by Jamie Halliday
110203.1430
Shortly After Mission Improbable
-=Scotland=-
110203.1430
Shortly After Mission Improbable
-=Scotland=-
In a small house, coated heavily with snow, a sweet rotund little woman was busy at work. Her hips wiggled as she moved back and forth, fussing with the tree. She’d move a piece of tinsel to exactly the right place, step back and realise it was entirely the wrong place, then decide to fix it all over again.
“Leave it be, ma,” a gruff voice instructed her, but she paid him no heed.
“Oh, let her do it,” an even gruffer one replied, having become quite accustomed to her quirks through many years of marriage.
Finally, the round woman stopped, stepping back, and looking at what was by this point barely recognisable as tree. Instead it was a pile of flashing lights and silver tinsel, with a single angel in top whose paper dress had long since been torn.
“Perfect,” the woman said enthusiastically, as she observed her work with an excited smile.
“You know, none of us even care about this stuff anymore,” the first gruff voice said.
It belonged to Artair, her middle child; now a burly man in his thirties, every bit the image of his father, but who’d always still be to her the sweet little boy who’d made the wonky clay cup which sat always upon their mantelpiece.
“Now you know that’s not true,” she replied in her squeaky high voice, not really minding his tone.
She was far too happy today to let anything bother her at all. On Christmas Day all too often her children had places to be, and their own lives to live. Yet today was Christmas Eve; her favourite day of the year, when none had the heart to deny her the tradition that they’d all be together.
“Oh, aye, the favourite loves his Christmas time.”
“He thinks every day’s Christmas,” a feminine voice added teasingly. It was the voice of her daughter Dolina, who’d managed to be pried away from the busy life of hospital emergencies and yelling ‘stat’ to be here today as well.
“Now,” her husband said sternly, peeking out from behind his newspaper. “Y’know we never have any favourites.”
Artair and Dolina simultaneously rolled their eyes.
“So then d’ya want to tell me why he’s the only one who ever gets a handmade scarf?” Artair asked. “He’s nowhere near here when winter comes.”
“Because he’s the only one willing ta be seen dressed in something his ma knitted him,” she answered, wondering now if the tree could sparkle just a little more. “It’s no use making it for one of you so it’ll sit in yer cupboards all year long.”
“Well we’d look ridiculous in it,” Dolina answered. “Whereas he just looks like…”
“Him,” both she and Artair finished together.
Finally, the old woman had to leave her tree be, as she was disturbed by a rapping knock on the old wooden door.
“It’s open,” her husband shouted, quite comfortable in his well worn recliner rocker and not too keen to get up if it were just anyone.
As he saw who it was though, he smiled, and set his paper aside.
It was his brother; a heavier man, with a chin covered in hair and a face with two permanent dimples.
“Ah, Donny, ‘tis good to see you again,” he said, forcing tired legs to raise him to the floor.
“And you as well, Duncan,” his brother answered, using his free hand to steady him before he fell.
Duncan however was actually much more concerned with the contents of his other hand. Retrieving it, he examined the bottle of wine approvingly.
“Ah, grand,” Duncan said. “So how are ya keepin’ yourself?”
“Oh fine. Bridget’s been keeping me on my toes.” Duncan merely smiled knowing that Bridget, his brother’s on again, off again, slap you in the face then get angry when you didn’t ask her for a meal next Saturday, girlfriend, could keep any man busy. “And you?”
“Ah, ‘tis too peaceful. All of the better criminals seem to have dried up. Sometimes I wish I’d let a few more of them go in me younger days. Give me something to do now.”
“Don’t ya mean give me something ta do?” came the voice of his oldest son Colon, as he stepped in through the door.
His voice was as gruff as his father’s, and he was a big man himself, but he was no shy sort when it came to affection. He pulled his father into a hug, nearly ripping him from the ground, before turning and in turn acknowledging every other member of his family. Of course he hugged his mother too, but having to stoop down reminded him to hold her gently, while she took no such precaution with squeezing him.
“So who’s still missing?” Duncan asked, counting one extra place at the tiny dinner table, which it was a mystery how such a large collection of people would manage in any way to fit, and how they had for years on end. It was quickly becoming a challenge just to fit them all in this small living space, with the people to space ratio becoming entirely disproportionate.
“Only one,” Donny answered, contended to be surrounded by this group.
Duncan smiled, realising who it was and thinking back over a memory from a few years ago.
“D’ya remember when he worked for me?” Duncan started laughing. “I had poor Reverend Campbell in a terrible state about gettin’ his engine back and running in time to get him to his big prayer meet. So I sent the boy out to get a new drive control. It’s a five minute job. Instead he gets back half an hour later, with a bucket full of loose components, and an idea how to make a better one.”
Artair and Dolina rolled their eyes together again as Duncan and Colon laughed. Donny however shook his head slightly in concern.
“I had ta sit him down and tell him we don’t make ‘em. We just fix ‘em,” Duncan finished.
“Aye, the lad never did learn ta do things easily,” Donny added, always just that bit worried about his youngest son.
“It’s all turned out fine,” the round woman assured him, moving to place a comforting hand on her husband’s arm. “He turned out like…”
This time, everyone but Donny finished together in chorus. “Like him.”
All but Donny laughed, but even he couldn’t stop himself completely.
A lot of families had black sheep that they all knew. Theirs however was more of a bright yellow, and they knew he’d be here soon.
In fact at that very second there was another knock on the door. Being closest, Duncan pulled it open, and there they found him; packages piled high in his arms, and a big smile adorning his face.
Finally the gathering was complete as he was welcomed.
“Is this the Halliday residence?” Jamie asked as he stepped inside. “Because I’ve got a present delivery!”
Crewman Jamie Halliday
Engineering Officer
USS Serendipity NCC-2012
Engineering Officer
USS Serendipity NCC-2012