Moonshadows (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moonshadows) wrote2013-01-03 10:02 pm
moonshadows) wrote2013-01-03 10:02 pm
Christmas miracle
Christmas morning.
The thought sends a little shiver of excitement through me before I've even opened my eyes, despite the fact that I'm not back home and the best I can look forward to is Widow watching with her cold, empty stare and Reaper growling my name in irritation as I sing carols. Not that things were a ton better with Los Muertos, because being collectively poor meant we weren't big on gift-giving, but at least everyone came together to make and share festive food and that's not going to happen here. No, I haven't really gotten gifts on Christmas since-
"Hija, get down!" An arm throws my child self to the floor just before the window, there's a sudden loud, sharp noise, the window shatters, then the sickening sound of a body hitting the floor behind me.
Close the subdirectory before I accidentally access anything else, throw another layer of encryption on it. Yeah. Getting gifts hasn't been part of the Christmas experience for me for a very long time, but I do enjoy giving them. The physical recording that includes that one song Reaper likes enough to hum is cheerfully wrapped with a note that reads 'who else would it be?' and a little red bow taped to it, and I want to surprise him by having it sitting next to his mug with the coffee already brewing by the time he ventures out of his room. Then I'll ambush him with singing.
Excited shiver restored, I open my eyes and turn over to-
Stop. Stare.
There is a stuffed toy on my bedside table.
Watching me.
It feels like it takes a full minute before I can process past that. It's a bear, a brown bear in a red shirt with a red satin ribbon tied into a bow around his neck. Right, his, because he's from that show - I don't know the name, but I've seen him and his friends on merchandise for kids. Won a smaller version of this toy from a crane machine a while back. That girl had broken my heart, crying for a plush toy from the machine, but her mom was clearly too poor to throw even a single coin away. So I'd hacked it.
Which one, niña?
That one, that one!
A white cat in a pink ballerina outfit shuddered as the claw hit it, grabbed it, pulled it up and dropped it into the slot. The look on her mother's face as her daughter pulled it out with a squeal of joy - such gratitude that if times had been better for them, I would have been invited home for dinner, no excuses. That cat was probably the first plush toy the girl had ever owned. To them, I was an angel who had come out of nowhere to grant a wish. That's why I liked giving gifts.
As they walked away, the machine beeped at me to take the second turn it thought I'd bought. Without paying much attention to my choices, I picked out a brown bear in a red shirt because I don't know what Gabriel's favorite color was, but red seems to be a safe bet for Reaper. When I got back, I snuck it into his room and left it on-
-on his bedside table. Looking at him.
Oh my god. Reaper got me a gift.
I sit up and pull the bear into my lap. It's big enough that it fills my whole lap - I can hug it and press my face against the top of its head easily, and if my breathing is a little shaky, so what? Reaper got me a gift. I'm not just annoying him. I'm someone that his Grinchy McScrooge skullface brooding black smoke cloud self cares for, enough that he went through the effort of - my god, what did he do? Is there a sales clerk in a high-end toy store somewhere who got drunk and told anyone who would listen that he sold Reaper an expensive plush bear? A part of me wants to laugh until I can't breathe, call the papers, stop the press, Reaper has a heart under all that black smoke! But the greater part of me wants to cry because I haven't had anyone that went through the effort of sneaking a gift into my room on Christmas morning since my mother died, and I don't know that he's cared about anyone since he started being Reaper, or had anyone to sneak a gift into the room of when he was Gabriel.
I love this fucking bear. I will kill anyone who touches it.
Bear in one arm, holding Reaper's present in the other hand, I venture out of my room, pretty sure of what I'll see, and sure enough, it's Reaper in his fuzzy slippers holding a mug of coffee and leaning against the far kitchen counter so he can watch my door. It feels like it takes forever to walk to the stairs, down the stairs, across the floor of the main room to stop just out of reach of him. The wisps are coming off his chest, curling up before flowing down over his arms, and I feel like a child. My eyes must be huge.
"Feliz Navidad," I whisper, offering him his gift.
It's a long moment before he takes it, the wisps moving faster. He makes an amused 'hmph' as he checks the note. Colorful paper rips under his fingers, and then he freezes when he sees what it is and the wisps multiply until he's like a statue of dry ice.
Two steps in, one arm around his torso, my head pressed against his shoulder. "Thank you," I whisper.
Then I'm gone, stealthing away to curl up in the corner chair, hugging my bear and watching as Reaper leaves his mug on the counter and releases the cohesion of his legs to flow up and re-form by the door to his room. It opens and closes behind him, and then I come out of stealth.
Reaper got me a gift. It's a Christmas miracle, and I'd thought I was too old and too jaded to believe in those anymore.
I have the best Papi in the whole world.
===
When the wonder of Reaper caring fades, my inner child satisfied and leaving me an immature woman with a flair for mischief and a surprisingly cuddly plush bear, I think about what other "family" he might have still and the only one that comes to mind is Tia Ana.
I don't want to interrupt anything she might be doing today, so I just send the video file with a note reading I DARED TO NOT IGNORE HIS BIRTHDAY.
Half an hour or so later, the connection opens. IS THIS A GIFT FOR ME?
YES, I type back. I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO SEE THAT.
HE DOESN'T LOOK VERY HAPPY, she types after a minute.
THAT'S BECAUSE HE DIDN'T KNOW I KNEW WHEN HIS BIRTHDAY WAS.
A brief pause. I WAS ALMOST EXPECTING YOU TO SAY THAT HE'S FORGOTTEN HOW TO BE HAPPY.
CLOSE, I admit. NOT QUITE. The picture of him reveling in the warmth of a coffee mug gets transferred.
HE DOES LOOK HAPPY, Ana types back. THANK YOU FOR THAT. IT IS GOOD TO SEE THAT HE IS STILL THERE, BEHIND THE MASK.
I find myself typing, HE'S VERY HURT, but then I'm not sure what else to say. That I think he's forgotten what it's like to have someone care about him? That I've figured out I have to keep personal interactions light and quick, like a skirmish, in and out and retreat?
Before I can work out what I want to say, Ana types back, I KNOW.
IT HURTS BECAUSE HE STILL CARES.
AND YOU, LITTLE SHADOW?
I'm not sure what she's asking, but it feels like a test. Am I hurt? Do I care? Does he care about me? That seems the most likely, but how can I explain what today has meant for both of us?
THERE WERE PRESENTS EXCHANGED, I type slowly, BUT THAT ACT ITSELF WAS THE TRUE GIFT.
I WISH YOU MANY SUCH GIFTS IN THE FUTURE, she types.
Suddenly, I miss my old "family" and I feel as lonely as my Papi must be feeling. THANK YOU, ANA. MAYBE NEXT YEAR WE CAN ALL EXPERIENCE THAT GIFT TOGETHER.
AND IF NOT, SUCH A GIFT IS WORTH WAITING FOR.
The connection closes, and I take my bear over to the couch to sit and "watch" the news screen in an open invitation for Reaper to join me. It's only a few minutes before he flows down from under his door and re-forms on the other end of the couch. Although he doesn't say anything or even look at me, I know he's reveling in this quiet closeness. I wonder if he would tolerate me scooting closer, using him as a backrest while I poke my projects on half a dozen screens.
In the end, I'm not brave enough to try. I cuddle my bear while playing with various things, and Reaper wisps gently from his chest every so often, like he's realizing all over again that he did something that made someone he cares about happy.
I wonder how badly he would wisp if it were Ana sitting in the room with him, radiating quiet contentment.
I want to see that.
The thought sends a little shiver of excitement through me before I've even opened my eyes, despite the fact that I'm not back home and the best I can look forward to is Widow watching with her cold, empty stare and Reaper growling my name in irritation as I sing carols. Not that things were a ton better with Los Muertos, because being collectively poor meant we weren't big on gift-giving, but at least everyone came together to make and share festive food and that's not going to happen here. No, I haven't really gotten gifts on Christmas since-
"Hija, get down!" An arm throws my child self to the floor just before the window, there's a sudden loud, sharp noise, the window shatters, then the sickening sound of a body hitting the floor behind me.
Close the subdirectory before I accidentally access anything else, throw another layer of encryption on it. Yeah. Getting gifts hasn't been part of the Christmas experience for me for a very long time, but I do enjoy giving them. The physical recording that includes that one song Reaper likes enough to hum is cheerfully wrapped with a note that reads 'who else would it be?' and a little red bow taped to it, and I want to surprise him by having it sitting next to his mug with the coffee already brewing by the time he ventures out of his room. Then I'll ambush him with singing.
Excited shiver restored, I open my eyes and turn over to-
Stop. Stare.
There is a stuffed toy on my bedside table.
Watching me.
It feels like it takes a full minute before I can process past that. It's a bear, a brown bear in a red shirt with a red satin ribbon tied into a bow around his neck. Right, his, because he's from that show - I don't know the name, but I've seen him and his friends on merchandise for kids. Won a smaller version of this toy from a crane machine a while back. That girl had broken my heart, crying for a plush toy from the machine, but her mom was clearly too poor to throw even a single coin away. So I'd hacked it.
Which one, niña?
That one, that one!
A white cat in a pink ballerina outfit shuddered as the claw hit it, grabbed it, pulled it up and dropped it into the slot. The look on her mother's face as her daughter pulled it out with a squeal of joy - such gratitude that if times had been better for them, I would have been invited home for dinner, no excuses. That cat was probably the first plush toy the girl had ever owned. To them, I was an angel who had come out of nowhere to grant a wish. That's why I liked giving gifts.
As they walked away, the machine beeped at me to take the second turn it thought I'd bought. Without paying much attention to my choices, I picked out a brown bear in a red shirt because I don't know what Gabriel's favorite color was, but red seems to be a safe bet for Reaper. When I got back, I snuck it into his room and left it on-
-on his bedside table. Looking at him.
Oh my god. Reaper got me a gift.
I sit up and pull the bear into my lap. It's big enough that it fills my whole lap - I can hug it and press my face against the top of its head easily, and if my breathing is a little shaky, so what? Reaper got me a gift. I'm not just annoying him. I'm someone that his Grinchy McScrooge skullface brooding black smoke cloud self cares for, enough that he went through the effort of - my god, what did he do? Is there a sales clerk in a high-end toy store somewhere who got drunk and told anyone who would listen that he sold Reaper an expensive plush bear? A part of me wants to laugh until I can't breathe, call the papers, stop the press, Reaper has a heart under all that black smoke! But the greater part of me wants to cry because I haven't had anyone that went through the effort of sneaking a gift into my room on Christmas morning since my mother died, and I don't know that he's cared about anyone since he started being Reaper, or had anyone to sneak a gift into the room of when he was Gabriel.
I love this fucking bear. I will kill anyone who touches it.
Bear in one arm, holding Reaper's present in the other hand, I venture out of my room, pretty sure of what I'll see, and sure enough, it's Reaper in his fuzzy slippers holding a mug of coffee and leaning against the far kitchen counter so he can watch my door. It feels like it takes forever to walk to the stairs, down the stairs, across the floor of the main room to stop just out of reach of him. The wisps are coming off his chest, curling up before flowing down over his arms, and I feel like a child. My eyes must be huge.
"Feliz Navidad," I whisper, offering him his gift.
It's a long moment before he takes it, the wisps moving faster. He makes an amused 'hmph' as he checks the note. Colorful paper rips under his fingers, and then he freezes when he sees what it is and the wisps multiply until he's like a statue of dry ice.
Two steps in, one arm around his torso, my head pressed against his shoulder. "Thank you," I whisper.
Then I'm gone, stealthing away to curl up in the corner chair, hugging my bear and watching as Reaper leaves his mug on the counter and releases the cohesion of his legs to flow up and re-form by the door to his room. It opens and closes behind him, and then I come out of stealth.
Reaper got me a gift. It's a Christmas miracle, and I'd thought I was too old and too jaded to believe in those anymore.
I have the best Papi in the whole world.
===
When the wonder of Reaper caring fades, my inner child satisfied and leaving me an immature woman with a flair for mischief and a surprisingly cuddly plush bear, I think about what other "family" he might have still and the only one that comes to mind is Tia Ana.
I don't want to interrupt anything she might be doing today, so I just send the video file with a note reading I DARED TO NOT IGNORE HIS BIRTHDAY.
Half an hour or so later, the connection opens. IS THIS A GIFT FOR ME?
YES, I type back. I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO SEE THAT.
HE DOESN'T LOOK VERY HAPPY, she types after a minute.
THAT'S BECAUSE HE DIDN'T KNOW I KNEW WHEN HIS BIRTHDAY WAS.
A brief pause. I WAS ALMOST EXPECTING YOU TO SAY THAT HE'S FORGOTTEN HOW TO BE HAPPY.
CLOSE, I admit. NOT QUITE. The picture of him reveling in the warmth of a coffee mug gets transferred.
HE DOES LOOK HAPPY, Ana types back. THANK YOU FOR THAT. IT IS GOOD TO SEE THAT HE IS STILL THERE, BEHIND THE MASK.
I find myself typing, HE'S VERY HURT, but then I'm not sure what else to say. That I think he's forgotten what it's like to have someone care about him? That I've figured out I have to keep personal interactions light and quick, like a skirmish, in and out and retreat?
Before I can work out what I want to say, Ana types back, I KNOW.
IT HURTS BECAUSE HE STILL CARES.
AND YOU, LITTLE SHADOW?
I'm not sure what she's asking, but it feels like a test. Am I hurt? Do I care? Does he care about me? That seems the most likely, but how can I explain what today has meant for both of us?
THERE WERE PRESENTS EXCHANGED, I type slowly, BUT THAT ACT ITSELF WAS THE TRUE GIFT.
I WISH YOU MANY SUCH GIFTS IN THE FUTURE, she types.
Suddenly, I miss my old "family" and I feel as lonely as my Papi must be feeling. THANK YOU, ANA. MAYBE NEXT YEAR WE CAN ALL EXPERIENCE THAT GIFT TOGETHER.
AND IF NOT, SUCH A GIFT IS WORTH WAITING FOR.
The connection closes, and I take my bear over to the couch to sit and "watch" the news screen in an open invitation for Reaper to join me. It's only a few minutes before he flows down from under his door and re-forms on the other end of the couch. Although he doesn't say anything or even look at me, I know he's reveling in this quiet closeness. I wonder if he would tolerate me scooting closer, using him as a backrest while I poke my projects on half a dozen screens.
In the end, I'm not brave enough to try. I cuddle my bear while playing with various things, and Reaper wisps gently from his chest every so often, like he's realizing all over again that he did something that made someone he cares about happy.
I wonder how badly he would wisp if it were Ana sitting in the room with him, radiating quiet contentment.
I want to see that.