Notes: Thank you to my beta, Mary Ellen. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.
~*~*~*~ "...and don't come back."
The sound of the door slamming echoed through the dark night, the vibration causing a flower from the Christmas wreath to flutter to the floor, startling red against the white of the snow. The flower was so pretty -- delicate yet vibrant -- Blair found he couldn't tear his eyes from it. It was better to look at that flower, easier to watch the tiny snowflakes stick to the petals, until the flower seemed to glisten with a thousand jewels.
If he looked at that, he didn't have to look at the way Naomi's face crumpled as she tried desperately not to cry, to be brave for her boy. Didn't have to look at the bags that lay littered on the driveway, mismatched cheap bags stuffed with mismatched cheap belongings. His mom's brightly coloured kaftans jumbled with his dungarees and favourite superman sweater. Her small pouch of crystals, his old bear -- old, tattered, with one eye and ear -- but loved very much. Her address book, stuffed with names, his copy of A Christmas Carol. They'd been reading a chapter every night now for weeks, drinking in the Christmas message, secure for once that they'd spent the holiday season somewhere warm. With decorations, stockings on the fireplace, and a tree -- a real tree that seemed to be at least fifty foot tall.
His mom and Brian had laughed when he'd said that, and Blair had laughed too. He knew that it wasn't that big, but at six years old, it seemed to tower above him, huge and green, with sharp needles that pricked his fingers. Brian had lifted him high in the air, flying upwards to sit on his shoulders. From that lofty perch, Blair had placed the star at the very top, aware of the importance of the act, making sure it stood straight.
Looking down at his mom, he'd waited -- clutching Brian's hair in nervous hands -- as she moved backwards, seemingly examining the tree from the top to the bottom. When she gave a thumbs up, Blair smiled then whooped with joy as he was swung down from Brian's shoulders. The tree was perfect, his mom said so, and Blair knew his mom was always right. Just like he knew Santa would be bringing presents tomorrow night.
It had been so perfect, just him his mom and Brian. A family; he'd even thought that he could have had a dad at last, someone that would love and protect him. Keep him safe; be on his side whatever happened. It had been a nice dream, but that's all it was, all it could be -- a dream.
Looking away from the flower, now nearly covered in snow, Blair looked at his mom. Her eyes were red and watery, and she scrubbed at them savagely with fisted hands. Rubbing away the last tear, Naomi seemed to straighten, making the effort to be composed and controlled. Moving towards Blair, Naomi gathered him to her, holding him tight against her chest. Blair could feel her heart beat through the thin fabric of her new Christmas dress, the gauzy fabric scratchy against his cheek.
His mom smelt nice, the familiar scent of her comforting, as they stood, united on the deserted street. Closing his eyes, Blair snuggled in closer, relying on his mom to protect him against the world. He felt like crying as the hopes of a family were dashed again, but he wouldn't let the tears come, couldn't let them come. Naomi needed him, needed him to be brave as they were cast aside again. It had been nice to be a part of a family, even if it had been for so short a time. But that had ended tonight, destroyed by a bottle of cheap whiskey.
Blair hadn't known that Brian was a drunk, hadn't known until tonight, until -- so excited about Santa coming -- he'd sneaked to the top of the stairs covered in his pale blue comforter. He'd sat there, listening to Naomi singing softly along with the carols on the radio. Just waiting for the first tinkle of bells, or laughter, maybe the beat of reindeer hooves on the roof, anything that would show Santa was on his way. Blair needed to know if his list had been seen, if Santa had brought his colouring book, and some perfume for his mom, like he'd asked.
He'd been so happy, warm and sleepy at the top of the stairs. Then he'd heard a bang, jumping upright at the thought it might be Santa on the roof. But it hadn't been - instead Blair had watched as Brian stumbled into the hall, dragging Naomi by the sleeve of her new dress. His mom looked scared, as she implored Brain to be quiet, to not wake Blair.
Blair thought Brian looked drunk, like the men who had whistled and shouted at his mom when they'd slept at a shelter last year. Brian seemed mad, and Blair pulled the comforter tighter as he watched his mom try to pull away, her face sad as Brian stuck his hands down the front of her dress, ripping the fabric.
It was scary then, Blair screwed his eyes shut, wishing that he were in bed, that he didn't have to see his mom so afraid, wishing that he had someone that would be there for him, to protect him and take the fear away. But he didn't. It was up to him, and when he saw Brian pull back his hand and slap Naomi hard against her cheek, Blair knew he couldn't stay still any longer.
Dropping the comforter, Blair had stood on unsteady legs, shouting at Brian to stop, to leave his mom alone. Brian hadn't listened, glaring up the stairs at him. He'd called Blair names, names that he didn't understand, but Naomi obviously did. With a scream she'd ran at Brian, pushing him hard in the chest, watching as he fell back, hitting his head with a loud crack against the door frame.
Brian had been so mad, cursing and screaming, telling his mom that she had five minutes to get out of his house -- the house that had been home for the last few months. Naomi had run, stuffing things in bags, leaving Blair to stand on the stairs, unable to move as Brian glared at him, muttering about ungrateful bastards.
As soon as five minutes had past, Brian had pushed Blair out of the house, his movements clumsy but still far too strong for a six-year-old boy. Left standing in the snow, Blair shivered, watching as bags were thrown from the house, spilling the contents onto the snow covered ground. Until, finally, Naomi was pushed out also, tears running down her face. Then the door had slammed, and the flower fell, and now Blair stood, pressed hard against his mom.
Tightening her arms one last time, Naomi bent forward, placing a kiss on his forehead. Her lips were cold as ice, as she moved away, starting to gather bags, pushing clothes back that had spilled from inside. Silently Blair helped, picking up the 'A Christmas Carol' book, sad when he saw the wet pages and damaged spine.
Putting the book into a bag, Blair obediently held up his foot as Naomi swapped his sodden slippers for his shoes, then draped her coat over his shivering body. Clutching bags in one hand, she grabbed Blair's hand with the other and slowly started to walk away, not even looking back as they walked from the only home they'd known for months.
Blair tried not to look either as they walked away, but couldn't resist one quick glance at the tree that stood near the window, a shining beacon in the cold dark night. But not a beacon for him or his mom -- not now. It was hard to walk away, not knowing where they would go on this Christmas Eve. But they'd find somewhere, they always did, and if Santa couldn't find him this year, well that was okay, there were other years.
Walking hand in hand with his mom, Blair knew things would get better, had to get better. On this special magical night, Blair knew that one day all his dreams would come true, he would just have to wait, however long it took.
~*~*~*~
"...and don't come back!"
The sound of the door slamming echoed through the house. Putting his hands over his ears, Jim tried to block the sound, stop the deafening thudding noise in his head. It worked -- slightly -- until, at least he felt in control again, could look up from the window seat, and watch as a cab drove away. Concentrating, he could see his mom looking out the back window, her face streaked with tears, as she looked up towards his room.
Despite the distance, Jim sensed that his mom could see him, pressed against the cold glass. She seemed to be saying something, repeating it over and over, until finally he recognised the words. 'I love you'. Almost silently Jim mouthed the words back, watching as his mom smiled, and blew a kiss before the car turned a corner, and he couldn't see any more.
Resting his forehead against the window, Jim felt hot tears run down his face. His mom had gone, after months of fighting and strained silences she'd had enough and left, leaving him and Stephen alone with their father. Why had she done it? Tonight of all nights. It was Christmas Eve, and in a few hours the house would be over run with people, drinking and dancing, guests at the annual Ellison Company Christmas party.
Jim could hear the caterers bringing in huge amounts of food, the decorators finishing the tree that stood twenty foot high in the entrance hall. Covered in matching gold baubles and white lights, the theme for the whole house. Just this morning William had told his family to keep away from the main rooms. To let the experts decorate the house and cook the food. Jim clenched his fists as he remembered how hurt his mom looked, as she was instructed to keep out of her own kitchen, then how she'd hidden her pain behind a smile.
It was a smile that he'd seen too often, brittle, on the verge of failing at all times. He'd seen it when his dad phoned saying he was working late most nights, when his mom had to scrape special meals in the bin when his dad went to his club for dinner and when the decorations that Stephen had made at school had been pushed aside as inappropriate for the main tree, too shabby, too glittery, too childish. Hearing those words, Jim had crumpled up the fabric stocking that he'd made so patiently and dropped it into a trash can, unwilling to see it cast aside by any other hand but his own.
Scrubbing his eyes with his fists, Jim left his bedroom, trying desperately to forget the sight of his mom's grief filled expression. It was better that she'd left, that she'd managed to escape the house that stifled her spirit. But did she have to leave them behind? Surely she could have taken him and Stephen too? Jim was big now, he could help in the house, look after Stephen after school. He was fourteen, almost grown, but she hadn't even given him the chance to ask. Had just packed a bag and walked away, he wouldn't have even known if he hadn't heard the fight. The way his parents screamed at one another, until -- at last -- his mom had called a cab and left. No last cuddles or kisses. Jim loved her, but also hated her, confusing emotions for someone so young.
Now he had to tell Stephen she'd gone, that they'd been left behind on Christmas Eve. Soon the house would be full, but right now, Jim had never felt so alone.
Before opening his door, Jim tilted his head, listening for his brother. Pinpointing him at the top of the main stairs, Jim left his room, quickly saw Stephen huddled on the top stair, and dropped to sit near him. Putting an arm round his shoulders, Jim pulled him close, realizing as he saw Stephen's red tear streaked face that the younger boy must have seen their mom leave. He'd ask what he'd seen later, for now, Jim held his brother in his arms as he sobbed for what they'd lost.
Holding Stephen tight, Jim forced his own tears back. He'd done his crying, he wouldn't do anymore, needing distracting he looked down, watching the staff bring in more food and perfectly wrapped gifts, politely ignoring the boys at the top of the stairs. The scene was perfect, the tree was magnificent, holly was wound discreetly round the banister and wreaths were attached to the doors. Candles flickered, casting a magical shimmer over the room. Jim could smell turkey, stuffing, cinnamon and spicy mulled wine. All ready to be served to people that Jim didn't know, and didn't want to.
The house was perfect -- a typical Christmas setting in everyway. But looking down, Jim knew it was all just a gild. Under the surface the house was empty, as its family fractured. The cracks might have been papered over, but it wouldn't last long.
Focusing on the presents with his name on, Jim couldn't feel anything but empty. Christmas meant nothing to him now, but the time his mom left, leaving Jim feeling more alone that he'd ever felt before. Sitting on the hard wooden stairs, holding Stephen in his arms, Jim had only one wish. That one day he'd have someone in his life that wouldn't ever leave, someone that would be there for him whatever. That would make Christmas special again, drive the emptiness and pain away. Jim knew that one day all his dreams would come true, he would just have to wait, however long it took.
20 Years Later
The loft was almost quiet, only a Sentinel would have heard the faint hiss of the heating system, the faint mixture of many voices in many apartments, the gentle tap and slither of slushy snow hitting the windows. The sounds became nothing but pleasant white noise as Jim lay back on the couch, his head resting on a firm pillow, a book propped on his chest.
It was warm -- a cosy warmth that seemed to settle languidly round his body -- making his skin flush slightly, as he basked in the decadent heat. The fire was on as well as the heating, and reflections of the flames seemed to dance round the room, shadows skittering across walls and ceiling. The smell of cinnamon, apples and mulled wine all combined, a cocktail of scent for the Sentinel.
A tree stood in the corner, huge, green, covered in an odd assortment of decorations. Decorations that shouldn't have worked together but did. A nativity scene swung next to bright red chilli peppers. An angel with sparkling wings sat next to a miniature tribal mask, and prominently, scarlet red flowers threaded round the upper branches, circling home made decorations, childish, tatty and worn. The tree was a mish-mash of styles, separately clashing in so many ways. But together they combined to make something that was truly magnificent and unique.
Under the tree presents were piled high, wrapped in everything from brown paper -- what Brown had in that Jim didn't want to think -- to expensive glossy paper, with matching tags and bows. That particular present was from his father, the logo of an expensive shop discreetly stamped on the tag. No doubt it would contain a new leather wallet with gift vouchers tucked inside. It was the gift that he'd received for years, impersonal to the extreme, just like their relationship. But at least they talked now. For years nothing under the tree came from William Ellison. In fact most years there was no tree, as Jim volunteered to work instead of the detectives with families.
However, just this morning Jim had talked to his dad over breakfast. Sure it had been at the country club, his dad's environment, but they did talk. Especially when William passed over not one but two gifts, telling him one was for Blair. Jim thought he hadn't admired his dad so much for years. They might not be as close as many fathers and sons, but the gap was certainly closing, and for that he was thankful.
Now lying back, comfortable and drowsy, Jim felt his eyes close as he slid towards sleep, content with his life, and giving thankful blessings for the day that Blair Sandburg barrelled into his life. A friend who wouldn't walk away under any circumstance, the best friend he'd ever had, the other half of his soul.
The thought of Blair made a smile appear on Jim's face as he dropped into full sleep. Dreaming of trees and chilli peppers, presents and lit candles. Jim and Blair, two men -- two friends who made each other so much more.
~*~*~*~
The street was noisy, so noisy that Blair wished he could dial down his hearing a little. Vendors hawked their wares from old-fashioned market stalls, selling homemade fudge; brilliant bunches of flowers, intricately crafted toys. Children shrieked with excitement as they held tight to their parent's hands, talking of Santa arriving that night and what presents they would receive.
The market was bedlam, as people jostled for last minute gifts. Bumping into one another, smiling or sometimes glaring as toes were stood on. Snow drifted in the air, small flakes that were flung against exposed skin, making noses red and cheeks ruddy.
Blair could feel his own nose turn bright red, and pulled his scarf higher up his face as he weaved his way through the throng of people. A bag was clutched in his hand, containing last minute gifts, carefully chosen after saving hard.
His mom had a necklace, a brilliant scarlet teardrop shaped stone on a long thin silver chain. The stone was fake, Blair knew that, but it was so vibrant, so full of colour and life that it drew him to it as soon as he walked by the stall. Seeing the necklace, nestled amongst so many others, he just had to have it. Blair smiled as he thought of Naomi wearing his gift, a tangible reminder of his love for her as she wandered the world.
Blair loved Naomi totally, the bond between them strong and unbreakable however much it was stretched and twisted. They'd experienced so much together --both good and bad. It was with a heavy heart and a tear streaked face that Naomi had left him behind when Blair had decided that he needed some kind of stability in his life, choosing to stay at Rainier.
Now their relationship was one of love and respect, with a bit of parental concern. Naomi may have been an unusual kind of mom, but she was still a mom. A mom who would cook tongue and re arrange the furniture when she arrived two days from now. But Blair wouldn't have her any other way.
For Jim he had a hand knitted sweater, made of the finest wool, and utterly Sentinel safe. Hugging the bag to his side, Blair could imagine Jim opening the gift, exclaiming over the contents while running delicate fingers over the soft garment.
Walking back to his car, Blair began to mentally list the ingredients still needed for Christmas dinner. It would be only him and Jim the next day, which suited him fine. A day in his best friends company would be perfect. A day spent laughing and watching TV, eating and drinking, before falling asleep on the couch, his feet on Jim's lap.
The two men would totally relax together, recharging their batteries before their families and friends arrived the next day. That day would be good, but in his heart Blair knew that the time alone with Jim would be better. How could it not? Jim was his best friend, the missing part of his soul, his Sentinel. They were meant to be together, Blair knew that. The past had been hard for both of them, and probably in the future things wouldn't be perfect. But somehow, with them both working together, they could overcome anything.
Reaching his car, Blair stowed his bag, before carefully driving home. Home to a friend who would jump up to make him a hot drink as soon as he heard him approach the loft door. Home to his best friend -- home to Jim -- and for that on this cold Christmas Eve, he was thankful.