theresalwayshope | meet the (grand)parents...

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meet the (grand)parents...

Allison felt a little like she was going insane.

She started out just planning to invite Aramis and Porthos over to meet Jason. Dinner and drinks, nothing big. Then she realized she didn't just feel obligated to invite Athos, she wanted to. So, if she did that, she obviously had to invite D'artagnan, and she really wanted to meet Constance...and she'd promised Grey a chance to help her bake a cake, so if she did something more than dinner, she could let him come over at some point...

The small family dinner became a small dinner party, and with a few more additions morphed into an impromptu potluck for the whole building...or anyone that wanted to show up. She told the family about it privately, asking Porthos and Aramis to make sure the others at least stopped by (with a subtle warning that Jason would be there), told everyone else she knew in the city, and for the rest of the building she posted a couple of handmade fliers: one in the elevator, and another in the laundry room announcing that, with either a main course or appetizer offering, an invitation to the holiday celebration taking place in apartment #39...dressy casual to formalwear welcome, bring your favorite Christmas CD as a bonus.

And, of course, she told Jason...and told him her family would be there.

By the night of the party, Allison was ready...she just felt a little like she was going insane.

She kept her outfit cute, but simple, and took care of dessert by baking some cupcakes, gingerbread cookies, and a two layer chocolate cake which she invited Grey over to help her bake. With a little careful scheduling, she also managed to contribute to the food on hand with her second ever attempt at beef bourguignon: rich, hearty, and sort of impressive under the right circumstances. By party time, she had her front door standing open, some Trans Siberian Orchestra carols playing on her stereo, and while she didn't yet have a tree, she'd gotten some cute plastic holly garland to hang around the apartment, and for fun had ringed her whole living room ceiling in multicolor Christmas lights for good measure.

The party was good to go. The place smelled good, the food came out okay with more to come...the evening was good to go.

And when Jason showed up, her family would show up...and they'd all meet each other...

While she waited for her guests, loved ones, and boyfriend to start arriving, Allison puttered around in her kitchen, swore to herself she was not hiding, and tried to pretend that she wasn't having visions of someone either drawing a sword or a knife by the end of the evening.

Tonight had to be perfect.

(HOLIDAY GATHERING POST! Treat it thusly. :P Front door's open, come and go as you please, anyone in the Bramford Building is welcome, and if you know Allison even remotely she told you about the party. Gather at will, and leave a call for Allison in your subject line if you want to play with her directly! Open eternally, will probably be linked near the end of the month. :D)

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I made brown bread, the way my mother taught me to bake it. It will go well with any other food, whether it's sliced into sandwiches or sopped into gravy. For a potluck, I think it'll go over well. It's not exactly pretty or particularly unique, but I hope its taste will make up for that.

Likewise, I'm dressed simply and I'm only realizing now that black and gray might be my automatic colors, but I'm left plain at best and funereal at worst. Not exactly the mood the party seems to set with all of the fairy lights and laughter.

I put down my bread and hesitate, wondering if I should hurry back to my apartment downstairs and find something in my closet that hints toward festive. Maybe I'll even find some of that eyeliner that Christina said made me so striking.

Bread must be a common thing, because it's what I've made too. A braided loaf called Challah that I've only learned to make in the past few months. Christmas wasn't a holiday we knew back home, and so I've tried to make my own traditions, picking from everything that I've seen.

"Hey. I didn't know you'd be here," I say, smiling at her.

"They're my upstairs neighbors," I say, gesturing toward Porthos and Aramis. "And my friends, I think." I still don't know, don't trust myself to be the kind of person that's loved by others. "Allison too, the host."

I nod. I know Porthos, but not the others, though I wonder if the man he’s with is the one he was talking of marrying. “I offered to help Porthos make a cake. For the wedding.”

"Have you met the rest of his family?" I suppose they're family the way Dauntless should have been my family, only for them to fail me.

"They're all on the floor right above me."

"Not yet. I just came by because he mentioned it," I say, feeling less out of place with Tris here too. "Are they good neighbors?"

"I think so. They used to invite me up to dinner, now and then." Then they'd gotten engaged and bee much too busy for me.

"Before you started working too much?" It's what I automatically assume, knowing how much she keeps throwing herself into things. That's one way she reminds me of Katniss, but I wouldn't say that to either of them. "Or was it something else."

"Before they got engaged," I say, just a little primly. Not Peeta too. It had already gone to hell after I yelled at Reggie.

"They're a family and planning a wedding is a lot of work. They don't need a neighbor getting underfoot."

I think that it's easy to get busy and that Tris isn't the type to push her way in on things, or remind people that she's still there. I'm the same way, and I don't know how to say that without offending her. "You should come over for dinner sometime. To my place."

"In the loft or the countryside?" I ask. Every now and then, I do stop by the loft, but I still can't help feeling like I'm invading.

"Both. Either." I've tried to make the loft as welcoming as I can to the few people who have keys, and Bay's ideas for art on the walls and chalkboard paint have been great ones, and I like spending time there. "But you should definitely come out to the country sometime."

"Is there a bus that comes out there?" I mean, there must be, if Peeta can make it into town so often.

"I haven't really been to the countryside"

"Practically past the house. It's still a bit of a walk, but not far." Even with my leg I would have found a way into town though. It wasn't as if everything in Twelve was close together, but the bus makes things easier. "How about next week?"

"Yeah, just message me and tell me when?" I say, tapping the phone I've stowed in the cuff of my boot.

"I will," I say, and impulsively, before she can stop me, I gather her into a hug. "Merry Christmas, Tris."

It startles me, but I lean forward into the hug. For a second, I think of another tall blond boy, who always smelled like lemongrass soap, and my stomach clenches. No. I tell myself, this isn't Al. This is Peeta, who smells of bread and paint.

"Merry Christmas."

She's never been someone I've wanted to protect, in fact I'm sure that if it came down to it Tris would be keeping me safe. But I want her to be happy, and I care about her as much as I care about nearly anyone here.

"I will call," I promise, before letting her go. Maybe what we all need is a few more friends.

"Thanks Peeta." I step out of the hug, my hand lingering on his wrist.

"I'll try and call too."

"Tris!"

She was spotted before she could move to try and escape: catching sight of her across the room, Allison wove her way over to greet Tris with a broad smile and a hand squeezing her shoulder warmly. She'd kind of gotten the vibe off of Tris that made her think she wasn't real comfortable with contact, but Allison was relatively tactile before coming to Darrow, and had only gotten moreso since her arrival. Touch kept the pack connected, it was that tiny piece of the wolf that was still alive inside her skull...it made her feel safe with her loved ones.

"You made it...and this? You could not have brought anything more perfect." she beamed, leaning over to breathe in the big, healthy loaf of bread. "Wow, did you make this? It smells divine! It'll be a hit with the beef bourguinon I made."

She was about to compliment her shoes (she secretly thought they might look good with her vigilante costume, she wanted a pair for herself), when she spotted the fact that Tris's fingers were wrapped in medical tape. Her smile instantly died as she gently took Tris's hand in hers.

"Oh my God...Tris! Did something happen, or was this an accident?" she asked, meeting her gaze with a mixture of open concern and a kernel of something promising righteous anger if she got an unpleasant answer.

If someone hurt her friend, any of her friends...the Alpha would find them.

Allison is a whirlwind. No sooner than I'm in the door, I'm caught up in the force of her welcome and her questions. I don't think I get a proper chance to answer a single thing she says before she's holding my hand where the support tape is wrapped around my fingers.

"It was my own fault," I assure her. "I got reckless when everyone disappeared. It should have been an easy jump but I..." All I can do is shrug.

"They're more or less healed. I just have the tape on for a few days."

A certain relief coursed through her, but the disappearance of most of the city's inhabitants was still kind of frightening to think about. She'd heard from a few long time dwellers of Darrow about the days when it had been the same way, but experiencing it...every day felt like she'd been walking a fine line between sanity and madness with the burden of protecting her people weighing on her, and she didn't like it.

But Tris was safe...relatively safe. That counted for something.

"You, missy, need to be more careful." Allison admonished, then after a beat, she let out a huff.

"There's a hug incoming. Deal with it."

With that, she wrapped an arm around Tris and pulled her into a quick, but firm embrace, showing her at least enough mercy to make it quick before she drew back, narrowing her eyes a little.

"If you break your neck when I'm not around to catch you, sister, I'm going to be so pissed. Maybe I need to take up this parkour stuff just so I can keep an eye on you."

I've gotten used to Allison's hugs. Growing up, physical affection was brief and gentle, not effusive the way hers is. I feel like she's trying to heal me through the hug and her warmth goes a long way in easing the way the back of my neck prickles when she suggests I need her protection.

"I've learned from my mistake. Honestly," I say. "I've had much worse and they have nothing to do with parkour."

I know she's seen the bullet scars and seen the way my hands shake around a gun. She's seen me screaming, sobbing beyond all rationality from my fears come to life.

The offer of friendly protection and shared strength are gratefully received.

"I think you'd like the gym anyway. And my bosses."

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