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Chapter Text

‘Time to see what Santa’s brought us all, I think,’ Serena says when they all troop into the office and flop down into the mismatched chairs after their repeat performance of last night’s concert for the school.

She pulls the green recycling box, repurposed for the week, out from under the table and peers into it, and then laughs.

Raf, closest to her, leans to look too and frowns. ‘What?’ he asks, seeing nothing but a collection of interestingly shaped parcels, all wrapped in the same blue and silver paper.

Fleur, the last to come in, glances down as she passes on her way to the last empty chair – I’ll have to share with Bernie, Serena thinks. What a shame – and laughs.

‘What?’ Raf insists, but Fleur just shakes her head and sits down.

Serena begins to draw out the presents, reading the computer printed stickers and passing them to their intended recipients with a flourish.

‘And finally, Fletch,’ she says, pausing a moment before handing it over, looking at Bernie as she does so.

Because while the rest of the gifts may not have been professionally wrapped, this one is a mess of far too much sellotape and a less than neat bow.

‘Not so much of a secret who that one’s from,’ Serena murmurs to Bernie when she comes to perch on the arm of her chair. ‘I recognise the wrapping style.’

‘It was a funny shape,’ Bernie grumbles in her ear.

Serena just smiles and presses a kiss to her cheek, decides she won’t mention the trouble Bernie had wrapping the book she got Serena for her birthday.

Chapter Text

The Haynes-Campbell-Wolfe household is raucous the Saturday evening before the Carol Concert. There’s the Fletcher-di Lucca brood, of course, but this year they’re also joined by violin teacher Donna, deep in conversation with Jason about the merits and pitfalls of the Suzuki method, and her two girls, and new singing teacher Fleur, ostensibly talking to Serena, Raf and Fletch but spending most of her time stealing glances at Donna. And on the floor near the Christmas tree, with the kids and a bucket load of Lego, are Cameron and Charlotte.

Coming in from the kitchen with a fresh plate of mince pies, Bernie feels her heart swell at the sight of their ragtag family all here together. There’s a gap, though, has been one ever since Ellie’s lying and drugs and accident. Bernie can see the sadness in Serena’s eyes, however much she’s trying to hide it, and her smile wavers.

If only…

She’s just offering the plate to Donna when the doorbell rings, exchanges a confused glance with Serena because they’re not expecting anyone else, everyone they invited is already here.

‘I’ll get it!’ Charlotte shouts, springing up off the floor and leaping over the sprawl of Lego and children before anyone else has chance to move.

Bernie shrugs and goes back to offering mince pies around, keeps half an ear out but can only hear whispers and the rustle of coats from the hall.

And then the room around her falls silent. Slowly Bernie turns, taking in the surprised expressions on every face. Every face other than Jason, Cam and Charlotte, that is, who are all wearing matching smiles.

Because standing beside Charlotte, looking more shy and uncertain than Bernie has ever seen her, is Elinor.

‘Happy Christmas, Mum,’ she says quietly, hopefully.

Fleur takes Serena’s glass from her unresisting fingers and gives her a shove. It’s all the encouragement she needs to launch herself from the sofa and to wrap Elinor in a tight embrace, one Elinor eagerly returns.

‘Thank you,’ Bernie mouths, catching Jason, Charlotte and Cam’s eyes in turn.

The room blurs as tears fill her eyes at the sight of Serena and Elinor, her heart singing now the last member of their family is home.

Chapter Text

‘I don’t know how you do it,’ Donna says, in the second week of the new school year.

‘Do what?’ Fleur frowns.

‘Teach the same tiny selection of songs over and over all day without going mad.’

‘Just one of my many virtues, I suppose,’ Fleur replies with a wink.

‘Well I’m gonna drive home singing Les Mis to myself on a loop, so thanks for that.’

‘Could be worse,’ Fleur says, reaching past Donna for her scarf and draping it around her neck.

‘It could?’

Fleur nods. ‘Just wait until I start on songs for the carol concert.’

‘Oh god,’ Donna groans. ‘At least promise me you’ll choose something nice?’ she calls after Fleur as she leaves the office. ‘Please? For my sake?’

But all Fleur does is wave over her shoulder as she sashays away. ‘See you next week.’

Two months later…

Donna is already on her third lesson of the morning when Fleur arrives. She smiles as she sees Fleur walk past her practice room, a little while later smiles at the familiar sounds of the warm-up exercises Donna has heard seven times every Thursday this term.

And then Fleur sings the opening lines of a song, and Donna groans. ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ she mutters.

‘Miss?’

‘Oh no, not you Lauren,’ she says quickly, turning her attention back to her student. ‘Go on.’

Donna forces herself to concentrate but she keeps getting distracted by the new song Fleur is teaching her first group of the day. By the time the bell goes for break she’s already heard it countless times, can sense the melody worming its way into her ears, keeps catching herself humming it or tapping her fingers to the rhythms.

In the gap she’s timetabled herself for lunch between lessons, Donna wedges the practice room door open while she sits and writes up her notes. When she hears the rabble of Fleur’s group leaving she gets up and sticks her head out.

‘It’s barely November, Fanshawe,’ she calls across the corridor, ‘and I’ve got a flipping carol stuck in my head. I’m gonna kill you.’

‘Bring it on, Jackson,’ Fleur calls back playfully, her eyes dancing.

Serena, coming out of the classroom towards the office, looks between the two of them and smiles to herself.

This department’s going to start getting a reputation, she thinks.

Chapter Text

Their third Christmas together, and Serena has kept her promise to write a new arrangement for Bernie to conduct. Unlike the previous year, though, she kept this one hidden from Bernie until it was mostly done, sat her in front of the computer in the middle of a sweltering summer holiday and pressed play, wringing her hands and fiddling with her pendant nervously as Bernie listened in silence.

‘Well?’ she asked, when several seconds had passed since it finished and Bernie still said nothing.

‘You remembered,’ Bernie said hoarsely.

‘Of course, darling,’ Serena replied.

Bernie finally turned to her, her eyes glistening. ‘Thank you.’

Serena pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and pressed close to her, nuzzling into the curve of her neck.

I remember all your favourites.

And now it’s the middle of December, the middle of the concert, time for Serena to hand her baton over to Bernie. She offers the usual reassuring smile and brush of their fingers as they pass, not that Bernie needs it now: it’s her third carol concert and she’s conducted countless items in those years, knows this piece like the back of her hand and no longer lacks confidence. But she reaches for Serena anyway, and Serena reaches for her, takes the chance to ground herself amid the soaring rush of adrenaline.

For herself, Serena has grasped the rare opportunity to play the tubular bells. The percussion music has somehow become something of a mess and she has to hunt for her part, finally finds it and looks up at Bernie – who is now wearing a Santa hat Serena is certain wasn’t on her person when they left the office. After all, where would she hide it in those slim-fitting trousers? Their eyes catch, and even from this distance Serena can see that Bernie’s are sparkling, and she can’t help but smile.

A quick scan of the performers confirms her suspicion about who else was involved in this: Mikey Fletcher is spectacularly failing to stifle a grin, keeps stealing glances at her to see her reaction to this breaking of her usual ‘no Santa hats or tinsel’ rule. Serena’s tempted to scowl, but Bernie looks so happy and adorable and full of festive cheer that she can’t, won’t do anything to ruin this for her.

‘What sort of example do you think you’re setting?’ she mutters when they pass again, her voice rich with mirth despite her best efforts at sternness.

Bernie doesn’t reply, just takes the hat from her head and plops it onto Serena’s instead with a wink, her fingers brushing the fake fur trim and, fleetingly, Serena's face.

Chapter Text

‘Please tell me you’ve mysteriously managed to get hold of some mistletoe again this year?’ Raf asks Fletch when he gets home.

‘Still making eyes at each other, are they?’

‘Almost as bad as Bernie and Serena were,’ Raf confirms.

‘Well then, lucky for you I just happen to know a guy,’ Fletch says. He goes into the hall and pulls a carrier bag from the cupboard, pulls out a huge, tangled bunch of mistletoe and grins. ‘See what Christmas magic we can manage this year, shall we?’

The following week, the day both Fleur and Donna teach, Raf smuggles a sprig of mistletoe in with him, glances around to make sure no one’s looking and stretches up to pin it above the wedged open office door. He’s checked both of their timetables, knows Fleur doesn’t teach over lunch so she’s on hand in case Serena wants a hand with the choir rehearsal, knows Donna has scheduled herself a twenty minute break between lessons, knows they both usually spend this time in the office with whoever else happens to be around. All he has to do now is sit back and wait.

The bell goes, and Raf hears the sounds of the two classrooms emptying. A moment later Fleur’s group finish too, and then Donna’s student. Always in sync, Bernie and Serena come out of their classrooms at almost exactly the same time. Raf loiters just inside the office door, looks pointedly upwards as Serena walks towards him.

She follows his gaze and smiles, leans against the doorframe and waits for Bernie to catch her up.

‘What?’ Bernie frowns, looking up at the flick of Serena’s eyes. ‘Oh,’ she smiles, and leans to brush her lips against Serena’s. ‘Meddler,’ she mutters to Raf.

‘I admit to nothing,’ he replies, but his eyes are sparkling.

‘Ah, Fleur,’ Serena calls when Fleur props her practice room door open. ‘A word, if you have the time?’

‘I always have time for you,’ Fleur says with a wink. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Donna,’ Bernie smiles, as Donna too emerges from her room. She takes hold of Serena’s hand and gently tugs her into the office, vacating the space under the mistletoe.

‘What?’ Donna asks, when she notices Raf, Bernie and Serena are all looking back and forth between her and Fleur, one just inside the office and one just outside.

‘Look up?’ Raf suggests.

‘Oh,’ Donna blushes, and glances at Fleur.

‘Would be a shame to break with tradition, I suppose,’ Fleur says, tilting her head in question.

‘It would,’ Donna agrees.

She leans over the threshold just as Fleur stretches up on her toes, and instead of her lips brushing Fleur’s cheek they catch the edge of her mouth. Fleur’s hand rises to grip Donna’s elbow, and she ghosts her lips more fully across Donna’s.

Unseen, the other three exchange smiles. Bernie squeezes Serena’s hand, and Raf pulls his phone from his pocket and taps out a message to Fletch.

Chapter Text

It’s nearly time to start. Bernie has shepherded the orchestra over to the hall and now sits in her seat, takes up her cello and checks her tuning one last time, takes out her music and opens the first piece, flattens it carefully on the stand.

Ready, her eyes seek out Serena, seating the last of the choirs. She sits and just watches her, hears and feels the buzz surrounding her, feels it filling her, all the anticipation and work of the term building to a point almost within their grasp.

*

All the choirs in place, everything ready, Serena walks towards the low podium. Towards Bernie, just like she always does. She opens the folder of scores on her stand, opens the first score and glances at the first bars, glances at the performers arrayed before her.

And then she looks to her right, to Bernie. Bernie is already looking at her and their eyes meet instantly.

Ready? Serena asks wordlessly.

Bernie nods and smiles, everything Serena needs – encouragement and reassurance and excitement – flowing from her.

Serena picks up her baton, raises her hands. Behind her the audience falls quiet. In front of her the performers sit up, ready for her cue.

Chapter Text

‘What about Good King Wenceslas?’ Bernie asks, poring over the spreadsheet. ‘You haven’t done that for – four years, looks like. After doing it pretty much every other year up until then.’

‘No,’ Serena says, a little tightly. ‘Not that one.’

‘Why–’ Bernie starts, but falls silent at the look Raf is giving her.

‘It was my mother’s favourite,’ Serena says later, when they’re curled together on the sofa, Serena’s fingers running through Bernie’s hair. ‘Good King Wenceslas,’ she adds. ‘The first carol concert after I was made Head of Department she complained no end about how much time I was spending at work, how many extra hours I was putting in at the weekend. On top of everything else I had to do I was arranging it for her, the first carol I ever arranged here, and I wanted it to be perfect.’

She shifts and looks up. Bernie follows her gaze to the photo on the mantelpiece, Serena and Adrienne standing together in a hall Bernie knows well.

‘And then she came to the concert, sat in the front row right in the middle, right behind me. Like it wasn’t nerve wracking enough already. I look slightly shell shocked in that photo because she actually told me she was proud of me. I always knew she was,’ she continues, before Bernie can interrupt. ‘She sewed on every one of my Guide badges, framed all my certificates, but she so rarely said the words.’

Bernie reaches for one of Serena’s hands, the one not buried in her hair. Serena takes it instantly, twines their fingers together, and Bernie squeezes gently.

‘It was due to be on the programme the year she died,’ Serena says quietly. ‘But I welled up as soon as I looked at the music. And I suppose I just never put it back in the rotation.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You didn’t know, darling,’ Serena smiles. ‘But I think maybe it’s time I faced this particular ghost of Christmas past.’

The next day they go into the music cupboard together. Bernie reaches up and pulls the orange folder of orchestral parts down, while Serena finds the choir folder and then digs through the box of scores. She flips it open and Bernie hears her breath hitch, sees her free hand rise to her pendant and moves closer, places a steady hand on her elbow.

‘Yes,’ Serena says softly, her index finger tapping the beat against the pages. ‘Yes.’

The first orchestra rehearsal is hard. Bernie can see Serena’s hands shaking, can hear the slight hoarseness to her voice. She’s glad she’s taken on the responsibility of leading the senior choir rehearsals, glad Serena has chance to hear it sung before she has to run through it with her Year Eights. By the start of December it’s getting easier, though Bernie can still sense the spectre of Adrienne standing at Serena’s elbow, always ready to criticise.

She’s there at the concert too, Bernie knows, sharing the seat directly behind Serena with the man actually sitting in it. Bernie wonders if she’s been there for every carol concert, alive and dead, or if her favourite carol has brought her ghost out to play this year.

Serena opens her score, grips her baton but doesn’t raise it. Instead she glances at Bernie, and Bernie holds her gaze and smiles; she does the same at the end of the carol, when Serena just manages to stop herself turning around to see her mother’s smile at hearing her favourite.

*

They visit Adrienne’s grave on Boxing Day, the first time Bernie has been there. It’s cold and windy, and late enough in the afternoon that the sky is darkening and the moon emerging. There’s a layer of snow on the ground around the place near the fence where Serena buried her mother’s ashes.

Serena has brought a small bottle of wine with them – sauvignon blanc rather than her usual Shiraz.

‘My mother’s favourite,’ she explains as she unscrews the top and pours a generous splash onto the snow before taking a swig and passing it to Bernie. ‘Never could get the taste for it myself,’

Bernie drinks straight from the bottle, shivering at how cold it is, then wraps her arm around Serena’s waist and draws her close to ease the chill freezing her blood.

‘Happy Christmas mum,’ Serena says quietly. ‘We played your favourite this year, thanks to Bernie. You’d have noticed that the clarinets weren’t quite up to scratch, but the strings did a wonderful job – thanks to Bernie, again. It almost felt like you were there.’

Chapter Text

They arrive in the entrance to Wyvern Wing to find Fleur already there, Raf and Fletch and Donna not far behind, all the kids at the Fletcher-di Lucca house with a babysitter.

‘We don’t need any practice,’ Fleur had said when she suggested they do this. ‘It’s only carols with the usual harmonies, nothing fancy.’

So here they all are, decked out in Santa hats, trooping into the paediatric ward to bring what Christmas joy they can.

‘Fleur! It’s so good of you to do this.’

‘Really you should be thanking my colleagues for allowing me to drag them along,’ Fleur smiles.

‘Thank you all,’ the consultant grins. ‘It’s going to mean so much to the kids, they’re really looking forward to it.’

They follow him onto the ward proper, stand where he directs them to and open their books to the first carol Fleur has chosen. Between them they cover all the parts, by the end of the first chorus have balanced their voices so everything can be heard.

Bernie has never considered herself a singer, not really, but she can hold a line and finds herself enjoying how it feels to sing like this, to sing with Serena standing beside her, reading from the same book, their voices blending together.

And then Once in Royal David’s City. Fleur sings the first verse alone, her voice floating over the assembled patients and families and staff, before the rest of them join in, the harmonies sounding more lush than Bernie remembers them being. It’s the final verse that’s the real surprise, though. Because when Fleur begins to sing the descant over their unison melody, Donna joins in, easily matching Fleur for tone and reaching the highest notes with apparently little effort, causing them all to turn and look at her.

‘Where’ve you been hiding that voice?’ Fleur mutters under cover of the applause as they turn to the next carol.

‘A girl’s gotta have some secrets,’ Donna smiles, a blush colouring her cheeks.

‘Well then you can take the descant in this one,’ Fleur grins.

They’re prepared for it this time, but Bernie still catches sight of Fleur gazing at Donna as her voice rises pure above theirs, wonder in her eyes. She nudges Serena and tilts her head towards the pair; Serena looks at them and then catches Bernie’s eye, and they exchange a smile, Serena leaning into her side a little.

‘Drink?’ Fletch asks as they leave, walking back through Wyvern Wing towards the car park. ‘We’ve got the babysitter until nine, may as well make the most of it.’

‘Do you need to ask?’ Serena teases. ‘Fleur, Donna?’

There’s no reply. They all turn around to see why, only to find Donna and Fleur the wrong side of a set of swinging doors. Not that either of them seem to mind, lost as they are in each other, Fleur stretching up on her toes to bury her hands in Donna’s hair as she kisses her.

Chapter Text

The black lacquer of the piano, moved out of Serena’s study especially for this evening’s gathering, reflects back the lights twinkling on the tree. Arthur leans against the piano, a glass of mulled wine in his hand, watching Raf and Fletch duet to Serena’s busked accompaniment. Serena glances at them over the top of the piano. It’s their fourth Christmas working together, their second Christmas living together, but this year there’s a new light in both their eyes.

She glimpses them later, stealing a kiss in the kitchen doorway, and smiles, feels just the slightest pang that she doesn’t have anyone to hold her – anyone to hold – this Christmas.

*

They’ve moved the piano again, polished out the fingerprints so it gleams and the tree lights shine in pinpricks of light. Again, Serena sits and bashes out an accompaniment for Raf and Fletch, Theo and Ella in their respective arms and Ella and Mikey dancing around them. Jason has excused himself up to his room, but beside Serena on the piano stool sits Bernie. There’s only just enough room for both of them and they’re pressed together from shoulder to thigh.

Serena remembers this time last year, remembers earlier in the evening when Bernie sneaked up behind her and lavished her with kisses and smiles, and her heart feels full to bursting.

*

This year the piano has its own set of fairy lights, arranged along the top along with a long strand of red tinsel. All of their assorted kids sit around in judgement as Fleur and Donna and Raf and Fletch sing-off against each other. Bernie leans against the piano, her eyes soft as she watches Donna sweep Fleur into her arms and swing her around, their faces glowing in the firelight.

Bernie looks around at her and Serena’s heart flutters at the love in her eyes. If Serena had thought she was happy last year she doesn’t know what to call this, doesn’t know that any word can convey this feeling, doesn’t even know if any music could.

Chapter Text

For all that she loves Christmas, with its ornaments and decorations, Serena has never allowed tinsel or fairy lights, Santa hats or reindeer antlers or flashing earrings, in her Carol Concert. But the rerun for the school the following morning is an entirely different matter.

First thing on Friday, Serena retrieves an innocuous looking carrier bag from its hiding place in the stationary cupboard (right in the back corner, tucked behind the spare ring binders where no one would think to look for anything interesting, hidden from Fletch most of all), opens it and smiles at the contents.

‘Here,’ she says when she walks into the hall, passing a multicoloured handful of tinsel each to Raf and Bernie. ‘As many music stands as you can.’

This time when she takes her place, Serena is faced with a spangling sea of tinsel and glitter and Christmas jumpers and jewellery, and a tuba wrapped in strands of fairy lights, sending sparkles of colour reflecting in every direction.

Chapter Text

The staff room is blissfully empty. Fleur sighs with relief at the quiet, impossible to come by in the music department the day before the concert. The painkillers she took earlier are starting to wear off now, and her throat is all scratchy from rehearsing her vocal groups.

A quick rest,she thinks,then a Lemsip and some sugar to get me through the final rehearsals this afternoon.

She lies down and closes her eyes, focuses on her breathing and does her best to ignore the gentle throbbing in her temples.

*

As she had to be in for the orchestra rehearsal this afternoon, Donna agreed to teach a few catch up lessons for students who missed one this term due to illness. The last of them off ill again she’s at a loose end until lunchtime, would usually be more than happy to just sit in the music office but whoever’s covering Serena’s class is clearly struggling and she’d rather not have to listen to the tumult any longer than she has to.

The staff room it is, she thinks.

The lights are all off, and Donna thinks the room is deserted. And then she walks in a little further and sees Fleur in an almost tasteful red jumper dress with fake fur trim and a wide belt cinched around her waist, lying across three chairs, hands on her stomach rising and falling with each breath.

‘Hey Mrs Claus,’ she says softly, sitting opposite her.

Fleur opens her eyes and blinks up at Donna, snorting at the sight of her garish Christmas tree jumper, complete with glittering sequin fairy lights and tinsel and star.

‘Mia picked it out for me,’ Donna explains.

‘I like it,’ Fleur smiles, reaching to touch the star over Donna’s breastbone and feeling Donna’s breath hitch.

*

‘So you’ll be there tomorrow night, Henrik?’

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Henrik smiles. ‘As you well know.’

‘And you, Ric?’

‘You’ve twisted my arm, Serena,’ Ric replies, holding the staff room door open for her.

‘I’ll have seats reserved for you both, then. Wouldn’t do for senior management not to be able to–’

She trails off, all three of them staring in stunned silence. It’s Henrik who clears his throat, only quietly but it’s enough to have Donna and Fleur springing apart, their cheeks flushed, Fleur’s lipstick a vivid smear around Donna’s mouth.

Chapter Text

‘What’s that?’ Serena asks, peering over Bernie’s shoulder at the leaflet in her hands.

‘Local church carol services,’ Bernie replies. ‘I, uh, I’m thinking of going to one.’

‘You are?’ Serena frowns. ‘I didn’t know that was something you were interested in.’

‘It was part of my childhood,’ Bernie says quietly, eyes fixed on the leaflet. ‘My father was a vicar, church was where my love of music started. My brother and I both sang in the choir. He had a voice to rival Aled Jones when he was ten,’ she adds, smiling.

‘Then we’ll go,’ Serena says, squeezing Bernie’s shoulder.

‘You don’t have to come with me,’ Bernie protests.

‘I want to,’ Serena says. ‘Unless you’d prefer me not to.’

‘No,’ Bernie says quickly, looking around at Serena and touching her hand. ‘I’d like it if you did.’

‘Well then,’ Serena smiles. ‘You choose when and where, and we’ll go.’

*

The pews are even more uncomfortable than Serena remembers. The church Bernie has chosen is beautiful though, all honey coloured stone and stained glass and arches. It’s packed, the congregation far bigger than it is for the rest of the year, Serena suspects, and she winds up pressed between Bernie and the bench end, Bernie’s softness and warmth such a contrast to the cold, hard wood.

The discomfort is more than worth it, though, for the nostalgia in Bernie’s eyes and the chance to sing in such a place with so many people, their voices twining together and rising to the vaulted ceiling.

Towards the end of the service they’re handed candles. Bernie glows golden in the light of the flickering flames, her hair a halo, a look of utter peace on her face, so beautiful it makes Serena's heart ache.

Chapter Text

‘No,’ Serena says, the moment she steps inside.

‘Absolutely not,’ Fleur agrees. ‘All I want for Christmas is a break from poorly sung Christmas songs. Is that too much to ask?’

Because the pub over the road from the hospital is heaving with off-duty doctors and nurses, one of whom is currently belting out the most enthusiastically off-key rendition of the Mariah Carey classic.

‘Just one drink?’ Fletch tries. ‘As we’re here?’

‘Afraid you’re outnumbered,’ Raf mutters, manoeuvring him back outside.

As the door swings closed behind them, they all wince at a particularly painful note.

‘Point taken,’ Fletch grimaces.

Chapter Text

This year they have a picnic in the staff room after the Friday morning concerts, after clearing most things from the hall, after Secret Santa, before starting the serious business of tidying the department and packing everything away and sorting the music. Bernie brings something sweet, of course; her snowy white cheesecake sprinkled with gold glitter and stars draws envious glances from their colleagues.

‘Where on earth did you find time to make that this week?’ Donna marvels, adding a packet of supermarket mini sausage rolls to the spread on the low table.

‘Nigella,’ Bernie confides. ‘Took all of twenty minutes when we got home last night.’

‘She bakes to wind down,’ Serena adds, rolling her eyes fondly.

‘There’s a whole almond in there somewhere,’ Bernie warns as Fletch wields a knife and starts to cut slices. ‘Whoever gets it is King – or Queen – for the day – like a Christmas pudding or a galette des rois.’

Between them, and a few ex-students who came back to join in and have stayed to help out – Fletch easily hands out three quarters of the cheesecake, and Bernie can see him eyeing up another slice after just one bite.

It’s Serena who crows out in success. ‘I’ve got it!’

‘Well you are the undisputed queen of the department,’ Fleur says with a wink.

‘Undoubtedly,’ Bernie agrees with a smile, nudging Serena’s knee with hers.

Chapter Text

Bernie knows the stories behind the ornaments they’re hanging on the tree, but she listens to Jason and Serena just as intently as she did last year when they were all new. This year, though, she has her own stories to tell, a battered shoebox of treasured nostalgia to add to the branches.

When they’ve finished Bernie stands back and looks at the tree – their tree. The felt star Charlie made in her first year at school hangs beside the snowflake with the Harvard crest, the glass bauble of her mother’s opposite one of Adrienne’s, the old clown in its acrobatic hoop that isn’t Christmassy in the slightest but was on every tree when Bernie was growing up beneath Marjorie’s painted wooden penguin. As Bernie blinks back tears Serena reaches for her hand and squeezes.

Chapter Text

‘I should get going,’ Donna says eventually, though her voice is filled with reluctance. ‘It’s getting late, and I’ve still got to finish wrapping the kids’ presents before I pick them up tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Ok,’ Fleur says, with equal reluctance.

But when she opens the front door as Donna is pulling on her coat, she sees that it’s snowing. Has clearly been snowing for some time, while they’ve been – distracted.

‘I don’t think you should drive in that,’ she says.

‘It’s hardly a blizzard,’ Donna points out. A token protest really, she knows.

‘But it might turn into one,’ Fleur says.

As if it heard her the snow begins to flurry faster, the flakes growing fatter, the dark of the path soon invisible under the layer of white.

‘You a weather witch or something?’ Donna teases as Fleur closes the door and locks it.

But she’s already reaching for Fleur.

*

Donna wakes, eventually, to the odd, ethereal brightness of light reflecting off snow. To the unfamiliar, but most definitely welcome, warmth of Fleur beside her.

‘See, I was right,’ Fleur murmurs against Donna’s lips.

Chapter Text

The day before Christmas Eve, and Jason is filling their stockings. He filled Auntie Serena’s last year, and the year before just a few months after he moved in with her, told her very firmly that he would fill Auntie Bernie’s too now that she lives with them. He sits at his desk and gets out his present notebook, sorts the items into four piles, checking them off for the first time as he goes:

• Auntie Serena (to wrap)
• Auntie Serena (not to wrap)
• Auntie Bernie (to wrap)
• Auntie Bernie (not to wrap)

(His mother never used to wrap all the presents in his stocking, so neither does he.)

For each of them there’s a Satsuma and a net bag of gold foiled chocolate coins, a small stuffed dragon to add to the music department’s collection (dark blue for Auntie Bernie, dark red for Auntie Serena).

For Auntie Bernie: a packet of pencils with assorted animal erasers (because Auntie Serena is always berating her for losing pencils), fuzzy socks because her toes are always cold, a biscuit cutter in the shape of a quaver (which proves rather awkward to wrap).

For Auntie Serena: a packet of leopard print tissues, a selection of very fine grade sandpapers for her nails, a pewter key ring in the shape of a classical guitar.

The presents that don’t need wrapping go straight into the stockings (with another careful tick beside each in his notebook); the rest get their second tick once he’s wrapped them. Finally Jason adds a chocolate mouse to each, because his mother always gave him one in his stocking – and even let him eat it before breakfast – and leaves a third on his desk to give to Auntie Serena to put in his own stocking.

A job well done, Jason thinks with satisfaction as he looks at the filled stockings, and wonders what little goodies will be in his. Last year Auntie Serena found a marvellous ten coloured pen; he’s hoping she’s found another one this year. Auntie Bernie is an unknown quantity but she demonstrated exemplary present buying skills for his birthday (she gave him a book he only mentioned once in conversation), so he thinks she’ll be just fine.

Chapter Text

Bernie had long planned to take advantage of her free last lesson on the last Tuesday in November to escape school after lunch, to head into town in the hope that at half past two it wouldn’t be too busy and she’d be able to finish the remainder of her Christmas shopping that couldn’t be done online.

Of course now the Tuesday in question is actually here the weather is awful, and Bernie gazes out of the office window with distaste. She really doesn’t want to go out shopping in this – especially not at an outdoor market – but with extra after school rehearsals starting next week and her determination to avoid the city centre in December unless it’s an absolute necessity, this is her only opportunity. If her main objective wasn’t to buy a present for Serena she probably wouldn’t go, would just do without – but it is for Serena, so she grits her teeth and heads out.

It’s busier than usual, of course (where do all these people come from? Bernie wonders as she hunts for a space), but not as bad as it could have been. Probably the weather putting them off, she decides as she pulls her scarf more tightly around her neck, zips up her coat and ducks her head against the wind and the rain, starts to make her way across a car park more closely resembling a lake with every passing minute.

The Christmas market is busier than the high street. Usually Bernie would balk at the crowd, would take one look at it and decide to look elsewhere. Not today, though. Today she takes a deep breath and slips into the slowly moving stream of people, cold rain hitting her face as she searches for the stall she needs.

Finally she spots it, pushes her way across the walkway and ducks under the awning, casts her gaze across the tables of silver and amber, sparkling even in the grey afternoon. She came prepared, pulls her phone from her pocket and finds the photo she took of Serena’s earrings, the pair she bought her from this very stall last year.

‘I’m looking for a necklace to go with these?’ she says, showing it to the stallholder.

He picks out four necklaces, each a little different in colour and design. Bernie studies each, considers the shape and the stone.

‘This one, please,’ she says eventually, gently touching a piece of amber with the most beautiful flaws, tiny bubbles and inclusions that seem to glitter.

‘An excellent choice,’ the man smiles, carefully dropping it into a tiny organza bag.

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By the time Bernie returns to her car she’s shivering, her trousers wet through and her left foot practically swimming thanks to a surprise leak in her boot. But when she finally gets home, through the rush hour traffic, the lights are on and the house looks welcomingly warm.

‘I’m back,’ Bernie calls as she slips off her wet coat and boots, casting an unimpressed look at the offending item and scowling at the wet footprints her sock leaves on the hall tiles. ‘Just going to change into something dry.’

By the time Bernie comes back down, in pyjamas and hoodie and fresh socks, Serena is dishing up pasta.

‘Go on,’ she says, handing a bowl and a steaming mug of tea to Bernie and nudging her in the general direction of the living room. ‘I lit the fire when I got in, we may as well make the most of it.’

‘Eating on the sofa? You are a rebel,’ Bernie teases.

‘You need to warm up. And besides, Jason isn’t here to disapprove.’

‘I wasn’t complaining,’ Bernie calls, already out of the room.

Once they’ve eaten, Serena settles against Bernie’s chest, bracketed by her long legs, adding her body heat to the warmth of the fire, Ziggy curled half over her feet.

‘Did you at least find what you wanted, even if you half drowned and froze?’ Serena asks.

‘Mm,’ Bernie replies, nuzzling into Serena’s hair and pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

‘I hope it was worth it.’

‘You can let me know when you open it.’

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They have crackers with their Christmas dinner. Bernie offers the other end of hers to Serena; unlike Charlotte and Ellie’s it cracks without any trouble leaving the larger end in Serena’s hand, the toy rolling off the table and onto the floor.

‘I’ll get it,’ Bernie says, kneeling to find it as Serena puts her paper crown on at a jaunty angle.

She emerges from under the table clutching a cheap plastic ring, light glinting off the ‘silver’ and ‘diamond’ as she holds it out to Serena, their gazes locking, the room fading around them.

‘Cheapskate,’ Cam teases, breaking the moment.

Serena takes the ring, slips it onto her finger and feigns admiring it. ‘Oh darling, you shouldn’t have.’

Bernie sits back in her chair, heart thumping and hands trembling. She looks at the ring on Serena’s finger, at Serena’s smile as she twists her hand this way and that, the plastic catching the light.

And then, as Cam and Jason pull the next cracker, Serena looks right at her and touches her hand. Bernie turns hers so Serena can lace their fingers together, and feels the plastic digging into her flesh.

‘I would expect something slightly classier,’ Serena murmurs, her lips brushing Bernie’s ear.

Later that night, while Serena is in the bathroom, Bernie opens her wallet and looks at the business card the amber jeweller gave her when she bought Serena’s necklace.

“Bespoke commissions.”

Bernie taps the card thoughtfully, then quickly slips it away again when she hears the bathroom door opening.

‘I shall treasure this,’ Serena says with a wink, placing the cracker ring carefully in her jewellery box next to her new necklace. ‘Wife.’

‘Wife,’ Bernie echoes, the word foreign on her tongue, her stomach flipping at how it feels to say it, to hear it from Serena’s lips, at the look of love and adoration on Serena’s face. ‘You’ll have to give me time to find something classier, though,’ she chances, made brave by it.

‘Bernie?’ Serena asks quietly, a mixture of hope and disbelief in her voice, her eyes.

‘I want to spend eternity with you,’ Bernie says simply, reaching for Serena and tugging her to sit on the bed beside her. ‘If you’ll have me.’

‘Yes,’ Serena replies instantly, her fingers rising to tangle in Bernie’s hair like they always do. ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she repeats, her lips against Bernie’s.