Title: HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
Author/pseudonym: Candy Apple 
Email address: blair_lady@yahoo.com
Rating: NC-17 
Pairings: J/B

Status: NEW, complete
Date: 12-31-1999
Archive: YES
Archive author: Candy Apple 
Archive email address: blair_lady@yahoo.com
Archive category: Holiday, Drama
Series/Sequel: "These Two Hearts" Series; follows "Thanksgiving"
Other website: http://internetdump.com/users/candy_a

Disclaimers: Pet Fly owns the guys and The Sentinel.  No money being
made.  Just for fun.

Notes: The song "Paradise" appears on Styx' "Return to Paradise"
double live CD, and was written by Dennis DeYoung.  The song is still
his--but it was so perfect, I borrowed the words. 

I have included some material on Hanukkah in the story.  If I blundered
on anything, no disrespect intended.  

Summary:   Christmas brings more strides in Jim's reconciliation and
growing relationship with his father.  Blair faces a turning point in his
career with the Domestic Violence Unit, and both men have their share
of challenges with work and their personal lives.

Warnings: m/m, references to domestic violence including the death of
a victim, probably a little language...and some nice gooey endearments.
Also, if you think William Ellison is an unredeemable ogre, you may
not go for this one. <G>
***********************************************************

Please see part 00 for warnings and summary.

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

by

Candy Apple

        William Ellison rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned back in
his desk chair.  Promotion to Executive Vice President of Operations at
Pacific Coast Plastics, Incorporated had been a mixed blessing.  It was
a necessary step up the ladder, but it required even more grueling hours
than the last position as Division Manager, and it was putting a strain
on an already shaky marriage.  

        Glancing at the most recent photo of Grace, ensconced in a
tasteful gold frame on his desk, William wondered how he could strike
the right balance to make her happy.  The little house on Sherman
Street hadn't been fine enough, and his job at Cascade National Bank
hadn't been impressive enough to get them the social invitations of
which Grace was so desirous.  There were days he felt like he had
married his father, in drag.  Laughing a little at that thought, he could
hear his father's words of wisdom echoing in his memory--and their
ghosts living on in one of his wife's many lamentations about how
much one of her friend's husbands was making...  Nothing was ever
good enough, no position prestigious enough, no income large enough
that one could sit back and rest--achievement was a lifelong
commitment...a constant progression, and he who remained stationary
would be left behind among the losers...

        It was almost five, the time he should be going home.  He smiled
at the photo of Steven and Jim next to the one of his wife.  A seriously
deformed clay statue of a tennis player whose racquet was almost twice
the size of his body sat next to the photo of the children.  The most
recent Father's Day present from Jim never ceased to make him laugh
when he needed the levity most.  Inspired by William's newfound
interest in the game, Jimmy had sat down at the small desk in his
bedroom and diligently completed what he had considered a work of
art.   As the sculptures made by five-year-olds went, it was probably
pretty damn good, really.

        Jimmy had turned six just that July, and his interest in becoming a
great sculptor with his Play-Doh had waned, to be replaced by the more
current lust for toy trucks, building blocks and a budding interest in
football.  Grace had been crushed, trying unsuccessfully to nurture her
son's fleeting passion for the arts with bigger and better clay sets and
wild praise for whatever misshapen thing he would finally make for her
just to make her happy.

        Steven, just under three years old, didn't do much more than beat
on a lump of the stuff with one of his fat little fists, and was much
more interested in following Jimmy around and knocking over
whatever the older boy was building with his blocks.  Oddly enough,
Jimmy had a very long fuse with his little brother, and usually tried to
teach him something about using the blocks instead of getting angry
over the destruction.  

        //Steven's almost three...Jimmy's already in first grade...  Damn, I
remember when I used to have a half hour at night to lie on the floor
and roughhouse with Jimmy, before Steven was even born...  I barely
know Stevie at all...  Maybe I can take a few extra days off over the
holidays, spend some time with Grace and the boys...//

        It was almost ten o'clock when William stacked up the unfinished
work and pushed it aside, fatigue and the beginnings of a tension
headache signaling it was time to call it quits.  There were a few other
diligent souls still in their offices as he made his way through the
mostly deserted suite.  

        He finally slipped into the relative sanctuary of his Cadillac,
which he thoroughly enjoyed as long as he didn't dwell too much on the
monthly payments.  Turning the radio to something classical to soothe
frayed nerves, he made the brief drive home.  As he pulled into the
garage, he noted without surprise that the windows of the boys' rooms
were dark, while most of the rest of the house remained well-lit.  

        He entered the house through the door from the garage that led
into the mud room, and then to the kitchen.  The orderly, dimly lit
room still held a few traces of dinner in the air, and he smiled when he
spotted a note on the refrigerator from Sally:

        "Mr. Ellison--

        I made meat loaf tonight--just the way you like it.  I've sliced        
some for sandwiches.

        Sally"

        His mouth watering at the thought of making up for a missed
meal, he pulled the plate of sliced meat out of the refrigerator and set it
on the counter, then began rummaging around for the fresh bread.

        "Don't let me interrupt your snack," Grace said, leaning against the
door frame.  A statuesque strawberry blonde with luminous blue eyes,
Grace never arrived in a room unnoticed.  Even tonight, her husband
didn't have much trouble giving her more attention than the plate of
meat loaf.  

        "Sorry, honey.  I spotted Sally's note, and my stomach got the best
of me."  He moved toward her to kiss her hello, but she evaded the
gesture smoothly and moved into the room, taking an open bottle of
wine from the refrigerator.  

        "Dinner was at seven," she said sharply.

        "I told you I'd probably be late."

        "By *three hours*?"  Grace poured herself a glass of wine, and
when it became apparent she was in no mood to serve her husband, Bill
found his own glass and filled it.  

        "The work doesn't get done by itself, Grace.  I told you that with
this promotion, things were going to change.  If I want a shot at
Carmichael's job when the old boy retires, I have to make this
opportunity count now.  It's not a nine-to-five commitment."

        "More like a five to nine, if you ask me."  Grace took a drink of
her wine.  "Bill, we have to talk."

        "About?"  Bill probed, opening the plastic that covered the plate
of meat loaf and eating some without benefit of bread.  If Grace was
going to rake him over the coals, she wasn't going to do it while he
stood there starving.

        "I want a divorce."

        Bill froze in place, a small piece of meat in his fingers, suspended
midway between the plate and his mouth.  

        "Don't be ridiculous, Grace," he said, finally regaining his
equilibrium and popping the meat in his mouth.  

        "I'm not being ridiculous.  I'm serious.  I want a divorce.  I've
already spoken to my attorney."  She paused, watching Bill as he
stopped chewing and swallowed uneasily, staring at her, speechless. 
He felt pinned by the gaze, and the sick feeling in the pit of his
stomach told him that this was serious.  This was final.  This was for
keeps.

        "Why?"

        "Why not?  I never see you, when I do see you all I hear about is
the office or the job or who you had to schmooze or steamroll to make
yourself look good...  I'm sick of it.  And...there's someone else."

        "Well which is it, Grace?  My general inadequacy as a husband or
the fact you've been catting around behind my back?"

        "You bastard," she snapped, shaking her head, her expensive heels
making little clicks on the linoleum as she paced.  Bill mentally
computed the outfit alone--the plain gray dress having set him back
$1,500 at a shop on Madison Avenue during last year's anniversary trip,
the shoes...he didn't even want to speculate.  How she planned to
support her habits on her own--or on the salary of some gardener she'd
seen fit to *mate* with while he was at work, he couldn't say.

        "I suppose you've found the true love of your life."

        "As a matter of fact, I've renewed my acquaintance with an old
boyfriend from high school."

        "How romantic," Bill sneered, putting the food away and wiping
his hands on a nearby dishrag.  "Grace, before we pursue this ridiculous
little exercise to a conclusion I assure you will not be in your best
interest, it would be wise for you to drop it.  The ex-beau from high
school isn't going to keep you in designer dresses, fancy cars and the
best parties.  And we all know how long he'll retain his value when
that's not the case."

        "I beg to differ with you, *dear*," she said, giving the word ugly
emphasis.  "His father owns one of the largest multinational banking
firms in the world.  Owen will be President of the Western European
Division.  He already has an English manor house chosen for us.  We'll
be living in the suburbs of London."

        "If you're entertaining any bizarre notions of hauling my sons to
England, you can drop it right now.  Jimmy and Steven are not being
taken out of the country.  That's final."

        "I never said I was planning on taking the boys.  Of course, you
would automatically assume everything was going to be all neat and
tidy for you--that I'd take the boys with me?  No, I don't think so."

        "You can turn your back on your children?"  Bill frowned.  He'd
realized soon after their marriage that Grace was a vapid twit in a sexy
package with lots of expensive clothes and a nice degree after her
name.  He also knew she'd never rival June Cleaver as a national
symbol of motherhood.  But this was something he never would have
predicted.  

        "*My* children?  I suppose they were products of an immaculate
conception?"

        "In your case, that would be highly doubtful."

        "That's low, even for you," she shot back.

        "So is abandoning two little boys.  What are you going to tell
them?"

        "Probably the same thing that other parents who divorce tell their
children--that Mommy and Daddy can't get along anymore and have
decided to live apart."

        "And that Mommy doesn't give a damn about them and is moving
to England--don't forget to add that part."  Bill shook his head.  "You
never cease to amaze me, Grace."

        "You know, I had anticipated that you might ask me to stay."

        "Would there be a point, other than to satisfy your desire to have
me grovel at your feet?"

        "I might have listened.  I did love you once, you know," she said,
and there was a trace of sadness in her voice.

        "You loved a fairy tale.  You loved the concept of a man in a neat,
tidy, 40-hour-a-week job who makes six figures and showers you with
gifts and has endless hours to dote on you and the family."  Bill walked
past her into the dining room, and continued until he had passed the
stairway and was headed for his study.  "Let me clue you in on
something--you may actually get that this time around, because the
*only* man who could meet those standards would be some overgrown
spoiled brat like Owen Winslow who will spend the rest of his life
living off Daddy's money.  The rest of us have to work for the big
house," Bill gestured around him angrily, "the fancy cars, the absurdly-
priced dresses that suit your fancy," he gestured toward Grace herself.  

        "When you *are* here, you're not mentally present.  You don't
listen to me.  You aren't romantic anymore.  When was the last time
you brought me roses on your way home from work?"

        "When was the last time a goddamn florist was still *open* on my
way home from work?!"  Bill bellowed back in response.

        "Precisely my point," she snapped, starting for the stairs.  "You'll
be receiving the papers.  If I were you, I'd consult with an attorney."

        "Don't think you're going to walk out of this deal lining your
pockets with our sons' money."

        "Our *sons'* money?"  She paused midway up the stairs.

        "Everything I've worked to build here is part of their inheritance. 
You're not going to take me for a ride so you can spend their college
money on Madison Avenue!"

        "We'll see about that."  She started up the stairs again.

        "You're a class act, Grace.  Two weeks before Christmas.  Are you
planning to stick around for the holidays, or should I just tell the boys
that Mommy's jammed social calendar won't permit it?"

        "As a matter of fact, Owen is leaving for London next week.  He
wants me with him, so we can spend the holidays in our new home."

        "Fine."  Bill rose a few more steps, a bit closer to his soon-to-be
ex-wife.  "You move to London with Owen.  But mark my words--if
you think for one minute you're going to get a nice fat settlement out of
this situation, you can think again, lady.  When my attorneys are
finished with you, you'll be lucky to walk out of here with one of those
overpriced dresses on your back!"

        "You can't just cut me out of this marriage with nothing."

        "Don't bet on it."  Bill pinned her with an angry glare, and she
turned and hurried upstairs and into the master suite, slamming the
door behind her.  Wincing at the loudness of the sound in a house with
sleeping children, Bill made his way wearily up the rest of the steps to
check on Jim and Steven.  

        He found Steven sleeping, albeit a bit restlessly, and pulled the
door closed quietly.  He nearly jumped when he turned to see his older
son, rubbing at his eyes and looking more than a little bewildered,
standing there in his Mickey Mouse pajamas.

        "Mama's leaving," he said, his tone almost as dire as Bill's mood.

        "You've been awake a while, huh, tiger?"  Bill picked Jim up and
headed back toward the boy's bedroom.  

        "She doesn't want us to go with her."

        Bill let the words hit him with their full impact, sitting down on
the bed with Jim on his lap, not exactly sure how to cope with the
whole situation yet himself.  The little boy looked up into his face
searchingly, as if he could somehow read what was going on in his
father's mind.  

        "I'm going to be honest with you, Jimmy, because I think you're
old enough--and smart enough--to understand what's going on."  Bill
watched as his son nodded solemnly, all ears.  "Your mother and I love
you and Steven very much, but we just...we don't love each other
enough to stay married.  Danny, your friend at school--his parents live
apart, don't they?"  Bill referred to Arnold and Sue Murdoch, friends of
theirs who had divorced a couple of years earlier.  Their son was in the
same class as Jim.

        "They were yelling and fighting all the time when they lived
together--that's what Danny said."
        
        "Sometimes, when adults stop getting along with each other, that
happens.  And when it does, it's better if they live apart.  So your mom
is going to move away, and we're going to stay here."

        "Why doesn't she want us?"  Jim asked, those intent blue eyes
demanding an answer.  Bill found himself speechless when faced with
such an honest, naked question.  He stroked the soft brown hair lightly.  

        "You know, Jimmy, there are some people who are really, really
good at being a mommy or a daddy.  And there are some people who
just...who just aren't meant to do that.  I just think that your mommy is
one of those people who just aren't meant to be a mommy.  It doesn't
mean she doesn't love you and Steven...just that...that she thinks it
might be better for you boys to stay here, where your school is, and..." 
Bill knew that even for a six-year-old, his explanation was sadly
lacking.  For *this* six-year-old, it wasn't holding water at all.  "Your
mom is moving away, and if you went with her, I couldn't ever see
you."

        "She doesn't want us anymore," Jim stated simply, slumping a
little against his father.  "I heard her."

        "You've got a good set of ears on you, don't you, buddy?"  Bill said
sadly, kissing the top of Jim's head.  "We'll be okay, Jimmy.  Just you
and me and Stevie...and Sally will still be here.  What would you think
about having Sally move in with us?"

        "I like it when Sally's here.  I think she likes me."

        "Of course she does, Jimmy," Bill answered with a smile in his
voice.  "She likes both you boys."

        "I wish Mama liked me.  I made her some statues like she wanted,
but I guess they weren't very good."

        "Your mother and I both love you, Jimmy.  It's not true that she
doesn't like you.  This isn't your fault.  It just...we just can't stay married
anymore, and she wants to start a new life."

        "She's mad because I wake up all the time."  

        //Why should she be?  When's the last time she got up to do
anything about it?// Bill thought bitterly.  It seemed like every little
creak of the floorboards, every sound in the neighborhood--even those
Bill never picked up on himself--disturbed their older son.  Grace had
tired early in the child's life of getting up and going in to see what was
wrong, and Bill never subscribed to the theory of letting Jim cry when
he was little or letting him roam the halls or call fruitlessly for his
parents as he got older.  

        So sixteen hour days were often topped with a three a.m. wake up
call to see what it was that had Jim's interest at best, or had scared him,
at worst.  Often, it was merely the former, and Bill would find Jim
pasted to some window of the house, watching something in the
darkness he could never find, even when the child pointed it out.  

        "It's not that, Jimmy.  If your mother is mad at anyone, it's me--not
you or Stevie."

        "If I told her I was sorry and that I wouldn't wake her up anymore,
do you think she'd want to take me with her?"

        "Would you rather live with your mother, Jimmy?" //Not that it's
an option,// Bill thought dismally.  He loved both his sons dearly, but
the prospect of raising two little boys alone was more than a bit
daunting.  With his current schedule, he had no clue how he was going
to go about it when Grace finally made her departure.

        "I want her to stay here."

        "I know.  I wish that could happen, but we're going to have to
make the best of things, and try to be brave.  I'm going to need your
help with Steven.  You can do that for me, right?  Help look after your
little brother?"

        "Sure," Jim said, nodding and looking down to fidget with one of
the brass buttons on Bill's navy suit coat.  

        "We'll talk more tomorrow.  Time for you to go to sleep."

        "She isn't going to go away while I'm asleep, is she?  She'll say
goodbye?"  Jim asked, eyes wide, as if the reality were just now
dawning on him.  

        "Of course not.  She'll still be here for a while."

        "I don't want her to go," the little boy said brokenly, burying his
face against his father's chest, starting to cry.

        "I know, son."  Bill felt the tug of pain in his heart not only for his
son, but for the woman he once loved, and the fantasy life that had just
been laid to rest quite mercilessly a few moments ago.  Fighting his
own tears, he rocked and consoled his son.  

        Through the thin curtains in the window of the child's room, he
could see the colored lights adorning the house across the street.  

        //What do you give a child for Christmas when his mother just
abandoned him?//

********

        Grace left for the last time on a chilly December Saturday.  The
lawyers were already doing battle over the couple's assets, and it had
been less than a week since Grace had first dropped the bomb that she
was leaving.

        It was evident that Steven didn't really understand fully that his
mother was leaving and never coming back.  He cried and clung to her,
his little hands disappearing in the folds of her fur coat.  When she set
him down, planning to turn to Jim to say her goodbyes, Jim struggled
to pick up his little brother and consoled him, pinning his departing
mother with one long look that spoke volumes about betrayal,
loss...and... dismissal.  With that, he made his unsteady way toward the
living room and sat on the couch with his little brother, acting as if his
mother had already left.

        "I see you've already managed to turn him against me, and I'm not
even out the door," Grace observed, shaking her head and pulling
expensive leather gloves onto her well-manicured, red-nailed fingers.  

        "Jim has a mind of his own, Grace.  I'm not going to force the boy
to assuage your conscience with prolonged goodbyes."

        "You're quite a man, Bill."  She paused with one hand on the front
door knob, then looked back at her suitcase on the floor several feet
behind her, giving him the unspoken direction to carry it out to the
limousine Owen Winslow had sent for her.   

        "I don't see a bellman here, Grace."

        "I thought you'd have the common courtesy to carry a lady's bag
out to the car," she snapped.

        "I don't see a *lady* here, either," Bill shot back, straightening his
shoulders and shooting her a venomous look.  

        "I'll send for the rest of my things."

        "You needn't bother.  I've already made arrangements to have
them shipped to you."

        "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

        "Everything except how to explain this to our sons, yes.  But don't
trouble yourself with that, Grace.  Your limo is waiting."

        "Goodbye, Bill."  She paused.  "I've left a number with Sally, in
case there's any emergency with the boys."

        "Fine.  Goodbye, Grace."  

        In the wake of his wife's departure, Bill climbed the steps to the
main floor and looked into the living room at his sons.  Jimmy was on
the floor with Steven now, talking to him about the ornaments on the
tree.  Whatever he'd figured out to distract the toddler had worked, and
Bill wasn't about to disturb them.  He went to the kitchen, and finding
Sally working on preparations for dinner, he told her he'd be out for a
while.

        "You'll be back for dinner tonight, sir?"  she asked, sounding
fearful that he would actually be absent the boys' first night without
their mother. 

        "I'll only be gone an hour or so.  I'm taking the Corvette."

        Bill Ellison had a taste for fast, sleek cars, and unfortunately, a
taste for fast, sleek women.  He'd been stung by the latter, so now
turned to the former to raise his spirits.  As he sped down the back
roads leading out of Cascade, he tried to remember the time when he
had loved Grace Ellison, and what had ever possessed him to think she
would go the distance as a wife and mother. 

        Grace Meredith was a stunning woman who always had the
attention of every man in the room.  Tall and fashionable, her entrance
turned heads, and in the days when Bill jockeyed into position for her
attention with several other eligible young bachelors, it was all just a
big contest.  A competition.  Life is a competition, Bill's father had
once said.  And winning Grace's hand in marriage had been no
exception.  His gifts had to be better, his lines more amusing, his
parties more opulent and his dates more creative.  Bill had thrived on
that spirit of the game, and finally won the grand prize...

        A superficial, spoiled little rich girl with expensive tastes who
should have never been permitted to bear children.  She had given him
two beautiful boys who were, in the end, just a liability in her eyes. 
The pregnancies made her fat and unattractive--according to her--and
the babies robbed her of sleep and cramped her social life.  The
moment Sally was hired as full-time domestic help, Grace had been off
and running again.  Her children amused her when they were all
dressed up or when they did something outstanding, and repulsed her
when they presented a challenge of any sort.  

        Bill was surprised to find he could still shed a tear or two over this
whole mess.  He'd given in to a few that first night, and now, realizing
it really was over, a few more were there.  They were more for his
sons, and for his own panic at how to raise two children alone.  

        Of course there was the whole issue of what this would look like
to everyone they knew.  Knowing Grace, she had been working on this
for months, putting her own spin on the situation with her friends. 
There was his career to think of now...Grace had always been a nice
ornament at parties, if nothing else.  

        Realizing he'd better start back if he was going to eat dinner with
the boys, he slowed down and turned the Corvette around, heading
back toward the house.  Maybe he'd take the boys with him this
weekend and drive up to Spokane to have a look at that Cobra he'd
heard about.  The Corvette was fun, but the Cobra was a classic.  It was
just what he needed to lighten things up a bit...

********
        "Is it straight?"

        "What?"  Bill shook his head and looked up at Blair, who was up
on the ladder, putting up the first Christmas lights that had adorned the
Ellison house in the last ten years.  Working at stringing them along the
roofline, his son's partner, the guy who was afraid of heights, had spent
an inordinate amount of time on the roof.  

        "They look great," Bill called back to him.  That earned him a
wide smile, and Blair started down the ladder.

        "I thought zoning out ran in the family for a minute there.  Where
did you go?"  Blair asked, backing away from the house in the semi-dusk 
to inspect his handiwork.

        "Oh, nowhere special.  Just revisiting some old ghosts."

        "You want to give me a hand getting that little tree upstairs to go
out on the balcony?"

        "You're serious about putting that through the window?"

        "It's a big enough window to be a walk out--it'll work out great!" 
Blair headed for the interior of the house, where the small tree had
come to rest in the entry area.  "I'll take the top half and do most of the
lifting."

        "I'm not that old, Blair," Bill groused, though he followed the
directions and let Blair support the bulk of the little tree's weight as
they hauled it upstairs.  

        "Wait'll Jim sees this!  Man, I bet he hasn't seen this place all done
up like this since he was a kid, huh?"  Blair asked, as they blessedly
reached the point in the hallway where they stopped.  Blair opened the
large window, taking note of the opening's dimensions, then glancing
back at the tree.

        "I don't think we've decorated this much since before..."  Bill
shook his head.  "Since Jimmy was very young."

        "Before his mother left?"  Blair probed carefully as he climbed out
the window and guided the tree onto the balcony.

        "Right," Bill confirmed, a bit hesitant.  Revisiting the Christmases
following Grace's departure was not something he wanted to do right
now.  

        "Jim said he was really little--six, I think."  Blair took the tree
stand Bill handed him and then waited until the older man climbed
partially onto the balcony to steady the stand while Blair maneuvered
the little tree into it.

        "We're going to have to wire this down somehow, or it'll be
airborne with the first good wind," Bill commented.

        "I've got some clear cord I was thinking we could tie around the
trunk and then fasten to the railing.  What do you think?"

        "That oughtta do it.  Where's the cord?"

        "In my car, where else?"  Blair admitted, laughing.

        "You hold the tree.  I'll go get it."  Bill held out his hand and Blair
deposited the car keys there.  

        "In the trunk, along with the rest of the stuff I forgot to bring."

        "I'll grab it."  

        Bill hurried downstairs and out to Blair's Volvo, opening the trunk
and pulling out the roll of cord and a few assorted tools, plus a couple
small bags of lights and other decorating items.  Glancing back at the
front of his house, he had to smile at the thought of his son's Jewish
partner being the impetus behind shaking him out of his role as the
neighborhood grinch.  Blair didn't say much about his religion, if he in
fact adhered to any at all, and he seemed to celebrate anything he could
find on the calendar with great enthusiasm.  

        "Whaddya think?"  Blair called down from the balcony where he
was babysitting the tree.

        "I think it's going to look great!"  Bill called back honestly,
heading back for the house.  He paused in the entry way, looking into
the living room, where an undecorated tree and a pile of pine boughs
and bows destined for the mantle and banisters waited for the evening's
festivities.  When Jim came there from work, they would have dinner
together and then finish the decorating.  

********

        Bill walked through the house with a screaming toddler in his
arms.  Steven was not about to accept his mother's departure with
anything but sound and fury, and Bill silently prayed that Sally would
arrive soon.  She usually found something to distract the little one long
enough to grant him a few moments of blessed silence.  

        Jimmy was sitting in the middle of the floor, staring at the
Christmas tree.  Grace had made her great exodus two days earlier, and
now, three days before Christmas, the Ellison household bore more
resemblance to a funeral parlor in the middle of a wake than it did a
family home at the holidays.  Bill wasn't sure how long his elder son
had sat in that same spot, transfixed by the Christmas lights, but it
wasn't the first time he'd seen him do it.  

        "Jimmy?"  he said over Steven's caterwauling.  "Jimmy?"  he
repeated when the older child didn't move or respond.  Relieved to see
Sally come in the front door, arms loaded with groceries, he cast a
concerned look at his silent elder son and followed her to the kitchen.
Handing off the wriggling, tantrum-bound toddler to Sally, Bill
returned to the living room.  Jim had not moved yet.  "Jimmy, are you
all right?"  He squatted next to the boy on the floor, and finally waved 
a hand in front of his face.  There was no response.  

        Genuinely fearful now, he took a hold of the small shoulders and
turned Jim to face him.  The blankness in the child's eyes terrified him,
and for a moment, he thought Jim had gone insane, maybe slid into
some sort of catatonic state over his mother's departure.  He slapped
lightly at the small face, still saying Jim's name over and over again.  

        "What's wrong?"  Sally's voice came from behind him.

        "Where's Steven?"

        "He's in his high chair with some cookies."

        "Something's wrong with Jimmy," Bill said, his voice strained
with panic.  "He won't answer me."  He shook the child very slightly.

        "He's done this before."

        "He's done this...  Why is this the first time I'm finding anything
out about it?"

        "Mrs. Ellison didn't think it was important.  She said he just didn't
pay attention."  Sally paused, as if not saying all she had to say.

        "Sally?"

        "Usually she would try to talk to him, and he wouldn't answer her,
and she would spank him and yell at him for being difficult.  It never
seemed as if he even knew what she was doing until all of a sudden
he...it was as if he would...suddenly come back to himself and then he
would be crying and not understand why she was hitting him..."  Sally
covered her mouth, upset by both the incidents she was recalling and
the fact she had to tell Jim's father that his wife had been less than
patient in dealing with their son.

        "Damn her," Bill growled, taking his son's face in both hands. 
"Jimmy, it's Dad.  I want you to listen to me, and I want you to answer
me, do you understand?  No one's going to hit you.  I just want you to
answer me."

        The two adults seemed to hold their breath, waiting, as the little
boy seemed to come back to himself, looking at the two of them
nervously, trying to move away.

        "It's okay, Jimmy.  You're not in trouble, son.  Can you tell me
where you were--why you didn't answer me?"

        "I was looking at the lights," Jim replied simply, as if his catatonic
state were normal.  "I was looking at all the colors really hard."

        "And you didn't hear me calling you?"

        "No, Dad," he responded, frowning and shaking his head.

        "Must've been daydreaming."  Bill rose from his crouch.  "Try to
stay with us, okay, son?"

        "Sure, Dad," Jim responded, still seeming a little puzzled as he got
up and walked over to the window.  "It's snowing."  There was no
childlike excitement in the voice--as a matter of fact, Bill had heard
more enthusiasm from the weatherman on the news the night before.

        "Maybe we'll get a white Christmas, huh, Jimmy?"

        "Yeah, maybe."  Jim folded his arms on the window sill and rested
his chin there, staring out at the puffy white snowflakes.

********

        "Bill!  Hey, you down there yet?"  Blair called down from upstairs. 
Bill stared into the now-empty living room, almost expecting to see a
six-year-old Jim looking out the front window.  

        "Yeah, I'm here.  I'm coming," he responded, making his way
upstairs.  

        "Everything okay?"  Blair asked as Bill came partway out the long
window and handed him the cord. 

        "Fine."  Bill let the silence hang there a moment while Blair got
started on the project of securing the tree.  As Bill did his part,
fastening it to the railing, he added, "You know, the holidays...you tend
to think back on a lot of things."

        "Yeah, it sure is a time for memories.  Anything special?"  Blair
asked, testing the tension on the cord and then starting on the other
side.  

        "Just stuff from when the boys were little.  Hard to believe that
was so many years ago."

        "Time really seems to go fast, doesn't it?  You get so busy with
things, and it's just...*gone*."  Blair shook his head.  "I know I'll be
glad when this semester is *gone*," he added chuckling a little.  "With
finals coming up and the work at the PD, I'll tell you, it makes it
tempting to start giving multiple choice tests."

        "Couldn't you do that with the lower level ones?"

        "Probably.  But I want to see how well they've grasped the
concepts--not just if they can barf back some facts at me.  You can only
get a feel for that through essay questions.  So," Blair shrugged, then
winced in pain.  "Ouch, dammit."  

        "What?"  Bill watched him with some concern as the younger man
held onto his side.  

        "My stupid ribs.  Sometimes when the weather's crappy, I have
some pain on that side.  Can you reach that part of the railing?  The
stretch just about finished me off."

        "Sure."  Bill edged over to the spot Blair had indicated and
fastened the cord there.  "Is that anything you should have checked?"

        "What?  My side?"  Blair watched while Bill nodded.  "No.  I
asked the doctor about it a couple months ago, and he said that
between the breakage that happened back with Vince, and this last
incident with the Ryker case, I'm probably in for a few aches and pains
like the rest of the world who has old injuries."

        "Maybe you shouldn't be in such a dangerous line of work, Blair. 
Or at least, not without Jim."

        "Jim's always got one eye on me, you know that," Blair said,
smiling.  "Besides, it gives me a chance to give something back in
return for things turning out so well for me."  Blair backed away a
little, still on his knees by the tree.  There was very little room on the
small rounded balcony with both Blair, the tree and part of Bill
crowded onto it, but he still managed to assess the tree's position. 
"Looks straight to me."

        "Looks can be deceiving," Bill quipped, smiling a little devilishly
as he looked at the tree, waiting for Blair to catch the play on words--and 
hoping the younger man would take the remark in the humorous
way it was intended.

        "Oh, man, now I know where Jim gets it," Blair responded,
laughing.  

        "The tree looks fine, Blair," Bill added, chuckling and backing
into the house to retrieve the lights.  "This is probably an insensitive
question, but did you...spend Christmas...with...you know..."

        "The asshole?  No."  Blair smiled.  "Jim doesn't like being on a
first-name basis with him, so he's kind of gotten renamed at our house. 
We got together in January, and Jim got me away from him in June.  I
*knew* him over Christmas, but thankfully wasn't living with him yet."

        "Your mother celebrated Christmas and Hanukkah both?"

        "And Kwaanza, and the Winter Solstice, and a handful of other
odd things I don't even remember.  Naomi knows *someone* who
celebrates damn near everything, so we were always going to parties or
get togethers for all sorts of things."

        "You and Jimmy--do you celebrate Hanukkah too?"

        "Yup."  Blair reached out and took the end of the string of lights
and began decorating the little tree as Bill untangled the cords.  "You
want to come over and have dinner with us and stay to light the
candles?"

        "I'd like that," Bill responded, smiling.  Celebrating Hanukkah
with his son's male lover wasn't something he'd ever pictured doing, but
now he found himself looking forward to it.

        "Great.  I'll make something kosher for dinner.  Tomorrow's only
the second night."

        "Do you think about it much...what happened back with that other
situation?"

        "Sometimes.  Usually I don't dwell on it, but sometimes something
happens and it reminds me.  Like that knife in my side a few minutes
ago," Blair added, shaking his head.  "I'm pretty much okay--I was
*extremely* lucky in that regard.  I just barely escaped some major
permanent damage."  Blair sighed, pausing for a moment.  "If Jim
hadn't intervened when he did--if Rafe and Brown hadn't happened to
be the ones to take the last domestic disturbance call the night before--I
probably wouldn't be here."

        "Scary how close the timing was on that, isn't it?"

        "Very.  Not that I mind or anything, but what made you think
about that today?  That pain in my side?"  Blair crawled behind the
little tree and plugged two strings of lights together.  

        "Partly.  I've never really known anyone personally who lived
through something like that.  I think you must be pretty strong to
survive it."

        "Surviving it was half the battle, but dealing with it after the fact
is the other half, and I couldn't have done that part without Jim.  Well, I
couldn't even have done the survival part without him because he took
such great care of me when I got out of the hospital.  Your son's a
really amazing guy.  You'd never know to look at him that he's, like, the
*greatest* nurse in the world."  Blair chuckled a little at the thought,
and Bill smiled.  

        "I'm afraid he learned his nurturing skills from Sally.  I was never
much good with the boys when they were sick."

        "What about their mom when she was here?"

        "She wasn't much for wiping runny noses either.  Sally looked
after them through the day, and if they were doing anything untidy, I
took care of it at night," he said, laughing.  "Jimmy threw up on Grace
once, and you'd think she'd been sprayed with toxic waste."

        "Not much of a mommy-type, huh?"  Blair responded, sharing the
laugh as he completed the final round of lights on the little tree.

        "Not exactly, no.  I think she liked the concept of children--not the
reality.  She didn't have any more with her second husband."  Bill
shook his head.  "Maybe I was guilty of that to, to a degree.  Maybe
neither of us were born parents."

        "People have children and they do their best.  Some are better than
others."  Blair followed Bill back into the house and flipped the switch
on the lights.  Both men heaved a slight sigh of relief when it worked. 
"Cool, now we just need to do the shrubs out front."

        "You're convinced we should do the whole low hedge?"

        "Absolutely," Blair responded, heading downstairs with Bill close
behind him.  "We've got enough lights to illuminate a small third world
country.  I'm countin' on doing the hedge!"

        "What do you say to a coffee break before we go outside again?"

        "Sounds great.  You don't have any of those international coffees,
do you?"  Blair joked, following Bill into the kitchen.

        "I'm afraid we'll have to squeak by on plain old domestic stuff." 
Bill poured two large mugs.  "Of course, now that we won't be going
back up on the roof, we *could* raise the stakes a little."  He opened
the cupboard and took out a bottle of kahlua.

        "Good idea.  At least this way, the lights'll look even to us no
matter how bad they really look."  

        The two men sat at the table with their spiked coffee and a plate
of Christmas cookies Sally had left behind for their snack.  

        "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?  You don't have to
answer if you don't want to," Bill hastened to add.

        "Shoot."

        "You've probably heard this more than you ever want to again,
but...I can't help but wonder how you could have stayed with someone
who was...treating you that way."

        "Logical question.  The one that springs to everyone's mind, I
know."  Blair took a drink of his coffee, and for a moment, Bill
regretted belaboring the unpleasant topic.  Still, it was rare for him to
have this much time one-on-one with Blair, and he was intrigued.  He'd
never known anyone who survived a situation like Blair's.  "At first, I
blamed myself.  See, right from the start, there really was nobody but
Jim.  The only reason I hooked up with Vince was because Jim wasn't
ready to get together with me that way.  So I figured that maybe I was
bringing it on myself--bad karma for using Vince, and not really loving
him."

        "Did he know you didn't care about him?"

        "I did care about him, in the beginning.  I always loved Jim, but
you know, it wasn't going to happen, so I had to get on with my life,
and I got together with Vince.  But I didn't love him, and I was using
him to get on with my life--the relationship wasn't built on love."  Blair
sighed.  "When I could see that it was getting really bad, beyond what I
could chalk up to getting my just desserts for not really loving him
enough, I started talking about leaving, and he pulled all these threats
out of his hat. Threats about Jim, about my mom...things he'd do if I
left him."

        "So you stayed to protect them?"

        "Largely, yeah.  I mean, a lot of jerks like Vince talk big, but with
him, he was such a total...*psycho*...I knew he'd really do it."  Blair
took another drink.  "And there were tapes."  He paused, wrapping his
hands around the warm mug.  "Vince made some tapes... I don't think I
need to draw you any pictures what type of tapes they were.  He said if
I walked out, he'd mail them to the top brass at the Cascade PD, maybe
the mayor...  I couldn't let him do that to Jim, and no matter how hard I
tried, I couldn't find the damn tapes.  I figured out he had them in
storage, but I never got a chance to steal the key and go after them
myself before everything blew up."

        "That's really horrible."  Bill shook his head, marveling at how
depraved some people could really be.  "What became of the tapes?"

        "Well, I don't know as I should say."

        "Jimmy took care of them.  No need to say more," Bill responded,
knowing perfectly well that his son would have slain that dragon for
Blair without a second thought.  

        "Vince had a way of trapping you--of coming at you from all
sides.  Even after I was away from him, he was still trying to blackmail
me with the tapes, and I...I tried to take an overdose, but Jim caught me
in time."

        "I didn't know," Bill responded honestly, shaken at the thought
that the man who was not only his son's life partner, but fast becoming
part of his family in every sense of the word, barely escaped death a
second time during his initial ordeal.

        "I didn't see any way out, and I just wanted to get away from him,
and to know that the people I loved were safe.  I figured if I were dead,
there'd be no reason for him to go after them--I wouldn't be there for
him to badger with it, so he'd have to move on.  Jim checked on me
through the night and rushed me into the hospital.  I was just
so...*messed up* that I couldn't see another way out.  I think there
probably always is another way out, but at the time, it didn't seem like
it."

        "I'm sorry to dwell on this.  I...just never knew much about your
ordeal, and I know it was serious..."

        "That's okay.  You're Jim's dad--that makes you family.  Families
need to get to know each other.  And like it or not, Vince was a very
major, defining experience in my life."

        "Ready for a refill?"  Bill asked.

        "On the coffee, but not the kahlua.  I want to be sure I'm plugging
those lights into the right sockets out there."

********

        Jim pulled up in front of the Ellison house, and had to laugh at the
sight before him.  His father was laughing.  Not smiling, not 
chortling--but laughing.  Hard enough to turn his face an almost frightening shade
of electric pink.  He was about to assume his father had cracked
completely when there was motion in the hedge, and finally, a gloved
hand came up, and Bill grabbed it and began pulling.  Figuring there
was a shaggy-haired accomplice at the other end of that hand, Jim
shook his head and smiled as he parked the truck in the driveway and
got out of the car with the large bags of Chinese take-out he'd been
ordered to bring with him.  

        "We had a little problem with the lights," Bill said, barely catching
his breath.  Jim got a whiff of coffee and kahlua, and smiled
knowingly.  He set the bags on the sidewalk and helped pull Blair out
of the foliage.  

        "We had a little problem with the coffee, too, I think," Blair said
as he was restored to a standing position.  Both Bill and Blair laughed
again at that, and Jim had to chuckle.

        "Did you have a splash of coffee with your booze?" he inquired of
Blair as he kissed the younger man's mouth briefly in greeting.

        "There's nothing affectionate about that.  You're giving me a
breathalyser test," Blair accused, grinning.

        "He tried to turn down the refill," Bill defended.  "But it *is* cold
out here, you know."

        "Maybe food'll help.  So how far along did you get with the
hedge?"

        "Almost done," Blair said proudly.  We just haven't lit everything
up yet."

        "Is it safe to try that considering the condition you two were in
when you did the hedge?"

        "I just lost my balance on this one.  We might need to fix a few of
the lights here, but we did all right with everything else."

        "I hope you did the balcony and the roof *before* the coffee
break," Jim teased, picking up the bags and following the other two
men into the house.

        "Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud, Jimmy.  I saved some kahlua
for you."

        "Why didn't you say so in the first place?"  Jim joked in return as
they headed for the kitchen.

        After consuming dinner somewhat voraciously, the three men
adjourned outdoors to light up the decorations.  To their delight, with
the exception of the shrub Blair had fallen into, everything looked
stunning, from the line of lights along the roof, to the illuminated tree
on the little balcony, to the path of lights adorning the hedge that led to
the front door.  Jim couldn't remember ever seeing the house look that
festive, and it seemed to Bill that it never *had* been that festive--with
or without Grace.

        Inside, they began the task of hanging pine boughs on the
staircase, accented by big red bows.  Jim couldn't remember ever doing
this much decorating in the past.  There was always a tree, a wreath on
the door, and a few poinsettia plants that Sally would bring home and
place at strategic points in the house.  

********

        "Think you could take a break from that to go out and get a tree?" 
His father's voice startled Jim from his concentration on his 9th grade
English Lit homework.  The distraction was most welcome--and yet,
the proposed outing was two hours later than planned.  Jim really had
no patience with the idea of cruising all over town and buying a tree at
some pathetic discount store that was still open this late.

        "Every place is closed now, Dad," he said a bit tersely, glancing
pointedly at the clock.  Why would he expect he and Steven would
compete with an evening at the Country Club?

        "Then we'll get someone to open up."  Bill coughed loudly and
sniffed a time or two.

        "You have a cold, Dad?"  Jim frowned.

        "Damned cigar smoke.  I don't know what gives off more fumes in
that place--the fireplace or all those old codgers and their stogies. 
Come on, Jimmy.  Steven's got his heart set on getting a tree tonight."

        "Where do you expect to get one this time of night?"  Jim rose
from his desk chair and grabbed his jacket off the bed post where he'd
hung it.

        "We'll find someplace."

        "Last year we went on Saturday," he recalled.  

        "I'm going to be in Seattle Saturday, Jimmy.  It's December 10th
already.  If we push this until the following weekend, you won't get
anything but the leftovers."

        "I guess."

        "Look, I'm sorry about not doing it last Sunday like I promised,
but the O'Donnells were only in town for a weekend, and the other guys
on the Board at the Arts Council know that I'm friends with Mike, so I
had the best chance of pitching that grant request to him for the concert
series."

        "Did you get the grant?"  Jim asked, falling into step with his
father on the way downstairs.  Apparently, Steven was already down
there waiting.  

        "Yeah, we did," his father responded, nodding and smiling a little. 
On top of his work schedule, William Ellison was also on a number of
boards for area non-profit organizations.  While many of them were
name-only resume-builders, he was partial to and active in a couple--like 
the Cascade Arts Council and the Cascade Memorial Hospital
Board.  

        After finding two tree lots closed and no sign of anyone who
*could* be roused to get one, William Ellison was not to be daunted. 
He drove twenty minutes outside of town until they arrived at the
sprawling estate of a friend of his on the CAC Board.

        "Come on up to the door with me.  The old boy's more likely to
come off a tree if we hit him with the family approach."

        "You want to beg a free tree off this guy?"  Steven asked from the
backseat of the Cadillac, his eyes widening.

        "He's got a pine woods behind the house that he keeps talking
about clearing in the spring to put in a tennis court.  I thought I'd
volunteer to take one tree off his hands."

        Still a little stunned at their father's tenacity with the tree project,
the two boys accompanied him to the door while he rang the bell.  A
stout elderly man opened it, smiling immediately upon seeing their
father there.

        "Bill!  Hey, come on in.  These must be the boys?"

        "This is Jim, and this is Steven.  Boys, this is Carl Parsons,
chairman of the Arts Council Board."  Both boys shook hands with the
older man and delivered the expected courtesies.

        "I've sure heard plenty about you two.  Say, Jim, that was quite a
season you had on the freshman football team, I understand."

        "Thanks.  It was okay."

        "Okay?  He was voted the MVP among the freshman players," 
Bill boasted, slapping his son on the back proudly.

        "Congratulations.  Steven's the basketball champ, right?"  Mr.
Parsons asked, smiling good-naturedly at the younger boy, who, at 10
years old, really only had a budding interest in basketball and not much
claim to fame in the sport.  

        "I think he'll do us proud once he gets up into a grade where they
have a team," Bill said, smiling.  "Say, Carl, I have a favor to ask.  I
promised the boys we'd get a tree this past weekend, and I didn't make
good on my promise.  I'm pretty booked the rest of the week, and we've
had a little trouble finding anyplace open.  I was wondering if we might
relieve you of one of those pine trees you're planning on clearing out
this spring?"

        "Say, I should start up a business for myself out here and let a
bunch of other people clear that out for me," he replied, chuckling. 
"Sure, go ahead.  I'll turn on the outside lights around the pool--you
ought to be able to see what you're doing from there."

        "I owe you one, Carl."

        "Aw, hell, you got O'Donnell to cough up a hundred grand.  I think
I can part with a pine tree.  Go on out through the garage--there's an axe
and saw in there you can use."

        "Thanks, Mr. Parsons," Jim added, exchanging enthusiastic smiles
with Steven.  

        "You're welcome, boys.  You guys go out and get your tree, and
stop back at the house when you're done.  Martha'll make us some hot
chocolate," Parsons said, referring to his elderly wife, who had just
poked her head into the foyer to see what was going on.  After another
round of introductions, the three of them departed to get the tree.

        Both boys were a little groggy after not getting to bed until after
two in the morning, but neither of them would ever forget the late-night
excursion to the estate, drinking hot chocolate in a living room the size
of their *yard*, or waking up a startled Sally at one in the morning by
dragging a seven-foot fir tree through the front door.

********

        "What is it?"  Blair asked as he noticed Jim chortling a little.  The
three of them were working on decorating the tree now, and Jim had
seemed lost in his own private amusement for a few minutes.

        "Dad, do you remember the year we went out to Carl Parsons'
place and heisted him for one of his pine trees?"  Jim asked Bill, who
paused a moment, and then laughed at the memory.  

        "Carl got a kick out of that.  I think he mentioned it almost every
Christmas until he passed away.  Every December Board meeting of
the Arts Council, he'd nudge me with an elbow and say 'I still haven't
cleared those woods out, Bill.  Need a tree?'" Bill smiled fondly.  "Carl
was quite a character."

        "Is his wife...oh, what was her name...*Martha*--is she still
alive?"

        "No, she passed on a few years before Carl.  Not too long after
you moved away, Jimmy."  Bill stepped back to evaluate the placement
of the ornaments, then adjusted the position of the one he'd just hung.

        "You guys cut down a tree out of somebody's yard?"  Blair asked,
smiling.

        "His *yard* was about the size of this whole subdivision," Bill
clarified.  "He had a huge estate outside of town.  Sam Hooper and his
family bought that from Parsons' kids after he died," Bill noted to Jim.

        "Are we ready to fire this baby up?"  Blair asked from his position
on the floor.

        "Go for it, Chief," Jim responded.  Blair plugged the cord into the
wall, and the tree came to life with numerous lights.

        "We haven't had a tree like this since you and Steven were boys,"
Bill said, smiling fondly at the seven-foot pine, bedecked with lights,
garland and ornaments.  

        "You mean since we pirated one out of Carl's yard."

        "That too," Bill admitted, laughing again.  "Jimmy...I know there
were a lot of things I missed--I know I even worked through dinner a
couple of Christmas Eves...  The times I did things with you and your
brother...they're the times I remember.  I couldn't tell you what any of
those damn meetings were about now, but I remember every minute of
that visit out to Carl Parsons' place."

        "Thanks, Dad.  That means a lot," Jim said tightly, smiling a little. 
Blair couldn't suppress his own smile, though he tried to busy himself
with an unnecessary adjustment of the lights.  "I guess sometimes you
get focused on the negatives, and the rest of it...fades."

        "I know a handful of outings weren't enough, Jimmy.  I always
meant to do more...to get to the games or to take a Saturday totally off
and not take any calls...  Things always happened, and one thing led to
another..."

        "You don't have to apologize for that, Dad.  You did what you
thought was right at the time."  Jim was uncomfortable now with his
father's apologetic tone.  This was supposed to be a happy time, and it
seemed like a wave of melancholy had hit his father broadside.

        "No, I let work and the boards I was on and the other things...
*take me over*.  Looking back now, I remember the times I took you
or Steven somewhere, or we all did something together, and those are
the good memories.  There are just so damn few of them.  I have a
million business meetings and social events under my belt and I don't
honestly remember 95% of them now."

        "Maybe we'll just have to work hard to make some new memories
here, guys," Blair suggested.  "What was Steven doing that he couldn't
get loose tonight?"

        "Guess," Jim said, shaking his head.

        "Business meeting?"  Blair asked, wincing a little.

        "Like father, like son," Bill spoke up.  "I'm really proud of Steven. 
He's done very well--propelled himself up the ladder fast for someone
his age.  I just wish he wouldn't make the same mistakes I did."

        "They didn't seem like mistakes to you at the time, Dad.  With
Steve...he doesn't have kids or a wife, and he's not used to us being all
that close at the holidays..."  Jim shrugged.

        "Hey, what do you think of the tree?"  Blair interjected, hoping to
infuse a little cheer back into the evening.

        "I think we could make Martha Stewart jealous," Bill opined,
laughing.  

********

        Jim smiled as Blair's head jerked back up for the second time
during the ride home.  It was almost one in the morning, and Blair had
been up since dawn.  Having taught an eight o'clock class and then
meeting with a couple of abuse complainants at the station mid-morning, 
Blair had already put in quite a day by the time he showed up
at Jim's father's house a little after noon.  

        Decorating the Ellison homestead had been Blair's idea, and no
doubt part of his never-ending goal of mending fences between the
members of the Ellison clan.  Having correctly assessed that there was
certainly love present there, and that father and sons wished for a better
relationship but didn't always know how to go about it, Blair had made
it his personal mission to promote the healing process at every turn. 
The result had been an unexpected friendship between Blair and Jim's
father--two more different people Jim couldn't imagine.

        "Kahlua catching up with you, Chief?"  Jim asked, reaching over
to ruffle the soft curls.

        "I think the eighteen-hour day is catching up with me."  Blair
yawned.  "And the kahlua," he added, chuckling.  

        "That was really nice--what you did for my dad, going over there
and putting all those lights out.  I know it meant a lot to him."

        "I wish I could understand him better--why he did some of the
stuff he did when you were a kid.  Like the thing with the drums."
        
        "He thought they were a bad influence.  Just like he thought it was
bad for me to be different."  Jim sighed.  "I stopped trying to figure it
out years ago, Chief."

        "It's obvious he really loves you and Steven.  I just wonder
sometimes how he could be so smart in business and so fucking
clueless with his kids."

        "It's a gift," Jim said, chortling a little.  

        "I guess he was just trying to use his expertise in one area in
another where it didn't work.  You and Steven weren't employees he
needed to motivate."

        "I think he was very bitter after my mother left.  I know the 
one-upsmanship with the jerk she married nagged at him too.  It was always
important that he make it a little farther, a little faster--and since he
was doing it all on his own without his father owning the companies
where he worked, it was a real trick."  Jim turned into the driveway of
their own house, which was adorned with its own colored lights around
the roofline and on the surrounding shrubbery.  "Her walking out was a
real slap in the face to him--everything was a competition, and he lost,
so he spent the rest of his life...*proving* something to her."

        "Consciously, do you think?"

        "Not always.  But I think when someone walks out on you, there's
always this little part of you that really wants them to regret it.  And my
father was no exception.  He may not have really loved my mother all
that deeply by the time she left, but she hurt him.  He started out loving
her...things just went downhill...and I don't know as she ever loved him
all that much, or all that deeply.  I know she was able to just walk out
the door and leave all three of us with barely a backward glance when
she got a better offer."

        "It's hard to figure how a mother can leave her kids like that."

        "Well, she did it.  A week before Christmas."

        "Aw, man, you gotta be kidding me!  That's awful!"

        "I never could seem to figure her out.  I don't think she liked me
too well.  I don't think she was crazy about either one of us, but I
seemed to rub her the wrong way."

        "You were how old?  Six?  How could you rub your mother the
wrong way when you're six?"

        "I don't know.  She was always getting pissed off at me for
something.  Looking back, maybe it had something to do with my
senses.  I know I used to wake up a lot at night and wander around.  I'd
hear something and want to know what it was."

        "I just wish someone had been there who knew about your
senses...how to guide you or train you to live with them."

        "Come on, Chief.  It's late, it's cold out here...this is ancient
history."

        "It's important."

        "Not anymore.  It's over."

        "Have you ever heard from her again?"

        "We always got cards and presents at Christmas and our birthdays. 
We stayed with her and her new husband for a week one summer, but
after that, my dad couldn't seem to work it out with her.  I guess a week
with two kids made a believer out of that pompous asshole she was
married to, and he didn't want us back."  Jim opened his door and got
out.  "Come on, let's go in the house.  I'm ready to hit the sack."

        "Yeah, okay," Blair responded distractedly.  As he got out of the
truck and followed Jim into the house, Blair reached forward and took
a hold of Jim's hand.  There was a responding squeeze and a smile from
Jim as he unlocked the door with his free hand.  "I really hate what she
did."

        "I know.  I wasn't thrilled about it either.  But it's water under the
bridge now."  Jim unlocked the door and opened it, and they went
inside, feeling as they always did the sense of coziness and peace of
retreating into their home for the night.  

        After a quick shower, both men crawled into bed and spooned
together, dozing off fairly quickly.  The rest was short-lived, though, as
Blair started wriggling around, pushing at Jim's arm where it curled
around his middle.  The accompanying miserable-sounding moans and
half-words that came from Blair signaled Jim it was a nightmare.

        Knowing his best recourse when Blair wanted to be released was
to release him rather than wrestle with him, Jim moved his arm and
started talking to Blair.

        "Chief, it's me.  You're having a nightmare, sweetheart.  Come
one, baby.  Wake up for me.  It's Jim.  You're home, with me, in our
bed.  Come on, Chief.  It's safe here.  You're home.  That's it," Jim said,
smiling with a little relief as Blair stilled a bit, then rolled over and
looked at him with puzzled eyes.  "You're safe, baby.  Right here with
me where you belong.  It's okay," he said gently, leaning forward to
kiss Blair's forehead.  

        "Nightmare," Blair muttered unnecessarily.  He rubbed at his wet
eyes.  "Vince."

        "I kind of thought so.  Usually when you start pushing away, that's
what it is."  Jim took a hold of Blair's hand, stroking the back of it with
his thumb.  "You want to talk about it?"  He always respected Blair's
physical space as much as possible when Blair had pushed him away,
even if it was during a dream.  It was never long before Blair scooted
back in close, and tonight was no exception.  Jim quickly wrapped his
lover up tightly in his arms.

        "I don't think so.  Just...it was just...stuff...he was there, and I was
afraid of him, but not much happened, and then he grabbed me...I don't
want to go over it."

        "You don't have to, cuddlebug.  It's okay."  Jim went to work at
gently rubbing Blair's back, knowing that would help relax him again. 
"Side still hurting?"  he asked softly.

        "You noticed that?"  Blair asked, seeming surprised.

        "You seemed a little stiff when we were hanging the garlands on
the staircase."

        "I sort of pulled something when I was working on the tree on the
balcony, and then I fell kind of hard into the shrubs.  Guess I'm about
as rough and tumble as an old man--wait, I take that back.  Your dad is
tougher than I am."

        "My dad didn't get his ribs broken twice on the same side and have
major surgery there as well.  Besides, the weather's nasty out there--it's
supposed to snow and sleet tonight.  The doctor said you might have a
few aches and pains in the bad weather."

        "I know.  I guess it's just lying here with my side hurting... reminds
me."

        "Something else is bothering you."

        "I thought I was at a point I could talk about Vince and not have
him pop up like some...*bogeyman* in my dreams."

        "When did you talk about him?"

        "With your dad, a little.  Don't get mad at him--he was really
polite about it and everything.  But he was curious, and I wanted him to
feel free to talk to me about it.  I thought I could handle just...you
know, real general stuff.  I guess I'm not as good as I thought yet."

        "I'll tell him to lay off the questions."

        "No, don't do that.  He really didn't ask anything offensive.  I don't
want you to come down on him for being curious.  He didn't do it to
hurt me."

        "Okay, sweetheart.  I won't mention it.  You want a back rub?"

        "The one you're doing feels pretty good just like this," Blair said,
smiling and snuggling against Jim, feeling the gentle hands rubbing
over his back in slow, easy circles.  They slid under his t-shirt and
carefully massaged, easing the tension.  "Just hang onto me for a while
and make the memories stay away, huh?"  Blair asked in a voice little
more than an exhalation against Jim's neck.  "Tell me something about
Peru...a nice memory...something about the jungle, when you were
there...you know, the rainforests...something...peaceful."

        Jim smiled against the soft curls near his face.  Blair wanted Jim
to tell him a story, something that would transport his mind away from
the painful memories, to a place that was beautiful, peaceful, and
untouched by depravities like the ones Watson had visited upon him.  

        "One of my favorite places there was the waterfall.  It was quite a
hike to get there, over some pretty rough terrain, so it was secluded. 
The air there was sweeter...it smelled like all the jungle flowers
blooming in the lush foliage.  My favorite time to spend there was
night time."

        "Did you spend the whole night there?"  Blair asked through a
yawn.

        "I'd hike up there in the afternoon sometimes, when I needed to
get away, refuel, spend some time on my own.  I'd stay the night and go
back at first light.  There was nothing more beautiful than seeing the
moon shine through the trees, and hit the water.  It sparkled like liquid
diamond, hitting the rocks and sending showers of little diamonds all
around."  Jim smiled as he felt Blair's breathing starting to even out. 
He elaborated a bit more on the moonlight, and then started a more
mundane discussion of the location relative to the Chopec village, and
finally degenerated to a description of the food he used to carry as
provisions.  When Blair didn't react to the changeover to such a dull
topic, Jim knew he was zonked.  

        A bit troubled why his father was questioning Blair about such a
miserable time of his life, Jim dismissed any further analysis until
morning.  He had an early call, and sleep was calling his name.

********

        "The tree looks beautiful!"  Sally exclaimed as she accompanied
Bill into the living room after breakfast.  "Oh, and all the pine on the
stairs and the bows...just wonderful!"

        "Blair was here most of the day and then Jimmy showed up for
dinner and we did the inside of the house last night.  You should see it
all lit up out front.  It's really something," Bill boasted, feeling infused
with the Christmas spirit for the first time in many long years.  

        "I'm glad that you get along so well with Jimmy's partner," Sally
said, smiling knowingly.

        "You thought I wouldn't put up with him bringing a man home
instead of a woman, huh?"  Bill asked, smiling a little.  Sally and he
had been running a household together longer than many of the married
couples he knew, and it was fairly easy now to read what she thought
even if she didn't voice it.

        "Some parents never feel good about it.  And they miss out on
spending any time with the children."

        "I wasn't thrilled at first.  But I look at it this way.  I brought home
a woman, and look at all the good it did me.  Jimmy's certainly better
off with Blair than I was with Grace."

        "Are you going to tell Jimmy that she called?"  Sally asked as they
walked back to the kitchen, where Bill would get his third cup of
coffee and read his morning paper while she did the breakfast dishes.

        "What would be the point?"  He sat at the table and opened the
sports section.  Sally grimaced a little, but he didn't see her.  "I'm going
to be at the office part of the day today.  There's a budget committee
meeting scheduled for two o'clock, and I want to drop in and terrorize
them for a few minutes," he said, chuckling.  

        "Now don't let them get you too riled up," she admonished,
starting on the dishes.  "You know how annoyed you get at those
meetings."

        "If they hadn't put that damned idiot at the helm of Operations, I
wouldn't get so worked up.  If I asked him to count beyond ten without
his computer, he'd have to take his shoes and socks off," Bill observed,
shaking his head.   "Somebody has to show up to shoot holes in his
projections for the new year."

        "What do you want me to tell Mrs. Elli...Mrs. Winslow if she calls
again?  She keeps asking if the boys are going to spend Christmas here,
if I have their numbers..."

        "Simple."  Bill folded up the paper and took another drink of his
coffee.  "Tell her that you do not have my permission to give her any
information about my plans or the boys' plans, and certainly not any
contact information.  If she wants that, she'll have to call back in the
evening when I'm home."

        "She said she tried calling Jimmy at the police department, but
he's never in."

        "I'll call her tonight," Bill said, rising and bringing his cup to the
sink.  "I don't want her pestering Jim at work.  He has enough on his
mind there without that distraction."

        "Maybe he'd like to hear from her."

        "I doubt that."  Bill moved toward the door of the kitchen, then
paused.  "I'll be sure to tell him she's trying to call, Sally."

        "I think that's good," she said, smiling with obvious approval.  

********

        "Blair Sandburg," Blair said, answering the phone on Jim's desk. 
Jim was questioning a suspect downstairs, and Blair was running a
couple names through the computer relevant to a case he was involved
in through the Domestic Violence Unit.

        "I...I must have the wrong extension," a woman's voice came over
the phone.

        "Who were you trying to reach?"  Blair asked, holding the phone
between his ear and shoulder as he typed another name into the
computer.

        "James Ellison."

        "This is his desk.  He's away from it at the moment.  Can I leave a
message for him?"

        "Are you his partner?"

        "Yes," Blair responded, though he knew he wasn't exactly in that
*official* capacity.

        "Will he be back in soon?"

        "I think so.  Who's calling, please?"

        "Just tell him that Grace Winslow called.  I...I'll try him another
time."  There was a click and Blair found himself on the phone with the
dial tone.  

        "What the...?"  Blair stared at the phone as he hung it up. //Grace
Winslow?  As in Grace *Ellison* Winslow??//

        "Hey, Chief, looks like we got a live one," Jim said cheerfully,
tossing a file folder on the desk.  "Freemont just sang like a canary." 
Jim took a hold of Blair's chair and wheeled it, and Blair, aside, pulling
up his own chair.  "Would you like to congratulate me now or wait
until I arrest the other three goons responsible for the Rayburn
homicide?"

        "How about I congratulate you at home tonight?"  Blair asked, his
voice low enough to avoid prying ears but more than adequate for Jim.

        "With an incentive like that, I might just arrest half of Washington
State by sundown," Jim responded, laughing.  

        "Hey, easy, man.  I can only congratulate so many times before I
pass out," Blair joked.  Then he stared at the phone again.  "Jim?  You
had a call."

        "From?"  Jim frowned at the monitor.  "Who is this prince?"  He
nodded toward the screen, which bore the information on one of the
men currently under suspicion for beating and sexually molesting his
eight-year-old daughter.

        "Ooh, nice rap sheet.  I was hoping for one of those," Blair smiled
evilly, leaning in even closer to Jim while he jotted down a few
pertinent facts.  "The asshole beats his kids, and his eight-year-old
daughter says he's been molesting her."

        "Oh, man."  Jim shook his head.  "That's just great."

        "The kids' mother brought them in here yesterday, but she won't
press charges unless I can promise her to make them stick."

        "You can't promise that, Chief."

        "No, I know.  But I can at least let her know if we have a decent
chance of painting a bad enough picture of him to keep him away from
the kids.  She said she didn't think he had a record. *Cha-CHING!!*"
Blair let out that exclamation, and a few laughs rose from the other
desks.  

        "Sandburg must've found a rap sheet he wanted," Rafe observed,
chortling.

        "We may just have found what we need to get a woman to press
charges against a guy who's molesting one of his kids."

        "Nice going, Sandburg," Henri spoke up.  

        "Yeah, well, we gotta get the complaint signed yet.  And get
through court and a few other fun things, but at least it's a start."

        "Who was the phone call?"  Jim asked.

        "Oh...  Jim, I think it was your mom."

        "My...what did she say?"  Jim frowned, looking skeptical.

        "She said to tell you Grace Winslow called.  Isn't that your
mother's remarried name?"

        "That's her," Jim said, leaning back in his chair.  "Guess I should
let her know that I can't fix parking tickets in London," he sniped,
resuming his straighter posture and starting on his own work on the
computer.

        "Maybe she wants to see you."

        "I wanted to see her too, about thirty years ago," Jim said abruptly. 
"But she wasn't interested then.  And you know what?  I'm not
interested now."

        "You were able to forgive your dad."

        "My *dad* stuck around.  He may not have been father of the year
material, but he was there."

            "People change sometimes--"

            "You're right.  Sometimes they do.  And sometimes they feel
bad about things when it's way too late.  It's too late, Chief.  End of
story."

        "Are you going to talk to her when she calls back?"

        "Not if I can avoid it, no," Jim responded honestly.  

        "You want me to tell her that you don't want to talk to her?"

        "I never pictured you offering to do my hatchet work," Jim
responded, frowning.

        "I love you.  I know she hurt you...I don't want to give her another
shot at it.  If you don't want to talk to her, I'll tell her next time she
calls."

        "I'll handle it, sweetheart," Jim said softly, keeping the
endearment low enough for Blair's ears only.   Their relationship was
no secret in practice, but it was the poorest kept secret in history where
the brass were concerned, and Simon turned his head to Blair's frequent
presence in the Bullpen provided both men conducted themselves
professionally around each other.  

        "Okay.  But I'm behind you either way, love.  You know that."

        "I always know that," Jim responded, smiling.

********

        Satisfied that his participation in the budget process had managed
to save the company a few million dollars, Bill left the corporate
headquarters and drove over to the Cascade Mall.  Christmas in
crowded shopping malls wasn't high on his list of favorite things, but
he was going to a Hanukkah dinner, and wanted to show up with
*something* appropriate for the occasion.  

        After locating a parking spot using more strategic long-term
planning than the budget required, Bill buttoned his long cashmere
topcoat against the chill of the brisk wind and strode into the mall. 
Knowing he still had Christmas gifts to figure out for his sons, Blair,
and Sally as well as a host of other, less personal items for friends and
colleagues, he pushed that rather tiresome prospect aside and
concentrated on the task at hand.  

        A host of brightly lit, noise-polluted stores assailed him from all
sides with proclamations of huge percentage discounts on a myriad of
items to suit every taste.  Finally, he walked into the one less obtrusive
store that carried a nice selection of gourmet baskets and food gifts. 
Maybe something for the dinner...but what do you take to a Kosher
meal?

        "Can I help you?"  A girl with long blonde hair who sported nose
and eyebrow piercings, wearing a red and white gingham checked
apron approached him. //You'd only see something like that in a drug
hallucination or a shopping mall,// Bill thought to himself.

        "I'm looking for a Hanukkah gift.  Do you have anything like
that?"

        "Actually, we *do* have a couple of gift sets right over here."  She
led him to a small display that housed a few boxes of assorted goodies,
and a few good-sized baskets, all decorated in blue and silver,
containing fruits, nuts, candies and other goodies.  "These baskets are
all Kosher, all filled with our gourmet candies and nuts, as well as
some fresh fruits."
        
        "Sounds like a good idea.  I'll take one of those," he said, pointing
at the largest of the displayed baskets.  She hoisted one off the display
with a little grunt and carried it to the counter.  

        "Good choice," she said as she began ringing it up.  "My
boyfriend's family is Jewish, and I'm getting them one of these for
Hanukkah."

        "My son's b...uh...partner is Jewish."

        "This'll be my first Hanukkah," she said, smiling.  "I don't know
*anything* about it."

        "I was planning on a little crash reading course on it myself this
afternoon," Bill admitted, chuckling, handing over his credit card.  She
tapped in a few more numbers with her dark red painted nails and then
scanned his card, handing it back to him.  

        "Your son married somebody Jewish, huh?"

        "Yes," Bill said, figuring that even if it wasn't official, that's what
Jim and Blair seemed to feel about their situation.

        "How's he adjusting?"

        "Blair's not really a practicing Kosher Jew, so it hasn't been much
of a change.  More like acquiring some new holidays," Bill said,
signing the credit card slip, thanking God that Blair had a unisex name. 
Sometimes, fate smiled upon you...

        "Jake is.  Should be interesting," she said, smiling and taking the
slip, bagging his purchase.  "Have a nice Hanukkah and a Merry
Christmas."

        "Thanks, you too.  Good luck with your boyfriend," he added,
favorably impressed with the girl's pleasant manner despite her
irregular appearance.

        "Thanks.  I'm pretty lucky to have him, so we'll work it out, I'm
sure."

        "Sounds like it," Bill said, smiling a little sadly.  

        There were times he felt like everyone had found their romantic
niche in life except him.  He'd made a poor choice the first time out,
and had found himself more than a little gun-shy to try it again.  With
two boys to consider, dragging a succession of failed relationships in
and out of their lives didn't seem right either.  Steven was young
enough when his mother left that he wanted to get attached to another
mother figure.  Jim was old enough that he'd been consciously stung by
the first rejection and frankly didn't seem to like the idea of trying it
again--not unlike his father's feelings on the subject.

        So what would have been worse?  Letting the younger child bond
with various women and then having them all drift away?  Or putting
the older boy through the paces of putting up with a number of women
whose very presence he resented?  As for Bill himself, at the time, he'd
preferred to leave the wound healed once Grace was gone, and not risk
re-opening it for someone else.  On one occasion, he'd tried
again...thrown his all into it...and when it had fallen apart, he'd resolved
that a relationship like that one was simply not meant to be in his life.

        As he made his way back toward the entrance of the mall, he cast
an eye around at all the bustling stores.  He knew he should Christmas
shop this year, not rely on sending out a few gift certificates in
envelopes.  This year, he would have Jimmy, Steven and Blair all under
his roof for Christmas.  It seemed cold to hand out money or
certificates to his sons, and Blair was definitely not the kind of person
you handed money at a holiday.  For him, the primary importance in
the gift was going to be the thought that went into it.  

        Using the weight of the heavy Hanukkah basket as an excuse, Bill
procrastinated on the shopping concept and instead headed for his car,
unloading his parcel into the passenger seat and then starting toward
home.  

********

        "What time's my dad due over here, anyway?"  Jim asked, entering
the kitchen and checking out the various foods Blair was working on. 
"What are these?"  he asked, frowning and sniffing.  

        "Now that you have the complete ingredient analysis up your nose,
you want the official name?"

        "Smart ass."  Jim laughed and went to the back door, looking out
at the dead garden, mentally assessing how much work it was going to
be to clean it up in the spring.

        "They're called peppermint crisps--they're made with chocolate
and some other good stuff and then candy canes broken up and
sprinkled on top.  They're dessert, so hands off."  

        "Ah," Jim responded, nodding and moving closer to the dessert
plate.

        "No free samples, man."

        "*No* free samples?  Of anything?"  Jim prodded, moving up
behind Blair and wrapping his arms around him, nuzzling his neck.

        "To answer your first question, your dad's due here any minute," 
Blair responded, grinning.  "Save that thought," he admonished Jim as
the doorbell rang.

        "Maybe if we ignore him, he'll go home."  Jim nipped at an
earlobe.

        "Go answer the door, lover," Blair responded, laughing.  "Besides,
ideally we oughtta be lighting the candles any minute."  With a parting
growl and a pat on Blair's butt, Jim grudgingly obeyed and made his
way to the front door.  

        "I thought I had the wrong night for a minute there," Bill joked,
smiling.  Jim did a double take.  Seeing his father smiling and holding
a basket of food was not a regular occurrence.

        "Come in, Dad.  Sorry about that.  I was helping Blair in the
kitchen."  

        "I brought this...the girl in the store told me everything in it was
Kosher.  I know Blair doesn't really adhere to that most of the time, but
I thought it would be appropriate considering the holiday."

        "I think he'll really appreciate it."  Jim smiled, leading his father
back toward the kitchen, not accepting the package.  "Why don't you
give it to him yourself?"  Jim lowered his voice.  "Maybe if you're
along I'll get samples of what he's brewing in his cauldrons."

        The two Ellisons arrived in the kitchen, and Bill held out the
basket again.

        "Happy Hanukkah, Blair."  Bill handed him the basket, and to say
Blair looked stunned would have been an understatement.  "It's
supposed to all be Kosher, so I thought maybe it would be good for
snacks later."

        "That was really thoughtful," Blair said sincerely, smiling. 
"Thanks."

        "So what's in the pots?"  Bill asked, sniffing the air.

        "At least you have to ask," Blair said, chortling.  "He analyzes it
better than the Forensics lab at the station just by sniffing the air.  The
big Dutch oven has a roast in it--it's called 'fruity pot roast'.  You cook
the meat with onions and carrots and tomatoes and then you add some
raisins and apricots.  The skillet is potato latkes."

        "I've had those before," Bill spoke up.  "You remember Paul and
Donna Golden, right Jim?"

        "Wasn't he the guy with the office right down the hall from yours--
the one who had all the horse collectibles everywhere?"

        "That was the one.  He made these in the company cafeteria one
noon during Hanukkah.  They were great."

        "I thought they were egg foo young," Jim added, giving the little
potato cakes another once over.  "That smelled like potatoes."

        "When they're completely browned, they'll look more like hash
browns.  We should go light the candles.  This stuff is at a point it can
survive while I'm gone."

        The three men adjourned to the living room, where the Menorah
sat in the front window on a small table, covered with a white cloth.  

        "We keep throwing our keys on the floor--Jim moved this in here
from by the back door.  We come in that way from the garage and toss
our keys in a basket we keep on the table.  Well, no table, no basket,"
Blair explained, smiling and shaking his head.

        "I thought you'd probably leave the lights out--get more effect
from the candles," Bill commented as Blair turned on a light not far
from the table.

        "You aren't supposed to use the light from the Menorah.  If it were
dark in here, except for Jim, we'd be using the light to find our way
around."

        "There must be some significance to that candle in the middle--I
notice it's always lit, from the first night on."

        "This one is the service candle, or the Shamash," Blair explained. 
"You use it to light the other candles."  

        "I'm afraid you're going to have to give me a crash course in what
this is all about, Blair.  I know it has something to do about candles
that burned for eight days, but that's about the extent of it," Bill said.  

        "Well, there was this Syrian king, Antiochus IV?  He was really
down on the Jews--prohibited studying the Torah, and a whole bunch
of other restrictions.  Anyway, when Judah the Maccabee and his
followers reclaimed the temple in the village of Modi'in, and the sacred
temple Menorah was relit, they only had enough sacred oil to burn for
one day.  Instead, the oil lasted for eight days, until they were able to
get more.  So you light a candle each night for eight nights to recognize
that miracle.  And the reason the Menorah is in plain view--like in a
front window?  That's part of publicizing the miracle."

        "Tell him the bit about Judith and her cheese, Chief," Jim
prodded.

        "Judith and her cheese?"  Bill asked, raising an eyebrow.  Blair
smiled and happily recounted the story.

        "Well, legend has it that there was this beautiful widow named
Judith, who used wine and cheese to lure an enemy general into a
drunken stupor so she could behead him.  His soldiers fled in terror and
that saved her people from the Assyrians."

        "I hadn't hear that one before," Bill confirmed, smiling and
shaking his head.  "So is there something we're supposed to do or say
when you light the candle?"

        "Why don't you light it?  It's the second night, so you'll be lighting
two of them.  I'll say the blessing."  Blair lit the Shamash.  "Take that
one.  You'll use it to light the other two."  Bill took the candle as
directed and waited.  Jim came up behind Blair, sliding an arm around
his shoulders.   "I'm going to say the blessings in English, because my
Hebrew is really spotty.  I used to be able to do it when I was a kid, but
I'm not too smooth with it now."

        "Do I light anything yet?"  Bill asked.

        "Not yet.  I'll give you the nod when, okay?"  Blair paused.    
"Blessed are You, the Lord our God, King of the universe, Who
sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle
the Chanukah light."  Blair paused again, then continued.  "Blessed are
You, the Lord our God, King of the universe, Who wrought miracles
for our forefathers, in those days at this season."  Blair nodded, and Bill
lit the first candle.  

        "We kindle these lights
             For the miracles and the wonders,
             For the redemption and the battles
             Which You performed for our forefathers
              In those days at this season,
              Through Your holy priests.

              During all eight days of Chanukah
              These lights are sacred
              And we are not permitted to make ordinary use of them,
              But only to look at them;
              In order to express thanks and praise to Your great Name
              For your miracles, Your wonders, and Your salvations."  

        At Blair's signal, Bill lit the second candle.  All three men
watched the small, dancing flames for a few moments, until Bill
handed the Shamash back to Blair, who placed it in the center of the
Menorah.  

        "I've got some hors d'oeuvres in the kitchen."  That was the only
signal needed to move the party to the kitchen, where the table was set
for a more informal meal with family.  The dining room had become
the setting for either large gatherings or more formal occasions.  The
warm, cozy kitchen with its cooking smells and picture window by the
table was the favored spot for more relaxed get togethers.  

        "What are these?"  Jim asked, sniffing.  Blair watched both
Ellisons eyeing the tuna gefilte fish like it was something delivered
from another planet.  

        "Tuna gefilte fish," he supplied helpfully, turning the potato
latkes.  Taking mercy on the still-blank expressions, he added, "You
take tuna and matza meal and onion and some other stuff and make it
into those balls and chill it, then put it on the bed of lettuce."

        "So these are cold tuna balls?"  Jim summarized.

        "Just shut up and eat one," Blair retorted in fond exasperation as
he checked on the rest of the main course before joining the others at
the table.

        "They taste better than they sound," Bill opined, chewing his first
one.  "I've never actually celebrated a Jewish holiday before.  This is
pretty interesting."

        "Actually, Hanukkah isn't the most significant one religiously--just
the best known.  I think because it comes near Christmas, and because
of the tradition of exchanging gifts.  Originally, the gifts were just little
things for the kids.  I think Jewish tradition sort of caught the
December gift-giving fever, so now adults exchange gifts sometimes."

        "So you have to buy him eight presents now instead of just one for
Christmas?"  Bill teased Jim.  "Sounds like a good racket you've got
going there, Blair."

        "I tried to get Jim into the habit of *little* gifts."  Blair smiled at
his lover.  "He spoils me rotten." 

        "I didn't think you were much of a gift shopper, Jimmy," Bill
commented, going for another tuna ball.  Jim had confessed in a weak
moment that one of Carolyn's host of objections to him as a husband
was his lack of imagination when it came to gift-giving.  

        "I am when I'm inspired," he said, taking a hold of Blair's hand
where it rested on the table.  "But then he conveniently doesn't mention
the stash he's been hauling out for me the last couple nights.  Not to
mention the whole set-up downstairs."

        "Downstairs?"  Bill asked, frowning.  While he had seen most of
the main parts of the house, Jim hadn't taken him down to his sanctuary
in the basement with the drums.

        "You guys have time if you want to go downstairs," Blair said,
munching on the appetizer.  "About ten minutes to blastoff, I think."

        "Come on, Dad.  I'll show you what I got for my last birthday." 
Jim got up and led the way downstairs.  "Blair kept me out of the
basement for a couple of weeks while he did this.  I knew he was up to
something--I could detect that it had to do with re-doing this area.  I
just didn't know what."  Jim flipped on the lights and stepped aside as
his father walked into the area that contained the bar, the grouping of
comfortable furniture, the framed rock posters on the walls, the area
rugs and, in the center of it all, the drum set.

        "You, uh, play those?"  Bill asked, obviously uneasy when
confronted with the drums.

        "Yeah.  I really loved it when I was a kid, and Blair talked me into
taking it up again.  It's great stress relief.  Blair plays guitar, so we have
some fun with it."  There was no reproach in Jim's voice, but Bill
looked discomfited nonetheless.  

        "I didn't know you liked playing so well.  I thought it was just
a...teenage thing."

        "How do you mean?"
        
        "Well, when you were a kid.  You were letting your hair get
shaggier between haircuts, and playing the drums...I thought it was a
rebellion thing, because you knew all that pounding drove me nuts
when I was trying to work at home."

        "Actually, I wasn't really thinking about that when I played.  I
guess I should have.  I was probably pretty inconsiderate with banging
away when you were on the phone and things like that."

        "You were down in the basement.  You wouldn't have known I
was on the phone."
        
        "I knew," Jim confessed, smiling a little.  "Why do you think I
went berserk with improvisation every time you said 'hello'?"

        "Ah, now the truth comes out," Bill said, laughing a bit, the
tension slightly broken.

        "I didn't play the drums to irritate you--honest.  It was just a nice
fringe benefit sometimes," Jim added, chortling.

        "Because I never gave you my attention otherwise, huh?"  Bill
surmised, shaking his head a little sadly.

        "Dad, come on--"

        "Look, Jimmy, I know I dropped the ball in a lot of ways.  I'm
sorry about the drum thing.  I thought you were just doing it out of
spite, or rebellion...when I got rid of those drums I never really
believed that you loved the music.  Of course to me, it didn't sound like
music.  It sounded like the surround sound version of 'The Telltale
Heart'."  Bill smiled and Jim had to laugh at that comment.

        "I had music going, and I'd play along with it.  So you thought I
was just trying to piss you off, huh?"

        "Basically."

        "Did I do a good job?"

        "You were a pro," Bill admitted, laughing and shaking his head. 
"Only occasionally out shined by your brother and a few of his
dimwitted friends."

        "I guess Steven went through a few wild times in high school."

        "Mostly after you left.  Jim, I was so wrong about so many
things...the drums...and I wouldn't listen to you about the Cobra--"

        "Steven played a big part in that mess too, Dad.  You didn't have
the straight story--well, at least, you had two conflicting stories.  You
had a 50-50 chance of picking the right one of us to believe."

        "I should have known he'd be upset about that damn trip."  Bill
paced a bit, moving closer to the drums.  "He told everyone he knew he
was going to Europe.  We'd made arrangements with the school for his
assignments...  Looking back, I should have put two and two together. 
You had no damn motive for cracking up the car, other than the fact I'd
refused to let you use it to take your date out for Homecoming.  Unless
you were borderline psychotic, that wouldn't have been enough
incentive."

        "You know what they say about hindsight," Jim said, smiling and
picking up one of the drumsticks.  

        "You'll have to play something for me sometime--something an
old man can interpret as music and not heart palpitations."

        "I'll see what I can do," Jim responded, still smiling and shaking
his head.

********