day 16 – shaking from the cold

I always hate waking up like this. Not the waking up in Spy's arms part. There's never anything wrong about waking up like that, even if it's in the middle of the damn night. I just hate waking up and feeling him shaking, wrapped around me and cold because the stupid twin-size covers for the stupid twin-size bed fell off. About two nights into being at the base, I drug my own covers in, because I wasn't using them anyway. I thought it would help, but sometimes they still slip off, and Spy's warm-blooded nature kicks in. He gets cold, starts to shake, and I pop awake.

I slip away, hoping not to wake him up while I retrieve everything, tuck corners and edges around his back before folding myself into him again and rolling onto my own edge. It stops eventually, once I've rubbed him with my hands, tried to regenerate some of the heat that had been lost, wrapped his arms back around me and said soft shit I'd never let anyone hear me say, ever. I don't even like saying that kind of stuff when he's conscious, because guys just don't.

For him, though… well, I've made a lot of changes in the way I do things. But not when he's awake. Fucking never when he's awake.

He doesn't always stay asleep, but the cold already fucks with him enough that he's not that hard to entice back under. Sometimes I worry about him. I want to leave this base, I want us to be anywhere else, 2fort, Dustbowl, Sawmill wasn't even this bad—there, they just had all that fucking rain and shit. I'd go back to the stupid desert for him, if it made him happy, or even just feel a little better.

I like the cold and all, but I hate seeing him like this.

The shaking isn't all bad. It reminds me of that first night he said that he loved me. I'd been too hyped up to actually sleep for a few hours, but I wasn't going to ruin a good thing. At first, I'd been confused and a little angry. What was the big deal? If he didlove me, then why was he shaking like an addict looking for their next hit? The fact that he was still holding on, though… it told me everything I needed to know. Maybe stuff I already did know, but I didn't want to admit to myself.

We have our fights. We bitch at and spit on and punch and slap each other, but we've got the important bits down.

Kisses and touches can make up for any bruises or harsh words as long as we keep holding on to why we're together in the first place.

Because I'm an awesome fuck, and Spy? Well… we're getting there.

:::::

day 17 – snow shoveling

I'm not sure if Ma was attempting to be coy or trying to get a disapproving message across to me, but when Sean approaches me with the idea, I can't say no. It would just be bad form.

"So, uh… you really don't mind it?" Sean asks, tossing a shovel full of snow to the side.

"Of course not, Sean." I reply, putting my back into getting the shovel's edge down against the concrete, and shoving 'til it clears the edge. "I have no problems with religion itself. In fact, I have never been harassed over my choice in sexuality—mainly because I do not display it openly too often, and chose only trustworthy partners with which to spend my time."

"Oh. Okay." Sean clears a few more shovels before turning to me again. "So you're going to come back with me for the candle light service tonight?" He asks hesitantly.

"If you would like for me to." I nod, still focused on removing the snow from the sidewalk and steps of the Catholic church Sean's mother attends. I suppose that when Sean lived in Boston, he did as well, but it is hard for me to imagine my little killing machine going to church and reciting Latin and singing hymns.

"I do… you're really not going to mind?"

I pause and turn to face him with a small smile. "Not at all, petit. Just because I deviate from your God's plans does not mean that I particularly loathe him." I chuckle and lean on my shovel. "And if it is important to you, then who am I to say no?"

A slow smile parts his lips, and he grins at me. "Remind me that I owe you something when we get back to the hotel."

"You think I would let you forget making me shoveling snow?" I ask, snorting and returning to my task. "Manual labor in a cold climate, my two least favorite things."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch, that's all you ever do…"

I don't particularly enjoy breaking down into insulting banter outside a church. While I do not attend regularly, I do have a little healthy God-fear in me. However, I suppose that if He doesn't like it, He can smite us.

I trust he will wait until we have finished shoveling his walk first, though.

:::::

day 18 - hibernate/sleep

He's warm, and a little soft.

Bony on the edges, and with a lean build that doesn't make the softness look possible. I know that softness didn't used to exist.

When he was my age, he was probably skinnier than me, stringy and tall.

I wonder how that suit didn't make him look ridiculous back then. I guess he found a good tailor or something.

He sleeps more now, than when we first started sharing a bed. I think it's because he's comfortable with me, maybe even trusts me—if only a little bit. He's got long limbs that tangle with mine, and at least one of his hands usually ends up in my hair.

He's not always there when I wake up, but I can usually still feel his warmth on the mattress next to me. We've tried sleeping in different positions, spooning or apart, on our own cramped sides of the bed. I give each one about ten minutes before crawling over to fit myself back into his arms, wrap my legs in his and call it a night. When we were stationed in the desert, and it was hotter than usual, I would sleep in my own room. Summers were the fucking worst out there. Occasionally, though, Engie would bang on the AC, and it would cool everything down enough that we could stand each other's warmth again.

My favorite places to be stationed at were Coldfront and Sawmill. 'Cause the weather was never hot, and rain turns Spy into more of a romantic. Coldfront, though… it was just good for all the extra snuggling and holding that we did, and the hot chocolate. Man the hot chocolate was good. Almost didn't want to leave, but it was what was best for Spy. And now, lying in our bed with a summer breeze rustling through our house, our windows open and the moon peeking through the clouds… hell if I want to be anywhere else.

"Sean, I know you are not asleep." His voice is raspy just out of sleep, and I smile as I turn back over and nestle into his arms. One leg wraps around my hip, and his other hooks through to curl around the back of my knee, pulling me closer, and trapping my hips against his. The motion used to make me want to fuck, but we're kind of beyond that, now.

I mean, we still do it, but it's nice to just be close like this.

"Go back to sleep, asshole." I mutter, wrapping my arms around his middle and resting my cheek on the pillow, lips lightly touching his.

"Hmm…" he starts speaking French, and even though I don't understand all of it, I feel my face heat and kiss him again.

"I can tell when you're saying dumb bullshit." I tell him, clamping my eyes shut and feeling his chuckle against my chest as his lips press against my cheeks and forehead.

"Perhaps someday you will be able to tell what I am saying."

"Mn… doubtful." I grumble, nestling closer. He keeps talking a little while longer, but it's all still French and just ends up putting me to sleep.

:::::

day 19 - cookies/cake/gingerbread

"Ma, Ma, why are you letting him in the kitchen—?" My boy, he's just so antsy when it comes to be being around Mr. Spy. I don't blame him, really, I did make a few moves on him when we first met, but that's water under the bridge, ain't it? It's gotta be.

"Because, Sean, he offered to help me make cookies." I tell him, though I'm not actually doing anything myself. Rather, I'm parked at the table sipping some coffee and observing. I don't mind letting a man in my kitchen occasionally, but I'll be damned if I'm going to leave him there alone.

"And… your apron?" He's just being a big whining baby lately. Jesus Christ the Lord and his Mother Mary, this boy is a twenty-one year old baby.

"He didn't want to get flour on his clothes, dear." I can tell it's bugging him real bad, and I lean forward, just to tease him a little bit. "I think it looks better on him."

His face goes through a series of expressions, and his teeth bite his bottom lip. Oh, he wants to curse and rant and rave and throw a tantrum. I stand and walk around to give him a kiss on the forehead. "I'm gonna excuse myself for a moment, boys. Play nice, now." I chuckle and leave the kitchen, pass through the dining room and into the hall.

It's not that I approve of this at all, I think it's… well, it's just not right. Sean bringing that man into my house and knowing what they probably do across the country. Sharing a bed, no doubt. At least Sean is staying here, in my house, while Spy is put up in a hotel several blocks away.

I don't hate Spy, I could never hate a man as kind and—from seeing him with Sean—loving as him. I can't bring myself to approve of… them, though. I love my boy, and I want him to be happy, but…

I wash my hands in the bathroom and fix my hair and makeup.

When I peek back into the kitchen, Sean is leaning on the counter and pointing at ingredients, asking his what and whys. Spy responds gamely, seemingly not annoyed by the constant badgering that everyone else in the family is used to. They're speaking in low tones, and I think Sean makes a dirty joke. Spy turns his head to look down at him with a half-smile on his face before dabbing a bit of cookie batter on Sean's nose and telling him to, "go away if you cannot behave, petit."

I wait a moment more before stepping in and returning to my coffee.

"Welcome back, ma belle." Spy says as I walk in.

I smile at him as I sit down. "Thanks, Spy. Sean, grab a soda and sit down. We need to talk about the taxes on this place."

"Aw, Ma… just give me a number and I'll write a check or something…" he grumbles, but ultimately does as I say.

Spy chuckles as he works, and I reach over to wipe the cookie dough off of Sean's nose. "Hmmm… a little more vanilla." I tell Spy, licking it off of my finger.

"Oui, mademoiselle, right away."

He's not bad at all.

I just wish he weren't dating my youngest son.

:::::

day 20 – scarves

"Please tell me that you didn't make this." Sean groans as he picks up the wool scarf and fingers the stitches carefully.

"Why?" Thierry rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Would that make me more of a fag in your eyes?"

"Well, yeah. I mean… seriously, knitting? You'd remind me of my mom, and I just can't fuck under those circumstances." He replies, finally draping it around his neck and tossing an end over his shoulder. "Mmm… it's really warm, and soft." His hand comes up to rub the plush threads against his cheek, and Thierry sighs.

"Yes, well, only the best for you, mon petit." He chuckles when Sean suddenly hugs him, a proper thank you muffled into his shoulder. "You are welcome."

Sean only allows a kiss to his hair before he shoves the Spy away again. "Here." He pulls a bag from the inside of his jacket and shoves it into Spy's hands. "Merry Christmas."

"Oh? Something for me?" Thierry chuckles and swoops in for a peck on Sean's cheek, but only gets a slap in the face, and his lover dancing back away from him on nimble feet.

"Nope, no faggy shit. Just open it and… and… whatever. It's not like it's a good gift or anything."

"Oh, I'm sure I will still like it." Thierry chuckles and opens the bag. He snorts and fishes out a new tub of petroleum jelly, and looks at Sean incredulously.

"What? We used up yours, and that's not all that's in there. I just left it in the bag… so… y'know, you'd know we got some more. Sheesh."

"How very…" Thierry shakes his head and chuckles before digging back into the bag and pulling out a Beret. "Thoughtful." A smile passes over his face before he can hide it, and a chuckle forces itself out.

"Yeah, I… uh… I thought of you." Sean rubs the back of his neck, not really sure if Thierry likes his gift or not.

"Thank you, petit." Thierry bends down to give Sean a chaste kiss, and, for once, the younger man doesn't fight him for it.

"Yeah, whatever. Matches your suit too. I thought about that kind of stuff." Sean plays with the end of his scarf and blushes all the way to his ears. He hadn't known what to get Spy for Christmas. That the other man had liked it was just… well, it was really, really nice.

"I see." Thierry puts the Beret on and puts the tub back in the bag, and then the bag in his jacket before offering Sean his arm. "Come, let's enjoy the rest of our evening. That scarf looks good on you."

"I… uh… yeah, let's… yeah. Okay."

:::::

day 21 – soup

"Spy, you should eat."

He doesn't answer, just kind of grunts at me and keeps smoking and staring out the window at the snow.

"Spy. Eat your fucking sandwich." I sound pissed this time, because I'm starting to run out of patience with this asshat.

"I do not want it." He finally says, and waves his hand at me. "If I am to eat, then I would like something warm."

"I'll nuke it in the fucking microwave, then." I tell him. Grabbing the sandwich, I head for the door, but I hear him muttering about hating sandwiches as I leave.

I wait until I'm out in the hall to throw the thing, plate and all at the wall. Fucking Christ. The team expects me to take care of that manchild because they think we're good friends, but god damnit if I don't want to beat the shit out of him every time he refuses to listen.

He'd probably still be an indifferent bastard bout it too, all, "oh, that hurts, petit. Can I go back to bed, now?"

Medic peeks out the door of his infirmary. Sniper and Heavy are in there with him, and I just glare at all three of 'em before turning on my heel and storming off to the kitchen.

Doesn't want a sandwich, wants something hot. Medic said if I don't get Spy to eat, he'll be useless to us on the field (not that he's really being an asset now in his "oh, cold and sad me!" state). It's been a few days since I last saw him eat, and that was only a little bit of Engie's chili.

Something warm… I glance around the kitchen and then start digging through the pantry. Most of the canned stuff is dumb, like veggies and PET condensed milk. The cans of soup usually get used up before a week after our supply run comes, but I find some tomato paste and a can of chunked chicken. There's cans of carrots and peas and I think a little bit of broth left somewhere in the back.

After some digging, I find everything but the carrots. There's some potatoes, though, so that'll work I guess.

The saucepan I find that's big enough to warm up the soup in is dirty, so I have to wash and dry it before tossing everything inside and waiting around for it to heat up. Honestly, he's just so much fucking trouble. It starts to bubble and I stir it before adding some seasonings and cleaning two bowls and spoons.

"Whatcha makin', Scoot?" Engie's sniffing as he waltzes in, and I mumble curses under my breath in response.

"Ah." He chuckles and starts cleaning a bowl for himself. "That darned Spy?"

"Yeah. Fuckin' pansy." I mutter, stirring the soup more before ladling out a portion into my bowl and Spy's. "Picky-ass Motherfucker."

"Like my Mama always said, if you don't want to take care of it, don't pet it and feed it in the first place." Engie chuckles and gets some for himself once I'm out of the way.

"Whatever. You'd have to fucking pay me to pet that asshole." I grumble on my way out of the kitchen. When I get back to Spy's room, I kick the door, because I'm not juggling bowls and I only have two damn hands.

"What?" He sounds a little irritated, but he's not as annoyed as me. I'm going to have to scrape the mayo and cheese off the wall across from his room later today.

"Open the fucking door." It comes out meaner than I want, but it doesn't make him move any faster. "God fucking—do you want fucking soup or not?"

I hear him shift inside, and that's at least an improvement. Soon the door opens and I scowl at Spy harder.

"I…" he clears his throat and steps to the side, still smoking a cigarette.

"That's what I fucking thought." I snort and walk in, placing the food on his desk and perching on his bed with my own bowl.

"Sean… please don't eat on my bed." He sounds tired, and maybe a little apologetic.

I mimic his syllables in an annoying voice, and he sighs again before settling at his desk and starting to eat.

When I'm half-finished with my bowl, I move to join him at his desk. "Feeling a little less bitchy now?" I ask, stealing a chunk of chicken from his bowl.

"… yes." He smiles at me, and it's the closest thing to awkward I've ever seen on Spy's face. "Thank you."

"You throw a bitch fit like that again, I'm going to punch you."

"Oui…" he mumbles, and I steal another chunk. He hits my leg, and I smirk before holding it out on my spoon for him to eat.

:::::

day 22 - huddle for warmth

The first night that the heater froze, Sean was too busy posturing to join the team in a clustered mass of conjoined warmth. I think his realizing his orientation has made him even more paranoid of the team thinking that anything he does is gay. He seemed not to realize that if the other eight men on the base were participating, it is unlikely that they would call him a faggot.

I stayed with him that night, at least offering my warmth so that he might keep his stupid pride. Upon the second instance, however, I joined the team. Sean appeared briefly to see if I was there, and then left just as (surprisingly) quietly as he came. We slept in the Medic's infirmary, mattresses from the bunks pulled down to the floor, blankets from rooms, both company provided and personal thrown together in a haphazard smash of desperation for warmth. Arms were folded, legs curled in to preserve our core temperature, and prevent heat from escaping further.

I didn't sleep particularly well, so I heard the door open as Sean returned, and the chattering and hitch as he whispered my title.

"Here, petit." I murmured softly, raising myself slightly and slinking back to press flush against Heavy's back. It wasn't much space, but it was enough for Sean. His blanket wrapped frame slipped beneath the covers allotted to me— a triple layer shared between Heavy, Medic and myself. He didn't struggle as I wrapped my arms around him, and rubbed the warmth into his back and sides and curled my sock-clad feet with his in every effort to share my heat, to help chase away the cold.

"S-spy… It's fuckin' cold…"

"Shut up, Scout." A burly arm draped across us and I felt the shift of covers that smelled like dust and coffee and the slight musk of being well used and unwashed.

"Bushman, I told you that I didn't want any part of your foul blanket."

"Shuddup."

"This is so gay."

"Shut the fuck up, and sleep, or I shall kick all three of you out of my infirmary." The three of us quiet down, and I feel Sean shift closer to me. I suppose I will have to help him mend his pride come morning.

::::

day 23 - sick

A hospital room.

A fucking hospital room the day after Christmas.

I try to smile when I walk in, and Thierry gives me one of those confident smirks from the bed. He looks paler than normal, and his chest shudders when he takes a breath to speak.

I'm not listening, just focused on the ugly hospital gown and the tubes and needles and… and…

"Petit, petit, come here." Thierry sounds like I'm feeling, and I hop on the bed and hug him gently, but his hug is firm and hard, so I feel less worried about hurting him, and give the same force in return.

"Fuck, I can't believe this."

"I know." He kisses my cheek and his thumb brushes unshed tears from my lashes.

"Just… just fuck." I crumple into him, and he holds me. He's the sick one, and I'm the one being held. Fucking… justfuck.

"It is only cancer, petit. I have our Medic's contact details, if it will make you feel better." He chuckles, and it crackles in his lungs.

"I don't… I…" We know a good doctor. We know a great doctor.

Why am I so worried?

"What the fuck are we going to do if he can't… And then what if it comes back…? What am I going to do without-" He puts a finger on my lips, and kisses it before pulling it away and using his lips to keep me quiet. I'm still worried, and his mouth tastes weird since he hasn't smoked in like a whole twenty-four hours, but it helps.

"Je ne vais nulle part, petit." He tells me.

I'm not going anywhere.

"B-Bon..." I whisper, kissing him one last time before crawling off and moving to sit in the chair by his side. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

:::::

day 24 - socks/boots

Insistent, hard, pounding, heavy boot steps echoed through the base. Thierry assumed that it was Soldier on a rampage again, but Sean rushing into his room and dragging the ruckus with him told him otherwise.

"Sean, what are you—?"

"Nope, no time. Hide me." Sean then jumped into Thierry's closet and all fell silent again.

The Spy was just about to shrug his lover's not quite weird behavior off when his door was thrown open, and Solider walked in in his socks. Thierry winced at the smell of boot fungus and was suddenly /worried/ that Sean was in his closet with those boots.

"WHERE'S THE BRAT, SPY?!"

"If you can't follow the smell of your own boots, then you shall never find him." Thierry told Soldier, standing from his desk. "You can be assured that I have seen the state your boots are in after battle, and I would never allow them in my room, much less my closet which is the only possible hiding place here."

"… So can I check your closet?"

"No, you may not."

"WELL, I'M SURE HE'LL TURN UP. KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED!" Soldier saluted smartly before stalking off to harass someone else about their delinquent Scout.

Thierry shut the door behind Soldier and locked it. He waited until the other man was an appropriate distance away before walking over to his closet and opening the door.

Sean looked like he was about to say something when Thierry held up his hand. "Take off the boots. Open my window and throw them outside. Take my basin and soap and scrub your feet. Then, and only then, may you stay here and hide from Soldier."

"Pft, that's going to be hilarious, him finding them outside." Sean snickered as he did as he was told.

"Indeed… now hurry up, they smell like hell."

:::::

day 25 - trade gifts/donate

What the fuck do you get a Spy for Christmas?

Chances are, if you've just met him, you ain't seen his room. I have. I've seen his tie collection, and it's almost as extensive as my baseball card cache. Ties are a no go.

He's got custom made Italian blahblahblah shoes. Point is, any shoes I pick out ain't gonna be good enough. Ever. I don't even know how to pick out a pair of nice dress shoes for me, let alone a well-dressed guy like him.

Socks are just… too… Ugh. Socks are something that your ma buys you because she knows you won't buy 'em yourself in the next eleven months.

He's got a radio, the base has a TV, his knife and gun kits are always in good condition, so they don't need replacing…

And I know he's going to have a great gift for me. He always gets the perfect thing, something I need and would want. How does he always fucking know what to get?

I'm not getting him cologne or aftershave, because I fucking love the way he smells, and I can never find the bottle when I raid his toiletries trying to figure out what kind it is.

Stationary? Maybe… I know he likes to write and send letters and shit, so a new pen too. Maybe monogramed with "#1 Spy" or something.

What do guys like him want?

I know in the past, he's taken me out to dinner and a hotel, y'know as romantic gestures when we got the chance. Maybe I could do something like that too?

Just… seriously, what could Spy possibly want?

It clicks really suddenly, and I feel like a complete idiot before jumping out of my bed and grabbing my shoes. I have calls to make.

The first one's an apology to Ma.

She's sighing and griping at me by the end of it, but it doesn't matter.

The second call is to the travel agency. I tell 'em to switch our Christmas tickets this year from Boston to Paris.

I dunno how I'm going to keep from grinning at him for the next three days.

:::::

"So, are we going to exchange presents this morning?" I ask, taking a long, slow drag off of my morning cigarette. Sean wriggles his way up my body and gives me an excited little look that quickly smooths itself over. He's been doing that a lot lately—have this eager little smile on his face when he looks at me, and then realize it moments later, and it's mysteriously gone.

"Why don't we wait until we're at the hotel?" That grin tugs at his lips, but he hides his face against my neck in a kiss.

"We are not staying at your mother's this year? Is this my present?" I joke, of course. His family is… well, very nice, considering the circumstances. Certainly very accepting, but I would like to be able to have an intimate week of nights alone with my lover. It has been far too long.

"Nah, it's a little bit better than that." He snorts and nips my collarbone. "You better like it." It's a mumble against my sternum, and I chuckle softly, resting my free hand on his hair and ruffling it fondly.

"If all else fails, I will count the queen sized bed in our hotel as your present to me." I tell him, tilting his head up for a kiss before rolling him off of me and sitting up to put out my cigarette.

"Pft, I thought you liked this small ass bed. Keeps us close." He wraps his legs around me to prevent my further movement, and I slap his hip lightly.

"If we are to make our flight, you will let me get dressed." Another slap, this time on his ass, and his legs release me.

"Yeah, yeah. Keep your—oh wait, you ain't got pants." His hand returns the abuse, and I smirk at him over my shoulder.

The team is used to seeing us board the same flight—they think that I have an apartment in New York. Sean keeps both of our tickets to himself, and waves to the others as we approach our gate—for Washington, of all places.

"Sean… why are we going to Washington?"

"It was the last flight I could get. We'll connect for Boston from there." He's already bouncing into line and apologizing to the woman for our being late, so I follow him, slinking along beneath the irritated glares of those who had been waiting in line for second class seating.

"Hmm…" I follow Sean on when the attendant checks our tickets and motions us past. "Are you certain that this was the last flight you could get? It's already going to be a long flight from West to East…" It's not that I particularly enjoy whining. Flying is just something I would rather do as little as possible.

"Yep. Positive."

The flight is quiet. I order wine, and Sean asks for a Coke. I sleep for half an hour, but Sean wakes me when he slips past to go to the bathroom.

By the time we land in Washington, I need a cigarette. Sean taps his foot as I stand by the luggage claim, reviewing the board and taking a relieving drag.

"Petit…" I run my eyes over the board again. "What flight did you say we were on? There are no directs to Boston from here."

"Don't worry about it." He grabs my suitcase and nods toward the ashtray. "Let's go, ashhat."

"Hm…" He seems nervous, but I follow him, allowing him to carry my luggage for me. If it makes him feel better, why not?

"Stop 'hm…'ing at my ass, faggot."

I think it is making him feel better, anyway.

We stand before the gate, and Sean sets our luggage down. I run down the list in my mind, and wonder if I misremembered the numbers, or got off someplace. When the attendant steps up with a bright smile and announces, "Flight 347 from Seattle to Paris is now boarding…" I feel…

God, I don't know how I feel. Surprise, excitement, a longing being answered. I glance at Sean, and his face has a persistent blush.

"We're going to Paris?" I ask.

"We're going to Paris." He confirms.

Love. I am truly in love with this boy.

:::::

day 26 - foggy breaths

Being so close to him makes the air colder. His lips don't want to leave mine, and his hands—oh God, his hands—think that they can just go wherever they please. They're warm, though, from being enclosed in mittens as he darts around the snowy field. My trousers are not much for keeping out the cold, and long underwear doesn't help as much as I was lead to believe it would. His hands help, though.

They are warm against my waist, then my ass and thighs as he lifts up and shoves me back against the cold metal wall. I don't pay it any attention, don't care that it's too cold for this kind of thing. His hips thrust against mine. We are both still clothed, but the friction warms me and causes my cock and testicles to feel just barely like they are no longer being subjected to the cruelest of tortures.

Steamy breaths hiss out of our noses, and I eventually can't take the cold sting anymore. I force him back and the thick clouds of warm breath meeting cold air bloom between us. Our eyes meet, and he laughs before darting in for another kiss. I smirk against his lips as his warm tongue invades my mouth, and his hands—

"Sean, no." I gasp, his tongue still between my lips.

"Ugh, c'mon, I just want—"

"We are in the middle of battle, kissing is—it's just different." My hand is on his elbow, keeping his warm—oh, so warm—hand from finishing its course down the front of my underwear. "It—It will take too long." I'm less and less sure that I don't want that hand on my cock as he looks at me with those grey eyes, narrowed in correspondence with the vibrance of his grin.

"Oh shit, I just made you stutter." His grin widens, and a foggy breath hits my neck through my balaclava, and I melt back against the wall.

"It was the cold." I lie, mustering myself and shoving him away. Redoing my pants and belt, I ignore the look he's giving me.

"I'll make sure you're not cold tonight." He promises and picks up his bat from the snow where he had dropped it. He points it at me as he starts walking off and winks before turning to run away, back into the snowy landscape.

Left alone with myself, I feel a little warmer than when he'd initially found me. If the heater breaks tonight, I will surely kill Engineer for faulty work.

:::::

day 27 - ski

"I'm fucking telling you this is a bad idea." He won't listen to me. I don't know why I keep trying to fucking tell him.

I don't want to learn how to fucking ski. Fucking fuckity fuck fuck.

"Ah, petit. Trust me." He says it like it's so simple a thing to do. Well, I guess it is. Since, y'know, I trust him not to cheat on me or anything or make any moves on my Ma when I leave with my brothers and he's at home with her alone. But God damn it, I don't want to do this. "Hm… if you don't at least get a bunny trail down, we will go back to the cabin and I will not make you hot chocolate and make love to you before the fireplace."

God damn it.

"But… I… fine." I whine and bitch, but slowly, slowly, I uncross my skis and let him calmly direct me through what I need to do to move forward, to stop. Eventually, he takes my sticks from me, because I'm using them as pseudo-crutches and he doesn't want me to break our rental equipment.

It's a process, but I start to gain confidence. My calves are burning, and the insides of my thighs feel like I've been using muscles I'm not used to. This might actually help me with running. He shows me how to turn, how to use it in slowing down and then how to speed up. Man, sliding forward on these things is like—I don't even know if I can run this fast, and the only effort is in turning and slowing down and man, I kind of want to try an actual trail.

Once he's happy with me, he gives me my sticks back and leads me over to the lift.

I hold his arm all the way up and lean my head on his shoulder, kind of glad that he didn't give up with me, but not wanting to say so. Because, y'know, that would mean that I was being a whiney little baby for nothing.

"This will just be a simple slope. There may be trees, but you can turn to avoid them. If you ever feel like you're going too fast, do not use your sticks, just make a V with your skis, oui?" He explains to me as we approach the top.

"Yeah, okay." I nod and kiss his cheek before straightening. "Uh… how do I fuckin' get off this thing?"

"Just hold your skis level, and support your weight with your knees. You shall just glide off." He levels his skis and shifts a bit. I do too and support myself like he said.

A shout and a little flailing later, I'm on my butt with my skis on the ground still and my knees in the air. He's chuckling, and I tell him to fuck off as I try to get back up, but with skis and snow and slippery as fuck, I end up using his hand. My knees hurt a little after that, but I'm going to do this fucking "bunny trail" and get my hot chocolate and fucking by the fire if it kills me. I'm too stubborn to die until I get my reward anyway.

"I knew you were flexible, petit, but I didn't know that you could do that." He teases me as he leads me over to the hill.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll show you that and a lot more once we get down this hill." I tell him, giving the smug bastard a nudge and slowing to a graceless stop. Spy, though. Fuck. It's like he was born on these things.

"Of course." He chuckles and nods his head. "Go first, I'll follow."

I ease myself forward, keeping my skis in a V most of the way down. Spy makes a loop around me, and I tell him to fuck off before finally going a little faster. I zig zag the rest of the way down, enjoying it a little more than going straight down quickly. It's actually starting to get pretty fun.

"You, uh… you wanna go again?" I ask, figuring I'll try going a little faster. It's just a small hill. What's gonna happen if I go a little faster maybe?

"If you'd like."

This time, I don't fall down after the lift, and I beat Spy to the bottom of the hill.

"Got a bigger hill? This one's kind of short."

He smirks and ruffles my hair before gliding toward the lift. "One more time, lapin, and then we shall find you a more appropriate hill."

:::::

day 28 - knitting

It's something I decided to learn from Sniper. I'm quick to pick things up, and even quicker to make them my own. His stitches are loose and the things he makes are lumpy. I count my stitches carefully, alternate methods to create patterns and make sure that each one is consistently tight and perfect. I haven't let Sean see me knit yet. He will tell me that I am being gay, and that it isn't something men do, but… I would like to think that he will treasure a scarf that I make him. He loves the gifts I guy him, and it will really just be a personal victory to know that he might love something just as much that I make for him. I only wish he could appreciate it more because I made it… but, I don't know.

It's hard to tell how he will react sometimes.

The wool is soft and warm in my lap, and I work with quick, tight movements. Christmas is soon, and I would like for this to be ready by then.

:::::

"Please tell me that you didn't make this." Sean groans as he picks up the wool scarf and fingers the stitches carefully.

"Why?" I roll my eyes and scoff. "Would that make me more of a fag in your eyes?"

"Well, yeah. I mean… seriously, knitting? You'd remind me of my mom, and I just can't fuck under those circumstances." He replies, finally draping it around his neck and tossing an end over his shoulder. "Mmm… it's really warm, and soft." His hand comes up to rub the plush threads against his cheek, and I cover my pleased smile with a sigh.

"Yes, well, only the best for you, mon petit." He suddenly hugs me, a proper thank you muffled into my shoulder. "You are welcome." I tell him with a soft chuckle into his hair.

:::::

"So… you did make this?" Sean asks, his expression unreadable as he holds the scarf I'd given him last year.

I knew that I shouldn't have started talking to his mother about knitting yesterday. I'd asked her not to tell him, too! I suppose a woman is not a person I should confide secrets in, though, and so it is really my fault.

"Yes." I reply, trying to keep the pain that his holding it away from him was causing. "I picked it up. I thought you might like a new scarf."

"You said you didn't though."

"No, petit, I'm quite certain that I didn't." I say, my voice softer than I intend as I stand and attempt to pass him on my way to get a cup of tea, or a cookie, or anything, really, that will deter him from asking more questions I don't want to answer.

"Hey, where are you going?" He asks, stepping into the door way.

"I don't want to be here when you throw it out." I tell him, crossing my arms and turning away. "If it will make you happy, I will cease to knit. It will be as if it had never—"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

I glance at him and that is when I start to feel utterly silly.

"You want a man, not a faggot, correct? Knitting is something you consider faggoty, and a woman's job…" I watch a smile slowly stretch across his face, and then it breaks into a grin. "I thought that you—"

He cuts me off with a kiss, and wraps the scarf around the back of my neck to keep me close.

"You don't actually care." I breathe, when he lets me pull back. He just snorts and kisses me again.

"You know I only mean half the assholey shit I say." He laughs and wraps the scarf around his neck even though he's still in his pajamas.

"So you still like it?"

"Nope." He grins and leans forward to press his lips against mine. "I fuckin' love it."

:::::

day 29 – power outage

It's cold when I wake up, and not even the body next to me or the blankets helps. I think I wake him up when I burrow closer, and he mumbles something about the heater. God, why'd we have to fuck last night? My clothes are all over the floor, and I dunno where they are because it's still dark.

"Spy…" I whisper, nuzzling my nose against his neck. "Spy, go get my clothes… please?" I figure it might work. I've been busting my ass taking care of his baby-ass all posting, it's about time he did some work for me.

He grumbles some French at me, and I shiver, pressing closer. "I don't know what that means, but I'm about to take it as a yes and kick you out of here if you don't go at least turn the light on."

"You are Scout. Zip over to turn them on. And zip back, oui?" His accent's really thick with sleep, and I kick his calf lightly. "… and you still have socks."

God, I have the most pathetic boyfriend in the world. "Fine, but you're fucking making me a big ass breakfast." I tell him. I steel myself before I jump out of the bed, trip over a shoe and flick the light switch.

Nothing happens.

"I do not think so, petit." He groans from the bed and I hear the covers shift as he finally sits up. "It seems the power—"

He was probably about to say that the power was out, but I don't hear it because the motherfucking door slams into me.

"SPY! SPY THE POWER IS OUT."

I bite my lip and wipe blood from my forehead, silently laying in the dark while Soldier focuses a flashlight on Spy. He holds his covers up to his nose and glares at that fucking overly patriotic asshole and I see his eyes dart to where I was before going back.

"Oui, I noticed."

I grope blindly for some sort of pants and end up with Spy's briefs. I pull them on anyway and stand up before interjecting into their bickering match. "Yeah, I was just fucking complaining about it to 'im." I say, whacking Soldier's helmet and carefully kicking my shirt and pants out of sight now that the flashlight provided a bit of light and my eyes had adjusted. " 'til you clocked me a new one with the goddamned door."

"PRIVATE, YOU WOULD DO WELL NOT TO ASSAULT YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER."

"Yeah, yeah. Go bother Engie, Sargent Screamin' Seagulls. It's an electrical thing, right?" I try to seem casual with my hands on my hips, but it's really just to keep Spy's underwear up.

"NEGATORY. WE NEED THE FROG'S ASSISTANCE IN DISCONNECTING THE ENEMY SPY'S SAPPER FROM THE FUSE BOX." He's like half an inch from my face by now, and I close the distance by half just to make sure he knows I ain't backing down.

"Yeah? Well then maybe you should be less of a douche if you need his help, ever thinka that?"

"I WAS MERELY—"

"Boys, if you are going to fight, then take it out of my room." Spy's hands intervene between us and push us back to a good glaring distance. So far he has his mask on, pants on and a shirt draped around his shoulders. "Soldier, I will meet you and Engineer in the supply room. Do not touch anything lest you cause more damage, oui?"

"AFFIRMATIVE. LEAVE THE BRAT SOMEWHERE ELSE. IF HE SMARTS OFF TO ME AGAIN, I WILL PUT HIS HEAD THROUGH THIS WALL." He points to the wall next to the door before saluting at Spy, tossing me an irritated and irrational glare, and marching back out.

A few seconds after the asshat leaves and Spy closes and locks the door, I realize that it's cold as hell and I still only have a pair of underwear on. "F-fuck, you got a torch?" I ask, leaning down to scoop up my shirt and at least get a hand on my pants.

"Hm…" He opens a few drawers in his desk before lighting a lantern. Better than what I was hoping for.

I spot and grab my underwear and am in the middle of switching them out when he wraps his arms around me and I feel a kiss on my forehead. "Hey, hey, we gotta hurry and get dressed—what if he comes back?"

"I just wanted to tell you how impressed I am, petit." He smirks at me in the dim light and gives my slack lips a peck. Fuck if I know what I did.

"Yeah? Well, I mean, yeah. I'm not afraid to stand up to that asshole. 'Specially not if I'm doin' it for you."

"Non, not that." He chuckles and his hand lingers on my hip as he pulls away to finish dressing.

"Oh…" my face feels like it's on fire, and it feels even worse because it's cold in the room. "What'd I do, then?" I ask, a tickling sensation on my temple reminding me that I got a cut to talk to Medic about.

"You thought very quickly." He tells me, buttoning his shirt and pulling on a sweater over it. And then another one. "I was expecting you to send Soldier through respawn for barging in here like that." He adjusts his mask a bit in the mirror he has on the wall and grabs some socks before rolling them on.

"Yeah, well… me 'n' you in your room and naked… there ain't a whole lot of explanations… an' I've been thrown into walls harder than that." I wipe the blood from my forehead on my hand and then my hand on my shirt before scooping up my jacket and pulling it reluctantly on. The worst feeling ever is when you pull on your jacket and it's cold on the inside.

Spy gives me a little smile as he pulls on his gloves and moves to rifle through his drawers again.

"You really liked me not fucking his shit up?" I ask, plopping into the chair and then standing right back up because the wooden surface is freaking freezing.

"Oui, it showed that I'm rubbing off on you." His voice has a teasing edge to it, and I make a face when he glances at me.

"Yeah, with all the rubbing you do, it'd probably be hard not to get a little Spy on me." I tell him with a cheeky grin and a debonair wink.

"Nonetheless, remind me that I owe you a big breakfast when we get the electricity back on."

"Pft, you think you have to remind me to remind you?" I ask, pulling on my shoes next to his door and heading off to my own room when he gives my ass a pat and walks off toward the supply room.

Pft. Spy rubbing off on me? That's stupid.

:::::

day 30 - sing loudly and/or obnoxiously

"Alright, children." Spy claps his hands and the brats settle down—surprisingly. I mean, they don't do that for me or even their own parents. What's so great about Spy that they'll listen to him. "Bon, now then, who remembers how to say 'Christmas Carol'?"

Litte Janie raises her hand and kind of does that hopping up and down thing that kids do to try and get noticed. A few of the others raise their hands too, but I think Spy has a soft spot for her, and smiles at her.

"Janie?"

"It's… it's uhm…" she takes a deep breath and fidgets, pushing her bangs back and adjusting her sweater. "It's uhmmmm…"

"Chants…" he helps her out a bit.

"Chants… uhm… Chants Noel." She mimics his pronunciation on the first word and kind of butchers the "de Noël" part. She's five, though, so who cares?

"Oui, very close." He chuckles and reaches over to pat her head before sitting back and crossing his legs. "It is pronounced 'Chants de Noël.' " He waves his hand and they repeat him like little lemmings.

"Now then, does anyone remember the first song we practiced yesterday?"

Cade doesn't even raise his hand when he pipes up, "wasn't it something about cake?"

Spy chuckles and shakes his head. "No, no. It was 'Douce nuit'…" he goes through teaching them how to say it in French, and then one of the brighter ones, James, tells them that it means, "sweet night." Choruses of "suck up" and "Uncle's Pet" ring out over the little congregation of kids, and I smirk at Spy when he glances at me and rolls his eyes. He knows he fucking loves my family.

"Children… children, please… SHUT THE HELL UP." It took him a while, but he eventually lowered himself to the O'Conner method of child-wrangling. He waits until he has complete silence before continuing. "You all know that we only have today to finish learning this song. Now then, read from your papers."

It isn't the best song I've ever heard, but French has kind of a flow to it that's different from English. The kids voices are a little less annoying, though, and Spy seems to be enjoying himself at having accomplished a feat so rare—cooperation from a group of kids as riley as they come. They run through it successfully three times—all five loud and off-tune verses of it—before Spy sends them off to play.

"You're real good with kids." I tell him, moving from my seat across the living room to join him on the loveseat.

He wraps an arm around my shoulders and I reluctantly lean into him. I still don't like being all… y'know… faggoty around my family.

"Yes, well… I suppose it comes naturally." He rests his cheek on my hair, and I close my eyes.

"Uncle Spy…" I snort and he slaps my shoulder.

"I like it."

As we sit there, listening to the creak of live inside the house, people moving upstairs and kids screaming outside or talking inside while they play dolls or something, I hear a few of them practicing their verses.

"It's a nice night." I mention, sighing and finally letting my head rest on his shoulder.

"Oui… un douce nuit."

:::::

day 31 - family/friend pictures

There are many photos on the O'Conner mantle. Occasionally, a new one will be added if the occasion is important enough.

There's a picture of a man and a woman with five sons arranged around them. Another picture with a different man— all eight boys of the family this time.

A rather tall, narrow frame has two sets of four baby pictures, one for each smiling youngster that Ms. O'Conner has raised. There are graduation photos— not eight, mind— and wedding photos. Photos of groups of boys after Sunday mass, and a few of her various athletes line the wooden shelf. Pictures litter the walls of Ms. O'Conner's house as well, the most recent addition taken barely a month ago.

Every year, she and the boys and their fiancés and spouses and children cluster together into a smiling picture—a happy family together again.

This past year, when the boys lined up from oldest to youngest with their own bits of family spread out before them, Ms. O'Conner didn't quite feel like the photo really held their whole family. She looked over at her youngest son's…

Well.

Suffice to say that by the time that she was finally satisfied with the picture, there was a middle-aged man in a very nice sweater, and his arm was not around Ms. O'Conner.

He was still family, though, and in the end, she wasn't sure if she had ever had a picture of her son Sean looking so happy. It was, in her mind, worth every, "so who is…?" that was asked. In the end, family's family, and she was going to stand by her boy and his man.