It had been his shrink’s idea. When he said he wasn’t looking forward to spending Christmas alone, Dr. Mariotte had rested a bearded chin on steepled fingers, and suggested in that borderline exasperated tone that Nick should see if there was anything going on in the community, anyone who was looking for helpers or volunteers over the holidays. It would get him out of the apartment, Dr. Mariotte said, when in reality what he meant was it would get Nick out of the good doctor’s meagre hair, at least for a while.

There really hadn’t been much to do in his neighbourhood. The affluent apartment blocks and townhouses lined pristine streets, with no litter, no stray dogs, no transients sleeping rough in the private, immaculately kept parks.

The bookshop, however, was on the other side of town, set in the bohemian old district, who’s chic beatnik stores and cafés were only a facade for the streets beyond. Disused vacant store fronts, projects housing, and boarded up buildings stretched for several blocks. He never liked staying behind too late at the bookstore during the winter months, when those streets were dark and ominous around him, like the threads of a spider web; Nick imagined that just his presence and movements alerted something in the darkness that would all too happily devour him.

For a long time, he hadn’t cared. But now he was picking up the pieces, and his own self-preservation was slowly being resurrected. Cigarettes and vodka had gone the same way as walking recklessly through the worst parts of town.

The flyer had blown in from the frozen street one morning when he opened up – St. Bernadette’s Church, Annual Christmas Soup Kitchen, 1348 McDonell Street, December 18th - 27th Volunteers welcomed – and he’d taken it to be a sign.

He’d squirmed in front of Sister Elizabeth, as though he was eight years old again, blonde hair combed neatly, shoes polished to a gleam, little clip-on tie straightened. He hadn’t worn a tie since then, not even to the funeral, and part of him was certain she could tell, and could judge every sin he’d ever committed by that slight.

"I’m not Catholic," he’d apologized.

Sister Elizabeth just smiled at him, and he’d felt terribly foolish for the preconception. "But you do want to help?" Nick had nodded, and she’d smiled again, gnarled hands spreading in a beatific gesture. "Then that’s all that matters to me. And to them." She’d pointed at the line already forming that cold Sunday morning, ragged, downtrodden and shivering.

She’d set him to work immediately, amid the small band of volunteers that between then ran the makeshift cafeteria in the church. They heated up various pre-cooked soups and watery casseroles, dished out the food and hot drinks in plastic cups, handed out bread on paper plates. Since he was the only one of the group who was neither past sixty or female, Nick became unofficially in charge of crowd control. More than anything, that meant making sure everyone got a fair deal, that the lines were orderly and that there was no queue jumping or fighting.

All in all, the wretched creatures waiting in line were remarkably peaceful. Nick wondered if he’d be as calm if he was in their position, and this was the only hot meal they were looking at this week, the only moment of shelter. Or maybe it wasn’t calm, maybe it was simply resignation.

The boy arrived on the icy Tuesday morning. Annie, one of the other volunteers, had alerted Nick to the apparent presence of a troublemaker waiting in line, and he’d expected another drunk being too loud and intimidating everyone else.

By the time he got there, the boy was engaged in a rather heated and vociferous argument with two older, larger men.

"You asshole, I was here first! I’ve been here since six fucking thirty!"

"Oh yeah, you little cocksucker, then why were you shoving back in line?" One of the men loomed closer, but the boy didn’t back down.

"I had to go take a shit. What’cha want me to do, do it in line and have you beat me up for that?"

Taking advantage of the silence that followed the boy’s nonchalantly pugnacious reply, Nick broke in;

"Cut it out, all of you, or you’re all going to the back of the line."

"And who the hell are you?" The boy regarded him, animosity blazing like a banner. "Churches hiring muscle these days?"

Nick hardly considered himself `muscle`, but compared to the boy he supposed, even an average joe would seem like a bodybuilder. He couldn’t see much by which to judge, just the hands poking out of the frayed sleeves of a jacket, and the sharp, delicate features of the boy’s face, but the kid didn’t look thin as much as he looked slight. As though they could feed him everything in the kitchens and he’d look no more well-fed for it.

He was mildly surprised at his urge to do just that; take the boy aside and make sure he ate his fill. Maybe because he was the only think Nick had encountered in two days that had some life, some fight left in him.

And didn’t that make him the hypocrite…

Instead, he arched a brow at the boy. "Did you cut in line?"

"No…" The boy’s voice sounded a little less sure now, a little less cocky. Long thin fingers shoved back an unruly fall of messy brown hair, and unfathomably large brown eyes didn’t quite meet his gaze. "I was here before them, I just had to go’way for a bit…"

"That’s a goddamned lie, you little brat…!"

"Okay, okay…" Nick held out a hand to keep the distance between the boy and the aggrieved men. He was rather proud of his bravado. Even the boy could probably have kicked him in the balls, and snapped his outstretched arm at the wrist before he got around to fighting back. Irate customers who came to return books were usually his limit. "There’s enough here for everyone, so it doesn’t matter who got here first, all right?"

No-one seemed particularly pleased with that, but at least they were relatively silent, and the argument seemed to have been tempered to some muttering and simmering glares.

Nick had been half-expecting to be called back to deal with them again, but as the rest of the morning’s duties took precedence, he’d all but forgotten about the little fracas.

Almost.


********


He didn’t see the boy again until he was getting ready to go back to the bookstore for the afternoon. Instead of taking advantage of the warmth inside the church, the boy had taken his soup and coffee and was sitting on the cold steps outside. Dark brown eyes glanced up at him as he made his way down the stone steps. Nick paused, offered a slight smile.

"You know, there’s plenty of room inside."

"Yeah," The boy shrugged, turned back to his meal. "I prefer it out here. Churches give me the fucking creeps…"

Nick’s badly stifled chuckle earnt him a glare. "Still, it’d be better than this, right?" He shoved his hands in his pockets, huddling into his coat. The boy watched him for a moment, unperturbed.

"It’s not that bad."

Sighing inwardly, Nick just nodded slightly, taking the last few steps down to the sidewalk. "At least keep it in mind, okay?"

He’d gone a few steps when the boy’s voice stopped him.

"Hey…"

When he turned, the boy was watching him again.

"Thanks. For back there." The boy amended at Nick’s puzzled expression. "For not letting them beat me up…"

Nick shook his head. "They had every right to be pissed if you’d cut in ahead of them. I meant it, you know, there is plenty for everyone. And we’re understaffed so we can’t go as quickly as we’d like, but everyone who needs help will get it, eventually."

"Spare me the bullshit…" The boy glared, fingers clenching hard enough around the plastic cup that it began to dent. "You fucking do-gooders are all the same…"

"Do-gooder?" Nick echoed, brow raised. He could rattle off a dozen reasons why he was anything but, were it any of the boy’s business.

"You talk as if you know." The boy’s venomous glare was aimed directly at him now. "When you don’t know a fucking thing. You wouldn’t know what it’s like if it crawled up your ass and frigging bit you."

"I never said I did." Nick shrugged. "All I do know is how much food we have in there, because I had to help carry it in off the van. And I also know that if we ran out, everyone back there would run to the nearest grocery store if we had to, to keep this thing going till—"

"Yeah." The boy interrupted. "It’s always `till`. You think suddenly when you guys close and go home to your nice merry fucking Christmas that everyone lining up outside won’t need this anymore?"

Nick opened his mouth to answer, before realising that he didn’t have one. The accusation wasn’t personal, a part of him knew that, but it still left him feeling defensive, and almost caught himself blurting out `what am I supposed to do about that?`

He was here for his own therapy, for fucks’ sakes. Who was he to get on a moral high-horse when he was only doing this for the most selfish of reasons?

The boy had looked away, as though he hadn’t really been expecting an answer anyway. Nick sighed, turning to walk away.

"At least go back inside for now…"

If the boy replied at all, he didn’t hear it.


***********


The steps had been empty when he returned early that evening, and Nick couldn’t quite quash the little flutter of disappointment. For someone he’d only met twice, under far from pleasant circumstances, the boy had rapidly become a near constant presence in his thoughts. Nick had spent most of the afternoon, in between sparse last-minute customers, running over his last conversation with the boy, trying to justify himself and still feeling irrational guilt over things he had no hope of changing. His intentions weren’t the issue; all the volunteers, if they could, would have wanted to make a better life for anyone who’d walked through the church doors over the past couple of days.

Nick couldn’t even help change one life. He wondered if the boy had taken his advice and gone back inside for a while. Somehow he doubted it. He took one last look at the steps before walking into the building, and found himself wishing he knew where the boy was, knew that he was safe.

He tried to discard the thought with his coat and scarf, in the small room at the back of the church that served as a staff room. He was pouring himself a cup of lukewarm instant coffee when Sister Elizabeth’s head poked around the doorframe.

"Ah, Nick, just who I was looking for." She smiled. "I’m afraid we’re short two helpers tonight, Susan was called home to deal with some early holiday guests, and we finally managed to convince Mrs. Bridges to go home and rest that cold of hers."

"No problem." He took one sip of his coffee before setting it down. "What do you need me doing?"

"Cleaning up, mostly." Sister Elizabeth nodded, as he followed her back into the main vestry hall. "We haven’t really had a chance to deal with the litter since the afternoon rush."

It wasn’t the most pleasant task in the world, but, Nick reflected, it was better than going home alone to an empty, dark apartment. One he hadn’t even bothered to decorate; all the tinsel and trinkets and lights he’d amassed were still stored away, untouched.

The first hour passed quickly, his duties made easier by the fact it was a quiet time; they’d be besieged by another rush later that evening, but until then it was just a slow trickle of people through the door. He was carrying the last of six garbage bags out to the dumpster behind the church, when a voice shivered at him from the cold darkness of the alleyway.

"Hey…"

Spinning around with a hissed, startled "Shit…!", Nick found himself staring at wary dark eyes, half obscured by an unruly fall of brown hair. As if he knew what Nick was thinking, the boy ran a hand through that hair, shoving it away from his face in a futile gesture since it just fell right back where it was.

"I just…the stuff I said earlier, I didn’t…" The boy shook his head, "I just wanted to say sorry…"

Nick was dumbfounded for a moment, filled with such an unnameable relief that the boy had come back, he barely listened to what he was actually saying.

"It’s okay," he smiled a little after a while. "You don’t have to apologise for that."

"Maybe…" The boy shrugged. "But it wasn’t fair taking it out on you, not like it’s all your fault or something…"

They both fell silent at that. The boy stared at the ground, while Nick ran through all the things he could say. `It doesn’t matter` seemed insulting. `No it’s not` was too defensive. `I want to help you` sounded a little frightening and overbearing, even to his own mind.

"I don’t know about you," he said finally. "But I don’t want to freeze my ass off out here all night." Turning back for the door, he held it open in a silent invitation that could have been accepted or rebuffed as the boy saw fit. Brown eyes watched him impassively for a long moment, and just when Nick thought the boy’s pride was going to make him refuse and turn away, he shrugged, hands shoved into his coat pockets as he brushed past the blonde, walking through the door.

He was silent as Nick herded him gently to the small back room. He sat when Nick suggested he should, and made a noncommittal sound when asked whether he wanted a coffee. Nick took the mumble for an affirmative answer, and set about making one, acutely aware that those eyes were watching his every movement as he did so.

"It’s not great…" He set the mug down on the small table in front of the boy, immediately regretting his words. It wasn’t as though the boy probably cared if it was great or not; it wasn’t as though choice was an option.

"Shouldn’t you be out there?" The boy gestured sullenly towards the hall, the tinny sounds of life echoing from the cavernous room.

"It’s quiet," Nick shook his head. "I can take a break, they’ll tell me when they need me. I’m Nick, by the way…"

"Bri." The boy offered after a long moment. "My name’s Bri."

Nick blinked, a little startled. "Like the cheese?"

"Dumbfuck…" The boy shook his head, staring at his coffee. "B-R-I, no `e`." He looked up, caught Nick’s expression. "What? Just cause I’m on the street doesn’t mean I don’t know what cheese is."

"Of course not…" Nick held up his hands, placatingly. "That’s just an, uh…unusual name."

"Yeah well…" The boy – Bri, then – made a face. "Better than Gabriel."

"Is that your real name?"

"My birthday’s Christmas Eve. Guess my mom had a fucking twisted sense of humour, huh?" Those brown eyes flickered with something almost wistful before being replaced by the usual belligerence. "Or at least she used to say it was Christmas Eve, but if she knew for sure then it was the most attention she ever paid to anything that had to do with me."

There really wasn’t much Nick could say to that, so instead he said the second more pathetic thing that came to mind. "So, your birthday’s next week?"

"Yeah. Eighteen. Whoop-de-fucking-do…"

Eighteen. Ten years younger than him and already a hundred times more worldly wise. Nick smiled ruefully.

Of course, he didn’t necessarily want to know why a boy of seventeen should have to find himself out on the street and scrambling for hand-outs. Where was the aforementioned mother, didn’t she care that her son was out here?

He only noticed he was staring when Bri glared at him. "What?"

Nick shook his head, colouring slightly. "Nothing."

"Yeah right…" Bri muttered. "I don’t want your goddamned sympathy, okay?"

"I wasn’t…" Nick blinked, taken aback. "It wasn’t pity. I was just…" he sighed. "Wondering why."

"What’s `why` got to do with you?"

"Nothing," Nick admitted. After a moment, he decided to voice the only thought filling his head. "It just doesn’t seem right. You’re seventeen, no seventeen year old should be living like this—"

"Right?" Bri barked a harsh little laugh. "That fuck does right have to do with any of it? Or fair, or should?"" Shoving the coffee mug away from him, he stood abruptly from the table. "And it doesn’t have anything to do with fucked up righteous assholes like you."

"I never said it did." Nick stood too, surprised himself by having to school his arm not to reach out for the boy. "Bri…"

"What?" The boy hesitated at the door, head down, voice low and tight. "What the fuck do you want now?"

One wrong word and the boy was going to be gone, again, vanishing into the cold night with an even bigger chip on his shoulder than before. No, that was hardly fair; Nick doubted he’d behave any better than Bri in the boy’s position. Hell he hadn’t behaved any better, and he didn’t even have the reasons the boy did.

"Actually, I was wondering if you’d do me a favour…" he began, half-assed idea forming.

Bri half turned, sent him a look that chilled Nick to the bone. "Only if you can afford it. I don’t give out freebies for cheap coffee."

"No, I didn’t…" Nick shook his head, embarrassment rising as each word and each implication sank in. "I didn’t mean that…" Fighting a blush, he went on. "I….well, we’re just a little short-handed tonight. I can’t offer anything except the fact you wouldn’t have to wait in line, and the first sign of trouble then you’re out of here, but…" He shrugged. "If you wanted to pitch in and help out for a while, then we’d all appreciate it."

"What?" The boy laughed humourlessly again. "You want my help? Forget it. Go thump your bible on your own…"

He had no idea why Bri’s perception of him bothered him so much, but before he could bite it back, Nick found himself retorting; "Before this week, the last time I was in a church was fifteen years ago." Well, not entirely true, but omitting one day Nick would have rather forgotten anyway didn’t seem like that wicked a lie. "I don’t know why you think I’m some religious nut."

That gleaned him a raised brow. "So why are you here?"

`Because my shrink told me to` didn’t sound like a particularly good answer.

"To help out," he said instead. "I had some time to kill, nothing better to do…"

"Cleansing your own conscience?" Bri looked at him, smile a little malicious. "Wow, so you are just a selfish shit like the rest of them."

Nick’s annoyance was tempered by the surprise that Bri had seen him as anything other than `the rest of them`.

"Maybe," he admitted. "But at least it’s not hurting anyone, at least I’m helping out too."

Bri’s hand had stilled on the door handle. "So…?"

"So if you help out and get a few hours warmth and food out of the deal, then that’s no more selfish than me, right?"

"Right…" Bri reeled around, glared at him bitterly. "I don’t fucking need your…" The words trailed off, brown eyes widening at first, then narrowing in another pissed off frown. The omitted word didn’t need voicing, nor did the boy’s resignation.

"It’s just a favour," Nick said, giving that remarkably resilient pride one last escape route. "You don’t have to."

The boy remained silent for a moment, before slowly backing away from the door. Regarding Nick with a coolly disinterested `you owe me` look, Bri shrugged.

"What do you want me to do?"

Next Part...