The crib was pushed up against the wall of the cramped single bedroom in the apartment, barely a foot away from the double bed. There was barely enough room for the two standing over watching the small figure sleep.

"His first Christmas is coming up, can you believe it?" The woman asked not even glancing away from the baby.

"Not a bit. At least he's young enough he wont remember how crap his first Christmas was or how broke we were."

"Language," she chastised softly. "He is entertained by you wiggling your fingers at him, I don't think he'll care that he never got any toys." The small blonde leaned over, her weight resting against her partner, his arm naturally moving to rest across her shoulders in a sideways embrace. "Things will get better," she wrapped her arms around his middle and squeezed tight. "I'll be off maternity leave after Christmas, have a proper pay-cheque coming in."

"Yeah and then both of us will be trying to juggle classes, work and Shawn."

"Sam."

"God! Will you stop calling him that! You are just going to confuse him. I still can't believe I managed to convince you not to use that as his first name."

"Call it the insanity of childbirth, besides it's a good family name, and isn't it some kind of tradition that you name your firstborn after a grandparent or something?" She squeezed him again and he leaned over to press a kiss on top of her blonde head, trying to hide his smile.

"Since when are you traditional?"

"Shhh, you're gonna wake him. Let's just go to bed."

The heat woke him, like someone had just poured a pot of boiling water over his head but it was the screaming of his son that had him turning over. He didn't remember his ceiling being made of fire before but considering the landlord it could have been a new feature. He stared, for too long he stared at the ceiling trying to comprehend what was going on, noticing a patch in the ebb and flow of the flames he was sure he'd seen someone looking down on him. An arm moved to wake his partner to show her the interesting new addition to their apartment when he was shocked into his senses - he was alone in the bed. The face, the look. It was her.

Scrambling free of the covers he dashed to the crib that held his still wailing child. Grabbed him, covers et al and held him to his chest while backing out towards the hallway. This couldn't be happening, this was wrong, this was a nightmare he'd wake up from any second. The temperature rose more and more and he still didn't wake, stood in the doorway and watched the fire rage on around the mother of his child.

Get out, get out, get out. The voice in his head chanted quietly but he felt rooted to the spot. It was only when a fireball - a fucking fireball - seemed to escape the flames and headed straight for him that he ran. The voice still chanting for him to get out mixed with his son's cries as the roar of the fire faded into the background.

When he burst out through the door onto the street the cool night air slammed into him almost painfully, drawing his attention to the sweat - or were those tears? - that cooled instantly on his face as he ran further and further from his building. He turned and looked back up at his home from the centre of the road, the window of his bedroom exploded out spraying the lawn in hot shards of glass.

The other buildings inhabitants came stumbling out in various degrees of dress, some fully, some like he were still in bedclothes. One of his neighbours, an elderly woman wearing a large housecoat and wrapped in a blanket noticed him standing there rocking his baby boy barefoot and in nothing more than a t-shirt and boxers.

"Where is Jessica?"

He couldn't answer, could only look up at the blown out window where flames were escaping and licking at the wooden exterior.

"Oh Sam." She sighed and threw the blanket from her shoulders and over his, embracing him just like Jessica had done hours before. She steered him towards the sidewalk on the opposite side of the road and pushed him down. Shawn was quiet, sleeping peacefully again, completely unaware of the events just like Sam had been at his age.

"I need to call my Dad, my brother." Sam choked out his voice rough.

"We'll get you a phone honey don't worry," the woman sat down next to him laying one hand on his back and the other on his head of his son, stroking softly. He wondered why she was sobbing for a second before he realised the sound was coming from his own lips and it was him shaking so hard he was afraid his son would wake again.