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Christmas morning dawns with a smudge of mango-shaded brightness across the far horizon. The sky is clear, and birds are chirping their merry tunes. A thin layer of snow blankets the ground, dark tips of dying grass poking through the icy crust. Owen stretches, clambering out of his bed and slowly pressing open the door to the guest room. It’s been a while since he’s had Christmas in England.
When he opens the door, padding his way out into the hall in plaid pajamas and socks (and his favorite gray knit sweater, of course), Water is already standing there. Her room is across the hallway, Owen had seen it. It’s only been a few months since she left Camp Hermit and came back to England, but already, she’s managed to make this place her own. Posters of favorite bands hang on the wall; polaroids of Water with Acho and Krow when the two of them had come to visit, as well as with new school friends.
And on her bed stand is a small mason jar, a little cloud of bright gray Mist dancing inside it.
“Owen!” Water greets him with a hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and nearly tackling him to the ground. “Merry Christmas!”
Doing his best not to get tackled to the ground, Owen hugs his big sister back, smile growing on his face. “Merry Christmas, Water,” he says cheerfully. “Is your parent awake yet?”
Water shakes her head. “Too early,” she answers ruefully. “Pop only ever gets up past, like, ten AM. Perks of being self-employed, I guess. But it’s okay, because I have a gift for you first, and it’s okay if Pop’s not there while we open it.”
Owen’s head quirks in interest. “Oh yeah? What is it?”
“Well, you have to actually open the box , silly,” Water says with a lopsided grin, hitting Owen lightly on the side of his head and then stepping into the living room. The tree stands dark, but when Water plugs it in and the lights turn on, it explodes in a cascade of beauty.
It’s surprising to Owen how much happier Water is than she was just a few months ago. Or, maybe surprising ’s the wrong word- he thinks he’s just impressed with how quickly she’s managed to recover. Obviously there are some things that’ll never go away (the handprint scar on Owen’s face, caused by Water herself, aches in deadly reminder), but Water definitely seems happier. More… alive.
It’s really wonderful to see.
Owen finds himself lingering by the doorway for a moment, taking in the childlike joy and wonder on Water’s face. It’s been so long since he’s seen her wear that expression, and he finds himself having to hold back tears, because god . He’s just so happy that she’s happy.
“What’re you waiting for?” Water asks, laughing. “Get over here already!”
Rolling his eyes, Owen drops to the floor beside her. Water hands him a gift, wrapped carefully in owl-patterned paper. Because Owen’s a son of Athena. He gets it.
“I appreciate the sentiment,” Owen says, “but where on earth did you find owl-themed wrapping paper?”
Water shrugs, but she looks quite pleased with herself. “Well, you know. Good old resourcefulness and-”
At that moment, the owls on the paper curl into gray Mist, lifting off the paper and hanging in the air. Owen raises his eyebrows. “Good old resourcefulness, huh.”
“Well-” Water sputters, crossing her arms as she collects the Mist into her palm, twisting and pulling it like a fidget toy. “Well, listen, okay. I just wanted the whole gift to be perfect. And also, I wanted to see if I could even do that trick, because I’ve been trying for a while. And you didn’t notice!”
“That I did not,” Owen agrees. “Very smooth.”
The wrapping paper is now a lightly-embossed, gilded silver in Owen’s hands. Not a normal Christmas color, but it’s pretty enough that Owen finds himself not really caring all that much. He turns the package over in his hands- it’s soft, the paper crinkling and giving way as he presses down into whatever’s in the gift. Fabric then, probably. Owen moves the package to his ear, making to shake it-
“Oh, stop,” Water bemoans, stilling his hand. “You’re ruining all the fun! Just open it already.”
Owen shakes his head, grumbling to himself about how guessing what’s in packages is the funnest part , but nonetheless succumbs and begins to tear the paper open. Slowly at first, he tears the silver away, before pressing a hand to his mouth once he sees what’s inside. He rips and tears quickly, until the garment is on its own in front of him, Owen can barely believe his eyes.
“Do you like it?” Water asks shyly, and for once her usual excitement and confidence calms its way down. Owen is… at a loss for words. So he just nods his head vigorously and unfolds the clothing, holding it out in front of him and gasping all anew.
Owen holds up in front of him a beautiful, beautiful knit sweater. It’s not a fancy design by any means. Quite the contrary, actually. It’s simple. Not elegant either, as the stitches are rough and wonky, and in some places Owen can see where a knot has been made between two pieces of yarn. He looks down at the sweater he wears on his own body now- another gift from Water, given years ago, under much sadder circumstances. The shades of the sweaters are near identical, the same (or at least very similar) blue-gray yarn making up the body of it. But in Owen’s first sweater, where the beauty of it is in the cabling and the pattern, this new sweater has a pop of color that Owen’s other one simply does not.
In the center of the chest is the knitted image of two characterized, overlapping hands. One of them is a shade of muted orange, the other a muted red-pink. Where the hands overlap, the yarn turns a mixture of the two colors, perfectly matched to make it look like how a stained-glass window might. The two hands emblem isn’t massive- it’s quite small, only about three by three inches, resting right atop where Owen’s heart would be, were he to put the sweater on.
“Sorry the knitting isn’t better,” Water says awkwardly. “I made it myself- well, with some help from Pop- and I’ve only been learning to knit for a few months. I just… I really wanted to make something special for you. For Christmas. And I thought- yeah. I liked the symbolism of the two hands overlapping. I feel- I dunno.”
As Water stumbles over her explanation, Owen’s smile grows ever wider on his face, until tears begin to leak down from his eyes. Owen rips off his old, faded gray-blue sweater, and pulls on the new one. Both are gifts from Water- one given at a time of parting, one at a time of togetherness, one store bought and the other handmade. The new sweater is soft and comfortable, holding none of the itchiness that Owen’s come to associate with knit fabric. It’s warm, holding in body-heat, and Owen feels like he’s being hugged.
He doesn’t think he’s ever worn a more special thing in his life.
Owen lurches forward, pulling Water close into a massive hug. She makes a noise of surprise before returning the hug, limbs wrapping all the way around Owen’s back so that her hands are opposite of her arms.
“ Thank you , Water,” Owen murmurs, and he can’t keep himself from crying. “Th-thank you so much. I love it.”
Water squeezes him tighter, and he can feel her smile against his shoulder. “I’m so glad. I love you so much, little brother.”
“I love you too.”