SIXTH SUNDOWN

By Grand High Idol

IX.

It was Christmas Eve, at long last. Mac skipped through the fresh snow, wrapped in a dark red jacket and wool scarf, humming the tune to "Jingle Bells" under his breath as he headed toward the gates that surrounded Foster's. When he had first heard of the business trip he had been saddened that the family would not be able to celebrate the holiday together, but, after making some careful arrangements, he had easily overcome. Running up the front steps to the House, he opened the door and stepped in.

"Wipe your feet, Master Mac!" Mr. Herriman told him strictly—the little boy sighed. Two seconds in and already Herriman was ushering out his rules. Obeying what the rabbit said, he quickly scuffed his shoes on the front mat, removed his jacket and scarf, and ran into the living room, a small present tucked under one arm.

"Bloo!" he called out. "Bloo!"

The place was cluttered with imaginary friends—all shapes, all sizes; it seemed as if everyone had attended the festivities but Duchess. She was probably up in her sleeping quarters primping herself, he thought, and stifled a giggle. Not that it would help…

A large Christmas tree—chosen by Madame Foster in the woods and chopped down by Wilt and Eduardo—stood at the edge of the vast interior, decorated with ornaments, tinsel, lights, and just about every other ornament certain Friends had made in Arts and Crafts. A fire flickered in the fireplace, and all throughout the room Wilt was hanging up wreaths and ribbons—he had already draped some around himself. Coco was at the buffet table organizing the cookies and eggnog, and Eduardo was backed into the corner of the room, not really sure what to do and looking around nervously.

Mac spotted Bloo near the buffet table, munching on a gingerbread cookie and looking around, unamused. Smiling, he ran up to his best friend and gave him a quick hug, nearly causing the blob to choke on his cookie out of surprise.

"Mac!" he coughed, then quickly gave his friend a hug in return. "Merry Christmas, buddy!" He let go of the little boy, then folded his arms and added, skeptically, "Oh, and, don't ever do that again."

"Sorry." Mac removed the present from under his arm and handed it to the blue blob. "I got you something. Merry Christmas, Bloo."

"A present? Yay! Gimme!" Bloo swiped the package from Mac and tore into the wrapping paper, sending bits of tissue, ribbon, and cardboard flying in all directions (Coco became slightly peeved when the gift tag ended up in the punch bowl and almost kicked him in the head). What he pulled from the now mangled box he gazed upon in appreciation.

"The PaddleBaller 9000!" he gasped, his eyes glittering. He looked up at Mac. "How did you know?"

"You've only been asking about it for, like, five months now," Mac chuckled. He patted his friend on the back. "Hey, do you know where—"

"Hi-i!"

The two turned around just in time to see Red hop up, draped in Christmas lights and tinsel. He held up his arms. "Look!" he declared. "Red a Christmas tree!"

Bloo examined him over, then shook his head. "Nah, you're not a Christmas tree yet," he replied. "Why don't you just go plug yourself into the nearest outlet and then we can talk."

"Bloo!" Mac snapped, then turned to the block-like imaginary friend. "Red, do you know where Terrence is? I made some arrangements for him. I hope you didn't tell anyone."

Red nodded, then pointed over toward the fireplace. "Terr-ence in one of those chairs over there," he replied, then frowned. "He not nice today. Red try to get him some punch and Terr-ence threw it in Red's face."

"Pfft," Bloo snorted. "What else is new?" He shrugged. "Oh well. A party's just not a party 'till the jolly fat man shows up."

"I'm gonna go see him," Mac told the two imaginary friends, ignoring Bloo's skeptical little comment. "You two wait here, okay? And don't try anything. I'm serious." He sighed and shook his head, remembering the last time Red and Bloo had gotten together—it took forever to get the glue off of the walls. Turning around, he began to walk to the back of the room, where, sure enough, Terrence was seated in an armchair nearest the window. He appeared haggard and even more irritable than usual; one hand was resting on his stomach, the other supporting his head.

The teen glowered when Mac approached. "Oh, great," he replied skeptically, crossing his arms. "What do you want now?"

Mac blinked, then tried to ignore what his elder sibling had just said. "Um…Terrence, I just came over here to tell you that…well, that you don't have to spend this Christmas entirely in exile. I did some walking around, and—"

It was then that the doorbell rang. Frankie, her hands full with gift boxes and trays of appetizers, sighed and looked over toward the main hall. She turned to face Mac. "Mac, my hands are kind of full, and Herriman's busy in his office," she grunted, trying to steady the weight of the packages. "Could you please get the door for me?"

"Sure thing," Mac grinned, then ran out of the room toward the front door, which he immediately swung open. Smiling broadly at the figure that stood before him, he turned his head, cupped his hands to his mouth, and shouted "Terrence!"

There was a moment of silence before Terrence finally shuffled into the main hall, rubbing his back and limping slightly due to his sore ankles. The look of aggression still clouded his features; they faded, however, when he looked up and saw who was standing in the doorway so casually.

"Rusty!" he cried happily, then quickly clapped his hands to his mouth, embarrassed. The blonde laughed, then stepped into the doorway onto the rug, loosening the clasps on his leather bomber jacket. "Wha—what are you doing here?"

"A little birdie told me that you'd been hanging around here." Rusty grinned, then withdrew a package from underneath his arm. He held it out to the raven-haired teen. "Here," he added, smiling. "This is for you."

Terrence was speechless for a moment, then slowly unwrapped the package and removed a dark red sweater from amidst the packaging contents—made from a mixture of wool and cotton, and just large enough, he thought satisfactorily, to conceal his belly. Taking no time to hesitate, he quickly turned around and slipped it on, then turned back to face his friend.

"Thanks, Rusty," he replied, blushing slightly. He frowned. "I'm just sorry that I didn't get you anything."

Rusty held up his hand. "It's no problem," he responded, then looked out toward the frosty night. "Hey, remember that night out I promised you like, weeks ago?" Terrence nodded. "Why don't we do it tonight? The weather's a little nippy, but nothing too serious. I'm sure we'll be fine."

Terrence shied away a few steps. "I…I don't know…"

"Come on, it'll be fun!" Rusty grabbed his wrist, then gently pulled the teen closer to him. "You need a break from all this stress you've been under. I mean, Lord knows what you've been up to since I saw you last…"

Terrence bit his lower lip, then freed himself from Rusty's grasp and looked down toward Mac, who nodded in approval. Blushing even harder, he looked up at the blonde and finally replied, "Okay. I…I guess it wouldn't do any harm…"

"Great." Rusty smiled and headed back out onto the front porch. "Come on, the night's still young. Let's get going."

"Decembre the twenty-fourth." Lucifer scowled as he looked toward the rocky ceiling of his council room. "The hours that tick away before the anniversary of the birth of that infernal Holy Lamb." He sighed and took a couple of paces around the room. "I gave Herod specific orders to execute the infant—that fool. I should have killed him myself while he was still harmless."

"Don't fret, Lou, honey," Ancedonia purred, placing one of her dainty hands on his arm. "What's done is done. And in not too long, we will have a Being of our own to confront that overrated slab of mutton." She looked toward the other six Sins, flicking her tail. "Isn't that right?"

Five of them nodded in agreement; Frida, at the end of the line, sat still, her head in her knees, as if deep in thought. Her golden eyes were shut, and her breath was coming slowly as she listened to the others' words.

"You have chosen well, Lucifer," Algernon, a cockerel-type being with tufted ears and feather-covered arms, complimented.

Aremac, the Thief, darted across the room and wound his thin body around an adjacent stalagmite. His large, jackal-like ears pricked. "The entire Army of Light will be at our mercy!" he hissed, happily, the many necklaces he had stolen in the past jingling around his neck.

"Ardon crush the prophets!" Ardon bellowed, nostrils flaring. He slammed a thick fist into the dust, causing the room to vibrate and several small pebbles to fall from the ceiling. Frida opened her eyes.

"That's right." Ancedonia smiled coyly, then leaned against Lucifer, gently rubbing her fur-coated face against his neck. "And we owe it all to you, Lucifer, for choosing that naughty little boy to carry the Messenger for us."

"I digress!"

The others halted, struck by the words that had come from Frida's mouth, and turned to face her. She was now standing upright, her feet apart, her hands balled into fists. Her tail swished from side to side as she spoke, her tone sharp, her eyes narrowed:

"Lucifer, I am as taken aback by the boy's betrayal as anyone in this room, but what you did was wrong. He's only a young child of thirteen. He should not have had to gestate the Messenger." Lucifer stared at her with hollow eyes as she continued: "He didn't deserve a punishment like this. Eyes gouged out, possibly. A couple of slashes across the back and belly, fine. But you did something much worse than that—you made him fertile with your child. You said you needed a virgin—there are many other members of the Occult—full-grown ones—that would have been more than willing to take that—OOF!"

Her response was a backhanded slap to the face, causing her to stumble and fall onto her back. She sat up, rubbing the growing bruise where Lucifer had slapped her, as the demon towered over her, his glare intimidating.

"So, you've decided to side with the boy, now," he snarled, nostrils flaring. "Is that it, Frida?"

"No!" she gasped, her hand still to her injured cheek. "No, Master, not at all! I just thought that—AAH!"

She screamed as he slammed her in the stomach with his foot, causing her to slide back across the dust a couple of inches. Shaking like a leaf from the pain, anger, and fear that had built up inside of her, she opened one tear-filled eye as Lucifer approached her, then slowly bent down, eyes ablaze.

"You foolish woman," he whispered, a trace of rage building in his voice. "I made you what you are today. I gave you everything you could have ever wanted. Don't you dare turn on me now." Frida swallowed and tried to turn her head away as the demon continued, "I'll let you off easy this time, my dear. But if I find you've sided with the boy…"

He stood up, towering over her, then spoke his last sentence, clenching one of his pallid hands into a tight fist:

"I will grind your bones to dust."

Frida nodded, and, as the others laughed and carried on with their conversation, she turned away and, fingers digging into the ground, allowed herself to weep silently, the sting from her injuries still coursing through her body.

"It's really beautiful, isn't it?"

Terrence looked out at the town, sparkling with Christmas lights and decorations. From down the street he could catch a glimpse of the big inflatable Santa the Mortinsons always put out in front of the apartment, and from even further he could see Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends, lit up with almost every color of Christmas light imaginable. He sighed and leaned against Rusty's shoulder.

"Yeah," he replied, lost in thought. "Beautiful."

They were in the town cemetery, right next to the Mausoleum. The moonlight shone down on them as they sat atop a flat foundation and gazed out at the city, only inches from being so close to each other…so close…

Rusty licked his lips, then looked over at Terrence. He loved the way his ebony hair gave off that beautiful sheen at night…how effeminate and dainty his body was…how lovely his face appeared to him. Touching him would be like sifting through the sand on the Beaches of Heaven; holding him would be like a dream in which he would never wake up…he sighed and placed his hands in his pockets, not wanting to think about it anymore.

Terrence, thankfully, shattered this awkward moment of thought. "Rusty," he asked, blushing slightly, "Um…why did you decide to spend this Christmas Eve with me? Aren't you supposed to be at home with your parents or something?"

"I dunno." Rusty raised an eyebrow, managed a weak smile. "Aren't you?"

Terrence shook his head. "My mother's away on a business trip, and my father..." He brushed back the tears brimming in his eyes. "My father is dead. It—it was my fault. I-I never should have…never should have…" He bit his lower lip and looked away.

Rusty stroked him on the shoulder. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. Terrence slapped him away.

"It's okay, really," he sniffed, pausing to wipe a tear from his eye with his sweater sleeve. He looked over at Rusty. "So…what about your parents? They too busy to take care of you, or are one of your parents dead, or what? I'm sorry if I'm being so…you know, personal, I just wanna know…"

Rusty heaved in a deep breath, then exhaled, a trail of smoky oxygen fading into the air. "You're my best friend, Terrence…it's about time that you knew. My mother is dead…she died in childbirth and they couldn't save her…at least that's what the doctors had said. My father took me into his custody and raised me until I was around three years old, and then—" His tone suddenly became defensive. "It—it was an accident. He died in an accident."

"You're an orphan," Terrence whispered, drawing his arms tightly around himself.

Rusty nodded. "I'm not bitter about it in the least, though. Shortly after my father's death I was sent to the town Foster Home and Boarding House, where I was raised by Helena, my personal guardian. She took such good care of me in those years…" His voice faded away as he stared up at the sky. "But my father will be avenged."

Terrence blinked. "What did you just say?"

Rusty's eyes widened in shock, and he leapt down from the foundation. "Ah…it was nothing, really." He took Terrence by the hand, his hazel eyes gazing into Terrence's steel-gray ones. "Now, what say I walk you back to your apartment? I'm sure that it's much warmer there."

Terrence placed the key in the lock and swung open the door of the apartment, where he immediately stepped inside, out of the cold; Rusty followed suite. Removing his jacket to expose a gray "Iron Maiden" T-shirt, he sighed and approached the couch, flopping down on it, rubbing at his arms in order to keep himself warm. Terrence smiled at him, then shut and locked the door, taking a seat on the couch next to him, despite the consistent cramps he felt whenever he tried to sit normally.

Rusty was rubbing his back against the couch, very much like a cat does when it's comfortable. "Oh, man, this couch!" he proclaimed, shifting and rubbing his shoulder against one of the pillows. "You live such a life of luxury here, Terr."

"Yeah, well, we get around." Terrence smiled weakly, then laid down next to him. Rusty's body felt so warm, so comfortable, against his. "Rusty…I…" He thought twice about what he was going to say, shook his head. "Rusty, I'm sorry that I didn't get you a present in return. Because I really appreciate the gift that you gave me, and…well…I just don't know what to say…"

"Say yes."

Terrence blinked, then noticed that Rusty's hand was now holding his; they were clasped tightly together in a way that made the teen's heart pound. He felt the other teen's arm encircle his neck, as his face was drawn close to Rusty's.

"Terrence," he whispered, "I can't hold it back any longer. Do you…do you feel the same way about me as I do about you?"

The raven-haired teen blushed hard, thankful for the darkness in the room, and for a moment the only sound in the entire apartment was the humming sound of the radiator. Finally, he responded, in a voice so quiet he could barely believe that it was his own: "Yes."

Rusty smiled. "That's all I needed to hear," he replied softly, and, without further hesitation, pressed his lips to Terrence's, wrapping his arms tighter around him, snuggling closer to him. Terrence resisted at first, but soon fell into the hypnotic spell of the kiss himself and snuggled closer to Rusty. He could feel the heat of his own body against the blonde's as they shared this private moment, then Terrence finally drew away, gasping.

"Rusty," he breathed, tilting his head in the direction of the hallway. "We—we need a place with more room. Let's go to my room and do this."

Rusty brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead. "Whatever you say, love," he replied, then followed him down the hallway, entering Terrence's bedroom. Terrence was already at the foot of the bed, smiling, his eyes glittering with a sense of emotion that he hadn't felt in the longest time. Rusty gave a roguish smile, then approached the bed, removing his shirt in the process.

Terrence blushed even harder at the sight of his bare chest—but should he risk taking off his sweater as well? Rusty was sure to notice, and would probably ask questions…but then again, Rusty was his most trusted friend and, as of now, possibly his lover. Was it really a good thing to keep such secrets from him?

Rusty took a seat on the bed beside him, then nudged him playfully with his shoulder. "Come on, you naughty little thing," he replied, his shoulder hunched. "Take off your shirt and sweater so we can continue."

There was a long moment of silence; Terrence began trembling, unsure of what exactly to say or do in response to this statement. Rusty noticed and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Terr, is something wrong? You're shaking like a leaf."

"It's—I—it's—"

"You know, if you're uncomfortable with this, we can always stop any time you want," Rusty told him softly. "I probably did come on to you a little hard back there, but I just—"

"No." Terrence placed his hand over Rusty's. "There's just…there's just been something I've been trying to keep from you. But after all we've been through, I realize that I can't hold it back any longer. Rusty…" He bit his lower lip again, cursing himself for the following two words that would leave his lips: "I'm pregnant."

Rusty's mouth dropped open as Terrence slowly removed his sweater, giving the older teen a better look at his stomach. The blonde was shocked silent for a few moments, then finally replied, his voice as shocked as his face was: "Pregnant? I—what—how long?"

"For almost two months now," the raven-haired teen replied, gently leaning himself against Rusty's chest. "The vomiting—the blood—the bloating—you were right. It wasn't just an after-effect…it was…it was something different the entire time."

"Well, that does explain why you were able to stand the cafeteria food…"

Terrence broke down into tears, shaking as Rusty held him. "I'm so ashamed…I know it's crazy, I know that it doesn't make sense, but I—but I—"

"It's okay." Rusty gently stroked his hair, then brought Terrence's face up to his. "Who did this to you?"

"Lucifer," Terrence managed to sob out. Rusty's eyes grew wide when the name reached his ears.

"Lucifer?" he repeated. "The Devil? But why? Are you serious?"

"Dead serious." Terrence choked back a sob. "I did something he didn't like, and…and this was his punishment for me. I don't even know what I'm having, but I—oh God!" He resumed his fit of sobbing; Rusty reached out to comfort him.

"It's okay," he whispered softly, running his fingers through the teen's ebony hair. "It'll turn out alright. It always does." He kissed him gently on the cheek. "Now, do you want me to leave you, now? You look like you need to be to yourself."

"N-no," Terrence replied, hugging Rusty tightly, nuzzling the side of his head against the blonde's neck. "D-don't leave me…"

"I never will." Rusty wrapped his arms around Terrence in return, and the two gently kissed each other, flopping down on the bed. As they snuggled, gently removing one another's garments, the faint songs of the carolers whispered through the window and out into the night...

Rusty awoke next morning amidst a tangle of bedsheets, clad in only his boxer shorts. Terrence lay beside him, his breathing soft, obviously still in a deep slumber. Rusty smiled, then slowly got out of bed and began searching for his clothing, which he put on rather hastily as so not to waste any time. Looking down at his sleeping angel, he bent down and gave Terrence a quick kiss on the cheek before slowly approaching the door, opening it carefully and shutting it behind him.

He heaved a deep breath. It was still early in the day, as he could tell from the sunlight filtering through the window. Pacing across the room, he grabbed his coat, wrapped it around himself, and quickly ran out of the apartment, down the fire escape. Once he was within a clear range, he heaved a deep sigh, then pulled back his sleeve.

"Father," he murmured into the speech mechanism, his hand cupped over his mouth. "Father, are you there?"

There was a crackling noise from the other end of the line, then a deep, husky voice responded. "Yes, I am. What is your cause for contact, Ezekiel?"

"Father, my mission has been accomplished," Rusty said firmly. "I now know who bears the Messenger. It doesn't look like it's too far away, either, so get ready to rumble."

"Ezekiel, please do not use that slang with me." There was a pause at the other end of the line. "And, good work. I will make sure you are handsomely rewarded for your efforts."

"Thank you, Father," Rusty replied, bowing his head. "I just have one request for you."

"And what may that be?"

"Promise not to hurt the Bearer. Not now, not ever."

"Ezekiel, you know that I cannot promise such things." Rusty's head lowered slightly in defeat. "But come back to Headquarters and we can discuss this. Over and out."

"Right," Rusty murmured, pulling his sleeve back down and looking toward the sky. "Over and out."