"Mmm."  Jim groaned and shifted, parting his legs a little more to
make room for the body that was moving between them.  The hot
mouth was already engulfing his cock, a nimble finger moving back to
find his center at the same time.  

        He gave himself over to the sensation of the hot, wet sucking, and
the saliva-slick finger that was rubbing over his entrance, finally
wiggling its way inside of him.  

        What a wake-up call...

        "Sweetheart...let's move.  Do each other," Jim managed.  His cock
was released from the hot eager mouth, and the big smile and sleepy
eyes looking up at him from under impossibly messy curls was
*almost* as enjoyable to look at as the incredible blow job had been to
experience.  "Merry Christmas Eve Day, Chief."  

        "Merry Christmas Eve Day, love," Blair moved up Jim's body so
they could share a long kiss.  "Remind me to thank Simon for letting
you have vacation this year."

        "You have any plans before noon today?"  Jim asked, nibbling at
Blair's neck.

        "Nope.  Well, not unless I get beeped."

        "Or I do."

        "I guess our sexual fulfillment is in the hands of the Cascade PD,
then."  Blair laughed.  "Now there's a scary thought."

        "I'm going to try not to think about that," Jim responded, smiling.  
"Now, where were we?"

        Blair grinned as he moved off Jim and changed positions so they
were curled on their sides, comfortable and relaxed for a long, slow,
lazy 69.  Again, the hot pressure surrounded Jim's cock, and he took
Blair into his mouth at the same time.  The two men mirrored each
other's gestures, hands gently rolling heavy sacs, fingers probing and
rubbing secret places, mouths full and busy.  Jim reached his climax
first, followed closely by Blair.

        "Ho ho ho," Blair sighed, smiling, his head pillowed on Jim's
thigh.

        "If you're Santa Claus, where do I sign up to be an elf?"  Jim
teased, his hand lightly stroking Blair's rear.

        "You're too tall to be an elf.  You'd have to be Mrs. Claus."

        "You've got the little granny glasses for it."

        "Shithead."  Blair grabbed a pillow and swatted Jim with it. 
"You've got the apron."

        "Ouch.  Touche."  Jim laughed.  "C'mere, will ya?"  He reached
out a hand to Blair who crawled up into Jim's arms, settling against
Jim's side with his head resting on the firm chest.

        "Is Steven coming over at all during Christmas?"

        "He hasn't been returning my calls.  After Dad called and told me
he was spending it with our mother, I figured he probably won't be at
Dad's tonight *and* here tomorrow.  I just think it's a shitty trick for
him not to be up front about it."

        "You think he's not calling back because of your mother?"

        "I think it's a touchy subject right now.  He probably doesn't want
to open it with me.  I don't blame him if he wants to see her.  I wouldn't
hold that against him.  I'd just appreciate it if he'd own up to it like a
man."

        "Maybe he needs to know that."

        "He needs to return my calls so I can tell him."  Jim smiled down
at Blair.  "Hey, enough of the dysfunctional Ellisons for a few minutes. 
Let's just enjoy the day, huh?"

        "Any suggestions?"  Blair waggled his eyebrows.  

        "As a matter of fact..."  Jim reached across Blair and opened the
drawer of the night stand, pulling out a small package.  "Early
Christmas present."

        "Man, I still have to wrap yours."

        "You don't have to wrap it on my account."  Jim brought both
arms around Blair and cuddled him suffocatingly, leaving big, sloppy
kisses on his face, shoulder and neck.

        "I was talking about the loot for under the tree."  Blair laughed and
pulled back a little from the onslaught.  Intrigued by the box which was
about the right size for a video tape but a bit thicker, Blair tore into the
red foil paper.  He was greeted with a set of red, green and white
flavored body paints.  

        "I thought we could spend part of our day off together spreading a
little Christmas cheer--in all the right places."

        "This is going to be great."  Blair sat up on the bed, opening the
box to free the three little tubes inside.  "Cinnamon, mint and vanilla. 
What about the sheets?"

        "It's supposed to be washable."  Jim leered as he added, "And
edible."

        "I always said your body was a work of art.  Now I get to finger
paint on it."  Blair chuckled as he flipped open the red tube.   

        "Remember--what you put on, you have to clean up."  Jim shifted
onto his back, relaxing and watching Blair work on his project with the
concentration of a great artist.

        "Good stuff," Blair opined, licking a little off his finger.  Grabbing
the green tube, he began what was obviously the largest part of his
design.  

        "Ah, ah.  I get to clean up the artist."  Jim grabbed Blair's hand and
began licking the colored fingers until they were clean.  

        "All done."  Blair paused.  "Well, for now."  He offered his hand
again for Jim to clean off the last of the body paint.  Then he flopped
on his back and waited for Jim to take his turn.  

        "Looks like the second shift has arrived," Jim commented, noting
that both cocks were reaching close to half mast for the second orgasm
of the morning.  "You know, I'm at a disadvantage here.  You ever try
to paint on a hairy canvas?"  Jim complained, beginning work on his
own design with the white paint.  Between each color, Blair sucked
each painted digit into his mouth and licked away all traces of the
paint.  "Almost done."  Jim got one good-sized gob of red paint--and
plopped it right on Blair's nose.  

        Inspired to retaliate, Blair found the green paint and drew a
mustache on Jim, who nailed him again on the forehead with the white. 
Laughing, Blair rose up on his knees and straddled Jim, carefully
painting a word on his forehead in red.  

        Both of them laughing now, putting paint in all the nonsensical
places, Jim groped under the bed for the hand-held mirror he'd stashed
there earlier.  When he held it up, Blair just laughed harder.  Then he
turned the mirror so Jim could see the word "MINE" scrawled on his
forehead.  

        "Hey, check out the art work, Chief," Jim instructed, and Blair
took the mirror in his own colorful hand and held it in front of his
chest.  

        "My wick's a little crooked," Blair opined, checking out the
lopsided attempt at a candle Jim had painted on his chest and belly. 
"Whoa, but the holly's comin' to life," he added, as his cock got a bit
harder, rising just below the green mess of paint that had been Jim's
attempt at holly leaves.  

        "Okay, Picasso, let's see what you came up with."  Jim took the
mirror and checked out his own chest and stomach, adorned with a
deformed wreath and a big red bow at the bottom.  "Don't quit your day
job," he teased.

        "I already quit one of them."  Blair rolled his eyes when he
thought of the less than elated response of his department chair to the
news of his departure.  

        "Great, now I've got a holder for that candle."  Jim reached out
and started stroking Blair's hardening cock, coating it with white paint
in the process.

        "Oh yeah...mmmm...so good," Blair sat there on the bed, Indian
style, leaning back on his hands, head thrown back, eyes closed,
concentrating on the talented hand that was massaging him.

        Overwhelmed by the vision of Blair sitting there, so wantonly
enjoying himself, Jim abandoned the hand job and tackled him, landing
them upside down on the mattress, mingling the body paints into one
horrible, mixed up mess.  Unconcerned with the mess or the sheets or
their position, Jim pounced on Blair's mouth as the younger man's
hands gripped his back and shoulders intensely, strong legs wrapping
around him, bringing their cocks into alignment.  

        By unspoken agreement, neither man broke the full body contact,
kissing and licking and nibbling every inch of each other's mouths and
faces.  Unable to control the urge to thrust, both began a frantic
humping against one another, their bodies and the bed rocking in time
with the motion.  

        "Jim...*inside*..."  Blair's succinct, slightly broken plea did not go
unanswered.  

        Jim groped around the night stand until he found the lube, then
squirted some on his fingers.  Dragging his tongue through the flavored
paints on Blair's belly, one hand busily moving up to rub and pinch
hardening nipples, he began massaging Blair's passage, stretching and
lubricating and getting him ready.  When he felt the muscles were
relaxed and it was time, he coated his cock with the gel and slid slowly
inside, loving the feeling of Blair's legs wrapping around him again,
pulling him in impossibly deeper.  

        Not one to lie there passively and not reciprocate the pleasure,
Blair's hands rose to Jim's chest were he rolled and pinched Jim's
nipples, his hands sliding around the strong back and finally just
holding on, grunting and moaning in pleasure as Jim pumped in and
out of him, the wet, slippery sounds of sex wafting up to tickle his ears. 
Feeling his climax approaching, he grabbed the back of Jim's neck and
pulled him down for a long, rough kiss, tearing his mouth away to
scream out Jim's name as the orgasm ripped through him like a tidal
wave, giving in to it and screaming with agonized pleasure at the
pressure on his prostate as Jim held one particularly deep thrust while
Blair's muscles contracted around him.  

        With Blair's completion spurting over their bellies, Jim worked
toward his own climax, gripping two handfuls of Blair's curls where
they fanned out on the mattress, roughly claiming his mouth again as
the staccato thrusting stopped, and he filled Blair with his seed.

        "Wanna go for three?"  Blair gasped out, smiling.  His face was
flushed and sweaty, his hair a rumpled mass of fuzzy curls, his body an
ungodly mosaic of body paints.

        "I don't think there's a third one in there, Chief."  Jim smiled,
kissing the swollen lips.  "Sorry, honey.  Looks like I was a little
rough," Jim said apologetically, licking at the reddened lips with the tip
of his tongue.  

        "Sorry?  I never came that hard in my life...  Well, okay, maybe
last week a time or two, but not every often," Blair added, chuckling. 
Jim couldn't believe that his softened cock was enjoying the little
massage from the vibration of Blair's laughter.   "Stay inside me, and
roll us over."  

        Jim obeyed the command, and soon found himself on his back,
with Blair sitting astride him.  That sight, with or without the
magnificent feeling of being buried to the hilt between those perfect
ass cheeks, was enough to excite him all over again.  The squeezing of
his cock by Blair's extremely talented internal muscles began to make
him think of what he considered next to impossible.  Time number
three.

        Then Blair was leaning forward, licking the flavored body paint
off his chest, the hot mouth concentrating on nipples Jim thought were
as exhausted as the rest of him until they started springing to life again. 
Blair rocked a little as he worked, and Jim finally came back to himself
enough to reach up and stroke Blair's sides, then wrapped the arms
around him to keep him close while his tongue went about its devilish
business.  

        "Oh yeah," Blair muttered, picking up the pace of his rocking. 
"This is feeling real good."  He rose up now and started stroking
himself, and the realization swept over Jim that Blair was putting on a
show for him.  For the first time since they'd become lovers, Blair was
performing, showing off, pushing all of Jim's buttons and letting loose
with a wonderful exhibitionist display of masturbating himself while
he moved on Jim's hardening cock.  

        He wanted to be watched.  He wanted to perform for Jim and
drive him wild.  He wasn't self-conscious or nervous or reminded of
anything unpleasant.  Jim fought the urge to let tears well up at this
new step forward, but he pushed that aside and concentrated on
responding to Blair's stimulation.  It wasn't a hard chore, and before
long, his cock, still buried in Blair's body, was full and hard enough for
Blair to really pleasure himself on it, which was what he was doing.  

        No one could possibly say that Blair was "on the bottom" of this
moment.  He was the one penetrated, but he was in the driver's seat,
holding completely captive the man who impaled him.  He writhed and
tilted his body to get the stimulation *he* desired, and wantonly
pumped at his own cock to bring himself to climax.  

        Jim thrust upward now, feeling the need to take his own pleasure,
and the combination of his upward movement and Blair riding him like
a bucking bronco, grinding down when he thrust up, dragged Jim over
the edge to completion.  Blair's cock spurted, albeit a bit more sparsely
on this third round, mingling with the last of the smeared body paints
on their bodies.

        Exhausted, Blair literally collapsed into Jim's arms, moving up
slightly to let the spent cock slip free of his body.  Knowing he was
close to passing out into a dead sleep, and not wanting to do that before
he said something to Blair--something to mark the miracle of this
moment--he pushed some rumpled hair back and kissed Blair's ear,
then whispered, 

        "Thank you, sweetheart.  Thank you for giving that to me."  He
held Blair tightly and though Blair said nothing, he clung to Jim a bit
more fiercely, burying his face between Jim's neck and shoulder as he
drifted off into oblivion.

********

        Blair raised his head and looked around the room, groggily noting
that it was after noon, and Jim was still snoring softly.  There were
parts of him that were stuck to parts of Jim, and he dreaded to think of
how they were going to separate without Jim wearing more of Blair's
body hair than Blair was.  Still, he carefully lowered his head again,
going back to the warm, moist resting place under Jim's chin.  As if by
instinct, the large arm around his back moved slightly, the hand curling
protectively around his shoulder, rubbing a little, soothing him to relax
again and sleep.  The fact Jim was so tuned into him that he did this in
his sleep touched Blair deeply, but didn't surprise him.  

        In the last couple of weeks, Jim had given sex back to him.  It
seemed strange to think of it that way, since they'd been making love
for years now.  When Blair allowed himself to carefully tread the
minefield of his memories, he couldn't remember having no-holds-barred
 grunt, thrust, sweat, scream and feel-a-little-embarrassed-in-the-morning-sex 
before their wild encounter after Jim's mother's unsettling
visit, and now this morning.  He couldn't ever remember losing himself
in putting on such a sensual show for Jim before.  He'd progressed to
the point of a little sexy stripping, and to not feeling odd at being
watched, but the experience of being forced to put on a show, and then
the knowledge that so much of it had been captured on tape and
laughed at and used for the sexual kicks of two other men had left him
deeply self-conscious, even at his wildest moments of sexual passion.

        And now, that seemed more like a memory than a feeling.  He
*remembered* feeling that way.  He *remembered* the awful feelings
of humiliation and degradation that had come with his ordeal at Vince's
hands, but they were *memories* now, and the feelings didn't come
back with the memories.  Because now he had put on a show,
performed the most intimate thing he could perform in front of Jim--
pleasuring himself and writhing his way to climax impaled on Jim's
cock--and he only felt sexually satisfied, relaxed, and thrilled that he
had dragged a third orgasm out of his lover.  

        He felt healthy, whole, and loved.

        "I think we should put mistletoe on the headboard," Jim said
groggily, and Blair chuckled.  

        "I think we should put one of those buttons up there to call for the
ambulance the next time we go for three," Blair added, laughing.

        "Did you put something in that pasta last night?  I think we set a
stamina record this morning."

        "Ow."

        "Stuck?"

        "Yeah."

        "Where?  Oh, great."  Jim discovered that while having Blair go to
sleep with one of Jim's legs between his legs was very intimate and
sexy, but more than a little uncomfortable when they opted to forego
cleaning up.

        "There's a glass of water on my night stand from last night.  If we
roll together, we're in business."

        "Better just slide together.  On 3."  After making a carefully
coordinated shift, Blair clutched the prized water glass and set about
the task of dislodging the undesired unity.  Togetherness was
wonderful, but both men were fond of their flesh and body hair exactly
where it belonged.  As soon as he was free, Blair climbed on top of Jim
and started playing with the soft, rumpled hair on his lover's head. 
"Thanks."

        "For what, baby?"  Jim smiled up at the face he loved so much,
tucking an errant curl behind Blair's ear, caressing the shell with his
thumb.  

        "For making me feel safe again.  For loving me so much that...
that I can feel whole again."  Blair swallowed, feeling his eyes fill up a
little.  "What we've had...since we got back together...it's been so
beautiful and so sweet, and so *perfect*...but you know, there was this
part of me that...you know, with sex...I just..."  Blair sniffled and wiped
at his eyes, and Jim pulled him down into a tight embrace.

        "What's the matter, cuddlebug?"  Jim asked softly, rubbing Blair's
back.  

        "There was this part of me that...when we'd get a little wild or a
little inventive, I'd start...oh, man, you're going to hate this."

        "Blair, sweetheart, come on.  You can tell me anything,
remember?  Even if I hate it, I won't be angry.  I promise."

        "I compared.  Before I could get into it and have a good time, I
*compared*.  It's like I had to convince myself that it wasn't like it was
with Vince, that I had to remind myself where I was, who I was with,
that I was okay...  And if I'd done something like...like what we did,
what *I* did...  I wanted you to watch me...I wanted to turn you on like
that.  It felt *good*...liberating.  Because...because I wanted you to
watch me, and I wasn't thinking about being taped or being watched by
someone who was forcing me into something, or who only wanted me
for what he could make me do..."  Blair paused, burrowing deeper into
the embrace.  "This isn't coming out right."

        "It was the first time you felt good and relaxed *performing* for
me in bed--the first time that you didn't stop and remember the past
when you did something a little more sensuous or exotic.  That you let
go and threw yourself into it and trusted that the person watching you
was as turned on by loving you as he was by having sex with you."

        "How...that's...that's it," Blair said, his voice a little weak with
surprise.

        "You couldn't give me a more beautiful gift, sweetheart.  Making
love with you is always...great.  But I felt like I really saw you let go
completely for the first time this morning."

        "I let go."  Blair sighed, a few tears escaping.  "I let go, Jim.  I let
go of it."  He started to cry then.  "I let go of it," he repeated again,
firmly.  

        "I know you did, baby.  And when you let go, it was safe, and it
felt good...no ghosts, no shadows."

        "For so long...it was like when we started to make love, I always
*remembered* how...how much it hurt to be touched sexually before. 
It was like an association that I couldn't break.  And I had to stop
and...and remind myself that it wasn't going to hurt, that it was okay. 
And you always reminded me.  The way you touched me and held me
and made me feel special."

        "You *are* special."

        "But I still felt like...like that night, when you wanted to make
love and I didn't, I told you 'no' because I had to do it to prove I could. 
It was like I was always proving something to myself, the eternal
experiment.  And even though the results were the same every time--if
I said no, you took it with all the love and gentleness you always give
me.  If we made love, it was great and wonderful and I felt like the
most important person in the world.  It was like this morning, I just...I
just *accepted* all that without thinking about it.  And when I let
myself remember, afterwards, when I woke up for a little bit?  The
memories were bad but I didn't feel so sick inside anymore."

        "I knew something changed, and I'm so glad, Chief.  So glad you
feel better."  Jim squeezed his lover tightly against him, kissing his
hair.  

        "All the nice things you got me for Hanukkah, and the stuff I
know you've been squirreling away for Christmas...that all means a lot
to me because I know how much you love me that you want to plan for
me and surprise me...Jim, nobody's ever treated me like you do.  I don't
mean to make that sound pathetic, but it's true.  Nobody's ever...doted
on me.  Taken care of me. *Spoiled* me.  That was the greatest gift
you could gift me.  You healed me.  You made me feel whole again. 
You broke the hold all those memories had on me.  I just love you so
much I know you're never going to know how much."

        "I think we go way beyond words, sweetheart.  I love you too. 
With all my heart and soul."

        "I'm really glad.  Who'd'a thought?  Out of all the people in the
world, I was the one who got the best lover.  You're the best, Jim.  I
couldn't ask for anything more in my best fantasy."  Blair raised up a
little and smiled at the wet blue eyes that met his.  "You're everything
in this world to me, you know that, right?"

        "Yeah, I know it.  You're the center of my universe, my little
chocolate truffle," Jim added, smiling as Blair snorted loudly, laughing
in response.  

        "Guess we oughtta get up, huh?"

        "What time is it, anyway?"

        "Just two-thirty," Blair responded, still grinning.  

        "Unless we want to hand out our gifts in grocery bags, I guess we
should get up and wrap some."

        "Shower first, then gifts."

        "Yeah, definitely.  I don't even want to start identifying all these
odors in here," Jim said, wrinkling his nose.  

        "Some things that start out sexy sure get gross when you're too
spent to get it up again."  Blair chortled and moved off Jim, reaching
back to pull him up.  "Of course, showers make me horny
sometimes..."

********

        "I still can't believe Steven won't return your calls, man.  That
sucks."

        "I don't get it."  Jim shook his head as he started up the truck.  "I
think we've got time for a detour.  Let's stop by his place and see if he's
around."

        "Seems weird he'd be *so* defensive of your mom all of a sudden
that he'd stop speaking to you."

        "Steven's always had his own agenda.  You know, just like that
whole mess with the Cobra...  I love my brother, I'm glad we're on
speaking terms--or at least, we were--but sometimes I just don't know
where he's coming from or what he's thinking."

        "He's kept in touch with your dad, been lots less *estranged*--he's
a totally different personality type."

        "I don't think this has much to do with Dad's influence.  I think
Steven's more like our mother.  He looks like her, and frankly, there's a
streak in him that thinks like her--materialistic, opportunistic...Steven
puts a lot of stock in the things she always valued."

        "Maybe because that's what your dad was always striving for."

        "That could be.  My dad was always trying to beat Owen
Winslow."

        "I thought you said the guy was filthy rich--heir to some big
banking empire."

        "He was.  I think my dad damn near killed himself trying to prove
that without an inheritance of that magnitude, Grace would have been
just as well off with him.  I think making her regret leaving drove him
pretty hard all those years.  I don't know if it was love or if it was his
pride...maybe both..."  Jim sighed.  "It's strange...when we had lunch
the other day, it was the first time I really felt sorry for my dad.  For his
life, the turns it took, the opportunities he lost, the hurts he went
through...nobody to share his life with...  Things weren't great for him
either.  Then when he did meet someone, it didn't work out."

        "He was serious about somebody?"

        "There was a lady named Silvia Wallace--she was pretty, about
my dad's age--which was early forties at the time--dark hair, very
fashionable.  He went with her a while, brought her to the house to
meet us and have dinner...and then things just sort of...fell apart, I
guess.  He never said much about it, but he never dated much after that
either.  I don't know if she dumped him or what happened.  I was in
junior high at the time, and we weren't communicating all that much."

        "He probably wouldn't have too much trouble meeting somebody
now."

        "Probably not.  I get the feeling he's a pretty confirmed bachelor
by now.  Maybe the right woman coming along would change that.  I'm
not sure."

        "I just get the feeling there's kind of a void in his life.  Maybe
that's it."

        "Yeah, could be."  Jim pulled into the parking lot of the posh
apartment complex where Steven had a penthouse unit.  "You want to
come up?"

        "You want the moral support?"

        "Always," Jim admitted, smiling.  As they left the truck and
started across the parking lot, a few fat snowflakes began falling.  The
temperatures had fallen during the night, and weren't making their
usual climb into the range where rain was more likely than snow.  Blair
was pleasantly surprised when Jim reached into Blair's pocket and
pulled out his gloved hand, holding it in his.  

        "I wonder if your mother's already here," Blair speculated as they
rode up in the elevator.  As soon as both had pulled off their gloves,
Jim reached for Blair's hand again.  "I love you, you know," Blair said,
smiling up at Jim, who squeezed his hand. 

        "I know.  I've gotten sort of attached to you too," he responded,
and Blair chuckled. 

        "Yeah.  Especially this morning."

        "Literally," Jim added, shaking his head as they started down the
hall toward Steven's door.  Jim rang the bell and waited.  He released
Blair's hand and knocked when there was no immediate answer. 
Finally, there was movement inside and the door opened.  Steven stood
before them, looking quite relaxed in jeans, a bright red sweater and a
white turtleneck.  

        "Jim.  This is a surprise."

        "It shouldn't be.  I've been trying to call you for three days now."

        "Come in."  He stepped back as the two of them entered.  "Blair,"
he greeted with a little smile.

        "Merry Christmas," Blair said, forcing a return smile, hoping this
wasn't going to be an Ellison family debacle on Christmas Eve.

        "Same to you.  Have a seat.  Look, I'm running a little late.  I've
got to change--"

        "Is it safe to assume you're not coming over to Dad's tonight?"

        "Dad called here and left a message on the voicemail.  He said he
knew I was spending Christmas with Mom, and that was okay with
him, and he'd talk to me after the holiday."

        "So that's it?  She blasts into town, tells you a sad story, and
everything's okay?"  Jim smiled and shook his head.  

        "She told me things didn't go very well when she went to see you. 
If you want to hold a grudge, that's your business.  I don't agree, okay?" 
Steven finally lit on the arm of an expensive dark green leather couch. 
"She's all alone at Christmas, her husband's dead, and all she asked was
to spend some time with us."

        "And you couldn't pick up the phone and give me a call and tell
me that?"

        "Why?  So I could get some lecture on what a bitch our mother
is?"

        "I never said anything like that to you," Jim defended, frowning. 
"Not even when we were kids.  I never ran her down to you.  Neither
did Dad."

        "He just made it impossible for her to make any kind of visitation
arrangements."

        "What?"  Jim's eyes widened.

        "Oh, I suppose he told you she didn't want us with her.  She said
that every time she asked to take us, he said no."

        "Let me clue you in on something, bro," Jim began.  "I overheard
more than one conversation that was pretty much the reverse of that--she 
didn't want us.  Dad would call her sometimes and ask her to take
us for a couple of weeks--that one time he had to go to the company's
headquarters in the Middle East?  He told Mom on the phone he
wanted us with a parent while he was gone because with all the unrest
there, he wanted to be sure if there was some altercation that we'd be
with family.  You know what she said?  NO.  N-O.  She didn't care
about us then, because she had better things to do.  She cares now
because it's convenient.  It *fits in*."

        "That's not the story she tells.  And why are you so sure that Dad's
word is gold?"

        "Because I didn't have to take his word for it.  I heard it, Steve.  I
was there, and you and I both know that I could hear every phone
conversation that came into that house if I so chose.  When it involved
Mom, I listened.  It wasn't pretty."

        "Jim, you said yourself that you wouldn't blame Steven if he
wanted to spend time with your mother.  Isn't the big issue here just
getting everything out in the open--knowing what the plans are for over
Christmas?"

        "That's about the size of it.  Look, if you want to reconcile with
her, more power to you, and I hope it works out.  But don't forget while
you're welcoming her back in with open arms which parent it was who
did all the dirty work."

        "Oh, this is priceless.  You were ready to blame Dad for
everything--our lousy childhood, your...hang-ups or whatever, world
hunger, the sorry state of affairs in Washington--you name it.  He was
this bad ass villain as far as you were concerned and now he's a model
of good parenting?  What *is* it with you?"

        "Dad screwed up a lot of things, and he wasn't perfect.  But you
know what?  He was *there*.  He provided us a good home, kept Sally
on so we weren't ever there alone or coming home to an empty house,
worked his ass off keeping us in luxuries most kids would have killed
for, and was prepared to put us both through ivy league colleges--*did*
put you through one, if I recall correctly.  He wasn't around for the
important things when we were growing up, but he did his best.  He
gave us what he had to give, for what it was worth.  What did Grace
give us?  Two weeks one summer when she couldn't get rid of us fast
enough!"

        "Fine, he's father of the year.  That's not the story Mom tells."

        "I wouldn't imagine it is."  Jim stood up, buttoning his coat.  "I
meant it when I said I wasn't upset if you wanted to spend time with
Mom.  I just hope you'll take the stories she tells you and give them the
credibility they deserve."

        "I'm supposed to pick her up at her hotel in a half hour.  Jim, look,
I don't want to make this into a...*thing* we can't get past here.  But
she's my mother, and--"

        "Hey, you don't have to justify anything to me."  Jim rested his
hand on Steven's shoulder.  "I just don't want to see you get hurt again. 
Just watch your step, okay?"

        "Yeah, I'll try," Steven said, smiling and standing up.  "Maybe I
can stop by tomorrow, a little later on?"

        "We'll have plenty of food, and people will probably be hanging
out there into the evening, so come over anytime," Blair chimed in.

        "Merry Christmas, Jim," Steven said a little awkwardly, before the
two brothers embraced quickly.  

        "You too, kiddo."  Jim stepped back.  "I hope things go well with
Mom.  I really do.  We'll see you tomorrow sometime."

        "I'll be there.  Tell Dad...tell him I said Merry Christmas," Steven
said as he opened the door for his two departing guests.

        "You tell him yourself tomorrow, huh?"  Jim pinned him with an
intent look.

        "Yeah, I will."

********

        "You'd tell me the truth if you thought this was a dumb present?" 
Blair asked Jim as he moved the snow-covered tarp in the back of the
pick-up so they could retrieve their Christmas gifts to take into the
Ellison house.

        "I think it's a great gift, Chief.  He's going to love it."

        "It's not a big name or anything," Blair said, carrying the large, flat
package while Jim took the small carton bearing the other gifts--for
Sally, and also a couple of other items for Bill.  "I mean, Charlotte isn't
exactly *well known* yet."

        "You said yourself you think she will be.  She already has a
showing at that downtown gallery next week.  Relax.  He'll love it."

        "Okay, if you say so--I just don't want to give your dad a dorky
present."

        "Chief, it's not dorky, and even if it were, you went to a lot of
trouble to figure something out--something really unique.  He's going to
love it."

        Jim rang the doorbell, and looked around at the lights, dusted by a
light coating of snow, which frosted the trees and lawns just enough to
give Cascade a white Christmas.  

        "The house looks beautiful.  I never saw it all lit up like this for
the holidays," Jim said, taking in the fruits of Bill's and Blair's
handiwork on the lights.

        "It was fun doing it," Blair responded, as the door opened and Bill
appeared, opening it and motioning them inside.  

        "Something smells great," Jim said, smiling.

        "Sally's just working on dinner.  She left some cheese and crackers
in the living room for us." 

        "How about this snow?  Pretty cool to have a white Christmas
instead of a wet Christmas," Blair opined, pulling off his coat, which,
like Jim's, was damp with the falling snow.

        "We can hang those on the hooks in the mud room--it's warm in
the kitchen, so they'll dry fast back there."  Bill took them and
disappeared around the corner to the kitchen.  

        "I think I'll go wish Sally Merry Christmas."  Jim headed back
there, and Blair took the gifts into the living room and added them to
the other brightly wrapped packages already there.  Before long, the
two Ellisons were back, and the three men took seats, glasses of red
wine in hand, nibbling at the platter of cheese and crackers.

        "Does Sally celebrate Christmas?  I know it's probably not her
native tradition," Blair said.

        "She celebrates it because our family always has, but not in the
religious sense, no.  Actually, that was always nice--having her around
on Christmas--you know, for the boys," Bill added.  "Oh, Blair, I was
meaning to ask you about the Matthews case.  I notice you were quoted
in the paper."

        "Oh, man," Blair shook his head.  "I heard about that one from
Simon, the mayor...guess I need to watch out for reporters who corner
me outside the hospital."

        "I would have never guessed Matthews as a child beater."  Bill
shook his head.  "I guess you never really know what goes on in the
privacy of people's homes.  So the charges are valid?"

        "You know this guy?"  Jim asked.

        "Only casually.  He was just appointed to the board of directors at
Cascade Memorial, and I ran into him at a fundraising luncheon in
early December."  Bill frowned.  "Must be an awkward case to handle. 
Those people have a lot of pull in this community."

        "Hence why I get called on the carpet for calling it as I see it in the
paper," Blair responded.  "It's a little hard to be politically correct when
you've just watched them pull life support on a two-year-old that a
couple weeks earlier, you held and played with and..."  Blair took a
drink of his wine.  "I'm sorry.  I guess this isn't my best subject to get
off on tonight."

        "Blair was very directly involved in trying to get Ryan out of the
household.  Everybody at the bullpen met him--he was a sweet little
kid."

        "I resigned from the U.  I want to do this full time.  Maybe if I had
been a little more...*attentive*, I could have done something faster."

        "That's not fair, Chief.  You were all over that case like a sack of
snakes.  You did all you could and more than the PD could have
defended if you'd been wrong."

        "They can't let you have the leave of absence they promised you? 
I know that professor died and they needed you to fill in--"  

        "You know how fast those search committees work.  Especially
when they have someone in place to cover the base.  Besides, I'm
always going to be worrying about my commitment there, and even if I
got a semester off, it's not the same as really giving my full attention to
the DVU."

        "If you have any problems with Mayor Grogan, let me know.  I see
him at the club at least once or twice a week."

        "Thanks," Blair said, smiling a little.  While he didn't really want
to use Bill's social status to get his job done effectively, he still
appreciated the spirit behind the offer.        

        Sally joined them for dinner, and was pleasantly surprised to be
spirited away from her dishes to join them in the living room to open
gifts.  With after dinner creme de menthe, Christmas music playing
softly in the background and the room lit by the fire, the tree lights and
a dim lamp in the corner, they gathered around the tree.

        Jim and Blair presented Sally with a small combination CD player
and radio that would fit neatly on the counter in the kitchen to replace
the old radio she had been using there for years, which was beginning
to play more static than music.  Predicting that she wouldn't have a
stock of CD's, Blair had selected three of them, including some
classical and relaxing instrumental.  

        Jim had laughed at the unexpected gift of sleek black leather
racing gloves from his father, who just chuckled and said they'd go well 
with the motorcycle leathers.  The second box Jim opened made him
pause, and fall silent.  Inside the long, thin box were two polished
wood drum sticks, with his name woodburned into them.  

        "These are...really beautiful, Dad.  Thank you," Jim said quietly,
visibly touched by the thought behind the gift.

        "I know I haven't exactly cultivated your interest in music... it's a
little late to make that up to you, but I thought you might enjoy these."

        "They're great.  I know I'll get a lot of use out of them."  Sentinel
fingers were running over the engraved name reverently.

        "My turn?"  Bill asked, eyeing the large, flat package tagged from
Blair.

        "Go for it," Blair said, silently hoping that he had made a good
choice.  The first Christmas they'd had any contact with Bill, gifts had
been very impersonal--Jim and Blair had jointly given him a sweater
and a gift certificate to one of his favorite restaurants.  This year, the
thought behind the gift seemed as important, if not more so, than the
gift itself.  

        "This is quite a package," Bill commented, and Jim had to smile. 
The one thing his father had always done well was making a fuss over
the presents the boys gave him for Christmas.  Even if they were badly
wrapped, or, when the children were small, were items he'd never use
or that were ugly and handmade.  

        Bill was removing the last of the paper from the 16x20 painting
now, and held it up carefully by its polished oak frame.  It was an
impressionist-style representation of a small footbridge over a river,
with brightly-colored autumn trees surrounding it.  

        "A friend of mine at the U is an art professor, and she's having her
first exhibit at the Sloane Gallery next week.  I saw this in her
collection of items she planned to include in the show, and I had
noticed some impressionist paintings upstairs...I thought you might like
it."

        "This is really beautiful, Blair.  Actually, I think I'll hang it in the
study--move that tired old painting of the bowl of fruit that's been
hanging there as long as Jimmy's been alive."

        "If you don't like it for any reason, you know, I won't be offended
if you don't want to hang it--"

        "No, I think it's really a very stunning piece.  She must be very
good.  I'll have to make it a point to check out that exhibit next week. 
We could use some new art upstairs.  Thank you, Blair.  This was a
very thoughtful gift."

        "I'm glad you like it," Blair responded genuinely, relaxing now
that it seemed like the gift had truly made a hit.  

        "This one's from Jimmy," Bill announced, somewhat
unnecessarily as he tore into the package that was about the size of a
shirt box, only considerably heavier.  He removed the lid and folded
back the layers of tissue paper.  There was a long silence.  "Where did
you get this?"  he asked, still staring at the gift.

        "Actually, I had to get another one made up, since I couldn't locate
the original around here anywhere.  But when I told the woman at the
Chamber what I was trying to put together, she was a big help."

        "I didn't think you remembered this.  I mean, you were a teenager
when I got this award."  Bill smiled and removed the large, framed
certificate from the box.  He had been awarded the Cascade Chamber
of Commerce's prestigious Citizen of the Year Award in 1975 for his
membership on a number of community boards.  "How did you happen
to think about this now?"

        "I thought another sweater was a little boring," Jim said,
shrugging.  "Seriously...I never saw it framed anywhere in the house, so
I thought it was about time it was."  Jim paused.  "I've thought back
over a lot of things lately..."  He shrugged.  

        "This is just great, Jimmy," Bill said, then added sincerely, "Thank
you."  

        Jim realized as he watched his father swallow his emotions and
look at the framed certificate again, just how solitary the man's life had
been all these years.  Who would have gifted him with the framed
award?  For many men, it would have been a wife.  Bill Ellison had
moved through his adult life largely alone, and most of his professional
and personal achievements in those years had gone unrecognized and
were not celebrated by anyone but himself.

        "Looks like there's a package under the tree for you, Chief."  Jim
hooked the small, square box out from under the tree and handed it to
Blair, who was sitting on the couch next to him.  

        "Blair, before you open that, there's something I'd like to say." 
Bill's serious tone of voice froze Blair in place, one finger under the
taped flap of paper on the end of the small box.  He looked up to meet
the older man's gaze.  "First of all, I don't want to hear anything about
you not accepting this gift.  It's giving me a lot of happiness to do it,
and I don't want you feel it's too much or try to give it back."

        "Now you're really making me nervous here, Bill," Blair said,
smiling, but a little tense, nonetheless.  

        "Don't be.  I have to admit that when Jimmy first told me that the
two of you were...more than friends, I was...less than happy," he
admitted, smiling a little.  "But you've got a way of growing on people,
and I consider you a friend--I could accept you as a bearable substitute
for Jim marrying some nice lady--"

        "Bill--"

        "Let me finish.  I wanted you to know that I don't look at you as a
substitute for anything anymore.  I guess you'd call that a 'welcome to
the family' present.  I can honestly say that I approve of Jim's choice of
partners, and I'm glad you're part of our family now."  Bill watched
Blair through a long silence as the younger man stared down at the box
in his hand.  

        "That's the best gift..."  he began, his voice a bit shaky. 
"Whatever's in the box, it won't mean that much to me.  Thank you." 
Blair swallowed hard and smiled, bolstered a little by Jim's arm sliding
around his back.  "You knew about this?"  Blair looked over at Jim.

        "Not a thing, Chief.  Whatever's in there was Dad's idea."

        Blair carefully tore the paper away from the small white box and
lifted the lid.  Inside, on a bed of cotton, was a set of keys.  

        "I don't get it," Blair said with a little smile.

        "You will.  Come on."  Bill led the group through the kitchen to
the door leading to the garage.  Jim felt a sneaking suspicion of what
the gift was now, and it suddenly made sense why Bill's Cadillac had
been parked out in the driveway when they arrived.  

        Bill opened the door leading to the garage and with a hand on
Blair's shoulder, prodded him to walk into the garage.  Parked there
was a shiny, brand new, black Toyota Celica GT.  The small, sleek car
sported a rear spoiler, a sunroof, unique triangular shaped headlights
and a matching black leather interior.  There was a big red bow on the
hood.

        "I know you have some trouble with the Volvo, and with the new
job with the Domestic Violence program, you're on the road a lot more. 
You ought to have something dependable, something that'll get good
mileage..."  Bill shrugged.  

        "Bill...I don't know what to say...it's too much...I can't--"

        "What did I tell you about that before we got started on this?"

        "I know, but still...I mean, this is so...*much*."

        "Do you like the car, Blair?"

        "I'd have to be *nuts* not to like this car.  It's *gorgeous*."  Blair
moved closer to it, running his hand lightly over the front fender.  

        "You've got enough room at the house now to keep a classic car
and have one you can actually drive dependably every day."

        "I think we could manage an addition on the garage," Jim said,
smiling.

        "How about it, kid?  You ready to take it for a ride?"  Bill
prodded.  

        "This is so...*much*...'thanks' seems sort of lame," he said,
smiling now and looking over his prize, knowing that turning it down
would be more of a rejection to Bill, and that the older man could
afford the gesture, and was genuine in his statement that it made him
happy to do it.

        "A simple 'thanks' does nicely.  You're welcome.  Now you and
Jimmy go play with the new toy while I help Sally clean up from
dinner."  Bill turned to walk back inside, but Blair hurried over to stop
him with a hand on his arm.

        "The car is really exceptional, and I love it, and I know I'm going
to get a lot of enjoyment out of it.  But I still meant what I said before. 
Being accepted into Jim's family...that means more to me than a whole
fleet of cars.  That's the thing I want to thank you most for."  Blair
extended his hand, which Bill shook, giving him a brief, slightly gruff
one-armed hug before backing away.  

        "Go on, you two.  I've got a couple of pictures to hang."

********

        Blair started out in his new car, with Jim in the passenger seat.  As
they took a brief drive around the area, Blair finally broke the silence.

        "You didn't know anything about this?"

        "I swear, Chief, I'm as surprised as you are.  I knew he wanted to
let you know you were part of the clan now, and he'd told me that he
was happy we were together, but he never alluded to anything like
this."

        "This is so cool, man.  It's gorgeous.  I've seen these cars on the
'net, and the pictures just *don't* do them justice.  Is this console
*great* or what?"

        "It's a great car, sweetheart.  I'm really glad he got it for you."

        "I still feel weird about taking something this expensive from
him."

        "He was telling the truth when he said that he was enjoying doing
it for you.  My dad really likes you, Chief.  He's not always great at
saying everything in so many words, even though he did this time, but
sometimes, I think he says it through an expensive gift like this."

        "No more stalling at lights, no more haunting the service
stations...you know, I love the Volvo, and I didn't want to get rid of it,
but it was a real pain in the ass to keep getting stuck, especially out in
the rain and the rotten weather.  Or like that time it stalled out on the
corner of Morton and Eighth streets?  Yikes," Blair recalled being
stranded in one of Cascade's toughest areas, a call that Jim had
responded to with lights and siren, even though nothing had happened
to Blair...yet.

        "I'm glad you're in something dependable.  It's about time."

        "Yeah, Mr. '69 Ford is one to criticize me for driving an old
bucket."

        "Mine is dependable."

        "So's mine...most of the time."  Blair smiled, knowing he'd lost the
argument, and not really caring.  "We probably better get back."

        "Yeah, sit around for a little while and visit."

        "You know what this Christmas was all about with your dad,
right?  Acceptance.  The gloves, the drum sticks, *this car* for me, and
what he said.  I mean, he's accepted the two hobbies he thwarted when
you were growing up, and he's welcomed your male spouse into the
family.  That's a lot more than you'd get from a lot of guys his age."

        "I was pretty stunned with the gifts myself.  I know he's changed a
lot, and I know it's important to him to have family around him now--that 
he's willing to be more tolerant and accepting to make that happen. 
I never expected this much from him."

        "Guess you know how important you are to him now.  It just took
him this long to figure out how to relate to you."

        "And he's smart enough to know that the fastest way to my heart is
through you."  Jim took a hold of Blair's hand and squeezed it.  

        "It's kid of nice, having family at the holidays, isn't it?"

        "It's great.  But not as great as having you all year."  Jim tugged
playfully on a lock of Blair's hair.  "Come on, Mario, let's get back."

********   

        After the shredded wrapping paper and empty glasses had been
cleared out of the living room, and Sally had long since gone to bed,
Bill sat on the couch and thought back on the evening.  He couldn't
remember a happier Christmas in his adult life, and for once, he felt
content with the state of his relationship with his children.  Steven
toying with a reconciliation with Grace was a bit unsettling, but it was
his choice, and as long as Bill could keep his thoughts to himself on
that issue, there would be a chance of maintaining what seemed to be a
somewhat more fragile relationship with him.

        He rose from the couch and turned out the last of the lights,
unplugged the tree and trudged upstairs for the night.  After showering
and changing into his robe, he pulled the large photo album out of the
bottom dresser drawer and sat on the bed with it, propped up with a
few fluffy pillows against the carved wood headboard.  

        He'd kept the scrapbooks on the boys--the one on Jim had ended
up stuffed to capacity with his military honors, and the notoriety he'd
earned as one of Cascade's finest.  This photo album was a hodgepodge
of old family photos, everyone from his own parents and grandparents
to Grace and the children--prior to her departure.  All occasions were
represented in here, including some past Christmases.  Looking through
the album had become a Christmas tradition as he got older--and as
he'd spent more than one Christmas Eve alone since the boys left home.

        He smiled at the photos of his mother.  Though they were black
and white, he could remember her startling blue eyes--the same eyes he
saw in Jim.  The color was unique, vibrant...and he'd known the
moment he'd seen his infant son that he carried a little part of his
grandmother with him.  His father had been a rather austere sort, and
Bill was regretful to recall that he'd patterned more of his parenting
style after him than after his mother, who had a devilish, impish streak
a mile wide.  She had brought the joy into the household, the laughter,
and the warmth.  Anything Bill had learned about love and family had
started with his mother--and had been too long overshadowed by his
father.

        Not that William Ellison, Sr. had been a bad sort.  He was a good
man, a good provider, a real corporate go-getter and perfectionist who
accepted nothing less from his children.  It had never crossed Bill's
mind that his father disliked him or didn't love him, but then, his
mother had always been there, the peacemaker, assuring the children
that their father loved them, that it was just "his way"...Jim and Steven
had enjoyed no such reassurance, because they'd had no mother to
temper their father's bluster and drive for excellence.

        Not lingering too long on photos of Grace, Bill paused when he
came to a single photo.  The one that always gave him pause every
holiday when he took it out and looked at it again.

        He was at a holiday gathering at the country club with Silvia
Wallace, the woman he'd hoped to marry.  Stunning as ever, frozen in
time in her flame red dress with the sparkling diamond jewelry, Silvia
had been a dream come true--wealthy, cultured, intelligent, beautiful...
and Bill had fallen so hard for her that his former feelings for Grace
looked like puppy love by comparison.  

        Inviting Silvia to the Ellison household for dinner to meet the
boys had seemed a formality, at best.  Their relationship was strong,
they were in love...

        But the Ellison house was not the opulence Silvia was used to. 
Two young boys who, though well-behaved under strict orders from
Sally, practically vibrated with contained energy, also held little appeal
for the wealthy socialite.  As she smiled and made small talk
throughout the evening, Bill had detected the shift in her behavior.  She
was behaving the way she did at parties she would confess to him in
the car that she had loathed--and they usually laughed about it, because
those were generally the functions Bill detested as well.  Now he was
seeing that behavior in her as she sat at their dinner table, tolerating
polite conversation with the children.

        Dismissing Silvia as the wrong kind of woman had been even
harder than dismissing Grace in that manner.  He'd had a knack for
choosing beautiful, superficial women, and he knew, looking back, that
he'd often desired their social status as much as the women themselves. 
When you sought love in that manner, you courted heartache, and he'd
learned that lesson the hard way.  
        He could have afforded a trendy penthouse apartment, which
would have probably assuaged Silvia's disdain for what she had once
called "subdivision living".  With another promotion, he could have
gotten a better car.  And he knew he could have solved the child
problem by simply shipping the boys off to boarding school, because
Silvia would have gleefully bankrolled that decision.

        But Jimmy still occasionally seemed to have one of his black outs,
and the boys had already been abandoned by one parent.  Bill had made
the commitment to himself and his children that they wouldn't have
that experience a second time.  

        The relationship with Silvia had crashed and burned about two
weeks after the fateful dinner.  Bill would remember the evening they
broke up as his last official "date" with anyone.  Fed up with the game-playing 
of romance, and convinced he wasn't going to find anyone to
spend his life with, he'd concentrated even harder on his work, and let
his social life dwindle to only those functions that were necessary to
cultivate his professional reputation and build more business contacts.

        Tossing the album aside and running his hand over his face with a
large yawn, he got up and laid his robe on the nearby chair, then
climbed into bed and turned on the television to watch a late news
show, which he knew would put him to sleep.  As he dozed in the large
bed, he couldn't help but idly wonder how different his life would have
been if he'd actually found the perfect life partner.  Shaking his head
with a little chortle, he thought of Jim with Blair, and concluded that
maybe he'd been looking in the wrong places--the ordinary, expected
places.  God knows Jimmy hadn't exactly hooked up with a person
anyone would have chosen at random as an expected life partner.  And
for him, it had worked out beautifully.

********

        Grateful that Christmas dinner was going to be a pot luck instead
of a home cooked feast like Thanksgiving, Blair yawned, stretched and
enjoyed the extra time in bed, just lounging around with Jim.  They'd
made lazy love at dawn, then gone back to sleep.  Happy to curl up
again next to Jim, the ringing phone was not a welcome intrusion.

        "Hello," Blair said, pushing up on one elbow.

        "Blair?  It's Brenda.  Brenda Caldwell."

        "Merry Christmas, Brenda.  How are you feeling?"  Blair smiled
as he felt Jim move up behind him, an arm going around his middle, a
warm kiss landing on his bare shoulder.

        "Better.  I'm at my parents' place in Tacoma.  I'm going to relocate
up here for a while, see if I can get a job here.  I found a really good
therapist, and we're working through some things."

        "I'm glad to hear that, Brenda."

        "I still don't hate Mike for what happened.  And I know you don't
want to hear this, but I'm still not sure that I don't want to be with
someone who...who is more...*dominant*.  I just need to figure out
what's right for me, you know?  Understand myself better."

        "I think that's a great idea.  I'm not judging your life choices,
Brenda.  I just hated seeing you get hurt.  I'm glad you got out of that
situation."

        "It got out of hand.  A big part of entering into a discipline
relationship is being with a partner you trust.  I realize now, looking
back, that Mike was abusing me--he abused that trust.  I don't know yet
what's going to happen, but I realize now that it was good to move on
from that marriage, anyway."  Brenda was quiet a moment.  "I didn't
mean to go off on a tangent.  I mainly wanted to call and wish you
happy holidays, and thank you for hanging in there for me.  My folks
are being really great...really understanding.  I feel like I'm getting it
together, and I guess I just wanted you to know that."

        "You're still going to press charges against Mike, right?"

        "I have to think on it.  I know he's out on bond pending the
trial...sometimes I still don't feel right about testifying against him for
assault charges.  I don't know what I'm going to do for sure.  I figured
that after the holidays, I'd make a solid decision and stick with it."

        "Please testify, Brenda."

        "I appreciate your concern, Blair, and I probably will.  I just need
to get my head together.  The cop I saw at the hospital--that was your
Jim, right?"

        "That's the one."  Blair leaned back into the solid warmth behind
him.  

        "He's a real stud--you are *so* lucky."

        "Thanks.  I think so.  On both counts," he said, laughing, glad to
hear Brenda join in on the other end of the phone.

        "I better let you go now.  Have a good holiday."

        "You too.  Anytime you need to talk, just give me a call."

        "I will.  Thanks, Blair."  And then the connection broke and a dial
tone remained.  

        "She's vacillating on testifying?"  Jim probed, cuddling Blair
against him after the younger man dispensed with the phone.  

        "Yeah, but that's not the most important part of all this.  The best
thing to hear is that she's seeing a therapist now, working things
through."

        "Putting Caldwell behind bars is a pretty important part of this."

        "Sure, it's important.  But Brenda getting her life back together is
the main thing.  I gotta say I wish she wasn't hung up on this whole
*discipline* thing, but I guess it's her choice...even if I think she *is*
courting another abuse situation."

        "I hope things work out for her."  Jim nuzzled Blair's neck.  "You
smell good."  Jim inhaled deeply.  "You smell like us."

        "We could probably exchange gifts now--everything'll get so busy
later..."

        "I got my gift right here."  Jim squeezed Blair tightly.  

        "You unwrapped me early.  I mean the *Christmas* gift," Blair
responded, grinning.  It crossed his mind that he was almost getting
used to being treasured as much as he was, and that while every
affectionate thing Jim said or did flooded his heart with warmth, it
didn't surprise him anymore.  He was spoiled stinking rotten on too
much love, and adored every second of it.

        "Okay, let's do it, Chief."  Both men parted and reached under the
bed, then came up with their packages, laughing at each other for
having the same thought.  Gifts under the tree were lovely and
traditional.  Gifts under the bed were more fun--and a whole lot less
chilly to open in the nude.  Stuffing pillows behind themselves, they
traded wrapped boxes.

        "There's more under the tree downstairs, but I wanted to give you
this one up here," Blair said, resting his head on Jim's shoulder while
the other man began tearing at the paper.  

        Jim lifted the lid on the box and parted the tissue paper.  Inside
was a pair of silk pajamas, a rich shade of blue not dissimilar from the
color of Jim's eyes.  One touch of sentinel fingers told him that these
were not only expensive, but probably the most exceptional silk he'd
ever felt.  Without much effort, he could have zoned on just running his
fingers over the lapels.  

        "Chief, these are incredible."

        "I know you get cold sometimes at night--it gets chilly in here and
I know you don't like the distraction of the fabric from pajamas
nagging at your sense of touch whenever you move...I thought maybe
these would feel good enough that you'd like them."

        "They're really beautiful, Blair.  The texture is just incredible.
*Almost* like running my fingers through your hair when we make
love," Jim said, sinking one hand into the curls, pulling Blair in for a
long kiss.  "Thank you, sweetheart.  They're great."

        "There's something else in the box."
        
        "Oh oh.  Almost missed it."  Jim carefully moved the pajamas
aside and took out a CD.  "This is great.  I was looking at this a couple
weeks ago," he said, reading the listing of songs on the back of the Styx
CD.  "I remember trying to learn 'Grand Illusion' on the drums.  I think
that was probably what drove my dad over the edge," Jim said,
laughing.

        "Actually...I figured you'd like the whole CD--it's the double
album from their concert tour.  But I wanted you to listen to the second
song on the first disc."

        "'Paradise'?"

        "Yeah.  I just got the CD for you last minute yesterday when I
made that run into the mall?  I knew there was a song that said what I
wanted to say, and I just had to track it down.  This one was it."

        "Then I guess I better put it in the CD player."  Jim smiled and
leaned over to put the disc in the small player by the bed.  

        "After Christmas Eve Day...it just said everything..."  Blair let the
words trail off, and snuggled happily into Jim's arms once the CD was
in motion.  

//One touch was all I needed to know
You were the one for me
My fate and my destiny
You smiled and all at once I could see
I'd found a love so true
That I could give all to you

And suddenly I realized
That all the fortune and fame
Can't compare to the sound of your voice
Whenever you speak my name

'Cause Paradise 
Is anyplace where I can be with you
And leave behind 
The heartache and the pain that I've been through
Safe in your arms 
Safe from the world tonight
You are my paradise

My heart was broken so many times
I couldn't imagine when
I'd ever love again
But every time I look at you
I know that I've been blessed
I'm sure I've found heaven on earth
Each time I feel your caress

And all at once I realized 
That all the fortune and fame
Can't compare to the sound of your voice
Whenever you call my name

'Cause Paradise 
Is anyplace where I can be with you
And leave behind 
The heartache and the pain that I've been through
Safe in your arms 
Safe from the world tonight
You are my paradise...//

        "That's what you did for me, what you keep on doing for me
everyday, and I just wanted you to hear it from someone who could
sing it better than I can," Blair said, grinning up at Jim, who kissed the
smiling mouth and hugged Blair tightly.

        "That was great, Chief.  I feel--" he froze as the CD erupted with
sound as the next track was a raucous, boisterous rock song that sent
electric guitars and crashing drums into the quiet bedroom.  Going with
the flow, Blair started moving with the music, and Jim slumped back
laughing.  "I think they need to work on mixing these tracks a bit to
maintain the mood," he quipped, still chuckling at Blair, who was
undaunted and gyrating as if he were being electrocuted, right along
with the beat.

        "Man, I *loved* that song when I was a kid--the video was *really
cool*."

        "I guess this is one we can agree on then?"

        "Looks that way, doesn't it?"  Blair finally stilled, laughing a little
self-consciously.  "But I really meant what I said about the first song.  I
never thought I was going to be able to leave behind the stuff I went
through--even for a while.  It's always going to be there somewhere in
my mind, but it doesn't rule me anymore--I control *it*.  You gave me
that back, and I really felt it full force the first time yesterday morning. 
I performed for you and it felt great.  Not sick or degrading--it was
*fun*.  I was getting hot and I knew you were, and it just felt like
healthy, sexy fun.  Not a reminder of something ugly.  It's like all of a
sudden, the lights just went on again.  I'm not trying to find my way
through so much darkness."

        "I'm glad, sweetheart.  It meant the world to me to know it was
happening, and I knew it when you were moving for me and letting me
watch you.  You know by now I love watching you."

        "Hey, I have to open my present," Blair said, his face flushing a
little at the open praise.  

        "Have at it."  Jim leaned back on the pillows with Blair partially
leaning against him as he opened the heavy box that was about the size
of a shoe box.  Puzzled with its plain white surface, Blair opened the
end of it and slid out a bubble-wrapped object.  

        "What *is* this?"  he asked somewhat rhetorically as he removed
the wrapping around the object itself.  Inside, he found a polished oak
desk accessory that was rectangular in its length, and triangular on its
sides, allowing it to sit flat on the desk.  One side was a clock and gold
pen and pencil holders which Blair immediately filled with the
enclosed pens to get the whole look.

        "Turn it around, honey," Jim said, reaching over to guide Blair's
hands in doing so.  On the side of the object, which would face visitors,
was a large gold nameplate with the following engraved in strong,
straight letters: "Blair A. Sandburg, Ph.D.", and beneath it, in slightly
smaller letters, "Director".

        "Jim, it's beautiful...  I don't deserve this.  I mean, it looks
so...so...*professional*."

        "Blair, you're a Ph.D., you head up a major division at the PD, and
what you do is damned important.  If that's not professional, what is?"

        "It's just...it's gorgeous.  I never had *anything* like this before."

        "Then it's high time you did.  Blair, I was really impressed by the
commitment you made to the DVU when you decided to quit Rainier
and devote yourself to it single-mindedly.  I know it's a hard job, and I
know it takes a lot out of you--sometimes I know it reminds you of
things you'd rather forget.  But you do it because you're committed to
helping these people, and because you care.  And you're making a
difference every day you're there.  That impresses the hell out of me.  I
don't know anyone who deserves to be considered a 'professional' any
more than you do, and quite frankly, a nameplate and a couple of pens
isn't much of a recognition of it, but it was the best I could come up
with.  I'm more proud of you than you'll ever know, Chief.  Maybe once
in a while when you're getting through one of your frantic days, and
you have to look at the clock, you can look at this one and remember
that I'm thinking about you, and that I'm only a phone call--or a call of
my name--away if you need me."

        Blair bit both lips together hard, trying to avoid making a scene. 
Tears sprang to his eyes anyway, and a couple leaked out.  

        "You'll never know...you're never going to understand what that
means to me.  Every time I look at this, I'll remember this moment, and
what you just said.  It makes *everything* worthwhile."

        "Come here."  Jim took the prized gift and set it carefully on the
floor next to the bed, out of harm's way, along with his pajamas.  He
then gathered Blair into his arms, feeling strong arms wrapping around
him in response, and just lay there, relaxing and soaking up the
closeness.  "I love you."

        "I love you too," Blair said, pulling in his emotions and smiling. 
"I love my present."

        "I love mine too.  And the CD is great--maybe I can finally learn
'Grand Illusion'," Jim added, then laughed.  It was contagious.

********

        Friends began arriving early afternoon, bearing numerous tasty-smelling 
foods to contribute to the meal.  Everyone had signed up to
bring their speciality, whatever it might be, and Jim and Blair had
agreed to provide whatever course or food category that might leave
uncovered.  

        "I had no idea we had so much culinary talent out in the bullpen,"
Simon joked, helping himself to another portion of the au gratin
potatoes Henri had brought, along with a chocolate dessert confection
no one had been allowed to sample yet.  

        "Looks who's talking," Blair needled, taking another forkful of the
taco casserole Simon had created.  "This stuff is great."

        "No lectures about cholesterol or red meat?"  Simon probed,
smiling.

        "Not until after dinner, anyway," Blair said through a mouthful.  

        "I didn't know you could cook like this, Jim," Megan spoke up,
diving into another mouthful of the lasagna Jim had contributed to the
meal.  

        "One of Major Crimes' best kept secrets," Henri grumbled,
referring to Jim's disinclination to volunteer to bring in home-cooked
dishes to the PD gatherings.  

        "I moved in with him just so I could have the lasagna once in a
while.  The spaghetti's good, too," Blair added, laughing.  

        "I'm really glad to hear that you're going to be devoting full
attention to the DVU, Blair.  I think we've got some good things
happening with that program."

        "Thanks, Simon.  I do too.  I'm hoping eventually I can get back to
teaching part-time, maybe, but for right now, with us working some of
the bugs out of the program, I think I need to be there full-time, without
distractions."

        "The mayor wasn't nearly as ruffled about the Matthews situation
as I expected he would be.  Actually, I'm not sure if he thinks it's a
good move politically, or if he really is committed to it, but he's behind
us all the way in prosecuting Matthews to the full extent of the law." 
Simon shook his head.  "Too bad it's too late."

        "Maybe it won't be too late for another Ryan someday," Megan
spoke up.

        "That's my hope," Blair responded.  

        "That's so lame, man.  Somebody has enough money so they get to
beat on their kids?"  Daryl shook his head disapprovingly.  "If those
people were poor, they'd'a taken him away fast enough."

        "My point exactly, Daryl.  When I was a kid, Naomi was always
keeping one eye over her shoulder to be sure someone from social
services wasn't going to show up.  We moved around a lot, she was a
single mom, sometimes she had live-in boyfriends...she was a prime
target for custody problems.  But somebody in a 'stable' home
environment can beat their toddler and nobody takes him away? 
There's something seriously wrong with that system."

        "Grogan had some good things to say about your program, Blair,"
Bill interjected, munching on one of the egg rolls Rafe brought.  The
meal was nothing if not international and extremely eclectic.  

        "He did?"  Blair looked at Bill with raised eyebrows.  

        "I ran into him at Church this morning, and he was the one who
brought it up--since you work with Jim.  He said something to the
effect that you still could use a little more finesse, but you got the job
done."

        "I don't want to develop anymore finesse," Blair responded,
laughing.  "If I did, I *wouldn't* get the job done at all."

        "Probably not," Jim agreed.  "Being pushy is pretty necessary
when you're ruffling people's feathers."

        "And I think his feathers were the most recently ruffled," Blair
added, grinning.  "Thanks for passing that on, Bill.  At least I don't have
to worry about my office being packed up when I go back in after the
holidays."

        The rest of the meal progressed in companionable conversation
until most of the food was depleted, and leftovers were wrapped up and
stowed for later nibbling.  The group adjourned to the living room
where they exchanged gifts, sipped mildly spiked egg nog and enjoyed
the relaxation of a social get together outside the environs of the PD.  

        "A few days ago, my dad issued a challenge," Jim said, finally,
smiling a little.  "He wanted to hear me play something on the drums
that--what was that again, Dad--you could distinguish as music instead
of heart palpitations?"  That drew a laugh from Simon, who had
suffered a baptism by fire with his own son's musical tastes.

        "I was kidding about that, Jimmy," Bill responded, chuckling.

        "Well, never one to pass on a challenge, Blair and I have been
working on that.  So let's head down the basement and we'll show you
our stuff."

        Blair had slipped down earlier and turned on the space heaters, so
the occasionally chilly basement had a nice, pleasant warmth about it. 
Before their guests arrived, Jim and Blair had moved the furniture into
such an arrangement that they were all facing the drums.  When all
their guests had taken seats, Jim took his position behind the drums,
holding his new drum sticks, and Blair seated himself on a stool near
the drum set with his guitar.  Jim brought a ripple of laughter through
the group when he twirled one drumstick before starting.

        "It only took me 25 years to perfect that," he said, smiling. 
Without further adieu, they began their little performance.  

        It wasn't long before the first light tapping of the drum gave way
to the initial strains of "The Little Drummer Boy", the words to which
Jim and Blair sang together, with Blair accompanying Jim's drums very
subtly with the guitar.  Aside from the music itself, a pin dropping
would have seemed loud in the room.  After the words, "Shall I play for
you?", both men picked up the volume and tempo of their instruments,
Jim adding a little more of the bass drum, still keeping it subtle, but
stronger until the music faded with the ending of the song.

        The little audience immediately gave a round of applause, but had
little time to linger over that before Jim and Blair started in on the first
strains of "Winter Wonderland".  It didn't take Henri long to get up and
go retrieve Blair's electric guitar, which Blair always happily loaned
him when he came over to jam.  Contentedly playing his acoustic,
sitting next to Jim, it didn't appear he was in any hurry to use it himself. 
With the additional accompaniment from Henri, and the clapping and
singing along from their friends, the music took on a whole new life.  It
wasn't until they paused after that song that Jim got up from his seat. 

        "Doorbell," he said simply.  

        "I didn't hear anything," Megan said, frowning.  
        
        Happy to distract their guests from pondering Jim's heightened
hearing, Blair egged Henri on to play a couple carols on the electric
guitar.  

        Jim made his way to the front door, happy to see Steven standing
there with a couple of packages.  

        "Sorry I'm so late.  I just dropped Mom off at her hotel."

        "I'm glad you made it.  Come in.  Everything go okay?"  Jim
asked, closing the door behind his brother, and taking his coat, adding
it to the bulging collection in the foyer closet.

        "It was kind of surreal.  Kristin was there with me, and we picked
Mom up and took her back to my place for dinner and opening gifts
last night, and then she stayed over, and then we all went to Church and
brunch this morning, and spent some time just visiting.  It was okay."

        "Okay?"  Jim probed, leading Steven into the kitchen, where he
poured him a glass of the spiked egg nog.  After one sip, Steven smiled.

        "Oh, yeah, I can use this."  He paused.  "I was glad to see her
again.  You know, see that she was all right, get a chance to talk to her
again.  But she really couldn't answer any of my questions.  I didn't
want to make this ugly, since it was Christmas and her husband died
not too long ago.  But some things, you just can't help wondering about. 
I asked her why she left, and I honestly wish I hadn't."

        "What did she say?"  Jim frowned.

        "She said that she wanted more out of a marriage that Dad could
give, and that she wanted a better life, and that she just...'clicked' with
Owen, and that they were meant for each other...  It was as if the whole
concept of deserting us didn't bother her.  Then she'd go into this round
of telling how Dad didn't let her take us for any vacations..."  He
shrugged.  "I'm not sure what to believe."

        "I wouldn't lie to you about that, Stevie.  You know that.  I
overheard him on the phone with her more than once.  She wouldn't
take us.  Even when he had to make that trip to the company's
operation in Iran--she said no then too."

        "I figured as much.  I know you said that before, but I didn't want
to hear it."  He took another drink of the egg nog.  "Sounds like I'm
breaking up the festivities--you should get back."

        "We should both get back.  Dad's still here.  He'll be glad to see
you."

        "One of those gifts I brought is from her--she sent you something."

        "She did, huh?"  Jim shook his head.  "Well, she always did do the
present thing when we were kids."

        "I don't know what to feel about her, you know?  Part of me wants
to just have her in my life, and this other part keeps remembering that
she dumped us, and doesn't seem to be able to honestly say she regrets
leaving us."

        "I know how you feel.  There was a minute there, when she came
over, that I wanted to just forgive everything and move on, but I
couldn't do it.  I could do it with Dad, but I couldn't do it for her. 
Maybe because even though some of the things he did were pretty
crappy at the time, he stuck by us, and I know he gave up some
overseas career opportunities not to uproot us or take us somewhere
that the education or lifestyle wouldn't be as good for us.  He wasn't
perfect, but he tried.  And he put us ahead of what he wanted, even
though it never felt like he did back then."

        "I didn't know he'd passed anything up."

        "I didn't really think about it until I started spending some time
with him again, realizing that he didn't make it all the way to the top--at
least not in his book.  Then I remembered overhearing conversations
where he turned down one opportunity to take over an operation in the
Middle East for a few years, and another one a few years later, in
Tokyo."

        "Maybe he didn't want to go.  I mean, the Middle East is pretty
turbulent, and Tokyo is a different culture."

        "Possibly, but I don't think so.  I think he wanted success more
than he wanted his personal comforts."  Jim shrugged.  "It's all water
under the bridge now."

        "He made it to CEO and Chairman of the Board."

        "Yeah, of Pacific Coast Plastics.  But at least one of those offers
was from a bigger corporation--one that would have put him in the
leagues he wanted to be in."

        "I never knew that."

        "Once in a while, I've overheard something meaningful," Jim said,
smiling.  "I try not to listen in on things like that, but when you're a kid,
your principles in that department are a lot less developed."

        "True.  Your principles are a lot less developed in a lot of things. 
I should know."

        "Hey, that mess is in the past.  Let's leave it there."

        "Okay," Steven said, smiling.  

        "Come on.  Grab the egg nog.  There's a party going on
downstairs."

********

        Most of the guests had left, except for Bill, who was perusing the
pictures on the mantel of the fireplace again.  

        "I should get going," he said, turning when Blair entered the living
room.  

        "No hurry.  Jim's just cleaning up in the kitchen, and I drew
wrapping paper duty.  I can stand waiting on that for a while."  Blair
kicked one of the crumpled balls of paper with his foot.  

        "I was wondering...do you have any photos you could spare?  I
don't have anything current at my place."

        "I'm sure we've got a good one of Jim around here somewhere. 
Actually, I think I took a couple of nice shots over Thanksgiving we
could get enlarged."

        "That would be great.  But I'd like one of the two of you together,
if you have it."

        "You don't have to do that, Bill.  I know it's probably awkward
when people visit at your place.  I don't mind digging out one of just
Jim, really," Blair assured.

        "I know I don't *have* to do it.  But if I'm going to start getting
some pictures of *family* up there, I'd like to make it complete. 
Steven's getting me one of himself and Kristin.  I guess that's looking
pretty serious."

        "Thanks for including me in that," Blair said, smiling.  "I'll get a
couple of photos together in the next week or so.  I was thinking we
could add some of the Christmas photos you were in on this year to our
collection up here."  Blair gestured at the grouping of photos.

        "Great.  I better get going.  The roads are a little sloppy out there." 
Bill started toward the entry hall.  

        "Bill?  You'd be welcome to stay over tonight if you want.  If that
slush freezes, it'll get slick.  We've got the room."

        "I don't want to put you out."

        "Tomorrow's Sunday.  We could have a big breakfast, sit around
and watch football or something.  Unless you've got other plans?"

        "No, not at all.  You sure that'll be all right with Jimmy?"

        "Sounds like a great idea, Dad."  Jim joined them in the entry hall,
winding his arms around Blair from behind.  "Good job evading the
wrapping paper detail, Chief.  The kitchen's done."

        "All right already.  Geez."  Blair ducked out of the embrace and
went about his tidying up detail.  "Hey, Bill, were you the neat freak
Jim caught this from?"  he hollered at the two men in the entry hall.

        "I'm afraid that would be Sally or the Army.  No one's ever
accused me of being a neat freak.  Just ask my last secretary."  The two
of them joined Blair in the living room, and before long, both were
helping round up errant paper and remnants of gift opening.  

********

        Dressed in the obscenely soft silk pajamas Blair had given him,
Jim sat propped up in bed with the last gift of the season on his lap.  

        "Is that the one from your mom?"  Blair asked, dressed in his
favorite old robe, hair loose on his shoulders.  He sat on his side of the
bed.

        "Yeah.  You don't suppose this is a box of those trick snakes, do
you?"  Jim quipped.

        "What did Steven get?"

        "He said she gave him some kind of handmade scarf from Ireland,
and I guess some cologne or something."  Jim started opening the red
foil that wrapped the box.  He opened the somewhat thick box and
revealed a bulky, oatmeal-colored sweater.  There was a tag on it that
expounded on its virtues as a handmade item from Ireland.  "Guess she
must have taken a trip there recently and done some shopping."

        "The sweater's beautiful," Blair said, reaching out to touch the soft
fabric.  Jim opened the greeting card that had been lying on top of it,
with his name written in his mother's ornate scrawl. 

        "'I took a trip to Ireland with friends this November, and I thought
of you when I saw this.  I had to guess at the size, but I did see some
current newspaper photos, so hopefully it will fit.  I'm sorry we weren't
able to spend time together over Christmas, but I understand.  If you
change your mind, you have my numbers.  Best wishes for the New
Year.  Love, Mom.' " Jim tucked the card back in its envelope.  

        "I guess she's trying her best."

        "You know what, Chief?  I don't know as that's good enough."

        "Well, at least you have her number if you change your mind."

        "Yeah, that's the problem.  I've had her number for a long time."

        "Maybe someday things'll work out with her."

        "I'm trying to get past it all, to want to see her.  It's just not
happening, Chief."

        "Then don't force it.  If it's meant to happen, it'll work out--just
like it did with your dad."

        "She can send me all these gifts, but you know, I know how she
feels about us, and I know that her love is still conditional."

        "Your dad took some time to get used to us."

        "He was polite to you right from the start.  The point is, my
mother just conveniently *blocks out* the part of my life she doesn't
like.  She sends me a gift and this damn card without even mentioning
your name."

        "She doesn't know me, Jim.  Why--"

        "Because if you were my wife, it would be damned insulting for
her to hand me a gift and not even include you on the card.  While
you're hardly my *wife*, you're my spouse, my life partner--in terms of
the acknowledgment *I* expect from my family, the rules are the same. 
We're married, and I don't want anything to do with anyone who doesn't
treat you with the respect and courtesy you have coming."

        "I'm not mad about the gift or the card."

        "You never are, sweetheart."  Jim reached out and laid a hand on
the side of Blair's face.  "You forgive hurts and slights easily...and just
like with my dad, you were even trying to assure him he could put out a
picture of me without putting anything out that included you.  I *know*
you aren't obsessive about this, or trying to force the issue."  Jim let his
hand fall away, back into his lap.   "But see, I *am*.  I can't marry you
legally, so the only way I can do it is with all the legal paperwork we
have together, and by seeing to it that my family and friends accept you
as my spouse."

        "Jim, if everyone in our lives turned on us tomorrow because of
our relationship, we wouldn't be any less married to each other in all
the ways that count.  I love you and you love me.  Nobody can change
that by leaving my name off a Christmas card.  I just want you to know
that you're free to keep in touch with your mom or try to rebuild things
with her whether she accepts me or not."

        "I know I am, honey.  But I don't want to rebuild anything with her
if she doesn't, because you're the center of my life.  I don't have much
use for people who don't treat you right.  I can't help that."

        "Let's just figure things with your mom are on hold.  You want me
to put this over on the chair for tonight?"  Blair nodded toward the
package.

        "Yeah, thanks."  Jim watched Blair take the box and carefully set
it on the chair in the corner of the room.  He took off his robe to reveal
his sweats, complete with socks.  The temperatures had plummeted
outside, and the big old house had its share of drafts.  When both men
were tucked in bed, Jim turned out the lamp on his nightstand before
they nestled together.

        "These pajamas are nice," Blair opined, running a hand over Jim's
chest.  "When it's a little warmer, I'm gonna have to get in bed with you
naked so I can try 'em out."

        "You know, I could probably keep you warm enough tonight."

        "Your dad's right down the hall."

        "For a minute there, I felt about sixteen," Jim added, laughing. 
"So we'll be quiet."

        "We're never quiet, Jim," Blair reminded him.  

        "I guess we'll just have to be sure our mouths are busy enough,
then."  He tugged the covers up over their heads, and the lump in the
bed writhed, twisted and grunted until a t-shirt, sweat pants, boxers and
socks had flown haphazardly out of the cocoon, landing on various
spots around the room.  

        "Mmmm...niiiice," were the last coherent words Blair managed.  

********

        Bill had helped himself, at Blair's invitation, to a couple of books
from Blair's shelves in his home office.  Propped in bed now with the
radio on low, playing the last strains of Christmas music of the season,
he relaxed and lost himself in the tale of a faraway place, a remote
tribe, and strange cultural traditions.  He glanced somewhat
suspiciously at the volume that sat unopened on the bed.  Blair had
vehemently suggested the book on the Yanomamo headhunters,
claiming to have actually *visited* the tribe during his undergraduate
days.  Deciding the only headhunters he wanted to know about were
the ones he encountered in the corporate setting, he went back to his
current reading.  

        Spending Christmas night with family was a nice change of pace. 
The relaxed late evening chatting with Jim and Blair over leftovers in
the kitchen, the sounds of other people moving around, other voices in
the hall at night--it was a nice change from the quiet solitude of his
own house, where the most raucous thing he heard most nights was the
tolling of the grandfather clock or a car moving down the street
outside.  

        He heard a thump now, and strange moan that was cut off in the
middle.  A few minutes later, there was another thump, and then
muffled laughter.  And then more laughter.  Whatever misadventure
had befallen Jim and Blair as they tried to do--without being overheard--what 
they undoubtedly did more frequently than Bill wanted to dwell
on, it had sent them into a fit of uncontrolled laughter.  Smiling and
shaking his head, he figured that his son, as well as Blair, had both
gone through enough in their lives that they needed a little laughter
once in a while.  As for the sex...well, he'd never deluded himself that
they shook hands in the hall at night and then slept in separate rooms.  

        Though the voice was deeper now, and the laughter was a man's
laugh, the sound carried him back, way back, to the time before Grace
left, before Steven was born, to a Christmas when he had lain on his
back on the living room floor and spent Christmas night playing and
rough-housing with his three-year-old son.  When he'd tickled the little
toddler until he squealed and laughed and wriggled around, when he'd
pored over a set of directions that would have puzzled one of the
company's overpaid engineers to put together a radio-controlled police
car--one with a real siren and flashing lights.  Little did he know how
appropriate that gift would turn out to be.

        It had been one of the rare moments that amused Grace as well. 
She had sat on an expensive leather ottoman nearby, watching the
spectacle, sipping a glass of wine and laughing occasionally--the sound
like music.  For a few brief moments in time, life had been
perfect...this Christmas, Bill could honestly say he'd captured that same
feeling of happiness and inner peace in spending time with his eldest
son, and of course, Blair, who had been a relentless proponent of the
whole reconciliation.  His relationship with Steven, which had been
more consistent over the years, oddly enough seemed more tenuous
now, but that was due in large part to The Grace Factor.  

        Bill smiled as he took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his
nose.  "The Grace Factor."  At least now it had a name.  

        Another loud thump was followed by more laughter, and in a
moment, there was a tap on the door.  Jim poked his head inside.

        "I saw your light was still on.  Sorry about the noise, Dad.  I hope
we aren't keeping you up."

        "No, I was just reading.  I assume since you're both laughing, no
one's been injured," Bill said, smiling.

        "Not yet, anyway," Jim said, shaking his head.  

        "I probably don't want to know what the thumping was, do I?"

        "Probably not.  But I think we have it under control now."

        "That's a relief, before you kill yourselves in there."

        "At least I'd go out with a big smile on my face," Jim said, unable
to repress his wide smile then.

        "There are one or two things I really don't need to know, Jimmy,"
Bill reprimanded with a slight smile, as he put his reading glasses back
on.  "I'd tell you to 'carry on', but I think you're doing that anyway."

        "Sorry, Dad.  We'll keep it down to a dull roar.  Good night."

        "Jim?"

        "Yeah, Dad?"

        "You probably don't remember the police car, the one with the
little remote control..."

        "It had a siren and a flasher?  Yeah, I remember it.  Seems like I
had it forever, even though it didn't work after I was about five or so,"
he said, smiling.  Then, a further memory seemed to come back to him
as well, and he looked at his father.  "That was a good Christmas that
year, wasn't it?"

        "One of the best.  You remember that far back?"

        "I remember you sitting on the floor with the directions and I
remember how excited I was when it actually *worked*."

        "You were three," Bill explained.  "I'll have to see if I can dig out
pictures.  I think Grace took a few."

        "Don't arm Blair with baby pictures, Dad.  Please."

        "Hey, I heard that."  Blair joined Jim in the doorway, wearing his
plaid robe, his hair looking as if he'd just stuck his finger in a light
socket.  "You've got an unfair advantage.  My mom showed him all my
baby pictures," Blair informed Bill.  

        "That's interesting.  Guess you have some dues to pay here,
Jimmy.  I'll ask Sally to look around," he added, grinning a little
wickedly as he pretended to go back to his reading.  
        
        "Sally still likes Godiva chocolates, doesn't she?"  Jim asked.

        "Oh, man, bribing Sally is *low*, Jim," Blair scolded teasingly.  

        "Make it a box of truffles and throw in a bottle of Dom Perignon
and *I'll* misplace the photos myself," Bill volunteered.

        "How about if I fix you up with a really hot date to share the
chocolates and champagne with?"  Blair offered.

        "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner," Bill announced.  "See,
Jimmy--you've got to have that little edge to bring to negotiations."

        "I'll see what I can do," Blair said.  "Goodnight, Bill."

        "Blair?"  he called after the younger man, who returned to the
doorway.

        "If you'd rather stick with 'Bill', that's fine.  But I hope you'll feel
free...to call me 'Dad' if you want."  Bill watched Blair, not sure if his
silence and stillness meant it was a stupid idea, or if it had really
touched him that much.  "It's really not a problem if you'd rather not."

        "I...I'm just really...*surprised*."  Blair smiled brightly.  "I think I
can handle that.  Goodnight, Dad," he said, before hesitantly turning
away and heading back down the hall to the master bedroom.  

        "Thanks, Dad," Jim said quietly, smiling as he started to pull the
door closed.

        "Jimmy?"  Bill waited as Jim paused.  "I really enjoyed this
holiday."

        "Yeah, so did I."  Jim let a long silence pass.  "I'm glad you're
here, Dad.  This was... nice."

        "I agree.  See you at breakfast?"

        "Right.  Sleep well."

        "You too.  Be careful in there," Bill added, going back to his book. 
He heard Jim chuckle softly as he pulled the door shut.

        When his eyes no longer focused on the adventures of the tribe
detailed in the book, Bill laid it aside and turned out the light, sliding
down in the bed and tossing the spare pillows aside.  All that came
from the other bedroom now were a few muffled sounds that he really
couldn't discern, and he relaxed and let the Christmas music playing
low on the radio soothe him into sleep.

        A sleep that presented a montage of Christmas memories, some
happy, some sad... crowned by the thoughts of this most recent
Christmas.  The Christmas he'd earned a place on the Ellison-Sandburg
mantel, a secure place in his eldest son's life, and gained himself
someone who seemed like another, albeit younger and more
unpredictable, son.  

        For the first time in his life, as William Ellison let go of
consciousness and slipped off into sleep, he felt like the most
successful man in the world.

********

THE END

Happy Holidays!! :-)