Two Christmases
by lamardeuse

Rating:   PG


The second story is in honour of Stompy's birthday.  






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Christmas 1984: Childish Things
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"Murdock," Face sighed.  The put-upon kind of sigh, the what-are-you-going-to-make-me-
do-now sigh.

"C'mere, c'mere," Murdock persisted.  "Keep your eyes closed!"

Face huffed but obeyed.  "I knew giving you those keys was a mistake."

"OK, stop."  Murdock took a moment to study the man before him.  He was impeccably dressed, impeccably coiffed, beautiful as sin.  He stood in the middle of a posh penthouse living room, the furniture and curtains and carpet screaming money from every corner.

Murdock cast a glance at the object before him.   Well, almost every corner.

"Murdock."

"Jus' a second," the pilot answered, snapping out of his trance to run over and flip the switch.  A warm glow flooded the room.  Face twitched, but kept his eyes closed.

"Now," Murdock whispered.

And Face opened his eyes on the biggest, brightest, most tinsel-covered Christmas tree in all of LA.  Maybe all of America.

Nah, there was probably one in Vegas somewhere...

"What--" Face cut himself off, shook his head.  "When did you--" He stopped again.

"It's a Christmas tree, and while you were out this afternoon, gettin' the car tuned up."  He moved closer to Face, watching him.  "That fella Edgar, the doorman, he's a real nice guy.  Helped me stash the stuff in storage and brung it out when I called him."

"Murdock, I--"

"It's not exactly in keepin' with the decoratin' scheme, I know that," the pilot barrelled on.  "You, ah, don't have to keep it in here.  Maybe some of your fancy--I mean, if you throw a party or somethin', it'd kind of get in the way--"

"Murdock, shut up."  Brought up short by the harsh command, Murdock shut.  Face turned away and walked into the kitchen.

Wrong, Murdock thought, wrong, wrong.  Should I, shouldn't I?

He followed.  Probably be wrong again, but what the hell.  Might as well try batting a thousand.

The kitchen was dark, the only light coming in through the doorway, multicoloured and soft.  "Face."  

Face was running the back of his hand over his eyes.  Murdock heard him draw in a sharp breath, then let it out slowly.

"I, ah, I feel like I'm two people sometimes," Face murmured quietly.  He kept his back turned to Murdock as he spoke.  "There's the person I always told myself I wanted to be, the person who lives in places like this, who eats at the best restaurants, who doesn't even know the doorman's name, even though I've been living here for a fucking month.  And then there's the person I am with you."

Murdock tried to keep his breathing steady.

"I was never a kid, Murdock.  I never was, you know that?  I know you all thought I was cherry when we first met, but I wasn't.  Not inside."

"I know," the pilot acknowledged.

"I didn't think I missed being a kid until the first time you made me laugh.  I've been wondering ever since."  Face turned toward him then.  "You made me laugh, at life, at myself, and you taught me how to play, how to forget--everything.  I suppose I should be grateful--"

Murdock smiled faintly.  "But I sure messed up your plans, didn't I?"

Face's eyes burned with the reflection of Christmas electricity.  "Yeah."

The pilot blinked.  "Well, all I gotta do is call Edgar.  Maybe he could do with a tree.  He's got a coupla kids--" He spun toward the living room, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't even think about it."

Murdock turned back, suddenly angry.  "Whut do you want, Face?  You want to live two lives, or jus' one?"

Face shook his head, his expression anguished.  "It's not something I can choose.  They're both me."  The look in his eyes asked a question he'd never speak aloud.

Could you love them both?  The conman and the kid?  The fancy clothes and the man underneath?

Murdock closed his eyes for a moment.  Remembered all the times he'd almost lost himself, and all the times Face had pulled him back from the edge.   Remembered all the times he wished his heart had made it easy on him and let him fall for someone who wasn't so damned hard.

And all the times--like now, right now--he'd opened his eyes, looked at Face and thought, I don't care.  I don't fucking care, if I can have a chance at this.

"C'mon," he murmured.  "I'm givin' you one of your presents early."

It lasted only a split second, but Murdock saw it before Face could hide it.

For a split second, Murdock saw the kid Face had never been.

Face stepped forward, into the light, and Murdock threw an arm around his shoulders, leading him to the tree.








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Christmas 1987: Secret Ingredients
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Face had turned Murdock's tiny kitchen inside out.  Six times.

Nutmeg, of all things.  How could he have forgotten the fucking nutmeg?

He glanced at his Rolex.  There had to be an all-night grocery nearby.  Somewhere you could procure nutmeg at three a.m. on Christmas morning.

"You sneakin' a look at your presents?  Santa's gonna be real mad at you, boy."

Face nearly jumped out of his skin at Murdock's soft words.  He spun around so that his back was covering the incriminating area of the kitchen counter.

"The presents are in the living room, Murdock," sighed Face, assuming his most put-upon tone of voice.  "I could be asking you the same thing."

Murdock moved closer, and Face tried to make himself taller.  "You, uh, wanta show me what you're hidin' back there?" the Texan drawled.  The slow grin was just visible in the glow from the Christmas tree.

How did he do that? Face thought, as his knees turned to Jell-O.  No other grin had ever been able to do that to him.

No one else's.

He forced his legs to obey him, and pushed Murdock backward.  "I just came in to get a drink.  Let's go back to bed--"

Murdock chose that moment to tickle him in the ribs.

"You--!"  exclaimed Face, as the breath left him in a rush.  He twisted instinctively to get away from the pilot's mischievous fingers, and the next thing he knew he was outflanked.

"Well, wouldja looky here," the other man crowed, as he held up the glass pitcher.  

"Fine," Face muttered, "that's fine."  All at once, he felt drained, exhausted, exposed.  

"Whu's the matter, Faceguy?"

That was another thing.  What right did Murdock have to know him better than he knew himself?  "There's nothing the matter.  Why are you always--" He trailed off, turning toward the hallway.

"Where you goin'?"

Face kept moving.  He strode to the bedroom and flipped on the light switch, then grabbed his jeans off the rocking chair in the corner.  "I'm going to get nutmeg."  Left leg, right leg, zipper, just don't think about it, dammit, dammit--

"I'll come with you," Murdock offered, subdued now.  Face cast a glance at him, standing in the doorway, his hair rumpled by sleep, his eyes concerned and full of--

"No," Face persisted, reaching for his sweater.  He hated Washington winters.  Was it still snowing?  He hated snow.

"Hey!" the pilot shouted, startling him momentarily out of his head.  Murdock ambled forward, taking the other man's face between his hands.  Forcing him to make contact.  "It's me, darlin'," he soothed, brushing Face's cheeks with his thumbs.  "I'm right here."

Face closed his eyes.  Took a deep breath.  Then another.

"I forgot the nutmeg," he whispered.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does," Face persisted, pushing out of the embrace.  "Because it proves I'm no good at this."

"At what?"

"At--this!" he exploded, gesturing at the plastic Santa smiling down at them from his perch on top of Murdock's dresser.  "This whole Christmas thing.  I mean, how could it be any simpler?  You told me last week how much you missed your grandmother's eggnog, so I got the damn recipe, copied it down word for word--" He fished in his pocket and waved a piece of crumpled paper in the air.  "And I can't even remember the damn nutmeg.  The one ingredient she told me not to forget."

Murdock was staring at him.  "Who's ‘she'?"  he asked, quietly.

"Your cousin Patty."

There was a stunned pause.  "Patty?  I haven't talked to Patty in years," the pilot mused.  "Did I ever even tell you about Patty?"

"No, you didn't.  But your Aunt Bella gave me your Uncle Joe's number, and your uncle figured Patty might have some of your grandmother's--"

"Are you tellin' me," Murdock breathed, "that you tracked down my whole family jus' to get an eggnog recipe?"

"It wasn't a big deal."

Murdock didn't answer him right away.  He just looked at him with those deep brown eyes.  Those eyes that saw right through him, revealing everything he was feeling.  The eyes that witnessed the dreams he never dared to dream about before, for fear of not being worthy of them.  Murdock was making those dreams happen.

And he couldn't even make eggnog.

The pilot was smiling at him now, and Face realized belatedly that the other man had spoken, but he hadn't heard the words.

"What did you say?"

Murdock kept smiling.  "There you go again, lost in your head.  ‘S a dangerous place to get stuck, take it from me."  He fell silent for a moment, and Face began counting his heartbeats.  One, two, three, four--

"I said I love you."

Now it was Face's turn to stare.

"I s'pose there's no need to say it," Murdock admitted, shaking his head slowly.  "We don't need those hearts ‘n' flowers, do we, muchacho?  We both know it.  But I couldn't help myself, seein' as how it's Christmas and all--"

"I love you, too."  Suddenly, everything he'd been dragging along behind him dropped away, leaving him trembling.

Those deep brown eyes misted.  "Face.  C'mere.  Jus'--c'mere."

And Face stepped into his dream.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


"Whut's so funny?"

"You have a mustache," Face laughed.

"Shouldn't make such good eggnog, should ya?"  He waded through the pile of ripped paper and boxes to sit beside Face on the couch.  "You gonna tell me the recipe now?"

"Patty swore me to secrecy."

"Oh, yeah?" Murdock growled, leaning closer.  

Face beat him to it, closing the distance.  When they parted, the mustache was gone.

"I think," Face murmured, his voice rough, "we have all the ingredients we need."

Murdock grinned, then kissed him again, tenderly.  "Merry Christmas, Face."

"Merry Christmas," Face whispered, meaning it more than he ever imagined he could.




End



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