Chapter Text
Day One: First Snowfall
The first snowfall has always set Hecate on edge. There’s something so entirely peaceful and serene about it, that frozen quality of silence and stillness, that she just knows is a big broad invitation to chaos. There is little that she’s found to be a worse omen for disaster than those moments where everything seems too perfect.
So as she’s looking out the window and fiddling with her timepiece, trying to fight the urge in her muscles to tense against an attack that’s sure to come, it’s really not all that surprising to see Ada slide up beside her with an excited look on her face.
Ahh, here it is, the impending disaster has struck.
She sighs with relief and turns away from the soft white blanket coating the grounds below to nod in greeting to the older woman. At least if she must hear whatever it is this time, she’s glad it’s coming from Ada. Glad that the woman who takes everything just a little too lightly, and delivers the news just a little too cheerily, will try her best to soften the blow for her.
Or perhaps it’s nothing to do with any of Ada’s ridiculous ability to shrug off impending doom, and much more down to the way she always looks at her so warmly, her heart skips a beat.
It’s really very difficult to tell, and Hecate’s not one for taking guesses, so she prefers not to dwell on it, fearing the conclusion she might find.
“The first snow really is beautiful, isn’t it, Hecate?” Ada asks dreamily, glancing up at her with one of those smiles that bring out the barest hint of a dimple in her cheeks, and Hecate has to brace herself by tightening her grip on the windowsill. Beautiful, indeed.
Instead of playing into whatever tactic this is, Hecate turns back to looking outside. “It is an invitation for catastrophe.”
“You always do have quite a way of looking on the bright side of things,” Ada teases.
She can’t help the tiny smile that spreads across her face, knowing the comment is meant in the kindest form of jest.
“Everything is too quiet. I keep waiting for Mildred Hubble to come tearing through with a dragon on her tail.”
Ada chuckles. “The students have already returned home for break this morning. I think we’re safe to assume that won’t happen at least until the New Year.”
“Never underestimate Mildred Hubble’s ability for chaos,” Hecate says dryly with a punctuating sniff. “And if it’s not her, something else will come along.”
“Hmm, well let’s hope you’re wrong this time. As it is, I’ve come with some good news!” Ada exclaims, clasping her hands together and turning to face Hecate. This time she can’t look away, knowing it would be rude, and stifles a threatening grimace.
“Oh, what might that be?”
“Mother is going to be away until just before Christmas, so rather than staying alone in her house—and without Agatha, it’ll be quite lonely this year—well, I thought I might stay here at Cackle’s for a few extra days!”
Ahh yes, there it is, the disaster she’d been expecting. Wrapped up nicely in the form of Ada Cackle’s excitement.
All the little cogs start turning in her head, jumping around between excitement at extra time alone with Ada, and terror at what she might accidentally reveal given extra time alone with Ada.
“You mean we’ll be here? Alone?” Hecate asks, trying to fake a smile.
“That is what I’d had in mind, yes. Unless… oh dear. I assumed you’d be happy for the company for once, but I do hope I’m not interrupting your time off,” her excitement begins to fall, and Hecate’s heart sinks deep to her stomach. No amount of self-torment is worth putting that look on Ada Cackle’s wonderful face.
“I’m happy to have your company, Ada,” she says softly, and she does mean it. “I just hope it will be enough for you, I know how you look forward to seeing your family every year, and I’m afraid I don’t know much about how to celebrate.”
“That’s all right,” Ada says, patting her softly on the shoulder, and Hecate knows she means it. “I don’t need any grand celebration. Just your company, if you’re willing to give it for a few days.”
It’s a simple offer, one Hecate would be absolutely foolish to turn down, but it’s always different when they’re alone, and the cold makes Hecate long for things she knows she’ll never have. She looks back out at the snow, and though she’s been disrupted, it remains so perfectly intact.
If only she could somehow emulate it, but loving the snow is just as foolish as loving Ada—they’ll never love her back, but she can still appreciate her time with them if she’s careful not to touch.
“Of course,” she says quietly after a moment’s pause. “We can get a head start on some of those expense reports, I suppose.”
Ada rolls her eyes. “Hecate, just because I’m here does not mean you’re back on duty. In fact, I’m afraid I’ll have to insist on a complete ban from doing anything related to work.”
“But… but I always—“
“All the more reason it’s good I’ll be here then. We don’t have to do anything too festive, but look at the wonderful fresh snow we have! Can’t we just enjoy some time together with it?”
Her face warms at the thought of Ada, cheeks red with cold, smiling up at her as little delicate snowflakes land, catching her eyelashes and melting on her lips.
“I’m not sure how I’ll enjoy my time with the snow,” Hecate sniffs, turning to face Ada with a soft smile on her face, “but I’m certain I can enjoy my time with you.”
Ada smiles back. “Then it’s settled! I may not have been successful in getting you to come to Mother’s for the holidays in the past, but I’m so glad we’ll finally be able to spend part of the season together.”
Hecate tries not to flinch at the last word, tries not to let it mean so much more to her than Ada means it. Together. She’s never been one for the holiday season, never cared much about the presents or the meals, but the togetherness she’s craved. The togetherness with Ada. But of course, she only means it as friends, only means any of this to be time spent as friends, and while she longs for it to mean more, she treasures the little branch Ada’s offering this year, and she’ll endure the longing if it means getting a taste.
Ada turns to leave, undoubtedly heading off to decorate impossibly more for the staff party, but Hecate stops her, reaching out just enough to graze her sleeve. She turns and looks expectantly, patient as ever as she waits for Hecate to find a way to get the words out.
“Thank you,” she says simply instead. She knows Ada will understand what she means, knows she won’t make her spell it out.
Ada’s always given everything so freely, yet never asked anything more from Hecate than she has from the first snow—never asked for an explanation, never pressed for more than she’s been presented—and for that she’s grateful.
"You'll see, Hecate, we'll make a good time of it."
For that, and for so much more, she loves her.