Work Text:
The tranquility of a rare, peaceful Saturday morning was broken by the deafening sound of Hartley's old fashioned alarm clock. David almost fell out of bed, sleep addled brain jumping to the conclusion that it was some kind of doomsday warning and that the city was under attack from aliens or something.
Hartley never set his alarm if he could avoid it. Most mornings, they awoke to David's cell phone going off with loud but pleasant sounding music. But Piper had to wear customized noise blockers to be able to sleep, and it took a special kind of jarring noise to wake him up (plus he was pretty resistant to the entire concept of waking up and getting out of bed). David's alarms weren't actually enough to rouse him in the morning; it was David getting out of bed to get ready for work that did the job on a typical day.
Hartley groggily smacked for his alarm clock, missed it, and crashed it to the ground still making its horrible noise. David reached around him, picked up the clock, and finally managed to turn it off. He peeled back one of Hartley's sound dampeners and murmured against his ear, “I'm going to destroy this thing.”
“No, don' do tha...” Hartley managed around a yawn. “Need it.”
“You do not. I can set my alarm on mornings you need to get up and just wake you. Why are you up this early on a Saturday anyway?”
“Because I made a terrible mistake.” Hartley pulled a pillow over his head and rolled onto his stomach. David plucked the pillow away and prodded him between the shoulder blades. “Leaf me 'lone.”
“Darling, you set the alarm for a reason.”
“I was feeling foolishly ambitious last night.”
Sighing, David got out of bed and grabbed his robe. Hartley made a half-hearted reach for him, but it was pretty easy to deflect him first thing in the morning. He always took at least an hour to jump to any kind of coherency, unless he was aided by large doses of caffeine. With that in mind, David went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Once it finished, he returned to the bedroom with a large mug, and found his boyfriend passed out once more.
He was sorely tempted to just leave him be and drink the coffee himself.
For once, Hartley was the more over-worked member of the household. Crime seemed to have slowed down for the holidays in the Gem Cities. They still had plenty to do at the lab, but they were actually putting a dent into their backlog for once and David was leaving work feeling productive and proud of his team more days than not. Conversely, Hartley was struggling to get his symphony in shape for a demanding series of holiday performances. December, it seemed, was the busiest month of the year for the Central City Symphony, and all the extra work was taking a toll on their young and inexperienced conductor.
Hartley very much needed a day to sleep in, but he'd set the alarm for a reason. It was a drastic action for the night owl to take. With that in mind, David approached the bed to wake him back up.
He nearly jumped out of his skin and scalded himself with hot coffee when the alarm went off for the second time. Hartley didn't seem to respond to the alarm, but he jumped right up at David's pained shout. “Huh, what? What's wrong?”
“Son of a...I made you coffee,” David said tersely. “Thanks to your demonic alarm I am now wearing it. How does something that old actually have a snooze function?”
Hartley switched it off with a frown. “I modified it a little. It's the only one I've found that wakes me up when I wear my dampeners.” He pulled the second one out of his ear, stowed them in their little case and slipped it under his pillow. “Sorry. Um...did any of the coffee survive?”
“There's more in the kitchen. I'm going to grab a shower.”
“Kay.”
Where he'd taken a very quick shower, David half expected to see Hartley still lounging on the bed when he finished. Not asleep again, but working towards his next phase of getting up and being productive. He was shocked to find Hartley sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop open in front of him, stacks of neatly organized papers spread out on either side of the computer, and a half finished mug of coffee at his elbow as he scowled at the screen.
David gave his shoulder a squeeze as he walked past him to get his own mug of coffee. “That looks serious. What are you working on now?”
“It's...not exactly my job as the conductor, but I do think this is important.” Hartley closed the laptop with a click and let out a sigh. “Kay, so you know how we try to get the local schools in for at least one holiday performance a season? It's a great field trip, especially where the arts are being cut out of so many of the public schools right now. For some of them, this is like the only exposure they're going to get to live classical music.”
David nodded along, even though he hadn't been aware of such a program. Although now that it had been brought up, he did have vague memories of sleeping through a performance of the Nutcracker when he was in fourth grade. He hadn't lived in Central City then, but still. It must have been something most cities tried to do.
Hartley pinched the bridge of his nose and continued. “The big reason the schools are able to do it is because of us, actually. We're supposed to get grants to cover costs, because otherwise an entire class's worth of symphony tickets would be completely out of reach. But our grant writer is fucking useless, and I think classist and racist to boot. She's only gotten grants for the rich schools and like...fucking really? Why would you prioritize the schools that could most easily make up the cost difference over the ones that are struggling? I mean, I know why. A lot of my colleagues have this infuriating reluctance to bring in audiences that they assume won't understand our work, or 'really benefit from this kind of enrichment.' They only want to play for other rich, entitled jack asses.” Hartley opened his computer again and started scrolling through his emails. “So I've been doing the grant writer's job for her, because I am damn well determined that we're getting the low income students in to see the show too.”
“Ah. How's it going so far?”
“Fucking terrible. I don't actually have any experience writing grants. I used to just steal the funds when I needed money for shit like this. Doing it legitimately is driving me nuts. Do you know how tedious writing grants is? And everyone is saying no! This is such a good cause, but I guess I missed the cut off from most of them.” He frowned. “I don't know if I can fix this.”
“It is rather late in the season. Didn't your Christmas performances already start?”
“Yeah, our first one was on Thursday night.”
“Well, maybe it's something you'll have to bear this year, but can fix for next year.”
“I suppose. Or...ugh, but I really don't want to do this either.”
David sat down next to Hartley and gave his hand a squeeze. He knew what was coming. There were only so many sources of large sums of money potentially on hand, after all, and he knew from personal experience exactly how unpleasant and unappealing this prospect was for his partner. “Are you going to ask your parents?”
“...I think I have to.”
“Well, I suggest leaving out your assumptions about classism and racism, since your parents might share your colleagues' biases.”
Hartley arched a brow. “Might?”
“I was trying to be generous.”
“Ah. Well, I think it's safe to say writing the grants myself was a failure. I think it's either suit up for a heist or call Mom and Da-I was kidding. David, I promise, I am not going to risk my job by robbing a bank.” Hartley turned from the computer and tried to clasp David's hand, but he pulled away from him. “David...”
“Well, I'd better get moving. I have a lot to get done today.” He got up from the table and started for the doorway.
“Come on, it was just a joke. Considering I've got to talk to my parents this morning before going in for another nine hour shift on what should be my day off, I could use a little support.”
David paused, shoulders still tense, but finally turned back towards Hartley and let him lean in for a quick kiss. “I hope the conversation with your parents isn't too painful.”
“It's going to suck, but I appreciate the thought. Thank you.” Hartley gave him a quick squeeze, then reluctantly let go of his boyfriend, snagged his cell phone, and shut himself into the bedroom, figuring he was better off getting the nasty chore done sooner as opposed to later.
Like Hartley, David did eventually wind up at work during what was ostensibly his day off, but unlike Hartley he didn't mind all that much. Things really had been suspiciously slow in the Crime Lab, and he was rather excited about how much work they were making up. He went in for a couple of hours to file some more paperwork on their recently closed cases, stopped to get coffee with Patty, and by the time that finished he had just enough time to run a few errands before Hartley was supposed to get home from work.
Considering the mood he'd been in when David had seen him off (he hadn't said anything after hanging up with his parents, merely left the apartment in a state of obvious agitation), he'd decided on having dinner ready and waiting. He wanted to come up with something a little nicer than just dinner but was struggling. Hartley was a lot better at thoughtful little romantic gestures than he was.
He ended up falling asleep on the couch waiting for Hartley to get in, his home cooked meal neatly stored in reusable containers in the fridge. He started awake when Hartley took the controller from his hand and turned off the television. “What time is it?”
“Eleven.”
David blinked a few times and rubbed at his eyes. “How long were you at work?”
“Late enough, but obviously that's not where I was. And don't worry, I didn't rob a bank.” Hartley sat down next to him and immediately dropped his head onto David's shoulder. Getting the message, he wrapped an arm around Hartley. “Mom wanted me to come over for dinner so we could talk a little more about the donation.”
“Oh. I wish you'd have told me.”
“I was kinda flip flopping on whether I was going to go or not until the last minute. And once I was there I was working on trying to leave as fast as possible without picking a fight.” He sighed. “You can see how successful I was.”
“So what does she want in exchange for the donation?”
Hartley let out a full body shudder. “I think I'm being a baby. Really, it's not that bad. Just...ugh.”
“It's clearly upsetting you, and those feelings are likely valid, but love, I can't help you unpack them if you don't tell me what's going on.”
Hartley let out a deep, world weary sigh. “She wants us to come over for Christmas dinner.”
“Oh.” It was David's turn for a full bodied shudder.
“You don't happen to already have plans with your family, do you?”
“Hartley, my family doesn't celebrate Christmas.”
“Well, could we maybe pretend they do and that we're already busy?”
David gave Hartley's ponytail a gentle tug. “You know how I feel about lying to your family.”
“Look, someday I'm going to bring you around on that. I lived with them for nineteen years. Lying is a survival strategy, and I think it's going to be necessary to weasel our way out of this dinner while still getting that donation. Hon, I do not want to spend Christmas with my parents. It's going to be terrible.”
“Mm.” That was most definitely true. David pensively ran his fingers up and down Hartley's arm while he thought through the situation. In addition to the obvious part where getting the low-income students to the symphony was the right thing to do, David had his own reasons for wanting Rachel Rathaway to write that check for her son. He knew the cause was particularly important to Hartley, and if his parents came through for him the thoughtful gesture might do a great deal in healing the fractures in their relationship.
Besides that, despite all Hartley's reassurances he would continue to worry about the idiot putting on a stupid costume and taking the money himself from someone he deemed undeserving of it. Hartley had made wonderful strides towards resuming a normal civilian lifestyle, but it was pretty obvious that his more radical tendencies were simmering away just below the surface, looking for the flimsiest of excuses to emerge and shatter their peaceful life.
In his experience, while the Rathaways were both shallow, selfish people, Rachel did care an awful lot for her only child and was generally on the lookout for ways to express her affection for him, as long as those expressions wouldn't inconvenience her that much. She probably wanted to write the check already, and springing the dinner on them was likely an attempt to get closer. David had been burned a few times, trying to attribute too much goodwill to the woman. But despite his brushes with Rachel's selfishness and narrow worldview, he still felt there was something to work with there, and hoped that maybe one day she and Hartley might be close. He definitely felt that Hartley took things too far in dismissing both his parents as mean spirited and hateful creatures out to destroy his emotional health.
From what David could tell, they'd both destroyed his emotional health entirely by accident. Osgood through indifference and Rachel in misguided attempts to look out for him.
“I...I think we ought to go to the dinner, Hartley.”
“Traitor. You always side with Mom.” Hartley closed his eyes in a grimace, and then curled even closer towards David, until he was practically sitting on his lap. “You're right though. It is fair. I'm asking for thousands of dollars, which is like pocket change to her, but still. You have to promise to help me, though.”
“Of course. Darling, I thought that went without saying.”
“And you can't take anything they say personally, okay? Or like, like a reflection of me or something. Like, I grew up there but you don't pick your family, and I have done so much work to distance myself from all of their petty, late-capitalist, labor exploiting, racist, ignorant-”
“Hartley.” David was tempted to give him a good shake. “We've been together for almost two years now. I've noticed. I promise, having Christmas dinner with your parents isn't going to change anything between us.”
He expected some kind of witty comeback, as that was the norm for them, but Hartley remained quiet. He was uncharacteristically reticent for the rest of the night, lost in his own head and, David feared, possibly reliving some painful memories from his childhood. Rather than push him about the uncomfortable subjects, David gave him his space to brood it out.
He hoped he'd made the right decision. Two years in, and he felt like he was starting to get the hang of how to best support his partner about his traumas but he never wanted to get complacent about something so important and potentially damaging. They'd lived very different lives, and where Hartley had grown up with wealth and abundance most of his acquaintances had brushed off any pain he might have suffered in the process. David had held that ignorant belief himself until he'd gotten to know Hartley better, assuming that whatever problems the rich and clever WASP had dealt with must have paled in comparison to the “real” struggles faced by normal people. Even after he'd fallen in love with Hartley, he'd initially thought the man was rather ridiculous for constantly acting out the way he did when he had so many privileges and advantages over others.
That naive assumption was quickly corrected when he started witnessing the psychological abuse the Rathaways had heaped onto their child. David had felt that was bad enough, but then Hartley had finally felt close enough to him to tell him the truth about how he'd become hearing. His parents, not able to accept an imperfect child (and being Deaf counted as an imperfection to them), had put him through numerous excruciating experimental surgeries that had ultimately resulted in enhanced hearing. Hartley had obviously fallen in love with sound, so he was at peace with that chapter of his life. But he always stopped shy of saying he was grateful for the drastic measures that had been taken to give him something he, frankly, had never asked for.
He was probably never going to forget the look on his partner's face when Hartley had explained that no, he hadn't minded being Deaf, he'd just wanted his parents to learn some signs or maybe talk to him a little once he'd learned how to read lips.
David made a quiet resolution to tread even more carefully than usual where Hartley's traumas were concerned until the dinner was over, at the very least.
The caution proved unnecessary. The next couple of weeks were some of the best the couple ever spent together.
Rachel Rathaway kept her promise, and all the struggling schools Hartley had identified to her received hefty donations from Rathaway Publishing the very next day. In a show of goodwill, she went above sending the kids to the symphony and also wiped out all outstanding lunch debts as well.
Hartley was positively giddy. Every time he'd given a charity show for the students David could tell without even asking. The man was glowing, and would spend half the night excitedly chattering about music and the power it held over creative young minds until David reluctantly cut him off so they could go to bed.
The odd run of relatively crime-free days in the Gem Cities continued, and somehow David even managed to get ahead on paper work. He usually beat Hartley home from work, and then they'd either spend cozy nights in or take short trips to enjoy some festive activity or other. Hartley may not have observed Christmas as a religious holiday, but he certainly enjoined the seasonal trappings, and didn't mind David gently teasing him about the hypocrisy of the vocal anti-capitalist being a total secret Christmas nerd (keeping the teasing gentle was key, something he'd learned the previous Christmas).
“Are you sure you don't need to go into work?”
“Positive. Hartley, it's Christmas. Only the essential personnel are in and unless we get hit with something big, the crime lab is not considered essential personnel.” David continued tying his tie, while his boyfriend passed behind him grumbling something about Captain Cold and his damned holiday spirit. “What was that?”
“Just cursing Len Snart. It's his fault this dinner is going to work out.” Hartley paused in the doorway to the bathroom with his hand on his hip. “See, he always bullies the other guys into taking the holidays off. They're probably in the middle of the Rogues Secret Santa right now, and then they're all going to get sloshed and the most rowdy thing your coworkers will have to deal with is a bunch of drunk idiots in costumes committing petty vandalism or something. Urgh. If only one of them would leave a crime scene that needed to be analyzed or something!”
“Even if they did, that's probably not something they'd call the director of the lab in for.” David grinned as he imagined one of his more annoying coworkers having their Christmas ruined. Hartley gave him a disapproving look, no doubt accurately guessing where his mind had gone, and then disappeared into the bathroom. “Hey, you're the one that's been hoping I'd get called into work! Don't you dare get self-righteous on me.”
“You don't even celebrate Christmas though. This is just a regular day off for you.”
“Believe me, hon. There is nothing regular about what we're about to do.”
“I guess.”
It was fairly obvious neither member of the couple was excited about the drive out to visit Hartley's parents. David was a slightly fussier dresser than Hartley, but since his workplace required business attire he was pretty fast at putting on a nice outfit. Hartley managed to drag out the getting ready process to a personal best of an hour and a half.
David was more than a little surprised to see his boyfriend finally leave the bathroom wearing a pair of comfy jeans, a green plaid button up, and a cable knit sweater. He hadn't even put his hair up.
“Should I lose the tie?”
“Nah. Mom'll probably like the fact that you're all dressed up.”
“You're not dressed up.”
“Yeah, but she'll like complaining about that.”
“Ah, I see. How thoughtful of you.”
The drive out to the edges of the city, where the ostentatious Rathaway mansion was located, was tense and quiet. David tried to get a conversation going a couple of times, but it was clear that once again Hartley was better off left to silently brood. Or perhaps, prepare himself for the ordeal ahead of him.
“Oh, dearest, you're finally here! Was the traffic very bad? I was beginning to fear you weren't going to make it. Let me take your...oh. Is that what you're wearing? Well, you certainly look comfortable.” Rachel Rathaway took pains to fix a smile on her face as she took her son's coat and immediately handed it off to a maid, who had already taken David's.
“Hello, Mrs. Rathaway.”
“Hello, Mr. Singh.” Once again, the smile looked a bit strained, and David tried not to be hurt. It wasn't unexpected, after all.
Sometimes Rachel seemed to almost like David. She definitely approved of the changes he'd talked her son into; particularly, quitting super villainy, seeking employment in a position that carried some social significance, and living in a respectable neighborhood. But David was a bit too brown and male for her liking, and she was still struggling with those feelings. In addition, he supported Hartley's love of music, something the Rathaways had only indulged with the greatest reluctance. Rachel was glad that Hartley had become a conductor, but she'd rather he have nothing professionally to do with music at all.
Still though, this version of her son was much more to her liking than the one from a mere two years ago, who'd been putting on ridiculous outfits, robbing her friends by sonic-gunpoint, and humiliating her and her husband every chance he got. She knew that David had a lot to do with the positive changes in Hartley's life, and so she reluctantly accepted him, though it seemed she'd never celebrate his place among her family.
“Come into the parlor, dearest. I have a surprise for you.” Rachel took Hartley by the hand and all but dragged him down the long hallway. David made sure to keep them in sight, as he had a difficult time navigating the mansion and was sure to get lost without them. He could never remember the exact difference between the parlor, the den, and the front room.
The parlor turned out to be the one with the fireplace he liked. That's what always threw him. Rachel referred to it by the more formal name, but it was actually much more cozy than the den. Everything was decorated in warm, inviting browns and rich greens. The large windows let in a pleasant amount of sunlight during the day, and there were a few well stocked bookcases on either side of the fireplace.
If the present company didn't make him feel so tense and unwelcome, he'd have really enjoyed the parlor.
“Well, Hartley. What do you think?” There was nothing strained in Rachel's smile anymore as she motioned her arm towards a large evergreen standing in front of the windows. The decorations, though pretty and artistically arranged, were decidedly odd. David had never put up a Christmas tree himself, but having spent the majority of his life in the United States he knew what they were supposed to look like. This one had garlands made out of cinnamon bark and dried cranberries, with dried oranges and small white candles for ornaments. Instead of an angel or a star, the topper was a gilded sun, with intricate Celtic knotwork for details.
The effect was lovely, but not exactly conventional. And the excited, expectant way Rachel was looking at her son only added to the mystery.
Hartley looked just as thrown as David.
“Oh, wow. Mom, it's really nice. Why didn't you use Grammy and Pop-Pop's ornaments though?”
Rachel's face fell. “You said they were racist.”
“I did?”
“Yes, you were quite adamant about it. Something about racism being inherent to minstrelry or...I don't know, I always stopped listening when you got on one of your tears. At any rate, the young boy with the red lips set you off the deep end. But that was a long time ago. I put Grammy and Pop-Pop's ornaments on the tree in your father's study. No, this one is for you, dear. See? It's a Solstice tree.”
Understanding finally seemed to dawn, for Hartley at least. David was as confused as ever, but already determined to get them out of this awkward conversation without hurting Rachel's feelings.
The poor woman was watching Hartley with hopeful eyes, her hands wringing nervously in front of her. “Is it...is it okay? I have to admit, I'm no expert on your celebrations, and the information I found online often contradicted itself. Still, I persisted, and I found some charming décor ideas on this website called Pinder-rest. Have you heard of it? From what I understand, quite a few witches make use of it for ideas-oh, excuse me. Wiccans. That's what you prefer to be called, isn't it? Wiccans?”
“I, ah...” Hartley looked from his flustered mother to David, who had every desire to be helpful but had no idea how to accomplish it. He let out a little sigh and then plastered on one of his more becoming fake smiles. It was actually pretty convincing; if David only saw Hartley in situations that made the man uncomfortable, he'd be completely taken in by his charming society boy persona. As is, he spent enough time with the “real” Hartley to know when he was performing. “You can use both, Mom.”
“Oh. Really? Some people were saying that witch is a gendered word and that Wiccan is more proper. Then again, there were other...memes, I think you call them? Meh-mehs, or something. Anyway, those ones said that witch is not gendered and that it's the proper term for pagans of all gender identities. I rather thought you'd fall in with that school of thought, given your views on gender identity. But like I said, it was all terribly confusing for me, since everyone seemed to say opposite things from each other. If I've made mistakes, I didn't do so on purpose.”
“No, it's fine. Mom, the tree looks great.”
Rachel let out a short breath, her eyes lighting up. “Really? Does it make you feel welcome?”
“Absolutely.” Hartley took both her hands and leaned in to kiss her cheek. David was pretty sure he'd never seen a happier expression on the woman's face. “Now, David and I just had a really long car ride. You're right, there was a ton of traffic. Is it okay if we go upstairs and relax for a little bit before dinner? Just like fifteen minutes or so.”
“Oh, of course. Of course. Go freshen up. I'll go check on your father.” Rachel beamed once more at her son, nodded civilly at David, and then swept out of the room, heading in the direction of her husband's study.
Hartley waited until they reached the first landing of the front staircase before he burst into laughter. David leaned against the railing with his arms over his chest, waiting it out. Once Hartley subsided into giggles he nudged his calf with the toe of his shoe. “Darling, why does your mother think you're a pagan? You told me you were agnostic.”
“Honestly David, I completely forgot about that phase. She didn't though, which is interesting.”
“Did you convert to paganism?”
“Not exactly. I just...figured it would horrify them so I told Mom and Dad I was practicing witchcraft. I think I was like fifteen at the time. I set up an altar on top of my dresser, wore nothing but black clothes, lit lots of incense, and danced around the garden on the sabbats a bit. I was just fucking with them but she must have thought I was serious.”
“Clearly. Hartley, you can't tell her the truth.”
“Weren't you the one that said I shouldn't lie to my parents?”
“This is different. Look at all the trouble she's gone through. She got you your own private Solstice tree to try to make you feel welcome. Can you even imagine how embarrassed she'll be if you tell her you only pretended to convert religions to upset her?”
Hartley shrugged. “I mean, I also hand sewed a fairy tale costume and built my own weaponry so I could go on extremely public tantrums to hassle my dad. It's not out of character.”
“But she's trying to bond with you.”
“I, yeah...” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “It is pretty cute. Okay, I guess I'll pretend to be pagan. God, I don't think I actually finished any of those Wicca books I got when I was in high school. I hope I remember it well enough to pass myself off as a witch.”
“I'm sure we'll manage.”
They spent a relatively relaxed twenty minutes in Hartley's old bedroom, looking through the witchcraft books that still sat on a shelf next to some history books and a few of his first books on acoustics and sonics. David got out his phone and searched Pinterest, hoping to stumble upon some of the same images Rachel might have seen while conducting her research. All too soon, it was time to leave the sanctuary of Hartley's room for the dining room.
David thought he was ready. He'd spent longer on Pinterest than with the books, trying to get into Rachel's head a little and steeling himself up so that he wouldn't have an unfortunate reaction upon seeing her preparations. He was glad he did, because the dining room proved to be an assault on nearly all of his senses.
For one thing, the incense contrasted sharply with the aroma of the meal. In addition, the doorways had all been decorated with evergreen arches, and oranges pierced with cloves dangled from every possible fixture. One or two of those strong scents might have been pleasant, but together they were a big jumble.
The room was dimly lit by candles alone, so the odd decorations became apparent only as Hartley and David passed close enough for direct viewing. It looked like Rachel had set up on altar on top of a sideboard. There were more evergreens, one of the incense burners (David had spotted at least three so far), a silver goblet, what looked like a finger bowl repurposed as a cauldron, some tea light candles, and porcelain figures of a young Victorian couple with cloth napkins draped over them as makeshift robes. David supposed those were meant to be the god and goddess.
Hartley let out a startled yelp when he got to his seat by the center of the table. David was about to chide him, but he yelped himself when he was close enough to see the taxidermy deer that had been placed between their seats. Its glass eyes looked uniquely disturbing in the flickering candle light.
The final assault to the senses was a CD of an ethereal sounding soprano doing a mix of generically fantasy sounding nonsense and traditional English carols. As the dinner progressed, they would come to discover that it was on a loop.
Osgood was sitting across from them, eyes on the deer with a sort of quiet resignation. Mostly, he was dressed as David was used to seeing him, with a few minor concessions to the season. He was wearing a red and green plaid tie with a matching pocket square, and he had a gold toned circlet with an image of the sun on his balding head.
Rachel's cocktail gown matched her husband's tie, and she was wearing a silver circlet with an image of the moon, her auburn hair braided around it. She was still smiling with that nervous, 'how did I do' expression.
Hartley appeared to be as unnerved by the deer as his father. Possibly moreso, since its head was about level with his shoulder.
“Isn't it utterly charming?” Rachel gushed, somehow misinterpreting Hartley's expression (then again, the candlelight did make it very difficult to see even short distances, like the other side of the rather large dining room table). “I found that in the quaintest little antique shop, and I checked on the, what do you call it, the Pindy-rest, and I don't think there are any other witches in all of Missouri with their very own deer at their Solstice dinner. You're a very lucky witch, Hartley, to have such a good representation of the horned god at your celebration. Oh, Osgood, I checked with the boys and witch is the right word.”
“Ah. Seems appropriate,” Osgood muttered. He finally took his eyes from the deer in favor of filling his silver goblet with mulled wine. “I thought you said they were going to be wearing these ridiculous things too.”
“Hm? Oh, yes. Well, I wasn't sure if, that is...” Rachel turned her attention to David, so he took pains to look at her instead of the deer. “Do you celebrate the Solstice, David?”
“I'm not pagan, but where it's an important part of Hartley's life,” Hartley kicked him under the table for that, “I don't mind participating in the celebration.”
Rachel smiled at that answer, and then went to the altar and returned with circlets for each of them. David's had a circle made of antlers and Hartley's a pentacle.
It was very difficult to make conversation with a dead deer with glass eyes standing over you, as it turned out. Similarly, it was difficult to taste even an expertly cooked meal with incense burned so thick you could barely breathe. Thankfully, Rachel didn't require much help to lead the conversation. She was perfectly content to gossip about her acquaintances, fill them in on her recent shopping successes, and talk up her charitable activities with knowing looks at her son. Once the main course was finished, Osgood suggested taking desserts and coffee in the parlor and Hartley almost knocked over the deer in his haste to take his father up on the offer.
A member of the household staff had lit a fire since they'd arrived. There was nothing particularly pagan about the coffee or the bread pudding they were served, at least as far as David could tell, and the only scent in the room came from the tree, which was actually rather pleasant. Now that he was away from the deer Hartley looked like he might actually start enjoying himself. He asked Rachel to teach him how to braid his hair around the circlet.
“Oh, I'm so sorry dearest, but I have to confess I only found the picture on Pinter-rest. Charlotte helped me with my hair.”
“Ah. Well, I'm sure I can figure it out.” Hartley sat down next to her on the sofa and leaned in to look at her hair. “Oh wow, actually it looks like there's a fair amount of hairspray and bobby pins to that. It might be beyond my skill level.”
“Well, maybe a simpler braid then? Here, if you just tuck this strand like so...” Rachel gathered up some of Hartley's hair and started weaving a simple braid that hid the ends of the circlet. David covertly snapped a picture of them on his cell phone while they weren't looking, then hid his phone back in his pocket. It was his understanding that though Hartley genuinely liked having his hair long, a good deal of his initial motivation to grow it out was to annoy Rachel, who'd felt long hair looked unprofessional and slovenly on men.
“By the way, um...I know I've thanked you already for the donations-”
“Oh Hartley, don't even mention it. I was happy to do it, truly.”
“Well, now that we've actually had the shows I wanted to thank you again. They went really, really well and I just, I don't have words. If you could have seen all those little faces, Mom. It's so different, hearing classical music played right in front of you in a beautiful theater instead of just listening to a CD or something. It's magical. It transforms you. I'm so glad we got to do this.”
Rachel tucked one last strand of coppery hair into place, then grasped Hartley's chin with her hand, eyes alight with affection. “Perhaps your father and I will have to attend one of those shows next year then. I'd like to see the happy little faces for myself. You've got such a big heart, dear. I don't really know where it came from, but I'm glad it's there and I'm so very glad that you're using it constructively now. And don't be afraid to ask us for something like this again. It's...it's far preferable to your old problem solving methods.”
“Indeed, indeed. The press coverage is much better than the old way,” Osgood said with an affected laugh. “And the tax write off's not bad either.”
Hartley wisely refrained from directly answering his father, and instead turned the subject to the next series of concerts the symphony would be working on. His parents weren't all that entertained by the subject matter, but they remained polite and Hartley returned that politeness when his father rambled about the state of the company, insulted his rivals, and damned the technological advances that had devalued print media (mercifully, he'd had men in the company that had anticipated the digital age and steered the company accordingly, so Rathaway Publishing was still flourishing, but the old man very clearly missed the traditional publishing that had dominated his business in his younger years).
They were still wearing the circlets when they drove back to the city about an hour later, after politely but firmly rejecting Rachel's offer to let them have the deer.
“The car's going to smell like patchouli,” Hartley grumbled. “I think the incense coated my lungs. What on earth possessed her to light so many censers?”
“I counted three. That's a sacred number to the Celts, so that might have something to do with it.”
“I can't believe she played Loreena McKennitt on a loop. You know, I like to say that there isn't any bad music, just music that hasn't been properly matched up to its audience and occasion. But this was definitely the audience and occasion for Loreena McKennitt and it was still terrible.”
“So have you learned anything from this, love?”
Hartley scrunched his nose up. “That I detest patchouli.”
“Anything else?”
“Clove, evergreen, patchouli, and citrus don't pair well with roasted turkey and mulled wine.”
“I'm going to keep asking until you give me a proper answer.”
Hartley rolled his eyes and threw his head back against the seat. “Fine. I learned a lesson about messing with my mom. Honestly, aside from the creepy deer and the excessive aromas it was actually kind of nice. She's...she's really trying, isn't she?”
“Yes, I think she is.”
Hartley absently touched the ends of his hair, a distant smile on his face. “Hm. It's a Solstice miracle.”
David laughed. “Happy Solstice, Hartley.”
“Happy Solstice.”
“...you realize the solstice was actually on Saturday, right?”
“Of course I know the solstice was on Saturday. It's the sentiment that's important though. Now, Merry Solstice to all and to all a good night.”