Dickensian Moments
by Alicia McKenzie
DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to DC/Wildstorm, and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only. This story takes place between THE AUTHORITY #8 and #9. Written for the CFAN Holiday Project.
Stray flakes of snow danced in the air, silver in the glow of the Christmas lights. The man sitting beside the crowded downtown skating rink was watching the snow, rather than the skaters or the last-minute shoppers rushing past on the street. Keen brown eyes followed the snow in its downward path, idly analysing patterns and potential.
It was a way to keep himself distracted, the Midnighter recognized wryly. It had been months since he and Apollo had let Jenny Sparks talk them into coming out of their so-called 'retirement' and joining up with the Authority, and months of what had passed for an ordinary life before that, but those years on the street, between the deaths of the rest of their first team and their 'rediscovery' by Stormwatch, were still very much a part of him. He wasn't at ease in crowds. It felt distinctly odd to be sitting here in civilian clothing, blending right in. . .
"Coffee?"
The Midnighter smiled faintly, taking the cup the gloved hand extended over his shoulder. "I was beginning to think I'd been stood up."
"Perish the thought," Apollo said easily, sitting down on the bench beside him. His partner certainly didn't blend into the crowd, the Midnighter reflected amusedly. Between the silver hair, the ice-blue eyes and the physique like a statue of a Greek god come to life, he was drawing admiring attention from most of the women walking by, and a good portion of the men. The Midnighter grinned, and Apollo gave him a quizzical look. "What?"
"You're getting ogled."
"I am not."
"Yes, you are." The Midnighter sipped at his coffee and leaned back, still grinning. "I should make you wear a sign saying 'off the market'."
"I'd like to see you try." Apollo shook his head, smiling. "Seriously, what are we doing here?" he asked, slouching and staring out at the skaters whizzing past. "Besides watching some kids take out their Yuletide aggression by practicing their cross-checking?"
"Nostalgia," the Midnighter said quietly. "We spent the Christmas before last here, remember? Well, not here," he corrected himself. Not here in the so-picturesque shopping district. . .about a half hour's walk from here, to be precise, in an abandoned warehouse. Just one of countless nights spent in such places. Nothing special about it. Not that either of them had been in the frame of mind to make a fuss about it being Christmas, even if that had been an option.
"I remember," Apollo said quietly. He took a sip of his own coffee, his gaze distant as he surveyed their surroundings. "Looks a little different tonight, eh?"
"Different perspective."
"You can say that again."
Different perspective. The last time they'd been here, they'd been on the run, with no one to trust but each other. Now they were part of a team, living on an abandoned spacecraft the size of a city and sailing higher planes of existence in between doing things like fighting off armies of flying superhuman terrorists and waging war on alternate Earths.
"The more things change. . ." the Midnighter muttered, and then shook his head irritably. Wishful thinking. It wasn't that he didn't like change. He was hanging out with the wrong people, if that had been the case. But the worries he'd had about the scale of all this, of changing the world. . .they kept creeping up on him and refusing to die.
"The next thing you'll be saying 'bah, humbug'," Apollo said suddenly. The Midnighter looked around to meet blue eyes almost glowing with mischief.
"I'll be saying what?"
"'Bah, humbug'. You know, Ebenezer Scrooge? 'A Christmas Carol'?"
"I know who Ebenezer Scrooge is," the Midnighter grumbled, unable to quite resist the infectious grin. "So what does that make you? Wait. . .on second thought, I don't want to go there."
"But I had this whole Christmas Carol allegory all worked out," Apollo protested, his hurt tone contrasting markedly with the huge grin. He took a gulp of his coffee. "You as Scrooge, Angie as Marley, since she could supply her own chains. . ."
"You are just entirely too chipper sometimes, you know that?" But he couldn't shake the mental image, and surprised himself with a burst of laughter. "Oh, God, I can just see it. . .Jenny as the ghost of Christmas Past. . .'I'm a hundred years old and you're pissing me off, so snap out of it, you soddin' wanker, before I kick your arse up between your ears.'" He grinned as Apollo all but doubled over with silent laughter. "Not a bad impression, if I do say so myself. . ."
It took Apollo a few moments to get himself back under control. "Not bad at all," he finally wheezed, straightening. "At least you waited until I wasn't drinking to drop that one on me. . ."
The Midnighter chuckled, and set his coffee cup carefully on the arm of the bench. "I'm not that sadistic. Besides, you look ridiculous with coffee coming out of your nose."
"Very funny," Apollo snorted, glancing upwards at the sky. It was beginning to snow more enthusiastically, and the temperature was definitely dropping. The crowd on the skating rink was thinning out noticeably, too. "So are we going to just sit here until the Christmas carolers come along?" he asked teasingly.
The Midnighter mock-shuddered. "Anything but that." But the urge to keep bantering faded quickly, and he watched the crowds moving by on the street, wondering where they were all headed. Families, couples, people walking alone. "We're still on the outside looking in, you know," he said quietly. "At least when we were living on the street, we were a little closer to the people we're supposed to be helping. Now we're not even on the same plane of existence with them, most of the time."
"But we're still helping them," Apollo pointed out with his usual flawless logic.
"I know. I just feel. . ." The Midnighter took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Sometimes there was just too much going on around him. Too many possibilities, too much potential. . .too much damned sensory input, for lack of a better description. "Overwhelmed," he said, more quietly, opening his eyes and looking over at Apollo.
Blue eyes, thoughtful and serene, met his. "You know you scare me sometimes, with how focused you are. . ." The Midnighter thought of pointing out that he wasn't the one who'd nearly splattered himself all over Gamorra Island's forcefield, but he got such a repressive look as soon as he opened his mouth that he thought better of it. "I sometimes forget just how much more you see than the rest of us."
The Midnighter felt his mouth quirk wryly. "How much I see?" A few seconds ahead at any given time, a few dozen feet around him in a fight. . .that was all the advantage the tactical computer in his head gave him. Trying to apply that to the bigger picture usually only ended up making him dizzy. "Do you have any idea how short-sighted I feel, compared to the rest of you?" The others had abilities on a global scale, power enough to change the world. All he did, all he could do, was fight.
"You see what's important," Apollo said, a smile playing on his lips. Those ice-blue eyes suddenly as warm as the heart of the sun. "You always have. The trees, not just the forest."
"Oh, now we're getting into the word games. . ." the Midnighter scoffed half-heartedly.
"Every 'pantheon' needs one member with their feet firmly planted on the ground," Apollo said, still smiling. He reached out, his hand closing over the Midnighter's and squeezing gently. "You've kept me grounded for years," he said softly.
That smile kept twitching at his mouth, trying to escape. "And you give me something to look forward to," he murmured.
Apollo grinned. "Now who's getting into the word games?" He glanced around at the steadily falling snow, and gave a mock shiver. "I don't know about you, but I'm getting cold. What say we find a discreet place to open a Door and go home?"
"Sounds like a plan." They got up, heading towards a nearby alleyway. "So who did you see yourself as in the Christmas Carol?" the Midnighter asked as they checked the area for passers-by.
"Door," Apollo said, and the kaleidoscopic rectangle appeared. He hesitated, shaking his head. "I'm not sure," he chuckled. "Guess I didn't think it through that much. . ."
"Just please tell me it wasn't Tiny Tim," the Midnighter said, giving him a deadpan look.
Apollo chuckled, taking him by the hand and drawing him through the door. "'God bless us, everyone'," he quipped in a falsetto voice, just before he disappeared into the light.
And the Midnighter laughed, all the way through the space between worlds.
fin