CDC Fic:God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
Title:God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen
Author: Firefox
Warnings: None other than mild slash content
Rating: 15
Spoilers: None
Summery: Christmas visitors to the CDC have a unique perspective on the residents.
More fic and information about the CDC
Please note this fic was not written by me, but by my CDC co-founder Firefox and I will forward and feedback to her.
God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen
By Firefox
Note:
The boys aren’t ours (although we live in hope). Litigation will get you nothing save a couple of demented souls. The CDC is ours, but we are sharing people. We know this place doesn’t, couldn’t exist, and we don’t give a damn . We love it anyway.
WARNING: This contains (mild, Christmas-rated ) slash. If you don’t know what that is, you shouldn’t be here anyway, so begone. If you do know what it is, then you keep reading at your own peril.
A (very) little piece of candy for Christmas, schmaltzy, sweet and dripping in treacle, so if you get sugar-shock, do not blame me! Enjoy.
Characters: Oh, all of them that I would like to find in my Christmas stocking. (Check in the gallery if you need a recap)
<><><><><><><>
Another so-called truth bites the dust.
People had always told her that the desert was very cold at night, but she wasn’t in the least cold and it was, quite definitely, night. Very dark, with a clear, starlit sky overhead and a bright moon, washing everything in a stark silver and black monochrome.
Everything that was, apart from the building she had been heading towards since she had first seen it from the crest of the ridge. A large, imposing looking place, approached by a long gravelled driveway bordered by shrubs and grass, its windows glowing with light that diffused the harsh moonlight. It was beautiful even in the darkness - she could imagine how imposing and grand it must have looked in sunshine. The main house seemed to be surrounded by a large area of cultivated land, some of it planted with vines that created neat black rows stretching away to the north. There was a deep ditch, seemingly marking a boundary, probably some kind of security she thought, impassable in a vehicle, but she had navigated it easily and was now approaching a round fountain at the end of the driveway, outside the main entrance to the building. The door was massive, almost out of proportion to the rest of the façade, and closed, although light shone from the two long, slim windows flanking the pillars either side of it.
She peeked inside, through one of the windows. There was no-one in sight. The long wooden desk in the centre of the foyer was deserted. Other than the desk, the only other furniture in the room was a comfortable leather chair and a water cooler. There were two large doors, one behind the desk and one to the left of it. To the right stood an enormous Christmas tree, covered in deep blue ornaments and bright white lights, dripping with silver strands and topped by a huge silver star. The whole place appeared to be deserted, yet looked warm and welcoming.
She continued along the façade wall - some of the windows were in darkness, some were curtained. Rounding the north eastern corner, a long row of very tall windows faced out towards the vines. She could see this was the restaurant or dining room - there were tables and chairs, a lot of green plants in stylish planters, but no diners - this too, was in darkness and deserted.
Further along the wall, above a neatly trimmed hedge of pyrocantha, resplendent with fat, fire-coloured berries, light shone from a smaller, square window. She peeked over the sill.
It was a kitchen - large and modern, all stainless steel and oversized pots and pans. The preparation and cooking areas were in darkness, but in the corner furthest from the window was a rectangular table, littered with playing cards, glasses, plates and dishes, and surrounded by a group of men, chatting and laughing over their game. She could hear their conversation easily, despite the closed window. Poker. A good natured game by the sound of it, probably to round off a Christmas party. She wondered if they were the hotel staff, although no one seemed to be wearing any kind of identifiable uniform.
“You’re bluffing, Buck.” The slim blond, wearing a black shirt, a tie made of a length of tinsel and leaning back slightly in his chair, smiled knowingly at a tall, handsome man with thick wavy hair with a smile on his face and a laughing eyes.
“Well now Chris, maybe I am, and maybe I ain’t, but it’s gonna cost ya if ya want to make sure,” Buck said, his face not giving anything away.
“As the saying goes Mr Larabee, I would not bet the farm on it,” the man seated next to him said, cool green eyes sparkling over his hand, “I am not the only one capable of rendering a first-class poker face.”
The blond drew on the cheroot he was holding, exhaling a thin stream of smoke upwards towards the overhead light. “You seriously think I’m takin’ your word on it, Ezra?” The words were light hearted. “You have a vested interest here.”
Ezra shrugged his shoulders slightly, but his expression was still unreadable. “As you wish, Mr Larabee, I divest myself of any responsibility should your gamble prove to be fruitless.”
The blond smiled again - trying to look feral, but missing the mark rather - the result was more amused than annoyed.
“Are we playing here? Or is this some weird Yankee game of cards that has different rules?” A lilting Welsh accent, suppressing a laugh, came from the young man opposite the blond.
“Keep your shirt on, Ianto.” The blond grinned again.
“Or at least until Jack gets you alone.” Buck’s eyebrows raised knowingly, the look pointedly directed at the man sitting opposite him, wearing a crisp white shirt.
“Shut up, Wilmington.” Jack, the owner of the white shirt, shot a look across the table.
“A vain request, I’m afraid.” Ezra’s expression was still impassive. “Rather like asking the sun not to rise…”
“I’m hungry.” The final member of the card school, a young man with long, almost-curly hair, wearing a denim shirt that exactly matched the colour of his eyes, spoke from the end of the table.
“Again? Jesus Vin, you must have a tapeworm.”
“Don’t be disgusting Buck.” Jack’s nose wrinkled.
“Buck’s always disgusting, it’s part of what Ez loves about him.” Chris said knowingly. “And I happen to notice that there were cold cuts and salad in the fridge…”
“We ate Christmas dinner not three hours ago!” Jack sounded incredulous. “Turkey, beef, roast and creamed potatoes, four kinds of veg, chef’s secret stuffing, cranberry sauce, gravy - the works!”
“What c’n I tell ya? I got an appetite.” Vin sounded complete unapologetic.
“So we hear…”
“Shut up, Buck!”
But they were all laughing.
She found herself smiling at their good natured banter. Good job she wasn’t hungry. All that talk of food was inviting.
Leaving the poker players to their game, she ventured further along the wall, where a faint flickering, coming from one of the uncurtained windows, caught her eye. The shades were not closed, the flickering came from a television set. She looked inside, and could not resist a smile.
A huge, dark wood, Colonial style bed seem to take up more than its fair share of the end of the room she could see through the window, with the television on a cabinet at the foot of the bed. The young man sitting against the mound of pillows piled against the headboard looked like something out of a GQ ad, obviously tall, tanned, slim, dressed in a white cable knit cricket sweater and cream chinos, his elbows balanced expertly on his raised knees. His forearms were across the chest of the man sitting between his legs. This man was older, silver haired, wearing a pale blue shirt and jeans and cradling a large bowl of popcorn on his lap. They looked completely relaxed and happy.
On the tv screen, George Bailey and Clarence were having their eternal Christmas conversation.
“How many times have you seen this, Tony?”
“It’s a classic! It’s as much a part of Christmas as turkey and cranberries! It wouldn’t be Christmas without It’s A Wonderful Life.” He paused. “Ah, the good old Building and Loan,” he said, in a very passable impression of James Stewart.
The grey haired man shook his head slightly, but the smile remained, even when a hand sneaked into the popcorn bowl and filched another handful.
“You’ll get fat.”
“Not in the DiNozzo genes, Jethro, we have an abnormally fast metabolic rate.”
“Matches your mouth.”
“And since when have you found any cause to complain about my mouth?” The forearms tightened in a warm hug.
“Watch the movie, Tony.” The voice belied the words, Jethro was grinning broadly.
“Grinch.”
“No, I suspect that will be screened tomorrow.”
Their happiness was infectious, she found herself smiling at their obvious contentment and pleasure in each other.
Much as she might have wanted to, she decided that to continue observing them might be even less polite than she had been already, and she pulled back from the window, turning instead to another, further along the wall, from which a greenish-blue light emanated.
The glass in this window was reinforced with something resembling a wire mesh, the room within was small, and seemingly completely full of electronic equipment - banks of tv monitors, computer screens and anonymous metal boxes, some with blinking lights, some without, stacked neatly on racking. Several desks lined the room, and there was an assortment of utilitarian but comfortable looking office chairs. The only concession to the season appeared to be a few strands of green and silver tinsel framing three of the computer screens. There was only one person in the room, a man with short cropped, very dark hair and a rather soulful expression, writing something in a notebook in the cone of light from a desklamp. He was wearing a dark coloured polo shirt that could have been some kind of uniform, but she couldn’t see the logo on the breast pocket clearly. Unlike the card players, he was obviously working, on duty in whatever role this office fulfilled. She felt a wave of sympathy for him, his solitude all the more noticeable after the camaraderie and closeness she had observed elsewhere.
He looked up suddenly, and she quickly ducked down below the sill, afraid for a moment that she might have been noticed. Raising her head again slowly, she could clearly see the puzzled expression on his face, then he shook his head and returned to his writing. As she watched, the door to the office opened and a tall figure appeared around it, wearing a red and white Santa Claus hat and oversized cotton wool beard, and carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses.
The man at the desk stood up then, his expression changing in an instant to a broad smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and totally changed his whole demeanour.
“Ho, ho, ho,” the Santa Claus said, walking into the room and closing the door behind him with his foot before setting the bottle and glasses down on the desk and producing a corkscrew from his jeans pocket, “I have a gift here for the unfortunate soul named Don that pulled security duty tonight… would that be you?”
“It would.” Don smiled.
The Santa Claus removed his hat and beard then, revealing a handsome, smiling face. He stepped forwards, pulling Don into his arms. “No need to ask if you’ve been a good boy. I can vouch for that fact.” They kissed, warmly and gently, before ‘Santa’ proffered the corkscrew. “Drink?”
“One glass. I am on duty, Mal.”
Mal nodded in agreement. “Okay,” he checked his wristwatch, “but only for just over another hour, then we must get you…” he raised his eyebrows, “straight into bed.”
Don shook his head, but he was laughing. “I might be too excited to sleep.”
“Oh, I can more or less guarantee that.” Mal poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Don.
“Merry Christmas Don.”
“Merry Christmas Mal.”
She pulled back from the window, leaving them to their wine.
A flash of light caught her eye. She looked at the last window in this wall of the building, from where blue then red light blinked steadily on and off. Curious, she edged along the wall and peered in between the half-closed drapes. The light came from a small Christmas tree sitting on a table beneath the window, garlanded with tiny red and blue lights that winked cheerily out into the night.
Peeking carefully around the tree, the first thing she noticed was an enormous Chesterfield sofa, containing two figures half covered in a brightly patterned Indian throw. The man in the corner of the sofa had his arms wrapped around a young blond man with spiky hair and an intricate tattoo on his right bicep, who lay contentedly against his chest. They both appeared to be asleep, soft shadows moving around them from the array of candles positioned around the room. A huge black and white poster of New York city adorned one wall, the stereo on the shelf beneath it playing soft Christmas carols.
She smiled broadly, her eyes brimming at the sight of them. Raising her hand, she placed her fingertips against the glass and closed her eyes. This place radiated warmth and happiness everywhere she looked. It made her heart feel light and cheerful along with them, even if they had no idea she was there.
A sudden breath of breeze intruded on her musings, and she backed away from the window, unable to wipe the smile from her face.
She rounded the corner to the rear of the building, emerging onto a huge patio and pool complex, the underwater lights and blue tiles of the pool creating a diffused blue light that spilled into the surrounding gardens, illuminating the neatly kept shrubs and plants and stylish outdoor furniture - tables and chairs, sun beds and parasols, all clean and tidy.
At a table in the deep shadow at one side of the pool, she could see two figures, a young man and a slightly older woman. They were not speaking, just sitting together, waiting. The woman nodded a greeting to her, and she nodded back as she approached them, taking the last remaining chair around the table as her seat.
“Gorgeous place, isn’t it?” the woman said to her.
She nodded.
“Find who you were looking for?”
She nodded again. “Yes.”
The woman shook her head lightly, and looked at the building. “I’m so glad Vinnie is here… he was so young when I had to leave him…”
“You’re his mother?”
The woman smiled. “Beth Tanner. My Vinnie is playing cards in the kitchen tonight.”
She remembered then. The young man with the beautiful blue eyes. Looking at the woman opposite, it was obvious where he had inherited them.
“I’m Claire Taylor. I’m…” she paused for a moment, not sure of the word to use. “..visiting my husband.”
“He’s okay? You found him?”
Claire smiled broadly. “Oh yes. He looks great… Best I’ve seen him since…” She wasn’t sure how to continue.
“Since you had to leave?” Beth suggested.
She nodded. “I was so worried about him for such a long time, but tonight, here… he looks so peaceful and so happy.”
The young man nodded at her in acknowledgement. “Louie. Louie Messer. I came to find my younger brother. So many years I found him in trouble. Alone, hungry, even afraid. Sometimes it was real hard…” He shook his head then gave a swift, wry grin. “Not now, though. He looks fine now, and happier than I’ve ever seen him, even if he is fast asleep, lazy little tyke.”
That was the moment she noticed it. Louie had the same tattoo on his right bicep as the young blond man sleeping in Mac’s arms. She could see it below the sleeve of his white t-shirt. She looked at Louie, her face serious, but calm. “He’s fine, Louie. I promise.”
Another breeze stirred the bushes. “Almost time to go,” Beth said, standing up. “Maybe next year we’ll meet again…”
They all looked up into the star-strewn sky overhead.
Once he had relocated his glasses from where they had ended up on the floor, Danny Messer propped himself up on the couch on one elbow and indulged himself in one of his favourite sights in the entire world - a naked Mac Taylor, walking away from him. The vision was somewhat enhanced by the accidentally fine lighting; a combination of strong moonlight streaming in through the window and the technicolour twinkling of Christmas lights on the tree under the window.
"Danny!" Mac shouted from the kitchen area at the lack of response, "do you want a coffee or not?"
"On Christmas Eve? After the exercise we put ourselves through earlier?” Danny could scarcely speak for laughing, “can't you do any better than that?"
Mac’s grinning face appeared around the doorframe. "I might be able to lay my hands on a nice bottle of red wine, if that would fit the bill?"
“Absolutely Mac, absolutely.”
Mac appeared a few moments later, carrying two glasses of wine and handed one to Danny, before settling himself back under the blanket. Danny took a sip, then frowned as he looked at Mac’s face. “Mac?”
Mac appeared to be looking at the Christmas tree, but he had a faraway expression in his eyes. “Mac!”
This time Mac responded. “Sorry Danny. I was…” the sentence tailed off.
Danny nodded in understanding. “I know. I always think about Louie on Christmas Eve as well. I think it’s the holidays - they make you think about things… memories. People.”
Mac raised his glass. “Absent friends?” he said to Danny.
Danny nodded and clinked his glass against Mac’s. “Absent friends.” They drank the toast.
~The End~
Author: Firefox
Warnings: None other than mild slash content
Rating: 15
Spoilers: None
Summery: Christmas visitors to the CDC have a unique perspective on the residents.
More fic and information about the CDC
Please note this fic was not written by me, but by my CDC co-founder Firefox and I will forward and feedback to her.
God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen
By Firefox
Note:
The boys aren’t ours (although we live in hope). Litigation will get you nothing save a couple of demented souls. The CDC is ours, but we are sharing people. We know this place doesn’t, couldn’t exist, and we don’t give a damn . We love it anyway.
WARNING: This contains (mild, Christmas-rated ) slash. If you don’t know what that is, you shouldn’t be here anyway, so begone. If you do know what it is, then you keep reading at your own peril.
A (very) little piece of candy for Christmas, schmaltzy, sweet and dripping in treacle, so if you get sugar-shock, do not blame me! Enjoy.
Characters: Oh, all of them that I would like to find in my Christmas stocking. (Check in the gallery if you need a recap)
<><><><><><><>
Another so-called truth bites the dust.
People had always told her that the desert was very cold at night, but she wasn’t in the least cold and it was, quite definitely, night. Very dark, with a clear, starlit sky overhead and a bright moon, washing everything in a stark silver and black monochrome.
Everything that was, apart from the building she had been heading towards since she had first seen it from the crest of the ridge. A large, imposing looking place, approached by a long gravelled driveway bordered by shrubs and grass, its windows glowing with light that diffused the harsh moonlight. It was beautiful even in the darkness - she could imagine how imposing and grand it must have looked in sunshine. The main house seemed to be surrounded by a large area of cultivated land, some of it planted with vines that created neat black rows stretching away to the north. There was a deep ditch, seemingly marking a boundary, probably some kind of security she thought, impassable in a vehicle, but she had navigated it easily and was now approaching a round fountain at the end of the driveway, outside the main entrance to the building. The door was massive, almost out of proportion to the rest of the façade, and closed, although light shone from the two long, slim windows flanking the pillars either side of it.
She peeked inside, through one of the windows. There was no-one in sight. The long wooden desk in the centre of the foyer was deserted. Other than the desk, the only other furniture in the room was a comfortable leather chair and a water cooler. There were two large doors, one behind the desk and one to the left of it. To the right stood an enormous Christmas tree, covered in deep blue ornaments and bright white lights, dripping with silver strands and topped by a huge silver star. The whole place appeared to be deserted, yet looked warm and welcoming.
She continued along the façade wall - some of the windows were in darkness, some were curtained. Rounding the north eastern corner, a long row of very tall windows faced out towards the vines. She could see this was the restaurant or dining room - there were tables and chairs, a lot of green plants in stylish planters, but no diners - this too, was in darkness and deserted.
Further along the wall, above a neatly trimmed hedge of pyrocantha, resplendent with fat, fire-coloured berries, light shone from a smaller, square window. She peeked over the sill.
It was a kitchen - large and modern, all stainless steel and oversized pots and pans. The preparation and cooking areas were in darkness, but in the corner furthest from the window was a rectangular table, littered with playing cards, glasses, plates and dishes, and surrounded by a group of men, chatting and laughing over their game. She could hear their conversation easily, despite the closed window. Poker. A good natured game by the sound of it, probably to round off a Christmas party. She wondered if they were the hotel staff, although no one seemed to be wearing any kind of identifiable uniform.
“You’re bluffing, Buck.” The slim blond, wearing a black shirt, a tie made of a length of tinsel and leaning back slightly in his chair, smiled knowingly at a tall, handsome man with thick wavy hair with a smile on his face and a laughing eyes.
“Well now Chris, maybe I am, and maybe I ain’t, but it’s gonna cost ya if ya want to make sure,” Buck said, his face not giving anything away.
“As the saying goes Mr Larabee, I would not bet the farm on it,” the man seated next to him said, cool green eyes sparkling over his hand, “I am not the only one capable of rendering a first-class poker face.”
The blond drew on the cheroot he was holding, exhaling a thin stream of smoke upwards towards the overhead light. “You seriously think I’m takin’ your word on it, Ezra?” The words were light hearted. “You have a vested interest here.”
Ezra shrugged his shoulders slightly, but his expression was still unreadable. “As you wish, Mr Larabee, I divest myself of any responsibility should your gamble prove to be fruitless.”
The blond smiled again - trying to look feral, but missing the mark rather - the result was more amused than annoyed.
“Are we playing here? Or is this some weird Yankee game of cards that has different rules?” A lilting Welsh accent, suppressing a laugh, came from the young man opposite the blond.
“Keep your shirt on, Ianto.” The blond grinned again.
“Or at least until Jack gets you alone.” Buck’s eyebrows raised knowingly, the look pointedly directed at the man sitting opposite him, wearing a crisp white shirt.
“Shut up, Wilmington.” Jack, the owner of the white shirt, shot a look across the table.
“A vain request, I’m afraid.” Ezra’s expression was still impassive. “Rather like asking the sun not to rise…”
“I’m hungry.” The final member of the card school, a young man with long, almost-curly hair, wearing a denim shirt that exactly matched the colour of his eyes, spoke from the end of the table.
“Again? Jesus Vin, you must have a tapeworm.”
“Don’t be disgusting Buck.” Jack’s nose wrinkled.
“Buck’s always disgusting, it’s part of what Ez loves about him.” Chris said knowingly. “And I happen to notice that there were cold cuts and salad in the fridge…”
“We ate Christmas dinner not three hours ago!” Jack sounded incredulous. “Turkey, beef, roast and creamed potatoes, four kinds of veg, chef’s secret stuffing, cranberry sauce, gravy - the works!”
“What c’n I tell ya? I got an appetite.” Vin sounded complete unapologetic.
“So we hear…”
“Shut up, Buck!”
But they were all laughing.
She found herself smiling at their good natured banter. Good job she wasn’t hungry. All that talk of food was inviting.
Leaving the poker players to their game, she ventured further along the wall, where a faint flickering, coming from one of the uncurtained windows, caught her eye. The shades were not closed, the flickering came from a television set. She looked inside, and could not resist a smile.
A huge, dark wood, Colonial style bed seem to take up more than its fair share of the end of the room she could see through the window, with the television on a cabinet at the foot of the bed. The young man sitting against the mound of pillows piled against the headboard looked like something out of a GQ ad, obviously tall, tanned, slim, dressed in a white cable knit cricket sweater and cream chinos, his elbows balanced expertly on his raised knees. His forearms were across the chest of the man sitting between his legs. This man was older, silver haired, wearing a pale blue shirt and jeans and cradling a large bowl of popcorn on his lap. They looked completely relaxed and happy.
On the tv screen, George Bailey and Clarence were having their eternal Christmas conversation.
“How many times have you seen this, Tony?”
“It’s a classic! It’s as much a part of Christmas as turkey and cranberries! It wouldn’t be Christmas without It’s A Wonderful Life.” He paused. “Ah, the good old Building and Loan,” he said, in a very passable impression of James Stewart.
The grey haired man shook his head slightly, but the smile remained, even when a hand sneaked into the popcorn bowl and filched another handful.
“You’ll get fat.”
“Not in the DiNozzo genes, Jethro, we have an abnormally fast metabolic rate.”
“Matches your mouth.”
“And since when have you found any cause to complain about my mouth?” The forearms tightened in a warm hug.
“Watch the movie, Tony.” The voice belied the words, Jethro was grinning broadly.
“Grinch.”
“No, I suspect that will be screened tomorrow.”
Their happiness was infectious, she found herself smiling at their obvious contentment and pleasure in each other.
Much as she might have wanted to, she decided that to continue observing them might be even less polite than she had been already, and she pulled back from the window, turning instead to another, further along the wall, from which a greenish-blue light emanated.
The glass in this window was reinforced with something resembling a wire mesh, the room within was small, and seemingly completely full of electronic equipment - banks of tv monitors, computer screens and anonymous metal boxes, some with blinking lights, some without, stacked neatly on racking. Several desks lined the room, and there was an assortment of utilitarian but comfortable looking office chairs. The only concession to the season appeared to be a few strands of green and silver tinsel framing three of the computer screens. There was only one person in the room, a man with short cropped, very dark hair and a rather soulful expression, writing something in a notebook in the cone of light from a desklamp. He was wearing a dark coloured polo shirt that could have been some kind of uniform, but she couldn’t see the logo on the breast pocket clearly. Unlike the card players, he was obviously working, on duty in whatever role this office fulfilled. She felt a wave of sympathy for him, his solitude all the more noticeable after the camaraderie and closeness she had observed elsewhere.
He looked up suddenly, and she quickly ducked down below the sill, afraid for a moment that she might have been noticed. Raising her head again slowly, she could clearly see the puzzled expression on his face, then he shook his head and returned to his writing. As she watched, the door to the office opened and a tall figure appeared around it, wearing a red and white Santa Claus hat and oversized cotton wool beard, and carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses.
The man at the desk stood up then, his expression changing in an instant to a broad smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and totally changed his whole demeanour.
“Ho, ho, ho,” the Santa Claus said, walking into the room and closing the door behind him with his foot before setting the bottle and glasses down on the desk and producing a corkscrew from his jeans pocket, “I have a gift here for the unfortunate soul named Don that pulled security duty tonight… would that be you?”
“It would.” Don smiled.
The Santa Claus removed his hat and beard then, revealing a handsome, smiling face. He stepped forwards, pulling Don into his arms. “No need to ask if you’ve been a good boy. I can vouch for that fact.” They kissed, warmly and gently, before ‘Santa’ proffered the corkscrew. “Drink?”
“One glass. I am on duty, Mal.”
Mal nodded in agreement. “Okay,” he checked his wristwatch, “but only for just over another hour, then we must get you…” he raised his eyebrows, “straight into bed.”
Don shook his head, but he was laughing. “I might be too excited to sleep.”
“Oh, I can more or less guarantee that.” Mal poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Don.
“Merry Christmas Don.”
“Merry Christmas Mal.”
She pulled back from the window, leaving them to their wine.
A flash of light caught her eye. She looked at the last window in this wall of the building, from where blue then red light blinked steadily on and off. Curious, she edged along the wall and peered in between the half-closed drapes. The light came from a small Christmas tree sitting on a table beneath the window, garlanded with tiny red and blue lights that winked cheerily out into the night.
Peeking carefully around the tree, the first thing she noticed was an enormous Chesterfield sofa, containing two figures half covered in a brightly patterned Indian throw. The man in the corner of the sofa had his arms wrapped around a young blond man with spiky hair and an intricate tattoo on his right bicep, who lay contentedly against his chest. They both appeared to be asleep, soft shadows moving around them from the array of candles positioned around the room. A huge black and white poster of New York city adorned one wall, the stereo on the shelf beneath it playing soft Christmas carols.
She smiled broadly, her eyes brimming at the sight of them. Raising her hand, she placed her fingertips against the glass and closed her eyes. This place radiated warmth and happiness everywhere she looked. It made her heart feel light and cheerful along with them, even if they had no idea she was there.
A sudden breath of breeze intruded on her musings, and she backed away from the window, unable to wipe the smile from her face.
She rounded the corner to the rear of the building, emerging onto a huge patio and pool complex, the underwater lights and blue tiles of the pool creating a diffused blue light that spilled into the surrounding gardens, illuminating the neatly kept shrubs and plants and stylish outdoor furniture - tables and chairs, sun beds and parasols, all clean and tidy.
At a table in the deep shadow at one side of the pool, she could see two figures, a young man and a slightly older woman. They were not speaking, just sitting together, waiting. The woman nodded a greeting to her, and she nodded back as she approached them, taking the last remaining chair around the table as her seat.
“Gorgeous place, isn’t it?” the woman said to her.
She nodded.
“Find who you were looking for?”
She nodded again. “Yes.”
The woman shook her head lightly, and looked at the building. “I’m so glad Vinnie is here… he was so young when I had to leave him…”
“You’re his mother?”
The woman smiled. “Beth Tanner. My Vinnie is playing cards in the kitchen tonight.”
She remembered then. The young man with the beautiful blue eyes. Looking at the woman opposite, it was obvious where he had inherited them.
“I’m Claire Taylor. I’m…” she paused for a moment, not sure of the word to use. “..visiting my husband.”
“He’s okay? You found him?”
Claire smiled broadly. “Oh yes. He looks great… Best I’ve seen him since…” She wasn’t sure how to continue.
“Since you had to leave?” Beth suggested.
She nodded. “I was so worried about him for such a long time, but tonight, here… he looks so peaceful and so happy.”
The young man nodded at her in acknowledgement. “Louie. Louie Messer. I came to find my younger brother. So many years I found him in trouble. Alone, hungry, even afraid. Sometimes it was real hard…” He shook his head then gave a swift, wry grin. “Not now, though. He looks fine now, and happier than I’ve ever seen him, even if he is fast asleep, lazy little tyke.”
That was the moment she noticed it. Louie had the same tattoo on his right bicep as the young blond man sleeping in Mac’s arms. She could see it below the sleeve of his white t-shirt. She looked at Louie, her face serious, but calm. “He’s fine, Louie. I promise.”
Another breeze stirred the bushes. “Almost time to go,” Beth said, standing up. “Maybe next year we’ll meet again…”
They all looked up into the star-strewn sky overhead.
Once he had relocated his glasses from where they had ended up on the floor, Danny Messer propped himself up on the couch on one elbow and indulged himself in one of his favourite sights in the entire world - a naked Mac Taylor, walking away from him. The vision was somewhat enhanced by the accidentally fine lighting; a combination of strong moonlight streaming in through the window and the technicolour twinkling of Christmas lights on the tree under the window.
"Danny!" Mac shouted from the kitchen area at the lack of response, "do you want a coffee or not?"
"On Christmas Eve? After the exercise we put ourselves through earlier?” Danny could scarcely speak for laughing, “can't you do any better than that?"
Mac’s grinning face appeared around the doorframe. "I might be able to lay my hands on a nice bottle of red wine, if that would fit the bill?"
“Absolutely Mac, absolutely.”
Mac appeared a few moments later, carrying two glasses of wine and handed one to Danny, before settling himself back under the blanket. Danny took a sip, then frowned as he looked at Mac’s face. “Mac?”
Mac appeared to be looking at the Christmas tree, but he had a faraway expression in his eyes. “Mac!”
This time Mac responded. “Sorry Danny. I was…” the sentence tailed off.
Danny nodded in understanding. “I know. I always think about Louie on Christmas Eve as well. I think it’s the holidays - they make you think about things… memories. People.”
Mac raised his glass. “Absent friends?” he said to Danny.
Danny nodded and clinked his glass against Mac’s. “Absent friends.” They drank the toast.
~The End~