#dawningdelightsfanfic

[thedistantstorm]

Dawning Delights 02: Baking Cookies

Summary: Hawthorne invites her newfound family in the Tower to experience a City-Style Dawning with the family that took her in years ago. The holiday is not without it’s charm, or aggravation, and certainly has plenty of surprises in store. A season-inspired, trope-tastic story about a family forged by something greater than blood, finding reasons to enjoy the season - and cherish each other. Main Post

Pairings: Hawthorne/Zavala, Sloane/Amanda, Devrim/Marc

Updated every Tuesday/Friday & both holiday eve and days for Christmas and New Years.

-/

Marc, in typical Marc fashion, revises a midday brunch to a family-style dinner not long after making their arrangement. Apparently he’d got Amanda’s very enthusiastic RSVP and decided she should be treated to a home-cooked meal and be able to provide input on their Dawning Celebration. After all, accepting Zavala into their unorthodox family meant Amanda came along with it.

"Oh, this isn't going to end well." Suraya rolls her eyes as Amanda hollers, "He doesn't know the difference between salt and sugar!"

The Clan Stewardess pulls a beer from the fridge and hands it to the Shipwright. "Take this, and go back to watching your sparrow racing, would you?" When Amanda goes, she lays a hand on his forearm. "You're doing fine."

Zavala sighs. "I don't have to help with these-"

"Yes, you do. You’re psyching yourself out. Stop doubting yourself. Cooking and baking are two totally different things."

"And yet you excel at both."

"Both my fathers taught me what they knew. Besides, I don't think anyone was baking cookies in the dark ages," She reminds him. The exaggeration earns her a subdued half-smile. "Blend in the butter. Slow, fold it in on itself." She watches the consistency change, sticking her fingers into the mixture to test it. "Perfect," She tells him, voice even, not indulgent. Tension bleeds from his shoulders. "I'll roll it out. Amanda picked the cut-outs, right?"

He turns, finding them on the counter near the refrigerator and brings them to her. "Here."

"You can do this too, it's easy." She hands him back one that looks suspiciously like a jumpship. They exchange a glance at the rest - also jumpships and sparrows - and Hawthorne grabs a few more that look like stars and bells, even a little Ghost-shaped one.

He presses the cookie cutter into the flat roll of dough carefully.

"You can't hurt it, Zavala, push all the way through." 

He does, and when he pulls back the cookie cutter, the dough comes with it. Halfway through transferring it to the cookie sheet nearby, it flops out of the plastic. He catches it in a fist, effectively ruining the shape. 

Hawthorne laughs, opening his fist and plucking out the dough. "Put your hand under it next time." She rolls the misshapen cut-out back into a ball and pops it back in the bowl with the other half of the dough. "You really can't hurt these. I promise."

"You've seen me try to cook," He reminds her, pressing into the dough again.

Her hips nudge his. "You've got this, Commander. Besides, Marc will be more obsessed with us baking together than he will about the quality. He can't bake to save his life. Ask him about the time we tried to make Dev a birthday cake. He'll love it." 

Amanda shouts something in the background, kicking her feet against the bottom of the couch. No doubt she has glimmer riding on the results of the race. Meanwhile, Suraya works with precision and experience, rolling out more dough on the counter beside him to speed things up.

"Did Marc try often?" Zavala knows by now that her childhood isn't a secret, but she grows embarrassed easily and won't share much without pointed questions. As it happens, Zavala is curious, wanting to know as much about her as he can.

He'll get the story from her first, and still ask her adoptive parent later. By then, Suraya will be loose enough to point out any inconsistencies, and add her own commentary. 

"No. He looked up ‘easy to bake recipes for kids’ exactly one time," She admits, sheepish still. "Dev was on assignment and due back on his birthday. We did some accidental chemistry." She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, spearing a dab of flower on it. He spares it a fond blink and meets her eyes once more. "Some cakes use vinegar, and baking soda. It helps them rise. It's also the same thing used in children's experiments, science fair volcanoes, that sort of thing." She shrugs. 

"My Dad - I mean, you've seen him, he cooks by heart. The recipes are just guidelines." Zavala hums in agreement. "So he dumps the vinegar in right after the baking soda, and he's got the mixer on, right?" She claps her hands. "Just, bam! Everywhere. Chocolatey ruin, all over the kitchen." She laughs and he can't help but smile. "I must have been eight or nine, I can't remember. I laughed about it for a week. He spent an hour washing chocolatey goo out of my hair, and three more trying to clean the kitchen."

"What did you do?"

"He all but sprinted to the bakery. We made it home with maybe ten minutes to spare? Dev probably wouldn't have known," She grins, "But I ratted Marc out immediately."

Zavala laughs.

"He was so stressed, and Dev was so confused, and," Suraya giggles, "I didn't know what to do." She snorts, having to stop what she's doing, she's laughing so hard. "Marc started raving. 'The damn thing said it was for kids,' he kept saying. He's sworn off baking to this day, and I'm not kidding, he hasn't made a single dessert." Finally, she composes herself, wiping tears from her eyes. "I am so making him tell you the story. He'll lose his mind."

"Are you sure you want to antagonize him?"

She is. "He's a primadonna. He loves it. He'll start with the hand motions-" She flops a hand towards him, dusting his sweater with flour, lips snacking as she tries to belay her laughter once more. "Oops."

Blue eyes look down and narrow. "Suraya," He warns in a tone that says he’s already determined his next move and it’s not in her favor.

She grins, sheepishly. "Whatever you're thinking, don't."

Dark shapely eyebrows rise and fall in a silent insinuation. 

The next time Amanda comes into the kitchen, there may or may not be hand prints on Suraya's back, and flour in her hair. Zavala isn't faring any better, she sees what she'd guess is a Suraya-sized palm smeared across the seat of his jeans. She takes one look at them and makes an about-face, leaving her empty on counter, sneaking into the fridge for another, unwilling to join in the chaos. They're too busy carrying on to notice her, and she's not about to spoil their fun.

She will, however, bring it up to Marc later, because she knows he'll want to hear all about it.

-/

It's well after dinner when the girls are laying on the couch watching some old holiday feature that Zavala pulls Marc aside. He waits until Suraya is nodding off onto Amanda's shoulder - Amanda is too enthralled to mind, she loves these reruns - to slip back into the kitchen unnoticed. 

"Plans in plans?" Marc queries smartly, unprovoked. His hair is starting to turn more pewter than black-brown these days, but he still doesn’t look a day past forty (he’s thankful to his skin-routine and hairdresser for that). He gestures to the large kitchen island, and the stools beside it.

“Well,” Zavala doesn’t look nervous. Perhaps that’s why it radiates off him so obviously. Marc doesn’t believe in auras, but projection and a little context do wonders. “I do need to ask you something.”

Marc shakes his head, patting Zavala’s folded hands. “When and how? Is there a plan and can I help?”

“You don’t even know-”

His hazel eyes shine in fond amusement. “She sees right through you, doesn’t she?” He muses aloud, to which Zavala shifts uncomfortably, exposed. “That’s not a Devrim trait, you know.”  He tips his head down, trying and failing to conceal his grin before swinging his gaze back up to ethereal blue. “She gets that from me."

"Still-"

"I am absolutely certain my husband gave you the curt, gentleman's heart-to-heart and relished every awkward second of it." He crosses one leg over the other, and smiles. Devrim had called him immediately after this particular conversation, resources and satellites, encrypted comm protocols be damned. After all, it wasn't often that the Vanguard Commander snuck into the wilds unannounced to ask your blessing to marry your child. "You don't need to convince me. I'm here for this. And you.” His eyebrows dip in an insinuation. “So spill."

Zavala leans in, voice dropping to barely a whisper, and Marc scoots closer, visibly vibrating with excitement.

-/

The Guardians waste no time presenting their Vanguard with presents. For Ikora, flaky pastries replace last year's overabundance of donut holes. Zavala finds himself inundated with Gjallardoodles again, within hours of the Tower's festivities officially beginning. Eva, laughing from her place between Tess, Kadi, and Rahool, only encourages it. 

Hawthorne watches from afar. She doesn't have the heart to tell them that Louis doesn't eat birdseed when they bring it by the bag. Instead, she sets it aside for Colonel, who is still roosting comfortably in the Hangar and will - unlike what Cayde insisted previously - eat anything.

At some point, she sees Zavala approach Ikora for some sort of exchange. Pastries for cookies, conversation between them unrushed and pleasant. She can see it in their body language. They may not be close, but it warms Suraya to see Ikora smile, for her to be getting along with Zavala and them to be working as a team once more. 

The year prior had been rough for everyone. Hawthorne and Zavala were still working to well and truly define what was between them when Cayde was murdered. Sure, there were feelings and Suraya's relatively certain they both knew what those feelings were at the time (they just wanted to be careful), but losing Cayde changed things. 

The Vanguard was forever changed. At one point, Suraya had been pulled into a meeting with the Hidden - which was something - and been asked about Zavala's stability (they really did know everything, which was alarming) and her opinions on the Vanguard being necessary at all. It had been a time. Of course, she understood why those questions begged asking. Zavala threw up walls like she did, closing himself off to everyone.

But, Suraya knows better than anyone how to slip in the cracks. She did not push or prod. Did not beg his attention or time or push him to cheer up. She simply existed, constant and quiet, at the edges of the room, the other side of his bed. Waiting. It didn't take nearly as long as she had expected.

Now, she knows, she has Eva to thank for that. There was a reason she'd made sure Suraya only received edibles for her feathered companion (misguided though it was). The old woman had given him a reason to be concerned, a reason to share his overabundance of holiday treats with her, and it paid off.

It took far longer for the Vanguard to make peace and try to move on, for Ikora and Zavala to set aside their collective pride and grief and foster a relationship once more.

Here they are, though. She can hear Zavala's low laugh from here, see the way Ikora reaches out to test one of the better looking cookies in the tin he's holding. They're better together, the both of them.

Louis squawks something agreeable, and she doesn't think on it much when she turns to feed him a little nibble of the treats he'd been given that he does enjoy. Some of the Hunters who know a thing or two about hawking have brought him presents, as well. He hasn't gone hunting yet, and 'tis the season. He's a little underweight as it is. He chitters on like the spoiled brat he is, keeping her attention. She smooths his feathers and grins at him. He looks at her, head tilted, beak parted. Asking for the rest.

"No more," She says, and his cries grow a little more urgent. "You want food, you have to hunt. You're not a chicken."

He beats his wings petulantly before crying once more. Suraya laughs and sends him on his way.

When she turns back, Zavala is entrusting the two tins of leftover Gjallardoodles to Ikora. The Warlock slips the smaller one into a drawer at her station. Suraya doesn't think anything of it.

Back to Main Fic Post

[thedistantstorm]

A Destiny Dawning story.

Summary: Hawthorne invites her newfound family in the Tower to experience a City-Style Dawning with the family that took her in years ago. The holiday is not without it’s charm, or aggravation, and certainly has plenty of surprises in store. A season-inspired, trope-tastic story about a family forged by something greater than blood, finding reasons to enjoy the season - and cherish each other.

Pairings: Hawthorne/Zavala, Sloane/Amanda, Devrim/Marc

Chapters: Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Epilogue

[thedistantstorm]

Dawning Delights 01: Holiday Lights

Summary: Hawthorne invites her newfound family in the Tower to experience a City-Style Dawning with the family that took her in years ago. The holiday is not without it’s charm, or aggravation, and certainly has plenty of surprises in store. A season-inspired, trope-tastic story about a family forged by something greater than blood, finding reasons to enjoy the season - and cherish each other.

Pairings: Hawthorne/Zavala, Sloane/Amanda, Devrim/Marc

Updated every Tuesday/Friday & both holiday eve and days for Christmas and New Years.

-/

This was always her busiest time of year. The Clans always had their largest number of squabbles - she felt like a babysitter at most of their council meetings - this time of year, and almost always seemed to find ways to faceoff with the Factions (more-so than usual). Half of her time was spent putting out fires, and the other half was spent on home visits and making herself available to the City’s most vulnerable. 

Then, of course, add in the grown-up babies that were the Guardians of the Tower (and their Clans), the Consensus, and the Farm’s day-to-day affairs, and Suraya barely has a moment to breathe.

Admittedly, she enjoys it. It's nice to be busy and even nicer to get off the wall and spend time in the concrete and plasteel jungle that was the Last City, still in the throes of rebuilding. Of course, her body protests at the end of a long day, but eight out of ten times she comes home to a heating pad, a mug of tea, and takeaway courtesy of an attentive partner.

He apologizes every time he gets stuck late, as though he’s some golden-age housewife who’s responsible for her well-being. She usually just eats dinner in bed - to his horror - and falls asleep tablet-in-hand with a message half-typed yelling at him that she’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Most nights like those she wakes to Ghost light and gentle chiding - from the both of them (Zavala telling her she needs to take care of herself and his Ghost humming some rendition of the pot calling the kettle).

She’s getting soft, she knows it, and she finds she can't bring herself to care. They’ve had their ups and downs, come together and drifted apart since crossing paths more than two years ago. This is… different. A lived-in, domestic sort of luxury - adapted to practical use, of course - that she relishes. 

Hawthorne steps out of the elevator and back into the Tower proper, bag slung over her shoulder and a tin of cookies in her hand and stops.

Bright, warm lanterns lights the railings and ribbons are draped between the buildings.  The sounds of bells being jingled by the wind is pleasant and soft, muffled by weather and mild snowfall.

It’s picturesque. Perfect.

Suraya takes a deep breath in and lets it go. She really does love this time of year.

“D’ya like it? Do ya, do ya?”

She hears Amanda before she sees her, and turns herself around in time to be tackled. 

“Eva got here this morning while you were out,” The Shipwright informs her, giddy. Amanda’s happiness is infectious and Suraya can’t help but squeeze her friend tight, smiling as she continues. “We waited for ya, Zavala got us reservations for dinner. He said we should be celebratin’ and I agree.” She jerks a thumb at some hanging banners. “I mean it’s practically done. Her frames are fast!”

“Apparently,” Suraya agrees. “Do I have time to shower or-”

“Take your time. I’m sure Zavala built in time for you to get ready, dear,” Eva interjects, approaching them with help from her cane. She’s got baubles under her other arm. They exchange a one-armed embrace, one (former) de-facto leader to another. Eva pats her hand when they part, eyes taking on a knowing look. “I’ve heard stories,” She says with a wry tone. “I apologize in advance. I can’t help but tease him. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him so… radiant.”

“Aww,” Amanda drawls as Suraya flushes. “Y’really do make a cute-”

 “Enough.”

Both women turn back to see a very smug looking Zavala lingering a short distance away.

She takes one look at him in the new lighting and scoffs, “Ugh, he is radiant,” To the two of them, detangling herself from Amanda who’d lached back onto her arm, and Eva who still holds one of her hands. They laugh as she heads toward Zavala. “I’m going to get ready.”

“You’re sure you-” He’s silenced by a hand on his chest. 

“You’re not going out in armor, are you?”

“No, but I wanted to make sure you were okay with-” She smiles at him and he falls silent, much to the amusement of the duo standing behind her. “Fair enough." He directs his gaze over her shoulder. "We will meet you back here in about an hour.”

“We’ll go try to convince Ikora to join us,” Amanda informs them. “And when that fails, we’ll grab Shaxx.”

“We’re not covering his bar tab,” Hawthorne throws, over her shoulder, already heading back to their flat. “Tell him that when you invite him.”

Amanda’s giggling rings loud in the cool evening air. No doubt she remembers the last time they’d gone for a nice dinner and Shaxx had single-handedly drank more than the worth of the rest of the group’s food and drink combined.

-/ 

It’s not a secret. It’s never really been a secret. Work has always been work - professional, polite - and home has always been separate and their own personal business. Of course, they both bring their work home with them, so it wasn’t exactly that cut and dry, but what relations they had were never meant to be brought into the workplace.

On this, though, they were doomed from the start. Too many of their co-workers (a loose term, considering the myriad of organizational charts and the lines drawn across them to create a tangled picture of the Tower’s personnel infrastructure) were in the know, and even more-so, they’re both highly recognizable figures within the City’s core operations. 

To most, it seemed right. Appropriate. Two level-headed individuals, with similarly aligned goals - the success, safety, and greater good of the City - and a backstory that was unmatched. The criminal and the commander: there were horribly done movies (and possibly an all-Ghost theatrical production, they never had the courage to look) made about this.

“I don’t think we’re making it through this Dawning without the everyone knowing,” She says to him as she steps out of the shower, drying off with a towel while he pulls a sweater over his collared shirt. 

“I think the people would speculate no matter what we do,” He reasons, always level-headed in his thinking. “Even if we had no interaction. They suspected the Drifter was-”

“Oh, please tell me you’re going to bring that up at dinner,” She interrupts. “I want to see Eva yell at Shaxx sooo badly. He always gets so outraged.”

“Absolutely not. He’ll get us kicked out of the restaurant.”

She lets the towel drop to the floor and smirks as his gaze is drawn downward before padding into their adjoined bedroom and past him to their closet. “You do know people feel ‘blessed,’” She air-quotes, “When Shaxx pulls his theatrics in a public place, right?”

Zavala seems to materialize behind her, hand on her bare hip. He’s stealthy without his armor. “I’d like not to encourage him, if we can help it.”

“Mmm,” She agrees, and Zavala drops his nose and lips to her shoulder, dragging kisses across her skin. “You know we don’t have time for that,” She tells him, when he doesn’t back away afterward. “You’re the one who made the reservations.”

“You’re the one thinking about it,” He teases back. “If I thought we had time, I wouldn’t have dressed.”

She turns around and kisses him, hard. When his grip on her hip tightens, she draws back. “Now what?”

He might lick his lips, a bit swollen thanks to her nipping at them, but doesn’t take the bait. “Now,” He says, ushering her back to the closet, voice dipping low, “You’re going to get dressed and then we’re going to go to dinner with our colleagues and each drink one glass of wine short of being hungover tomorrow.”

“And after?” She queries, plucking out a sweater and scarf from her things.

He grins. “We’ll see.”

-/

The restaurant is dimly lit, but has beautiful festive lanterns strung all over. Most of them are plain, but a half dozen depict snowflakes and baubles relevant to the season. Eva comments on them to Zavala as Hawthorne orders wine for the table, ignoring Shaxx’s commentary on scotch. He’s not allowed to start before the appetizers; It’s wine or bust. 

When crusty, fresh-baked bread is brought out, Hawthorne eyes Zavala, whose Ghost appears in a delicate blink and transmats a stack of envelopes into her waiting hands. She distributes them amidst murmured commentary from the rest of the group, rolling her eyes.

“What’s this?” Amanda asks, when it’s clear everyone else has gotten their jibes about her and Zavala's relationship out of their system.

She’d gone over this in her head, and doing it once Eva arrived only seemed fair. Best to invite everyone as early as possible, Marc insisted on a head-count at least a week out, for the sake of his preparations. Still, she felt a bit exposed, offering up her life like this to them, even if they’d all become rather close over the last few years.

“Well, uh,” She laughs a little, out of her element. “I thought it might be nice for all of us to get together for the Dawning. I know everyone has their own traditions and plans, but my family always did a big feast growing up and we thought it might be time to expose you to a real City-style Dawning. Obviously,” She glances to Eva, “You’re welcome any time. We have enough room to-”

“Wait,” Amanda interrupts scanning the fancy invite. “Is this from Marc? You ain’t the kind to use fancy-shmancy gold-embossed anything.”

“He likes to host,” Suraya answers. “And Zavala and I were already planning on joining him for dinner-”

Shaxx leans forward before Amanda can chime in with a snarky comment about their relationship status. “I, for one, would be honored to join in your family's celebration. Let me know what I can bring.”

Hawthorne nods. He won’t be bringing anything if Marc has his way, but no sense in dealing with the specifics just yet.

Amanda squeals. “I’m so excited. We always did stuff in the Tower, but this is a big deal!” She looks at Zavala, green eyes gentle. “Obviously-”

“I know what you mean,” Zavala agrees. He’d had the experience Eva gave him, but a true Dawning in the way of the City’s denizens was never something he’d been able to pull off for his self-appointed ward. His knee nudges Suraya’s under the table. If she’d been nervous about it - and she had, he could see it on her face - it melts away in an instant. “I’m looking forward to it. Marc is an excellent cook.”

“So is Dev gonna come home? It’s not a real family affair without ‘im,” Amanda presses.

Hawthorne frowns. “We’re working on it. The Farm is a bit sparse, this time of year, and the Guardians are… manic with all the celebrating. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to swing it, but he’s going to try. Either way, Marc is just excited that I’m bringing friends home. He kind of missed that phase with my whole wandering outside the City thing.” Amanda laughs and dips her head, sipping her wine.

Unnoticed by Suraya, wise brown eyes find Zavala’s. She smirks, but covers it quickly with her hand. Nothing, absolutely nothing, escapes old Eva.

The conversation continues around them. Amanda muses, “Well, he’s certainly gonna have his hands full. Y’gonna invite Saladin?” She glares at Shaxx, who bristles immediately. “If y’did, tell Marc to sit me between them at dinner. It’s for the best for e’rybody. ‘S what we used to do for my birthday parties.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hawthorne considers, serious. Everyone laughs.

“I’m sure it will be a lovely celebration,” Eva adds with a smile. “I already promised Tess I would spend time with her, but we’ll do our best to stop by afterwards.”

"Please do. We always have enough leftovers for a week. The number of mouths he's feeding won't change the ratio of food per person, there will be so much left over."

-/

When everyone else goes their separate ways, Zavala gives in to the impulse to take her hand. Suraya looks over to him with a hint of a smile and allows herself to drift closer to him. Their upper arms touch, and her head finds his shoulder for a brief moment before she pulls away.

"This is impressive," Suraya gestures to the Tower around them. "If the frames could be programmed to help decorate the districts, I'd be out of a job."

"I assure you, you would not," He hums, admiring the decorations as well. "I don't know how she managed to secure enough frames. I assume she received help from the Redjacks. Arcite had tinsel hanging off his frame earlier."

She laughs. "He didn't."

"He did," Zavala insists, chuckling. His voice dips lower. "Everyone seems excited for your Dawning celebration," He continues. 

She makes a non-committal hum. "Our Dawning celebration. Marc insists you're part of the family now. Bit weird when you start thinking about the age difference, but," They share a smile. It is what it is. "It'll be nice. I just wish Devrim would be able to come home, y'know? I get why he can't," She sighs when he pulls her closer, releasing her hand in lieu of wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Ugh. Ignore me, I've had too much wine. I know you tried to figure it out."

"It's fine," Zavala replies, smoothly as he can.

"I just, I haven't had this since I was a kid, y'know?" She shakes her head, as though she hadn't meant to let that much slip. "It is what it is."

They continue walking in the direction of their flat, the only sound between them is the crunch of fresh, undisturbed snow beneath their feet.

Eventually, Zavala admits, "The Dawning is far more nostalgic for you than it is for me." He looks down at her. "I recall making arrangements for Amanda's sake and volunteering, things I would normally do flavored by the season," He supposes. "But I am looking forward to experiencing it from a different perspective."

Suraya snorts. "You mean my dad treating you like a kid because we're together?"

Zavala shrugs. "Centuries of war don't prepare you for your significant other's family. This is uncharted territory. I've never-" The 'dated a non-Guardian' goes unsaid. Suraya is a lot of firsts for him. The same goes for him with her.

"I know." Her eyes soften. "I want you to be excited for this, too."

"I am."

"Good."

[Main Fic Post]