'The affairs of God are accomplished little by little, and almost imperceptibly. The Spirit of God is neither violent nor hasty.'

-St. Vincent De Paul

Exotic, pale blue eyes languidly gazed out the back seat passenger's window of the taxi cab. At all of the shops lining the busy New York street. All of the high-end jewelry stores and boutiques were festively decorated in bright, beautiful Christmas lights and elegant glittering garlands to enhance the beauty and allure of the expensive merchandise. Ever since his youth, he'd never really cared one way or the other about this holiday.

Or any holiday, for that matter.

Halloween. Thanksgiving. Christmas. New Years. Birthdays. Celebrations in general were never something he'd grown to look forward to or dread. They were all merely just another day for him. Another day, filled with things to do. Places to go. People to see. Even the excitement and anticipation of gifting and receiving gifts had been a bit lost on him until his later years.

But...

This time of year.

The Christmas season?

Well...

It always seemed to stir memories of her.

His ghost of Christmas past.

Though it had been short of ten years since he'd last spoken to her, and their parting-of-ways had been less than amicable, he always remembered her fondly. Though he doubted she did the same. And-this time of year-with thoughts of her, he always found his fingertips gravitating more frequently towards the gold charm suspended around his neck. During this time of year, those thoughts of her always seemed to come right to the surface.

Jennifer Kempton.

Jenni.

The daughter of a holy roller in upstate New York who had allowed her to see him because of the reputation of the prep-school he attended. Though she hadn't been the first girl he had been with...she had been close. And, if he were honest with himself, she had been the first and last serious relationship he'd been in. Despite the two of them going together for months, her father never really knew him. What kind of person he was. And...in honesty...neither did she.

But oh, how she adored him.

She was sweet. Sixteen and incredibly naive. Innocent, really. What she saw in him was a prep-school boy at war with himself-and-she had taken it upon herself to try and save his soul. For months she went about trying to convince him that everything in his life could be different if he just believed in something other than himself. Though dubious about the idea of embracing her sense of faith, he had found himself intrigued with her conviction and passion.

One day-around this time of year-when they had stolen away to spend a quiet moment together, she presented him with a small jewelry box. Though he wasn't unaware of the customary exchanging of gifts at Christmas, due to his mother's practice of the Jehovah Witness faith he'd never before received a gift of any kind.

This had been his first.

Looking out the cab window at the shops, he remembered how she had smiled at him while he opened the box. A jubilation and excitement that brightened her features when he wrapped his slender fingers along a delicate gold chain to lift the piece of jewelry out of the box. Oceanic eyes beheld the gift with interest before focusing along her face.

She had been so happy.

And she immediately and quiet excitedly coaxed him to wear it. To put it on. A small, delicate gold cross. A symbol of her faith...and an affront to his mother's religion. So, of course he had chosen to wear it. She believed that this unhesitating acceptance of her gift to him had been a deepening of their relationship, as well as his faith. And in return-on New Years Eve-he had reciprocated the gesture by gifting her with her first sexual encounter with a boy. Despite knowing how deeply she embraced her faith and morals, he had been very convincing. He saw how she immediately regretted the loss of her virginity and virtue after her decision to sleep with him. And their relationship ended shortly after that.

But, even all these years later, he still wore the cross she had given to him, and not a day went by that he was without it. Perhaps he wore it out a morbid sense of irony in daily taking up his cross of faithlessness and the way he had betrayed her. Those slender fingers lightly brushed the fabric of his business shirt where the charm lingered just underneath, against his skin. And he gave a faint turn of thin, perfect lips.

Maybe...

Perhaps...

He still wore it to remind himself that once-a long time ago-there had been at least one person that had believed him able to be saved.

And who was to tell... From what people said about this time of year, Christmas miracles occurred all the time.

THE END

A/N: So, the past two Christmas', I have given love and attention to my sweet Aden Baby in the stories 'Home For The Holidays' and 'The Twelve Gifts Of Christmas'. But this year, I wanted to do something just a little different and give a slightly different perspective of a man most of you know and hate. Kristean Mitchell. Maybe this will change your mind. Maybe it won't. But at least it answers a question of how and why he came across one of his signature accessories. Merry Christmas, all!