salute [h.s]

december 7 - putting up the stockings

december 7 - putting up the stockings

1D Fanfic

Harry/OFC (plus a couple of kidlets)

*

The fire was burning dim behind the grate which was my first sign that it was too late to still be up and awake, especially for the little sprite curled up beside me on the armchair. She was ready for sleep, dressed in her warm pyjamas with her mass of curly hair in two plaits. She was looking at the storybook open in my lap but not really looking because her eyes kept drooping, fighting to stay awake.

"Alright, mo nighean," I said to her softly as I shut the book, stretching up so I could take her under the arms, lowering her carefully to the ground. She grumbled and groaned, unhappy to be shuffled around when she was so close to sleep. When she was on her own two feet, she pouted at me, rubbing her eye sleepily with one hand, the other clutching a red knit stocking that she'd been holding onto all night. "It's time for bed. We've stayed up too late."

"We can't, mummy," she insisted, shaking her head firmly. "We can't go to bed yet."

"We have to, or Santa won't come tonight," I told her, getting to my feet as well, stretching my arms above my head. My back cracked, unhappy with the way I had been curled up in the armchair for a good portion of the evening. "Your brother is already asleep. Now, you need to sleep too or Santa will pass by our house and he won't leave any presents."

She also had to go to bed so I could sneak the presents under the tree that were supposed to be from Santa or both my kids would be waking up with no presents in the morning and that certainly wasn't going to go well.

"But mummy, we can't go to bed without putting up daddy's stocking or Santa won't leave anything in it, and you said we had to wait until daddy was home to hang it, so we have to stay awake and wait so we can hang it up with him." She said all of this in one breath, gasping in exasperation once she had gotten it all out. She was so like me in that way, a fast talker with too many things to say and too little time to do it. If only she'd inherited Harry's slow languid speech and his keen ability to say only what he meant to. Hopefully her brother would get those genes.

"I know we said we would wait but I think that it would be best if we just hung it up and went to bed."

"But daddy has to be here. That's what you said! You said he was going to be here!"

"Shh," I cooed as I pulled my daughter in toward me, crouching down so I could wrap her in a hug. She squeezed back as tightly as she could with her little five year old arms and I knew that she was upset about more than just the stocking. She missed her daddy. He'd been away for nearly two weeks now. He'd promised to be home days ago but he was working with a client in L.A. whose album was dropping in the New Year and they were trying to sort out all the little details. Harry had been working so hard that he'd hardly had time to call but he'd said that he would try everything he could to make it home for Christmas.

I'd been secretly holding out for his return, just like my daughter had been. I missed him something terrible, more than I'd ever missed him being away before. We'd gone on tours separately — him for his music and me for my books — but never this close to the holidays. And I'd had a rough two weeks. Our son had been sick for most of the time so of course I had caught it as well. We'd all been miserable, the weather had been miserable — it was just all around miserable. If Harry was here, he'd know just what to do to make us all smile, telling jokes and making faces and stealing us all away from our duties for a day of fun. That was just who he was.

"I want daddy," my daughter muttered into my shoulder as she held onto me tightly, as if afraid that if she didn't, another of her parents would disappear.