AN: This is picking up after "Telling Jokes to God". If you're really, truly, desperately curious as to where Lucas came from, go read Telling Jokes. Otherwise, I think you should be able to follow along quite nicely. But read Telling Jokes anyway...because...well...it's good? Anyway, carry on.
Prologue
Anyone who knew her knew that Clorinda Delko was a force to be reckoned with in the kitchen. Holiday dinners were no exception to this rule and Noche Buena was, as Eric and his sisters had always referred to it, like her World Series.
"Eric," she snapped, focusing her dark eyes on her only son, "what are you doing?"
His own eyes widened and he held up his hands in defense. "Nothing, Mama."
"Well, why not?" she demanded, motioning with gusto to the many dishes waiting to be taken out to the backyard. "Take something—anything. Make yourself useful," the matriarch shook her head before turning her attention to her grandchildren. "Dee—"
"Over here, Abuela," the twelve year-old rolled her eyes from behind her grandmother who had confused her for her cousin once again. "That's Ana you're talking to." She and Ana giggled behind small hands.
"Whoever you are!" Clorinda exclaimed, throwing up her hands. She pushed a serving bowl at each of them. "These, outside—now."
"Clorinda—" Calleigh began delicately as she entered the crowded kitchen.
"What?" the older woman snapped before softening as she realized who it was. "Calleigh, querida, I'm sorry. What can I do for you?"
Calleigh smiled and caught her husband's rolling eyes at his mother's change in disposition. "I was actually going to ask you the same thing. The table's all set; what else do you need?"
"Did you set it for sixteen?" she asked after counting on her floured fingers.
"No," Calleigh's face faltered. "Only fourteen."
"Your friends Ryan and Maxine aren't coming?"
"No, not this year," she pursed her lips. "I thought Eric told you."
Clorinda waved away the thought. "He probably did. My mind—" she gave a hopeless little chuckle. "Certainly not what it used to be. They decided to go somewhere else for the holidays?" she asked absently, returning to the stove.
Eric exchanged a tense look with Calleigh. Ryan and Maxine weren't exactly a topic ripe for discussion at Christmas dinner. "Something like that, Mama."
"All right then," she turned from the simmering sweet dessert sauces and smiled at the pair. "Where's my Lucas?"
Calleigh smiled. "He's outside, playing with the girls, I think."
"Best call them all in—we're just about ready to eat."
As they followed her outside to where Pavel was already herding the grandchildren to the table, Eric slipped his hand inside Calleigh's' and squeezed her fingers. "You asked him again?" he asked quietly.
She nodded sadly. "Yeah, her too. I just hate to see them alone this time of year."
He kissed her forehead softly. "They're both coming over tomorrow, aren't they?"
Calleigh shook her head. "Just Ryan—Max said she picked up an extra shift."
"That girl works way too much," he commented with a shake of his head.
"Well what else is she going to do? I guess it beats…" Calleigh trailed off and gave a little shudder. "I can't even imagine how she must be feeling lately."
"Probably the same as he is," Eric said. "If they'd talk to each other it might actually do some good for both of them."
She sighed. "I don't know…they might be past talking at this point."
Eric bent his head and kissed her quickly. "Come on, let's eat. It's Christmas—happy thoughts, remember?"
"Happy thoughts," Calleigh repeated, tilting her head to kiss him again. "I remember."
"Mom! Dad!" They broke apart and turned to see Lucas standing just outside the doorway. "Would you stop with the yucky love stuff? It's dinnertime." The seven year-old gave an exasperated shake of his head.
Calleigh laughed and ruffled his hair as she walked past.
0x0x0
Eric rolled over in bed and reached for Calleigh; his fingers unexpectedly brushed a flattened pillow and rumpled sheets—but no Calleigh. He frowned and pulled his eyes open all the way, surprised to find himself alone in bed.
He threw off the blankets and wandered out into the hallway; a smile graced his lips as he noticed the glow of Christmas lights coming from downstairs. He followed it and found Calleigh sitting by the tree, sipping a cup of what he could guess was probably chamomile tea.
"Anxious to see what Santa brought you?" he teased from the doorway.
She glanced up and smiled. "I'm sorry—I was trying not to wake you."
"Don't worry about it," Eric crossed the room and dropped down next to her on the couch, moving his arm so she could cuddle into him. "But it's late," he murmured against her hair. "You should come up to bed—we've got a little boy who's going to be waking us up in about three hours."
Calleigh smiled and let her eyes fall to the mountain of presents waiting for Lucas under the tree. "Remember how we said we weren't going to overdo it this year?"
Eric laughed. "Yeah, but he needs all that stuff."
"Right," she chuckled, moving to set her tea cup on the coffee table. As she did so, the picture she'd been looking at dislodged from its place beside her and fell to the ground.
Eric bent and picked it up. "What are you looking at?" his expression dimmed when he saw what photo it was. "Cal…"
"I know," she shook her head and took the frame back. "I have to stop worrying about them but—" she sighed. "They were so happy."
And she was right. In the picture—taken at Eric and Calleigh's wedding—they were so happy. It was a shot of the four of them (the Anti-Stetler Movement, as Natalia had referred to them) sitting at a table, laughing about something. Ryan's arm was thrown carelessly over Valera's shoulder, her head tilted toward him. On her left hand was a sparkling diamond ring.
Eric sighed. It felt like forever that they'd all been that happy; had it really only been five years? "Come on babe," he gave Calleigh a gentle nudge. "Let's get some sleep."
She nodded in agreement and, after dumping out the rest of her tea, followed him upstairs with a last sad look at the picture. How had things spiraled so far out of control?
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Just a prologue to wet your whistle. R/R?