A.N.- Thank you for the reviews. And a Merry Christmas to all.
It is currently 32 degrees Fahrenheit in New York, and snow flakes are gently falling down one by one, catching on any object that they touch and sticking to them like glue. The snow is piled high on the grassy areas where it has been plowed, but with this current light snow, there is no need to remove it right away, especially on Christmas Eve. The snow is only half an inch deep at most, just enough of a dusting to make everything seem a bit more magical. It is not a harsh, bone chilling temperature but, surprisingly enough, a rather nice one. It is cold enough to make a person more alert, and yet the lack of wind chill eliminates any possibility of obsessive teeth chattering. The wrist watch reads 7:28 P.M and underneath in even tinier black letters reads the date- 12/25/2018. It is as completely and utterly silent in the neighborhood as it can be in New York, which sets him on edge a little, but at the same time it reminds him how peaceful this time of year truly is, even in a city that never stops moving.
He stands outside the white home in his black peacoat, scarf, and fedora, taking in all the decorations. From the holiday lights on the windows and around the door, to the red and green garland that weaves through the fencing in front of him, creates the ever so festive mood; it all fits in so perfectly with the rest of the city. From his position directly in front of the home, he can see into the living room and dining room. In the living room, there is a huge green tree, covered in all the ornaments, tinsel, trimmings, and sparkle as per usual, with that same yellow star topping it off.
Past the living room into the dining, there is a family gathered around a table filled with candles and food: an older man with eyes filled with wisdom beyond his years; a woman who, just by her physique, is brimming with love; and a young boy, roughly six years of age, eyes wide with innocence and hope and curiosity and, dare he think, mischief. A golden retriever sits at the foot of the table, fur coat thinned out with age but still as soft and luxurious as ever. A smile dances across his face as he remembers the times with the young boys parents. He then makes a mental remark about how much the young boy looks like his parents; he has his father's face and his mother's eyes.
He opens the fence and begins to climb the stairs, tucking the presents for each member of that family under his arm. He pulls off one of his gloves and lifts his fist to knock on the door, but drops it at the very last second. His mind and heart are both racing, and he makes the split-second decision that this is not what he wants to do. So he puts his other glove back on and sets the gifts down on the front stoop, beginning with the large square gift with a bow on top, then stacking the smaller rectangle box on top of that, and finally finishing with the three envelopes.
He gently lifts off his hat, one of his only trademarks left, and twirls it in his hand a couple of times. He brushed off the top of it, then sits it on the stack of presents. After knocking on the door, he quickly turns on his heel and high tails it down a few homes to an alley in between two buildings. He leans against the home and releases a shaky sigh. A pang of regret sets into the pit of his stomach. He had run. Again.
The older gentleman from the dining room opens the door and looks around, trying to figure out where the noise came from. His gaze eventually leads to the ground in front of him, where a stack of presents lay and, more specifically, a black fedora lay on top.
"Who was it?" A feminine voice asks as she enters the foyer, but he does not answer her as is already sitting down on the second to bottom step and is preoccupied with pulling on his shoes. "Hon, where did those come from?" She points at the wrapped boxes.
Her husband just holds up the hat with tight fingers curled around that had been sitting next to him on the steps. The gesture elicits a gasp from her. She grabs his coat and holds it open for him as he slides it on. "I'll be back." He says, more certainty in his voice then there had been all day.
He runs out of the house, barely closing the door behind him as he jumps down the stairs two at a time. Looking left and right, he realizes that there is no one else outside. He mutters a curse under his breath, glancing down to see the footprints in the snow, ever so faintly outlined by the houses decorative lights. The taller man follows them for about four houses, when they abruptly stop and take a harsh right. He crosses his fingers and holds his breath, taking that final step around the corner.
A single ray of light from the Rudolph statue made of lights nearby shines weakly down the alley way, barely giving shape to a masculine figure. "Neal?" The older gentleman whispers hopefully into the dark alley.
A pair of icy blue eyes twinkle up in the dim light. The shorter man takes a step forward. "Merry Christmas, Peter." Neal whispers back.
Peter's smile could be seen a mile away. "It's good to see ya, buddy." He lets out a laugh that sounds more like a choked sob. He takes one solid stride and embraces his old partner. "Welcome home." He says, not bothering to hold back the few hot tears that race down his cheeks. Neal stiffens at first, but eventually relaxes and hugs him back, a few tears falling down his own face.
And the snow continues to fall lightly around them, oblivious to what is happening.