A/N: A sweet little piece of fluff written because I'm in a strangely good mood. Also, On Angel's Wings (you know, the Christmas episode) came on the other day, and it had me wondering about holidays. Eventually, this was born. And yeah, I know none of it's true, but thus the "fiction" in "fanfiction". Warnings for slash, but come on, this is so sweet even homophobes would go, "Awww!"

Disclaimer: Don't own anything except the crap written after my name.

Firelight and Snow Flurries

by Aloren Neranth

I met the love of my life when I was twelve years old. It was at St. Anne's Orphanage, around mid-November. I could tell he'd never celebrated Thanksgiving before, what with the confused glances he gave the nuns putting up the festive paper turkeys. As Sister Sophia Louise taped a plastic cornucopia to the middle of the cracked, browned wall, he sniffed, tightened an arm around a beaten-up old frog plushie, and tugged at her black skirts. "Yes, Pietro?" she asked as she turned around, wrinkles crinkling under her eyes as she smiled.

"SisterSophiaLouise," he said in that rapid-fire way of speaking that I grew to understand and love. "What's that?" The kid pointed a long, slim finger towards the decoration plastered to the wall. "It looks like those things old deaf guys shove in their ears so they can hear stuff."

The nun stared at him in mild shock. What kind of ten year old knew of old hearing aid methods? Little did they know how far advanced he was, and how much he'd learned in his short years. The only thing that seemed to hold him back was his tiny body. "That's a cornucopia, love. It's a symbol of Thanksgiving."

"What's Thanksgiving?"

"It's the time of the year we give thanks to God for all the blessings in our lives," the old lady responded merrily. The boy looked around quickly, as if expecting to get a hoard of presents.

"But I don't have anything. 'Cept for Monnie!" he exclaimed, shoving his stuffed frog up with his thin, pale arms.

"Well then, be thankful for him and all your other friends." The black-cloaked nun practically floated away after patting him on the head, leaving Pietro alone in the middle of the room. He looked down at his frog and sighed.

"Monnie's my only friend," I heard him say sadly. That's when I decided to approach him for the very first time. I'd seen him before, of course, when he was first admitted into St. Anne's. But to be honest, I was always afraid of meeting him.

Because he was everything I was not. He was light, I was dark. He was soft and gentle, whereas I took pleasure in terrorizing the sisters. He was smart, while I… well, I was no genius. But Pietro had always seemed so happy and above the other children, off in his own little world that no one could reach. Maybe that's why he didn't have any friends. But, after seeing the poor kid finally look utterly vulnerable and lonely, I decided to change all of that.

"Hey, kid!" I yelled, catching his attention, along with his wide blue eyes. Not my smoothest approach, but effective nonetheless. "So, uh… this'll be your first Thanksgiving?"

"Mmhm," he said with an exuberant, lightning-quick series of nods. "'Cept I don't have anything to be thankful for." That sad look melted over his face again like hot candle wax. I immediately attempted to wash it off.

"Hey, don't worry! I've got nothing either. But, hey, uh… if you really want to, uh… we can be thankful for each other!" I felt my cheeks heat up at such a silly, weak suggestion. I knew for sure that he'd call me an idiot and leave.

But he didn't leave, or insult me. Instead, he let out an almost symphonic chord of giggles. It sounded like bells from snowy white sleds gliding along the bitter December mornings. I felt my fears slide away at the charming sound, and a silly smile cross my face. "But," he said after he calmed down a bit. I saw glittering blue eyes peeking at me from under black eyelashes, and immediately felt like someone had dropped me next to the fire. "I don't even know your name."

"Fire—Ah! I mean, uh…" I was blushing again, and it was aggravating me; but not so much, because I could tell it amused him. "M-My name is Dom… Dom Petros."

"Hi, Dom," he giggled quietly. "I'm Pietro Maximoff." I fought the urge to say that I already knew his name, but it didn't last long. Because you see, instead of shaking hands like little boys did after meeting, the white-haired kid… hugged me. After saying his last name, he slid his arms around my waist and squeezed my middle, the little worn frog dangling down the backs of my legs. And he did it like it was the most natural thing in the world. I was too shocked to hug back. Fortunately, he didn't seem bothered by this. After letting me go, he grinned and grabbed my hand. "Since you're apparently taken by the fireplace, let's go sit by it, okay?" Before I could answer, he was dragging me away into the warmest room in the orphanage.

*****

I never forgot the look of his face, firelight illuminating his features and making him glow like a tiny little star. I never forgot watching him dance in the falling snow like a pixie. And I never forgot the times he'd grab my hand and pull me off on some new adventure, or snuggle up to my side when he needed to be touched. Even though I was only twelve, I knew what falling in love was. But was it possible at this age, especially when the fiber of my heart was a mere ten years old? At the time, it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world. And to this day, I still don't question it.

*****

"Lucy, what are you thankful for?" Sister Clarice Remora asked in her talking-to-children voice. She was the Headwoman here, and everyone knew she could be quite mean and strict when bothered. But holidays always seemed to brighten her spirits, and everyone liked her only because of this fact.

"I'm thankful fooor… Brittany and Robby and for my future mommy and daddy!" the five-year-old exclaimed, making everyone chuckle a bit. Lucy was the prettiest little girl at St. Anne's. Everyone knew she was going to be taken away to a new home very soon.

"Very good, dear," the Headwoman said, looking towards Robby, the eight-year-old terror of the group who, unfortunately for the nuns, liked to bite when he was scolded.

"Lucy and Brittany and Terrance and… and… uhmmm… and God loving me?" the boy replied, giving the table a crooked grin. The nuns looked very pleased at this answer. I just rolled my eyes. It went on this way for a while, each kid speaking when their names were called. Most of it was the same stuff over and over again; friends, the future, and God. When I was called, I said what I had thought about for a long time the night before.

"Pietro, fireplaces, and snow." No one, not even my silver-haired best friend, understood what the last two meant. But I knew what it was, and I was more thankful for those things than any of those children could be over dreams and illusions of omnipotent love. After I declined the offer to explain, the Headwoman Clarice Remora shook her, smiled, and called on the slender boy sitting next to me.

Pietro's face lit up with obvious excitement. He was so excited, in fact, he said his bit too fast for anyone to understand. Realizing no one caught it, he tried again, slowly (for him) this time. "I'm thankful for Dom, 'cause he's my best friend. I love him, because he plays with me, and talks to me, and makes me feel very happy. When we grow up, I'm going to marry him, and be his wife!" He ended with a giddy giggle and a pink blush grazing his cheeks.

For a while, no one spoke. The nuns stared at him in shock. So did I. Hell, so did most of the room. Pietro didn't seem to notice though, he was so happy to finally exclaim to the house that he had a best friend who he loved more than anything. Slowly, some of the older kids began to snicker. As if catching on to the fact that Pietro had said something "naughty", the younger kids giggled as well. Eventually, the entire table, except for the nuns, broke out into laughter. Pietro, thinking it was because they were happy for him, joined in, unleashing his peel of enchanting giggles.

"That's enough," Sister Clarice Remora said tersely. Immediately, the entire table went silent. "Pietro, Dominic, I'd like to speak to you both after dinner, understand?" We both nodded, a little afraid of what that meant. "Good. Now… Sierra, what are you thankful for?"

*****

"That was the best Thanksgiving!" Pietro declared happily, grabbing my hand. I stared at him in blank surprise.

"What do you mean? We just got yelled at for a half-hour by the Headwoman. She's going to be watching us now for the rest of our lives!"

"Silly Dom, of course she won't. It'll be okay. And it was a good Thanksgiving, because I got to tell everyone how much I love you! It's not a secret anymore," he said happily, swinging our arms and humming. I sighed dramatically and squeezed his pale hand. There was no sense in ruining his good mood, especially for something as stupid as closed-minded old ladies and their rules.

*****

The day he was adopted was the saddest I've ever been through. I knew it would come some day… after all, he was the most vibrant, brilliant, beautiful child at St. Anne's. And he deserved a loving family. But still, I always prayed in the back of my mind that he wouldn't be taken from me.

He was.

The day of his adoption, I held him in front of everyone; I held him, rubbed his back, and kissed his forehead. I just wanted him to stop crying, even though I was bawling like a baby as well. In the end, it was him who actually calmed me down. "I'll find you again," he promised, whispering it in my ear so no one else could hear it. It was our promise alone. "I'll find you again, Dom."

As the car rolled away, his little torso appeared from the rolled-down window. "I love you, Dom!" he screamed as the sedan slowly drove down the ice-slick road. "I always will!"

"I love you too, Pietro!" I wept, but not nearly loud enough for him to hear. Still, he must have seen me, or heard my heart, because he smiled, blew a kiss, and waved. As I watched him disappear into the midday sunlight, I felt my heart break like porcelain slammed into the cement. I remember running to my room, and crying for hours until I finally fell into an exhausted sleep. But even then, all my dreams were of him, sitting by the fire or twirling through the snow flurries.

I'm not surprised that he doesn't remember me. After all, back at St. Anne's, my hair was short and my clothes weren't so dirty. And my name was Dominic Petros there. So of course I don't blame him for not recognizing me. These days, my hair's long, my jeans are ripped, and my name is Lance Alvers.

Still, sometimes when we hold hands, I see him looking at me curiously, the same light in those blue eyes that was there those long years ago.

I think he knows.

*****

Reviews welcomed. ^_^