The Gift of Giving
Happy Christmas Eve! I hope everyone is having a peaceful holiday, and if you don't celebrate, I hope you're having a good wrap-up week as the year draws to a close. Characters in this softie family-party piece are from @lumosinlove <3
TW for alcohol mentions
It came around every December. November, really, for those closest; either way, it preyed on the dark trudge through the last dregs of autumn. The insurmountable task. The impossible question. What to give to Sirius Black, the man who had it all?
His birthday was a buffer for many. A birthday card from CVS was more than enough (more than he expected), but anything could double as a trial run for the real deal while leaving time for delivery. In the way of every other person on Earth, getting a gift triggered thoughts of oh, I needed that and what if I… that would inevitably lead to an offhand mention a week later. And, really, there was a point when getting gift cards for a man making nine million a year began to feel ridiculous.
James was impervious to this challenge, and everyone else despised him for it. The leather jacket for Sirius’ last birthday had not just raised the bar for the rest of them, but shot it off into the stratosphere. There was simply no hope at all.
(It was vitally important that Sirius knew nothing of this struggle. They would never live it down, and he would never accept a gift again.)
Monday evening found an odd flock gathered around Dumo’s living room coffee table. They had a candle going and everything, and evergreen boughs draped over the fireplace. The fire itself was safely contained by brick and a wide mantle, where photographs had been temporarily replaced by nine felt-covered stockings.
“I’m saying,” Alex pressed, covering Logan’s mouth blindly with one hand. “I don’t have the gift for him because I’m seeing him in two days at our fucking house.”
“You don’t love me,” Finn said loudly.
“Two days!”
“You didn’t get me anything!” Finn continued. “You forgot! You hate me and you want to ruin my Christmas!”
He jabbed a finger at Alex, who rolled his eyes. “Yes, Fish, I hate you and Christmas and I’ve never given you a present in your entire life.”
“He admits it,” Leo said, shaking his head. “Wow. Brutal.”
“I’m telling mom you said you hated me in front of our friends.”
Alex kicked at him under the table; Finn quickly pulled his legs into Percy’s lap. “I’m going next,” Logan declared, dodging Alex’s subsequent attempt to smother him. He set a paper-covered box on the table with a decisive thud, then held his hand out in a gimme motion. “Hit me.”
Alex punched him in the arm.
“With my presents,” Logan complained, elbowing him back.
“We have your birthday present in the car,” Remus informed him. “But I was also your secret Santa, so you’ll have to open this one first.”
In direct opposition to one Sirius Black, Logan was incredibly easy to shop for. The whimsy of receiving a gift overwhelmed any thoughts he had about the actual contents, and even the littlest, most sappy-sentimental tchotchkes would be treasured with the kind of sincerity inherent in people who just liked to be thought of. Though much like James, Logan never seemed to struggle with finding a gift for Sirius. Perhaps it was something in the honesty of it. Something in the seeing and the knowing.
His short shout of elation made Remus grin. “For me?” he asked, as if his name wasn’t scrawled on a sticker-tag across the top. Logan held the pan up for everyone to see, the nonstick surface glistening in the warm light of the living room. There were many oohs and aahs, and a smattering of applause when he held up the Ten-Step Meals for the Beginner Cook hardcover that had been set inside it.
“It’s not all sandwiches,” Remus added as Logan took his hand for a one-armed hug across the table. “I checked.”
“Merci, Loops, my egg budget thanks you.” He knocked the sides of their heads together before they parted again, then reached for the box he had brought. “You made this very easy, ‘cause I got your boy.”
Sirius perked up next to him, straightening from where he had leaned back to bask in the fire’s heat behind him. Logan slid the box across the table. He was pulling on the ribbon at the top before Logan’s hand even left it. “Nice wrapping.”
“Ta gueule.”
Logan’s eagerness was obvious in the quick flashes of his eyes between the gift and Sirius’ face. That, and the way he sat on his hands while Sirius peeled the paper away. Then tape, then cardboard, then bubble wrap, then—
“Jesus, Tremz, did you send this thing through a war?” Saint laughed.
“It was a long flight!”
“Oh!” Sirius closed the top of the box with a delighted smile. “Really?”
Logan nodded. A flush crept up his neck and onto his cheeks.
“For me?”
“The real deal.”
“Okay, show us plebians.” Leo was only half-awake, Finn’s hand in his hair and his ankles laid over the brick step in front of the fire. He managed to lift his head a whole inch to peer at Sirius’ box.
“Caribou.”
“He got you a fucking deer?”
“The drink,” several voices chorused. Sirius lifted the bottle out of the box; Leo raised his hands in surrender, relaxing back into the edge of the couch.
Sirius gave a low whistle when he looked at the front and tilted it toward Remus, who did a very passable impression of someone that knew what they were looking at. “It’s maple,” Sirius explained for the many, many others squinting to see. “Like, a whiskey or something. Or some sort of port wine?”
Logan shrugged, already opening the cover of his cookbook. “It’s caribou.”
“Dumo knows, ask him.” Sirius raised the bottle. “Merci, Tremz, joyeux noël.”
“Nah, she’s in the other room,” Thomas said, sending a ripple of laughter through their strange pride. They’d never had opponents in the Dumais home for Christmas. In fact, the closest they had come was nearly a decade ago—Sergei had been traded for a total of two months, one of those fire-lighting swaps that made everyone miserable and only sometimes led to success. He and Dumo had told the story nine times already tonight. After everything, it wasn’t hard to convince him to let a couple of the house-trained Rangers tag along for a gift exchange.
“Alright, I had Nat, but I think she’s watching a movie with the girls.” Sirius passed his gift to Kasey, who didn’t skip a beat before leaning over to drop his in front of Saint.
“You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little,” Kasey laughed.
Saint shook his head. “And these were random?”
“Goalie powers, Montague.”
Saint began removing the first piece of tissue paper, then paused. His eyes narrowed. “Is this a sabotage attempt?”
“I’m not doing bad enough for sabotage,” Leo complained.
“It’s alcohol and candy,” Kasey answered dryly.
“Oh, good.” Faux-suspicion gave way to something like a smile as he dug into the bag and emerged with his prizes, lining them up neatly in the crook of Luke’s leg that stretched out beside him. Luke gave a slow, sleepy blink. Saint pinched his chin between thumb and forefinger and cracked open the twist-top of the seltzer. “Za zhizn.”
Kuny stuck two fingers in his mouth to whistle, still decked out in the hat, scarf, and vivid purple sunglasses gifted to him by James despite being indoors. His sweater had long since been abandoned, leaving him in jeans and a plain undershirt with a hole in the neckline. His light-up Christmas socks (also from James) glowed faintly in his pantlegs.
Saint gifted Will a set of nice wineglasses, and Will passed Leo a boxed set of mystery novels with a bow taped to the top. Around they went, lazy in the way of familiar partygoers after a long day, with even more long days ahead. The gift exchange was purely for the novelty at this point—a party game to bring a laugh or affectionate cuff. Most of them had either already exchanged more formal gifts or decided to wait until after the holidays were done, when they’d all be back in the same place again without the stress of upcoming travel. NHL schedules were unforgiving, and coaches, even moreso.
These moments made it worth it. Cole snapped a photo of Sirius and Remus squeezing into the same armchair on his new disposable camera—one of five gifted to him by Thomas, each labeled with a different theme. Team. Gryff. Friends. Home. Your Girl. Saint split his seltzer with Kasey and Leo exclusively, thankyouverymuch. Luke’s pleading look earned him only a chocolate-covered caramel pressed to his mouth. They were from a tiny sweets shop in the depths of Manhattan; Finn had taped the address to the underside, along with a full punch card.
A sudden herd of children sent the room into chaos, scattering them to the movie room, basement, kitchen, and anywhere they could tuck away their gifts to not be forgotten at the end of the night. Harry, at two years old still the youngest and slowest of the group, didn’t go far. He crawled onto Sirius’ lap and promptly closed his eyes, not caring a whit for Dumo and Logan on either side of him or the three crystal glasses Dumo had brought along. All he knew was warmth, and snow falling gently outside.
They kept their toast to the French Court quiet for his sake. A clink clink clink and stifled laughter at Sirius’ careful reach. The smooth sweetness of maple syrup, with a bite of alcohol beneath. Logan had found a good one. Dumo would be pleased to find a bottle of his own hidden under the tree in a few days, this time to split with the beautiful journalist in the other room wearing the green sweater that made him feel nineteen and hopeless again.
Remus watched them from the doorway: three figures by the fire, turned toward the wide bay windows like little kids seeing their first white Christmas. Sirius had a pine needle in the back of his hair. Logan’s shirt had come untucked on one side. One pajama-covered foot dangled off the side of Sirius’ lap, content.
On the other side of the house, Lily had fallen asleep with her head in Natalie’s lap and her legs across James’. Her boots were still by the front door, leaving her festive, gingerbread-emblazoned stockings on display to be admired. She snored the same as her son. While she slept, Alex took full advantage of Natalie’s unwillingness to wake her best friend and stole several sips of her eggnog. It was Celeste’s special recipe. Who could blame him?
It all came down to the homemade eggnog, and The Grinch, and ridiculous gifts wrapped with utmost solemnity. Rangers in the Lions’ den; a toddler passed out in the firelight. Green sweaters and flannel shirts from last year’s Christmas in Quebec, half-tucked into jeans with more than a few frosting stains. Remus had joined the window-watchers when Cole tiptoed into the living room a few minutes later, snug beneath Sirius’ arm. There was room for him and Layla on Pascal’s other side. The glitter glue on his stocking still looked fresh, without a crack in sight. He was kind of excited to see what it would look like in a few years. Those beside it, adorned with rhinestone stars and Lion patches, held the promise of much good to come.
