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It was impossibly perfect. Snow was falling – snow on snow, about one foot of it by morning if the forecasters were right – and it splooshed wetly as it hit the cabin windows, driven by a biting wind. But they were inside, the fire was lit, the generator was holding up and Jack had opened the bottle of Islay Siler had given him at his retirement party last week.
The amber liquid glowed in the firelight as Jack held up the glass and reverently turned it this way and that.
Jack felt Daniel watching him from the other end of the sofa where he sat legs straight out, feet snuggled in Jack's lap.
“What?” he asked eventually, after Daniel remained unnaturally silent.
“Nothing. Just wondering if you were going to frame it or drink it.” Daniel nonchalantly turned the page of the book he was reading. It was some dusty tome on the history of language development. A Peanuts anthology was upended on Jack's knee while he considered the whisky. They were living proof that opposites attract.
“Admire it first, then sip and savor.” He swirled the glass and waited for the contents to settle. “And then repeat.”
“Don't repeat too often. It's bad form to disappoint those you love on Christmas Eve.” Mischief flashed in Daniel's eyes.
Jack grinned. “Absolutely zero chance of that. I've been good all year. Tonight, I reap the reward.” He tickled Daniel's toes lightly. Daniel hated that. He shot Jack a fierce look. Jack grinned some more.
Daniel turned his attention back to his book. Jack loved to watch him read. There was something about the way he connected with the words, the way he lost himself in the subject matter. He read the same way he did everything else that was important to him – intensely and to the exclusion of all else. It made for some amazing lovemaking. Jack's breath caught a little at the thought of what lay ahead. He twirled the whisky one more time and took a sip. It was good. It slid down smoothly and warmed him to the core. He enjoyed the evening silence and gently stroked Daniel's feet by way of apology for the earlier tickle.
The logs in the fireplace spat and crackled. It was the sound of the winter for Jack, that and the creak of the cabin's timber in the gusting wind. They'd been late to get up to Minnesota, what with his retirement party and then hanging around waiting for Daniel to finish up whatever the hell he was working on. But at least they had a week of one-on-one togetherness to look forward to. And there'd be plenty more alone time in their future, now that he'd finally taken the uniform off and Daniel was winding down his involvement with the Program, handing off to those he'd hand-picked to replace him.
It was all good.
Better than that – it was great.
He took another drink. Daniel turned a page. Jack's eyes fell on the Christmas card from Cassie's kids on the mantel. The felt tip Santa was covered in glitter and sequins and tiny red bows, while Happy Holidays was spelled out in rainbow colors. Hand-made, with love. It made him wonder if Daniel had gotten to make cards like that when he was as a kid.
“Did you have any Christmas traditions, growing up?” Jack asked, after debating whether to ask or not. Daniel didn't talk about his childhood much.
Daniel looked thoughtful for a moment, as if the question had side-swiped him. They really didn't talk about this stuff. “Not that I recall. We traveled so much that we just went with the flow. Whatever the locals celebrated, we did, too. My parents weren't religious per se, although my mom was … spiritual, I guess. To some extent, anyway. Christmas was never a thing. After they died, it became even less of a thing.”
He sounded so damned matter-of-fact about it all. No glitter cards or snow angels or carols around the tree – all tenets of Jack's Christmas as a boy.
They fell into a companionable silence.
“Motherhood suits Carter,” Jack said eventually, apropos of nothing, his thoughts drifting back to his retirement party.
“Sure does.”
“Mitchell's a besotted father. He showed me the photos on his phone. All 325 of them.”
Daniel smiled, although his eyes never left the page. It was a subtle “I'd really like to read without interruption, thanks” hint. Jack chose to ignore it.
“Ellie's got her mom's eyes, don't you think?”
“I guess. I never really spent much time looking into Sam's eyes.” It was a lightly barbed comment that Jack took for what it was. It hinted at an old hurt but they were long past that, so Jack squeezed Daniel's feet and gave him the look.
“Ellie will be making glitter cards soon. She's a little young to know what Christmas is all about this time around but in a couple of years ...” He stopped there. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the time of year but he couldn't say any more. He took refuge in the whisky – and boy was that a numbing, hateful feeling he remembered only too well. Nowadays, though, he didn't feel the need to get to the end of the bottle. He knew who he had to thank for that.
Daniel closed his book. “This is a hard time of year for you.” He wasn't asking a question. He understood, and more than that, he understood enough not to sugar-coat it with meaningless platitudes.
“Worst day of the year.” He tried to sing-song his response but his voice cracked instead. Christ. It was all so long ago but nights like tonight, it felt like yesterday.
Daniel could have said something fatuous like, “then let's make it the best.” He didn't. He simply placed his book on the floor and scooted along the couch. He took Jack's glass from his hand and sipped some Islay before cupping Jack's face gently and taking his mouth in a long, deep kiss. Jack lost himself in the warmth of the kiss, the fire of the whisky, in Daniel.
Show, not tell. That was Daniel's MO in life, in love. Jack had never been more grateful for that.
Somehow, they made it off the couch and into the bedroom, falling into bed and into each other. It was hard and intense, Jack letting Daniel take control, allowing himself to feel loved and cherished as Daniel took them where they both needed to be. Afterwards, Jack's tears were stroked and licked away. Daniel's strength was his.
He fell into a deep, undisturbed sleep and the bad dreams he feared would come didn't materialize.
He woke as dawn was breaking, reaching instinctively for the warmth of Daniel's body. The bed was empty and Jack realized why immediately when the smell of frying bacon assaulted his senses and made his stomach rumble. He wrapped himself in his robe and padded out to the kitchen.
Daniel was standing at the stove, turning bacon the pan, scrambling eggs and filling the coffee maker in a stupendous display of multi-tasking. His hair was mussed, and he'd pulled on an old pair of Jack's sweatpants. He looked delicious, almost more tempting than the breakfast. Daniel turned when he realized he was being watched. “Morning,” he said, smiling the smile that still did wonderful things to Jack even after all these years. “Happy first married Christmas.”
Jack walked up behind Daniel and slid his arms around his waist. “Backatcha,” he said, softly, nuzzling into his neck.
“Food's ready. Take a seat.”
Jack sat at the wooden table his grandfather had made before Jack was born. It was solid and beautiful and bore the marks of many a family get-together. Daniel was Jack's family now and that felt amazing. For so many years, it seemed this time would never come for them.
They ate their food and drank their coffee, legs brushing under the table, taking their time and enjoying the simple luxury of being able to do that. No phones, no messages, no demands on their time.
“Presents?” Jack asked, when they were done. There was a small pile in the corner of the living room. The gifts didn't sit under a tree. He hadn't had a Christmas tree in the house since … since forever.
Daniel looked thoughtful. “Later.” He cleared the plates. “Let's take a walk. The snow's stopped.”
Okay. This was different. It was usually Jack angling to take advantage of the great outdoors while Daniel demurred and headed for the armchair and a book.
Jack packed a rucksack with a thermos of strong coffee and a box of cookies before they donned walking boots, heavy jackets, and gloves and braved the cold. It was a beautiful, clear day, so bright that Jack fished in his pocket for his shades. The scene was Christmas card perfect.
They skirted the lake and headed for the woods and Jack's favorite trail, the one that led to another, bigger lake. It would take them about an hour to get there, longer in this depth of snow. It was hard going but exhilarating. Eventually, they made it, reaching the edge of the clearing that heralded the stunning body of water that Jack's family called Grandpa Jonathan's Second Sin because he envied it so much.
Daniel halted by the last of the fir trees. He was breathing heavily, his breath coming in little bursts of icy vapor. He had an adorably red nose. As they waited for their breathing to steady, Daniel reached into a pocket. He pulled something out and studied it closely.
Jack looked down at what he was holding. It was a picture taken at their wedding in summer that Daniel always carried in his wallet. The photographer had captured them in a quiet, intimate moment. They were just talking, laughing but they had only had eyes for each other. It was Jack's favorite. Daniel had attached a loop of red ribbon leftover from the gift wrapping to the picture. He hung it from one of the big tree's lowest branches, dislodging a lump of snow as he did so.
“Time to make some new traditions,” Daniel said softly.
New traditions, new beginnings. There was room in Jack's heart for them, now, thanks to this amazing man.
He leaned in and kissed Daniel, slow and loving, pulling back to shrug his backpack off his shoulders.
“Time for coffee,” Jack said because he couldn't say anything else without losing it.
He glanced again at the photo, swaying in the breeze.
Next year, the tree would be indoors.
ends