Shields- A Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction

Chapter 40

I sit back in my seat, feeling pleasantly full. The people around the table seem to think the same.

"Mum, that meal was amazing!" Tom says from my left, leaning forward a little to look down at Diana. She smiles, wiping her mouth gently with a napkin.

"Thank you, Tom. I did have some help in the kitchen, though. Thank you, girls."

Sarah, Emma and I mumble quiet "you're welcome"s, my face heating up a little.

"When is Santa coming?" David demands from his end of the table. A chuckle runs around the table.

Gathered for the Christmas Holidays in the Hiddleston home are Tom's sisters and their families, as well as Mr. James, Tom's father. Henry—Tom's uncle from his mother's side—is here with his wife, Julian, and their two children and their families. Christina, who is older than Tom, is expecting her first child with her husband, Stephen. Robert and his wife, Teresa, are also here.

I'm not used to the larger crowd, but as long as I am at Tom's side, I am able to remain relatively comfortable.

"Not until tonight, Davey," Sarah says gently, ruffling her son's hair. "Santa only comes once the children are tucked in their beds, sound asleep."

"Awww," David pouts slightly. "I wanted to see him..."

"Well, David," I rest my chin in one hand, grinning. "When I was your age, I would write letters to Santa. I would leave it by the fireplace with the milk and... biscuits? We call them cookies," I roll my eyes at this, surrounded by some more laughter. "Anyways, when I came down the stairs on Christmas morning, the cookies were eaten, the milk drunk, and Santa had left a letter for me! Every year, he told me some news of what was happening at the north pole. I remember, one year, Dasher had a cold, so he was sneezing all the way through the route."

"You wrote letters to Santa?!?!" The little boy's eyes look like they might pop out of their sockets. "And he answered back?!?!" Now, Adam is also interested, eyes gleaming.

"Can we write letters to Santa too?"

"I imagine we can find some paper for you both to write letters to Santa," Yakov comments, grinning.

David begins giggling only like a four-year-old can. His laugh is infectious, and soon we're all laughing. Once they've managed to convince their parents that they've eaten enough dinner, Adam and David get down from their chairs and run off, already planning what they would write to Santa.

"Did you really write letters to Santa when you were little, Alice?" Tom asks, turning to me. My eyes remain on the door that the boys had fled through.

"Yes, I did. It was my mother's idea, I believe. It was something she did when she was little. It's kind of a tradition. Up until the time I learned the... unfortunate truth that most children have to go through, I wrote a letter each Christmas Eve and got one back on Christmas morning. My mom would write the letters once I had gone to sleep. She almost always wrote in cursive, so I didn't recognize her handwriting in print. I think I have the letters stored away in one my childhood boxes."

"That's adorable!" Teresa exclaims, resting her chin on top of folded hands. I grin, taking a sip of my wine. I can hear footsteps on the stairs as two children go racing upstairs.

"They remind me of myself at their age." I murmur. Tom takes my hand, gently rubbing the back of it.

Emma excuses herself from the table as Elizabeth begins to cry for the third time since dinner began. The poor thing is sick. I get up and follow the frazzled mother.