Mark took the steps three at a time, landing with a thud on the wooden hall floor and skidding to a halt by the front door. It wasn't that he was in any particular hurry to answer the knock at six in the morning on Christmas Day, but that was how he did everything in life, always at full speed.
"Coming," he called, dodging Annabelle, who scurried through the foyer with a brightly colored package in her hands, and pulled open the front door. He blinked at the man standing there, his best friend since he was two, in his uniform and looking both serious and very cold. Quickly Mark drew him inside, pushing the door shut behind him and watching as his friend stamped snow from his police-issue boots.
"Mark, do you have a minute?"
"Hey, Ben. Official visit?" It was the usual question from Mark, a standard joke whenever Ben arrived at their door in uniform. Now Mark was waiting for Ben's standard reply, usually something along the lines of crimes against short people. This was because Mark had towered over Ben since the famous growth spurt in his sixteenth year.
Instead, Ben just shook his head, and Mark paused. His friend looked so damn serious, and something made Mark glance at his wife as she joined him, trying to hold their wriggling daughter for a Christmas hello to Uncle Ben.
"Do you need a lawyer at the station?" Mark asked carefully. He hadn't been called to the station in his official capacity before. He dealt with land issues and wills and there wasn't a lot of need for a criminal lawyer in Hill Valley. When his friend didn't immediately reply, he thought maybe it was his wife that Ben needed. Melanie had been the town doctor since her father retired four years before and was older than Mark—a fact Ben never let him forget. Maybe it was her help that Ben needed?
Ben shook his head.
"Kinda just need some help," he started. "I got a call out to St. Margaret's last night, someone spotted a kid hanging around the graveyard, and when I got there…" He paused. This whole Zach thing wasn't exactly official; he hadn't even reported what he'd found for the administrative records. "There was this kid, like seventeen, scrawny, exhausted. I took him home with me, well, to Mom's."
"Do you need me to come over?" Melanie immediately asked, and Ben smiled. It was to his friend's credit that she didn't even stop to question why he would take a complete stranger into the family home. Added to that, it was Christmas Day, she wasn't officially on call, and she was holding his godchild in her arms. He didn't think he could love her more.
Mark on the other hand was frowning, clearly focusing on the stranger-in-your-home part. Ben could see that.
"Maybe later, but at the moment he just seems exhausted and really damn hungry."
"No signs of hypothermia?" Melanie asked, snapping into doctor mode, but all Ben could do was shrug and look sheepish. He wasn't even sure he was fully aware of the symptoms of hypothermia. Melanie continued, "Did you see any of the -umbles? I mean stumbles, mumbles, fumbles, and grumbles. If he showed any signs of these, it could indicate the gradual reduction in coordination of muscles and movement and a falling level of consciousness."
"Is it just me or did you find that whole doctor list hot?" Mark said with a leer, but all Ben did was blink and shake his head.
"Umbles? No, nothing as serious as that. Maybe his coordination was a bit shot, but he was cold and tired, and he was eating Momma's soup like there was no tomorrow."
Melanie nodded, putting a wriggling Annabelle down on the floor and straightening.
"Well, I'm here if you need me. I mean, I need to go check on the Joneses a bit later anyway. Emma is due tomorrow, so I'll be over your way." Ben smiled thankfully, knowing he would feel better if Melanie could just check his young visitor over, if only by sight.
There was another reason he had dropped in though, and it was more to do with the fact that Mark was freakishly tall than anything else.
"One other thing, though, I need your fugly sweater, man." Mark's eyes widened. The Christmas sweater was a legend. It was hand-knitted with great love by the formidable Mrs. Aniston, Mark's mom, throughout the year and wrapped with tender care for her son to open on Christmas Day.
"My sweater?" Ben almost snorted out loud at the look of complete indignation on Mark's face.
"And some jeans, man, if you can spare them." Mark blinked with a regular "huh?" on his face. "He's tall, man," Ben explained, waving his hand above his head in a gesture of height, waiting for Mark to make the connection.
It was Melanie that disappeared into the laundry room, coming out with two clean pairs of jeans, two freshly ironed shirts, and last year's fugly sweater. She handed those to Ben, and then crossed to the tree, rummaging under it for a few of the many gifts that were piled there. With an exclamation of success she gathered together packages and added them to Ben's arms.
"This year's fugly sweater," she listed, "some smelly stuff, Christmas socks, and some Santa boxers." She looked up at Mark briefly, who wasn't that fazed by the fact his gifts were disappearing from under the tree.
"Thank you, Mel." Ben pulled her into a clumsy one-armed hug, the clothes clutched close to him, and then he moved to the front door.
"Take care, Ben." Mark said.
"You coming over tomorrow?" Ben asked as he made to leave.
"Wouldn't miss it, man," Mark answered, putting an arm around his wife as Ben took the step outside and pulled the door shut behind him.
The cold was a slap to his warm face, and he shrugged the collar of his coat higher around his neck, shivering at the wind chill. He wished he could explain to Mark, but if he didn't understand fully why he had taken Zach into the family home, then how the hell was he going to explain it to his best friend? He needed to go back for a bit, drop the clothes off, check in with his momma, and make sure Zach was doing okay. Drawing in a deep breath of frigid air, he began the short walk. He passed few people. Seemed he was the only idiot out this early on a snowy Christmas Day. It was beautiful. His town was crusted with the white stuff, the frost climbing windows, multicolored lights adorning the houses, glimpses of trees inside the windows. A gorgeous painting.
Some questioned why he stayed, why with his college degree in his hand he chose to come home to work in the small police department when he could have done better for himself in Harrisonburg or Charlottesville.
Ben never questioned it, just went with his heart. Hill Valley, Virginia, nestled in the Shenandoah Valley was his town, and he wanted to be part of the tapestry of its history. As much as the Mercantile on Main, or Mr. Perkins who was a shade under ninety—Mr. P, who sat on the bench outside the very same shop dispensing wisdom from the bottom of his whisky bottle.
When he arrived back home, Zach was still asleep, and his momma and Ellie were curled up on the sofa with breakfast. They both came to help Ben with the wrapped gifts.
"Who is he, Benny?" Ellie asked softly.
"Ben, not Benny," Ben automatically replied, "and his name is Zach, Zachary Weston. He's a runaway until the twenty-seventh when he turns eighteen."
"What was he running from? Do I want to know the answer?"
"Homophobic parents from the sound of it. I don't know much, but he needed somewhere to stay."
Ellie narrowed her eyes briefly. "I changed the label on one of your gifts," she said quickly. "It was just some small stuff, but if he is staying…" Her voice trailed off as he pulled his little sister into an affectionate hug.
"Thanks, Ellie," he said said. He squeezed her tight then released her. "Mark donated as well, or rather, Melanie donated Mark's stuff."
Ellie held up the bright red sweater with the fluffy snowman on the front from the pile of clothes Ben had brought from Mark.
"Oh, my God," she snorted. "She donated last year's fugly sweater."
Ben indicated the package under the tree, the large, suspiciously squishy package. "And this year's," he pointed out, before snorting his own amusement. His mother, in full-on mom mode, held up the jeans that Mark had donated, eyeing the waist and remembering the thin boy that was upstairs in her spare room. Even Ben saw that the jeans might well be the right length, but the waist was huge and the material would swamp him.
"Pass me my sewing box, Ben," she asked, settling back down on the sofa, and he imagined she was gauging just how much of an alteration she was going to have to do to the thick, unwieldy denim. She thanked Ben as he handed her the carved wooden box that held buttons and thread and needles of all sizes. Ellie held the denim straight as her mom started to adjust the material, and Ben just smiled fondly at them both.
"He's gorgeous, isn't he, Ben? All sharp angles and those amazing eyes," Ellie commented carefully, looking up at him all innocent-eyed, "and all that long, floppy blond hair soft around his face."
And the smile, Ben thought to himself, a smile that, while shy and uncertain, was a glimpse of the grin Zach could have if he tried. It was so sad to see this boy so very wary and nervous, almost like a kicked dog.
"I wasn't looking," he denied quickly as his brat of a sister smirked again.
"I gotta go straight back, Mom. Heggerty said the fence is down at the upper quarter, and Jeremiah is swearing the unbranded mixed cattle are his and not Heggerty's."
"Will you be back for dinner, Ben? Jamie is here at twelve."
"I'll be here, Mom, promise, and"—he indicated the upstairs with a movement of his head—"if you need me for anything…"
"Go, Officer Hamilton." His mother smiled. "Go keep the peace."