Work Text:
The sky stretched above the hills in the kind of soft grey that promised snowfall, the clouds one solid mass with not a hint of sun peeking through at noon. James stood by the open doors, looking out into the winter vastness beyond the quaint little manor house, and the driveway that wound its slow way towards the trees and beyond, down to the town. It was as quiet as it ever got, with no guests staying at the hotel as of yet, though the bookings confirmed that three of the nine rooms would be occupied later today.
“We should put out more salt on the road,” James said, closing the doors and locking away the chill. Beautiful though the Georgian manor their hotel was built in was, the heat never liked to stay in winter.
Mr Collins, the only other worker there, nodded and went to fetch it.
It would be a little difficult, James knew, to be the only one really dealing with guests while Mr Collins worked behind the scenes. But with the holidays and some weather warnings, James had already granted several requests to remain home for the day. It would be alright, it was rare that any guest needed anything in the middle of the night, and James could handle a day or two of little sleep.
Everything had been checked over since the last set of guests had left, with the manor often having a bit of a lul, and only truly being busy on weekends or wedding season. While there was a chill in the air in most rooms, the dining room and individual bedrooms were cosy even in the dead of winter. To be expected, surely, in a house so old.
“Boilers are fine,” came a voice from behind James.
He turned to see Francis standing there, in his bright orange vest over his clothes, toolbag slung over his shoulder and the odd flashlight attached to a headband he had dangling from his hand.
“John asked me to check that the heating won’t break, and it won’t. You’re good for at least another year,” Francis clarified at James’ blank stare.
Francis was an odd one at the hotel. Not quite part of Sir John’s team, not really the owner of the house either, though he was responsible for it and kept everything running.
Aston Manor had once been in the possession of the Ross family, with the current head of the family, James Clark Ross technically still owning it even now. Sir John Franklin had taken it over some time ago, after it had been mostly just rented out for film crews or events for decades. Now it had been converted into a hotel, and saw more people than it probably ever had before. Francis Crozier however, still lived in a detached and remodelled building right there on the grounds, and had been taking care of actually keeping the entire thing running from before Sir John had ever been involved.
From what James understood there were some oddities with the actual ownership to the building. Sir John had never actually bought the manor from James Ross, only used it for his business, and in some ways Francis owned it in truth now. Would perhaps, if James Ross ever decided to sell it off all the way, or as part of his will. It wasn’t something James had ever tried prying into, but he knew it sometimes grated at Sir John that the groundskeeper belonged here more than anything Sir John would ever do himself.
“Thank you,” James said, in lieu of anything else to add to the boiler discussion. “Wouldn’t want our guests to have the full Victorian winter experience.
Francis hummed and put his flashlight back into his pocket.
“I don’t think anyone will make it in this weather.”
“Why not?”
“Check in starts at 3pm today, and the weather warning isn’t very promising about the state of the road until then.”
James looked back out of the window. A few snowflakes were drifting down now.
“We still have hours until then though.”
“Better safe than sorry,” Francis said, lips twitching downward. “John should have told each one of you to stay home, and figure out accommodations in town for anyone travelling up.”
“He’s confident that the weather will be alright,” James replied, trying not to sound too defensive. He’d briefly wondered about the wisdom of making the drive that morning, but Sir John had sent everyone an email reassuring them that business would go on as usual.
Francis gave him a Look, that more than warranted the capitalisation.
James turned away quickly, hoping that the way his cheeks heated up didn’t show in a flustered expression.
“Anyway, I’ll make sure everything is ready when it needs to be.
Noon passed quickly and the snow thickened as well. Already growing dark at absurdly early hours, the day seemed all the darker for it. No messages about cancellations came, though James knew those would most likely happen through Sir John. He made his rounds through the manor with nothing better to do, peering through each window to see that the view didn’t really offer anything but beautiful snow and the vague sense that nobody should be driving in this weather.
Once, around 2pm, James ran into Francis in the dining room, standing by the radiator and looking out onto the grounds outside. His expression was pensive, mouth turned downwards. He only briefly glanced up at James, expression unchanged, and James had to make a hasty retreat rather than face it. He didn’t want to know that Francis was aware of how silly James was being for trusting the weather not to get any worse than this. He always felt the odd need to make sure Francis saw him in a good light, though he always felt that he fell short of that simple goal.
By 3pm there still wasn’t a single guest there, though most of them arrived a little early, usually. It would soon become difficult to even drive out of the little parking lot hidden by a hedge in front of the building. He found Mr Collins and reassured him that it would be best for him to go home, and that he should message James once he made it there safely. Then he was alone by the reception desk across the entrance.
It grew dark slowly, so he switched on the lights and the christmas decorations, though the green and red lights around his desk didn’t make him feel very festive. Outside the last of the daylight was swallowed by the faint orange of a winter night sky. Afternoon slipped into evening.
The snow was falling as quick as down feathers would from a ripped pillow, the wind picked them up and threw them about all the wider, only strengthening that image. James tried not to crease his shirt by gripping at the sleeves too hard as he stepped to the window, arms crossed, staring out past his own reflection. He could no longer see past the hedge dividing the manor grounds from the road, but the state of the lawn didn’t hold much promise for that. He should have gone home when he’d sent Collins away. Even earlier. Shouldn’t have come in at all with the first weather warning notification. But he couldn’t just not show up when there was a chance guests would come after all. Especially with there still being no news of cancellations just yet.
Francis walked past the reception, looked about, and then stared at James, or perhaps out at what could be seen of the snow. James could see him move in the reflection, the way his lips twitched and his face scrunched up in displeasure.
“I take it there is no need to turn the heating on upstairs?” he asked, voice dry and certainly not mocking James.
He still felt a muscle in his jaw twitch.
“I will stay by the phone just to make sure nobody got into an accident on that road trying to reach us,” he said instead of letting his frustration with himself bleed into how he spoke to a coworker.
What Francis had to say to that was thankfully not put into words. James already had enough to deal with, with the litany of curses and blame at himself and Sir John dancing around in his head.
Another half hour or so passed. James didn’t even need to get up from his seat at the reception desk to know he would see nothing but a flurry of snow as far as the lights could reach. He’d long given up and dragged the big fabric sausage with a cartoonish dog’s face over to the door, blocking off any draft of wind that would otherwise have tried to creep its way. It was not something he usually let people put there when guests might be arriving, but he figured one out of place object shouldn’t be too much of a hardship for anyone still managing to reach the front door.
It was cold in the erstwhile entry hall, the tasteful sweater James had put on to look professional doing very little in the manner of keeping him warm. He tried to keep his face as calm as possible not thinking of the people who’d now be with family, or at least those who’d have a nice bucket of popcorn and some fun movie to put on.
Working on Christmas wasn’t the end of the world. Lots of people did it, there was no way around it. It wasn’t the problem really. The problem was seeing the holiday requests go up in September, deciding that Will probably wanted a quiet Christmas with his new baby there, and deciding that it would be a fine enough day to work. Carefully making sure there were no other plans or disappointed friends expecting him at a party. And then ending up… what. Spending it in a slightly draughty manor with nothing to do?
James could work on Christmas. He could even tolerate a planned day all by himself with old movies and cheap champagne and maybe painted toe nails if he had nowhere to go. But to just… waste it on nothing? Now that was where the bitterness lay.
The phone finally rang and James snatched it up at once, not even bothering to let it ring out once as not to seem too eager.
“Hello?”
“James? Is everyone safe at the hotel?”
Sir John, somewhat muffled, with voices in the background, as if he was in a restaurant.
“We’re alright,” James replied, forcing himself to relax his jaw. “I’ve sent everyone home before the snow really got started.”
“Very well! It’s not safe at all, the state of the roads alone…”
There was a conversation close to the phone that briefly distracted Sir John. James waited patiently for his boss’ attention to return to him.
“Anyway, I’m calling about that. I’m sorry to say the last booking we had for the weekend has just been cancelled. Nobody will be driving up an unfamiliar road in this weather. No guests until the new year it seems.”
James bit back a quiet groan. It wasn’t really that surprising after all.
“I see,” he said.
He should have taken Francis’ advice and gone home when Mr Collins had. What was the point of being here?
“I hope you are well at the hotel though? Get some rest, celebrate the holidays once the weather clears up.”
“I will, thank you,” James managed. It wasn’t Sir John’s fault that the weather had gotten so bad. Even if he should have cancelled or moved the bookings when there was a chance of nobody being able to get to the manor.
“Merry Christmas, James!”
“Merry Christmas.”
The line went dead.
James stared towards the doors for a long moment, before putting the phone down.
There was no way his little two seater could see him down to town safely without wrapping around a tree or sliding headfirst into some snowdrift. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to dig the car out from underneath the snow that surely had fallen on it by now.
So what now? There was food, of course, even wine probably, if he wanted to be especially pathetic about it. He could go to the staff room, unfold the cot there, maybe watch some movie on his phone and ignore that his Christmas would be spent without family, his comfortable living room, without even the satisfaction of working and making sure someone else’s holidays were wonderful.
Not exactly the best prospect…
“Everyone cancelled, didn’t they?”
James very pointedly did not startle. He turned to see Francis, still wearing his high vis vest over his sweater, arms crossed. Somehow James had assumed the man would return home to do whatever it was he did by himself on the holidays.
“Yes. Sir John just confirmed it.”
Francis frowned.
“He should have known from the start. There was no point in you being here today.”
“Yes, thank you Francis,” James snapped and immediately felt bad for. It wasn’t Francis’ fault that he was stuck here, that he’d put too much of his hope into anyone still arriving despite the weather.
He sighed and brushed his hair behind his ear.
“Sorry. I suppose you are too polite to point out how I was in the wrong. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“I don’t think you were wrong,” Francis said, stepping closer. “Just too optimistic about the weather. John should have made the call to rebook for your guests and sent everyone away for the holidays.”
James shrugged.
“And I backed him up in this.”
They remained silent for a moment more, James in his seat staring out into the darkness outside, and Francis looking down on him.
“Right,” he said, clapping his palm onto James’ desk gently. “You shouldn’t spend the holidays all alone. Stay over at mine, the couch is comfortable, I promise.”
This time James did startle.
“No no, that’s not necessary,” he tried. “I wouldn’t want to impose!”
“You wouldn't impose on me drinking hot tea and watching old movies. Come along now, there’s food as well, fancy enough even for you.”
James hesitated for a moment longer, but Francis’ offer seemed to be sincere. There would be no better one today.
“Oh alright,” he said, getting up and grabbing his phone. “Let me close everything up.”
James quickly grabbed his coat and shut off all the lights in the hallways, then made his way to the kitchens where the backdoor led into the garden, and Francis’ house beyond. He’d never been there, had seen the lights on once or twice when he worked late and Francis hadn’t been called for any work to be done yet. The building had once been the stables belonging to the manor house, a little bit away but clearly still part of the whole thing. Some time in the past century the need for horses had been declared well and truly over, and the stables had been converted into a small house. One that the groundskeeper and janitor would find convenient, and one that James was pretty sure belonged to Francis proper.
Even at the short distance James had to brace against the cold from the second Francis opened the back door and led him to his own house. The wind was biting through his admittedly not too warm clothes, and snow snuck its way into every opening, falling down his neck where his shawl hadn’t been pulled tight enough. They had to stomp their way through the snow, and then it took Francis a moment longer to fumble for the key. It took them less than a minute to get from the manor to Francis’ house, but even so James felt frozen to the bone. Having felt chilled in the draughty hallway for a few hours before this surely didn’t help.
“Let me put the heating on,” Francis said, quickly taking off his workboots and hanging up his jacket.
James shivered and watched him slip out of the entryway. Conscious of how there was snow dripping off his shoes he slipped out of them and placed them on the towel Francis seemed to have laid out for the very purpose, judging by how he’d placed his own boots there. Somewhat hesitant James followed Francis into the house, arms crossed and fingers gripping at his own sleeves. It was colder than in the manor, but already James could hear the gurgling of old pipes through the house as the heating sprang on.
He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but the house was cosy, while still showing its age in a way the manor house didn’t quite do. The walls were exposed brick and the ceiling somewhat low, with wooden beams running across it. The windows were quite small, but one could tell that the walls were thick with how deep set they were. The furniture of a large couch and coffee table as well as book shelves and a TV didn’t look as if they had ever been a matching set, but everything looked tidy and neat, with a few ceramic and wooden decorations and model ships here and there. There even was a christmas tree in a pot, with turned off lights and blue baubles hanging off it in a corner.
That did surprise James a little, though he couldn’t tell why. Francis had long stopped being the miserable man he’d first met, ever since he’d quit drinking two years ago. Yet something about him had always made James believe that Francis wasn’t one for holiday cheer, or romance, or the sugar spun silliness of life James sometimes yearned for. Francis never quite participated in work events around the holidays, but those were loud and not really all that festive. Not liking a loud party was not the same as hating the holiday cheer in general.
Francis returned to the room, carrying a bundle of clothes.
He shifted where he stood and grunted.
“I have spare pyjamas and a sweater, if you’re cold. I don’t know if you would like to go sleep, or be left alone now? Whatever you prefer. I won’t bother you.”
“Oh, no no, not at all,” James said quickly, briefly unclenching his hands from his sleeves to wave them nervously. “You invited me, just go ahead and celebrate how you would normally do. I’m just a sudden intruder after all.”
“You’re not intruding,” Francis said, relaxing a little. “And I was just going to have food and watch TV in sleepwear. Nothing fancy, you’d be bored, I’m sure.”
James smiled, thinking of how he’d spent childhood Christmases with his brother doing just that.
“I’m not as fancy as you think,” he said, and carefully took the bundle from Francis’ arms.
“Make yourself comfortable then,” Francis said. “I’ll fetch you a towel and spare toothbrush.”
After being shown to the bathroom upstairs, James quickly got changed into what Francis had given him. It was a set of well worn flannel pyjamas, perfectly warm for the season, and a cable knit sweater that felt incredibly soft under James’ hands. He placed his own clothes into a neat pile by the radiator, then returned downstairs.
In the unhurried time it had taken James to get changed, Francis had already slipped into his own tartan pyjamas and had set out food on the coffee table. Several plates with various cheeses, cold meat, and crackers. There were little bowls of pickles and olives, as well as dips, and James was sure most of it had been bought at M&S, again not what he’d expected of Francis. A large pot of fruity smelling tea stood in the middle, and once Francis noticed James had returned, he handed him a large mug. The lights on the tree had been turned on, twinkling silver between the lush green needles.
“Warm yourself up,” he said, smiling. The gap between his teeth was showing, and James had to look away quickly.
“Thank you.”
The mug looked like a piece of pottery Francis had picked up at some arts and crafts place, the tea tasted of honey and lemon.
Francis grabbed some cushions from the couch to rearrange them for more space, then grabbed the remote and motioned for James to sit. He quickly put on the telly, and James sank into the soft cushions by Francis’ side. The couch was definitely large enough for a man his size to sleep on, but both of them had settled in the middle, nearly touching.
James sipped his tea and glanced at the man as he searched for something to put on. Within minutes of entering his home Francis was already much more relaxed and looked comfortable in his skin. As if most of his layer of quiet melancholy was just… shyness?
Francis put on some black and white movie James didn’t recognise, then passed him a plate for the assortment of cheeses. There was nothing hot on the table besides the tea, and the cheeses were clearly from some kind of assortment pack, as James doubted Francis would have gone through the trouble of selecting each individual flavour. Especially not the ones with dried fruit or chilli in them. But it was good, it was a filling meal and certainly the company made it one of the best holiday feasts James ever had.
He laughed along with the funny parts of the movie, even if he was barely paying attention, simply because Francis chuckled. Their elbows brushed and occasionally Francis would tell him something or other about the actors, all people whose names James didn’t recognise. It was warm in the house now, absolutely comfortable in the sweater that James couldn’t help but run his hands over occasionally.
When they had their fill of the cheeses and the movie was over, Francis cleared the table, insisting that James should remain seated and be comfortable.
“Do you like hot chocolate?” he asked when he came back, and James nodded with a grin.
“The best kind of drink for a cold winter’s night, surely.”
He followed Francis into the kitchen where he watched him grab a pot from the cupboards and some milk from the fridge.
“Ah, do you mind if I call my sister?” Francis asked after a moment of staring at the milk not showing any signs of bubbling.
James motioned for him to go ahead, and took the position by the stove, guarding the milk. From the corner of his eye he watched as Francis typed away on his phone with one finger, brow furrowed in concentration. Then he held it up in front of him and the sudden tinny scream of children’s voices indicated that a call had connected.
“Hello wee brats,” Francis started, and immediately there were squeals and children trying to talk over one another, as well as the drowned out voice of a woman trying to corral them into some semblance of order.
James watched the milk heat and smiled to himself as he listened to Francis chat to his nieces and nephews, voicing his awe at the presents apparently being shoved in front of the camera, and the chorus of “Thank you uncle Francis!”. It seemed Francis had made sure to send each and every one of those children some kind of gift as he hadn’t made the trip to Banbridge this year. It was sweet how he talked to them, the playful mocking tone delighting the little pack of young Croziers to no end. It was hard to make out individual shouts, but it was clear that they loved their uncle.
When the call was over Francis put his phone away with a smile, and James turned off the heat on the milk.
“Your family sounds lovely,” he said, and stepped aside as Francis grabbed a box of cocoa powder and started stirring it into the milk.
“They are a handful,” Francis replied, not quite hiding his smile. “Do you have a large family?”
“Just my brother’s,” James said. “And two nieces. They’re sweet little things, not as rambunctious as yours.”
“I can’t imagine how they could be.”
James watched as Francis poured their drinks into two mugs, and then fetched some whipped cream to add into each one generously.
Together they returned to the living room, to the comfortable couch and the twinkling Christmas lights. It was warm and James felt a comfortable sort of heat in his chest, his stomach full. Their knees pressed together when they sat down again, James pulling his legs up onto the seat. He could feel the cocoa’s warmth against his palms were he cradled his mug.
“I’m sorry you had to come into work for nothing today,” Francis said, reaching behind himself to adjust the pillows as he balanced his own cocoa on his knee. “I’m sure you would have made better plans for Christmas than cold bits and borrowed clothes.”
He looked genuinely apologetic, as if the cosy living room and the real christmas tree and night spent in pyjamas with hot cocoa wasn’t up to his guest’s standards. James looked at him with a small smile.
“Francis, I’m not going to lie. Nothing I could possibly have done today would have been any more festive than this.”
He nudged Francis’ shoulder with his own.
“”I would just have been at home, and I’d rather be here than anywhere else right now.”
At this Francis looked at him, and the lights were reflecting in the blue of his eyes. He had such nice eyes, clear and knowing, perceiving way too much. All of a sudden James couldn’t bear to hold that gaze anymore, and quickly turned to take a sip from his mug, cheeks heating up again. He could not dwell on such thoughts about Francis, not on Christmas, not when the world felt as if it contained nothing but them and an endless landscape of snow encasing them.
The chocolate was sweet on his tongue, but did nothing to distract him from the way his heart fluttered.
“You ah- on your nose.”
James looked up.
“Hm?”
Francis was looking at his face.
“Cream, there.”
James touched the side of his nose, trying to find it.
“Here?”
“No ah. Let me.”
For a moment Francis seemed unsure whether to put down his pillow or the mug. Then, before James could say anything or make another attempt to wipe his face clean, Francis leaned forward and kissed James right on the tip of his nose.
James froze, mouth open and for once at a loss for words. He watched as Francis shifted away from him, face red all over.
“There. Now it’s gone.”
James stared at him, at how Francis looked as if he was about to squirm away. He quickly placed his mug on the coffee table, and surged forward, wrapping his arms around Francis’ shoulders. Their lips met clumsily, not quite aligned, tasting of chocolate and slightly chapped. Francis’ own mug joined James’, with enough force to spill a little of the drink, and then his hands were on James’ waist, his body twisting to push into him.
They parted only enough to aim again, this time meeting properly. James gasped at the warmth of Francis against him, and the strength of his hands. When they broke apart he was sure his own cheeks were flushed, though surely not as much as Francis was.
“Oh,” he whispered. “I didn’t think you liked me like that.”
Francis broke out into a giggle, and shook his head at James’ expression.
“Why wouldn’t I? I merely learned my lesson about approaching people that are so… lovely.”
One of his hands found its way into James’ hair, petting the slightly messed up curls gently.
“I’m not,” James protested. “And you think I’m silly and bad at my job!”
“You’re not,” Francis said. “You’ve not been for a long while. And you’re lovely when you act like yourself when no one’s looking too much.”
James couldn’t help but laugh at that.
“I always thought you were too grumpy to even try approaching you.”
His hands reached up to cradle Francis’ head, finding that his hair was delightfully soft. He kissed Francis again, heart skipping a beat at the realisation that he could just go ahead and do that.
“You know,” he said, his nose and forehead pressed to Francis’. “I think this is the first Christmas I ever spent that had any romance in it at all.”
Something hopeful glimmered in Francis’ eyes.
“Would you like to stay for the entire holidays?” he asked, and James fancied that there was a bit of begging in his tone.
“If you’ll have me?”
Instead of answering Francis kissed him again, and to his delight James could feel his smile against his lips.
He figured that was answer enough.