I winced at the sound of Bauer's cold voice across the telephone line. It crackled, either from his anger or from the terrible weather. Lines were down all around from the heavy snow. The trains were late; we were as near as dammit to snowed in.
It was mid-December now; how time did pass when one was having fun. And apparently Bauer was not a fan of fun.
"I sent you two there to do a job, and you're not doing it," he growled. "I want results, and I want them soon!" He slammed the phone down, and I jumped a little at the noise of it.
Irritated, I put the receiver back into its cradle.
My friend, my partner, and my lover, Gareth, stood nearby, leaning against a banister, watching me. Our magic entwined gently, as it always did now, the strands of color and magic intertwining and changing color as they blended, meshed, and parted again. Most of the time, I was more aware of him than I was of anyone or anything else, as aware of him as I was of my own skin.
We'd talked little of how we were going to fix the mess he was in. It was a raw spot that I knew we both thought about a lot, but solutions were proving difficult to find. For now, we relished the peace of our time together—time to avoid over thinking, to make love, to heal old wounds.
That first night, in from the rain, I'd held him, and he'd grieved—for his sins, for his troubles, and most of all for the grief of losing me all those years ago. It had been a deep wound on him, deeper than I ever would have suspected. Now, I could only hope I'd be good enough to him to help heal it.
Since then, our colors had grown closer every day, as had we. He was vulnerable to me, wary and less assured than he'd acted, and sometimes shyly needy but afraid to show it. I didn't know how to fix that, but I tried my best to assure him I would be there for him, and to show him, in all the ways I could manage, that I wasn't going to make the same mistake again.
Whatever happened, we were in the same boat now. And I was well aware that said boat could include jail time if we couldn't manage to fix the difficult situation we were in. And find a missing magical artifact that had been gone for nearly a century, of course. Nothing much—and Bauer only wanted it done before Christmas. I rolled my eyes.
Gareth pushed off from the banister and came to take me into his arms. "You know he's in on it, right?" he murmured, as he pressed his face against the spot between my chin and neck, nuzzling me and resting there where he seemed to feel safest.
"Oh." I rubbed his back gently with distracted fingers, wondering why he hadn't seen fit to share it before. He was still strangely shy and reticent about so much. But it did make sense, both my boss's increasing irritation—if he was working with or answering to both the ministry and less savory forces—and that he'd been able to orchestrate Gareth coming here as a spy.
"You're sure?"
"Oh yes. He recruited me. I've been answering to him for three years now." He drew back and looked at me, again strangely hesitant and wary. "I...I do jobs for him sometimes. Just...little things. This is the biggest, being involved with the Skeffields and searching for the artifact." He looked troubled, afraid, and a bit lost. He searched my gaze, as if seeking answers there. Then he turned away.
Just then Louie rushed past, all a-flutter. "Oh, dears, if you aren't busy, do help me with the decorations!" He flapped his hands at us.
I rolled my eyes. "That man," I said through gritted teeth.
But Gareth laughed. He slipped a hand shyly into mine. "I like him."
"I know." I leaned closer and gave Gareth a quick kiss on the side of his face. He leaned against me, grinning, delighting in the affection.
I wondered if we could spare a few moments—maybe quite a few—to steal away and enjoy one another's company in private. But no, we were busy, apparently helping Louie carry boxes of Christmas decorations.
The man was born to love Christmas. With a magpie delight in shiny things, a thespian's happiness in drama and pageantry, and a decorator's pleasure in any excuse to redo a room, Christmas was bound to be his favorite holiday.
He'd been shipping in boxes of new decorations for days, as well as digging through dusty rooms in the manor and emerging with cobwebs in his hair and delight in his bright eyes. "I've found more Christmas things!" he would crow. "Do help me carry them, my dears!"
I didn't know exactly what had happened between him and Robert, only that they had returned together from the decorating job he'd left for alone, both very happy together, their life-color strands extremely woven together. I was surprised, as I hadn't expected their relationship to last much longer. But the season must have gotten to me: I felt happy for them.
While everything else had been going on (or not), a completely unexpected friendship had developed between the two dogs, the large bruiser that was Louie's pet, and the barking, fierce scrub-mop that was Wes and Kit's pet. Two dogs could not have been more unalike, except in both having odd parentage that could not quite be identified. The little one was very small and fierce. The big dog was a coward and didn't know his own strength. He also adored the little dog and followed her everywhere, as if amazed by her strength of will. The two did nearly everything together now. The large dog seemed to steady the smaller one, and she loaned him her bravery.
It was humorous to see them curled up and sleeping in front of the hearth. He always gave her the best spot—or else she took it—and they seemed happiest when close to one another. He was altered, so his worship was entirely free of sexual motivation, but clearly appreciated by the mangy little she-mutt all the same.
The worst of it was that my dear friend Gareth and I seemed to be acquiring a pet as well. A small gray cat, neat as a pin, with tiny paws and large, serious green eyes had taken to sitting on our windowsill. (We always shared a bedroom now.) Gareth let her in if he thought I wasn't looking. And then after a bit, even when he knew I was.
We began saving bits of our supper to feed her. She was sleek and lovely, and left the room untouched magically and as clean as she'd found it. But somehow it felt more homey to see her curled up on a small corner of the quilt in a patch of sunshine.
Neither of us announced her presence, assuming (quite rightly) that she had simply showed up and wasn't exactly someone who belonged at the Manor.
Not unlike the two of us. We knew this time together was fragile, and, for all our feelings, perhaps fleeting. We never spoke of it. The cat got the extra love we couldn't quite bear to shower on each other openly. But it was perfectly acceptable to offer the little erstwhile pet a daub of butter from one's finger and call her a sweetheart. We had to find other ways to show one another affection.
Now, he tossed his hair back and gave me a bright-eyed smile filled with warmth as we bent and picked up boxes to follow Louie, the two of us moving like overgrown rats after a very small, very brightly-dressed Pied Piper.
"And we must have a play! Oh, goodness. Who could possibly play Mary? I wonder if Fearless would consent? Or should we do something scandalously non-traditional, like Scrooge and Marley. I forget what it's called—Oh, A Christmas Carol! Of course. And perhaps we should sing actual carols as well. Good King Wenceslas and all the rest. But I never can remember the words!"
"Need some help there?" asked Robert, stepping into his path and giving him a warm, proprietary, and very naughty grin. "Maybe there's something I could...do?" He caught Lou into his arms and whirled him into an embrace, holding him affectionately close.
"Robert," complained Louie, twisting out of his arms and away from the kiss Robert was pressing against his neck. There was a pleased little giggle in his voice, along with the shyness.
Robert glanced up at me and Gareth. "Oh, they're just as bad. Never mind them!"
Louie laughed and squirmed down closer in Robert's arms, hiding his face. Only a fool would have thought he was honestly trying to escape.
Just then Mr. Skeffield's colors approached, slow and sedate, as he moved at his own pace. His colors were thin, fading, and very rich and varied. He'd had a long life and experienced much. Tendrils of his life force seemed to be connected all through this place.
"Robert," I said in warning, but he was too busy kissing his boyfriend to pay me any mind.
Gareth watched them with a slightly dazed look on his face, enjoying it far too much. He didn't notice Mr. Skeffield's approach. He wasn't as adept as I was at noticing life colors, or however he saw each individual person. He was closer to a non-magical person in that regard, rarely aware of anyone before they stepped into his physical awareness. I had always thought that must be a terribly surprising way to live. Never knowing whom one might see round the next corner.
At any rate, I was the only one who noticed Skeffield Senior's approach, and nobody was paying attention to me regarding his arrival. And so he saw the kiss his son was giving the designer "friend." The very intimate, very sweet and playful kiss, and the full-bodied, cuddly embrace. The embrace that was making my boyfriend grin and look like he wanted to practice doing that with me. And that made me feel rather the same.
Mr. Skeffield stopped. He was close enough to get a good glimpse of them. And I saw his face, unguarded, before he could put on a fake expression of disinterest.
I saw surprise, and a flicker of...not appreciation, exactly, but satisfaction.
Content.
He looked content. Before anyone else noticed him, he backed quietly down the hall, a tiny smile on his face.
Damn. What a guy. He just wanted his son to be happy...and I guess he'd realized Louie was a key to making that happen. Hell, maybe the two of them would make it.
I looked at Gareth, feeling optimistic about the future for the first time I could remember since I'd learned about his situation. I smiled at him, touched his arm.
We quietly put down out boxes, left Robert and Louie to their privacy, and went to find some of our own.
"Let's retire," I suggested later, when we lay on our backs, facing the ceiling, panting and coming down from the magical high of intimacy. The room smelled strongly of what we'd done together, and we were sweaty and exhausted. Most of all, our colors seemed to be braided very closely together at the moment. He shifted a little beside me and murmured sleepily, "What?"
I rolled on my side to face him. "Let's retire." I studied his sleepy profile, smiling at the sight of him. I'd really worn him out, apparently. I nudged his bare shoulder gently. "I've saved some money, and you probably have, too. We could take a year or so off, do nothing but travel, and figure out what to do with the rest of our lives. Just say we're resigning in disgrace because we couldn't find the second artifact."
"They'd never believe that," he said sleepily. But all the same, he reached until he found my hand, and laced his fingers shyly with my own, and fell asleep holding my hand.
#
I thought of something, just as I awoke, in that dim place between wakefulness and sleep. The cat was perched on the windowsill, staring outside. Her trim paws looked elegant and neat there. An idea had opened up in my head, and I struggled to hold onto it. I wanted sleep: my body desperately craved it. And yet I had to wake up and remember.
In those moments so vulnerable from sleep, before I could really shield myself properly, I was acutely aware, without even particularly wanting to be, of the people around us in the house.
Even the animals: their warm, soft little presences, nearly devoid of any magic, other than the feeling of life in them and the warm, loving spots they made in the home, like little balls of a glowing fire. Then there were the colors of all the men and women inside the home: people who worked here, people who lived here, people who loved here, making a home for themselves, a place to belong. My throat closed up, and I curled back towards Gareth for protection from it all. I didn't have a place like that, never had. Maybe someday I would, with him: if we actually could retire.
He stirred slightly in his sleep, but didn't awaken. Focusing on his colors calmed me. They were so woven with my own that his peace couldn't help but settle me. He was dreaming. I had a whiff of blue skies and warm yellow fields. It was vague, drifting. I didn't look closer. I couldn't sense his thoughts when he was awake—I'd never had that gift—and to look closer now, to take advantage of this odd awareness, felt wrong.
Although...perhaps if he gave me permission, we could experiment with this in the future. I grinned at the thought of entering his dreams, poking around gently and steering the direction. Perhaps I could give him erotic dreams—and share them with him. I would certainly enjoy trying, if he didn't feel it was too intrusive. I would ask first.
Now, I rubbed his stomach gently to awaken him. He had a soft stomach, not round but not hard-muscled, either: somewhere in between. He was too thin to be called out of shape and he wasn't a weak man, but he would always be a scholar rather than a warrior. I didn't mind that about him. I felt safe somehow, trusting myself to this man, this gentle man who loved books and animals, and who wanted to be freed of the trouble he'd gotten into as much as I wanted him to be. I sighed and pressed a kiss against his cheek. I had to pee, suddenly rather desperately, but I needed to talk to him more.
"Gareth," I said softly, and he turned and blinked at me, startled awake, so vulnerable and sweet, his face open to me, and very naked without his glasses.
"Yes?" he croaked, ready to be alert and face multitudes of danger with me.
I sighed a little. "I think we should invite him and some other people in charge from the agency down for Christmas. Tell them we've found the object, but it can only be retrieved on Christmas day. It will bring them, I'm sure of it. When we can't deliver, we'll resign and accept our disgrace—and we won't be alone with Bauer, so if he tries to harm us, he'll only incriminate himself."
For a moment, Gareth looked frightened. His lips parted, as if he meant to protest. He huffed out a breath and nodded reluctantly. "It's a better plan than any I've had. Don't think I haven't wracked my brain." He hugged me closer, sighing sadly. "I suppose we'll have to try."
I hugged him back, grimacing at the pain in my bladder. "I must leave you for a moment," I admitted. "But I'll be back."
He lay back and watched me rise, an expression of contented enjoyment—almost a mesmerized look—lingered on his face as he watched me dress.
"By the way, do you mind if I enter your dreams sometimes?"
"What?" He looked startled. "You can do that?"
"I never have before, but I got a glimpse of something from you just before I woke you. I didn't want to try without asking, but I had the feeling I could see more—perhaps even affect your dreams."
"That would be...really fun to test, wouldn't it?" He grinned at me, suddenly naughty and daring and wicked with delight. He pushed back the blanket covering his bare lower body and reached down, began to touch himself, looking at me pointedly. "Do hurry back. You needn't wait for a dream to affect me."
I laughed; it was so dreadfully corny. But I still hurried.