Gift
Exchange
by lamardeuse
~ Written for Miriel in the
2005 edition of ds_seekritsanta on LJ. ~
Rated: PG-13
Three days before Christmas,
Fraser’s mother arrived for a visit.
To say that he hadn’t been
expecting her was an understatement. If he had known, he might have
put more effort into dusting the windowsills and the top of the fridge,
but he also had no idea if she was the type of mother who cared about those
sorts of things. His memories of her were hazy at best, and after all, the
indulgent smiles and warm hugs lavished on small boys were not necessarily
indicative of an adult mother-son relationship. In short, he had no expectations
whatsoever.
But when Caroline appeared
on his doorstep, her smile shy and unsure, he realized that she was as adrift
as he. And so the only thing to do was to smile in a way that erased all
doubts, to kiss her surprisingly warm cheek, to open his arms to her without
hesitation.
“I didn’t know if I’d be
able to touch you,” Caroline said, her voice deeper than he remembered.
“Your father couldn’t.”
Ben had no answer for this,
so instead he closed his eyes and tightened his hold and breathed in the
faint scent of jasmine that took him back to the one time he could be certain
of perfect, untainted happiness.
*~~*~~*~~*~~*
After dinner, Ben found Caroline
knitting by the woodstove, Dief curled up at her feet as though he was doing
his part to anchor her to earth.
She held up the square of
blue yarn for him to see. “What do you think?”
His instinct for honesty
wanted him to tell her he was hardly qualified to judge; aloud, he said,
“It’s – very nice.”
She smiled, pleased, and
he was suffused with warmth so intense it made him shiver. “I was never
very good at it before, but I’d always wanted to be.” She looked up at him,
her green gaze steady. “That’s all they give you when you were waiting the
way I was – small things like that. Never anything really important, of course,
but enough to keep you distracted.” She looked away. “Just enough to keep
you sane.”
“Dad tried to find you,”
Ben blurted, because inadequate as it was, it was the only thing he could
think of to say.
“I know,” his mother said
gently. She took a deep breath as though steeling herself. “I don’t want
you to be left with small things, Ben. Because in the end nothing you find
there will be sufficient to outweigh your regrets.”
“I don’t have regrets,” Ben
heard himself lie, and why did this one come so easily? “I’m exactly where
I belong, exactly where I’m needed most.”
His mother watched him for
another moment before returning to her work. “Perhaps you should start thinking
about what you’d like for Christmas,” she said. Her knitting needles clicked
briskly, echoing the hollow beat of his heart.
*~~*~~*~~*~~*
The next morning when he
awoke to the scent of frying bacon and strong coffee, he became absolutely
sure that he was losing his mind.
Returning home after his
shift, he walked out to the small woodlot behind his cabin and cut down
a small blue spruce whose growth had been stunted by long winters and weak
sunlight. His mother strung garlands of popcorn while he placed hooks on
the ornaments he’d bought earlier at the general store. They were gaudy
things, hideous spangled pink and purple stars that glittered in even the
weakest light, the unwanted leftovers of the annual shipment of Christmas
stock. Caroline took them from him without comment and helped him hang them
on the tree.
“They look quite nice against
the blue,” his mother said when they were done.
At that, Ben burst into violent,
mortifying tears. His mother didn’t speak, didn’t try to quiet him, simply
gathered him close and rocked him until he exhausted himself. He imagined
she must have held him the same way when he was a child, but he couldn’t
remember ever crying when she was alive. He only remembered the tears he’d
shed alone, in the dark, with no one to console him.
Come on, son. His
father’s harsh, broken voice, every anguished syllable like a slap, a blow,
a gunshot. You must have seen—
No, sir, I didn’t! No,
nothing, nothing, nothing—
“I’m sorry,” Ben sobbed,
because he truly was, because if he’d known that all she needed was a witness,
he could have, he could have—
“I know you are,” Caroline
murmured, her hold on him never lessening. “I know.”
*~~*~~*~~*~~*
On Christmas Eve morning,
Caroline cooked flapjacks. Ben sat at the kitchen table and watched her,
drinking in the sight of her auburn hair, her strong, straight back, her
broad hands with their long fingers and short, unpainted nails. When Mary
Kiguna, his deputy, had heard he had a long-lost relative visiting, she’d
generously offered to take his shift today.
He had a whole day to spend
with his mother.
“You still haven’t told me
what you want for Christmas,” she said, still turned to the stove.
Ben smiled. “I have what
I want.”
To his surprise, Caroline
turned to him and shook her head. “No,” she told him gently. “This isn’t
it.”
*~~*~~*~~*~~*
They took the dogs out early
in the afternoon for a short run around the countryside. Ben gave her a guided
tour, pointing out the natural and the manmade features, regaling her with
some of the local legends he’d picked up over the past six months. Her laugh
surprised him; he’d forgotten her laugh, forgotten so much, he realized.
It was growing dark when
he slowed to a stop outside the cabin. Caroline rose to her feet and walked
over to Dief, who looked up at her adoringly. “I’ll see to the dogs,” she
said. Ben felt his heart stop.
“I’ll go with you.”
She smiled at him fondly.
“You should go inside. Your gift is waiting for you.”
Ben took one shuddering breath,
then another. “I want more time,” he managed. “Please.”
His mother’s eyes brimmed
with unshed tears. “So do I,” she admitted. “But this isn’t where I belong,
and it isn’t what you need.” She nodded. “What you deserve.”
“Will I ever see you again?”
he asked, his voice small.
“One day.” Her face crumpled.
“But I hope that won’t be for a very long time.”
Ben took a step toward her,
but she shook her head sharply. “No,” she said firmly. “No more regrets
– for either of us. Be happy, Benton.” And with that, she led the dogs off
toward the small barn.
Wiping his eyes, Ben watched
her until she disappeared inside, then turned and walked up the steps to
the cabin.
He opened the door to find
Ray Kowalski standing in front of his Christmas tree. Ray’s hands were jammed
in the pockets of his jeans and his hair was mashed flat. He was restless
and clearly unsure under Fraser’s startled gaze.
Fraser had never seen anything
more beautiful in his life.
“Hey,” Ray said, a smile
flashing swiftly across his face like a shooting star. “Nice tree.”
Ben took a step forward,
then another, then another. He raised shaking hands to cup Ray’s cheeks,
still cool from the outdoors, blood collecting under the skin and turning
them pink.
“I love you,” Ben said clearly,
so that there would be no room for doubt.
Ray placed his own hands
on Ben’s hips and pulled him closer. “Best present I ever got,” he murmured
against Ben’s lips.
*~~*~~*~~*~~*
Ben unwrapped Ray slowly,
taking time to savour each new square of skin revealed, to pause and give
thanks for every part of this marvelous gift. Ray arched and panted and moaned
and occasionally cursed under his hands, and Ben realized how much he’d missed
that constant momentum, that source of seemingly limitless heat and light
and motion. When he finally had Ray naked and sprawled across his bed, decadent
and alive, he pressed his lips to the place over Ray’s heart and made a silent
vow as binding as any he’d ever taken.
He would never again allow
himself to be contented by small things. He would rip apart the tower of
regrets he’d built bit by bit, starting here, now.
“Your turn,” Ray growled,
pushing Ben over onto his back, applying desperate, eager hands to the task
of undressing him.
Ben opened himself to Ray’s
energy, letting it in, letting it pour over his skin and seep through into
his pores, his blood, his heart. And when Ray entered him a long while later,
Ben opened his eyes and watched him as they gave gifts to one another.
*~~*~~*~~*~~*
“Ray, what made you come?”
Ray treated him to a wicked
smile; Ben chuckled and poked him in the ribs. “What made you come to see
me?” he amended. “Why now?”
Ray shrugged. “Been thinking
about it pretty much since I got on the plane to Chicago,” he said. “But
every time I’d talk myself out of it, come up with a hundred reasons why
it was the dumbest idea in the history of dumb ideas.”
“And this time?” Ben persisted.
“What happened to the hundred reasons?”
Ray shook his head. “You
know, I could not think of a single one.” He grinned. “So I bought a ticket
before they started comin’ back to me.”
“I can’t tell you how glad
I am that you did,” Ben murmured, pressing his lips to the underside of
Ray’s jaw.
Ray lowered his head and
brushed his mouth against Ben’s. “I think you just told me.”
“So I did,” Ben said, opening
his arms and embracing his future.
End
December 2005
send feedback
leave
a comment on my livejournal
Back to due South fiction