Notes: This fic owes much to discussion of Xanthe's ideas for a possible Walter/Leo relationship and was inspired by A Cabin Christmas This may be read as a companion piece to that fic. Merry Christmas! Written: December 2003 *** FAITH, HOPE AND LOVE "What's that?" Leo looked quizzically at the tiny package that lay cupped in the palm of his lover's hand. It had been, as Leo had predicted, a wonderful Christmas day in the quiet of each other's company, and as the day drew to its close they naturally gravitated back to the living room, to spend the last hours of the evening with coffee by the open fire. Just as they had gotten settled, Walter had excused himself for a moment, then returned to the couch with the mystery package. He offered it to Leo without a word, his deep brown eyes serious. "I thought," Leo continued, when it was obvious no answer would be forthcoming, "we finished with the presents this morning. If I'd known you were gonna hold out on me I'd have..." "It's not a present. Not really," Walter said. Indeed, the wrapping held not the slightest indications of snowmen, reindeer, or other seasonal frivolity. The paper was a light speckled brown, with a heaviness that spoke of artisanship. It was tied with plain string, and no other adornment. Leo frowned a little at that, but took it. There was something in Walter's tone that begged him not to argue. He looked back at Walter's face, asking unspoken permission to open it, and Walter nodded. For something so small it felt oddly heavy and in his hand. The object inside felt vaguely angular. It had been a momentous year; since he had become Chief of Staff all years were momentous in their own ways. But finding Walter again, after all this time, was something that had shaken him to the core. He hadn't known, he'd told Walter again and again, with an earnestness that was equal parts wonder and apology. Walter had changed in innumerable ways from the fresh-faced eighteen-year-old he had known; and of course he himself been to hell and back, losing his wife and his youth and gaining some pounds and bitter experience along the way. They could easily have been strangers, but after the initial awkwardness they soon realised that the spark that had drawn them together in that other time had somehow survived the passing years. Considering the brief moments they had had together and the years they had spent apart, the parallels in their lives were astonishing. Now they had found each other again, and although it had only been a matter of months, far too soon to know what lay ahead, Leo's heart and his gut told him that this time Walter would stay in his life, if not as a lover, then at least as a friend. The paper rustled gently as Leo unwrapped it. There, in the folds, lay a thin silver crucifix, attached to a matching chain. It was obviously not new - it had not even been polished for the occasion. The surface was dull and heavily scratched, and the bottom arm looked as though had been bent a little and then straightened again, leaving a crease in the metal. He held it in his hand and stared at it for a long minute, not understanding, even as his brain struggled to capture a flash of memory. "My God - you kept this all those years?" It had been so long, and yet now that he held it again he remembered it with sharp clarity. Knowing Walter would be taken away the next morning, headed for death or freedom or god knew what other plans their black-clad captors had for them. Pressing it into Walter's hand with a coarse, muttered blessing. The cross had been given to him by his sister before he left for Vietnam, had been around his neck with his dogtags when he bailed out of the dying plane and landed somewhere in the jungle, only to be picked up by the Viet Cong. Finding Walter, for the first time, in the prison camp. Although by that time he had long grown cynical about the protection accorded by a symbol of God in a war zone, somewhere in the back of his mind, where rationality warred with religion, he had thought that it might just help Walter, wherever he was going. Even if he wasn't Catholic. In the end Leo had returned from Vietnam with his skin intact, but his faith in tatters, and had never really given the loss of its symbol a second thought, although he did pause to remember Walter on occasion in the years to come. "Might even have saved my life." Walter smiled, but Leo saw in his eyes that same mix of level-headedness and respect for the inexplicable. "I never took it off - I was wearing it the day..." Walter didn't finish the sentence, leaving Leo to recollect the story of the ambush, and how close Walter had come to dying, how for so many years Leo had thought him dead. Death and resurrection, both into the world, and now, into Leo's life. Leo shivered a little thinking about it. "Looks like it's in better shape than I am," he joked, pushing back the thought, and the moment passed. Walter laughed, and bent in for a light, quick kiss. "Good enough for me..." Walter said, "...always," and Leo felt himself, ridiculously, blushing. He wrapped the cross tightly in his hand, feeling its edges bite into his palm reassuringly. "Are you trying to seduce me? Because I'm warning you I'm not that cheap. Or easy." "Fine," Walter said. "When your outrage has passed, I'll be in the bedroom." He got up then, and Leo was left alone by the fire, contemplating the piece of battered metal. He turned it over in his hand, lost in memory, and unbidden, the remnants of an old prayer came to him. "Oh my God, at the end of this day I thank You most heartily for the all the graces I have received from You..." He closed his eyes, and thought of Vietnam, and of Walter. It had been a long time since he had prayed, but he the words were there just the same. Finally he stood up, and collected the cups, the cross still in one hand. On the mantlepiece, the housekeeper had hung a single stocking , filled with nuts and other nibbles to be enjoyed with drinks. They had taken the stocking down this morning, but the nail remained. On impulse Leo walked over, and slung the necklace over it, then turned and headed for the kitchen, and afterwards, to bed. Later that night, they slept in each other's arms, while the fire burned to its embers. And the cross swung gently in the chimney's draft, gleaming silver with reflected light. END Email: _dot _