Archive of Our Own

Before

“What on Earth…?”

She’s been out for lunch with her sister, gone for verging on three hours now (Ellie’s always been one to talk, perhaps something to do with her being the youngest of five and having to fight to be heard, and Mac found herself on more than one occasion through lunch saying she had to head home, just for her sister to start up a whole new conversation). 

They had a lovely time, despite the lengthy conversations, Ellie prying deeper than Mac would’ve liked, but she was grateful to be home.

All week, she’s been longing for a moment of peace with Will. Had she known work would be so bloody exhausting, she perhaps wouldn’t have made plans with her sister for this weekend, would’ve postponed it to the one following. 

And, if she hadn’t have been so busy, perhaps she wouldn’t have forgotten said lunch plans, and perhaps she wouldn’t have startled a half asleep Will the night prior by yelling an exasperated FUCK when her sister had messaged her to check what time they were meeting (the poor sod had been curled up on her chest, his breath evening out and his lips parting ever so slightly, close to sleep when she’d sworn and he’d near jumped out of his skin at the sudden outburst). 

Mackenzie has to admit, she’d been close to cancelling. She’s never been one to bail on friends and family simply because she wants to spend time with her partner, but herself and Will had barely had a moment to themselves all week, and she wasn’t prepared to give up their only time together. 

But, in the end, she stuck to the plans. Lunch with her sister would only take up a small portion of her weekend - she and Will could bask in one another’s company when she got home. Besides, it was the last chance she’d get to see Ellie before Christmas. 

It was the first Christmas she wasn’t spending with her family. Even when she was with Brian, she still went home to her parents every year, ate the turkey her mother so lovingly prepared, cooed over her nieces and nephews, stole away to her father’s study for a stiff drink and a deep chat with the man she loved most in the world. 

But a few weeks prior, herself and Will had been discussing plans. She mentioned her usual tradition, had noted the slight disappointment that flickered across his features despite his attempt to hide it, and when she’d asked what he intended to do for the holidays, he’d simply shrugged. 

He wouldn’t be seeing his family, she knew that much. But surely he wouldn’t be spending it alone?

“I was hoping we could celebrate together…” he’d confessed, and the wide eyed look on his face, the slight flush of his cheeks as if he was ashamed to admit as much had her heart melting. 

“I’d love to spend Christmas with you, Billy,” she’d told him in turn. His face had split into the widest grin she’d ever seen, and she couldn’t help but kiss him then, butterflies in her stomach at the thought of spending the holidays with this man that she adored (maybe even loved? Yes, definitely loved. She was falling in love with him. Head over heels, irrevocably in love with him). 

She’d called her parents not long after, informed them of her change of plans with a sheepish tone, and had been somewhat shocked at the lack of disappointment from them.

But, she supposed she was their oldest, and this was bound to happen sooner or later. 

And, though they’d never admit it to her, they were grateful she had someone that cared enough for her to actually want to spend the holidays with her, unlike that bastard Brian. 

Will had been almost giddy at the thought of spending Christmas with Mackenzie (he can’t remember the last time he had someone to celebrate with) and it had simultaneously overjoyed her and broken her heart to see him in such a way. She hated the thought that he’d spent the majority of the holidays in his adult life alone, and was determined from that moment to make this Christmas one to remember. 

He, however, had apparently had the same idea. 

And this became evident when Mackenzie returned home from lunch with Ellie that Saturday afternoon to find the lounge of their (Will’s, technically, but she was practically living there by now) apartment adorned with decorations still in their boxes and a tree twice the size of the one at her parents house. 

“Billy?” He’s knelt in the middle of the floor, rummaging through a box of lights, and his head snaps up when he hears the gentle lilt of her voice. “What is all this?”

He offers her a dazzling smile, and she finds herself momentarily speechless because, God, was he handsome. 

Standing from his spot on the floor, Will maneuvers carefully past the decorations, across the room to where she was still standing with her jacket on and her purse held limply between her fingers. His hands come up to cup her cheeks as he reaches her, and he kisses her as if she’d been gone for weeks, not a measly few hours (and that was one of the things she loved most about him, how every time he kissed her it was if it was both the first and the last time, how he left her lips swollen and her chest heaving as he took her breath away). 

“Decorations,” he tells her simply, that beautiful smile still adorning his features. “I didn’t have any. I’ve never really needed them. But I thought we could put these ones up together.”

She takes a brief glance around the room, noting the vast number of boxes, all different shapes and sizes, before letting her gaze fall in him once more. She smiled up at him, one wide enough to match his own, her eyes crinkling in the corners in a way that made him want to kiss her once again. 

“You daft man,” she says with a loving tone and a slight shake of her head. “Where the hell do you think we’re going to be able to put all of these?”

He shrugs, calloused fingers toying with a button on her jacket as he offers her a sheepish look. 

“We’ll find somewhere,” he tells her. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our apartment is pretty big.”

It’s the first time she’s heard him refer to it as such - our apartment - and she truly feels that she’s found a home in and with this man. 

He loves her so deeply, so openly, and though he’s never said those words, she knows he feels it just as much as she does. 

She can tell from the way he wakes her in the morning with a gentle kiss on her cheek and a quiet good morning, love, his own voice still hoarse with sleep; from the way he pillows her head on his chest after a particularly gruelling day at the works, gently urges her to sleep with reminders that he’s there, he’s got her, she’s safe with him; from the way he holds her hand and kisses her without reservation, even in front of their staff team; from the way he lays beside her at night, facing her with his fingers curled around her hip as they share secrets with one another that they’ve never told another living sole. 

Her relationship with Will is nothing like her one with Brian, and as time goes on, she comes to realise that it had been more than unhealthy. She’s told Will stories of her time with her former partner, and he’s held her while she’s cried as she’s come to the realisation that the way she was treated by Brian was more than unfair. He was never violent, not in a physical sense, but his words tore her down to the point where she no longer loved herself, could no longer function without him, and it scares her - even now - to think that someone could have that much of a hold over her. 

Will loves her, truly and completely, would never do anything to hurt her in any sense, and she honestly couldn’t imagine her life without him now. 

She kisses him again, has to stand on her toes to reach him. 

“Let me just go and get changed,” she tells him. “Then we can get started.”

“Hurry back,” he says with a slight smile, and she disappears back into the bedroom to change into something more comfortable. 

He’s unpacked virtually every box by the time she returns near 20 minutes later (no, she’d not headed his hurry back comment, but she’s exhausted both physically and mentally, her limbs heavy and her mind whirring with what’s waiting for them when they return to work on Monday, so perhaps he should allow her a reprieve).

The lounge looks incredibly cluttered, with boxes of baubles scattered across the floor and a mass of lights tangled up by his feet. Nothing how it usually does, all prim and proper and, if she’s being completely honest, as if nobody actually lives here it all.

The decorations, though not yet in place, already add some life to the place, and she’s eager to see what it’ll look like when they’re done. 

She saunters out in little more than her underwear and a t-shirt of his that falls mid-thigh, and she smirks at his double take as he catches sight of her.

“Hi,” he murmurs, his gaze following her as she crosses the room, stopping briefly to inspect a particularly beautiful selection of ornaments, all paper white and delicate looking. 

She repeats the sentiment, arms encircling his waist and her head coming to rest on the broad expanse of his chest. He wraps her up in his hold, presses a kiss to her forehead and threads his fingers through the dark locks of her hair. 

“Where the hell do we even start?” she asks with a slight laugh. 

“With the tree?” he suggests, his tone questioning as if he himself is unsure. 

It’s been a while since he’s done anything like this. 

He remembers once when he was young. It was Thanksgiving and, as with most holidays, his father took it as an excuse to drink in excess. A row had broken out after lunch, his father seeming to have inhaled almost the entirety of a bottle of cheap whiskey, and when he’d gotten in his wife’s face, so close that she felt the spit that was flying from his mouth with every bitter word he’d thrown her way, Will had stepped in. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d stood up to his father - no, that had been the year prior, when he’d cracked a bottle of Dewar’s across the man’s face and, since then, his father has become more violent towards him, often directing his anger at his son rather than his wife. And, though it hurt, Will would always rather he endured the pain than his mother. 

But, despite the hurt that came with every slap or closed fist to the face, as time had worn on, Will found himself with a confidence he lacked before that one occurrence, and no longer felt quite so afraid to stand up to his bully of a father. 

On that afternoon, he could see the tears glistening in his mother’s eyes, watched with a quiet fury as she flinched every time her husband drew closer. And when Will had cried a stop yelling at her, his father had turned to him and slapped him across the face with the back of his hand. 

It’d stung, of course, and left a mark for a good couple of days afterwards, but he couldn’t care less. He was sick of the way his father treated them (after all, why get married and have four children if you weren’t capable of loving them), and a slap to the face was manageable if it meant he could protect his mother (and, eventually, his siblings). 

His father had said nothing more after that, had slunk out of the house declaring he was off out for a drink (as if he actually needed another). 

Neither he nor his mother said much for a long time, and finally Will stole away to his room to hide. The night wore on and the house grew silent, and he was close to falling asleep when he heard the faint rap of knuckles at his door. It creaked open a moment later, despite him not having invited whoever it was inside, and in the faint slither of light coming through from the hallway, he saw his mother idling nervously outside. 

He called her in, his voice sounding much too loud in the vast quiet of their home. She came in, barely made it past the threshold before she stopped once more, and asked him if he wanted to help her put the decorations up in a voice so timid he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.

He had, and with little hesitancy, he was up and out of his bed and helping his mother bring the tree in from the garage (they had the same tree every year - his father didn’t care enough, nor have enough money to buy a real one, so they had a fake one that was put up late November and returned to the garage to collect dust early January every year). 

It was one of the only nights of his childhood that he looks back on fondly. His mother had been happy that evening, if only briefly. He remembers the way he made her laugh with his silly jokes, the light and carefree attitude she had the entire night, and the way he’d crawled into bed afterwards, his heart heavy with love for her. 

Mackenzie shifts out of his hold, and it brings him back to the present moment. 

“Well, we best get started,” she instructs with a clap of her hands. “ Someone bought enough decorations to fill two apartments, so we’re likely to be here all night if we don’t get a move on.”

He rolls his eyes at her gentle teasing, the trace of a smile on his lips as she begins sorting through the decorations, trying to decide what to put on the tree first. 

It’s much, much later when they’re finally done. Mackenzie wasn’t wrong when she said it’d take them all night, but it has nothing to do with the excess of ornaments and lights, but rather her dire need for absolute perfection. 

That, paired with constant distractions (Will finds himself stopping her every now and then to kiss her because, as cliche as it sounds, the entire situation is like something out of a romantic movie… and, honestly, he just can’t help himself when she’s dressed in one of his tops and absolutely giddy over the festive season), and it’s nearing dinner time when they finish.

With some final adjustments, and the star on top of the tree (Mac had allowed Will to do this part, watching on with a loving smile as he adjusted it to sit perfectly at the top), they’re finished, and the pair take a step back to admire their hard work. 

“I think we did a pretty good job,” Will tells her, a slight look of pride on his face. 

“Me too,” she agrees, tilting her head up towards him. She expects him to kiss her then, but his eyes draw wide and he pulls back, causing a frown of confusion to cross her face.

“Wait, I forgot something.” He’s like a child in that moment as he races off in search of something, and Mackenzie can’t help the slight laugh that bubbles up past her lips. She waits patiently by the tree for him to return and, when he does, it’s with something hidden behind his back. 

She eyes him suspiciously as he draws nearer, a mischievous grin on his face.

Only when he’s stood directly in front of her does he reveal what he’d been so eager to retrieve. 

Mistletoe.

He holds it over them, that cheeky smile never faltering, and leans down expectantly, his free arm encircling her waist and pulling her to him. Her arms wrap around his neck, and she pushes up on her toes to meet him in a loving kiss, one that warms her heart, one that tells him everything that she can’t put into words.

They linger, both wanting to savour the moment, and when they break apart, neither of them move too far. 

Mackenzie’s cheeks are flushed a faint red, her lips swollen, and Will’s breathing is somewhat heavier than it had been moments ago. 

Mistletoe forgotten, both his arms come around her then, keeping her flush against him, his forehead pressed against her own. 

They stay like that for a long while, wrapped up in one another’s embrace. And they’re happy in the knowledge that this is looking like it’ll be one of their best Christmases yet. 

After

“Do you think mommy will like it?”

They’re both huddled away in his home office, each of them occupying a side of the desk. Will’s head is buried in a newspaper while Charlotte has been drawing picture after picture, letting out small, indignant huffs every so often that remind him so much of her mother it makes him laugh. 

She’s tossed aside numerous attempts, a collection of ‘failures’ piling up on the floor at her feet that he’ll most likely have to clear up later. But she seems to be pleased with her most recent work of art, and holds it up for him to inspect. 

He lowers his paper, takes the drawing from her grasp and pretends to really ponder her question. 

“I think,” he begins, setting the paper down on the desk and leaning across it, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Mom’s gonna love it.”

Her face lights up with the most beautiful smile, clearly satisfied with her father’s answer. She takes the drawing back, inspecting it before giving a brief nod of her head in a way that makes her seem so much older than her years.

It’s only a few days until Christmas, and Charlotte’s excitement only seems to grow with each passing moment. She’s finally at an age where she has an understanding of the holiday, but she’s still young enough that she believes in Santa and still gets excited at the prospect of a ton of presents. 

“Okay, I better go put it somewhere safe,” she tells him with the utmost certainty before hopping down from her chair and bolting out of the office. 

He watches her go with a fond smile. 

It’s not often he gets some time alone with their daughter. More often than not, she’s in bed before he returns home of an evening, and he’s always the last one up, so he’ll only get a brief interaction with her before she goes to school of a morning. 

Himself and Mackenzie try not to let work interfere with their weekends nowadays, and it’s been that way ever since she was born. Work’s important to the both of them, of course, but she’s everything to them, and they’d promised from the very beginning that they’d always put her first, no matter what. 

But it’s incredibly rare that it’s just himself and Charlotte. 

Mackenzie is out for lunch with Jim, something they try to do at least once a month - their lives are rapidly changing, and since her promotion, she feels she sees Jim less and less. So they ensure they carve out a few hours, one Saturday a month to catch up on one another’s lives. 

Today happens to be that Saturday.

She’s been gone for around two hours, is likely to be gone for at least one more, and himself and Charlotte have been holed up in his office from the moment she left.

They’ve already bought presents for Mackenzie, having headed to the mall a few weeks prior when Charlotte wouldn’t let up about how little time they had to get her mother the perfect gifts. 

However, his daughter had decided this wasn’t enough. Anyone could buy a gift, but not everyone could make something that was unique and special, and so for the last few days, she’s been determined to make her mother something to go alongside her other presents. 

And so that’s how she’s spent the last couple of hours. 

She’s gone for a while, clearly searching for the perfect safe spot to keep the drawing. Eventually, Will gets bored of waiting for her to return, so rises from his desk and goes in search of his daughter. 

He finds her in her room, on her knees by her bookcase, hiding the picture among the pages of one of her lesser read books. She spots Will as he comes in, grins up at him, a look of pure pride on her face. 

“She’ll never look here,” Charlotte tells him matter of factly. She returns the book to its place on the shelf before leaping up and running to her father, who’s quick to catch her despite his shoddy joints that only worsen as time passes. 

Her legs come to wrap around his waist, and she curls into his chest with a content sigh. 

“I really hope she likes it, daddy,” she confesses, suddenly slightly self-conscious of her artistic skills. Tilting her head up, she offers him a slight pout, her eyes wide - and she truly is a carbon copy of her mother. 

“She will, baby. I know it.” His tone is soft, reassuring, and he feels Charlotte relax against him, nodding her little head into his chest. She trusts her father implicitly, knowing anything he says is likely to be true, so she doesn’t question him further, simply takes what he says as gospel. 

“Why don’t we go watch a movie while we wait for mom to come home?”

Charlotte considers this for a moment, her little fingers playing with a button on his shirt. When she looks up at him once more, there’s a mischievous glint in her eye, and he knows exactly what she’s about to ask before she does. 

“Can we watch Elf?” They’ve already watched it a bunch of times in the weeks prior - it’s her most favourite Christmas movie and they’ll find themselves watching it an immeasurable amount of times over the holiday period, so he’s unsurprised she’s asked for it again. 

“I suppose we can,” he tells her, and the sentence is no sooner out of his mouth than she’s wriggling in his grasp, desperate to be put down so she can go put the movie on in the lounge. He watches her go with a slight chuckle before following after her, the two ready to curl up on the sofa and wait for Mackenzie to return. 

Christmas morning rolls around quicker than either of them could have anticipated. 

She wakes first, her body feeling overly tired, and she’s grateful that their daughter still appears to be asleep so she can allow herself to wake up at her own pace. 

Will is draped across her, his head buried in the crook of her neck, his breathing even in a way that tells her he’s still asleep. She simply lays there for a while, her fingers tangling in his hair as she stares up at the ceiling, trying to find the motivation to get going.

She loves Christmas, always has (if you don’t include the years she and Will were apart). But the holidays have changed since their daughter arrived. They’re louder, full of more energy, a day of peace suddenly becoming a day of absolute mania. 

Last year, they’d taken Charlotte to England to celebrate with Mackenzie’s parents, and the girl had loved it. And though they considered returning this year, they opted against it in the end, preferring to spend the day cooped up in their apartment, just the three of them, a luxury that felt entirely rare as of late.

Charlotte will certainly be up soon, is likely to come thundering into the room, screaming their names and disturbing Will from his peaceful slumber. Their daughter is rambunctious, intuitive, curious about everything there is to know about the world, and Mackenzie absolutely adores her. 

But her voice is always a notch too high in volume in the morning and, despite having woken up to it for years now, Mac is always unprepared. 

She’s not sure how long she lays there, her mind wrapped up in the day ahead of them, but soon she feels Will shift, hears him grunt slightly against her skin, and a slight smile plays on her lips as she waits for her husband to fully awaken.

“Merry Christmas, Billy,” she whispers, slightly giddy all of a sudden. Yes, it’s going to be one of the busiest days of the year, but she’s excited to celebrate with the two great loves of her life. 

He repeats the sentiment as he stretches against her, his voice hoarse with sleep. She hides a kiss in his hair, smiling down at him as he opens his eyes and looks up at her. His hair is an absolute mess and there’s sleep still in his eyes, but he’s still the most attractive man she’s ever seen in real life. 

He lifts his head momentarily to kiss her before settling back against her chest, he himself not yet ready to get up. Neither of them say much for a long time, merely enjoying one another’s company and the peace of the morning. Mac’s certain Will has fallen asleep again until she hears him speak.

“Remember our first Christmas together?”

She smiles fondly, thinking back to the excitement she’d felt when he’d asked her to spend the holidays with him, to the way she’d returned to the apartment one afternoon to find more decorations than they knew what to do with, to the way he’d kissed her beneath the mistletoe, to the way he’d presented her with a beautiful necklace that Christmas morning with a shy smile on his face (it was gold with a simple ruby pendant, and it had been through war zones and back with her, still occupying her jewellery box to this day).

“I do,” she tells him, her voice light as she reminisces. “I can’t believe how much things have changed since then.”

He nods his agreement, falling silent once more and she knows why. 

Not all of the years since that first had been happy. Not all of them had been spent together. Not all of them had been celebrated by them at all. 

But things were different now, and despite the heartache of the years spent apart, they were happy now - more than - and certainly had a reason to be celebrating again. 

Will looks up at Mackenzie once more, offering her a soft smile that she instantly returns. He shifts, moving up the bed so they’re face to face, before cupping her cheek with the calloused fingers of one hand. His lips brush against hers in a light kiss, before he kisses her fully, his lips lingering for a long while. She sighs against him, her hand coming up to grasp at the one on her cheek as she savours the moment. 

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His head comes to rest against her own, his nose brushing against hers in an affectionate gesture. The smile she gives him is dazzling, and, not for the first time, he finds himself in awe of this woman.

“I love you,” he tells her, and she’s quick to utter it in return.

The moment is soon broken as they hear a cry of mommy, daddy from down the hall. Charlotte’s door is flung open and she comes barreling down the hallway, her footsteps heavy, and she’s sure their neighbours think there’s a herd of elephants living up here with them.

She comes to a halt in the doorway, hands clasped together as she looks in expectantly. Mackenzie caves first, granting the girl permission to come in, and Charlotte’s quick on her feet as she races into the bedroom and pulls herself up onto the bed on Will’s side.

With little thought, she climbs over her father, all knees and elbows, and he grunts as she sidles up beside him, settling between himself and her mother with the biggest grin on her face.

“It’s Christmas,” she tells them, somewhat breathlessly, and Mac’s heart melts at the look of pure excitement on their daughter’s face. She shares a look with Will, whose lips are upturned in a smirk. 

“It is! Merry Christmas, baby,” Mac tells her, pressing a loving kiss to her cheek. 

“Merry Christmas,” Will tells her, too, cuddling up closer to his child and her mother, hoping Charlotte will allow them a moment of peace before they begin their day. Mackenzie settles back in, too, half expecting their daughter to bolt up and out of the room, demanding to open her presents. But she doesn’t. She simply lays between her mother and father for a while, clearly grateful for this rare opportunity as well. 

They’re fools to think their daughter will stay settled for any length of time. The quiet lasts five minutes before she’s up and out of their room, yelling about presents and urging her parents to hurry up. 

Will and Mackenzie are close behind, and before long, the lounge is a mess of wrapping paper and toys, Charlotte happily nestled amongst it all. 

She’s playing with a new doll when she remembers.

“Oh,” is all she says as she jumps up from the floor and races off to her room, leaving her parents confused as they watch her go. The two of them are curled up on the couch, Mackenzie with a warm mug of coffee in her grasp, Will’s arms wrapped around her. 

Their daughter has been preoccupied for the last twenty minutes, too wrapped up in all her new belongings to care much about what her parents are doing, so they’ve allowed themselves a brief moment of respite before their day continues.

Charlotte’s quick, eager to share whatever it is she’s run off to get. And as Will clocks the piece of paper in her hand, recognition dawns across his face, and he smiles as the girl clambers up into her mother’s lap.

“I made you something, mommy,” she tells Mackenzie excitedly, settling back against the woman’s chest. 

“You did?” Mac takes the paper from her as it’s thrust in her face. She waits for Charlotte to stop wriggling around before she fully inspects it, and when she does she feels her heart melt. 

Charlotte’s drawn her plenty of things over the last couple of years, but she’s clearly taken her time with this one, put a lot of thought into it, and that’s what makes it so special. 

“That’s me, and you, and daddy,” the girl tells her, pointing out each person in turn. Mac smiles at the mop of blonde hair Charlotte’s given her father, the big brown eyes for her mother, and the wide, cheeky smile she’s drawn for herself. 

“Do you like it?” she asks, glancing up at Mackenzie with eyes that she could fall into.

“I love it, baby,” Mackenzie tells her. “Thank you so much.” She hands the paper off to Will before wrapping Charlotte up in her embrace, peppering her daughter’s face with kisses, causing her to shriek with laughter. 

Their little girl is kind, and caring, and thoughtful, and Mackenzie is proud that she has such attributes. She truly is an angel.

“What’s this, Charlie?” Will asks, disrupting her thoughts. She’d shown him the picture days earlier, and he doesn’t recall the small blob Charlotte had drawn at her own feet. The girl leans over to see what her father has spotted, and she gives him an exasperated look, as if to say he’s silly.

“That’s the new baby, daddy,” she tells him with a roll of her eyes, and the mere gesture is so much like Mackenzie that he almost misses what she’s telling him.

Almost .

He looks up at Mac, a frown adorning his features, and she’s staring back at him with wide eyes, and that’s more than enough to tell him that what his daughter has just said is true.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Mac says with a slight shrug of her shoulders, her tone apologetic. 

He’s speechless for a moment.

Charlotte has climbed back down from her mother’s lap, clearly unimpressed now that she’s no longer the centre of attention, and it feels that the world has closed in so that it’s just the two of them. 

It takes a moment, but it finally sinks in. And when it does, the smile that brightens his features is so dazzling that she can’t help but smile back.

“Merry Christmas, Billy.” She’s pulled back into his embrace, her head resting against his shoulder, and they stay there for a long while. They’re content and their hearts are full, despite knowing that the year ahead is going to be a long one. 

But, for now, they’ll find peace in the day, will make the most of the time they have with their daughter, and they’ll worry about the rest of it later.

“Merry Christmas, Mac.”