Author's Notes: Surprise! Just in time for the holidays, the second and last chapter of Firelight and Snow Flurries. It was completely unplanned; I had ideas for my holiday fic but none had a climax. And then someone commented and said I should make another chapter in the present and everything slammed together and formed so… here it is. I think it fills the gaps left by the first chapter and completes everything. I hope you enjoy it. It isn't often I'm as proud of my work as I am with this.

(And to the person who asked, no, this fic ISN'T based on the comics. The only comic element is Lance's old name. It was changed when he was adopted. ^_^)

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

Firelight and Snow Flurries

by Aloren Neranth

I hate Christmas.

No, wait, let me rephrase that, just to be politically correct and all.

I hate the holidays.

I hate everything about it. I hate the cheer, the overpriced crap in shiny paper (though the paper itself can be fun), the music, and the false "peace on Earth" motto that everyone pretends to follow. And I hate the memories most of all. I hate thinking back all those years ago, at that damn orphanage… It's not the orphanage itself that makes me hate this season so much though; it's the fact that I was stolen from it around this time.

Stolen from him.

I remember his tears dripping through my hair, and his kisses on my forehead. I remember how he tried to rub my back and calm me, even as every child and nun in the place watched us in silence. I remember my new parents looking uncomfortably back and forth between each other, and then at us, the two little boys who dared to openly show love to each other. Yes, he was my first love. I cherished every single moment I spent with you, Dominic, until I was taken away.

Why couldn't I have stayed there with you instead?

"Good morning," his soft voice flutters down to me like sunlight filtering through drawn blinds. My eyelids flicker closed for a moment as I flip over and sigh. I don't want anyone to see me right now, especially him. I must look like crap. "I was worried about you. You were crying in your sleep." Light kisses are placed on my eyelids, soft and gentle, a loving pressure against my cerulean blues.

"I had a bad dream," I whisper, my eyes opening to take in the vision of him. He's always so breathtaking, especially in the morning when the sun dances through the tree branches outside, making a lightshow on his bare chest. His chocolate brown hair, messy from sleep, twists around his neck and over his shoulders like broken violin strings. I immediately reach out to straighten it, anal as I am. My pale arms extend into the air, and I'm momentarily shocked at how cold everything is. But it's so warm under these blankets with him. "I don't want to talk about it." I give his hair one last swipe before he leans in to kiss me.

Normally I'd kiss back, especially in the morning when our libidos are highest. But it's only half-hearted today. My mind and heart is with the little boy left at St. Anne's, crying for me and wishing I were back in his arms. It hurts to be taken away from the one you love most, and shacking up with someone else certainly doesn't help it. I feel guilty around this time of the year. When I'm gazing into his eyes, I'm actually seeing the eyes of the one I left. I often imagine what Dominic would look like grown up, and to my surprise it's not far from how Lance looks. I once had a suspicion that Lance was the boy from my past, but that's really not very logical, is it? That boy was Dominic Petros, not Lance Alvers. They're just two different people, both strikingly similar, both the loves of my life; but it still makes me feel guilty.

After all, I promised Dom I'd find him again. Instead I'm tying myself to Lance.

This is what I think about around this time of the year. This is why I hate the holiday season, and why I find myself sad, lonely, and a little crabby. And yet none of this seems to kindle to my Lance, I realize as I watch him climb from bed, naked, and pad across the room. He doesn't seem to notice at all. Annoyance pierces my temples then, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from yelling at him. How dare he not notice my pain.

"Stop touching Monnie," I grumble sharply at him. Every morning he crawls out of bed and pets my old frog plush, sitting there happily on the rotting dresser. "And bring him here." Lance levels a gaze towards me and begins to smile softly, as if we shared some sort of secret at that moment. Again, I'm annoyed by his actions, and snap, "NOW." He begins to chuckle quietly, then picks up my frog and tosses it over to me.

"I'll be downstairs making a fire," he says after putting on the pair of pants that he had thrown off so quickly last night. Like a shadow caught by a sudden burst of flame, he retreats from the room silently. Trapped in his oblivious wake, I shudder a sigh and clutch the old frog to my chest. Its formerly plush material, worn over in time, feels good against my heated skin. And I lose myself once again in my memories.

*****

"Oh, you must love Christmas!" the cashier's annoying voice rips through my eardrums. I look up from my wallet and stare at her for a moment. "I said, 'you must love Christmas!'" she repeated as if I hadn't heard her the first time. A smile, bordered by painted pink lips, broadens on her face. She obviously wants to me ask why.

I had been too distracted by counting my money and trying to block out the noises of the mall to pay attention to her. There is some woman clutching a wailing baby behind me, making my head throb. But worst of all, closer to me, a woman is clutching the hand of her son, who looks about twelve. I'm trying so hard not to see myself again, ten years old, falling into Dominic's embrace. And now she's glaring at me like she would at a child molester, because she caught me staring at her son for too long. My gaze settles back on the still-grinning cashier, and finally I sigh, "Why must I love Christmas?"

"You look like a Christmas angel," she answers, counting my bills with trained hands. I'm momentarily distracted by her unnaturally long nails; they're so obviously fake. Why do people wear crap like that? "I mean, with your white hair and blue eyes. Beautiful. You fit right into winter. You must love this time of the year."

"Actually, no," I hear myself snap bitingly, though I don't know where the response had come from. It doesn't make much sense; she compliments me, and yet now I'm angry and annoyed. "I hate this time of the year. I hate the damn music you're playing over the speakers right now, I hate that stupid Santa by the food court, I hate this woman and her child," I growled, waving back at the little boy. A part of me enjoys the gasp the mother produces, and the motion she takes to pull her son away from me. "And most of all, I hate happy, jolly fuckers like you who assume everyone's happy that it's Christmas. Well, bitch, I'm not, so kindly just count my money, give me my jacket, and let me go. It's not that damn difficult."

The cashier gawked at me for a few moments then, her pink mouth gaping. I suppressed the urge to reach over, grab the bag, and just run out of the store. "I-I'm sorry, sir," she stammered, obviously upset by my scolding. "I was out of place. I'm sorry. Here's your change, $7.50, please come again, and enjoy your holi—" She stopped herself by biting her lip and grimacing. With a snarl and a lightning-fast snatch, I rip the bag from her hands and hurry away.

Well, the worst part of the holiday is over, I think with my last drop of optimism. The shopping's over now, even though I only bought one present. No one really cares if their gift was stolen or not, as long as they still get something. That's why everyone got pilfered goods this year – all except for Lance. For some reason I can't consider the thought of giving him something that I didn't buy with my own money. So instead I went and pick-pocketed wallets until I had enough for his new, pricey leather jacket.

What? It's mine once it leaves the wallet, and pick-pocketing is hard work. It's all fair.

*****

"Hey, cool, new sneaks! Thanks, Pietro!" Todd exclaims, obviously happy with his shoes. He displays them proudly for all to see, and the other guys laugh and pat his back. "Man, Pietro gives the best presents, yo."

"… I agree," I hear Lance gasp as he lifts the lid off of his box and traces a hand across the soft, black leather of his new jacket. For a moment he just strokes it gently, as if he's entranced with the feel of the material under his fingertips. Then he raises it out of its box, stares at it for a minute, and then leaves it on the floor. He crosses the space between us on all fours quickly, and catches my lips under his. "Thank you so much," he breathes as our mouths slowly part. "It's the most beautiful thing anyone's ever given me." He doesn't ask how I got it, or if I stole it. He just accepts it.

But my heart isn't in this. Yes, I'm happy everyone enjoyed their presents, and the ones I received were pretty good too. But something's distracting me behind Lance, something quick and orange. The fireplace is stacked and burning, fixing me with its dance. I'm back at St. Anne's again, lying deeply into Dominic's strong arms, watching the flames waltz to their silent music with him. His hand used to trace my face when we'd sit and watch the fire, but only when no one else was in the room. I remember how he used to stare down at me, as if I were a priceless painting in a museum. But there was so much love in those brown eyes. There was always such happiness.

"Aren't you going to ask what I got you?" Lance asks, slowly snapping me from my memories. God, I wanted to stay…

"What?" I bite back, annoyed at him for once again coming between Dominic and myself. I hadn't noticed that I didn't open his gift yet. But a quick scan of the room shows that there are no more wrapped boxes. "… What did you get me?" I ask, genuinely curious now.

"It's a surprise. Get up and put on a coat, I'll take you there now," he says, excitement and mystery lurking under that dark skin. Though I wish I could just stay home instead, something is making me stand. It's his face. His expression reminds me so much of Dominic's, it brings tears to my eyes. I miss him so much…

*****

Twenty minutes later, we're in the park. Lance's Jeep sits in the empty lot, and we're alone here; because who the hell is out on Christmas Eve? Besides two queer boys walking hand-in-hand, no one. Is this his present? A walk in the park? I think to myself, numb with more than just the cold. I honestly don't care what he gives me right now. Unless it's an engagement ring or something; that would certainly get my attention.

"Isn't this beautiful, Pietro?" Lance asks me, his head twisting around to take in the scenery, a content smile on his face. Indeed, when I finally look, it is beautiful. There are bright white lights strung through the old oak trees, making the snowy ground flicker like diamonds encased in mounds of white gold. Red ribbons are tied on cement poles, each adorned with little glossy bells. Some of the trees are still bushy and full, their forest-green arms bent under packages of crystallized white powder. Somehow, the brightness sends me into a small drift of awe. My mouth runs dry and I can't speak.

But Lance is still leading me down the shoveled path. His pace is brisk, even though his head is spinning like an owl's in order to take in every detail of the night. "The only thing that could possibly make this night more beautiful is the stars," he comments suddenly, tilting his head back. He studies the sky with a frown, then remarks, "Too cloudy. No stars tonight. Maybe it'll snow."

"Wonderful, we'll be buried alive," I reply sarcastically, listening to myself half-heartedly. I don't care anymore. If I'm ruining his holiday, or his plans, or his spirit… I just don't care. I know it sounds selfish, but I can't help it. This is the way I've "celebrated" ever since that winter years ago, and I'll do it until I find him again. I swore I'd find him again.

Swallowing down the painful lump in my throat, I drop Lance's hand and wince as it thumps at his side. His pace stops and he turns to look at me with what I can only imagine is concern. I don't know because I'm not looking at him anymore. I'm glaring at a random pile of snow now, as if it were the cause of these troubles. Its glitter seems to laugh at me, as if all the stars from the sky had dropped to earth just to mock my loneliness. So bitter, so alone, they laugh at me with flickering eyes, poor sweet little Pietro.

"I want to go home," I demand suddenly, crossing my arms at my chest, my breath coming in clouds in front of my face. "It's cold and I don't feel like walking anymore."

"But I need to give you my present…" Lance replies, hurt evident in his voice. I can tell he was looking forward to this, but I don't care. God, why couldn't I have been adopted in springtime, when it is warm and less festive? "Please just wait a few more minutes, Pietro. I can give it to you here."

"Fine, whatever. I don't see why you couldn't have given it to me at the house," I sigh, shaking my head and moving my hands down to my hips.

Lance shrugged his broad shoulders, a wry grin flittering to his face. "Call me a sentimental romantic, I guess." Suddenly, he's inches away from me, his gloved hands capturing mine softly. He's trying to catch my eyes as well, I know, and finally I look up and give them to him. He smiles in gratitude, then moves down to kiss the tip of my nose, which I can only assume is red in the cold, right along with my cheeks.

For a few minutes, Lance looks like he doesn't know what to say. I can see his brown eyes searching for words, as if he was skimming the page of a book. But then suddenly, something lands on his shoulder and melts. I stare at it curiously, realizing he didn't see it. And I watch as another settles, and one on the other shoulder, and then five on his head. Now he finally catches on, because I can feel icy tingles on my skin as well. "It's snowing," he mouths, no words escaping vocally. He glances to the sky and produces the biggest, most ecstatic grin I've ever seen in my life.

"Do you remember this, Pietro?" Lance asks suddenly, his brown eyes meeting back with my blues. His are dancing with joy, and mine are… well, confused.

"Remember what?"

"The snow flurries. You must remember them," he continues. I still have no idea what he's going on about. What is he saying? "You used to love to play in them, and I used to love to watch you. You always reminded me of some kind of snow fairy…"

My breath catches for a moment, but I force myself to inhale. "Lance, you're sick from the cold. Give me your keys so we can go." His eyes twinkle a bit, and he's obviously amused. I'm beginning to get a little annoyed now. He's babbling on stupidly and thinks it's funny when I suggest we get him back someplace warm. Great.

"Oh, Pietro… I missed this," he whispered, tracing his palm down the side of my face. A shiver ripples through me, brought on by the gentle touch and the flakes of snow on his glove. It's a familiar gesture, and combined with the memories of the falling snow it threatens to make me remember…

"… Wait…"

Oh god.

"… Lance, what exactly are you getting at here?" Ohgodohgodohgod…

He takes a deep breath, his chest rising underneath the new coat, a nervous smile making his lips wiggle a bit. "I'm trying to say…" he says slowly, glancing almost shyly away. "That I remember this from back at the orphanage. I remember watching you play in the snow, and I remember holding you by the fire and… Pietro, are you okay?"

No, I'm not okay. I jerk away from him as if he were a viper who'd just struck. No, I'm not okay, nothing is okay. My hands are wringing, quickly, tightly, causing blood to flow back into them painfully. No, no, this is all wrong. What the hell is this? A joke? "You're not the boy at the orphanage!" I yell quickly, my words bouncing off the snow loudly. "You're not!"

"And you're not the boy I knew," he replies. I quickly pin my venomous glare on his face. Why is he fucking with me? "Pietro from St. Anne's was a sweet, generous little boy who was happiest around someone who loved him. But you aren't him now. You're bitter, pining, and lonely. And you're too busy wrapped up in yourself to recognize that the one who loved you most was with you the entire time. What happened to you, Pietro? Why have you changed so much?"

"I just hate the holidays, okay?" I grumble, but really I'm not interested in that. What I'm interested in is… "Why didn't you tell me this before?! Why NOW?!" I'm yelling now, and my fists are clenching. I must look like a madman, I realize with distaste.

"I always thought you knew," Lance returns with a small shrug. "I didn't really notice that you didn't until around this time. You completely detached from me and started living in the past. It was so obvious from the way you kept staring off and clinging to Monnie and stuff. You were pining for Dominic Petros. Well, merry Christmas, Pietro. Here he is." As if he were a box I had unwrapped, he opens his arms to me.

The wind is picking up and throwing the snow around us, biting skin, whipping flesh. And still he stands there, arms wide, waiting for my response. I think I realize just then how stupid I had been. The suspicions, the familiar looks he'd give me, his ritual of petting Monnie, his similarities… they were all there in front of my eyes, calling to me, trying to get me to recognize them. But I never did. Why? Was I too busy feeling guilty for supposedly getting together with someone else? How stupid of me; they were the same people the entire time.

Whether it's the realization or the stinging snow, my eyes begin to water. It burns for a moment before I blink it away; I feel the distinct feeling of snowflakes on my lashes. Finally, my eyes, coated with tears and melting ice crystals, set firmly on Lance's. They're so strong, so sure, so confident… and so full of love. God, those are the same eyes. I see it now. After all these years, I see them now.

With a weak sob, I descend into his arms and just bask in the feeling of being crushed against his strong body. His arms clamp around my sides and back and practically smother me into his torso. But it's completely welcome. Because once again, I'm ten years old, clinging to Dominic's embrace, come snow or tickling fires. And I'm crying. God, am I crying.

"I found you," I hear myself whisper over and over again, even as he ducks down to cover my face in kisses. "I finally found you again, like I promised, oh Lance." His skin is melting the ice from mine, nourishing it, tending to it. I've never felt so warm, even as the wind continued to throw a tornado of flakes around our bodies.

"You have, Pietro, just like you promised," he replies, lips forming words against mine. "No one's taking you from me ever again, I swear."

It is the end of December, in a park blurred by swirling white. I met the love of my life when I was ten years old; and found him again, completing my promise.

And now he has one to keep to me.

*****

Reviews definitely required.