Work Text:
2006
They used to stick them on the refrigerator at home: little green and red post-it notes hung up with magnets over the advent calendar that turned into all-out war. Simon remembers these with the same sort of candy-colored fondness that he does the taste of peppermint sticks on his tongue—the ones Aura used to dare him to chomp through with his teeth, much to the horror of their parents. (And dentist.)
They’d scribble them on the colored paper and stick them on the fridge, one after the other. An open-scrapbook conversation held together by magnets and strips of adhesive.
Things Simon Blackquill Wants for Christmas:
A samurai swordA pet birdMaybe a hawkNo, definitely a hawk- Simon why can’t you ask for normal, seven-year-old things Mom and Dad can actually buy?
- This coming from the girl who put “world domination” on her Christmas list
Things Aura Blackquill Wants for Christmas:
DFR0305 Romeo BLEHS-4220 Servo Motor13A, 5-30V Single DC Motor ControllerWorld Domination- Simon’s head on a pike
- please :)
Things Simon Blackquill Doesn’t Want for Christmas:
- A sister
2019
Metis Cykes runs her rag slowly along the gleaming silver. She smiles at the thin thread of her own reflection staring back at her, then glances to the young man sitting on the other side of the room. He mimics her movements with such serious, grim-faced resolve. Her eyes dart to her daughter the instant Athena stands at her elbow and tugs on her sleeve.
She bends her ear. Athena hides her mouth behind a hand.
After a patient moment, Dr. Cykes nods and straightens. “Simon.”
Simon’s dark, bushy head of hair snaps upright. His eyes light first on his mentor, then her daughter, hiding behind her broad, loose sleeve and gripping it with two tiny hands.
“Athena would like to ask you a question.”
Athena glances up at her mother with betrayed, wide blue eyes. Just as quickly, just as fervently, she snaps her gaze back to Simon. She ducks her head. The long tail of her hair bounces over her shoulder, and with both hands clasped tightly behind her back, she digs the toe of a sneaker into the floor.
Simon lifts an eyebrow.
“W…” Athena looks back at her mother one last time. “What…”
Whatever else she says falls into a quiet, subdued mumble. Simon completely misses it. He blinks. “I must apologize, Cykes-dono. I don’t have your ears, else I believe I would have caught what you said.”
Athena’s eyes are very big and very blue and very pitiful as they look at her mother. Dr. Cykes either does not notice or pretends not to as she finishes cleaning her sword. Finally, with a pathetic sigh that seems to be wrung from the entire upper half of her body, Athena hangs her head and lets her arms dangle. She straightens and asks with a stronger, braver voice than before, “What are you gonna ask the Christmas Robots for this year, Mr. Simon?”
Simon blinks.
Dr. Cykes is either outright ignoring this conversation or doesn’t realize what Athena has said. She stands from her seat, grabs the long sheath of her sword leaning against it, and slides the blade home with practiced ease.
“The Christmas Robots,” Simon repeats just to make sure he heard correctly.
“Christmas Robots.” Athena nods. Her hands fist the edge of her colorful, knitted sweater to twist and wring it like she would a towel. “Mom says if you’re really good throughout the year, they give you gifts on Christmas.”
“I see.”
“And if you get up early enough on Christmas night, you can even see them dropping off your presents underneath the tree!”
“Can you.”
He really wishes Dr. Cykes would turn around and give him some sort of sign or clue as to what the hell all of this is supposed to mean—but he supposes if she was easy to converse with, she wouldn’t be the notorious and brilliant Metis Cykes.
“But I ask ‘cuz I think if anybody’s been really good this year and deserves lots of presents, it’s you, Mr. Simon.”
Huh.
Simon doesn’t realize he’s staring at Athena until the girl suddenly grins and flushes; her face colors a bright, candy cane red, and she scurries after her mother, who goes about the rest of her end-of-day tasks with quiet, introverted grace.
He honestly hadn’t thought about Christmas much this year. Didn’t he have everything he wanted? He had his prosecutor’s badge, a rewarding opportunity to study the mind under Dr. Cykes, and enough distance from Aura that they weren’t constantly at each other’s throats? What more was there that he could possibly ask for?
What would he possibly put on a Christmas list this year?
Simon thinks about old traditions and colorful post-it notes stuck on refrigerator doors and the next time Athena looks at him, he waves her over and confides in her that there is this really cool weapon he’d love to learn to fight with one day if her mother ever agreed to teach him, and he watches the way Athena’s eyes widen almost comically as she listens, no doubt trying to imagine her Christmas Robots wrapping such a thing as meticulously as possible for him.
2020
Things Simon Blackquill Wants for Christmas:
2021
Somehow, it’s not the first Christmas he spends in prison that is the hardest. By the time the second year rolls around, Simon believes he is above and beyond such things like wishful thinking and aching and not knowing what to do with his idle hands. Time goes on around him, ever relentless, and Simon is a boulder in its rushing current.
He starts the list not out of a dedication to tradition, but rather out of spite. On a good day, the guards are not what he would call nice. Around the holidays…
So Simon swipes a napkin from the mess room and a pencil from recreational hour and sits on his cot. He indulges himself the simple pleasure of a little wishing and a little writing.
Things Simon Blackquill Wants for Christmas:
- One (1) fucking full night of sleep
- That’s it
2023
He ends up doing the same thing the following year, too. Not out of any semblance of nostalgia, but because he needs something to hope for when the nights are long and his cell is cold.
Things Simon Blackquill Wants for Christmas:
- Socks
- Dry ones
- (Maybe the thicker kind, if that’s possible)
2025
Things Simon Blackquill Wants for Christmas:
- A pet bird
- A hawk
A friend
2026
Things Simon Blackquill Wants for Christmas:
- Why am I still doing this?
- This is stupid
- I want Aura to stop visiting me
- That’s it
- Leave me alone, you infernal witch
- Thanks for Taka, though
2027
Things Simon Blackquill Wants for Christmas:
- To live
2028
Things
The pencil taps against the writing pad—an idle, quiet, repetitive sound. Simon stares at an unfixed point, his mouth drawn into a thin line.
“Simon?”
He looks up. He blinks. He frowns. “You’re still here?”
“Yeah.” Athena smiles and laughs. She makes herself comfortable on the chair on the other side of his desk and smoothes out her skirt. “Sorry. I know you told me to make myself scarce, but uh, then I realized I don’t really have a way back to the office from here, so…”
Simon grunts.
Athena watches him for a moment and the idle way his pencil continues to meet the post-it on his desk over and over again. She grins and leans forward, propping her elbows on the desk and setting her chin in the vee of her palms. “Whatcha workin’ on, there? Sure thinkin’ pretty loudly about whatever it is.”
With a loud smack, Simon’s hand falls heavy over the small paper. His glare is dark and sharp under his fringe.
Athena doesn’t even flinch. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”
Simon huffs through his nose. He crumbles the post-it in his hand into a small ball. “There is nothing to tell. You didn’t see anything.”
“Uh-huh.”
Athena watches as the tiny paper wad gets tossed into the nearest trash can. Simon stands and moves around his desk. Taka flights up to his shoulder and settles.
“C’mon, then. Let’s get you to that damnable Agency—”
“—really, though, Simon. It’s not embarrassing. I think there’s something healthy about identifying what you want for Christmas. Y’know? Means you’ve got something you’re looking forward to.”
Simon stops in the doorway of his office, one foot in the hall and one foot still in the shadow of his own room. For a full minute, he does not move or flinch. He does not bow his head or speak. Then, after an even longer stretch of time, he finally sighs. “Let’s go, Cykes-dono. I am not waiting for you.”
He steps out into the hall.
Things Simon Blackquill Wants for Christmas:
- A Christmas