets of snow back to melt for water! It was… tricky.” 

Yaz sighs, feeling the soft fabric of the book’s cover under her fingertips. She can feel Thete’s eyes watching her. She does not mention Izzy Flint, her plea to Sonya to keep the other children’s’ bullying a secret from her parents. She feels so sorry for that girl, desperately trying to hide her own pain to spare her parents and because she could not face the reality of her own self perceived failures. What a burden to have carried, just like buckets full of snow for water.

“It’s not right. Someone should have unfrozen the pump,” Thete says quietly. “Someone in a position of power.”

Yaz nods and slides the book back onto its shelf. She lets her finger linger over its spine for a moment more before she pulls her hand away, taking her mug of tea from Thete.

“Yeah, well, we’re making sure people get what they need now,” she says, taking a sip of her tea.

She allows her thoughts to flit briefly over the memory of Izzy Flint’s scorning remarks, the laughter of the children when Yaz had fallen. Then she thinks on earlier that day, breaking up the bullying going on at the party. Then all her other work to make sure the word is a fairer, kinder place. 

Yaz allows herself to feel proud. She wonders what the young child lugging buckets and sparing her parents the painful truth would think of her now. 

Thete sidles closer to her, hand resting on Yaz’s lower back. They stand there for a moment in silence, comfortable in each other’s company and comfort. When the fire pops and crackles, Yaz pulls in a deep breath, and offers Thete a warm smile. 

“I think I’m going to run a bath.”

“Yes, do! Got and get warm!” Thete returns her smile, ushering for Yaz to head upstairs. 

“Are you not joining me?” Yaz asks her suggestively. Thete’s eyes widen a little, and she steadies the mug in her hand before she spills tea all over the floor.

“Oh, yes, I’ll be right there!”

Yaz gives her hand a squeeze in passing before moving past her to head upstairs. She throws a log onto the fire in their bedroom to get the heat going before heading into the bathroom.

Fortunately, the pipes have not frozen over, and hot water runs smoothly from the tap. Whilst waiting for the bath to fill she changes out of her uniform, hanging it neatly in the wardrobe, and slips into a dressing gown. She pulls the pins out of her hair and allows it to ripple down past her shoulders, massaging her scalp to relieve the pressure of having it tied back tightly for hours. Soon enough, the bath is filled, and the only thing Yaz is missing is Thete.

She waits for a few minutes before eventually getting impatient. She pads downstairs barefoot, shivering a little in only her dressing gown. She can hear strange sounds coming from the kitchen, and Yaz frowns, walking all the way down to the lower level.

She is greeted with the sight of Thete, bent backwards with her head and forearms in the range. The odd sounds she had heard she realises now are Thete tinkering with the range’s insides, the clanging of metal on metal. She watches Thete for a moment, amused and also a little concerned, before clearing her throat and calling her partner’s name. 

Thete jumps, and then begins a flailing process of backing out of the range. Her feet slap against the ground and her arms, when free from the range, grab for purchase on the stovetop. Finally she gets her head free, but not without whacking her forehead on the edge of the range. Yaz winces.

“Ow!” she exclaims, rubbing at the bump forming on her forehead.

“You okay?” Yaz asks. She fights the smile at the sight of Thete covered in a little dirt and soot. It smears across her cheeks and forehead, caught in her hair. 

“Yeah.” Thete whines, looking up at Yaz with a miserable, petulant frown. Yaz does not fight the smile, then, looking down at her partner fondly. 

“What are you doing?”

“I was trying to see if I could improve the dispersion of heat across the plates to make for a more even and thorough cooking process,” Thete replies, pushing herself up from the ground. She closes the door to the range behind her with her foot. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, clutching a screwdriver in her fingers. Her efforts only result in smearing more soot across her skin. “Not sure if it worked, though.” 

“It’ll work fine tomorrow, I’m sure of it,” Yaz replies.

“Maybe I should check over the plan one more time…” Thete murmurs absentmindedly, looking down at the large, detailed sheet spread out across the kitchen table. Here, Thete has drawn up an intricate table of timings for the cooking of everything, as well as a checklist of food items and a diagram of the dinner table, for some reason. 

Deeply ingrained military training comes in handy sometimes, Yaz supposes, although she thinks Thete might be stressing herself out a bit over Yuletide dinner. She knows she wants it to be the best possible dinner for all of them, but Yaz truly believes it is the thought that counts over anything else.

“How ever it turns out, you know I’m going to love it, right?” She asks Thete, padding towards the table. She rests her hand on its smooth, oak surface. It catches at Thete’s attention, and she blinks, looking away from the plan and up at Yaz.

Her lips purse together, and she nods, eyes earnest. “I know.”

Yaz grins. “Because you’re making it! You, making our first Yuletide dinner in our own home!”

A smile breaks out on Thete’s face to match Yaz’s own, and she rounds the table, allowing Yaz to take her by the lapels of her cardigan.

“I’m so excited to just have these next few days off work, spending time with you and our families.” Yaz runs her thumbs over soft wool. Thete’s hands come to rest on her waist. “But especially you.”

Thete quirks an eyebrow. “Well, that’s good. Would have been a bit weird if you’d said Graham.”

Yaz laughs, head tipping back. “What did Graham ever do to you?”

“’Nowt! Although, he does keep cheese and pickle sandwiches in his pockets.” Thete nose scrunches up. “They stink out the workshops everytime I’m down there! I know Ryan’s got a plan to intercept him some time!”

Yaz quirks an eyebrow, and cannot help but point out, “I know for a fact there are biscuits in your coat pockets.”

Thete blinks, looking affronted. “Yes, but I’m talking about sandwiches, Yaz! Sandwiches! Biscuits, they’re much more acceptable. In fact-”

Yaz takes a step back, watching in befuddlement as Thete begins to dig through the pockets in her cardigan. After a moment she grins in victory, and holds up a small, pale biscuit for Yaz to see.

“Ta da! See, perfect for whenever you need a snack!” She sticks the biscuit in her mouth whole, initiating another head-tipping laugh from Yaz. “And they don’t stink out your clothes!”

“This is the strangest point ever made!” Yaz giggles, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. She shakes her head good naturedly at Thete, watching as the other woman finishes the last of her biscuit. “But you have a point!”

Thete looks pleased as punch, and Yaz is reassured she’s alleviated any small anxieties or worries that might have been hanging over tomorrow, at least for the time being. She holds out her hand for Thete to take.

“Come on. Don’t you want this bath?”

Thete eyes look up and down Yaz’s body, only covered in her dressing gown. It dips at her chest and folds slightly away from her body, revealing the skin underneath. Thete flushes, swallowing.

“Right, yes, bath!” She enthuses, taking hold of Yaz’s hand. “Baths are brilliant!”

Yaz grins. “Come on, then.”

She stops them on the stairs, turning back to Thete when she feels grimy soot against her palm. 

“Although maybe you should clean that soot off first.” 

“What soot?” Thete asks innocently.                                                                           

“I can hear you thinking.”

Thete musters herself at Yaz’s words, turning her head to face Yaz, repositioning it on her arms. She has her knees curled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them as she sits on the bed. Yaz is perched on the edge of her side with her back to Thete, although her head is crooked over her shoulder to look at her. She rubs gently at the ends of her hair, drying it slowly. Thete’s own, shorter and finer, has already dried, curling slightly in the heady heat of their bedroom; the fire crackles away in the fireplace with enduring strength. Steam has seeped in from the bathroom following their very warm bath.

“Want to share?” Yaz asks.

Thete thinks for a moment before speaking. “I was just… thinking about that child earlier today. I… it was almost like I couldn’t bear to see them unhappy… I just…” Thete shrugs, feeling uncertain. She picks absentmindedly at a loose thread in the bedsheets. She trusts Yaz knows what she is getting at; how could she not after the last two years?

“Well,” Yaz says gently, shifting on the bed to face her. She lets her towel rest in her lap, damp hair beginning to curl. “I don’t think it’s all that surprising, considering. I mean, I feel similarly. Seeing those kids picking on that other child… I couldn’t stand there and do nothing.”

Thete nods.

Yaz smiles softly.

“What’s brought this on?” She asks patiently.

Thete shrugs. “I don’t know… I think maybe this time of year has got me thinking about things, reflecting…. making me realise how grateful I am to have what I do now.”

Yaz smile widens, and she stretches her arm across the bed. Thete takes her hand in her own. She pauses for a moment, considering whether she wants to talk about this before deciding that it might be better to do so.

“Just… thinking about what you were saying earlier about your childhood, and then thinking about mine. I don’t…” she huffs, trying to find the right words. “I know I shouldn’t compare, but mine must seem so much nicer from the outside. I mean, I was warm, and had these lavish dinners prepared- although the vegetables were always sloppy.” Thete shivers. “And I’m grateful that I had that, but…”

She sucks in a deep breath, tracing patterns on the fabric of her pyjama trousers with her free hand. She continues to battle with herself, wincing in apology as she looks at Yaz. “Sorry, I don’t have to bring this up…”

“Thete,” Yaz says in a soft tone of voice thar gently reprimands her and says, ‘of course you can talk about it.’

“Right,” Thete mutters, huffing out a small laugh. She shrugs, gaze returning to her pyjama trousers. “… I just feel bad for that child. For me. She had so much, but… she didn’t have what was truly important. Not from the person she needed it from, then.”

Yaz nods, listening patiently.

Thete bites the inside of her cheek, drawing her hand away from her pyjama trousers to run it across her eyes. They sting slightly.

“And I just wish that she could have seen what I know is so obvious now! That, despite all the horrid things that Tecteun did… Grace was always there…”

Yaz shuffles closer to her on the bed, bringing Thete’s hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. She watches her with so much love that Thete finds it in herself to lean into her vulnerability, allow a couple of tears to fall from her eyes.

“Every year, no matter what her own plans were with her family, she always made sure to spend some time with me.” Thete sniffs and shrugs. “… I just thought it was because she had to, because it was her job. I mean, that’s what I always thought, but looking back…”

“Everything was because she cared for you like her own daughter.” Yaz finishes her sentence for her, still holding tight to Thete’s hand. Thete nods, sniffing again. Yaz smiles, pressing another kiss to her hand.

“There was one time,” she mumbles, voice wobbling. “When I was really sick from the… from the laboratory… And Grace stayed with me the whole time. It was right over Yuletide day and then into the next few days.”

Yaz sucks in a sharp breath between her teeth. “I can’t believe she did that to you over Yuletide.”

Thete shrugs, sniffing. “It’s not like there was much to miss. It was all just state dinners and posh occasions where I had to wear stiff clothing and be on my best behaviour. Yet Grace stayed with me the entire time, ruined her own Yuletide.”

“Oh, I don’t think she’d have seen it like that,” Yaz replies.

Thete nods. “No, I know. But at the time I remember, I felt so guilty. So horribly guilty, like it was my fault…” She summons a deep breath, relaxing her diaphragm. “… But it wasn’t. None of it was.”

Yaz beams.

“And she chose to stay. She was not obligated to or forced. I mean, she sort of was, because it was her job, but I know that it was still a choice. Does that make sense?”

Yaz nods.

Thete ducks her head to wipe her tears on her knee.

“I’m just so glad that I can reflect on those times and bring from those memories that love.” She admits. “And realise it was always there, and continues to exist, even more so now.”

“Yes,” Yaz whispers, and when Thete looks to her she is beaming at her, tears bejewelling her own eyes. Thete is taken aback for a moment, staring at the woman she adores with every fibre of her being, staring back at her with just as much affection.

“I love you so much,” she murmurs without realising it.

Yaz laughs. “I love you, too!” She presses another kiss to Thete’s hand before tucking it between her cheek and her shoulder, keeping it close like a precious thing. “And I’m kind of wishing we had agreed to do presents, now, as I wish I’d bought Grace the biggest bouquet of flowers!”

Thete laughs, too, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. “She’d find a way of being both cross at you and grateful for buying them!”

Yaz nods, giggling. “She would!”

Thete giggles, too, and then her breath hitches when another sob rises in her chest. Yaz clambers closer and pulls her into a hug, both of them holding on tight to the other. Thete buries her head deeply into Yaz’s shoulder, savouring the familiar warmth of her. She grounds her, makes every passing day and every passing remembrance of that past easier.

“Happy Yuletide, dear heart,” Yaz whispers, pressing a kiss to Thete’s cheek.

Thete smiles. “Happy Yuletide, Yaz.”                                                                               

Yaz wakes the next morning warm and content. She breathes deeply, stretching out a little. Her arm wraps a little tighter around Thete, curled up next to her. She traces her fingers lightly over the other woman’s back as she blinks open bleary eyes to bright light streaming in through the gaps in the curtains. A crisp, wintery light of a clear sky following the heavy snowfall of the night before.

Yaz smiles softly, taking in the woman still slumbering next to her. A strand of hair has fallen into Thete’s eyes, and Yaz tucks it behind her ear gently. Yaz is glad she is sleeping peacefully; part of her had thought she might wake up to the other woman already working hard in the kitchen. There is no need to rush today, they have all the time in the world if they want it.

Yaz pushes another strand of hair behind Thete’s ear, and the movement must tickle Thete’s nose for she wakes abruptly with a sneeze, the movement bouncing the mattress below them, jostling them both.

“- slice the potatoes-!” Thete mutters as she lurches awake, and Yaz giggles, taking hold of her flailing arm before it hits her in the face. Thete blinks, taking in her surroundings until her eyes finally come to rest on Yaz. “Oh, Yaz, hi!”

“Good morning,” Yaz replies with a smirk. “And Happy Yuletide.”

“Happy-” Thete blinks again, obviously still trying to wake up. Her eyes widen, and the last grogginess leaves them. She grins at Yaz. “Yes! Happy Yuletide, Yaz!”

Yaz lets out a cry of surprise as Thete presses a kiss to her lips, giggling once they have broken apart only to pull her partner back in for another one.

“Having a good dream, there?” she asks Thete once they have drawn away from each other once again.

Thete frowns, mouth slightly agape as she thinks. “… Yaz, the kitchen’s not really full of potatoes, is it?”

Yaz blinks. “Err… no.”

“Oh.” Thete slumps onto the mattress, putting her hand to her chest. “Thank the stars.”

Yaz grins, poking at Thete’s side. “Breakfast?”                                                                                  

“Stars, we’re going to need to clear that once we’ve eaten,” Yaz comments as she peers out of the large, iron and glass double doors in their kitchen. “Everything is just covered.”

The snowfall overnight has given their garden another liberal blanketing, adding to the already white canvas that has been piling up all week. Last night’s must have been a significantly heavier blizzard, however, for the snow has piled up well over a foot against the door. Yaz puts her hand against the nearest pane, peering out across the garden, beyond the river running through the bottom of it, and to the moors in the far distance. They, too, are similarly sugared.

“It’s covered the whole land…”

“Ready!” Thete calls to her, and Yaz turns away from the snowy scene, blinking as it leaves a dull impression on her retinas; the sky is a clear, crystalline blue. Yaz hopes the sun will help melt at least some of the snow, for those facing colder conditions than themselves.

Thete is stood by the range, a plate full of steaming food in hand. She has an apron on over her pyjamas and the thick jumper she had pulled on, and her hair is tied back in a messy bun, strands falling into her hair. The countertops around her are, predictably messy, but as Yaz takes a seat at the kitchen table and allows Thete to place her breakfast down in front of her, she is pleasantly surprised.

“Dear heart, this looks amazing!”

“‘Omelette Thete’!” Thete says with a put-on pompousness. She waves the spatula in her hand around like a sword. “It’s just like a regular omelette except…” her voice loses its comedic tone, and she shrugs. “Well, I made it.”

“Thank you,” Yaz says earnestly, grabbing Thete’s freehand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Now, hurry up and make yourself something to eat before you forget!”

“I never forget anything, Yaz!” Thete replies as she returns to the range. She glances back over her shoulder, scrunching her nose up. “Actually, you’re right, I do forget a lot of things.”

“Including breakfast.” Yaz adds.

She digs into her omelette, extremely impressed with how far Thete’s cooking skills have come. With the comfortingly warm cups of tea they have made, it is the perfect breakfast.

Five minutes later Thete sits down opposite her, dropping her cutlery down onto the table. Yaz has to do a double take at her plate.

“Err… you having carrots for breakfast, dear heart?”

“Hmm?” Thete frowns as she tucks in her chair. Then she pauses as she looks down at her plate, laden with sliced pieces of carrot. “Oh! That’s the wrong plate!”

Her chair legs scrape across the flagstone floor as she replaces her plate, picking up another with her own omelette upon it.

“I hope they’re just on that plate and not in your omelette as well!” Yaz jokes.

Thete looks down at her plate dubiously. She pulls a sheepish expression. “You know what, Yaz? I’m not sure.”                                                                           

Once breakfast is done with, Yaz goes to change, intending the clear some of the snow in the garden and outside the house. She leaves Thete to complete the rest of her vegetable chopping preparation (without putting any anywhere they are not supposed to be, such as in omelettes).

She has cleared the steps outside their house and is beginning to work on the garden when Thete finally joins her, the vegetables all ready and waiting for cooking in pans on the range. When Yaz sees her coming, she decides to take advantage of the two large mounds of snow created from moving the pile outside the doors. She ducks down behind one, peering out from behind it as she begins to form a snowball in her hand.

“Yaz?” Thete calls as she steps out into the garden, adjusting her glove. There is a thick scarf protecting the bottom half of her face, and a woolly hat atop her head. Yaz narrows her eyes and takes aim.

Thete jumps a foot in the air and lets out a startled cry when Yaz’s snowball hits her squarely on the cheek. She looks around her, flabbergasted, until she finally spots Yaz poking out from behind the mound, laughing her head off. Her eyes narrow, hands moving to her hips.

“Oh? I see how it is!”

Yaz begins to frantically heap snow into snowballs as Thete crouches down and begins to make her own. At least, that is what Yaz thinks she is doing, but then a moment later she glances up to see Thete stood over with a gigantic snowball clutched between her hands. She smiles sweetly at Yaz before promptly dropping it on her head.

“No-ah!”

Yaz fails to cover her head in time, and her hat is shoved further down her forehead as the snow tumbles over her, sticking to her hair, resting on her shoulders. She aims snowballs at Thete with abandon, giggling as she hears the other woman laughing as she retreats, hiding behind the other snow heap.

Then there begins a ferocious snowball battle between the two of them. Yaz’s military tactics come in handy as she ducks and crouches and aims, most of the time hitting Thete perfectly. Thete’s clumsiness, gained only after her military service had ended, puts her at a little bit of a disadvantage, but she makes up for it in wild abandon of throw, many of her snowballs hitting Yaz out of pure, random chance.

Soon enough their defensive mounds have vanished, sacrificed to their artillery, and it is an open field, each of them throwing snowballs with abandon. They are not actually throwing them at each other with any serious force, for where would be the fun in that, but the cold which slips beneath layers of clothing is enough to incite revenge on each other.

Yaz’s abdominal muscles are beginning to hurt from laughing, and she gets too caught up in watching the unfiltered joy on Thete’s face that she gets a snowball right to the face.

“Oh! Yaz! Sorry!” Thete says, although she is giggling, and certainly does not actually mean her apology.

Yaz wipes the snow from her eyes before promptly narrowing them in put-upon indignation, cocking an eyebrow. She takes a step towards Thete with theatrical menace.

“That was an accidental throw, I promise!” Thete says, holding a hand out in supplication as she takes a step back. She giggles nervously. “Yaz! You got me first!”

“That’s your excuse?” Yaz asks, fighting to keep the smile from her face as she continues to advance towards Thete.

“You know you don’t want to do th-ah!”

Thete’s scarf had unwound progressively during their fight, and now it skirts the ground by her ankles. She accidentally steps on it, and stumbles backwards until she hits the soft, snow-covered ground with a cry.

Yaz takes advantage of this to throw as many haphazardly made snowballs at Thete as possible. She is not really aiming at her, does not intend to actually hit her, and the snow she collects is so poorly put together most of them burst into a flurry midway through the air.

“No! Yaz! I surrender!” Thete calls, gasping for breath in between laughs.

“You surrender?” Yaz asks, pausing her throwing with one arm raised, snowball in hand.

“Yes!” Thete nods frantically, hands raised either side of her head.

Yaz smirks in satisfaction, lowering her hand and letting the snowball drop from between her fingers. Then she clambers until she is kneeling over Thete, holding herself with her arms either side of the other woman’s head. She peers down at her partner in victory.

“Should never try to best me, dear heart.” She grins cockily.

“No, Yaz, you’re the best.” Thete admits, nodding enthusiastically. Yaz hums, dipping down to press a kiss to the other woman’s lips.

She jumps when cold snow suddenly slips down her neck, sneaking in the gap between her coat and her scarf. She pulls aways from Thete in shock, and the other woman laughs with her own victory, her hand, now empty of the snowball she had sneakily struck Yaz with, resting on Yaz’s back.

“Ha! Got you!”

Yaz’s mouth hangs agape. “I can’t believe you-”

But she cannot keep her shocked expression up for long, and as Thete begins to break down in laughter, Yaz joins her. Warm affection bursts open in her chest, and she becomes numb to the icy shock sticking to the back of her neck. Yaz leans forwards once more, pressing another, passionate kiss to Thete’s lips.

She is not sure how long later it is that they are interrupted by someone making a sound of disgust.

“Ugh! Please, keep it to your bedroom!”

They both abruptly break apart to look up at Ryan, stood in the doorway with a horrified expression on his face. He tuts under his breath, shaking his head.

“Hi Ryan!” Thete greets, absolutely nonplussed. Yaz clambers off of her, brushing the snow from her knees. “Oh! You all here?”

“Hiya, loves!” Grace voices rings out as she steps into the garden, smiling widely. She pauses at the sight of Thete on the ground. “What are you doing down there, Thete?”

Thete scrunches her nose up, waving her arms up and down in the snow to make an angel. “Oh, just chilling.”                                                                                       

“What do you think?” Thete asks as she re-enters the kitchen, freshly changed from their snowball fight. She has just said a quick goodbye to Yaz, who has gone out to meet her parents before they all congregate here in a little while.

Ryan raises his eyebrows judgementally, paused in the process of laying the table (as per Thete’s very detailed plan). “What is that?”

Thete grins, tipping her head to the side as she spreads her arms out. “It’s my new jumper!”

“It’s… something.” Ryan nods, pulling a face. stood next to him, Grace swats him on the arm.

“Don’t be rude!” She chastises. She offers Thete a smile. “I think it’s lovely!”

Thete beams, pulling a face at Ryan who rolls his eyes, resuming setting down the cutlery. It is all in good spirit, they tease and wind each other up most of the time. It reminds Thete of the sibling-like relationship she has with Jack, and she supposes it can be seen that way, she and Ryan sort of are siblings, in an odd, wobbly kind of way.

She looks down at her jumper, picking a stray bobble from the wool. It is a chunky knit with a rainbow pattern, the colours in an odd order, knitted diagonally. Thete had bought a similar jumper from the same market stall a little while ago, and she could not resist this one when she saw it displayed last week. She likes being able to express herself through her clothing; for too long clothes were just a necessity for her, to try and fit into a role she could not conform to.

“Right, love, talk me through what you’ve done,” Grace says to her, gesturing to the range.

Soon enough they have things well underway. The range is still stoked from the breakfast, and Grace decrees they should put the chicken in now to cook it slowly over a matter of hours. Thete enthusiastically announces her adjustments to promote even heat dispersion, which Grace says she will take her word for (Thete is not sure who else’s she would take).

Ryan they set to rolling out pastry for some small, onion and cheese filled snacks whilst they take stock of what sweet foods they have.

“I know Yaz’s mum- I mean Najia- is bringing some things as well,” Thete says to Grace, wiping her hands on the apron she had put over her new jumper. She is trying her best not to feel flustered over the whole thing. They have it under control, as much as they can. Although, she does accidentally throw some flour at Ryan a bit too hard when she notices him rolling out the pastry without any laid out.

“Ah, what the hell, Thete!” He exclaims as he coughs, waving his hand through the air to clear it. Thete winces, looking at the white peppering his jumper has received from her efforts.

“Sorry,” she says bashfully. “Although, I don’t want a repeat performance of getting dough stuck on the table. It took me weeks to get it out of the grain.”

Ryan raises his hands in surrender, grabbing for the rolling pin.

“Ryan, the mixture for those is on the top over there,” Grace says as she cleans off her hands in the sink. “You’ll need to plait the pastry. I’m sure I’ve showed you.”

“Err-” Ryan sounds slightly panicked. Grace sighs.

“Graham!” she calls to her husband. Graham jumps from his seat on the sofa, the book he had been reading sliding out of his hands. It hits the floor with a thunk. He peers up at his wife over the rim of his reading glasses. Grace nods towards Ryan. “Give your grandson a hand with the pastries, would you?”

“I am on the job!” Graham declares, pulling his glasses off and rising from his seat. He bends down to collect his book, chucking both it and his glasses on the sofa. He rubs his hands together as he approaches the table. “Whatever pastry issues need dealing with, I’m your man!”

“Thank you,” Grace replies, rolling her eyes affectionally, before turning to Thete. “Now, Thete, love, could I have a word?”

Thete nods, putting the bag of flour down on the table. “… Of course.”

She glances to Ryan, to see if he has any clue as to why Grace suddenly wants to talk, but the man is too preoccupied with his task, face scrunched up in complete bewilderment. Graham, too, is too busy rolling his sleeves up to notice anything. Thete pulls off her apron, hanging it on its hook as she follows Grace out of the room.

Grace leads her into the sitting room, pulling the door ajar behind them.

“I just wanted to talk to you whilst we had a quiet moment,” she says.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” Thete asks. “Did something happen? Is someone sick? Are you? Is Graham?”

“No, love, no one’s sick. Everything’s fine.” Grace raises a hand to soothe Thete’s rambling. She gestures for Thete to sit down on the sofa next to her. “Now, I know we said we weren’t doing presents this year…”

“Oh no.” Thete interrupts, still trying to figure out what is going on. “Is that just something people say? Should I have gotten you a present?”

Grace chuckles, taking Thete’s hand. “No, love. We’re not doing presents, but I do have something for you…”

She reaches behind her, pulling an envelope from between the cushions. Thete frowns.

“When did you put that there?”

Grace sends her a knowing smirk before she brings the envelope into her lap. She smooths her hand over the front of it.

“This isn’t technically a present. This isn’t something I can gift you with, not really, because this is a decision we both have to make. I know we’ve mentioned it before, in passing, but had never quite moved beyond that. Things have been so busy…”

Thete’s heart is beginning to thud faster.

Grace’s fingers trace the edges of the envelope. Her eyes are earnest as they meet Thete’s.

“You do not have to move forward with this if you don’t want to. You can throw these away or keep them in a drawer somewhere until you want to make a decision, but…” Grace shrugs, displaying an uncharacteristic hesitancy. “I’ve been working with the legal team over things to do with the school, and I thought… seeing as I was down there it might do away with some tedious bureaucracy just to ask, but then they gave me them…”

Grace finally passes Thete the envelope, although by now she has got a sneaking suspicion she knows what this might be about. Her fingers tremble a little as she peels open the envelope flap and pulls out the pieces of paper inside. There are not many of them, but the paper is thick, official. After a brief pause, she unfolds them.

It is adoption papers.

“They’re a formality more than anything,” Grace says, her tone still slightly nervous. Worried, Thete knows, of upsetting her, of overstepping the mark…

But in Thete’s eyes, there is no mark. There is nothing to upset her. In fact…

“I’ll sign them right now,” she says, voice wobbling with emotion. There are tears stinging her eyes. She looks around her. “Where’s a pen?”

“Thete.” Grace laughs, and Thete can see the relief and joy in the other woman’s eyes. She puts a hand over Thete’s. “There’s no need to rush, love.”

“Grace, I…” Thete shakes her head, biting her lip to try and stop the sob that is welling up in her chest. It is all for nought when Grace shuffles closer, putting a hand to Thete’s cheek and raising her gaze to meet her own. Grace’s own eyes are sparkling with tears.

“You’re already my daughter in my eyes,” Grace tells her, wiping away a tear that falls from Thete’s eye. “I don’t need a legal document to prove that, but I thought it might be good for you to have that name change.”

“Yes.” Thete nods enthusiastically, chest fit to burst. To be called Thete O’Brien instead of Thete Rassilon, to lose that last tie to Tecteun, it would mean more than anything else to her.

And whilst Grace is right, and that a legal document is not the be all and end all, to know that legally Grace is her mother, that she is part of her family… well, it is like the icing on the cake.

“Mum.” She sniffs, placing her hand over Grace’s, leaning further into her touch. She allows herself to feel like a child in that moment, to wonder what her child self might think of her life now. Grace beams from ear to ear, tucking a piece of Thete’s hair behind her ear with her other hand.

“You’re one of the most precious things in my life, Thete,” she says. “Always have been. It is an honour to be you mother.”

Thete’s chin wobbles, and she throws herself at Grace, pulling her into a tight hug. The other woman holds onto her just as fiercely, hand going to back of Thete’s head as she burrows her face into Grace’s shoulder. She smells the same as she always has, and it is a comforting scent, maternal.

“Happy Yuletide, love, “Grace murmurs in her ear. The adoption papers sit safe on Thete’s lap between them.

“Happy Yuletide, mum.”                                                                        

Yaz loses herself in the sound of crisp snow underfoot, keeping her eyes trailed on the ground as she winds her way through the gravestones of the cemetery, her parents hot on her heels.

It was her mother’s request that they quickly pop to visit Sonya’s gravestone on their way back to Yaz and Thete’s. Yaz understands that her mother still likes to come to the grave every now and then, despite how Sonya’s spirit now resides in the night sky. Such a fact is quite something to get your head around, and her parents, she knows, are still trying to process.  

She herself has not been back since the day Thete returned and told her Sonya’s spirit had taken her place in the constellations. The grave had never stood for anything more to her than the sum of her insecurities. Her guilt and grief. Her desperate need to discover the truth about what happened to her sister. She had never found much consolation or peace in it, no matter how hard she tried.

But she wouldn’t deny her parents the chance of visiting today, not on Yuletide.

Snow sits stodgily on top of the stones, obscuring names and dates. Sonya’s is almost lost beneath the fall, sat in the back corner of the cemetery. It had been all they were able to afford. When they reach it, Najia kneels down, wiping the snow away with a gloved hand.

Yaz sucks in a sharp breath. Despite knowing the truth, there is still something eerie and deeply upsetting about seeing Sonya’s name engraved into the stone.

Najia remains knelt down by the grave, and Hakim stands behind her, one hand on his wife’s shoulder. Yaz gives them a little space, drawing herself closer into her coat as the cold begins to set in as she stands still.

“She used to love Yuletide,” Najia mutters.

Yaz smiles sadly. If she had been expecting overwhelming grief to swell in her at the sight of the grave and her parents in front of it, it does not. That grief, so fuelled by the insecurities and guilt that used to possess her, is gone. In its place is a new kind of grief.

A grief that will always miss Sonya.

A grief that will always feel guilty about her death, even as now Yaz knows it was not her fault, that she has nothing to fix nor any obligation to carry her parents’ grief as her own problem.

Those feelings might have gotten her into the Division all those years ago, and technically, therefore, to where she is, and who she is, now. But they are ghosts, now. Useful ghosts that she has made peace with, and whose remembrance she uses to fuel her determination with a new confidence and self-assuredness.

This new grief is also peaceful. Content to be.

That thought strikes her, for it is as if Sonya is there with her, suddenly. Clutching at her hand, complaining about the cold, just as she had as a young child. Yet her complaints do not aggrieve and neither does her memory. Sonya is not a part of the past. As much as she is hanging sentinel in the sky, she is lodged in Yaz’s heart.

And she can be a part of their Yuletide celebrations in more than just a visit to the graveyard. Yaz can keep her alive in her memories.

“Do you remember how she would carefully conserve the pieces of holly we would pick each year for decoration?” Yaz asks her parents. Both of them turn to her, blinking against the bright sunlight bouncing off the snow. Yaz smiles. “She’d put them in her little box and store them for as long as possible.”

“And then when they’d turned brown and the berries had shrivelled, she’d get cross at me as I’d try and convince her it was time to throw them out.” Najia smiles sadly at the memory.

“She’d always want to give me a hand in the kitchen.” Hakim pipes up. Yaz takes a step closer when he gestures for her to do so, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Well, you both did, but I’d always let her have the first taste test.”

“So did I.” Yaz smiles. “Until she was old enough for me to let her know I was boss!”

“Oh, I’m not sure if any of us were the boss except Sonya!” Najia says with a smile as she gets to her feet. Yaz chuckles.

“You’re right there!”

“I never knew someone who complained so much would still manage to get their way everytime!” Hakim adds.

“She had us all wrapped round her little finger.” Najia nods.

“I always gave her the best potatoes from my plate…” Yaz smiles. Secretly she had always thought Sonya deserved them. There were many things about their life at that time that were difficult, and as children they had both had their fare share of upsets over certain things. But Sonya had never truly complained. Yaz had always hoped it was because she did not know any better, but she knows truthfully her sister was far more perceptive than she gave her credit for.

Sonya noticed her bullying, after all. Yet she knew not to say anything when Yaz asked her, just as she never complained to their parents about their hardships once she was old enough to understand. She was loyal to a fault, even if she had a funny way of showing it.

“You were such a good big sister to her, Yaz,” Hakim says, pulling Yaz close into his side.

Yaz sucks in a deep breath. In her peaceful grief, she does not feel the need to talk to her parents about her childhood bullying. Sometimes sharing is a good thing, like in Thete’s case the night before. But those memories feel entrusted to Sonya, to the part of her that lives in Yaz. She does not think she will ever feel the need to share them with her parents, not to spare them out of her own shame, but because her sister is there for her to rely on, to be supportive in her own way.

“Maybe,” she replies to her father with a small smile. “But she was a fantastic little sister.”

Najia encloses Yaz on her other side, the three of them stood in front of the grave. By the small frown on her mother’s face, Yaz knows Najia has sensed she is not saying everything on her mind. But she does not push, she leaves it be, and the three of them stand there is a content silence.

A peaceful Yuletide is all Yaz has wanted, and here, stood in front of Sonya’s grave, she knows she will get it. For she has made peace with her past.                                                                            

“Hello! Yaz calls out as she lets herself and her parents into their house. A wall of heat hits them and Najia stamps the snow from her boots out, rubbing her hands together gratefully.

“Hi!” Ryan’s voice shouts back from down in the kitchen, and Yaz leads her parents down there once they have removed their outwear.

“Hi!” she says as she steps into the room. The smell of cooking fills the air, and Yaz can see various dishes lining the sides; everything seems to be advancing nicely.

“Alright, cockles!” Graham greets them all from his seat at the kitchen table. It is large enough that one end has been laid with the cutlery and nice crockery and decorations for their dinner, whilst at the other end food preparation is still on going. Graham is carefully placing pastry into a tin to make small tarts. Ryan is sat beside him, not so elegantly scooping the jam into the pastry.

“Hello!” Najia greets as they step into the room. She holds up the bag in her hand she had carried all the way here. “I’ve brought supplies!”

“Amazing!” Grace says, wiping her hands on the front of her apron as she approaches Najia. The two women briefly kiss each other on the cheek in greeting, Grace taking the bag from Najia.

“I’m happy to help out with whatever!” Najia insists, beginning to talk Grace through what is in the bag, the two women moving to the countertop in the corner.

“I’m happy to help, too!” Hakim says enthusiastically to no one in particular. Yaz gives her dad a close-lipped smile.

“Dad, maybe you should just go and chill on the sofa? Until you’re needed for something, that is.” she suggests, trying to soften the blow to her dad; adding him into the mix of the kitchen right now might do more harm than good.

Hakim nods, heading for the sofa on the far side of the room, patting his hands against his thighs as he accepts his fate. Yaz smirks as she watches him go before she turns her eyes towards the rest of the room. She does not see Thete, not at first, but then-

Yaz rounds the table, coming to a stop in front of the range.

“Thete, what you doing?” she calls down to her partner.

Thete is crouched down by the range, stethoscope in her ears with the end pressed to the range door. Her face is scrunched up as she listens intensely, and she does not hear Yaz at first, not until Yaz clears her throat and steps closer so her foot enters Thete’s range of vision.

“Oh! Hi, Yaz!” she greets, grinning as she looks up at her. She pulls the stethoscope from her ears, clambering to her feet. Yaz winces as her elbow almost knocks a pot off the stove top.

“… What are you doing?” She asks.

“Trying to listen to the chicken cooking!” Thete replies, as if it were obvious. She tucks her stethoscope into her trouser pocket.

Yaz cannot help but laugh fondly, her heart feeling full in the warmth of her home, after having just found a steady peace in her heart. “Right…. It all going okay?”

“I think so!” Thete nods enthusiastically, a little too enthusiastically. Yaz can see a bead of sweat on her forehead. She is resolved her decision to keep her dad out of the kitchen was the right one. “How about you? Are you alright?”

Yaz pulls in a deep breath, taking a step closer to Thete and winding her arms around her neck. Thete frowns in confusion but her hands go to Yaz’s hips, nonetheless. Yaz looks around, at their families, their home. She feels Sonya in her heart and mind. She feels the comforting presence of her partner, Yaz’s hand brushing at the soft wool of her jumper which, despite its garish design, Yaz adores because it is so Thete.

“Yaz?” Thete asks, that small indent forming on her brow as her head tips slightly to the side. Yaz smiles, her chest elated with loving feeling.

“I love you so much,” she says, just as Thete had done the night before.

The other woman blinks, eyes brightening. The two of them don’t need to speak for her to understand that Yaz is saying much more in those five words.

“Love you, too,” she replies in a quiet murmur. Yaz doubts they would be overheard, what with both their mother’s and Graham and Ryan’s talking, as well as her dad humming to himself in the corner, but it feels nice to keep things secretive between themselves.

Yaz brushes her thumb across Thete’s cheek. There is a slightly pink flush high to the skin, patchy, something that could be attributed to the heat of the kitchen but Yaz knows her too well.

“Have you been crying?” she murmurs. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Thete blinks, then opens and closes her mouth. Caught out. “Yeah,” she eventually replies. “But, I promise, nothing to do with dinner. It was good crying.”

“You sure?” Yaz asks.

Thete nods confidently and presses a kiss to Yaz’s lips. “I promise. I’ll tell you later.”                                                                               

Dinner is served and the table is littered with dish upon dish for whatever delicacy someone might desire. There is the cooked chicken seasoned with herbs, vegetables, potatoes, and gravy. Rice, savoury pastries, and much more besides. As Thete looks out across the table from her own seat, she feels not a great surge of relief that the cooking had gone well (although she is relieved), but instead overwhelming joy.

Yaz reaches out to adjust the crown on her head, moving Thete’s hair out of the way so its sits more comfortably. It is constructed of holly and ivy, twined around wire with the additional decoration of fir tree sprigs. The red berries add a festive touch. Najia had brought them all one to wear, having made them in her spare time, and Yaz’s own sits proudly over her luscious locks.

“You look beautiful,” Thete tells her. Yaz beams.

“Thanks, dear heart. So do you.”

“Dig in, everyone!” Grace calls from the head of the table, where Thete had insisted she sit. Ryan is on her right and Thete on her left, Yaz sat next to her, and Graham sat next to Ryan. Najia is sat at the other end of the table, and Hakim sits next to Yaz.

“Well done, Thete,” Najia says as they all swoop in on the food, dishing out portions. “This all looks fantastic!”

“It was a team effort!” Thete replies graciously, waving a hand through the air. Yaz grabs for her glass before it topples over. “Couldn’t have done it without all your help!”

“But you were leading us all, love!” Grace insists, giving Thete a look of motherly admonition. “This was your idea, and it was a brilliant one!”

“Well done, Thete.” Hakim leans across the table to give her a more subdued thanks.

“To Thete!” Yaz says from next to her, raising her glass in the air in a toast.

“To Thete!” Everyone chimes back, raising their own glasses. Thete’s cheeks flush red and she does not quite know what to do with herself.

“You’ve not tasted it yet,” she mumbles. Yaz puts a hand to her back, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“I’m sure it’s brilliant.”

Fortunately, it is. The chicken is tender, and the vegetables are not soggy. Ryan gets their congratulations for the cheese and onion pastries, and the foods Najia had brought are also well-received.

It all goes along nicely with the lively conversations. Graham finds himself entranced by Hakim and the many conspiracies he holds about one thing or another for most of the time, Ryan listening in with a raised eyebrow from time to time. Najia and Grace continue the effusive chatter from earlier in the day, whilst Thete and Yaz dart from group to group. Thete spends at least ten minutes discussing telescope optics with Hakim.

By the time they are wilting, their stomachs full, there is still plenty of food leftover. Some of it will do for the days to come and the rest they will bring to the community centre for a gathering the next day.

“Before we move onto the dessert,” Grace says to them all, summoning their attention by tapping her glass with her fork. She gets up with the scraping of her chair on the flagstone floor. “I’d just like to say a few words.”

Thete shifts in her chair, taking Yaz’s hand in her own. The other woman shuffles closer, resting their shoulders together.

“First of all, I’d like to thank you both, girls, for hosting us in your home this Yuletide.” Grace begins, looking to Thete and Yaz. They both wave their thanks away.

“It’s nothing,” Yaz assures them.

“I think it’s really worth celebrating.” Grace continues. “That we are here, in your home that you not only bought together, but have made your own together.”

Thete glances at Yaz, both of them grinning.

Grace brings her hand to her chest. “Having seen how much the two of you have grown I cannot tell you immensely proud I am. How far you have both come in the last couple of years is extraordinary, but not surprising. I am sure your parents will agree, Yaz, that you have always been an incredibly impressive young woman.”

Najia and Hakim nod their assent, both of them beaming at her. Thete glances to her partner, noticing the way Yaz’s hand tightens in hers and how her breathing gets slightly stilted.

“Hear, hear!” Hakim calls, making them all laugh.

Once the laughter has died down, Grace turns to Thete with a warm smile. That motherly smile she has always greeted Thete with, ever since she was a child, even if Thete took a while to truly see the truth of it, of how unconditional it was.

“And Thete, my love, my daughter…” Grace raises her glass, her eyes twinkling. Thete knows what she is saying in that look, Grace does not need to put it into words. Thete knows she is proud, and it means the world to her. “Happy Yuletide.”

“Happy Yuletide!” Everyone repeats, all of them raising their own glasses. Thete can do no more than mutter the greeting back. She is so completely overwhelmed with love. Yaz grins and presses a kiss to her temple as she completely forgets to raise her glass, eyes still trained on her mother. Grace smile widens, and she nods.

“And I hope there’s many more happy years in this house to come!” Grace finishes, and everyone cheers in agreement, Thete and Yaz both saying their thankyous. Yaz tips her temple against Thete’s, their arms wrapping around each other.

“Actually, if I could just say something quickly…” Najia stands as Grace sits, summoning everyone’s attention. She clears her throat, fingers wrapped around her glass. She looks to Yaz. “I just want to say those were wonderful words, Grace, thank you, and yes, Yaz really is an impressive young woman.”

Najia pauses, looking to her husband briefly before returning her gaze to Yaz. Hakim puts his hand to his wife’s back, smiling at his daughter.

“Our wonderful daughter. We have always been proud of you, in everything you have done, and everything you have been through, and we are so proud of where you are now. And we know Sonya would be so proud of her big sister, too.”

Thete holds tighter of Yaz’s hand, hearing her breathing getting stilted again. She takes her turn to press a kiss to her partner’s temple.

“And Thete.” Thete jumps when Najia turns to her. “We are so proud that you are a part of our family.”

Thete’s cheeks flush red once again, and she mumbles out a bumbling thanks to Najia, ineloquent in the face of all the kind compliments.

Her heart is so full, she feels as if she is about to burst. Or maybe that is just all the food.

“Right, I won’t delay dessert any further!” Najia grins, raising her glass. “To you both!”

Thete and Yaz look each other with smiles all their lives in the making as everyone toasts to them. Hakim claps his hands in applause, although no one joins in, making Yaz laugh.

Just as Graham slaps his thighs in a motion to get up and get on with pudding, Thete clears her throat, letting go of Yaz just enough to pick up her own glass and raise it. “To Yaz!” she calls.

“To Yaz!” Everyone repeats.

Thete grins, looking to Yaz.

“What was that for?” Yaz asks her as the others begin to clear the table in preparation for dessert.

Thete shrugs. “Oh, nothing in particular. And everything.”                                                                           

Later that day, when the light is failing and another blizzard seems to be beckoning, Thete and Yaz curl up on the couch in the kitchen, warmed by the range. Yaz’s parents and Graham and Grace sit around them, engaged in lively conversations; Ryan and Yaz had dragged their armchair down from the living room to make more seats.

Ryan has since departed, muttering a little bashfully something about meeting Tibo. Yaz and Thete had teased him profusely, and he had chucked snowballs at them when they had stood in the doorway to see him off in revenge.

Thete slumps against Yaz with her head on the other woman’s shoulder as she watches her partner draw; she herself is far too tired and far too full to do anything. It is one of the rare occasions in her life when she feels so content that doing nothing feels like bliss.

Besides, watching Yaz draw is fascinating. The other woman is sketching the scene in front of them, their two mothers engaged in conversation as the sun sets on the wintery view beyond the kitchen windows.

“What was it you were going to tell me, earlier?” Yaz asks her as her pencil skirts across the page.

Thete shifts, smiling as she remembers the adoption papers, tucked safely into the desk drawer in the study. They will wait there for now, until the festive period is over, and the world begins to wake from its lull once more.

“Mum,” she mumbles into Yaz’s ear. “She gave me adoption papers.”

Yaz’s pencil stops in its tracks, and she whirls her head around to look at Thete. Thete blinks at the sudden loss of a chin rest, looking up at her.      

“Oh, dear heart…” Yaz murmurs. “I’m so happy for you!”

Thete beams, eyes glancing to Grace, just beyond Yaz’s shoulder. She is engaged in a conversation with Najia and none the wiser. “Feels like a great step.”

Yaz nods, leaning in to press a kiss to Thete’s lips. Thete lets it linger for a little bit, although not too long; their attention might be diverted, but their parents are still in the room.

“Have you had a good Yuletide?” Yaz asks her.

Thete beams. “Oh, the best! Better than I could have imagined.”

Her smile turns wistful. “Then I ever could have imagined…. How about you?”

“Oh,” Yaz replies with a similar tone of wistfulness. She grins. “Likewise.”

Thete presses another kiss to her lips, resting their foreheads together once they break apart once more. “Happy Yuletide,” she murmurs.

“Happy Yuletide,” Yaz replies. After a moment of peaceful togetherness, she adds, “And now, I’m not going to move for the rest of the evening!”

“If you’re not moving, then I’m not moving!” Thete resettles herself against Yaz’s shoulder as the other woman resumes her drawing. “There’s nowhere else I’d want to be anyway.”

Outside, a light flurry begins to fall, and the far-off moors are swallowed by the clouds. Yet they are safe and warm in the comfort of their own home, and in this sleepy daze, Thete exists only in her present.

She smiles, and watches lazily as the scene in front of her becomes committed to paper, and similarly commits it to memory.