I've Got Your Six - Mob!TomxReader

Chapter 20 - Dust.

(A/N: just a heads up that this chapter is a wee bit sad for the most part - mentions of family death and dementia/alzheimers so look after yourselves if they're sensitive subjects for you. always put yourself first lovelies! x)

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It was Christmas Eve, and Tom noticed that Y/N was a lot quieter than usual - though he didn't know how to approach her about it. He'd already grasped in the past that she wasn't a huge fan of the cheerful holiday; but she never mentioned why in much detail, Tom never thought to question it.

He found her in the garden, glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other - the packet lay beside her on the swing seat. Her face was dimly lit by the moon, her eyes twinkling in the twilight.

"Mind if I sit?" He said, almost apprehensive to pull her out of her thoughts, though she turned her head and smiled at him - grabbing the box and patting the seat beside her.

"It's odd, isn't it? Christmas."

"How do you mean?" Tom questioned, taking the chance to learn more about her distaste for the happiest time of the year.

"We could see our extended family and sit down for a meal any day. Any weekend. But we choose to only really do it one day a year." She turned to face him again. "The same with gifts. You could always get someone a gift to show them you love them any day of the year, yet we seem to save them for birthdays and Christmas."

Tom cocked his head to the side, urging her to continue, and she let out a sigh as she turned back to the skyline.

"After I got older and toys stopped being the most exciting things - and Father Christmas didn't exist anymore, I never really understood the hype about Christmas."

"Why not? Even with all the decorations and the snow and the music?"

"I hate the music." Her voice came out almost a whisper, though Tom stayed quiet - opting to place his hand over hers. He knew it was difficult for her to talk about this.

"I hate how gaudy the decorations are, and how religious people make it out to be. It isn't even the day Jesus was fucking born so why did they suddenly decide it was? It just doesn't make sense." She grunted, ghosting her thumb across the back of his hand.

"I was really young, when I stopped loving Christmas." This was it, Tom thought, she's opening up.

"It used to be my mum and dad, my grandma and great grandad, and my uncle." A soft smile passed over her face as she thought back.

"Mum and Dad would make the food, obviously. My mum's a great cook."

"My grandma would play with me, or watch the kiddie Christmas films with me. She loved spending time with me, she loved me so much."

Tom felt a pang in his chest, knowing the way she spoke about her grandma in past tense meant she wasn't here anymore.

"My great grandad, well - I just used to call him grandad, he would just sit in the armchair by the tree all day and watch. He was already really old back then, I think he was in his late 80's or early 90's."

Tom gave her hand a light squeeze, a ghost gesture of care.

"My uncle still lived with my grandma - he just used to sit with a beer on the sofa; and he'd always help me put my toys together without the instructions. He's really smart like that."

Tom smiled at her, noticing she thought highly of him. "Did I ever tell you that one time police stopped and stormed the train he was on because he was building a clock to pass the time and someone thought he was just casually building a bomb and reported him?" (A/N: tru story, my uncle is mental lmao.)