The Night Shift: A Red Dead Redemption 2 AU

ix. Christmas at the Marston-Roberts'

I want to, well...

Mia had hardly slept, Arthur's words on her mind. Want to what?

She rolled onto her back and disturbed a sleeping Leviticus, curled by her feet, who emitted a low mrrh in protest. She could still feel Arthur's glancing thumb across her mouth, see the momentary intensity in his wavering eyes. It was a small agony, lying alone when there was a chance her growing feelings toward the Chef might be reciprocated.

But it was a much larger and more likely agony that nothing would come of it. Three times, they'd been alone and close-quartered - once, mere steps from this very bed - and nothing had happened. And with a week apart ahead of them, all would be forgotten, Mia was increasingly sure. They'd go back to friendly hellos in the restaurant, and that would be that. Their sudden closeness was just a blip.

Mia huffed a sigh and turned to her side, bunching the pillow under her head, hoping sleep would find her soon. She was due at John and Abigail's at one that afternoon, and already the pale, December sunrise was breaching her window, illuminating the giant, wrapped package she had for Jack.

At least giving the gift, and time with her friends, was something to look forward to.

*

"Orphan Christmas, woo!" John's shouting voice cracked and fizzled over his building's intercom, straining its ancient speaker to its limits. Mia battled her way inside with the box sandwiched between her arms, bags hung from her elbows. She got into the elevator and rode to John's floor, and then struggled down the hallway.

"Hey Mi- whoa, holy shit!" John chirped, spotting the box and Mia's reddened face behind it.

"John, language!" Abigail scolded, then, seeing the box for herself, "What the fuck, Mia?"

"It's for Jack," she panted, pausing to remove her gloves. Abigail rushed her and kissed her cheek. She and John were dressed in identical burgundy: a fine-knit sweater for John; a dress for Abigail.

"You're only spoiling him. John, help her with this." The two women made their way into the apartment, leaving John with the box, where Mia was confronted with Jack, the boy in burgundy corduroys.

"Well aren't you all cute and matchy," Mia stole a glance back to John, whose scowl was tempered by a blush that crossed his cheeks, muttering Abigail made me wear it. "And," she returned to Abigail after giving Jack a squeeze. "It's for Christmas and his birthday. And, full disclosure, it's secondhand. But I washed the hell out of it."

Upon spotting the box, Jack's eyes lit up. "Mine?"

"It's from Auntie Mia, open it," Abigail encouraged. John helped Jack tear away the bright wrappings as Abigail and Mia unpacked her other bags; a dessert for the evening - her contribution to their dinner - and a couple of bottles of wine. The three adults gravitated to the sofa and sat down. Jack removed the rest of the paper and the sides of the box fell away to reveal his gift - a wooden play kitchen.

John immediately feigned offence, grabbing at Jack and clutching the boy to him. "Not my son, no! The kitchen life won't get him, he's going to be a doctor!"

Abigail grinned as Jack wrested himself from his father and toddled over to twist the knobs on the plexiglass cooktop, and open and close the little oven door. As Jack gathered a selection of play food, she stroked John's arm and whispered, "I don't know, John Marston. I think he's doomed."

It was a quiet Christmas day, perfectly suited to their hangovers from the party the night before. Classical jazz piped through the speaker, and they drank a couple of bottles of wine and talked, watching Jack play with the kitchen. Occasionally, he'd come over to "serve" the adults, and they'd snap-to, accepting his torn paper or play food with exaggerated excitement.