"And so it was, that while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn."

 The Gospel According to St. Luke, Chapter 2, Verses 6-7.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Justin, I told you, I won't miss Christmas Eve dinner with your family and of course I’ll be there for Gus on Christmas morning, and at Debbie's for dinner on Christmas afternoon. What kind of Scrooge do you think I am?"

Brian pressed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He was seated at his desk at Kinnetiks, trying to wrap up a few last minute details before heading off on an important business trip. This, "discussion" had been going on for the past thirty minutes without getting anywhere. He glanced at his watch. He needed to leave for the airport in fifteen minutes and still had not reviewed with Cynthia the directions to the client's residence. His assistant was hovering outside his office door, waiting for her chance to intervene.

"I think you're the kind of Scrooge who postpones the office Christmas party in order to make us all work on a presentation for this elusive son of a bitch client, who, like you, doesn't seem to care that it's Christmas week!" Justin replied, his arms folded across his chest.

"We've been over this, Jus, at least twice. I gave everyone who worked on that proposal a nice fat extra bonus, didn't I? And you're all going to have your Christmas party now, at one of Pittsburgh's most expensive restaurants, I might add, while I go off alone to make the presentation to Jamison Joseph Barlley. I had to call in a lot of favors to book a room for the firm this close to Christmas and on such short notice and I won’t even mention the fortune it’s costing. I was happy to do it to show the employees my appreciation for our successful year and their hard work, just as you tell me I should be.”  He leaned forward, both hands flat on his desk, his face tired but a forced smile pasted on his gorgeous lips.

“So, tell me dear Sunshine, where the fuck is the harm in the party happening a few days later when it's a bigger, brighter, better party?" Brian sucked in his lips and looked up at the glowering blond standing over him. He sat back down, tipping back in his chair, and steepled his fingers.. His stare was more than a match for Justin's best glower but the younger man didn't back down.

"There's more to life than money, Brian, especially at Christmas! Did it ever occur to you that your co-workers would have liked to take it easy this week and not be slaving away trying to please you on an intense presentation?  Did it ever occur to you that Em would have liked to have had this party over and done with instead of worrying about it going off okay tonight? Did it ever occur to you that I would have liked to have you with me tonight at the party instead of out in the middle of nowhere preparing to be fabulous for some rich asshole who decided that he could only meet with you two days before Christmas after refusing to see you for the past year? Did it ever occur…"

"Enough." Brian held his hands up in a gesture of surrender, but any belief Justin might have that he'd won the argument was short-lived as Brian stood, towering over him. He spoke quietly but his soft voice did not hide the depth of his anger.

"Did it ever occur to you that I would have liked to leave on this trip with one pleasant word from my partner instead of a never-ending stream of recriminations? But it seems that neither of us can always get what we want, can we? There is just enough time now for Cynthia to give me my last minute briefing on Marley, I mean Barlley,"

Brian flashed Justin a grin in acknowledgment of his Freudian slip, a grin which the Justin reluctantly returned. Pulling his lover close, Brian whispered, "I know money isn't the most important thing in the world, but you've never been without it, Sunshine, it's easy for you to not sweat the green stuff. I have a lot of people counting on me, on this company. Give me twenty-four hours and I'll be back in time to spend Christmas Eve with you... anyway you want."

Brian tried to kiss his boy good-bye but Justin turned his head away, unwilling to give in yet. He really felt this was important– for Brian's sake more than his.

"The way I want to spend the holiday is with you, the two of us together, Brian, when will you understand that? There is no gift that means as much to me as being with you– preparing for the holiday is part of it– creating our own holiday traditions. Each year that we've been together, I've gotten everything ready on my own, bought all the gifts, yes, with your money, but you need to be part of the selection process for it to really be from both of us. For more than just Gus, that is.  I know holidays don't mean as much to you, but that's because you won't let us create new memories to replace the bad ones."

Justin held himself stiffly in Brian's embrace. He felt bad about being so tough about refusing to bend–literally or figuratively– especially since his lover was taking a trip away from him, but he felt this was an important point to be made. There was always going to be another client to be won, another presentation to be made. If he didn't take his stand now, he never would. The loosening embrace and the mask coming down on Brian's face told him that he had not won the battle this time.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm never going to be the Christmasy kind of guy you want, Justin. So either you suck it up, and make the best of it, or figure out something else to do. You wanted me to be honest about my feelings and I was. I asked for twenty-four hours to do what I felt was necessary for this company. I'm sorry you don't agree with my sense of priorities, but I'm not willing to pass up this opportunity in order to eat fattening food, listen to bad renditions of Christmas carols and pretend I'm having a good time with the staff. My way of showing them I care is making money for this company so their stockings are adequately filled. I bet most, hell, all of the rest of them have no problem with that. I'm sorry that you do. See you tomorrow night... I hope."

With that, Brian shrugged on his overcoat, grabbed his laptop bag and stalked regally out of the office, past Cynthia who was holding a sheaf of papers for him.

She rushed after him, trying to give him the carefully dictated directions she’d received from the prospective client but he waved her off.

"I'll find it," he growled.

Cynthia walked back to Justin, who sat huddled in Brian's vacated chair. He looked so small and lost, his legs pulled up to his chest and arms clasped around his knees that she bit back the rebuke she’d been dying to deliver. Instead, she mentally rewrote it into a much milder version as she walked in and closed the door.

"You know you can't change him over night, or even in a year or two. It's a slow process. Any woman would be thrilled to see as much change in her man as you've brought about in these few short years. The Brian Kinney who worked at Vanguard didn't acknowledge this holiday existed beyond making sure I got a gift that was nicer than anyone else's assistant, and I think that was mainly because everything he did had to be better than what anyone else did. I've only seen Brian's mother a couple of times but I can imagine what Christmas would be like growing up with a religious fanatic like her as a mother. Did it ever occur to you that people like us, with our white bread, protestant backgrounds, get to take a lot for granted?  We think of Christmas as a wonderful, peace on earth holiday, but it’s pretty much a secular one. Brian grew up not only Roman Catholic, but with a burning eyes, you're all going to go to hell kind of fanatic for a parent. No gifts, but lots of incense and sacrifice is my guess. Keep the focus on Christ in the manger, which is all well and good, but only as a precursor to Christ on the cross.  No Santa down the chimney, and certainly no presents under the tree. Not much fun for a kid."

Cynthia put her hand comfortingly on Justin's shoulder. "Give him time to learn to love your kind of Christmas, and to find some traditions you can share. He'll come around."

Justin looked up at her with tear filled eyes. "How much time, Cynthia? I know how bad he had it as a kid, you and Michael and Lindz have all told me enough times! But I don't think you're doing him any favors by letting him keep to his same old Brian ways. He won't let me bring any happiness to his holidays. He's like Scrooge without the stinginess, so there aren't any ghosts of Christmas past, present and future who're going to come visiting to show him how life should be. He isn't hurting anyone except himself."

"And you." Cynthia added softly.

"And me. And Gus, as he gets older and wants more of Brian than Brian can give," Justin agreed. "I wish so much that something would happen to open Brian's heart to all that Christmas could be, to show him that he has so much more to offer than what he can buy people. That who he is, is more than enough for all of us, and without a dime, he has value, and would still be loved." Justin spoke so earnestly Cynthia had to blink back tears. Next to herself, she didn't think there was anyone who loved the difficult brunet who had just stormed out of Kinnetik more than the beautiful blond in front of her. She added her own prayer to his.

"From your lips to God's ears," she said in her best Jewish accent, making Justin smile. She helped him up and they went off together to spread cheer around the office. Cynthia especially exerted herself to keep Justin in a good mood throughout the day since she knew that is what Brian would want. No matter how annoyed he was with his boy, he wouldn't want Justin's enjoyment of the Christmas party lessened. As Brian's assistant, it was her job to know his wishes and to carry them out to the best of her ability. Cynthia was a very good assistant. Every once in a while, however, she felt a twinge of worry over the abandoned directions. The Barlley estate was extremely difficult to find and Jamison Barlley himself had dictated the directions over the phone to her. She really hoped Brian found his way to the estate after disembarking from the small Erie, PA airport and picking up his rental car.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Brian slammed his hands down on the dash and tried to peer through the snow that covered the windshield faster than the wipers of this piece of shit rental car could clear it. He really shouldn't complain, he realized, at least he did get the last four-wheel drive the rental company had available. There was small selection at the Erie Airport. Cynthia must have pre-listed his preferences with the company and when the surprise snowstorm hit, he was given the only Ford Bronco left. It was either take that or one of the few sedans left on the lot, and he had no intention of driving up to the client's estate in a Taurus.

However, by this point, the last time he'd made even mental plans for his grand entrance at the client's estate had been several hours ago. He had long since given up on finding the Barlley property and was now well and truly lost in the wilds of Erie County, PA. At least, he thought he was still in Erie County. It was hard to tell. He had called the client to explain that he would be delayed, but when he admitted to leaving behind the detailed directions the man had taken his own valuable time to give to Cynthia, the conversation did not go well. Brian had listened to the man's tirade for a few minutes, and then politely explained that he would not be driving out there after all.

Joseph Jamison Barlley was immediately silenced.

"Well, Mr. Kinney, perhaps I was unduly harsh. After all, you've made a long trip and it's a holiday week for a lot of people. I realize there's a great deal of snow coming down. Of course you've been delayed, especially since you don’t have my directions, not that they would have made much of a difference until you got closer to the place. Let me give them to you again. Now, from what you’ve said, I think I can give you a short-cut that will make up a good bit of that delay. Do you have a pen and paper handy? No sense trying to remember the turns when you’ve been driving for hours...easy to forget. Now...pay attention." Barlley’s tone was much more mellow.

"No, Mr. Barlley, I am no longer delayed; I'm not coming. Thank you for the opportunity, but I've realized that my coming out here was a mistake. I belong back in Pittsburgh with my staff, at my firm's holiday party, and Christmas shopping for my son and family with my partner, not catering to the unreasonable demands of unreasonable potential clients. Happy holiday," he said as he closed his cell phone on the man who was still sputtering.

Brian eventually turned the ringer off, after failing to take any of the man's calls over the next two hours. Had he taken any of those calls, he would have learned that the storm was predicted to become much worse, and that the Governor was ordering all motorists in Erie County off the roads, with the exception of emergency vehicles. Men trying to make it home to their partners in time for Christmas Eve did not qualify.

Joseph Jamison Barlley was no longer concerned about the ad man making his presentation, but he was worried about the stubborn young man reaching safety before it became too dangerous to drive. He could appreciate stubbornness, he had the quality in abundance himself. Based on what Kinney had told him when they'd spoken, Barlley estimated that Kinney was only about thirty minutes from the Barlley estate. He decided he'd better go out and find him on the back road on which he was lost and lead him to his place. That back road would eventually take a person to a minor highway, but it would not lead him to any type of hotel or motel for more than fifty miles. In this weather, on unplowed roads, traveling fifty miles would soon be an impossibility; half that distance would be undoable without a snowplow. He'd tried to warn the city boy but there was no getting through to him!

After searching the road and some of the small connecting roads in his small truck equipt with a back hoe for a few hours, Barlley eventually, regretfully, gave up his search. He sent a small prayer heavenward that someone would be looking out for stubborn fools as the day wore on into evening. He was one stubborn fool who was regretting his harsh temper...not for the first time in his life. He shook his head as he made his way into his lonely house. When would he ever learn?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Brian considered his options. He could no longer get a signal on his cell phone so reaching out to Cynthia for help making travel plans was no longer an option. The radio announcer said that all flights in and out of Erie were grounded, which was pretty much what he assumed anyway. Damn, this storm was bad for this time of year. He looked away from the road for a moment to glance at the clock on the dash. Three-thirty in the afternoon. If he drove straight through, he should be able to make it back to Pittsburgh before the party was over. He laughed to himself. Nothing like the grand gesture, Kinney. Justin would so love it if you killed yourself driving through a blizzard to make it to the party you blew off this morning as unimportant.

Truth be told, the party was still unimportant to him, but Justin wasn't; and several hours alone in a rental car on deserted roads had given him plenty of time to think about his priorities. Plus, all that time spent in airports in Pittsburgh and Erie, watching families on their holiday trips, college students leaving and arriving for Christmas breaks, loved ones being greeted at terminals; it all helped him realize that without Justin, there would be little point to anything else he did. He loved Gus tremendously, but face it, the boy had the munchers–they came first and Brian was okay with that. It was the deal going in. He was happy that he’d been given as big a part in Gus’s life as he was. Justin had played a part in the way that turned out.

Fuck, he even had Justin to thank for the fact that he played any part at all in his own son's life. Yet, if he were honest, he loved seeing Gus's face as he opened his presents on Christmas; Brian cherished every moment he spent with both of his boys. So why the hell did he sabotage things like he did today? He didn't need this client; not enough to risk being late for Christmas Eve. Now he was in the middle of nowhere during a blizzard for fuck's sake, trying to make his way back home instead of toasting another successful year with his hard working employees at a luxury hotel. There was something wrong with this picture.

And, as great as Gus was, Justin was the only one for whom Brian was the most important person at Christmas. Sure Gus would be disappointed if Brian were late tomorrow, but it wouldn't ruin his Christmas even if his Daddy didn't make it at all. For Justin, the holiday would begin when Brian arrived, no matter who else was there. No matter how blasé Brian tried to be about it, he knew that Justin’s world revolved around him and loved it. He saw no reason to admit, to Justin or himself, that it was no different for him.  Not everything has to be said out loud. Right?

Justin was always trying to teach him the right thing to do; Brian just wasn't always ready to learn at the pace the boy set for him. He wasn't sure he could. In his heart, to the extent he had one, the former King of Liberty Avenue wasn't convinced he hadn't done Justin a disservice, letting him come back from New York as he had, staying together as they did. Brian was thirty-five years old, far too old to change his ways. Brian grinned to himself as he swerved to avoid a semi that had jack knifed on the icy road ahead of him. (Thank Jack Kinney for honing his natural gift for mental multi-tasking– his intellectual meandering, a fancy phrase for what Debbie would call daydreaming, was not distracting him from his careful scrutiny of the icy roadway ahead of him). This was the mother of all ice storms from what little he could see through the windshield.

Turning back to his internal debate–Brian doubted that even the infamous Grinch had been quite as set in his ways as Brian was. Besides, he argued to himself, it wasn't as though he was against all the little Whos having their celebration, hell, he paid for it, didn't he?  It was just that he, personally, had trouble singing their damn 'who' songs down in 'whoville.' He just wasn't a Christmassy person.  He grinned as he drove through the snow, picturing himself as the Grinch, stealing Liberty Avenue's Christmas, starting with Debbie's tacky holiday chatchka's, and proceeding on through Emmett's overdone and over the top decorations. He laughed out loud at the mental image of Justin as the little dog Maxx, complete with the twigs tied to his head as reindeer horns, waving his little bubble butt in the air as he struggled to keep Brian/Grinch from going over the mountain.

The sight of something large lying on its side off the side of the road ahead jolted Brian from his mental plagiarism of Dr. Seuss.  Carefully, he pulled over as far as he could on the unplowed road, turned on his hazards, and got out, pulling the collar up on his heavy wool overcoat before trudging through the two foot high drifts of snow to a partially overturned Chevy Wagon. He could just barely see a man crouched down by the rear passenger seat, and what appeared to be another person lying on the back seat. Idiots, they didn't even have their hazard lights on, much less any flares out to alert passing vehicles to their presence. This was far from a major road; it was barely more than two lanes. They were lucky Brian had seen them. He bit back the irritation that stupidity always stirred in him. Maybe they had a good reason for their actions. Yeah, came the wayward thought, such as the fact that their parents were first cousins.

"Looks like you folks need some help," Brian called over, wincing inwardly at his phrasing, but rationalizing that it was disarming to speak to people in their own language. The man jumped up as though startled, the snow having muffled the sound of Brian's approach. He must have been so intent on his companion that he didn't even notice the large Bronco pulling up, Brian realized. Good thing he wasn't an ax murderer.

"Uh, yes, thank you, we are rather stuck here. I kind of slid on the snow, not being used to it, you understand." The man, who looked to be about Brian's age, replied sheepishly. He had a slightly nasal accent, probably Southern New Jersey, which didn't sound as bad as the State's more Northern counterpart, but also would explain the inability to drive on snow, Brian reasoned. He had yet to encounter anyone from the Garden State who could drive competently in more than two inches of snow. And those from the southern half of the state couldn't handle that much. He'd developed a prejudice against NJ drivers when going to Penn State. When Justin was learning to drive, he taught him to avoid cars with NJ tags on the turnpike if there was ice or snow on the roadway, just as a precaution.

In this instance, Brian simply sighed and crouched to take a closer look at the other vehicle. The axle looked broken, no doubt as a result of sliding into the ditch on the side of the road. There was no hope of it going any farther that day, even if he could pull it out with the chains he'd demanded the rental agency include with the Bronco's emergency kit.

Brian got up and held his gloved hand out to the other man.

"Brian Kinney. I'm a businessman from Pittsburgh. I'll be happy to give a ride to you and your..."

"My wife, Elizabeth, Beth, that is. My name is John, John Gabriel. We were on our way to a job interview, but it looks like God has other plans for us. We'd be very grateful for your help, Mr. Kinney, in getting out of this storm. I can't tell you how long we've been out here."

"I can," came a tired but amused voice from the back seat of the car. "Five hours, thirty six minutes, and eighteen motorists for whose souls my husband, aka, 'the saint,' may be willing to give the benefit of a doubt, Mr. Kinney, but for whose ultimate destination I hold serious doubts." At that, an extremely pretty, extremely pregnant, young woman hoisted herself out of the car by pulling on her somewhat slimly built husband with both arms, almost toppling both of them back into the Chevy. Brian felt his heart sink. He was going to be stuck in the middle of nowhere with Joseph and Mary. Suddenly he envied those eighteen drivers who passed on by; clearly they had more smarts than he did. This was all Justin's fault. Him and those stupid twig antlers. He forced a smile.

"Call me Brian. Let's get Beth into the Bronco where it's warm and then see about moving your belongings, John. It may be some time before someone can get back to the wagon. I have some flares we can set out too, to prevent another driver from hitting it."

John looked at him as though he were a genius.

"That's a great idea! Oh my gosh, you know what? I have flares too! Beth's father insisted we take them, but I never thought about them until this minute when you mentioned them. Let me get ours out and save yours. Just in case, you know?" Brian was forcibly reminded of Mikey as the man looked at him, obviously expecting approval for his belated recollection of a basic safety item. He felt a momentary sympathy for the unknown parent of Beth, who'd had to hand his daughter over to an obvious incompetent. Thank God, Gus was a son. But then, with a mother like Mel, even J.R. would undoubtedly know basic car maintenance at an early age. Gus would learn far more about car mechanics from his motorcycle riding mother than from his Armani wearing father.

But still, Brian knew how to drive in the snow safely and well. He also knew what to do in the event of an accident. He certainly knew enough to make sure that there were fucking flares in the car before setting out on a long trip and to be sure that he used them when the situation called for it, damn it. He resolved right then to make sure that Gus, (and J.R. too, because you couldn't count on Mikey or the Professor to know practical stuff like that) learned basic car safety practices. This little guy also looked like the academic dreamer type. Soft, white hands, inexpensive dark suit, white collar....white collar. Fuck.

"So, Beth," Brian asked, as he half helped, half carried, the petite brunette the short distance to his vehicle. "Tell me. Are you two cwazy kids going to be parents sometime soon or has someone has been taking the 'all you can eat policy' of the restaurants out here a little too literally ..." Brian continued teasing the pretty woman, who insensibly reminded him of Daphne, "and would that be Father John there who is going to be a father?"

"Noticed my added bulk and that collar did you?" Beth asked, looking at him sharply, as though she caught something in his face despite his lighthearted tone of voice. "Maybe we just decided to pad my belly and have him slip that collar on in hopes of getting some kind driver to stop and help us?" At the hopeful look of relief on Brian's face, Beth laughed out loud, a free, delightful gurgle that definitely reminded him of Daphne, surprising him with the pang of homesickness it caused. Fuck, what was wrong with him? First Mikey, now Daphne! This stray couple was pressing all his buttons; next thing you knew, he'd be holding hands and singing Kumbayah with them!

Beth Gabriel looked at the handsome young man's obvious consternation with amusement, not unmixed with a large measure of relief. She loved her husband with all that was in her, but her love was not blind. She was eight and a half months pregnant and was not physically up to handling all of the tasks that generally fell to her in the marital division of labor. Being a rector's wife was never easy; being a rector's wife when your husband did not have a practical bone in his body, God bless him, required an especially strong woman. Pretty, petite, Beth Gabriel, nee Cartright, was just such a strong woman. She could have married anyone, as her older sister and mother frequently lamented at every family gathering. Her former boyfriends included the captain of their college football team, and the top student in the engineering department. Both men had proposed to her only to be turned down.

Beth ended up doing the proposing to quiet seminary bound John Gabriel, universally agreed to be the nicest boy at school. When asked why, Beth told everyone that he was the strongest man she knew; a statement, it was generally agreed, which must have been a joke. Everyone knew that John was, of all things, most particularly a peaceable man, and an absent-minded one. The former meant that he never really needed to fight, and the latter meant that he so often forgot to eat that the first condition was fortunate, since he was too skinny, his friends laughed, to be able to harm the proverbial fly. It was firmly believed that when the wedding night came around, it was forceful Beth who probably carried John over the threshold, the day-dreaming groom no doubt reading a book while she did it.

Beth loved John with all her mighty heart– and her heart was a large one. Still, she thought wistfully, as the strong arms of their good Samaritan settled her into the backseat of his warm SUV and tucked a blanket around her, there were times when a man who was both morally and physically strong would be nice. Like when one is expecting a child. She was sensitive to other people's feelings and she could tell that this man did not want to be saddled with them, but this was no time to be concerned with his feelings or her pride. She had a baby and a husband to get out of the storm. So she put up her firm chin, forced a smile on her face, and for John and the baby's sake, spoke quietly to the handsome stranger. If it were just her, she would turn down a ride that wasn't willingly given. But it wasn't just her anymore.

"I'm truly sorry, Mr. Kinney, and if there were any other way, we wouldn't be burdening you," she told him. He glanced at her sharply. A cleft appeared above the patrician nose.

"It's no burden, if it's going to turn me into Mr. Kinney for the duration of this trip. It could be a long ride and it's cold enough outside without icy civility being maintained inside. I'm sorry if I allowed my own frustration with the weather to show," Brian exerted himself to demonstrate a little of the charm that he knew worked just as well with women as it did with gay men. He was just smiling his genuinely charming smile at Beth Gabriel, when they heard a muffled cry from John.

Brian and Beth looked over to see John cradling his hand under his armpit. The other man called over reassuringly, "I'm all right! Just a slight burn, honey, you know how I am lighting matches! I guess I should have spent a little time experimenting with cigarettes in my teens, just so I would've gotten some expertise with those darn matchbooks, never did get the hang of them, you know?" He appeared to be chuckling.

Brian shook his head in disbelief, but quickly masked his expression so as not to offend the man's wife again but Beth merely joined her husband in laughing at his mishap.

"It's okay, he's used to it, you can be honest." Raising her voice, she called over. "Wait for Brian, honey, I'm willing to bet he misspent his youth plenty and can light the flares in a jiffy. You grab our bags instead and get over here where it's safer. Make sure you get the bag with the baby things in it just in case, please." Her husband nodded cheerfully and moved to the side of the lopsided car. Brian excused himself and quickly lit and set flares around both cars, just in case another car or truck did happen along. Given the rapidly worsening storm, it wasn't likely, but all the more reason not to take chances. Visibility was worse now than when he had stopped to help the Gabriels. He grabbed some of the bags and hustled the young man of the cloth into the Bronco to get them back onto the road as soon as possible. He checked his cell phone again; still no signal. His odometer indicated he had traveled only about twenty-five miles since canceling with Barlley; he had hoped to have reached some type of contact with the outside world by now, but he was still on this back country road. Maybe the Gabriels would at least know their way around this county.

What with picking Fr. John up two or three times and finally just plopping him in the Bronco to keep his wife company while Brian finished moving their pitifully small number of belongings into his vehicle's cargo area, and then retrieving those flares that he had placed behind the Bronco, leaving Gabriel's belatedly remembered ones to alert any vehicles unfortunate enough to still be out on the road of the station wagon’s presence, the stop cost Brian almost a full hour. He also thought to leave a note on the car advising any emergency vehicles that might come along of their identities and intended route. He did not have a good feeling about this storm. The radio was giving only intermittent reports at this point; the storm causing too much interference with the signal.

John looked over at Brian after they had been driving along in silence for a few moments. Brian was concentrating on keeping the Bronco on the road, which was not easy, given that the road was completely covered by more than a foot of snow and blended completely with the surrounding countryside. Brian had quickly learned that his travel companions didn't know the area any better than he did. Worse probably, since Brian had made some trips out to the general Erie area years earlier for soccer games in college, whereas this was John and Beth's first trip to the area. John was doing his best to assist, but he soon learned that Brian preferred silence to idle chatter and while the situation remained so dangerous, there was no need to talk to keep the driver awake. Besides, he didn't think he had ever met someone as alert and observant as their new friend. John hoped to aid Brian in looking for danger but while he continued to squint through the windshield, he couldn't make heads or tails out of anything. He was bright enough to realize that expressing his continued amazement over Brian's ability to make any sense out of the white swirls that were all that was visible to him was not particularly helpful. He had to trust that they would know it if they came upon a bridge or some other road hazard. Hopefully any really important road signs would still be visible, and if not, he would have to trust that the keen-eyed man next to them would somehow know how to get them to safety.

John knew he was not good at driving, and unlike many men, had no ego about it. He was hesitant to offer what he was good at, which was helping lonely people, and especially telling people about God. Beth had warned him in one of those quick, almost wordless exchanges that people who are very close are good at, that the man with them was not open to John's type of help. Sometimes, he thought his Beth was just too cautious. He loved her more than anything except God, but she was too afraid of people hurting his feelings; John didn't fear that at all. What he feared was not reaching out to someone who might need him when he had the chance, simply because he was too shy, or too cautious about social niceties.

"I'm not much good at seeing traffic hazards, I guess that goes without saying after what you saw with the Chevy," John offered with a smile. In the backseat, Beth tensed. She knew where this was going. Not while he’s trying to drive, John, she prayed, not now, wait until we're safe.

Brian laughed. "Anyone can slide on the snow, especially snow like this. And those tires weren't all that new, from what I saw. Besides, you're from South Jersey, aren't you?" Brian raised an eyebrow.

John was distracted, and slightly offended, by that reference to his home state. Despite truly not being an egotistical man, that opening gambit took him by surprise.

"The tags were hidden in the ditch so how did you know...."

"Don't worry, it wasn't your accent.” Brian sent another winning smile toward the man to take any unintended sting away from that comment as well. “It's just that, hey, you were involved in a one vehicle accident, and Beth said it had happened five plus hours before I got there. At that time the snow had just gotten started. So I asked myself, who else but someone from South Jersey?" Brian smirked in the rear view mirror at Beth this time and the three of them laughed. "Cherry Hill?" Brian asked, naming one of the biggest towns in the southern portion of the state, where very little snow fell, and in fact, the natives had relatively little accent.

"Not guilty, but almost as bad, Crestwood, part of Eagleton Township, right next door," John admitted. "We suffer from always having to define who we are by saying we’re the town right next door to Cherry Hill, or right across the river from Philadelphia. The township actually got practically as big, but always suffered from a tremendous insecurity complex. Like a second child who can never measure up in his parent's eyes so eventually gives up." John's tone was thoughtful.

Brian looked at the other man who was peacefully looking at the snow falling in darkness outside the Bronco. He had blue eyes that were so light, they were almost clear; very different from the intense blue of Justin's eyes. His face was thin, but pleasant, not handsome, but a good, intelligent face. It was topped with light brown hair that continually fell forward over his high brow.

"Why were you concerned to discover I was a priest, Brian?"

The question came out like a shot in the dark vehicle. Brian parried with some applied obnoxiousness, a favorite Kinney technique.

"I didn't realize you were a 'priest,' John. I haven't been to church in awhile, but last time I was, priests weren't allowed to have wives, much less pregnant ones. I'm still only half convinced you two aren't messing with my head with this whole padre and pregnant wife charade just to score a ride."

"Nice try, Brian, just like you Catholics, always trying to pretend we Episcopalians don't exist. I’m sure, however, that such an educated man as you are surely has heard of us," John chuckled at Brian's attempt to forestall the discussion by offending him. He was a little more troubled by Beth’s reaction. His wife was being suspiciously quiet in the backseat. Her husband knew she disproved of him bringing this up, fearing either that he would be hurt or that their benefactor would be annoyed, but John sensed it was the right thing to do so he pressed on despite Beth’s tacit disapproval and Brian's mild mockery, both of which continued.

"Ahh, I seem to recall now there was some offshoot renegade group, started when King Henry the Eighth wanted to fool around, wasn't that the group?" Brian replied, still hoping some Kinney attitude would end this conversation now and buy him some peace and quiet. He wasn't in the mood for any proselytizing. "Actually, it’s only those fat cat TV preachers who really bug me, robbing from the poor and giving to the rich, namely themselves. Or the holier than thou types who preach denial, denial, denial, anything that feels good is a sin. I knew you were a Padre after my own heart when I saw that beat-up car of yours, Fr. John. Well, that and the knocked up wife."

"So why then, the concern?" John gently returned to his original question, refusing to be put off by Brian's deliberate attempts to offend him. The hazel eyes darted over before returning to their tense scanning of the roadway. Brian gave up his avoidance tactics and decided to issue his own blunt shot in the dark towards the gentle priest.

"I wasn't 'concerned,' as you put it. It's just that I'm gay and my interactions with so-called religious people have not been such that I want to spend a good deal of time with them, nor have they shown an inclination to spend time with me. I didn't want you to be forced into the position of having to accept a ride unknowingly from someone whose lifestyle is offensive to you, exposing your wife to someone whose lifestyle you disapprove of, but I didn't see any way around it other than just staying quiet. Now understand, ordinarily, I don't go around telling chance-met persons my sexual orientation. And since, as a friend of mine would say, my ‘flame’ doesn’t burn all that bright anyway, it isn't like the typical straight person knows I'm gay just by looking at me in my work clothes, but if it were somehow to have 'come out,' so to speak, then it would've been," Brian paused, searching for the right word.

"Unpleasant if I were to be one of those fire and brimstone type preachers, telling you that you would go to hell if you did not change who and what you were, based solely upon pre-judgments founded upon something as groundless as your preference in partner, as opposed to what you have made of yourself. Rather ridiculous for you to have to think about our sensibilities when you were doing us the favor in the first place. No, ridiculous isn’t the right word. It's appalling, actually, and something you probably think I can't even conceive of, having to live your life that way, except I do have some idea of it, because my younger brother was gay. I say was, because at sixteen he committed suicide because he couldn't take the harassment he received from his classmates any longer."

John gave an uncharacteristically bitter laugh. "The administrators called it teasing. Torment would have been a more appropriate word for what went on in his school, a private one. We never knew what it was like for him until we read his online diary. He was surrounded every day by people who felt they knew him, and the not one of us really knew him. Didn’t know what was going on inside his head. Neither his tormentors nor those of us who loved him but who failed him so abysmally." John was quiet for a few moments. Beth, who had heard this before placed her hand on her husband's shoulder as he struggled to control his breathing.

Brian stayed silent. There was nothing to say. He couldn't help but think, however, that if Justin had not been so strong, that could have been Justin. Other than Daphne, he’d been surrounded by people who either didn’t care, or who actively hated him for what he was. And his parents were clueless when it came to helping him.  After a few moments, John continued.

"I hate people who make judgments about what other people are like based on labels. Gay, straight, rich, poor, jock, bookworm. Like the judgments people make based on who your parents are, or where you grew up, or any number of things you have no control over. I guess your judgment about me, being a man of the cloth, had some validity to it, being based on your experience of other priests, and self professed religious people. And at least I chose to be a priest. It's no wonder you were cautious, given organized religion's track record with gays. I mean, I understand it, but damn it, I really don't like being grouped with people like that," the mild young priest finished forcefully. Brian blinked at hearing the gentle young rector curse.

"John, you said 'damn it,'" Beth exclaimed, in awed tones from the backseat.

"And I meant it. Besides, I pick such language up from you, so don't you tease me. Next thing you know, I'll be able to light the birthday candles on our daughter's cake without setting the cake, or myself, on fire!" He gave them both a such a sheepish grin, so mixed with pride, that neither Beth nor Brian could resist laughing at him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The ice broken, Brian and the Gabriels exchanged full life stories, (Brian's relatively censored), and were well on their way to becoming friends before they finally found their way onto anything resembling a highway. They shared some snacks from the small cooler that had been rescued from the Gabriel station wagon to celebrate and then the two men convinced Beth to go to sleep in the backseat, Brian having fashioned a makeshift extended seatbelt for her that did not rest over the baby. He had read that the baby could harmed by the seatbelt in an accident if it rested directly over the fetus, and yet he refused to let her go without any restraint at all, despite her pointing out that there were hardly any cars on the road.

"And what if I fall asleep and run us into a tree? If we are moving, everyone is going to be restrained, John, you and John, Jr."

"Beth, Jr," came the sleepy voice from the front passenger seat. Beth looked at Brian and winked.

"Make it a Beth, Jr., at least the first one. I don't think I could take care of two of them, darling as he is," she whispered.

"I'll see what I can do," he whispered back and grinned as he finished fastening the belt. He then woke John up enough to move into the back seat so the two of them could keep each other warm and John could help hold Beth up in the seat. It wasn't long before both were sound asleep, cuddled together like a grown up Hansel and Gretel. Brian drove for another hour or two in silence. He smiled wryly to himself. Well, he hadn't made the Christmas party. He hoped by now that Justin had forgiven him, and understood that Brian wasn't calling in because he wasn't able to, and not because he was still mad. Brian knew he could count on Cynthia to follow-up on his flight, find out about the cancellations in the Erie area, and realize that there had been a problem since Brian wasn't checked in at any of his usual hotels. Brian had heard enough before the radio died to realize that the storm was much worse in Erie County than it was in Pittsburgh but Cynthia would tell Justin what was going on. Brian was counting on Justin being worried enough to forgive Brian their fight, but hopefully not so worried that he either did something foolish, or that it triggered a new fight. It really wouldn't be fair if, after the day Brian had, Justin still blamed him for being late getting home.

Brian still had every intention of making it back home before Christmas Eve was over. How much of it he made was in doubt, however, given the storm conditions, but maybe, if Justin were to hear just how bad it was, and that Brian had turned around as soon as he could and without going to the meeting at all, he would be understanding. Brian hoped so. He really didn't need to deal with a pissed off twink on top of everything else that had gone wrong, including losing the account anyway.

Were those lights up ahead? Brian grinned in relief. At last, something was going right. He had been holding his body so tense, peering through the gloom and swirling snow, trying to see the road, his muscles were screaming their objections as he straightened up. He was almost afraid to believe his eyes when a small motor lodge came into view. Finally sure that it was indeed a place where they could pull off the road and get out of the storm he decided to wake up his traveling companions.

"Well, boys and girls, I hate to disturb your beauty sleep, but I do believe that I see the lights of a small establishment up ahead. So, assuming they are not going to tell us there's no room at the inn, I suggest I check it out and book us rooms for the night. I'll see what they can offer us in the way of dinner while you wait in the nice warm Bronco. I take it from your answer earlier, John, that you'll have no objection to letting this fag buy you and your lovely wife dinner?"

"I warn you, she eats enough for three."

"I resemble that statement," Beth intoned solemnly. Relief was making them silly. Brian smiled indulgently at their antics as he pulled slowly into the homey motor lodge/truck stop. The sign at the entrance said "Last Stop for Lodging and Gas for Fifty Miles."

They'd made it to safety. Before exiting the Bronco, Brian saw John bow his head in prayer. The habits of childhood die hard, he reasoned, as he caught himself adding his own small prayer before he moved to the rear of the vehicle to grab some of the bags. It had been one hell of a trip.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"What do you mean, he never got there?" Justin's voice rose as he faced Cynthia over the beautifully arranged buffet table. Emmett and he had chosen a buffet over the more expensive sit down dinner, more to encourage mingling than as one of the cost counting measures Ted was always encouraging. They more than made up for the savings in what they spent on decorations and music for this year's office Christmas party. The room was awash in flowers and candlelight, while one of the city's finest bands played dance music. The employees had been encouraged to bring their "significant others," so other than Justin and Cynthia, for whom a significant other person was missing, the party was a huge success.

Justin spent the evening being the perfect host. No one would have known that he was absolutely furious with the handsome head of the firm had the two partners not had such a loud argument that morning, and had Ted not made it his business to spread word of the lovers' quarrel to everyone who didn't hear it first hand. The party was in full swing when the male blond in Brian’s life learned from the female blonde in Brian's life that the client had called some time earlier to advise that he had been unable to reach Brian after multiple attempts. Cynthia quickly filled Justin in on everything she’d been able to learn from Jamison Joseph Barlley.

"So, Brian told the old guy off and was actually headed back to us without seeing him?" Justin's "sunshine" smile was in full evidence.

"Don't get too excited, Jus, that was hours ago," Cynthia warned. "Seems Brian got off the phone before old Barlley could make nice and offer him shelter for the night. The Erie airport was closed and the road he suspected Brian was on was unlikely to be plowed any time soon. It would take Brian ages to get back to a main road if he intended to drive back.  That undoubtedly was what Brian planned to do, once he realized he wouldn't be able to make the short flight between Erie and Pittsburgh in this weather to get back to you. He told Barlley he had to get back to his partner and son for the holiday."

Seeing the increased wattage of Justin's smile upon hearing those words, Cynthia felt it was necessary to issue another warning.

"Don't get too happy, there's been no word from Brian since late morning when he disconnected his call with Barlley, Justin. If he made it to shelter, or even to a main road where he could get a cell phone signal, why hasn't he called me? I've had my cell phone with me all night just in case he called. That's how Barlley reached me. Barlley tried finding him using his own truck with a plow front but eventually he had to turn back. He's called me several times, hoping to hear that there's been word from Brian. Conditions out in Erie County are pretty bad, he says. The Governor has declared a state of emergency and the roads are being closed. They aren't even sending the tow trucks out anymore, and only main roads are being plowed tonight."

"Shit. Isn't there anything we can do?" The young man looked paler than he normally did as Cynthia's words finally sank in. Brian was missing and the last words Justin said to him were hateful. He’d even refused to kiss him good-bye!  All thoughts of anger toward his lover were gone. All Justin could think of now was his worry over where Brian was, and how he could possibly live with himself if something had happened to Brian. Justin could feel himself growing shaky.

"Emmett, help me," Cynthia voice sounded as though it were coming from a distance as Justin heard her calling their friend to her aid. The tall blonde tried to steady Justin on her own.

"What's wrong with baby, a little too much celebrating with Brian not here to keep a watch on his boy?" Despite his light-hearted words, the tall queen was instantly by their side. With a keen look at Cynthia, and then at the drooping boy she was struggling to hold up, Emmett took in the situation as easily as he took Justin off her hands, carrying him over to a chair in an out of the way alcove, away from prying eyes. Keeping his voice low, but cheerful, he grabbed a water from a passing waiter, and made Justin drink from it. At the same time, he loosened the younger man's tie and the neck of his tuxedo shirt, keeping up a steady stream of chatter as Cynthia placed a few calls on her cell phone.

"So, let's just get you a little more comfortable here, and perhaps some more water while Cynthia gets some information. My Aunt Eulabelle, she always was a good one for any kind of situation, she used to say it was no sense getting yourself all worked up until you found out what there was to get worked up about! In the meantime, you get yourself ready to handle anything, and she could, handle anything, I mean, that woman never let anything get her down, not floods or hurricanes... now snowstorms were not in her repertoire, but I have no doubt she would just say, Emmett, honey, that there snow, it isn't anything but some frozen water, now, is it?"

Justin was looking straight ahead, as though he were frozen. Emmett started rubbing the boy's hands together to warm them up. Em glanced up at Cynthia for some guidance; she just shrugged her shoulders helplessly. She apparently was on hold, or listening to someone go on at length uselessly. Emmett looked back at Justin.

"You want to tell Auntie Em about it, Justin? I'm a little bit at a loss here."

"He's lost, Em, Brian's lost. I yelled at him this morning, I nagged at him something terrible and now he's out in the snow lost somewhere, all by himself, trying to get back to me, and Gus, and it's all my fault," Justin whispered. Suddenly, he took a gasping breath, and started crying, large, choking, heart-wrenching tears. Emmett didn't even try to stop him, he simply pulled him onto his lap and let him cry, patting his back every so often and saying nonsense words. Cynthia moved a few feet away so she could hear what the man with the road service in Erie was saying to her. After several minutes' low voiced conversation, she came back to where Emmett had Justin somewhat calmed down.

"There are too many accidents and abandoned vehicles on the roadways for them to have any idea who is found, who isn't found, who may be wandering around looking for shelter, who..." She paused, looked at Justin and didn't finish her sentence but started a new one. "The snow is falling too hard for them to have search teams out looking for stray motorists. The stretch of road Brian was apparently headed for had, at best, one source of shelter on it, motor lodge, but that lost phone service mid afternoon. It's possible he made it there. They were taking people in and bunking them down in the hallways at last report from the state police. He recommended we pray Brian made it there. We won't know for sure until tomorrow at the earliest. Other than that, some farmers in the area were taking in people. There are random farmhouses and barns off the roadway for anyone broken down who had some idea of survival training. He asked if Brian was capable of roughing it!" She broke into a hysterical laugh at this point. Emmett eyed the normally cool blonde nervously. He was afraid he was going to have another one of Brian's blondes collapsing on him and he wasn’t sure he could handle more than one at a time. She caught his look and managed to pull herself together with a shake.

"Don't worry, Emmett, I'll hold it together. Brian would expect no less of me. And you too, Justin, come on, he's counting on us." Justin picked up his head at that call to arms. Cynthia appeared unmoved by his tear marked face. In actuality, she wanted nothing more than to run into the ladies room and bawl her own eyes out until her mascara ran down to her toes, but that wouldn't help the boss any, so instead, she looked down her perfect nose at the two gay men like the Ice Princess she knew everyone believed her to be.

"Justin, Brian says you’re a genius, what do you think we can do to get help to him when the state and county agencies say their resources are tapped out?"  She spoke in her crispest tones.

Justin sat thinking for a moment, then looked up at her.

"We call upon Barlley, the man who got Brian into this, and who must be feeling guilty, since he tried several times to reach him to offer shelter, a very un-Barlley like thing to do, given he’s, like, this recluse. He’s a billionaire, with both the resources and the knowledge of the area we need. If anyone can find Brian in this white haystack, it should be him. We throw ourselves on his mercy, along with a heavy dose of guilt, using the Gus card if we have to. Maybe we also can use that satellite tracking device that shows pictures of the ground surface on the web? Maybe we can plot out what barns actually are in the area so that if in the morning we find out Brian didn't make it to the motor lodge place, we know where he is likely to have sought shelter?"

"Excellent ideas, we can go to the office now and start printing out pictures starting at the Barlley place, using the detailed directions he gave me. He says he estimated that Brian was only about ten miles from his place when he turned around. The lodge was about thirty miles east of there."

"Also, Brian was in Scouts so he is not without any survival training. I know for a fact that he never goes anywhere without insisting that the rental car have a first aid kit and chains, flares, all sorts of things you wouldn't think of. He knows enough to make sure he has a proper spare, even if he doesn’t know how to change it, but even that is suspect. I think it’s more a matter of he chooses not to change a tire if he can get some one else to do it," Emmett said, pulling smile from his companions. He then offered hesitantly, "One other thing, are you going to tell the rest of the family about this? If Brian is missing tomorrow, you'd better have a story ready."

"Good thinking. I don't want to worry Lindsay unless we have to, but at the same time, we don't want to have Gus disappointed at the last minute. It may be a good thing to tell her Brian went out there, but turned back in plenty of time. We'll have to tell her it appears that the weather has delayed him and that there may have been an accident so she can prepare Gus for the delay in case it is necessary, as she sees fit. But Gus should know his Daddy is doing everything possible to be with him."

If the Ice Princess' eyes teared up a bit at that point, neither of the men commented on it; perhaps because their eyes were too watery to see clearly.

Cynthia quickly decided, "It might be best if you call her, Emmett, she would find it odd if I called and Justin might have trouble staying calm if he were to do it. Justin can speak to Barlley."

Emmett agreed. Feeling better with something concrete to do, Justin went to a side room to call Barlley while Emmett sat down to call Lindsay, and Cynthia left to find Ted and update him on the situation. Then, jointly, before leaving the party to return to the office and proceed with their plans, the three of them alerted the employees to the peril facing of the head of Kinnetik, and everyone bowed their heads in a brief moment of silent prayer for the safe return of their boss and friend, Brian Kinney.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"What do you mean you don't have room for all of us?" Brian asked quietly, holding his anger in check for the sake of his traveling companions. Beth was so tired, she could barely stand. John held her arm tightly as he stood next to Brian by the check-in desk. The clerk looked embarrassed, and was unable to look them in the eyes.

"There must be some mistake," John said firmly, placing his hand on the counter, and compelling the young clerk to look up and meet his clear-eyed gaze. "I'm sure you realize it is a terrible night out and there are no other accommodations to be had. We will take whatever you can give us, we really aren't fussy.  The three of us will take the same room, or a closet for that matter, even a spot in the hallway." he gave the young clerk his gentle smile.

"I'm sorry, but we really are at capacity. We can take you and your wife, sir, but this gentleman will have to make other arrangements," the clerk answered sheepishly.

"But I just told you, we're together, my wife and I will share with this gentleman. Trust me, nothing improper will be going on, we just need a place to rest. We've all been on the road for hours. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have made it here safely so whatever you're willing to give us, we insist on sharing with him," John calmly but firmly replied.

Beth was wavering on her feet. Brian looked at her with concern. He suspected he knew what this was about, as paranoid as it seemed here in the middle of nowhere. He was torn; the conditions outside were impossibly bad. They were lucky to have made it this far, and to leave this shelter was suicide. This went doubly for Beth. There was no way a woman as heavily pregnant as Beth should venture outside into this storm again. None of them should, but her least of all. To think that the motel management would even consider fucking with any of their lives was insane. So, the question was, was there any chance the hotel would call John's bluff?

" I'm afraid that can't be done, Reverend," a voice answered from behind the clerk. An older, heavyset man came out from a back room and stood next to the young clerk, who backed away thankfully. "We don't take your friend's kind here. As you were told, you and your wife are welcome, and we'll even find you and the missus a room, but he has to leave. I'm sure he can find a nice warm barn somewhere nearby, maybe even an accommodating sheep to keep him warm. He ain't staying in my motel, not when we got kids sleepin' in the hallways, and more likely to arrive before morning due to the storm, no telling what he'll get up to." The older man smirked at his own joke. "We're good Christian folk here. Like I said, you're more than welcome, maybe you can give us a sermon on Christmas morning, if we're still snowed in, but not any of his type. Nice of you to want to take him into your room and all, but I have to think of everybody and the reputation of my place. People have to know they can let their kids go to the ice machine without worrying, you know where I'm comin' from?" The man smiled at John ingratiatingly.

What the fuck? Brian was too shocked to think of responding. Not so, the Reverend's "missus." By this point, a small crowd had gathered.  Beth didn’t care; that just meant there were all the more to hear her diatribe as her weariness seemed to fall away.

"His type, sir? His type! And what type would that be? The type of man who stops and helps strangers on the road? You don't allow that type here? I can see you allow the other type here, the type who pass on by, because I see at least three of the rigs that passed my husband and me by when we were stranded on the side of the road earlier today, parked in your lot. That’s right, folks, passed us, left us stranded by the roadside. Why, I bet the drivers of those rigs are among the grinning fools standing over there at the doorway to that restaurant right now. They sure look like the type of men who would pass by a man of the cloth and his pregnant wife! Are you sure that type is safe to allow near kids? I wouldn't trust that type of man near my house cat!" Weariness was making Beth's normally musical voice shrill.

"Beth, honey, take it easy, you don't want your blood pressure going too high," John admonished gently.

"No, John, we don't want me to get ill, do we, not when we have to go back out into this storm, thanks to these good Christian type people," Beth said, smiling sweetly up at her husband, as she leaned against Brian tiredly. The female hostess standing by the restaurant entrance gasped at that. Several of the truckers, who'd been looking guilty at Beth's accusatory words, looked distinctly more uncomfortable now. The manager, however, looked at her like she was crazy. For that matter, Brian was sure she was crazy, but out of loyalty for her support, he was damned if he would show it. He put his arm around her to give her some physical support in exchange for her verbal tongue-lashing of the homophobic lodge manager. He wished, however, she'd left matters in John's more peaceful hands, which may have resulted in all of them receiving shelter from the storm. He decided it was time for him to speak up and try to salvage the situation.

"John, this is taking things too far. If these fine people wish to close the doors of their establishment to me, that's okay with me, although if by my 'kind of people,' they're referring to men who wear Armani, I do think that is taking a preference for Versace or, rather, Sears Big and Husky Menswear too far," Brian drawled in his most casual voice. He glanced at John's face for a clue as to his intentions. Quite frankly, Brian was a little surprised at the attitude of the manager; he never thought his appearance screamed "queer," as though he were Emmett or Shandra Lear, for fuck's sake! He was willing to stay in the closet if it meant getting out of this snowstorm. If that mean he lacked gay pride, well, so be it. But what was with these folks? Would it help if he outright denied being gay? Within moments of his entering the motel, he started receiving the vibe that he was unwelcome; that was not something he was used to, outside of Justin's house back in the old days, that is. It suddenly occurred to him to wonder where Craig Taylor was from, but no, that would be too great a coincidence. Even he couldn't be that unlucky.

With a sense of doom, Brian looked up at the manager's name, which was on a placard on the wall. Sure enough, "Hiram Taylor" was written in inch high white metallic letters on the black background. No doubt he was a cousin or uncle or something on Craig's side of the family. This really was not his fuck-luck-ing day. Well, there was no sense bringing the Gabriels down with him. He turned to Father John and spoke in a low voice.

"John, I really think you two should stay, preach that Christmas Day sermon..."

"And I think we should go," John quietly contradicted him. Beth smiled wearily at Brian from her husband's side. "The Lord Jesus instructed that if one of his people, out on the road spreading the good news should meet with inhospitable people, he should shake the dust of that place from his feet." John turned to face the men gathered around, and his quiet voice gathered in force and power until it sounded with all the might Brian imagined the prophets of old having,

"And Jesus said that woe would be unto such people at the end times, for it will go easier then with the people of Sodom, the Lord Jesus taught us, then it will for such people as these, who receive us not, on the day of judgment." He added, speaking forcefully to the gathered men and women, "Remember, you who dare to call yourselves Christians, that Jesus said, just as you shall do unto the least of my brothers, I shall do unto you. This man was our good Samaritan, we would rather trust in the Lord and him, than in such heartless people as you. The Lord Jesus had much to say about love and hospitality, but you who call yourselves Christians might be surprised to find, if you should ever take the time to read those Bibles you profess to love, that Jesus never once spoke a word about homosexuality. Come, Brian, come Beth, the Lord will provide for the three of us."

Brian hesitated, but since he had the bags, not to mention the keys to the Bronco, and Beth and John did not look back but were busy making a grand exit from the motel, he didn't feel he had any choice in the matter. Far be it from him to ruin such a great exit; who knew the Padre was such a drama queen?

Of course, there was the simple fact that Brian knew from personal experience with his mother that there was no reasoning with a "true believer" once they felt they had God on their side. He just wasn't sure he trusted a fanatic no matter how correct his personal beliefs might be. In this case, John was risking his wife and unborn child for a stranger; that was crazy in Brian's book. If his goal was to shame the manager into giving them shelter, it wasn't working. They made it outside without being stopped. Of course, John had no way of knowing that to Hiram Taylor, this homophobia was personal.

Brian turned back at the door to face the room.

"Listen," he shouted over to the manager in frustration. He was tired, fed up and more than ready to let someone know about it. But without John and Beth's cooperation, even talking the manager into taking the Gabriels in wouldn't help. Damn, he hated fanatics. He could see Debbie doing the same damn thing, he realized, in the moment before confronting the stone-faced manager.

"This lady is having a baby. Can't you at least sell me some gas so we don't run out on the roadway, and maybe tell me which direction is most likely to lead to shelter? Back the way we came or on ahead?" Brian waited, trying to convince himself that this asshole shared DNA with Justin and thus had to have some human decency in him.

"I'm not selling you or that uppity preacher any fuel," Taylor started to say, when he was interrupted by a big trucker.

"You'll sell it to me, Hiram, or you won't see any more of my trucks stopping by here anymore." The manager didn't say any more, just twisted his mouth sourly, before nodding to the clerk, then slamming into his office. The trucker laughed a short huff of a laugh before walking over to Brian.

"I'll pump it for you, young man. You pull up to pump number one after you get that fire breather loaded in, and the young lady." The trucker shrugged into his coat and pulled on thick, sheepskin lined gloves as he spoke.

"Thanks," Brian said gratefully. A tall, muscular young man, dressed in rough, construction style clothes, had been sitting alone in the dining area watching the whole exchange intently. He left his seat to follow Brian and the trucker outside.

Outside, the snow was still falling from the night sky. The young man waited until the Gabriels were in the Bronco and Brian was loading the bags back into the Bronco's rear before stepping forward.

"Hey, Kinney!"

Brian turned swiftly, startled to hear his name spoken so close to him. He stiffened immediately when he recognized who it was who spoke.

"Hobbs," he answered flatly. His mind was racing even as he scanned the man's hands for a weapon. Surely the man wouldn't attack him here, with a priest in the car? Of course, that would take care of the Gabriels' problem, said the cynical voice inside him that never completely stilled, no more fag, no more problem. With him gone, they could enter the lodge in peace. Even as he formed the thought, he knew it was unworthy of him, and of the Gabriels. Hobbs spoke in a quiet voice.

"Listen, there's a barn about eight, ten miles back west, on the southbound side. I saw it off the road along a path earlier today when I stopped to change a flat. Plus, if you'll wait a minute, I have a Coleman heater and some extra blankets in my truck. I'll get them for you. Better yet, maybe you should take my truck, and we trade. There's plenty of room in the cab for the three of you and if worst comes to worst, my truck is better suited for roughing it in."

"Why?" Brian was suspicious of the offer of help coming from the former football player, the young man who'd attacked Justin so viciously and changed both of their lives forever. Sensing a confrontation, the brave young priest had climbed out of the car and was standing at Brian's side, with a steadying hand on his shoulder. Hobbs looked down at his feet for a few minutes without answering. Finally, he looked up to meet the taller man's hazel eyes with a direct gaze.

"I was a bastard who managed to grow up while pushing a broom in Liberty House, well, now the Vic Grassi House. It wasn't overnight, it wasn't even by the end of my community service. I met someone there. He, um, well, eventually he, I, it ended my marriage. Justin wouldn't be surprised. He always knew.  About me, that is. Nothing excuses what I did. I'm sorry. But I've paid. I did a terrible thing. But you still have each other. I lost someone I loved." Tears were falling down Hobbs' face. "He told me I was still worthy of being loved despite what I did. I don't know if I believe that, but maybe if I keep trying, I will someday. Anyway, those people in there, if they knew, I'd be out here in the storm, too. I used to be like them. So the least I can do is help you folks get by. And it isn't like I don't know you're good for the value of the truck, Kinney. You could buy and sell my little construction company with your pocket money," Hobbs finished with his old smirk, wiping his tears away on his sleeve.

"Bless you, my son, and thank you for your generous help," John said, making the sign of the cross. He added, "May God bring you peace, my son, and keep you safe this night, returning you safely to your family." Somehow, there was nothing incongruous about John calling a man almost his age, "son" and Chris seemed somewhat comforted by the prayer despite his slight embarrassment at being thanked.

"Thank you, Father," Chris answered, ducking his head down. He and Brian exchanged keys and then he helped the men move everything from the Bronco into his Ford F150. In the heavier vehicle, with its higher clearance, Brian had some hope of finding that barn before collapsing in exhaustion. Beth was sound asleep in minutes, wedged between her husband and Brian.

As Brian drove, both John and he looking intently for the signpost that Chris said had alerted him to the stable down a side road. Brian could not get the thought of Chris Hobbs' transformation out of his mind. His former nemesis had stayed to wave them off, standing next to the man who bought them the gas, both of them waving them on their way before walking back into the flat roofed lodge together. Chris Hobbs had been smiling cheerfully as he went back inside, his limping step, his permanent physical reminder of that fateful night, much lighter than when he had first gone outside.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Justin was tired of waiting for news. It was nearly morning. He decided to take matters into his own hands and phoned Jamison Joseph Barlley again. The eccentric billionaire had really been very patient with the young man, but Justin wanted more than someone humoring him, he wanted some fucking help in locating his lover and he wanted it now.

"Mr. Barlley? It's Justin," he began as soon as he heard the crusty old man pick up his private line, the number that he'd weaseled out of him sometime between two and three a.m.

"Of course it is, and at this point, don't you think you can forgo the 'Mister' and simply call me Jamie? That's what my brothers always called me when they wanted a favor, Justin, and something about you reminds me very much of my youngest brother." Barlley spoke dryly, but had any of his brothers survived the various wars in which they served, they could have told Justin that particular tone of voice meant that their oldest brother was amused, so it was a good time to move in for the kill. Fortunately, Justin had a natural aptitude for wheedling so he didn't need any advice.

"Jamie, there's still no word from Brian, so I think we need to do more. The snow has stopped out your way. At least, the weather channel says it has. Didn't you say you have a helicopter on site and if you do, you must have a pilot there too because a copter without a pilot would be pretty pointless, it seems to me," Justin began.

"Justin, I'm way ahead of you, boy, but even without the snow, a copter pilot needs some light, and it’s pitch-black out here in Erie still. We don't have the bright lights of the big city to herald our mornings. As soon as the cock crows, and I'm not speaking of the kind of cock you gay boys think of, my pilot will have the chopper out with searchlights looking for that Bronco. Okay? The first place we'll go to is that damn lodge run by Hiram Taylor, and as soon as I hear whether or not your Brian is there, I'll be on the phone to you, okay?"

There was a chuckle in the old man's voice. He was eighty-two years old, but was as fit as any man twenty years younger and up until now, as nasty as any production of "A Christmas Carol" had ever made Mr. Dickens' famous miser out to be. Yet, young Justin Taylor's heartfelt pleas for help, intermingled as they had been with the businesslike requests from the coolly professional assistant, Cynthia Morgan, which requests, he was shrewd enough to realize, masked almost as frantic a concern for the missing Mr. Kinney, had touched his frozen heart. He'd suffered a great deal of loss in his eighty-two years, including the deaths of seven younger brothers to wars that had left him untouched, save for an injury that left him incapable of fathering children. He'd built a business empire with no one to inherit it. He was a bitter man who was rumored by his employees to have no heart. But this young man was reaching his heart.

The heart-melting process had been started when Brian Kinney told Barlley off the day before, reminding him of his brother Bill, the one closest to him in age.  Bill had never taken any shit from him or anyone else, he’d recalled with a laugh after Brian hung up on him. And it felt good. That's why he tried so hard to reach the young man. Now this young one was reminding him what it felt like to care about people, just like the youngest one of his brothers always did, his mother's favorite, Johnny.

Jamison realized that Justin was quiet. Time to cheer the boy up. Yep, he was a worrier.

"Justin, what's wrong? You know I can't send the man up there in the dark. It'll be light soon enough."

"No, that's not it. What did you say the name of the man was again, the man who managed the lodge?" Justin's voice was tense.

"Hiram Taylor. Why, any relation of yours?  That would be good luck for Brian, now, wouldn't it? Special treatment and all," Barlley teased.

"I have to get up there, as soon as possible, Jamie, I just have to get up there. Can you get me somehow? Do you know the Governor?"

"Why sure I do, but you'd better explain.  This will take some doing." Just then, Jamison Joseph Barlley covered the mouthpiece of the phone as he saw something startling on the television in his room– which was tuned in to local news station's coverage of breaking news– something that he didn't want Justin to overhear.

"Hold on a second, son, I have another call I have to take," and with that, he put Justin on hold as he watched in sorrow the televised images of the Travelers' Motor Lodge. Somehow, news cameras had gotten to the out of the way lodge to show the devastation caused when the snow laden roof collapsed, trapping the people inside. Jamison Joseph Barlley could see, just in the background behind the newsperson who had been transported out to the scene of the terrible accident, a black Ford Bronco in the parking lot in front of the lodge, exactly the type of vehicle Brian had been reported as driving.

The phone started beeping, reminding him that he had someone on hold. It was early Christmas Eve morning. What in the world was he going to tell Justin Taylor? What in the world were they going to tell Brian Kinney's little boy? Already they were saying that it wasn't expected that there would be any survivors in the building, which had been filled to the gills with people waiting out the storm. Of course, now that it was too late, there seemed to be no trouble getting news crews and emergency vehicles to the scene, but when people were stranded there several hours ago, the official word was that clearing the road was impossible. Wasn't that always the way, the old man thought. Barlley felt his tired eyes filling up with tears as he took the phone off hold. I'm too old for this, he thought, much too old for this.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Brian didn't think he had ever been so tired in all his hard lived life. The sun had come up on this bright Christmas Eve some hours earlier, and its rays were finally making their presence known through all the storm clouds that had blocked their efforts the day before. He talked John into sleeping several hours ago. It wasn't as though the man could take turns driving the standard transmission truck and he certainly wasn't about to help out in keeping Brian awake by engaging in any of the tactics that Justin would have employed had he been present.

Justin. Brian's thoughts kept returning to his boy, wishing he had handled things differently yesterday morning before he left on this godforsaken trip. Even as he thought it, Brian retracted the adjective. He glanced over at John, his arm curved protectively around Beth's round form in the cab beside Brian. The type of closeness the couple shared is what he felt with Justin when things were good. He wished they were together, at home right now, yet.... If he hadn't taken this trip, what would have happened to John and Beth? Would someone else have stopped? Besides...he hated regrets. By now the office party was long over, the staff was nursing their hangovers, and Justin, hopefully, was out shopping for Gus's presents using Brian's Am Ex.

God, he could use some rest. Thankfully, he was able to get by without sleep when he had to, so if anyone had the stamina for this type of ordeal it was him.  Hell, he'd practically trained for it. Need someone who could stay relatively functional after twenty some hours without sleep and next to no food? Kinney was your man.

Brian was thankful that Hobbs had loaned them the truck. He doubted he would have made it very far in the Bronco. The snow had finally stopped, but the roads were impossible, with the wind having blown the snow into drifts everywhere. It must have been at least a two to two and a half foot snowfall the day before, and nothing had been done to clear the roadway he was on. Fortunately, the wheels were heavily treaded, and the vehicle moved more like a tractor than a truck. Brian had spent summers working in construction during college so this type of truck was familiar to him. Plus, he'd at least some experience driving in heavy snow, so he knew to take it easy and so far, had managed not to get stuck.

Finally, his patience was rewarded. He saw the signpost he was looking for, almost buried in a drift, but just visible off to the left as Hobbs had said. Until he saw it, Brian half expected this to be a wild goose chase, some sick joke the jock decided to play, even if it meant taking the preacher and his pregnant wife down with his enemy. But there in the distance was the slanted, snow covered roofs of a couple of barns. One looked open to the wind and cold, but a smaller one looked to be closed off on all sides.

"There's no place like home for the holidays," he thought ruefully, picturing for a moment, his pristine loft, with the tastefully decorated tree he had reluctantly allowed Justin to erect in front of the window that spanned one whole end of the living space. Well, there was no shortage of trees here, he thought whimsically. Brian drove the truck up the path that miraculously was less snow covered than the road, due to its being sheltered between two rows of evergreens. He was able to get to within ten feet of what appeared to be the entrance of a unused stable and an accompanying barn before being forced to stop due to a large snow drift. Looking at the sleeping couple, he decided to leave them in the warm truck while he checked out their sleeping quarters. Besides, he thought, with his usual tongue in cheek smirk, John was unlikely to be much help. With the way Brian's luck was running, with all the good intentions in the world, the clumsy preacher was likely to set the barn on fire trying to light Hobbs' Coleman heater. Brian was better off setting everything up himself no matter how tired he was. He unfolded his weary body from behind the steering wheel, stretched his lithe form, and set to work making the stable into a temporary home for his personal Mary and Joseph, as he'd mentally nicknamed his fellow orphans of the storm.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After speaking with Barlley, whose broken voice told him more than the carefully chosen words, Justin tried to get news from the Pittsburgh stations, but none of them had yet picked up the story. The billionaire had promised to send transportation for Justin and anyone else who wanted to come out to the site as soon as conditions permitted, and to use all of his considerable contacts in the area to find out what news there was, but nothing changed the fact that the building where Brian presumably spent the night had collapsed from the weight of the snow and ice on its roof. There had been several snow storms in Erie already this winter and the motel had a flat roof where the snow simply accumulated. Without any warm spells to melt the snow, the snow had grown to a height of several feet. This was more than the engineer had anticipated when the building was constructed, according to Barlley who listen to the explanations of the accident that were filtering in on the local stations. Erie was only supposed to get a certain amount of snowfall per season, contended the talking heads who were dissecting the responsibility for the accident, even as the body bags were being delivered by to the scene by snowploughs. The small motor lodge had contained more than its capacity in patrons that night, the eve of Christmas Eve, and thus far, relatively few survivors had been found since one half of the roof, the part where the guest rooms were located, collapsed completely.

A couple of the men, those who had been sleeping in the restaurant because they’d given up their rooms to stranded families, were reported to have gone back inside several times to rescue people who were injured by the fallen roof. They ultimately ended by being trapped themselves on one of their return trips. Upon hearing this, Justin feared that his "Rage" would have been one of those men. He couldn't imagine Brian standing safely outside when children were in danger inside the collapsed building.

Cynthia watched the news and weather broadcasts on the large HDTV screen set up in one of the conference rooms at Kinnetik, along with an unshaven Ted Schmidt and unusually somber Emmett Honeycutt. All they could find was one useless weather report after another. There were reports of a major motel accident in the Erie area but no details had come in yet.

The three friends had been there all night, trying to track Brian via his cell phone signal, the tracking device in the Bronco, anything they could think of as the long night wore on into daylight. Ted sat at the computer screen all night. When Justin entered the room around six a.m., the look on his face told them without words that the news was not good. He had spent the night at the loft in the hope that Brian would call there first when he was able to call. Justin quickly shared with them what he had learned from Barlley. They sat in stunned silence.

"I can't believe it," Ted said finally, as the others sat quietly, each with their own thoughts of Brian. "I don't believe it. Brian isn't in that building."

"I know what you mean," Emmett agreed. "Somehow, I always felt that the world would feel different if Brian weren't in it, you know? I'm so sorry baby, this must be so incredibly hard for you, and on Christmas Eve, too. Did Barlley say anything about, well, getting out there?" Emmett walked over to the small blond who still stood by the doorway, and enveloped him in his arms. Cynthia said nothing, she just looked at Justin with thoughtful eyes.

Justin looked back at them all. All traces of the near hysterical young boy were gone this morning. He was tired, as they all were, and his weariness showed on his face.  Although he still didn't have any trace of a beard, he had deep purple shadows under his blue eyes and the silvery blond hair hung limply, pushed back behind his ears. For all that, his voice was strong when he spoke to the older trio.

"Brian isn't gone. You're right, Ted, Em. We would feel it if were gone. I know I would and I don't. We need to get out to Erie. Ted, please charter a flight out there. I don't care what it costs. I need to get out to Erie. I know if I were there, I could find him. I don't care how we do it, just do it and as quickly as possible. Once we get there, Jamie, I mean, Mr. Barlley, will pick us up and get us out to the site of the building."

No one thought of arguing. They quickly made plans for getting what would be needed. Cynthia suggested they get some items for helping others at the site, which was agreed upon, and with relatively little delay, they were ready to leave for the airport. Arrangements were made to meet with a private pilot for a chartered flight within thirty minutes. Almost as a final thought, Cynthia saw Justin grab his gift for Brian and throw it into his carry-on bag. She thought it inexpressibly sad but said nothing to the young man.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

By the time he was ready to wake the Gabriels up to move them into the stable, Brian had cleaned out one of the stalls, laid down fresh hay, and turned on the Coleman heater, raising the temperature in the small stall quite a few degrees. He'd also built a crude fire place from stones in another stall, over which he had a pot of water boiling, and, in which, wonder of wonders, he was heating a fresh pot of coffee and cooking some oatmeal for breakfast. He wouldn't dream of eating oatmeal normally, and had thought to make it for the Gabriels, but after this much activity outdoors, it actually looked half decent to him. He'd even found a cow that was in some distress from not being milked, and calling upon a distant memory of summers with his paternal grandfather, managed to relieve the animal's discomfort and provide them with some milk for their coffee and oatmeal. Oatmeal and whole milk, he shook his head. The gang back home would never believe it. Once things were settled, he made a mental note to search for some eggs, seeing some chickens running around, for which he threw some corn. He wouldn't mind a fresh egg or two.

Given all the trips he had to make back and forth, which included taking care of the other animals he found in this abandoned stable and its attached barn, Brian had been really happy to find that Chris and he wore the same size boot, and that there were a spare pair of serviceable Vibram soled hiking boots in the truck. He looked around at the livestock, which were remarkably docile, and no doubt happier now that they had been fed and watered. Brian had to laugh. John should be thrilled with having his very own nativity scene for Christmas Eve. Brian just hoped Beth didn't decide to make it too realistic with her own little addition before they got out of here and back to civilization. With that sobering thought, and everything as much to his satisfaction as he could make it, down to the cattle "lowing," Brian stretched once more, set the filled milk pail out in the snow to chill and went to wake up John and Beth. He swung the truck's passenger door wide open, letting the blast of cold wind hit the sleeping pair.

"Hey, Mary and Joseph, the kettle's on, the bed is made, and everything is ready, except that for the life of me, I can't find a mint to lay on your sleeping bag pillow, so get out of the truck so I can settle you back down to sleep in the stable. Then I can finally get some shut-eye. Merry Fucking Christmas Eve, you two." He said the last with a smile as two pairs of bleary eyes finally opened.

"Brian! You found it! Why didn't you wake me up so I could help?" John protested as he unwrapped his arms from Beth and winced a bit as he realized that one of his arms was asleep and the other was extremely stiff.

"I can guess, John, two words, flares and fire," Beth offered with a giggle.

"That's three words, wench, and you get no coffee or oatmeal if you mock the man of your life. Have you not figured out yet that you are in man country now, and must cater to men?" Brian said with mock seriousness as he reached in to slide his arms under the pregnant woman. "Let me carry her in, John. I found these great boots in the truck, which I'm afraid are a bit large for you or I'd offer to share them. Anyway, the footing is a bit treacherous so it makes sense for me to take her, otherwise, she'd be all yours... be careful." That last was said as John went sliding down the slight slope that led to the stable entrance.

"I'm all right!" John called, his mantra, as Brian had learned by now. Springing to his feet and picking up the couple of bags Brian had left for him to carry from the truck, John continued on into the Stable.

"Well, that is one way to get to the oatmeal first," Beth called after him laughingly. "Make sure you save me some, I'm hungry, oh." The small woman doubled over in Brian's arms, almost causing him to drop her. He stopped, partially to regain his balance, and partially to examine her closely in the brighter light outdoors. It was still very early morning and it was fairly dark inside their shelter with just the fire to give light.

"Beth, what's wrong?" Brian asked the question, but he was afraid he knew the answer. With a great deal of effort, he staved off the panic he felt welling up inside. Brian Kinney could deal with a lot of shit, but childbirth, he was pretty damn sure was beyond him. Fuck, he wasn't even there for his own son's birth. It was at that moment that he prayed. He had not really prayed at any time in his life since he figured out in childhood that the Big Guy did what he wanted regardless of what humans asked. Brian had just kind of added "me too" types of prayers at key times, like when Mikey was so hurt in the bombing, or when Vic was ill and Debbie made him sit with her and she prayed. Brian would tell you that he didn't pray when Justin was bashed, and was so still on the parking garage floor; that all he did was scream in anguish. John could have told him that such cries from the heart are the type of prayer that God hears best, that God hears his children's cries of pain and knows what his children would ask even when they have lost the ability to speak. But John wasn't with him in that parking garage and Brian didn't know that God was with him.

Right now, however, Brian consciously prayed. He used the words he learned as a Catholic child years ago, a simple Hail Mary, followed by a straightforward request to the Jesus who supposedly was born in a stable among the animals to parents forsaken by innkeepers, "please, please don't let this nice young couple's baby come early, don't let it be born here in the middle of nowhere, without a doctor, or midwife, or soap, for Christ’s sake...for your sake, then, with her only help two men who have no clue how to help her. That is too cruel, even for you, please God."

For Beth, however, the Kinney mask was firmly in place on his tired face, as he managed to smile and ask again, gently, "what is it, Beth? That sounded like one hell of a hunger pang. It's only oatmeal, you know, although the milk is fresh squeezed."

"Brian, I'm afraid,..." she began in a small voice. She stopped as she seemed to catch her breath again. Shit, sentences from pregnant women that start out 'I'm afraid' are never good, Brian thought.

"No reason for that," he answered briskly. "From what I recall from when my son was born, babies take a really long time to come. With this bright red truck out here, it won't be any time at all before someone comes looking and finds us here. I know for a fact that my partner will have the National Guard out looking for me because he doesn't know where I hid his gift.  We'll be picked up by a helicopter or snowplow long before Beth, Jr. makes her appearance, if that unladylike noise you made is your way of telling me your labor is starting. So let's get you inside and out of this wind before your water breaks all over my Armani suit, which already has been asked to do things no Armani should ever be asked to do."

Beth laughed weakly, but looked relieved. "I didn't realize you were there when your son was born. So you'll know what to do if the baby should come before we get rescued." she added, clearly relieved. Brian didn't correct her misconception. What was he going to tell her? That his knowledge of childbirth was limited to the video of the actual birth that Melanie made him sit through, practically at gunpoint. He’d watched it with the rest of the gang, making wisecracks the whole way through, to her disgust, despite the fact that it was exactly what she'd expected, as she’d announced early and often. What she didn't know was that he’d already watched the whole tape with just Lindsay and Gus one afternoon when Mel was away at her office. It was one of the most beautiful sights he'd ever seen, his friend giving birth to his son. He was incredulous at the time by the way the doctor quietly explained everything she did, as though it were the most natural, everyday thing in the world, when it was the most fucking amazing thing in existence. One moment there was just snatch and blood and then, this little extra patch of black hair appears and suddenly a head, and then, just as quickly, a squirming body forcing his way out.

His son. He could still remember holding Lindsay tight against one shoulder and Gus on the other as they watched the video together, both new parents letting the tears fall.

Brian knew that did not qualify him to deliver someone's baby. But, he reasoned, if Beth were less worried, maybe her labor would go better for her and the baby. Certainly less worry should mean a slower labor, right?  At least he hoped it did. For that matter, one contraction didn't mean she was in labor. Lindsay had many false starts before the night Gus actually came; it was one of the reasons he felt comfortable going out and turning off his cell phone. They agreed to say nothing to John, since, Beth confided, he tended to worry a bit. Imagine that, Brian thought sarcastically. Worry over having a baby in the middle of nowhere? One wouldn't think he was a worrier by the way he sailed out of the only motel for miles around for the sake of a principle. Once again, however, Brian stayed his sharp tongue.

Within a couple of hours, two things became clear: one, this was not a false labor, and two, there was no way they would be able to keep it from John. He'd dozed off after eating and hadn't questioned her sudden loss of appetite as that apparently had been par for the course with her during the pregnancy. She refused to sleep in the sleeping bag with him, claiming it made no sense, since she would be getting in and out to pee, and that her hormones were making her warm anyway. Brian knew she feared her water breaking and ruining the bag. And indeed, by 10 a.m., her water did break, when she was outside on one of her early potty trips.

Brian, who'd been dozing lightly under some blankets nearby, the three of them staying in the same stall for warmth, got up each time Beth did, to assist her, insisting to John, with a large measure of truth, that he was used to functioning on little sleep. When she quietly called to where Brian stood just inside the doorway of the stable, he quickly went to her, and helped her step out of her soiled jeans, which she had not gotten out of in time. Using them to dry her off, then wrapping her in his coat, he picked her up once more, after cheerfully making sure she had finished the business that sent her outside in the first place and took her back inside. Before waking up John, who slept as deeply as Justin, Brian noted, he asked her, "how far apart?"

"About ten minutes, but pretty regular, which is good, I think. We should have plenty of time still. They hurt like a motherfucker, though." Brian grinned at her as she blushed at her choice of words.

"This is one of the few times in life when that phrase is apropos, when you think about it, so don't worry, I won't tell the Reverend on you. It happens to be one of my favorite phrases when something hurts. I'm just sorry we can't give you anything for the pain, but as I recall, that’s a no- no, even if I did have my usual supply of pharmaceuticals on hand, which I don't," Brian smirked.

"Nothing to kill your pain either, for all this female stuff, huh, bet you’re missing it!" Beth managed a grin as he settled her down again on the straw. He shook his head at her in amusement.

"I do declare, Miss Beth, I think I know your missing twin sister, separated at birth. Her name is Daphne. Would it be any shock to your family to discover she’s black?"

"Nah, I'm beginning to think my missing big brother is gay, why not a black twin sister?" Beth shot back at him.

"Who's got a black twin sister?" mumbled a sleepy John, from his spot on the stack of straw.

"Daphne, dear, a friend of Brian's," Beth replied. "Go back to sleep, it's still early and no sign of life anywhere. I'll wake you in plenty of time to read us the Christmas story. You need your sleep, poor baby, you're exhausted." Brian cocked his elegant eyebrow at her words, as though to ask, what about me? She grinned apologetically.

"Sorry," she whispered, "but you can handle it. He needs his sleep or you'll have me, well, you know, and him sick on your hands. You don't want that, now do you?" She looked back at him and shrugged her shoulders before being hit with another contraction. She grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it until it passed. He swore she left a bruise.

"Beth," he kept his voice very low so as not to wake John, "are you sure the contractions are not closer than ten minutes apart? That one seemed a lot closer to me?" It took her a few minutes to answer as she was still getting her breath back to normal.

"Well, of course they are now, Brian, each one gets closer. They're about eight now, as best I can tell. Do you have a watch with a second hand? And can I have some more water now? All this gritting my teeth and trying not to curse is thirsty work."

Brian was only allowing her small sips of water, some Evian from the stock he had in his Bronco. He remembered from the video that they didn't let Linz drink once labor started. He didn't know why but he didn't want to take any chances. He also was saving some clean water for the delivery, if they had to do the actual delivery here, although he also planned on boiling some snow soon to have a plentiful supply of sterile water. Recalling all the horror stories he heard of thirty hour labors, he had been counting on at least almost that amount of time for Beth, but she was stoically proceeding quickly through her labor. She was in pain, yes, but the space between contractions was shortening perceptively to his eye even without timing them and at this rate, this was not going to be any day and a half long labor. He would be lucky if it lasted till nightfall. Where the fuck were the ploughs? Where the hell was Justin? He knew his boy, and if he weren't riding to the rescue with a full sized calvary, Brian would eat his Prada boots.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"I'm sorry Mr. Taylor, but we can't let you go into that building. It's a hazardous site and only fully trained rescue personnel are permitted to go inside. At this point, only the rescue dogs are going into the wreckage, and if they give the signal that they find someone alive, then and only then am I risking any of my men in a rescue effort."

Justin, Cynthia, Ted, Emmett and Jamison Joseph Barlley stood in front of the flattened remains of the Motor Lodge, surrounded by TV news vans, fire trucks, police cars and all the other vehicles that flock to this type of event. Cynthia wondered bitterly why the same effort that got the news vultures out to this scene of human tragedy had not been expended yesterday to clear the roads and help people get to their destinations safely. Maybe then some of these families wouldn't have been here, they would have made it to their homes, or to grandparents’ homes, or wherever their true destinations were. Cynthia brushed away her tears with her gloved hands; there was no time for tears now. She listened to Justin argue with the petty bureaucrat.

"I don't care. I'm willing to crawl through under the collapsed section. You can see that I'm fairly small. I can fit into areas your men can't. This is my great uncle's place. I need to see if there's any trace of him or my cousin. Please sir. Plus, I have reason to believe my friend was spending the night here. His Bronco is in the lot. I must try looking." They'd agreed, after speaking with Barlley, that Justin would play the "family feeling" card. This was a notoriously homophobic area.  It was the area where Craig Taylor had grown up in fact, and any hint that Justin was gay and looking for his gay lover would close the doors in their faces. One of the reasons Barlley had agreed to see Brian finally was to spit in the faces of his ultraconservative neighbors after reading about his gay activism. The old man felt he had lived too long to be willing to let other people tell him what to do with his life or his money. One of the few pleasures he got these days, he told Emmett, was pissing people off. He reminded Em of George Schickel, but without George's kind heart or gentle wisdom. Instead, Barlley had a native shrewdness. He made Em wear one if his hunting coats, and a wool hat to "pass." There was no need to alter Ted's apparel, of course, and Justin was young enough that he wore the uniform of the young, khaki pants, a turtleneck, and a wool peacoat, with a long wool scarf. His grief, written large upon his face, set him apart, even in a lot filled with grief stricken people. Few family members had gotten to the scene, it was early hours yet and the road was still almost impassible except to emergency vehicles. Jamie had met Brian's friends at the Erie Airport and taken them by his personal helicopter to the scene. The Fire Chief who was responding to Justin kindly, but firmly, was touched, (although the gruff man would never admit it), by the angelic beauty of the slim young man. To admit to admiring a young man's beauty would be to court ridicule, to seem like one of those "fairies" as opposed to simply being someone who could see and appreciate beauty.

What would happen today if angels were to appear bringing tidings of good news to modern day shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night on the hillsides of Pennsylvania? What if farm laborers watching over the fields were to be visited just as those shepherds were so long ago? Would they listen, transfixed by the beauty of their song and their faces? Or would they throw stones and chase them away, afraid that the song of glory was sung, not by angels, but by some of those "queers from the big city", maybe on their way home from performing in a show in New Hope or “some new theater they have in Lancaster” and best sent away from decent folks? Would their ears be as closed as their minds?

"You can't go crawling in there, young man, I have rules to follow, codes. What if I go letting you in there and it collapses some more and you get killed?  Why, I could get sued, and the county along with me."

"As opposed to you letting him go in and maybe someone being found who would die if you don't let him go in?" Emmett asked brightly. The man looked at him sharply.

"No, as opposed to the person who dies if he doesn't even call for authority to see if it would be wrong to deny permission to a next of kin to the building owner to go in," Cynthia said, picking up on Emmett's plan of distraction by confusion. Ted joined in, speaking in his slow measured voice that had them all turning to listen intently, even the Fire Chief.

"I don't think that's what he meant at all....I think what we are talking about here is a question of jurisdiction, and whether it is a state jurisdictional issue or one of county authority...." Ted continued, obfuscating the situation in a way that would have made Mel proud and won Justin's applause on any other occasion. At that moment, however, Justin was slipping away while Ted kept the Fire Chief’s attention and telling one of the assistant chiefs he had permission to go inside the building. A few minutes later, a husky young fireman was hooking Justin up with a radio and an airpack.

While the others, including Jamison, continued to keep the Chief confused and looking away from the building, Justin, with a Scot Airpack and a walkie talkie, was connected by a rope to the burly fireman, as he slowly made his way into the part of the building that still had some clearance from the ground. A rescue dog, a beautiful Husky, crawled along the ground next to him.

Not far into the collapsed area, where the clearance was too low for any of the other men, Justin discovered, and pulled out, (with the dog's help), a small girl, whose body had been covered and protected by the larger body of a man. His heart pounding, Justin brought the little girl out first, to great cheering, then he and his canine companion went back in for the man's body before anyone could stop him.

Justin hadn't been able to see who it was until he dragged the man almost to the outside of the building, where his burly fireman friend took over. His rational mind knew, as soon as he started dragging the man with the dog's help, that he wasn't Brian, he was too heavy, but Justin also knew from the man's moans as he was dragged that he was alive and conscious, so he kept up a comforting chatter. As the EMTs started working on the man, and he saw the face of the person for whom he risked his life: the man who once almost ended his life. Justin felt as if he would lose it, right in front of all these people.

Chris Hobbs. Not Brian, okay, he knew that from the weight, but Chris Hobbs? What a cruel fucking sense of humor fate had. Cynthia came over to hold him as he finally broke down in tears. He had held it together, by faith, all morning, but this seemed to be the ultimate irony. Hobbs had survived the disaster, and would even be a hero, fuck, he did save that little girl. Hurray for him. But Justin's Brian was gone.

"No Taylor, wait," Hobbs' voice was almost gone, but he was trying to croak something out as the emergency team surrounded him, accompanied by news teams, which also were trying to make their way to Justin. Ted, Em and Barlley did their best to keep them away from the heartbroken young man. Hobbs could only gasp out broken phrases as he tried to hold off the oxygen mask they were trying to put on him.

"Brian not, not Bronco, look, red truck, traded...." Hobbs passed out at that point.

Cynthia was the first one to pull herself together and she immediately tried getting Justin back in one piece and focused on their mission. She tried shaking Justin gently, then, looking around in frustration, motioned to Emmett to pick Justin up and take him to the helicopter. Barlley's bodyguards ran interference as the news people tried to follow, wanting to speak to the brave young man who entered the "motel of death."

The Ice Princess looked around at the four men. Justin was still crying silently. She made a face.

"Justin, if you can crawl into a collapsing building without hesitation when all indications were he was dead, I will not tolerate you falling apart at the first positive news we've had. Figure it out. What did that man say? And correct me if I'm wrong, but that was the same guy who bashed you at the prom, wasn't it?" Assured on that point, Cynthia continued the briefing as though running a presentation at Kinnetik. Once they agreed upon his exact words before passing out, she continued:

"Okay, we're agreed then, Brian must not have been using the Bronco. For reasons we have no way of knowing at the moment, Brian and his sworn enemy decided to switch vehicles, leaving Hobbs with the room at the motel and Brian with a red truck? Is that our conclusion?"

"I still hold out for Professor Plum in the study," dead panned Ted. They all looked at him for a beat, then laughed weakly. Holding each other up, the relief washed over them in waves of silly laughter that built to a crescendo that carried over to the rescue workers, who looked at them as though they were crazy. Brian was alive! That was all that mattered. At least, he wasn't in that crazily leaning, stupidly built motel that Hiram Taylor no doubt cut corners in constructing and now his cheapness cost dozens and dozens of people their lives. If Chris Hobbs had saved Brian's life by loaning him his red truck and getting him away from that place, for whatever reason, Justin forgave him everything he ever did to him. As they headed out to look for a red truck, he spared a moment to ask God to spare Chris Hobbs' life, as well as that of the little girl. Justin hoped she had family waiting somewhere for her, too.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

John was worried. From his perspective as onlooker, it seemed that the sweat came down unchecked from lank locks of brown hair and curses spewed forth about contractions that got longer and more painful, as the time between them got shorter until it seemed like they ran together with no appreciable break between them. And that was just Brian. John didn't even want to think about what a monster his sweet Beth had turned into. Who would believe that she even knew such words, let alone that she could say things as could make a man like Brian blush? He hated to be so helpless, but every time he tried to help, he made things worse. Brian tried to cheer him up by telling him that he had been even more useless when his own son was born. Privately, John doubted it. Brian seemed like one of those men who always knew the right thing to say and do. When he said that to him though, Brian laughed so hard John thought he would hurt himself.

The wind had really kicked up outside. A couple of times the men had taken turns clearing the snow from the truck, reasoning that its red color was one of the best indicators of their location if anyone was out looking for stranded motorists. However, once Beth's labor really got underway, she wanted John close by just to hold her hand. Brian was kept busy, keeping the fire going, refilling the supply of boiled water, cleaning up the straw beneath Beth, and also taking care of the "other livestock" as he put it, earning a glare from the laboring mother. Between glares, she weepingly apologized and cried that she didn't know what they would have done without him, until John gently pointed out to her, during one of what he privately called her "sane" moments, that Brian actually seemed to prefer her crankier times. Seeing that this was true, Beth felt free to let loose with all her formidable verbal skills in abusing him. He just laughed and continued to take care of both of them, providing John and him with fried eggs and energy bars for the mid-day meal, and letting her have a small amount of milk to keep up her strength. When she promptly threw it up, he put her on an ice chip only diet, proudly showing her the frozen Evian he had made for her.

They reasoned that the animals must belong to a nearby farmer who couldn't get to the barn in the heavy snow, or who had been stranded somewhere else on the road and failed to get back to care for them. Again calling upon memories long dormant, Brian managed to keep the animals watered and fed, so they were murmuring happily in their respective stalls and didn't seem to mind the human company at all. The warmth they added to the Coleman heater's efforts was appreciated.

As day wore on into evening, and Beth's contractions were only three minutes apart, Brian steeled himself to check to see if she was dilated. He asked John first if he would do this, hoping against hope that he would say yes, but the blank, terrified look on his face gave him his answer. So, he washed his hands carefully, using some alcohol from the first aid kit Chris kept in the truck, for good measure. He had been thrilled to find the kit, and studied its contents ahead of time. He was surprised to see it didn't have rubber gloves, but it did include scissors in a steripak, (handy for cutting the umbilical cord), betadine solution, topical antibiotics and various other items that would come in handy.

He mentally reviewed everything he had seen in the lamentably detailed video Lindsay's muncher friends had taken of Gus's birth. He gave thanks now for their zeal. Who would have thought it would be so useful? At the time, he could see the value of taking footage of the money shot of the head coming out, that was touching, but all the details along the way? No way. Now he saw its use as a training film for emergency birthing teams. Up until watching that video, he ranked right down there with Prissy in the knowledge of how to birth a baby, and despite frequent viewings of Gone with the Wind with Mikey, and now Gus's birth film, Brian still wasn't sure he knew any more than Butterfly McQueen when it came to the real deal.

"Well, folks, it's showtime," he thought, as he prepared to put his hand further into a vagina than it had ever been. John watched anxiously. Brian had an inspiration; a way to stall, really.

"John, didn't you say that you sang in the church choir, and in college and all? I would really like to hear some music to drown out the wench's screams for a bit. Would you mind?"

"Thanks a lot, Brian," Beth grimaced at him, but her small punch at his arm had lost some of its force, which worried him. "John, honey, I really would like to hear you sing, too, please? It would help take my mind off the pain. You know how they said at Lamaze to have CDs and things? It isn't like we can hook up the CD player, but I like you better than Josh Groban anyway, so please?"

As Brian pushed the blankets covering Beth's legs out of the way, John started to sing. Unlike any other singer Brian knew, John hadn't wasted time with false modesty, but launched immediately into an a capella rendition of "Oh Holy Night." Josh Groban should sound so good, was Brian's last coherent thought, before he gently moved the folds of Beth's swollen labia aside with one hand, and then moved his other inside the birth canal. Like the doctor did in Lindsay's video, Brian quietly told Beth what he was doing, in short phrases so as not to disturb the mood being set by John's beautiful singing, which he too was finding amazingly soothing.

Brian finally had found something John could do that was helpful to all of them. If what Lindsay had told him about babies hearing in the womb was true, Beth, Jr. was no doubt listening to her very own Angel Gabriel serenade her on this Christmas Eve. Brian finally had an inkling of what made Beth fall in love with John as he saw her transfixed face watching him sing. There was no trace of the pain or weariness left on it, only love for this man whom she’d follow anywhere.

Oh Holy Night, the Stars are Softly shining,

This is the night, of our dear Savior's Birth

Long Lay the Earth, In Sin and Error Pining,

Til He appeared, and the Soul felt its worth...

"Beth, you're dilated at least three of my fingers. Now I think that's over six centimeters, darlin', so I think things'll move pretty quickly from this point forward. I'm just going to feel a little more to see if the baby is in position, okay?" She nodded, and held John's thin hand more tightly.

"Keep singing," she whispered, as her husband's voice fell silent. He looked to Brian and the hazel eyes met the pale blues ones smilingly. John smiled back, then lifted his voice once more in a pure sweet tenor. He sang as the Angels must have sung on that first Christmas Eve in Bethlehem, to welcome a special child into the world. Some three hundred and eighty miles from Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, Brian sought to determine if the child being born that night would indeed arrive safely.

O Little town of Bethlehem, How still we see you lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep

The silent stars go by.

Yet in thy dark streets shineth, the everlasting Light;

The hopes and fear of all the years are met in thee tonight.

O Holy Child of Bethlehem! Descend to us we pray:

Cast out our sin, and enter in;

Be born in us today.

We hear the Christmas Angels

The great glad tidings tell; O come to us, abide with us,

Our Lord Emmanuel.

Brian could feel a small area of hair and was sure he was feeling a rounded head, rather than feet or a butt coming out first. That was a relief. He quickly pulled his hand out and wiped it on the straw. He made a face as he did so, much to Beth's delight.

"Well, unless this kid is a Hobbit or has a hairier ass than...well, never mind, suffice it to say it's my expert opinion you're in good shape," he told her.

"Bet that's the first time you ever did that," she teased, before being caught in the throes of yet another contraction. Brian glanced at his watch, mercifully on the arm he didn't have wrist deep in pussy, he thought. "Can I push now, Bri, I really feel like she's ready." Beth kept her knees up and looked at him hopefully.

He recalled Lindz telling him that she hadn't been allowed to push despite having that sensation that she wanted to, until she was at ten centimeters dilation. He gently pushed Beth's knees down, to remove temptation.

"Not yet, listen to our lovely in-flight music until you're really ready. Any requests? I don't suppose you know 'I Can't Get No Satisfaction,' by the Rolling Stones?" Brian asked, with a cock of his eyebrow.

John was quick with a come-back, surprising both of his companions.

"Sorry old man, but that was before my time. Is that a musical group perhaps?" Brian fell over as though wounded to the heart while John snickered.

"Okay, okay, how about ‘I'll Be Home for Christmas,’" Brian offered in surrender. John quickly agreed, feeling sorry for the handsome man who was far from his lover on this special day. Yet, he knew that God brought Brian to Beth and him, for without him ... he shuddered to think of what would have been their fate and didn't even finish the thought. Instead, he joined his voice in harmony with Brian's fine baritone on the melody.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Brian's lover wasn't far away. The gang had been searching the roads and woods for a thirty mile radius in every direction around the Taylor motel for hours. The trucker who helped Brian and the Gabriels was another who survived the disaster. He'd been so disgusted by what Hiram Taylor did that he decided to sleep outside in his truck, which, like many 18-wheelers, was equipped like a home away from home. That choice probably saved his life. He slept like a log, however, and did not exit his sleeper until well after the disaster happened.

The trucker spoke to the Barlley pilot before they left and only came over to the Kinnetik's group on one of their return trips, made when they failed to find any trace of Brian in their first sweep of the area. The trucker had remained to render what help he could in the rescue efforts. When he found out that they were connected to the tall young man who had been in the black Bronco, and traded it with the other man for the red truck, he finally came over to talk to the fancy looking city people. He didn't know the whole story of the exchange between Brian and Chris, but was able to confirm that Brian left the lot early that morning, between 3 and 4 a.m., in a red truck owned by the young man Justin pulled from the building's wreckage, heading west. He also told them that Brian was traveling with a young minister and his pregnant wife, whom he'd apparently rescued from the road earlier the day before.

This breakthrough didn't happen until five in the afternoon, and it was already getting dark again. Thus, search efforts were able to concentrate on the roads and side-roads to the west of the motel but now they were hampered by the dark. Beth Gabriel was already well into her labor, so the men in the stable with her had long since abandoned efforts to keep the red truck clear of snow. Indeed, when the helicopter had passed overhead earlier in the day, it was already covered over from snow falling off the slanted roof. Of course, it was that sharply slanted roof that had enabled that stable to last as many years as it had in a place like Erie, Pennsylvania, as any old-timer could tell you.

Anyway, when the helicopter passed over it around five thirty, it missed seeing the truck and the smoke coming from blue colored building once again, since the truck was covered in snow and the smoke as well as bluish colored building faded into the gathering shadows of encroaching evening.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Come on, Beth, now you can push ... just a little bit longer, Beth, let's see Beth, Jr., come on," Brian quietly urged, his voice almost gone. He held Beth's knees to give her leverage as John held her hands to give her something to squeeze. He really pulled the lousy duty on this one, Brian thought to himself, and retracted that thought a second later as he released Beth's knees to quickly cup his hands beneath her ass cheeks as a small dark head crowned. Brian wiped the small nostrils and mouth clear, and blinked away the moisture that was seeping from his eyes as the baby started to cry, a clear, fairly strong cry.

"Congratulations Beth, it's definitely a baby, now one more, darlin', let's get the rest of this child out so we can see if I'm going to be buying Armani or Donna Karan," Brian whispered. John stared spellbound at his child, holding his wife close around the shoulders, murmuring incoherent sounds of joy. Beth, with a great look of determination on her small face pushed, and the rest of the baby slid out into Brian's waiting hands, a gooky, bloody, slippery mess of humanity; of feminine humanity, he noted with one of his widest grins. He held her up, just slightly, since she was still attached to the placenta that was yet to be expelled, but enough to show the tired Mom, who was propped up on a bale of hay.

"Beth, meet Beth, Jr., pretty as her mother, and just as yucky at the moment," Brian said, his beautiful smile belying his words.

"May I hold her?" Beth asked in hushed tones. And then, a moment later, "and no way is she going to be named Beth, Jr., you know that was just a joke!" The three of them laughed, tears of relief streaming down all three of their faces.

"And here I thought it had a nice ring to it. Back to business, you can have her as soon as you finish your work, one or two more pushes, kiddo, there is something called placenta they tell me, weren't you paying attention in Lamaze or whatever that thing is called they make you breeders go to? Why does the gay man have to know all the important stuff?" Brian teased the exhausted new mother. "Come on, push it out so I can cut the cord, or John can cut the cord, or the farmer can cut the cord, someone's got to cut the cord."

Brian was feeling punchy now that it was all over.

"Can't you do that first?" John asked. It was practically the first thing he'd said in an hour, singing not included. He was just staring at the tiny baby girl from whose body Brian was rapidly cleaning away blood and a waxy white substance; Brian thought John's gaze more akin to how he would look at an alien and decided it was time Fr. John got involved.

"John, go wash your hands. I have clean water over in that pail, scoop some out, don't dirty the rest, then use a clean shirt to dry them, and bring that pack of sterile scissors over. You, sir, are going to cut the cord. It is a father's job, man, and you are going to do it." Brian placed Baby Girl Gabriel on her mother's bare stomach as he guided the placenta out; Beth had finished her work like the trouper she was. Brian had a second bucket of warm clean water handy and had been using that to clean off the baby. He assisted John in cutting the cord, which he set aside, then wrapped the baby in one of his softest silk shirts and handed her to her father while he quickly and briskly washed Beth off before there was time for either of them to feel embarrassed about it. He put Beth in one of his shirts too, for good measure, rather than search her bags for something for her to wear. He teased her about it being his present, their first set of matching "mother/daughter nightgowns."

"First time a newborn had Armani swaddling clothes, I bet," she said to him, as he lifted her over to the sleeping bag, which was waiting for her atop a bed of fresh straw.

"I bet you'd lose that bet," Brian told her. "Those celebrity babies probably wear nothing but. As soon as the bag of things John dropped in the snow dries out, this celebrity baby will have her own things, in the meantime, be happy with this. I don't share with just anyone. You can ask Justin someday. He’ll tell you. I don't share well at all," he insisted as he laid her down gently. John was already waiting in the new stall, ready to place their daughter at her breast.

"She can ask Justin now, but he wouldn't agree," came a voice from the doorway.

Brian spun around. There, hurrying in so as not to let in too much cold, squeezed some old man he didn't recognize, Cynthia, Ted, Emmett, and his Justin, who had been the first one in the door and owner of the voice who spoke. Now he was the one who hung back quietly as everyone else spoke at once, asking questions, explaining what had happened in their search, what they had thought happened, their fears for him, the story of the collapsed motel...all of it meaningless now that Justin and he were together again. Brian only had eyes for the man in the doorway. He took a step forward.

"Cyn, this is Beth, John, could you..." He gave his friend and assistant a half smile and knew that was enough for her to take over. She really was the best of assistants, the best of friends. He squeezed her hand as he passed, and she knew she was appreciated. It was just that there was someone else he needed to get to more. Cynthia moved forward, and made sure the others moved forward with her. Emmett squealed.

"Oh... my... God... is that a baby? Can I just peek?" He pulled Jamie forward as he went to lean over the stall to look upon the Christmas miracle that Brian had wrought, with some help from above, in that rough stable that day. Ted smiled, and sneaked a peek as well, before busying himself with straightening up the area and making a fresh pot of coffee. Cynthia spoke quietly to the new parents, then set about making plans to feed them. She went to talk to the pilot about the safest way to transport them to a hospital to get Beth checked out by an obstetrician and the baby by a pediatrician. The pilot, who had been a medic during the first Gulf War, offered to come in and check both patients out. The offer was accepted and both were pronounced in good condition, with the delivery having been amazingly well handled. The eccentric Jamison Joseph Barlley stood smiling at the group, talking softly to the new parents. Before the night was out, it was clear that Father John Gabriel would have no trouble finding a new parish in which to serve, and support his wife and new daughter, Briana Christine Gabriel.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

While all this was going on, Brian pulled Justin over to the small barn attached to the stable, for a modicum of privacy. He spent several long moments just holding his boy close, inhaling the smell of him, feeling his body next to him again. He spent several longer moments kissing him, pressing the smaller body tight against his own. There had been many times over the past day and a half when he hadn't been sure he would ever have this feeling again. Brian was conscious of being grateful for having the chance to have this feeling again, to be with Justin again, to have the chance to tell Justin just how much he loved him, how much he meant to him, and how little money and success would mean if Justin were not a part of his life. He did just that and more. Then he added,

"Thank God."

"I love you, Brian," Justin murmured. "Thank God is right. I thought I lost you. I am so sorry I fought with you. You were right. I expect too much and you don't have to change...."

"No, Justin, I was wrong, but I do think I was exactly where I was supposed to be this holiday. Some things you can't teach me, I have to learn them on my own. You were right, I do have value. And I have a lot to offer, beyond my checkbook. These past two days, my money couldn't buy me or the people I wanted to help shelter, but the things I could do, my skills, some I didn't even know I possessed, did help. I proved to myself that I was strong, that I wasn't useless like my father always thought, hell, I was even manly. All without sacrificing being gay. Emmett would have been proud of me. I was even thrown out of a place for being gay, me! But despite it all, I managed. And I wasn't even worried. You know why?"

Brian sucked in his bottom lip and looked down at Justin, tucked comfortably under his chin.

"Why?" Justin asked, perplexed. Knowing what he knew, of the terrors of the collapsed motel, the high number of traffic fatalities, all the horrors that had been haunting him since Brian had disappeared early the day before, he could see no reason why Brian had remained calm and unafraid. He shuddered to see how primitive conditions were in the stable, and could hardly believe that Brian of all people had delivered a baby in it. He still hadn't told him of Chris Hobbs's fate. In truth, he didn't know it. There was so much to tell each other still, but it could wait. They'd shared the most important news, that they loved each other, and that nothing meant more than that. He forced himself to wait for Brian's answer, and stood still, blue eyes opened wide. Brian smiled.

"I knew that you loved me and that there was no way you would not find your way to me." Brian confessed, kissing Justin again. "Do you know what that means? I've finally learned to trust in your love, Justin, without reservations, no matter whether we fight, or what I do wrong, or what happens. I know that you love me and always will."

With that, as he pulled on his twink's hand to lead him back to the others, Brian tossed over his shoulder, "Besides, there was no way you would let Christmas arrive without finding me when only I know where your gift is hidden."

The snowball Justin threw missed Brian by a mile. He did hit the broad side of the barn though. All that practicing with Gus was paying off, Brian thought with a grin.

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