mander3_swish (mander3_swish) wrote in qaf_giftxchnge, @ 2015-01-05 11:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2014 gift xchange, fanfic, sapphire_3 |
Gift # 25
TO: netlagd
FROM: sapphire_3
TITLE: Will Your Anchor Hold?
GIFT REQUEST: Fic. fun, humor, feel good, not overly angsty, series timeframe or post 513, include Jennifer if possible, Brian/Justin or Emmett/Drew
NOTE: The characters started to hijack the story in an angsty direction, but I managed to rein them in. Its ‘feel good’ in an ugly Christmas sweater kind of way at the end, I promise!
SUMMARY: Season 2. It’s Justin’s first Christmas after the bashing, and Brian responds to an SOS call. 5000 words.
Will Your Anchor Hold?
**
Will your anchor hold in the storms of life, when the clouds unfold their wings of strife? When the strong tides lift, and the cables strain, will your anchor drift or firm remain? - Priscilla Owens (1829–1907)
**
He swears he’s experiencing more ‘what the fuck am I doing?’ moments.
It’s not that life had been simpler before. Hell, when had life ever been simple? But it used to be easier to understand what he wanted.
Brian laughs ironically to himself as he gathers up the gift bags and climbs out of the jeep. Maybe this is what they meant by ‘growing up’.
The evening is cold and he can feel the promise of more snow in the air. The houses that line the residential street are adorned with colourful, twinkling lights. In some cases, plastic reindeer and Santa Clauses merrily fight their way out of the ice-encrusted snowdrifts. Some lawns are adorned with nativity scenes, similar to the one his mother had religiously set out every year. The irony of a Middle Eastern tableau, complete with camels, donkeys and a decidedly Caucasian-looking Baby Jesus smack in the middle of the bleak Pittsburgh winter had always struck Brian as comical.
He’s parked around the corner from the house, knowing that his jeep would easily be recognized. For once in his life, he wants to be unobtrusive. It’s not that he’s feeling worried or ashamed. He just knows that what he has to do will be awkward. He hates feeling awkward, possibly above all else. It makes him feel like he’s lost control of the situation.
He suddenly finds himself questioning whether or not bringing gifts was a good idea. Given the circumstances, was this an appropriate time to present presents? Should he wait until tomorrow? He’s not sure.
With a stab of irritation, Brian checks an urge to take the gift bags back to the jeep. When had he become so damn indecisive? Who the fuck cared if it was appropriate or not? It was Christmas Eve, for fuck sake.
The house comes into view, the lights in the front room blazing through the delicate gossamer drapes. Brian is instantly reminded of the first time he saw this house. He remembers Justin’s sullen expression as he’d said, “It’s this one, on the left. Look, do we have to do this? Couldn’t we go back to your place instead?” He also remembers dropping off a traumatized Justin here just a few months ago, and seeing the anxious, accusing look on Jennifer’s face as her son had climbed the front stairs. Her stare could have melted an iceberg.
Well, mothers didn’t always know best. Jennifer didn’t. Debbie didn’t. His own mother wouldn’t know what was best if it was served to her on a silver platter with rose petals and champagne.
So, why was he here? Because of Justin. It feels like the mantra that had hijacked his life. ‘Because of Justin.’ It’s the answer to all of his ‘what the fuck am I doing?’ moments. ‘Because of Justin.’
He’s able to admit now, if still only to himself, that he feels deep affection for the kid and honestly cares about him. He takes great responsibility in the knowledge that he is one of the few people who can make Justin feel safe and secure again. He may not have been able to save Justin from Hobbs on his Prom night, but he can help to save him now.
As he reaches the walkway up to the front door, Brian notes that the snow has been meticulously shovelled away to either side, and that road salt has been scattered to melt the residual ice. The icicle lights that twinkle from the eaves are perfectly even and straight, matching the white-gold glow of the glittering lights around the doorway. A neat little holly wreath mounted on the front door completes the domestic scene.
Jesus, Brian thought. You’d think the place was owned by a real estate agent or something.
The thought of Jennifer Taylor makes his uneasy. This would be her first Christmas since the divorce, and her first Christmas as a single mom. It would be the first year that Molly would have to choose which parent to be with on Christmas Eve. (For Justin, of course, there was no option.) It would be the first year they’d sit down to Christmas dinner and not be the archetypal American family: mother, father, son, and daughter. Brian knows from Justin’s stories of his childhood that they had been a happy family.
No longer.
This is part of the reason Brian feels so awkward. Jennifer and Craig’s divorce is no more his fault than it was Justin’s. But people always look for someone to blame. Jennifer’s family, whom Brian knows are here tonight to support her through the holiday, might be tempted to point fingers at him.
Perhaps they have a tiny bit of justification in doing so, Brian decides, as he reluctantly makes his way up the front path.
Justin had been a minor when he’d fucked him for the first time. Brian had known full well that the twelve years between them would raise red flags. He had called out Justin’s father on his prejudice and intolerance, and then had all but encouraged Justin to walk out on his own parents. He had persuaded Justin to follow his own dream, rather than be dragged through the ‘dream’ his father had created for him.
And yes, he had gone to the Prom that night. He had danced with Justin. He had kissed him. He had failed to see the danger until it was far, far too late. He had helped Justin recover, it was true – but the damage was done.
He hesitates at the front door, unsure of whether to ring the doorbell or just knock softly. He can hear chatter behind the door paneling and the occasional laugh. There are little girls’ voices as well, and he remembers Justin mentioning he had young cousins.
Just as Brian decides that knocking would be less conspicuous, the door opens. Jennifer’s expression is expectant rather than inquisitive, telling him she’d known he was the person silhouetted against the glow of the Christmas lights.
“Brian,” she says quietly with a note of relief. “I’m glad you came.”
He expects her to invite him inside, and he’s surprised when she quickly slides outside and closes the door softly behind her.
“Prying ears,” she explains quietly. “I love my family, but not everything is their business.”
Her elegant black dress has long sleeves and she’s wearing an emerald-coloured wrap, but her outfit isn’t nearly warm enough for the weather. She crosses her arms against her chest as Brian peers over her head through the frosted glass.
“Who have you got in there?”
“Oh, just my parents and my sister and her family,” Jennifer replies with a wave of her hand, keeping her voice low. “They’re visiting from out west. With the divorce and then Justin’s bashing, I guess they thought I needed a little extra support this Christmas.”
“And do you?”
Jennifer doesn’t answer the question. Instead, she asks if he has a cigarette.
“You smoke?” Brian asks in surprise. He pulls a pack of smokes out of his jacket pocket and offers it to her.
“Not anymore,” Jennifer says with a regretful sigh, taking a cigarette. She waves away the lighter he offers. “When I feel like I need one, I just hold one in my fingers. It helps.”
“Sounds like self-deprivation torture to me,” Brian tells her flatly. “Have you tried self-flagellation? It might be marginally more pleasant.”
Jennifer ignores him.
“Thanks for coming,” she says instead. “I was sorry to bother you on Christmas Eve, but I wasn’t sure who else to call. I hope I didn’t call you away from anything important.”
“Well I wasn’t at Midnight Mass,” Brian replies ruefully. “I was hanging out at Deb’s place with Michael. It’s what I’ve done every Christmas Eve since I was twelve.”
Jennifer looks momentarily surprised, and Brian is a little too quick to interpret her response.
“You assume I’d be spending Christmas Eve fucking pretty men in elf costumes,” he says darkly. “Even fags find some meaning in the holidays, Mrs. Taylor.”
“Jennifer,” she automatically corrects.
Brian can see that she’s blushing, though whether from embarrassment or anger, he isn’t sure. He thinks how similar her skin is to Justin’s. In some places, it’s so pale he can see the veins running beneath it.
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” she snaps defensively. The expression in her eyes is harsh. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t assume you would be out doing whatever it is you do most nights. I was just surprised to hear that you spent your teenage Christmas Eves at a friend’s house. Did your own family not celebrate Christmas?”
Brian feels a familiar coil of tension tighten inside him. His childhood and teenage years, with all of their painful shortfalls, were personal and private. Sharing those stories exposed something extremely vulnerable inside him. He could count the number of people he’d told them to on the fingers of one hand.
He looks into Jennifer’s eyes and notes that they are not Justin’s eyes. Apart from the fact Jennifer’s are hazel instead of blue, he also sees the depth of experience and the wisdom of age. Without entirely knowing why, Brian makes the unprecedented decision to trust her.
“My father was an alcoholic,” he told her after a moment’s pause. “My mother is a devote Catholic, also with a drinking problem. My sister is just a stuck-up bitch. It didn’t make for a very merry mix at the holidays. At least at Mikey’s, I felt like I belonged.”
I felt like I was loved, he added silently to himself.
He watches the emotions that cross Jennifer’s face, surprise fading into sympathy. Although he would normally despise the pity, he finds he’s unexpectedly grateful for hers. He’s not sure why.
“Are they still alive, your mother and father?” Jennifer asks tentatively. She’d obviously caught the two different tenses he’d used when talking about his parents.
“My mother is,” Brian replies after a lengthy pause. “She didn’t know I was gay until… well, until recently. She took it badly. My Dad died last year. Cancer.”
“Last year?” Jennifer looks profoundly shocked. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She’s clearly surprised that Justin hadn’t told her about Jack Kinney’s death. Brian has sometimes wondered how much Justin does tell his mother. He knows that mother and son are close – like Michael, Justin is a Mommy’s boy. Coming out to his parents would have been a million times easier if Jennifer had been the only factor in the equation.
Jennifer is holding his gaze steadily. Behind the lingering sympathy in her eyes, he can see something else. Sadness. He isn’t sure why it’s there until he recalls Justin saying “She doesn’t completely hate you, you know…”.
Finally Brian says, “It wasn’t really his news to tell.”
“Then perhaps you should’ve told me,” Jennifer responds without missing a beat. She holds his gaze steadily. “I’m trying to understand you, Brian. Sometimes I wish you’d at least meet me halfway.”
What she says next makes Brian’s heart drop somewhere into the vicinity of his shoes.
“They told me, you know,” Jennifer tells him. “The night nurses at the hospital. They told me you visited Justin in hospital almost every night he was there. They told me you refused to visit him when he was awake, and that you refused to let anyone tell him you came. You see, that is the kind of thing I’d like to – I need to - understand.”
Brian feels as if someone has punched him in the stomach. He finds himself fighting for breath, and wills his voice to remain steady.
“Did you tell Justin?”
Jennifer’s hazel eyes meet his own, her gaze intense and full of meaning.
“It’s not my news to tell,” she replies, echoing his own sentiment. “But you need to tell him, Brian. He needs to know.”
This unnerves Brian so much that he isn’t sure how to respond. Much less how to begin explaining. How could he explain to Mother Taylor that he’d been afraid that Justin wouldn’t recover, or that he wouldn’t love Brian anymore when he did? How could he, Brian, explain his fear that Justin would blame him for what had happened?
How could he explain that, for someone with such an extensive and varied sex life, he was little more than a blushing virgin when it came to real love? Hell, he couldn’t even come to grips with that himself.
“Please don’t tell him,” Brian implores Jennifer, trying not to sound like he’s begging. “If he asks, I’ll tell him. If he doesn’t… well, I’ll tell him when the time is right.”
In a valiant attempt to divert a conversation on a one-way trip to Catastrophe, Brian thrusts the two gift bags into Jennifer’s hands.
“Here. These are for you and Molly. Nothing special, just a few things I bought from one of my company’s clients. They’re imported from Europe.”
He doesn’t mention that he’s paid almost a hundred dollars for the wine and fine Belgian chocolate from Chelsea and Sons Gourmet Gifts. When it comes to gifts, Brian has always taken an ‘all or nothing’ approach.
Jennifer recognizes the diversion for what it is, and drops the subject of the hospital visits. She holds Brian’s gaze for a long moment, and then takes the gifts with a smile of thanks. He hasn’t been on the receiving end of many of Jennifer’s smiles. When he is, he can see where Justin’s ‘sunshine’ genes come from.
“Thank you,” she says, fingering the sparkly tissue paper and the silver ribbons. “I wasn’t expecting this, but I appreciate it. I know that Molly will too. You’re very sweet to think of her.”
Brian smiles a bit awkwardly in return. He’s not quite ready to admit that Molly’s gift is really meant as an apology for introducing so much turmoil into her young life. The year’s drama in the Taylor household had been Justin-centric, but Molly was certainly feeling the repercussions.
“You don’t have one for Justin?” Jennifer asks, indicating the gifts in her hand.
“It’s, um, back at the loft,” Brian explains sheepishly, feeling himself colour slightly. “It’s not really… family appropriate.”
Something about Jennifer’s expression tells him she’s guessed about the pile of presents from the adult boutique with Justin’s name on them. Brian shifts uncomfortably.
“Look, Jennifer. What is it that you want me to do here, exactly?”
He’d received Jennifer’s phone call just as he and Michael were about to embark on their first festive drinking game. A favorite since they were teenagers, it involved cheap beer and burping the chorus lines to popular holiday songs. Jennifer had actually called in the nick of time, as he would be incapable of driving after a single round.
Jennifer had told him that Justin was ‘having difficulties’ with their family’s Christmas Eve party. He’d had a panic attack, the first serious one he’d had in several months. According to Jennifer, Justin had retreated to his room and had refused to come out for anyone. Not even for the grandmother whom Justin apparently adored.
“I just want you to be with him,” Jennifer tells him, the helplessness and worry clear in her features. “He loves Christmas, Brian. Always has, ever since he was a little boy. I just… I don’t want the bashing to take that from him. I want him to be happy tonight.”
Brian nods in understanding.
“Can I take him home with me?” he asks, knowing that the reassurance Justin sometimes needed was sexual in nature. Having sex in a house full of Justin’s relatives on Christmas Eve seemed a little weird, even for him.
Jennifer shakes her head and pulls her wrap more closely around her shoulders. Brian notices the gooseflesh on her arms.
“I’d prefer him to stay here,” she says honestly. “My family has come all this way to see him and Molly. You have no idea how worried my parents were when they heard about the bashing… But if he’s happier going with you, then I understand.”
She looks up into his face.
“There’s only one Christmas gift I can think of to give him that will make him happy,” she tells him softly. “You.”
**
Brian taps softly on Justin’s door and gets no response. He feels like burglar, trying to make the least amount of noise as humanly possible. Jennifer has shown him quietly into the house, and has pointed the way up the stairs to Justin’s room.
The Christmas Eve party was going on in the living room, but no one except Molly seemed to notice him creeping past. Her face had registered a flickering of hope when she’d recognized him. Like her mother, she clearly hoped her brother would rejoin the family festivities.
“Justin?”
Brian whispers the name as he quietly turns the door handle and slips into the room. It’s dark, with the only light coming from the clock radio and from the streetlights outside the bedroom window. The curtains are still open. Brian closes the door softly behind him and peers into the darkness.
He’s acutely aware of Justin’s familiar scent, and knows he is present although he can’t see him.
Brian is on the verge of repeating Justin’s name when there’s movement on the bed at the far end of the room. A hand folds back the pale-coloured duvet and Brian can make out the glistening of Justin’s pale hair in the faint light.
“Brian?”
His voice sounds disorientated and confused, as if he’s been asleep and can’t yet tell dream from reality.
“Yeah,” Brian breathes. He fumbles along the wall for a light switch. “Can I turn the light on? I can’t see a fucking thing.”
He finds the switch and the room fills with light. He’s only been in this room twice before, once just after Justin came home from hospital, and once when he’d come to help move Justin’s clothes and belongings to the loft. If Brian is honest, he doesn’t like it here. There is too much that reminds him of the bashing, which still triggers uncomfortable, unsettling thoughts.
Now that he can see, Brian quickly takes stock of the situation. He notes the pieces of paper, various drawing implements and Christmas cards strewn haphazardly across the floor. He bends and picks up one of the cards, which has been ripped almost in half. He glances at the inscription Dear Justin. Glad to hear you’re doing better! Merry Christmas! Love Aunt Emma, Uncle Jay, Susan and Karen.
Brian sighs softly and places the card back on the desk. He can understand how the implication that he’s ‘doing better’ would not be welcome after having a panic attack in front of his extended family.
Justin is struggling into a sitting position on the bed, squinting his eyes against the light.
“Brian?” he repeats, his voice hoarse. “What are you doing here?”
If Brian had expected Justin to be pleased about his unexpected appearance in his bedroom, he’s mistaken. This worries Brian because it says something about the severity of Justin’s panic attack.
“I came to see you,” Brian tells him gently, keeping his voice soft. He pulls off his jacket, shoves the gloves into the sleeves, and lays it across the back of the desk chair.
“Did my Mom call you?” Justin asks. His body is tense and his expression is unsteady, wavering between confusion and anger. “She shouldn’t have bothered you. It’s Christmas Eve.”
Anger is still where Justin turns when he’s experiencing unknown emotions. Brian has come to understand that most of Justin’s angry outbursts, which are getting less and less frequent, indicate feelings of frustration, regret or helplessness. Regardless of how petulant Justin may sound at these times, Brian has learned to never respond to this anger with anger. What Justin needs is to be listened to. To be understood. To be touched.
“I think that’s why your Mom called me,” Brian tells him gently. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
Justin makes a noise that’s probably supposed to be a snort, but it comes out as an angry sob.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” he asks harshly. To avoid looking at Brian, he stares up at the ceiling like there’s something tremendously interesting there. Brian can see the glittering sheen of unshed tears at the corners of Justin’s eyes.
“Justin.”
Brian uses his name, which is unusual when he is speaking directly to Justin. It makes Justin look over at him, and Brian holds his gaze steadily.
“I don’t have somewhere better to be. I chose to be here. I want to be here.”
Justin’s expression calms and softens a little. He pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, making him look very small. He rubs his face on the duvet that’s wrapped around his legs.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, partially into the down-filled blanket. “It’s been a rough night.”
“So I heard,” Brian agrees. He reaches the bed and takes hold of the edge of the duvet. “Can I get in? Scoot over.”
When Justin hesitates, Brian touches his hair and gives him a smile of reassurance. Justin returns a ghost of smile and shifts over to the far side of the mattress, holding the duvet open as Brian climbs in beside him. Brian makes himself comfortable on his back, and then gently snakes an arm around Justin’s waist, encouraging him to fold into his embrace. He does so, but a bit reluctantly.
Brian can still feel the tension in Justin’s body as he guides the blond head onto his chest. When Brian eases his hand up under Justin’s loose t-shirt to rub his lower back, Justin squirms a little.
“Your hands are cold.”
Brian lays a soft butterfly kiss on the side of Justin’s temple.
“They’ll warm up. Try and relax. You’re all tense.”
Justin seems to make a conscious effort to loosen his muscles, leaning more into Brian’s embrace. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths as Brian presses his lips to the pale forehead. He finds the place where the pulse beats just under Justin’s hairline, and waits until the beating has become slow and rhythmic.
For a few minutes, neither of them speaks. This is a routine that is comfortable and familiar to both of them. They’ve done it many times during the last few months, as it’s the cure for a panic attack. It’s the unique elixir Jennifer had wanted Brian to provide for Justin.
When he senses that Justin has calmed down and is relaxed, Brian asks gently, “So, what happened?”
Justin breathes out through his nose and doesn’t open his eyes. Brian can feel his muscles tense again, and he rubs Justin’s back soothingly. As much as Justin dislikes talking about his attacks, Brian knows it’s important that they discuss them. It’s how they move past the episodes and go on.
“I made a complete ass of myself in front of my family,” Justin murmurs miserably after a long silence. “When my family started arriving this afternoon, everyone wanted hugs. Everyone kept wanting to touch me, especially my grandparents. It was like they wanted to make sure I was still alive.”
“I can see that,” Brian replies, brushing strands of hair from Justin’s brow. “Your bashing was really fucking scary. I can only imagine what it was like for your family who don’t live in Pittsburgh.”
Justin finds Brian’s other hand where it rests on his chest and gives it a tight squeeze.
“I know they were worried,” he admits, sounding tired. “And that’s why I let them hug and kiss and cuddle. But it got to be too much. The noise got to be too much. My little cousins and Molly started playing a game that sounded like it involved stampeding elephants. I felt the panic rising, but I tried to fight it. I thought I could control it.”
Brian checks a gut reaction to say, “You shouldn’t do that, you know.” Justin would never fully recover if he weren’t allowed to push his own boundaries. It’s one of the things that made his recovery so difficult to watch.
Justin breathes out deeply and rubs his cheek against Brian’s chest. Brian gives him a squeeze of reassurance, encouraging him to finish the story.
“The final straw was those damn Christmas crackers,” Justin admits after a long moment. “They snap when they explode, you know? I just felt this tidal wave of panic and suddenly I was on the floor. Everyone freaked out and tried to help, but it meant they all crowded in closer. I couldn’t breathe. I pushed them all away, ran up here and refused to let anyone in. Not even poor Granny. I was mortified at first, and then I was angry. I was so determined that this wasn’t going to happen. Not tonight.”
Brian lays his hand on Justin’s head in silent sympathy, caressing his hair soothingly. Justin shifts so that he can press his face against the warm, rough skin of Brian’s neck.
“It’ll get better, I promise,” Brian says softly against the skin of Justin’s forehead. “Your family loves you and they understand. Your mom wouldn’t have called me here otherwise. They know your recovery needs time and effort.”
Justin trails his fingers along the neckline of Brian’s grey cashmere sweater, his touch light and cool. He watches his fingertips moving along Brian’s skin instead of looking at him.
“I don’t want to go back down there,” he confesses. “I want to go home with you.”
Brian sighs and catches Justin’s fingers in his own. He waits until Justin’s eyes, looking unusually blue, meet his.
“I want that, too,” he tells him gently. “But you need to stay here. You need to be with your family, and you need to show them how hard you’re fighting. For their sakes, as well as your own.”
There’s turmoil in Justin’s eyes, and Brian can see deep-rooted reluctance in his expression. He gives Justin’s fingers another tight squeeze and kisses the curve of his cheekbone.
“I know it’s hard,” he says. “It’s always going to be hard, but running from it is not going to make it any easier. This is a safe place to feel vulnerable. It’s a safe place to make mistakes. You know people will always understand and always forgive you.”
He feels Justin tense suddenly.
“What?” Brian asks, looking down at him. The turmoil has returned to Justin’s eyes.
“My father didn’t,” he says bitterly, bunching the material of Brian’s sweater in his fist. “Dad didn’t understand. He didn’t forgive me.”
Brian wishes for the hundredth time that he had a voodoo doll of Craig Taylor. He would take the greatest delight in pushing a needle right through the doll’s eyeball and into his brain. In his mind, Craig had done something far worse to Justin than anything Jack had done in all his drunken rages. While Jack had seldom given a flying fuck about his only son, Craig had been an active, even a loving father to Justin.
And Craig had betrayed him utterly.
Brian would never forget the look of soul-searing pain on Justin’s face the night Craig had made him choose between his sexual orientation and his place in the Taylor family.
As in the past, Brian checks his own anger and tries to focus on Justin. Craig Taylor could go to hell.
“You didn’t do anything your father had to forgive you for,” Brian tells him firmly. “He owes you an apology, not the other way around. The ball is in his court, as far as I’m concerned. Forgiveness is a two-way street.”
Justin holds his gaze for a moment and then nods slowly, burying his head against Brian’s shoulder. They remain that way for several long minutes.
Eventually, Brian convinces Justin to get up. He watches him pull a truly hideous Christmas sweater, complete with demented-looking dancing gingerbread men, on over his t-shirt. Brian thinks that even Debbie would have shunned this design.
“I have to wear it,” Justin explains sheepishly when he sees Brian’s expression. “It’s from Great Aunt Nicola. Granny will tell on me if I don’t.”
Brian grins and shakes his head. Family.
When Justin comes to him and wraps his arms around his waist, Brian hugs him close. He buries his nose in Justin’s hair and breathes in his scent.
Justin is alive, and he would recover. For Brian, it feels like all the Christmas presents he’d ever want or need.
“I’ll pick you up after lunch tomorrow,” Brian tells him. “I’ve already cleared it with Mother Taylor. We can visit Gus and give him his presents, and then we’ll have a few hours at the loft before you have to be back here for the turkey dinner. Sound good?”
He pushes his tongue into the side of his cheek and grins.
“We should have time to try out a few of the Christmas presents I bought you. I want to see how well they fit.”
Justin looks at him and really smiles for the first time since Brian has arrived.
“So… if I’m good tonight, I can be naughty tomorrow?”
Brian laughs and swats at Justin’s ass playfully.
“I would expect nothing less. But leave that sweater here. I think your great aunt may have designed it as a repelling device…”
Justin laughs as Brian collects his jacket and then takes his hand. Together they go downstairs to the sights and the sounds and the smells of Christmas.
**
THE END