My Christmas Series for 2014 3/4
Jan. 1st, 2015 07:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katleept9. Girl(/Boy) Meets World's Cory/Topanga and Mister Feeny in
She finds her husband, as she knew she would, holed up in his old room, grading papers and preparing for tests yet to come in the new year. She places a glass of eggnog beside him, wraps her arms around his lithe shoulders from behind, and hugs him. She kisses the side of his neck before asking, "Can't you leave that alone for a little while?"
"These grades are important."
"I know that, Cory, but you did ask me not to bring my work home and I didn't."
He frowns and finally lays down his pen. "You have me there."
She turns him around in his chair and leans into his lap. "You used to like it when I had you like this in here."
"Oh," he laughs, beaming, "I still do!"
She smiles as she kisses him, long and deep. He breathes against her when she lifts her mouth from his. "Oh, Mama!"
"Now see what you're missing out on by being wrapped up in your work?" She grins, her eyes suggesting to him a thousand more delights.
"Yeah, I know." He frowns, and she pouts as he turns back to his papers. "But these really are important, sweetheart."
"I know," she assures him, hugging him once more from behind, "but you'll have plenty more time to work on them when we go back home. Your family wants to see you."
He rubs her arm. "I know. It's just -- "
"They're important, I know."
He sighs and lets the test he'd lifted fall back to his old desk. "I didn't realize what I was getting into when I went to work at this school. There are so many students falling behind, Topanga, and so many that don't care."
She smiles gently. "And you care about them all." Like some one else we knew and loved. Some one who isn't here this Christmas.
"I do," he answers.
"But there's a whole family of people downstairs, Cory, who care very much about you, and two little girls outside who just built their first snowman by themselves and really want you to see it."
He looks up. "They did it all by themselves?"
"Yes. Maya wouldn't let me help."
He grins. "She's stubborn, that one."
"Like somebody else I know."
"Like somebody I know, too."
Topanga hugs him again. "Listen, why don't you leave the papers alone for at least a few hours? It's Christmas Eve, Cory. Go spend it with your family. The papers will still be here waiting after Christmas."
He smiles, finally laying his pen back down. "You're right except for one thing."
"What's that?"
He takes her hand in his and turns around again to face her. "They're our family, Missus Matthews."
She beams. "You're right." He squeezes her hand.
She leans across his lap to kiss him. "Let's spend Christmas with our family, Cory," she says upon lifting up from him, "and if you're a really good boy, Mama may just have another present waiting in bed tonight."
"Wow."
She smiles at his delight, then stands and steps to the side. Lightly, she slaps his knee. "Now go see that snowman our daughter and her friend made."
He does as instructed and compliments the girls on their snowman. It's a rough job, but they did succeed. He's about to say more about their work when his mother calls them inside for Christmas cookies and hot cocoa. Left alone, Cory looks at the snowman. It is good for their first time, although not as good as the one he and Cory built, even if they did steal a scarf from Mister Feeny for his finishing touches.
As he remembers that time, Cory looks beyond his daughter's snowman to the house over the other side of the fence. He thinks about his teacher, the man who shaped his life even more than his own father did. He wanted to be like him. He wanted to touch lives and sculpt children into meaningful adults. He wanted to be there for the kids like no one else was, especially for the children who, like Shawn and Maya, had so few others to care about them.
He walks closer to the fence. He can hear Mister Feeny's voice in his head now. He can also hear his laughter mingling with Shawn's and Eric's. He touches the fence almost reverently. There have been so many good times spent here, and so much sage advise given between these two houses.
He looks at the house where Feeny lived all throughout Cory's childhood. There were times he wanted to hate the old man, but he never quite could, even when he was telling him what he didn't want to hear. There were times he was jealous of him, times when he just wanted him to shut up and get out of his life. Now, however, Cory realizes, he'd give almost anything to have him back in his life.
Almost anything. He wouldn't give Topanga, Riley, or his family up. But anything else, he would give just to get to see Feeny again, just to talk to him one last time. He wishes he could have flown back here for his funeral. He wishes he could have told him how much he meant to him, how desperately he wanted to be like him, how greatly he changed his life for the better.
Can he change the lives of any of the students in his class? Cory wonders. Can he reach them as Feeny reached him, or is it already too late for some of them? He remembers Feeny once telling him it was never too late to change or to right a wrong. But that was when Feeny was alive. That was when he was with him. Has it changed now, now that he's gone?
"Oh, for goodness' sake, Mister Matthews, stop looking like a lost puppy. It's Christmas Eve, for Christ's sake.
He blinks. "M-Mister Feeny?"
Feeny gazes into his eyes with all the wisdom he ever possessed while Cory had been growing up. "You're doing just fine, Mister Matthews, just fine. Look at yourself. You've got a beautiful wife who loves you, although God knows why, and a little girl who has the best attributes of both of her parents."
"You really think so?" he finds himself asking to which Feeny's smile grows bigger.
"I know so," he answers, "and I know you're making a difference."
"Maybe I am. For them . . . "
"Certainly, you have for them, but they're not the only ones." Feeny smiles at him. "You're going to do just fine, Mister Matthews."
"Cory?" Topanga is calling him, but Cory doesn't want to turn to look at her. He doesn't want to answer her. He wants to stay here, here by this fence where it's safe, here with his old teacher always so quick to help him fix his life whenever he made a mistake.
"Mister Feeny -- "
"Go to her, Mister Matthews. You deserve to be happy. You're a good kid."
"But what if that's all I am?"
"You're a good husband and a good father, too."
"But -- "
Feeny smiles at him as warmly as he ever did in life. "You're going to be a good teacher, too. Granted, not as good as I was, but still good."
"Cory -- "
"Go to her."
"But -- "
Feeny is smiling at Cory as he begins to fade away. "Go to her, Mister Matthews. You two were always destined for each other. Your time is now. My time is over, but we'll meet one day. Then we can talk about the kids who lives I touched like I touched yours, and all the kids whose lives you are going to touch."
"Cory -- "
"Go."
"But -- "
"Go."
"But -- "
"You always were stubborn. Go have a merry Christmas."
His former teacher's last words echo on the Christmas Eve breeze as he vanishes from Cory's sight. "Cory," Topanga asks from just behind him, "who were you talking to?"
Cory blinks, returning to the present though he still does not entirely want to.
"Cory?" Topanga frowns. "You're worrying me."
"There's no need to worry, honey. I'm fine," he assures her, his own words, and Feeny's, sinking in.
"Who were you talking to?"
He smiles wistfully as he looks at the cold, empty house that once held such warmth, light, and life. "An old friend," he answers finally. "A dear, old friend." He takes her hand in his, noticing how the rays of the setting sun glimmer on their wedding bands, squeezes her hand, and pulls her to him. "But I believe we have a family with whom to celebrate now, Missus Matthews."
She eyes him. She knows there was no one here for him to be talking to when she had come outside to get him, but clearly, he'd been in deep, meaningful discussion with somebody. "Cory, are you sure you're all right?" she asks worriedly.
"I'm going to be just fine, honey." He hugs her.
Her eyes search his. She knows there are still some things about him to which she's never going to be privy, no matter how long or greatly she loves him. It's just one of those things about her husband she's got to accept, and she does so, finally, with an accepting smile. "Okay, but if there's anything you want to talk about -- "
"How about that secret present you promised me?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows.
"Cory Matthews!" She laughs.
"Come on, Topanga. Let's get back to our family." He leads the way into the house, still holding to her hand, but as he closes the door behind them, he looks back over across their yard to the vacant house next door. He looks back into a smiling face and kind, wise eyes that he can no longer see and to the times gone before which have all accumulated to help make him the man, husband, and father he has become and the teacher he so desperately wants to be, and he smiles. Things are going to be just fine. He's going to be fine. His family's going to be fine. "Merry Christmas," he whispers, knowing it will be, and closes the door.
The End , rated PG/K+
10. Original Fantasy:
He is as ancient as the Winter wind, and his laughter resounds through the ageless, night sky and all its stars whenever he chuckles. Time has already come to the part, however, where it is so rare for him to laugh from deep down inside of his belly. He has little about which to laugh for he sees all of mankind as they grow and knows all their sins. He especially watches over the children, all of them, both naughty and nice, both human and animal and other as well, and it pains his bottomless heart to see how terribly the children of this age are treated.
Still, he watches over them, helping where he can, lending a hand and a guiding star. He cares for them much more greatly than many of their parents, and he cries for every one who is lost rather it is to the naughty list or from this world entirely. He sees too much pain, too much sorrow, too much suffering, but still, he hopes.
He hopes for the little girl who is dying from cancer and for the family of eight whose parents lack the money to properly feed and clothe them. He hopes for the children who have no friends and for those who will only talk to imaginary specters. He hopes for the rich kids who think money can buy love and for the poor who have never known a kind word in their lives. He hopes for the princesses, governor's daughters, and young princes, and he hopes, too and perhaps even more so, for the urchins who roam the streets in search of a bite to eat.
He sees them all, poor and rich, pretty and ugly, kind and mean, and every one in between, and he hopes for them all as a real father should. He hopes they learn what they need to know, become the people they should be, and helps others as he helps them. He hopes they grow to be old in age but young in heart, as he still strives to be himself. He hopes the world isn't so cruel and cold to them and they find the families and friends they need.
He hopes for them all. He loves them all. But as with every father with many kids, he secretly has his favorites. It is on one particularly chilly, December night when he is watching two of his favorites that he sees a spark of hope appear, like the candle flickering in the boy's window. Young Peter has known much sorrow already in his young life and very little kindness. The only love he has received has been from his mother and the old Wizard who watches him secretly and sticks presents his mother can not afford, even with both of her jobs, underneath their little tree every year.
The candle flickers again, and Saint Nick leans out of his sleigh, watching more closely as another child dares to near the Piers' little cottage. This child, too, has never really known love. He cracked out of his egg to find no parents anywhere around for mankind had already reached his family but had missed his little egg where it hid in the very back of his family's cave. He has been searching for many things ever since, and although he has managed to live on the berries and flowers he has eaten, his very soul still searches for more and craves for what it has yet to find.
The baby doesn't understand what he is looking for. He knows he is hungry for his belly rumbles. Snow has covered much of the vegetables and other plants he eats, and although the other animals always scream and run away from him, he doesn't know why. He doesn't know his kind is supposed to eat theirs. He's never eaten a living thing in all his life, but he has been hunted. He has been shot at, and he knows who it is that always attacks him. The other animals flee from him, but they all must run from man before man puts his deadly weapon into their hearts and gobbles them up as others fear he will do to them.
The baby is casting his gaze around in all directions when he spies something small and red flickering in the window of a small building. Slowly, on chubby, little legs, he nears the building. It looks small and welcoming enough. He thinks the inside of the building must be really nice and warm, but he's never been inside a building before. Man is always too close.
He looks this way and that as he approaches, making sure no one is looking. He sees nobody coming at him, no man slinging his angry words and furious weapons, no animals screaming and running from him in horror. Snow crunches underneath his big feet. They are the biggest things on him, and he's never had anybody to hold him close and tell him he'll grow into his feet. He simply stumbles along as best he can, nearing that flickering light and the warmth and life its colorful light promises.
Inside the cottage, alone in his bedroom, a young boy cups his hands around the tiny flame and tries again to warm himself. His teeth are chattering, but he won't admit he's cold. He knows they can not afford real heat and only wishes for his mother to hurry up and get home. He knows she works to support them, but he doesn't like being alone at night, especially not tonight.
Above them all, above the whole world, Saint Nicholas shakes his bearded head. No child should be alone on Christmas Eve, but both of these little souls are. He leans closer and listens with rapt attention as the baby dragon peers into the little boy's window.
The boy shouts in surprise. The dragon ducks and starts to run, but the boy throws open his window and calls to him. "Please don't go!"
The baby turns and peers up at the young human. "You . . . You want me to stay?" he asks doubtfully.
Saint Nicholas smiles. They can understand each other on this magical night, and not just tonight, he decides. With a wave of his hand, he brings down the barriers between the two. They will always be able to understand each other, one of the best gifts he could ever have given them.
"Yes, please!" Peter cries.
"You . . . You won't hurt me?"
"No! No! Of course not!"
"Humans usually hurt me."
"Humans can be mean, especially adults."
"But you won't hurt me?"
"No! Come inside! Please! It isn't very warm in here, but I'm sure it must be warmer inside here than out there!"
The little, green dragon watches the boy for a moment. He stumbles nearer to his window and begins to flap his wings. He flies up to the child's window and tries to land on its sill. His wings stop flapping as his feet touch down, but the snow is slippery. He cries as he starts to fall, but Peter is quick and reaches out and grabs him. He pulls him inside and up against his chest.
His small eyes grow wide with amazement. "You are a dragon!" he breathes.
"Yes," the little dragon answers uncertainly, eyeing the boy, "and you are a human."
"I won't hurt you," Peter promises again. "And you won't hurt me either, will you?"
Saint Nicholas smiles as the baby dragon quickly agrees. He means no one any harm. He ever has. He's only ever wanted what he has right here in Peter and this new place, a friend and a home to stay in forever.
Peter gazes at the little dragon and then out into the night. He's not very old, but he knows how some things are supposed to work. All babies are supposed to have parents. "Where are your parents?" he asks.
"My what?" The dragon's wings tremble slightly in Peter's arms.
"You're cold! Here. Share my blanket." The boy brings the tattered blanket he's been wearing as a coat around them both and sits back down onto the only bed in the little cottage.
The dragon's head rubs against his thin chest. "Nice," he coos. "Warm." His little eyes blink up at the lad. "Thank you."
Peter cocks his head to one side as he studies the creature in whose species so few of his kind still believe. "You're welcome," he says and scratches the bridge between his dark eyes very gently. The dragon coos in contentment. His eyes slide shut, and his scaly tail wriggles against Peter's body. "You don't have any parents, do you?" the boy asks after a long moment of just holding this wonderful animal.
"What are . . . parents?" the dragon asks, clearly confused.
Peter smiles, but there is a sadness in his eyes. He knows what parents are, what they're supposed to be. Every child in his school has both of their parents, and although some of the families still have their problems, they can't imagine what it's like to only have one parent. Peter has never known his father, and his mother never talks about him. But that hasn't really mattered most of the time for he has his mother and he knows she loves him.
"They're people who love you," he says slowly, "and are supposed to watch over you and protect you. They're your family." He holds the little dragon more tightly, but still gently, against his chest. "I'll be your family if you like."
"Please?" the little dragon asks in a soft, soft voice, bringing tears to both Peter's and Saint Nicholas' eyes. "Please, and does that mean I can stay here forever?"
"Yes! Yes, of course, you may!"
The little dragon coos, his voice becoming akin to that of a cat's purr. Peter holds him gently, and his eyes drift shut as he listens to that satisfied cooing. Both children are still hungry, but their hunger no longer bothers them for they have something even greater filling them tonight. They have love.
Saint Nicholas smiles through his joyful tears as he watches the two children drift off to sleep. Then, as quick and quiet as any mouse after a slice of cheese, he dives into Peter's little cottage. He leaves presents for the boy and the dragon, stocks their refrigerator, and even sneaks a new coat with money stashed into his pockets for further care for the children into Miss closet. Then, as quick as you can wink your eye, dear reader, he is gone, but not without calling out to all, human and dragon, two-legged and four, naughty and nice, real and real of heart, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
When Miss Piers arrives much later in the night, she looks in on her sleeping son and wonders what he got the plush dragon from. He looks so real, but through the eyes of a tired adult, she never sees the little dragon move or hears him talk. She never realizes he is truly real, but Peter knows and Huey, as he comes to call the dragon, knows and knows, too, that Peter loves him. Boy and dragon are inseparable, and even through the pitfalls of growing old while never growing too old to believe, they live, laugh, and love together happily ever after.
The End , rated PG/K+
She finds her husband, as she knew she would, holed up in his old room, grading papers and preparing for tests yet to come in the new year. She places a glass of eggnog beside him, wraps her arms around his lithe shoulders from behind, and hugs him. She kisses the side of his neck before asking, "Can't you leave that alone for a little while?"
"These grades are important."
"I know that, Cory, but you did ask me not to bring my work home and I didn't."
He frowns and finally lays down his pen. "You have me there."
She turns him around in his chair and leans into his lap. "You used to like it when I had you like this in here."
"Oh," he laughs, beaming, "I still do!"
She smiles as she kisses him, long and deep. He breathes against her when she lifts her mouth from his. "Oh, Mama!"
"Now see what you're missing out on by being wrapped up in your work?" She grins, her eyes suggesting to him a thousand more delights.
"Yeah, I know." He frowns, and she pouts as he turns back to his papers. "But these really are important, sweetheart."
"I know," she assures him, hugging him once more from behind, "but you'll have plenty more time to work on them when we go back home. Your family wants to see you."
He rubs her arm. "I know. It's just -- "
"They're important, I know."
He sighs and lets the test he'd lifted fall back to his old desk. "I didn't realize what I was getting into when I went to work at this school. There are so many students falling behind, Topanga, and so many that don't care."
She smiles gently. "And you care about them all." Like some one else we knew and loved. Some one who isn't here this Christmas.
"I do," he answers.
"But there's a whole family of people downstairs, Cory, who care very much about you, and two little girls outside who just built their first snowman by themselves and really want you to see it."
He looks up. "They did it all by themselves?"
"Yes. Maya wouldn't let me help."
He grins. "She's stubborn, that one."
"Like somebody else I know."
"Like somebody I know, too."
Topanga hugs him again. "Listen, why don't you leave the papers alone for at least a few hours? It's Christmas Eve, Cory. Go spend it with your family. The papers will still be here waiting after Christmas."
He smiles, finally laying his pen back down. "You're right except for one thing."
"What's that?"
He takes her hand in his and turns around again to face her. "They're our family, Missus Matthews."
She beams. "You're right." He squeezes her hand.
She leans across his lap to kiss him. "Let's spend Christmas with our family, Cory," she says upon lifting up from him, "and if you're a really good boy, Mama may just have another present waiting in bed tonight."
"Wow."
She smiles at his delight, then stands and steps to the side. Lightly, she slaps his knee. "Now go see that snowman our daughter and her friend made."
He does as instructed and compliments the girls on their snowman. It's a rough job, but they did succeed. He's about to say more about their work when his mother calls them inside for Christmas cookies and hot cocoa. Left alone, Cory looks at the snowman. It is good for their first time, although not as good as the one he and Cory built, even if they did steal a scarf from Mister Feeny for his finishing touches.
As he remembers that time, Cory looks beyond his daughter's snowman to the house over the other side of the fence. He thinks about his teacher, the man who shaped his life even more than his own father did. He wanted to be like him. He wanted to touch lives and sculpt children into meaningful adults. He wanted to be there for the kids like no one else was, especially for the children who, like Shawn and Maya, had so few others to care about them.
He walks closer to the fence. He can hear Mister Feeny's voice in his head now. He can also hear his laughter mingling with Shawn's and Eric's. He touches the fence almost reverently. There have been so many good times spent here, and so much sage advise given between these two houses.
He looks at the house where Feeny lived all throughout Cory's childhood. There were times he wanted to hate the old man, but he never quite could, even when he was telling him what he didn't want to hear. There were times he was jealous of him, times when he just wanted him to shut up and get out of his life. Now, however, Cory realizes, he'd give almost anything to have him back in his life.
Almost anything. He wouldn't give Topanga, Riley, or his family up. But anything else, he would give just to get to see Feeny again, just to talk to him one last time. He wishes he could have flown back here for his funeral. He wishes he could have told him how much he meant to him, how desperately he wanted to be like him, how greatly he changed his life for the better.
Can he change the lives of any of the students in his class? Cory wonders. Can he reach them as Feeny reached him, or is it already too late for some of them? He remembers Feeny once telling him it was never too late to change or to right a wrong. But that was when Feeny was alive. That was when he was with him. Has it changed now, now that he's gone?
"Oh, for goodness' sake, Mister Matthews, stop looking like a lost puppy. It's Christmas Eve, for Christ's sake.
He blinks. "M-Mister Feeny?"
Feeny gazes into his eyes with all the wisdom he ever possessed while Cory had been growing up. "You're doing just fine, Mister Matthews, just fine. Look at yourself. You've got a beautiful wife who loves you, although God knows why, and a little girl who has the best attributes of both of her parents."
"You really think so?" he finds himself asking to which Feeny's smile grows bigger.
"I know so," he answers, "and I know you're making a difference."
"Maybe I am. For them . . . "
"Certainly, you have for them, but they're not the only ones." Feeny smiles at him. "You're going to do just fine, Mister Matthews."
"Cory?" Topanga is calling him, but Cory doesn't want to turn to look at her. He doesn't want to answer her. He wants to stay here, here by this fence where it's safe, here with his old teacher always so quick to help him fix his life whenever he made a mistake.
"Mister Feeny -- "
"Go to her, Mister Matthews. You deserve to be happy. You're a good kid."
"But what if that's all I am?"
"You're a good husband and a good father, too."
"But -- "
Feeny smiles at him as warmly as he ever did in life. "You're going to be a good teacher, too. Granted, not as good as I was, but still good."
"Cory -- "
"Go to her."
"But -- "
Feeny is smiling at Cory as he begins to fade away. "Go to her, Mister Matthews. You two were always destined for each other. Your time is now. My time is over, but we'll meet one day. Then we can talk about the kids who lives I touched like I touched yours, and all the kids whose lives you are going to touch."
"Cory -- "
"Go."
"But -- "
"Go."
"But -- "
"You always were stubborn. Go have a merry Christmas."
His former teacher's last words echo on the Christmas Eve breeze as he vanishes from Cory's sight. "Cory," Topanga asks from just behind him, "who were you talking to?"
Cory blinks, returning to the present though he still does not entirely want to.
"Cory?" Topanga frowns. "You're worrying me."
"There's no need to worry, honey. I'm fine," he assures her, his own words, and Feeny's, sinking in.
"Who were you talking to?"
He smiles wistfully as he looks at the cold, empty house that once held such warmth, light, and life. "An old friend," he answers finally. "A dear, old friend." He takes her hand in his, noticing how the rays of the setting sun glimmer on their wedding bands, squeezes her hand, and pulls her to him. "But I believe we have a family with whom to celebrate now, Missus Matthews."
She eyes him. She knows there was no one here for him to be talking to when she had come outside to get him, but clearly, he'd been in deep, meaningful discussion with somebody. "Cory, are you sure you're all right?" she asks worriedly.
"I'm going to be just fine, honey." He hugs her.
Her eyes search his. She knows there are still some things about him to which she's never going to be privy, no matter how long or greatly she loves him. It's just one of those things about her husband she's got to accept, and she does so, finally, with an accepting smile. "Okay, but if there's anything you want to talk about -- "
"How about that secret present you promised me?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows.
"Cory Matthews!" She laughs.
"Come on, Topanga. Let's get back to our family." He leads the way into the house, still holding to her hand, but as he closes the door behind them, he looks back over across their yard to the vacant house next door. He looks back into a smiling face and kind, wise eyes that he can no longer see and to the times gone before which have all accumulated to help make him the man, husband, and father he has become and the teacher he so desperately wants to be, and he smiles. Things are going to be just fine. He's going to be fine. His family's going to be fine. "Merry Christmas," he whispers, knowing it will be, and closes the door.
The End , rated PG/K+
10. Original Fantasy:
He is as ancient as the Winter wind, and his laughter resounds through the ageless, night sky and all its stars whenever he chuckles. Time has already come to the part, however, where it is so rare for him to laugh from deep down inside of his belly. He has little about which to laugh for he sees all of mankind as they grow and knows all their sins. He especially watches over the children, all of them, both naughty and nice, both human and animal and other as well, and it pains his bottomless heart to see how terribly the children of this age are treated.
Still, he watches over them, helping where he can, lending a hand and a guiding star. He cares for them much more greatly than many of their parents, and he cries for every one who is lost rather it is to the naughty list or from this world entirely. He sees too much pain, too much sorrow, too much suffering, but still, he hopes.
He hopes for the little girl who is dying from cancer and for the family of eight whose parents lack the money to properly feed and clothe them. He hopes for the children who have no friends and for those who will only talk to imaginary specters. He hopes for the rich kids who think money can buy love and for the poor who have never known a kind word in their lives. He hopes for the princesses, governor's daughters, and young princes, and he hopes, too and perhaps even more so, for the urchins who roam the streets in search of a bite to eat.
He sees them all, poor and rich, pretty and ugly, kind and mean, and every one in between, and he hopes for them all as a real father should. He hopes they learn what they need to know, become the people they should be, and helps others as he helps them. He hopes they grow to be old in age but young in heart, as he still strives to be himself. He hopes the world isn't so cruel and cold to them and they find the families and friends they need.
He hopes for them all. He loves them all. But as with every father with many kids, he secretly has his favorites. It is on one particularly chilly, December night when he is watching two of his favorites that he sees a spark of hope appear, like the candle flickering in the boy's window. Young Peter has known much sorrow already in his young life and very little kindness. The only love he has received has been from his mother and the old Wizard who watches him secretly and sticks presents his mother can not afford, even with both of her jobs, underneath their little tree every year.
The candle flickers again, and Saint Nick leans out of his sleigh, watching more closely as another child dares to near the Piers' little cottage. This child, too, has never really known love. He cracked out of his egg to find no parents anywhere around for mankind had already reached his family but had missed his little egg where it hid in the very back of his family's cave. He has been searching for many things ever since, and although he has managed to live on the berries and flowers he has eaten, his very soul still searches for more and craves for what it has yet to find.
The baby doesn't understand what he is looking for. He knows he is hungry for his belly rumbles. Snow has covered much of the vegetables and other plants he eats, and although the other animals always scream and run away from him, he doesn't know why. He doesn't know his kind is supposed to eat theirs. He's never eaten a living thing in all his life, but he has been hunted. He has been shot at, and he knows who it is that always attacks him. The other animals flee from him, but they all must run from man before man puts his deadly weapon into their hearts and gobbles them up as others fear he will do to them.
The baby is casting his gaze around in all directions when he spies something small and red flickering in the window of a small building. Slowly, on chubby, little legs, he nears the building. It looks small and welcoming enough. He thinks the inside of the building must be really nice and warm, but he's never been inside a building before. Man is always too close.
He looks this way and that as he approaches, making sure no one is looking. He sees nobody coming at him, no man slinging his angry words and furious weapons, no animals screaming and running from him in horror. Snow crunches underneath his big feet. They are the biggest things on him, and he's never had anybody to hold him close and tell him he'll grow into his feet. He simply stumbles along as best he can, nearing that flickering light and the warmth and life its colorful light promises.
Inside the cottage, alone in his bedroom, a young boy cups his hands around the tiny flame and tries again to warm himself. His teeth are chattering, but he won't admit he's cold. He knows they can not afford real heat and only wishes for his mother to hurry up and get home. He knows she works to support them, but he doesn't like being alone at night, especially not tonight.
Above them all, above the whole world, Saint Nicholas shakes his bearded head. No child should be alone on Christmas Eve, but both of these little souls are. He leans closer and listens with rapt attention as the baby dragon peers into the little boy's window.
The boy shouts in surprise. The dragon ducks and starts to run, but the boy throws open his window and calls to him. "Please don't go!"
The baby turns and peers up at the young human. "You . . . You want me to stay?" he asks doubtfully.
Saint Nicholas smiles. They can understand each other on this magical night, and not just tonight, he decides. With a wave of his hand, he brings down the barriers between the two. They will always be able to understand each other, one of the best gifts he could ever have given them.
"Yes, please!" Peter cries.
"You . . . You won't hurt me?"
"No! No! Of course not!"
"Humans usually hurt me."
"Humans can be mean, especially adults."
"But you won't hurt me?"
"No! Come inside! Please! It isn't very warm in here, but I'm sure it must be warmer inside here than out there!"
The little, green dragon watches the boy for a moment. He stumbles nearer to his window and begins to flap his wings. He flies up to the child's window and tries to land on its sill. His wings stop flapping as his feet touch down, but the snow is slippery. He cries as he starts to fall, but Peter is quick and reaches out and grabs him. He pulls him inside and up against his chest.
His small eyes grow wide with amazement. "You are a dragon!" he breathes.
"Yes," the little dragon answers uncertainly, eyeing the boy, "and you are a human."
"I won't hurt you," Peter promises again. "And you won't hurt me either, will you?"
Saint Nicholas smiles as the baby dragon quickly agrees. He means no one any harm. He ever has. He's only ever wanted what he has right here in Peter and this new place, a friend and a home to stay in forever.
Peter gazes at the little dragon and then out into the night. He's not very old, but he knows how some things are supposed to work. All babies are supposed to have parents. "Where are your parents?" he asks.
"My what?" The dragon's wings tremble slightly in Peter's arms.
"You're cold! Here. Share my blanket." The boy brings the tattered blanket he's been wearing as a coat around them both and sits back down onto the only bed in the little cottage.
The dragon's head rubs against his thin chest. "Nice," he coos. "Warm." His little eyes blink up at the lad. "Thank you."
Peter cocks his head to one side as he studies the creature in whose species so few of his kind still believe. "You're welcome," he says and scratches the bridge between his dark eyes very gently. The dragon coos in contentment. His eyes slide shut, and his scaly tail wriggles against Peter's body. "You don't have any parents, do you?" the boy asks after a long moment of just holding this wonderful animal.
"What are . . . parents?" the dragon asks, clearly confused.
Peter smiles, but there is a sadness in his eyes. He knows what parents are, what they're supposed to be. Every child in his school has both of their parents, and although some of the families still have their problems, they can't imagine what it's like to only have one parent. Peter has never known his father, and his mother never talks about him. But that hasn't really mattered most of the time for he has his mother and he knows she loves him.
"They're people who love you," he says slowly, "and are supposed to watch over you and protect you. They're your family." He holds the little dragon more tightly, but still gently, against his chest. "I'll be your family if you like."
"Please?" the little dragon asks in a soft, soft voice, bringing tears to both Peter's and Saint Nicholas' eyes. "Please, and does that mean I can stay here forever?"
"Yes! Yes, of course, you may!"
The little dragon coos, his voice becoming akin to that of a cat's purr. Peter holds him gently, and his eyes drift shut as he listens to that satisfied cooing. Both children are still hungry, but their hunger no longer bothers them for they have something even greater filling them tonight. They have love.
Saint Nicholas smiles through his joyful tears as he watches the two children drift off to sleep. Then, as quick and quiet as any mouse after a slice of cheese, he dives into Peter's little cottage. He leaves presents for the boy and the dragon, stocks their refrigerator, and even sneaks a new coat with money stashed into his pockets for further care for the children into Miss closet. Then, as quick as you can wink your eye, dear reader, he is gone, but not without calling out to all, human and dragon, two-legged and four, naughty and nice, real and real of heart, "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
When Miss Piers arrives much later in the night, she looks in on her sleeping son and wonders what he got the plush dragon from. He looks so real, but through the eyes of a tired adult, she never sees the little dragon move or hears him talk. She never realizes he is truly real, but Peter knows and Huey, as he comes to call the dragon, knows and knows, too, that Peter loves him. Boy and dragon are inseparable, and even through the pitfalls of growing old while never growing too old to believe, they live, laugh, and love together happily ever after.
The End , rated PG/K+
