12 Days of Thanktival — Day 6: Fix-it Fic/Shakespearean
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[AO3 link]
Relationships: William Shakespeare & Christopher Marlowe, William Shakespeare/Anne Hathaway
Characters: William Shakespeare, Anne Hathaway, Christopher Marlowe
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Summary: Chris survives his injury from being stabbed by King Phil and spends Christmas Day at the Shakespeares’ house.
A/N: It sucks being like the biggest Chris Marlowe fan in this fandom because there’s basically no works about him. Maybe I just love Jim Howick but Chris Marlowe deserved better.
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Christmas at the Shakespeares’
Christmas Day had always found the Shakespeare house a lively, joyful place to be. Pleasant, but not exactly relaxing. Enjoyable, but with an air of chaos and impending doom wherever you went. That was just what came of having three children, Bill supposed. He’d never forget the year when he and Anne had gone out to listen to a Carol singer and found that the twins had managed to knock a whole tray of vegetables to the floor and trampled all over it. It would have spoiled their Christmas dinner completely, if their neighbours hadn’t taken pity on them and invited them around. And then there was the year when the log had nearly set the entire house on fire, and only Anne’s quick reflexes and a conveniently placed bucket of water had saved them. Bill could have told a thousand other such stories, if there were still anyone he knew who wasn’t sick of the sound of his voice.
Their first Christmas since moving to London, while stressful, had so far been relatively disaster-free. Granted all they’d done so far was wake up and put their dinner on to cook for that evening, but it was still a minor miracle.
“Mum, Hamnet and Judith want to go outside and play in the snow,” Susanna said, appearing in the kitchen where Bill and Anne were busy chopping turnips.
“Fine, but make sure they’re both wearing shoes and coats,” Anne said. “And tell them they have to be back before we head to Church.”
Susanna nodded and left the kitchen. “They won’t be back in time,” Bill said. “They never are. Remember that year we searched half the village for them, and it turned out they were just hiding behind the chicken house? And that was in Stratford, they’ve got way more places to hide here.”
“They know what the rule is,” Anne said. “If they’re not back in time for the Church service then they don’t get any dinner.”
At that moment they heard the sound of voices at the door, and then Chris Marlowe entered the kitchen, beaming in his Sunday best and carrying a large wreath of holly.
“It’s the Shakespeares!” he cried, hugging first Anne, then Bill. “I hope I’m not late, there was a pile of snow this high outside my door this morning…”
“Merry Christmas, mate,” Bill said, slapping his friend on the back. “Kids! Come say hello to Chris!”
The twins ran into the kitchen, halfway through putting their coats on, followed by Susanna. “Hello!” they said to Chris, who crouched down to ruffle their hair.
“Merry Christmas, you lot!” Chris said. “Are you going out somewhere?”
“I’m taking them to play in the snow,” Susanna said.
“Well you two have fun, and listen to your big sister, okay?” Chris said, before straightening up and turning back to Bill and Anne. “Oh, I brought this as a thank-you for having me for Christmas,” he said, lifting up the wreath he was carrying.
“Well we can put it up if there’s any space left,” Anne said. Almost every spare inch of space in their small home was already thoroughly adorned with mistletoe, ivy, holly and yew. It added a nice touch of festivity to the place and created a pleasant, joyful atmosphere.
Congrats on the new play, by the way, Bill,” Chris said. “I hear the Queen herself attended opening night. You’ve clearly been doing something right this whole time.”
“Thanks, Chris. I was absolutely terrified the whole time that something was going to go wrong… she seemed to enjoy it, though.”
“I’ll have to go and check it out sometime,” Chris said.
“Come as my guest! I insist!” Bill said. “I still haven’t repaid you for saving my life from Phil and Croydon… it’s a miracle you survived that stab wound at all.”
Chris fell silent suddenly, and Bill winced. No matter how many times Chris apologised for attempting to steal Bill’s play, he never seemed to have forgiven himself for it. Not to mention the fact that Chris’s injury was still a sore subject—he had been sick for weeks with an infection, and most likely would have died if Walsingham hadn’t paid out of pocket for the best doctor in London to take care of him.
“Chris, could you give me a hand with these sprouts?” Anne said, saving them from the awkward silence that had arisen between them. “Bill always takes too many layers off. It’s like he wants the pigs to eat better than us.”
“I’m just trying to make sure they’re peeled properly!” Bill protested as Chris joined Anne by the pile of sprouts.
“Oh, before I forget,” Chris said, reaching into an inner pocket and pulling out a stack of folded up paper. “I read over that script you gave me, Bill, and I’ve added some suggestions in the margins.”
Bill took the pile of paper and let it unfold in his hands. It was just a first draft for the latest idea he’d been working on, and still needed a lot of reworking, but he’d asked his fellow playwright to take a look over it and give him some feedback.
“It’s not bad,” Chris said. “Better than some of your other first attempts. I don’t suppose there’s any point in me even… trying to get you to tone in down a bit, is there?”
“You can try,” Bill said smugly. “But I’d probably save myself the effort, if I were you.”
“You’re a madman,” Chris said. “You’re lucky the Queen’s taken a shine to you.”
Bill smiled. “Well, I’ve always been blessed by Lady Luck.”
“Untrue,” Anne said. “I’ve never met anyone who’s worse at cards than you. Not to mention your dozens of failed careers before you landed on writing.”
“Hey, I was trying something with the interpretive dance, okay?”
“Well, I’ve got to know about this,” Chris said.
~~~
The three adults chatted amiably among themselves as they finished chopping vegetables, and not long after they were done a knock on the door announced the return of the kids.
“Any broken bones?” Bill asked as he let them in.
“Hamnet threw a snowball and hit someone in the eye,” Judith said.
“You weren’t supposed to tell anyone about that!” Hamnet cried, giving his sister a shove.
“No one was badly hurt,” Susanna said.
“No, leave your shoes on,” Anne said, hurrying towards them. “We’re heading out now, and if you take them off you’ll be hours putting them back on.”
“Is everyone ready to go then?” Chris asked, standing up from tying his laces. A quick head-count confirmed that yes, everyone was ready, and they all piled out of the house, Bill shutting the door behind them.
They turned right at the end of their street and joined the steady flow of people making their way to the Church. It was a pleasant walk, and several people called out or waved to Bill and Anne as they passed. He spotted Jill from the fish stall in the marketplace, holding the hand of her son, Henry. He was clutching at his eye as he walked, and when he saw them pointed an accusatory finger at Hamnet and said something to his mother.
“Okay, who wants to take the scenic route?” Bill said quickly, herding his family away from Jill’s angry glare and down a side street. Jill was definitely not the kind of person whose bad side you wanted to get on, that he knew from personal experience.
“Hamnet!” Judith said crossly, aiming a kick at her brother’s ankles.
“What? I didn’t even throw it that hard!” Hamnet protested.
“Let’s just get out of here quickly,” Anne said.
They made it to the Church in good time before the Christmas Day service started. They took their seats near the back, Bill and Anne with the kids between them and Chris on Bill’s left. As the service began, Anne reached out and squeezed Bill’s shoulder, turning to smile at him.
“Merry Christmas, darling,” she said.
“Merry Christmas, my angel,” he replied, leaning over and kissing her hand.
When the service was over, they returned home and the three adults had hot drinks and roast chestnuts by the fire, while the kids played in the next room. Bill and Chris talked about writing, and Anne shared the latest gossip from about town. Then they played a few different card and dice games, which Chris turned out to be amazing at. Bill’s luck stayed true and he managed to lose all but one of the games they played. After that they had dinner, and aside from one dropped bowl of peas nothing particularly eventful happened. Halfway through, Bill stood up and lifted his cup to propose a toast.
“Merry Christmas!” he said. “To my darling wife, Anne. To Chris, for being a true friend, and the most patient teacher in the world. To you lot,” he nodded at the kids at the other end of the table, “for managing not to set anything on fire this year. To all of us!”
Everyone cheered heartily. Bill took a long drink and sat back down in his seat, where Chris slapped him on the back.
“That was a good speech,” he said. “Maybe you are an alright playwright after all.”
Bill laughed.
