Warnings: I do not own anything.

Author: SharpAndSweet

Rating: I use the f-word a lot. I think if you have one f-word it can still be PG but two makes it PG-13, but there isn't a lot of lascivious content, in case you were getting your hopes up.

PRSMX or The Fairy Godmother's Christmas Miracle; A sequel to Psychosomatic Remembrances

"I'm so excited for you!" Catherine said over her shoulder, as she is adjusting the big gold bows on the Christmas tree for, by Mark's count, the seventh time. He isn't really sure why there were bows on the tree, but seeing as it was the only one of three with bows in the house, he hadn't questioned it. This was the 'relax tree' by the granite hearth in the sunken informal sitting area, and featured bows, gold and red spheres, red lights and a number of inherited Christmas ornaments from both Catherine's and Darren's family collections.

"Why are we so excited for me?" In truth, she should be excited for herself, and the lump she was smuggling under her designer maternity top. Mark finished fixing the hot cider at the stove of possibly the most gorgeous kitchen ever built, but then, he was biased. It was a bit of a shambles, since much work had gone into prepping dinner, and even now a prime rib roasted merrily in the oven, and a hazelnut torte decorated with marzipan holly berries and chocolate leaves sat under a glass dome. None the less, warm toned wood caressed top-of-the-line appliances in organic lines, and featured a built in spice rack with enough room to have saffron from two different parts of the globe, tiny decorative shelves, expansive granite topped counters, and no storage space only reachable by seven foot tall giants. It was both inlaid with darker wood and carved beautifully. The foodies Catherine invited over almost creamed themselves when they saw it.

Mark poured the hot cider into a tea pot, and set it alongside a plate of exactly two cookies to tide Catherine over until dinner. Visiting a lot had given him insights to her needs.

"First Christmas with a significant other is always really informative. It's where you discover if your partner is worth hanging on to, based on their mettle when facing celebration, tradition and the thwarting thereof, gift giving, inconveniences, seasonal pressure, holiday traffic, Christmas carols on eternal repeat, and, of course, family." Catherine stood back to admire the replaced bow, then started rearranging the ornaments around it. "I dumped Bryon after the first Christmas we spent together. It turned out he had the emotional maturity of a sixth grader when faced with a slightly tipsy octogenarian who accidentally spilled gravy on him."

Mark set the tray on a low coffee table. "Come sit down before you strain something. Have a cookie."

"Men are such babies about babies. You're going to have to man up if you're going to be the God-Father." None the less Catherine gave the tree one last look before heading over to sit in the special maternity chair bought for her service. "Anyway, I knew I wanted to marry Darren when he suggested we have Christmas Eve at his family because they like to open their presents that night, and then he would drive us to a Christmas brunch at my parent's. Compromise. AND he took me to the Nutcracker, even though he hates ballet." She gave a sigh, and accepted the cup Mark poured for her. She inhaled the steam and took a slow sip.

Mark smiled and rested back in his seat, stretching long legs out. The house was ruthlessly decorated, but somehow was still homey instead of making you feel like you were in a department store and you weren't to touch anything. Probably that was Catherine's touch. The big windows displayed expansive views of pine trees and Lake Tahoe as still as a mirror in shadowy colors. It was a big change from urban life. Mark had always lived in the city, and never had any quarrel with it. It had its own serenity he could appreciate, though he was learning something about the pace of more rural living.

"So, what did you get Calder?" Catherine said after some long minutes of quiet. She smiled over the rim of her cup.

"It's a surprise." He'd managed to dodge the topic so far, mostly by dangling knowledge of her gifts and then yanking it away.

"Well, not for me. Tell me,"

"No."

"Oh my God, why are you always avoiding this conversation? Hello? Me, Matchmaker. I know about you two."

"Do we have to talk about this?" Mark held up the plate to her and she snatched a sugar cookie Santa and decapitated it aggressively.

"Yes. I have a very excellent track record of helping you, and I think wanting to know what you got your boyfriend for the holiday is perfectly reasonable, especially since I am also a master gift consultant. If you got him an electric toothbrush we will have to do some emergency shopping, stat. Besides, you won't tell me what you got me, so tell me what you your boyfriend."

Urgh. Mark thrust to his feet and paced, carrying his cup of cider. "Look, he...isn't."

"Isn't what? Oh crap, don't say he isn't coming to dinner tonight."

"Isn't...my boyfriend."

Catherine's mouth dropped open, showing off masticated cookie. "He is so. He is! How can you not be dating?"

Mark rolled the cup and tried to answer.

"But, you're out here all the time. I have not seen you so much since we lived in the same building in high school. I mean, you're here, at that B&B, hell, you stayed at his house."

The news distressed Catherine, and she set the plate on her lap.

"And we email. And text. And Call. And Skype. And game." Mark listed.

"Which is what boyfriends and boyfriends do. I assumed things were going great, I mean, you're so happy and together. You smile."

"We see each other, but, I don't know what we are. We don't...you know. I slept on the couch." Friends, is what they were. Mark knew it. Granted, the contact was intense and frequent, but this was a long lost friend. They were just making up for lost time. When the new year started at the friendship had some mileage to it, it would peter out. Mark knew that, and so while he had a good excuse in Catherine's pregnancy- not that he used her, he really did like going to appointments and shopping with her in preparation for her baby- but it was a good opportunity to sneak in visits and lunch and even seeing Calder's work on display at a winter craft show.

"The couch. You mean you haven't even kissed? No, you must have...Oh god. You haven't. And here, I imagined there was all this really hot gay sex going on between you two and you were just too embarrassed to tell me and I thought it would be tacky to ask if you didn't want to talk about it and here you are telling me that what you are is chaste and mopey? And pining? I thought you had an understanding about- hey, where are you going?"

Mark paced the length of the room and then headed to the wet bar down the hall to spike his cider with some brandy. She was right again in that he kind of did need to talk about it, even if he didn't want to. Who else could he discuss it with? He rolled the cup, took a big gulp and topped up the cup with more brandy. He needed the fortification.

When Mark rejoined Catherine on the couch she was chewing on cookie very intently and staring at him.

"Look, it's...complicated." He shot her a look before she could comment about the frequency with which his life tended toward the convoluted. "That day- the day after your wedding, we had coffee. We talked for just...hours. It was great, maybe one of the best days of my life. Whatever the other stuff, I had found a friend on top of everything else. I've always gotten along with most people, but real true friends? He's only my second."

"Then?"

"There is no then. I've just told you what great friends we are." He looked into his cup. Having Calder for a friend was great. Calder was biting and insightful, funny and fierce but also had a streak of gentility he tried to hide. Catherine had always been Mark's confident, it was odd having a really close friend who had the same set of genitals. It opened up a few other topics of discussion.

They spent time just getting to know each other. They never talked about Marcus or Esca after that first day.. It was part of the past, and they had by some agreement decided the direction into which to look was the future.

At first, Mark was convinced he didn't need anything more. Calder was by his side again, if more metaphorically than physically, what with Mark's home being on the east coast. He could reach out at any time- and Calder kept bizarre hours- and Calder would be there. What's more, though mostly their conversations were general guy stuff, Calder seemed to genuinely understand and anticipate Mark while Mark was always finding himself surprised by Calder. He could really tell him anything, and Calder would offer a stark and honest opinion. They shared common ground with a few interest, even, and when teamed up in first person shooter games, they dominated.

The friendship alone was miracle enough, and Mark did not want to tempt the fates.

"Friends." Catherine said, as if trying to wrap her mind around it.

"Friends."

"And that's enough?"

"It's all there is."

"But, you made a big love confession to him."

"No, that was Marcus' love for Esca. I'm not Marcus, he's not Esca. We're not who we were."

"So how does Mark feel for Calder?"

"He's a good friend."

Catherine clicked her tongue "Now you're evading. A simple platonic vs. romantic test; Do you want to take your 'friend' to bed?"

Mark considered the first time Calder had sat down at the computer bare chested and wet from a shower. He had almost swallowed his own tongue. He was fairly certain he had hidden his weird mix of desire and the shame for experiencing said desire for Calder, who had carried on talking about one of his projects unperturbed. Shirtless. Glistening. And bi-sexual-maybe-in-theory became a little less theoretical when Mark realized he was fantasizing about licking droplets of water from Calder's neck, and wondering what kind of noises Calder would make while he did it.

The casualness proved somewhat problematic, since Calder was a free spirit who worked with his shirt off a lot, and had no qualms about firing up his webcam in any state of undress that he happened to be in and then Mark would have to try and converse intelligently and not stare at the divets of flesh by hips that plunged into groin. He usually accomplished this by shuffling a lot of papers and not looking at his web-cam, which irritated Calder because he felt Mark wasn't paying attention when all Mark was trying to do was not pay attention to certain parts of anatomy he should not be attentive to on a friend. It was all rather...complicated.

"I can tell from your face that is a yes. Didn't you ever mention that to him?"

Mark shrugged. Then he nursed his cup. Even if he had dared speak how he felt in a general sense, it was no fair to your friend to spring such an unwelcome complication on your rhythm. Better to keep his gob shut.

It was enough of a no for Catherine to sigh expansively, then lean forward and take the other cookie from the plate.

"When we first met he had a girlfriend. I just figured..." And he hadn't wanted to push it. While he extrapolated that loving another man was easier now than it had been at any other time in history, it could still lose you a friend and Mark didn't want to lose what Calder had become to him. "Besides, what do I know about taking another guy to bed?"

"It's called The Internet and it answers all your questions." Catherine snorted.

"Not the mechanics, I can guess those. It's all the other things."

Catherine made a disgusted sound and struggled to stand. "You two are ridiculous. Just ridiculous, when I think of all the secret little looks that I have watched tossed around while you were really being chicken shit-"

The rest of the sentence was lost to a grunt as Mark assisted her to her feet. She shot him a brief look that was between affection and irritation, then she strode across the room. Mark followed after as she stalked to the entry way and began to yank on her coat, taking up the car keys from the bowl on the little receiving table.

"Where are you going?" Mark said, spiked with alarm.

"I am going to fix this for you. Again."

"No, Catherine." Firmly, Mark planted himself in front of the door. He could hardly imagine what she would do, and, in fact, he didn't want to. He would never have said a word if he thought she was going to do anything except listen and pat his knee consolingly.

She set a mean eye on him and pointed. "You will peel potatoes while I am gone. You will check on the roast and the carrots, you will not touch the table and I will be back in fifteen minutes."

Honestly, it was a little scary, And Mark found himself just a little afraid of the pregnant woman he was quite large enough to manhandle. He'd never seen that set to her jaw before. He hesitated, then held his ground in front of the door, shaking his head at her. Lord only knew what she would do with fifteen minutes and his love life. Or, lack there of. At least now he had his illusions, his fantasies and his right hand. If he lost the former two the latter would be distinctly less appealing.

Catherine's eyes narrowed into little slits. She leaned over, snatched up an umbrella from the cannister and gave him a wallop across the shoulders. It didn't hurt much, but it Mark had never been the recipient of violence from her before. He was more shocked than anything else, and she took the opportunity to elbow him aside and wedge herself out the door.

Mark rushed after her while she headed to the car. "Catherine, you cannot do this. Please don't, Catherine, let me handle this, please. I didn't mean I wanted you to do anything, I was talking, like you wanted." He dogged after her steps until she faced him with hands on hips

"As your self appointed fairy godmother, you should trust me."

It stops him for a moment, considering if she really would do any of the horrible things he's imagining and it's enough for her to act.

She left him standing in her driveway, wondering what the hell she was going to do, and if the fall out was going to wreck his life. Then he went back inside and peeled potatoes numbly, waiting for his phone to ring with an affronted Calder or an apologetic Catherine. Or the police department.

She was back in thirteen minutes, and looked rather smug with herself. When he demanded to know what had transpired, she just smiled sweetly and asked him if he trusted the Spirit of Christmas Romance. He didn't, but she talked over him, asking about Calder's gift again.

"Fine, I bought him a section of black walnut. What did you do, Catherine?"

"Stop worrying."

She smiled, and tapped her finger against her nose and began trimming asparagus. When her front door opened and her husband's voice called she pranced off and left Mark watching the potatoes on the stove while they made muted smoochy sounds in the entry way for an extended period of time.

Darren and Catherine together were so very newly wedded, even with a child on the way. They kissed and they cuddled and they stared at one and other sparkly eyed with intense frequency. There was also the fact that Darren wasn't suspicious of Mark. It would be easy to misinterpret his and Catherine's relationship, and a lot of people assumed they were dating, or that men and women couldn't be friends, and therefore they were up to something illicit. Darren got it, and as Mark got to know him he found that maybe they could be friends too.

When Darren at last entered the room to greet Mark they exchanged pleasantries, then Darren went to change out of his work clothes. Friendly though they were, Mark couldn't bring up the topic once Darren was seated at the kitchen table asking how his wife's day was. Mark wracked his brain, but could not discern what magical thing Catherine could do in under twenty minutes that was somehow supposed to alter something. How could he repair whatever was done so they could resume their standard operation?

At six fifty two the doorbell rang and Mark's stomach dropped through to his feet.

"That's Calder, better get that, Mark." Catherine said, in the middle of sauteing asparagus while her husband mashed potatoes.

Mark's feet were leaden as he trudged to the entry way. What could Catherine have done? Did she talk to Calder? Deface his car? What?

Through the peephole Mark saw the thatch of untidy hair, and cheeks stained pink by cold and a truly ugly if home-made looking scarf. Calder.

"Happy Holidays," Mark opened the door with a smile, determined to bluff his way through whatever had happened.

Calder's face split into a grin and he raised a hand clutching a bottle of wine in greeting. "Hey,"

Mark held the door wider, inviting Calder, and in he came, smelling of sweet wood and evergreen. It had been a few weeks since they had last seen one and other, the week of Thanksgiving, when Mark had come to dine with Catherine. Calder had gone to be with his family, but the day before he left they had spent the entire day together.

"How was the flight out?" Calder asked as he wrestled his arms free of the brown leather coat, Mark holding the bottle. He was dressed in a sweater that probably was a little dorky, but Mark thought it looked adorable on him. Hell, he'd never seen Calder in anything he hadn't looked entirely edible in, and when he wasn't wearing much at all-Mark forcibly halted his wandering mind.

"Bumpy. They don't hand out peanuts any more, either." he said.

"You in danger of starving during those six hours?"

"It was always nice to get some food to distract me from the lack of leg room. Besides, I'm a big guy. I need sustenance." Mark winced. He hadn't meant it to come out like that. He dropped his head a bit, and tried to relax his shoulders from creeping up around his ears whilst he fetched a hanger.

Calder's eyes swept up and down him. "Yeah. You are."

Mark set the bottle on the table and took Calder's coat to hang it up in the closet. "Look, did Catherine happen to call you today?" He asked.
"No,"

"Text?"

"No, Why?"

"Calder! Isn't it lovely to see you." Catherine's voice chimed from the dining room doorway, directly across the hall from the foyer. She smiled sweetly at the two of them. Mark's stomach took another dip. Out she came to stand just at the bottom of the two steps which lead to the tiled entry way. She reached out her hands to Calder.

"Thanks for inviting me. Must be a lot of work for someone in your condition." Calder approached, but he wasn't one for kissy face, so he took her hand and shook it. Mark followed along with the wine. He found himself looking at the back of Calder's neck where softly freckled skin delved beneath the soft wool collar of his sweater.
"Not with the kitchen you designed me. It's just perfect, not to mention my slave labor, I-oh!" Mark had known Catherine long enough to detect the faint whiff of acting, and his gaze jerked to her. He wasn't sure Calder did, but their eyes both went up when Catherine pointed above their heads, trying to look innocently surprised.

A sad but live chunk of mistletoe had been hooked from the more impressive fake garland that framed the archway by a lopsided ribbon. It had not been there when Mark arrived, and now dangled just over their heads, the kind of scraggly thing sold curbside, which is suddenly where Mark realized it had come. He had been so intent on what lay behind the door he hadn't noticed it's addition when he entered.

His stomach went cold as his eyes flicked to Catherine, who was looking at Calder. "It's bad luck not to, pucker up!" she said.

Calder's mouth quirked and he leaned forward towards Catherine again.

"Not me, I'm clearly outside of the mistletoe zone." Catherine gestured what was presumably the acceptable mistletoe zone, then looked at Mark expectantly. He was fairly certain he went pale.

The energy suddenly went tense and thick. It tingled up and down his forearms as all three parties understood what Catherine intended. Mark considered expiring on the spot. This was Catherine's master plan? Trap them into an awkward kiss- No, not even that, because Calder was never going to kiss him, because they were friends, and adding a weird peer pressure kiss was going to ruin everything. If it even actually happened there was a question of uneven enthusiasm administered by parties involved, which would only leave embarrassment. Then they wouldn't be able to look each other in the face, and then they would stop talking to each other entirely until all contact fizzled into nothing.

Mark did not want to lose Calder.

"I'm sure the luck won't be that bad," Mark tried to bluster, and he held out the bottle. "Look what Calder brought for dinner. I'll just go open it and let it breath,"

Mark proceeded down the steps when Catherine caught his arm. "Oh no, my house, my rules. I don't want any bad juju swimming around just waiting for someone to land on, and me pregnant. What if, by thwarting tradition, your bad luck spins off and hits my poor defenseless baby and she's born blind or with one leg? Won't you feel bad? Won't you feel responsible when there was something you could have done but you chose not to, and my first is born deformed by your lack of consideration?"

Mark stared at her incredulously. He couldn't believe that not only had she said it, but with a straight face.

"We're all mature adults here," Catherine continued, hands on her stomach. "It's not as if I'm asking for tongue."

"No, because that would be unreasonable." Mark had to fight to keep the edge of sarcasm predominate and not his alarm that Catherine was not dropping it. He didn't dare look at Calder. Yes, sure, he thought about kissing Calder, but he certainly didn't want it to be a kiss both parties were goaded into. He wanted Calder to want to kiss him, too.

Catherine crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

"Catherine, " Mark warned.

"I am not putting my baby at risk just because you want to flaunt tradition."

"Two men kissing under the mistletoe is not a tradition. It's probably a cause for lynching in several southern States."

"It's my house and kissing under the mistletoe is my new tradition, and it is gender blind."

"Tradition is something you've done over and over, not something you've just made up,"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Calder made a noise in his nose, still standing two steps above in the entry way. It put their heights about even. He leaned over, fisted his hand in Mark's shirt, and yanked him over. Mark hardly had time to process what was commencing before warm lips were pressed over his own. He expected it to be over in a flash, thought that as soon as the imprint was there it would be gone.

Calder lingered. Not very long, but long enough for it to be no perfunctory fulfillment. Mark felt something warm and pleasant blossom in his chest. It hadn't been quick, but it had been nowhere near long enough. He hadn't closed his eyes, a fleeting moment of noticing how long Calder's closed eyelashes were and then Calder was moving away before Mark could force himself to move. He stared at Calder, who pressed his lips together, looking somewhat sheepish, eyes twitching to and fro- everywhere but at Mark.

Mark took both stairs in one step, drawing himself closer to Calder, whose blue eyes ceased wandering and fastened on him, sharp and cautious. They softened somewhat, but retained a core of wariness. Mark cupped Calder's face. The face of a man he held so dear. His fingers brushed the good, clean and stubborn line of jaw, recently shaved and smooth. He was still pink, but was it from the cold? It only felt warm between them, and they stood so close, chests almost touching. Indeed, heat flowed between then, exacerbated by tension.

Mark stroked a thumb along Calder's bottom lip, watching it drag wetly, waiting for some revulsion, for some sign that Calder would pull back and away.

When Calder just stood there, breathing shallowly Mark bent, meeting their mouths again. This time it was softer, properly done. No swift thing that was too quick to satisfy but too slow to be empty. No. Gentle and leisurely, Mark touched his mouth to Calders, lips hesitating a moment to see what their reception would be. He forced himself not to demand, to kiss with tender encouragement.

Whatever became of it, for that moment it was splendid. Calder was letting Mark kiss him. No- Calder was kissing him back! More than that, Calder was taking hold of Mark's waist and drawing him nearer until they stood flush.

The kiss changed, from some slow and sweet experiment it heated, feeding a hunger long subdued until it rent the sides of it's prison, and released with flares of bottled passion Whose mouth opened first was unknown, only that Mark was suddenly tasting Calder, which seemed to predominately be cinnamon flavored tic-tac, but under that, a spark of copper, a scratch of cloves. Exotic, but comforting.

Mark could hardly think, was almost forgetting to breath, with his hands full of Calder. The release of raw want, and feeling it answered spurned a heady wave of joy and need. When he next noticed what had happened, Mark had Calder pinned against the wall, one leg between Calder's, and Calder was groaning into his open mouth over the wet sounds of kissing, and his hands were actually clutching Mark's butt.

"Honey, what's going on?" Mark heard Darren say distantly.

"It's a Christmas Miracle! Mark and Calder are making out. And groping. My work here is done. I have fairied the Godmother out of these two noodles again."

"You're the Christmas Miracle."

"Aw, honey." Smooching sounds ensued.

It was enough to jar Mark back to reality. He was fairly certain he went red- but not as red as Calder. Looking at him was almost a mistake, because his eyes were foggy and his mouth was bee-stung and even though Mark didn't have the first idea how to please another guy he wanted to sling Calder over his shoulder like a possessive neanderthal, haul him off to the nearest bed and try his damnedest.

He forced himself to release Calder, who took a polite step back. They stood mutely while Catherine and Darren smiled at them, then turned and headed back into the kitchen. "Dinner in ten!"

They stood, side by side, not looking at one and other or speaking for a good minute. Mark looked at his shoes, and at the sad little clump of mistletoe which seemed entirely too smug for a chunk of weed.

"So..." Mark cleared his throat. Already the wave of heady giddiness was retreating as he began to wonder if it had been too much. Did he imagine Calder had been as involved as he? What if he'd...Retreat. Retreat was best.

"I'm...sorry...about that. It got a little out of...yeah..."

Calder turned suddenly and took hold of Mark's shoulders, turning so they faced one and other. He looked him dead in the eye. "Listen. I'm not."

"You're not?" Mark was buoyant for a moment before focusing again. "Why not?"

"Fuck, how many assholes do you know who run around in their underwear in November in a house heated by a wood stove?" Calder rolled his eyes, and gave Mark a little shake. His expression very clearly said that Mark should think very hard.

"You were half naked on purpose." Mark bit his lower lip, then smiled. "I just thought you were, you know, a hippie nudist artist or something. Why didn't you say anything?"

"We were just getting to know each other at first, and then because, you've never done anything with a man before. I didn't want to come on too strong. If I freaked you the fuck out you might run for the hills. I like being your friend too much for that." His tone was gruff, tempered by significance. "I figured I'd wait for you to come around."

"I didn't want to lose your friendship either," Mark confided, rubbing the back of his head. "It all started sort of weirdly and I didn't want you to think that I expected anything."

Again they stood in silence while Catherine and Darren moved around the kitchen. There was a flash as she came into the dining room and set a bowl on the table, then left, rather pointedly not looking into the foyer.

"Wait, lounging around half clothed wasn't coming on too strong?" Mark said.

"Clearly, you didn't notice it was out of the ordinary."

Mark cleared his throat. "I did notice. But I didn't think I should notice, so I pretended not to notice."

"I was getting tired of waiting. You slept on my couch." The tone indicated that Calder could not think of anything more unfair.

Catherine passed by again, carrying a bowl of potatoes mounded high. This time she slipped a look through the doorway. She caught them looking back at her and she smiled.

"She's gonna be intolerable from now on." Mark said, crossing his arms.

Calder shrugged. "Until the kid is born. Then she'll be too busy."

"Catherine always finds time to meddle."

"Fuck her, what about," Calder gestured between them, not meaning the dismissal of Catherine unkindly, Mark could see at once. He just wasn't letting the issue die.

"I don't know. Should we...date?" he asked hesitatingly.

"For starters,"

Mark found himself smiling again. He shut his eyes, then leaned back and laughed. It felt good. Another knot of tension eased. Sure, there were like fifty other problems now, like about how they were going to manage a relationship, who was going to uproot themselves when the time came, and how exactly you found the prostate on a real person and not a two dimensional jpg, but he found that all those worries stacked against the simple pleasure of knowing the person you liked liked you back were nothing.

Boundless enthusiasm swelled him and Mark laughed again, then picked up Calder and spun him around with him in his arms. Sure, it probably looked silly, but Calder weighted less than a half a minute, and Mark needed to feel him in his arms once more, feel that he really belonged there.

Calder shouted and punched him in the shoulder, but it didn't really hurt so Mark knew he wasn't trying all that hard. "Do NOT pick me up, fucker! It's undignified! First rule of dating."

Mark grinned at him, and then set him down. Then he took a step back so Calder didn't think he was going to grab him again. "I'm a rule breaker."

"Liar. You're a straight arrow. You spellcheck your text messages and use punctuation. Obey all the rules."

"Maybe not that one."

"Yes, that one. Chainsaws, remember?"

"Chainsaws." Mark nodded.

Catherine said from the next room. "Dinner's getting cold,"

"I don't have the first idea what I'm doing," Mark warned as they headed for the dining room. "I'll probably do things wrong."
Calder shrugged. "So? I will too. We'll figure it out."

They sat. They ate. They laughed. They talked, the four of them, and for Mark the memory would always be painted with a hazy, magical glow that should only occupy Christmas cards and Victorian carols. When Mark walks Calder out to his old truck close to midnight they kiss again, and it's tentative and warm and over too fast. Tomorrow they have their own holiday plans made when they were just friends and not gentleman friends.

"Plenty of time," Calder says, patting Mark's cheek. Then he squints at the truck bed, where Mark sneaked his Christmas present between dinner and dessert. He gives Mark the eye, and he can only duck his head and try not to grin. Calder rolls his eyes, nimbly climbing into the truck to undo the bungie cords and pull up the tarp. Mark shoved his hands in his pockets, his nose pricked with cold, breath coming in pants of steam.

"Fuck, Mark..." The tone is soft, pleased when the light of the porch betrays the boards and blocks of black walnut. Calder strokes the wood with those rough, clever fingers, tracing the grain. His eyes are soft, and that also makes Mark go warm inside.

"It's too much, God, what this must have cost..." Black walnut is not cheap.

"You said you always wanted to work with it."

"Jesus," Crouched in the truck bed Calder strokes a flat palm down the length of the wood and the motion goes straight to Mark's pelvis.

"Merry Christmas," he says, when Calder doesn't respond.

Calder hasn't looked up from the wood, but touches it for another minute before forcibly covering it with the tarp, and re-securing it. He hauls out of the truck, jumping down with a single easy movement. The passenger door squeaks when it opens, and before Mark knows it a package is thrust into his hands. Calder's eyes raise to his for a moment, a single moment where blue eyes burn bright and deep and that's a new punch, because there's an intimacy there, something different than just kissing or talking. Calder does lean forward, and kisses Mark briefly and roughly. And then presses their brows together. For the span of a few heartbeats they are still, breathing, together. Then Calder is in the car and heading out.

Back inside the house Mark can hear Catherine and Darren washing dishes and laughing. Bing Crosby is singing Christmas carols, and fresh from the cold the smell of pine and cinnamon touch the nose.

Flushed, Mark looks at the package. He should put it under the tree, and wait for the day after tomorrow. He should be patient.

He tears open the gold paper with the silver poinsettias and finds a cardboard box, which he prises the tape from as the wrapping falls to his feet. It is joined by handfuls of tissue paper, packed tight around something.

It is a carving. An eagle, about the width of Marcus' hand, with wings extended and illuminated with luscious detail. Carved of pine, maybe, a soft off-white color, and it shone with a simple matte finish. Another, deeper feeling moves through Mark, and he finds himself tearing up for reasons he doesn't remember. The eagle moves something within him.

There is a note tied to the metal bar which attaches the carving to the stand, written in a pointed, erratic hand.

I began carving this the week that I met you. It felt like it was yours.

Mark closes his eyes, and lets the packaging drops so he can hold the eagle to his chest. A new knowing fills him.

He knows everything is right where it ought to be.

A/N; I want to thank everyone who has reviewed or commented on this little tale. I didn't expect to write a sequel, I was really going to let it be and let your imaginations filled in what came next. However, I got into the Christmas Spirit, and this came out. Not so much a sequel, but maybe a coda? Don't know. Thank you for reading!