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Zürich was always beautiful in winter.
From his apartment he had a great view of the city, dusted with a light, fluffy snow. The third quarter moon hung low over the horizon. Thick, puffy clouds rolled across the dark sky, blocking out the stream of white light. It would snow again, later. The pre-Crisis buildings always looked better covered in snow and ice, and even if Gabriel hated the cold, he wasn’t above admitting its beauty.
Gabriel stretched across the couch, shifting under the heavy blanket on his lap. Blue and yellow lights arched over the walls, offering the room a soft, gentle glow. The flickering gas fireplace cast enough warmth to put a smile on his face. Gabriel lowered his knitting to watch the orange flames. Not exactly a roaring fire in his aunt’s big stone fireplace up in the California hills, but it would do.
The door slid open. Jack stumbled inside, one hand held up to his visor, the other clutching a hulking data pad under his arm. “I understand your concern,” he said, using the full strength of his Strike Commander voice, “I’ll look into it personally, sir.”
He offered him a smile, but Jack was distracted and crossed the apartment to set the data pad down on his cluttered desk. “Yes, that’s a promise.”
Gabriel picked up his knitting and hummed under his breath, stitching along to the beat of the slow, jazzy Christmas music. Soft wool slid between and around his fingers as he worked. He watched Jack from the couch as he stalked from one side of their bedroom to the other, pulling off his uniform with both hands, leaving the pieces wherever they landed. He struggled into a pair of pajama pants and one of Gabriel’s old sweaters, his visor ear piece catching on the collar of the sweatshirt. He struggled until his blond head popped out. “It will be done, sir. Thank you. Enjoy the rest of your trip in Canada.”
Jack pulled off the visor with a long, deep sigh. It clattered against the nightstand. “Finally,” he grumbled, “Hey, Gabriel, where’d I leave my glasses?”
“Bathroom counter.”
He ran his fingers down the half-finished scarf. His tension looked good. The bands of orange against red and yellow worked just right. Jesse would love it.
The bathroom light clicked on, then off a second later as Jack came back out. He stood by the end of the couch, eyes scrunched up, his hair a fluffed mess on top of his head. “Wait—what’s all this?”
Jack opened his arms a little to gesture at the living room. Gabriel had erred on the conservative side, just lights and a few trinkets up on the shelves. He’d cleared a space in the corner for the tree they’d pick out later, and kept the tinsel in the box where it belonged. For now.
“Wanted to beat you to the decorating for once, Blondie.”
Jack rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. “It’s November.”
“Yeah, and you start earlier every goddamn year.” Gabriel patted the couch beside him. “Come sit with me.”
He pulled back the blanket and swung his legs off the couch to make room for Jack. Gabriel swept the tail end of Jesse’s scarf away when Jack nearly sat on it. He shuffled in against Gabriel’s shoulder, making it harder to work his stitches, and he reluctantly set the knitting aside with a sigh.
Gabriel threaded a hand into Jack’s hair and pulled him down for a kiss, letting it linger before he spoke again, quieter. “You want to put some decorations up now? I bought some new ones, and I’ve got ideas—”
Jack laughed softly, pushing against his chest with both hands. “Tempting, but we should wait.” He moved against Gabriel, hands running down his sides, eventually settling against his chest. “Can’t wait to see what Torbjörn has in store. I’m not sure he can top last year’s party.”
“See, I’m not the only one getting ahead of himself,” Gabriel teased, prodding fingers into Jack’s ribs. “You’re still not allowed to pull out those god-awful sweaters until December.”
Jack lifted his head. His glasses sat askew on his nose. “Fine,” he sighed, “What are you making?” Jack reached over him to tug the knitting from the coffee table.
“It’s for Jesse,” Gabriel said, “His old one is full of holes.”
Jack let the end of the scarf dangle from his hand. “Getting ahead on presents?”
“Might be.”
Jack set the knitting back and eased off Gabriel’s chest, edging between him and the back of the couch, one hand sliding to rest on his stomach. He didn’t bother to fix his crooked glasses. The orange glow of the gas fireplace flickered over his features, lining the wrinkles under his eyes, tracing along laugh lines and stress lines alike. Gabriel loved every crease, every gray hair, even loved how Jack complained about his joints after sleepless night or long missions. He swept his fingers through Jack’s hair. He sighed softly and shifted up against the curve of Gabriel’s body.
“It’s still pretty early,” Gabriel teased, “Look at you. You’re exhausted.”
“I hate meetings,” Jack murmured into his shoulder. His eyes fluttered closed, just for a moment. “This is nice.”
“What?”
“This.” Jack smoothed a hand over Gabriel’s chest. “We should have asked for more time off years ago.”
“You wouldn’t have been able to sit still,” Gabriel grunted. He folded his hand over Jack’s, twining their fingers together. “Guess it’s one of the perks of getting older, huh?”
“Tell that to Reinhardt.”
Gabriel snorted. “He’s never going to retire. I’ll bet on it.”
“Fifty bucks.”
“Deal.”
“You’ll probably win that one.” Jack shifted over him. His mouth was warm, the kiss slow and perfect. When he pulled back, he swung his legs up and over Gabriel to clamber to his feet. “Hang on a minute.”
“Sure, babe.”
Gabriel sat upright on the couch. Jack had pushed his blanket to the floor, and he retrieved it before setting back to work, humming as he counted over his stitches. He was almost finished the body of the scarf; all it needed was about thirty more rows and a fringe.
The couch moved under Jack’s weight. He bumped his shoulder against Gabriel’s, breaking the chain of numbers in his head.
Jack held two knitting needles and a new ball of navy blue yarn in his hands. “Show me?”
“Tried before, Jackie,” Gabriel teased, “You really want to learn?”
“We’re old men. Might as well.”
“You can say that when you’re my age,” Gabriel chuckled. He reached out to prod Jack in the ribs. His boyfriend squirmed away, a laugh spilling out from his throat. “First of all, that yarn’s too thin for those needles.” Gabriel plucked the acrylic blend from Jack’s hands and tossed it over his shoulder. “Second of all, those needles are two different sizes.”
Jack held them out in his hands, brow furrowed. “Does that matter?”
Gabriel wound his arm around Jack’s neck and pulled him into his armpit, ruffing his hair and kissing the top of his head. “Yeah, it matters.” Jack relaxed against him, a deep, contented sigh pushing out from his lungs. Gabriel swept a hand down Jack’s warm back as he kissed his forehead, his nose, and then his lips. Moving away, he recovered Jesse’s half-finished scarf and pushed it into Jack’s hands. “Here.”
“Wait—” Jack slowly worked his fingers over the needles. “Gabriel—I don’t think—”
Gabriel patted Jack on the small of his back. He moved slowly until he was perched on the edge of the couch—blue eyes watching him like a hawk—and Gabriel slipped in behind him, a leg on either side of his boyfriend. “Don’t worry, Blondie,” he said, “I’ve got you.”
Jack stretched yarn out over his left hand. “I don’t really remember how to do this,” he mumbled. “You know I’m not good at this stuff, Gabriel.”
“Only one way to learn,” Gabriel said, pressing a kiss against Jack’s ear, “And only one way to get better.”
Jack leaned back against him with a sigh. “Yeah. Practice. I know.” Jack rolled the needles in his grip. “Should ask your aunt for lessons.”
“She’d be game, and you know it.” Gabriel jabbed a finger into Jack’s ribs and he yelped, a laugh quickly following. His Aunt Silvia had legendary amounts of patience. She was old, her eyesight faded, her joints stiff with arthritis, but she still never put her goddamn knitting down. She’d taught him to sew, knit, crochet, everything. Gabriel wasn’t half the artist she was. Too busy saving the world and all. “Let me know when you want to take more time off. We can fly to Los Angeles.”
“Just used our vacation time. Have to wait until Christmas.” Jack sighed. He tried to work a stitch and the yarn slipped off the needle. “Damn it.”
“Try again.”
Jack looped yarn around his finger, worked the needle back and underneath, around—so much for not remembering—and made a big, messy stitch. “I’m really looking forward to this year,” he said, “You’re gonna be forty.”
“Yup. Over the hill.”
Gabriel set his palms on Jack’s arm. He could feel the jerks of Jack’s muscles under the soft, warm fabric of his stolen sweater. He’d given up on trying to keep Jack out of his clothes almost two decades ago.
“I still don’t think it’s fair.” Jack twisted around to scratch at Gabriel’s goatee. “No grays.”
“They’re there. Keep looking.”
Jack tucked his fingers under Gabriel’s chin. Orange light played gently against the side of his face, smoothing over his laugh lines, stubble, and the ever present circles under his eyes. He looked younger, warmer. He pressed a long, lingering kiss to Gabriel’s lips before returning to his work, smiling faintly.
“I’m going to ruin this, you know,” Jack said. He worked slow, awkward knit stitches. Should have been purls, according to his pattern, but Gabriel kept quiet, watching the movement of Jack’s hands. “You’re going to have to start over again.”
Gabriel leaned forward, pushing his nose into Jack’s soft hair. “Mmm, I don’t think Jesse will mind.”
“It’s going to be ugly.” Jack let out a short huff, his mouth open in a snarl as he lost his grip halfway through a stitch, pace ruined.
“Here.” Gabriel took Jack’s hands gently in his, smoothing his thumbs down warm skin. He guided Jack through the next stitches.
“I don’t remember how to turn,” Jack mumbled at the end of the row.
Gabriel talked him through the steps, letting his hands gently guide Jack as he worked through row by row. His stitches alternated between too loose and too tight, and the scarf began to warp and curl in Jack’s hands. He set it down ten rows in, frowning at the mess. “It’s terrible.”
“You’re still learning,” Gabriel said gently.
Jack picked up pace again, moving independent of Gabriel’s directions. He let his fingertips linger on Jack’s warm skin, tracing old scars, paper cuts, and callouses. He grew bolder as he worked, but Jack had definitely ruined his pattern, and Gabriel forgot about the stripes of orange and red that Jack should have switched to. The scarf could end in a warped mess of yellow; it was the thought that mattered, anyway, and Jesse would think it was both hilarious and sweet.
Jack talked as he worked, regaling him with the minutiae of the meeting that had occupied him for almost five hours. Gabriel nodded along, absently pressing kisses to Jack’s shoulder.
Thirty rows in Gabriel gently stopped him. He took the end of yarn and tied it off. “Thanks for the help, Blondie. He’s gonna love it.”
“You joke all the time about Jesse having bad taste,” Jack muttered, “But he’s never gonna wear this unless you can fix it.”
“I think it looks great.” Gabriel smoothed a hand down the knitted texture. Soft, warm wool for the chilly Swiss winters. Jesse, like him, had never properly acclimated to the cooler climate. “We should make Scout a matching one.”
“Dogs don’t like to wear clothes,” Jack said.
“It’d be cute.”
“Do you still think about it?”
Gabriel locked his arms around Jack’s waist and tucked his nose into the crook of his shoulder. “Still think about…how dogs don’t like to wear clothes?”
A low rumbling sigh shook Jack’s shoulders. “No,” he said, “About—you know.”
“No, I don’t know.”
Jack lowered the knitting into his lap. He spun the new end of the yarn in his hand, twisting it around the needle. “About what we used to want,” he said, “Our old plans.”
“You’re still worrying about that?”
Jack went still between his arms, breath halted, his eyes focused on the flickering gas fireplace.
Gabriel watched the flames dance. He could see their reflection in the glass. Jack’s mouth was turned down in a frown.
“What’s on your mind, Jack?”
Jack squirmed in his arms and Gabriel let him go, but Jack stayed on the couch, hands curled over the scarf in his lap.
“I was just thinking—” a slight, shy smile curved up on his mouth. “—that this isn’t so bad.”
Gabriel snorted. “I have half a mind to be offended.”
“Don’t be. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”
“Oh?”
Jack nestled in against his chest, an arm winding tight around his stomach. “We could have retired and moved to Los Angeles and been normal, adopted kids, gotten a dog, argued about what to order in on Friday nights—and we might not have been happy.”
Gabriel smoothed a hand through Jack’s hair. “Right.”
“We never would have met Ana,” Jack said, “Or Rein or Torb. Never would have gotten to be Fareeha’s uncles. We’d be going to—I don’t know, parent-teacher meetings, fighting over our kid’s bad grades—”
“No way,” Gabriel huffed, “No bad grades in my house, Blondie.”
“Not everyone is an overachiever like you.” Jack reached up to poke at his nose, a playful, teasing smile bright on his lips. “You know what I’m saying, right?”
“Yeah. I know.” Gabriel brushed his fingers across Jack’s forehead, tracing along worry lines. “I don’t mind it here. Wish it wasn’t so damn cold.”
“I’ll keep you warm.”
“Jack, you’re cheesy as hell,” Gabriel chuckled.
Jack glanced around the room. Gabriel watched his eyes slowly trace over the lights, the fireplace, the decorated shelves. “You know what,” he said, “Let’s put those new decorations up.”
“You told me we have to wait until December.”
“I did.” Jack pulled away from his chest to stand, offering Gabriel his warm, open palm. “I’m redacting my previous statement.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes at Jack’s Strike Commander voice. “Fine,” he muttered, taking Jack’s hand, “We’re not putting the tree up without Jesse, though.”
“Deal.”
Gabriel dropped to the floor to pull out the boxes of old and new decorations from under the couch. He set them on the coffee table one by one. Jack hovered by the stereo, flicking through the settings.
“Mind if I put on—”
“If you say the Beach Boy’s Christmas Album, Jack—”
Jack flipped back through the settings to land back on the soft, smooth music. “I would never put you through that.” A pink blush rose to his cheeks, spelling out the truth.
“Alright.” Gabriel rattled a box at him, sparking his attention along with a small, muted smile. “Want to put up more lights?”
“Absolutely,” Jack said, “How about over here?” He pulled red and green lights from a box and crossed into the bedroom, stretching his arms out wide across the arched doorway. “How many do you have?”
“Lots.”
Gabriel busied himself with lighting candles along the mantle. He cupped a hand around one, letting it warm his palm. The orange light danced across his skin, lining the creases, callouses, and scars. Behind him he could hear Jack mumbling as he strung up the lights. When he turned around, Jack was done, standing back to admire the lights across the doorway. He stepped across the living room and pulled an armful of lights out.
“Where are those going?”
“Up in the bedroom window,” Jack muttered. He tugged at the tangled lights, a curse rolling free. “Should never let me put these away.”
“You think I’d learn.”
Gabriel turned back to his decorations. Little ornaments clinked in the bottom of the box. He pulled them free. Most of them were old and chipped things he’d stolen from his aunt’s cabin that wouldn’t be missed. His sisters had made most of them.
He shoved the box back under the couch. “How’s it look?”
Jack stood in front of the window, both arms stretched over his head to reach the corners. The lights wrapped around his torso and trailed onto the floor.
“Jack, what are you doing?”
He stumbled backwards. The lights came down with him. Somehow in the mess he managed to tangle his arms together. “Don’t you—” Jack’s skin quickly flushed red, and Gabriel felt a laugh bubble out of him. He scooted backwards, hit the window, and knocked his glasses off his nose. “—Shit.”
Gabriel pushed off the floor and crossed the apartment. He tapped his finger against Jack’s nose, grinning at the embarrassed flush of his cheeks. “You’re a walking disaster,” he chuckled, dropping to fetch Jack’s glasses. He set them back on his nose gently. The lights shone a slight red glow on Jack’s skin, filling in the signs of aging. Gabriel tugged at the string of lights wrapped around his chest. ““How do you manage this every year without waking me up?”
“You’re a heavy sleeper.” Jack rolled his eyes. “You gonna help me?”
Gabriel pulled a loop up and over Jack’s head before leaning in to kiss him. Jack smiled against his lips. The warm, red glow softened his features. Gabriel traced a thumb along his jaw before dropping his hands to work away at the tangle of lights. “Guess I will,” he sighed, “Since you asked so nicely.”
“Ass.”
“You love me.”
Jack tugged on his hands and pulled them close together, leaning down to rest his forehead against Gabriel’s. “Damn right I do,” he said.
Gabriel let his eyes fall closed. The red glow stung against his eyelids. Cold leaked through the window, but he didn’t want to move, didn’t even want to complain. He let his arms slide around Jack’s waist, felt arms wrap around him in turn. Jack’s warmth bled through the palms of his hands. He pulled away to drop his head to Jack’s shoulder.
Jack pressed kisses along Gabriel’s cheek before he rested his head against the crook of Gabriel’s neck, heaving a long, deep sigh. “I’m glad it ended up like this,” he mumbled, “I’m so happy, Gabriel. I love you. I don’t say that enough.”
Gabriel squeezed his arms tight around Jack. “You don’t have to say it. I know.” Jack’s glaze flickered to the window. Just as he’d predicted a light, fluffy snow had started to fall. Gabriel took advantage of Jack’s distraction to sweep in to press a loud, smacking kiss to his cheek. “I love you too, Blondie.”
Jack jerked back, his smile doing a better job of brightening his face than the lights wrapped around him. “I know which sweater I want to wear first.”
“Oh God, no,” Gabriel groaned.
Jack shimmied out of his arms and fled across the apartment to the closet, shedding the lights as he walked. He stood up on his toes to reach onto the top shelf. Boxes flew out and hit the floor, spilling their contents. Jack had an impressive collection of holiday-themed sweaters, more than enough not to wear the same one twice in December.
“You’d better clean up if you’re gonna make a mess,” Gabriel muttered. He kicked at an abandoned piece of Jack’s uniform to punctuate his point. He bent down to retrieve the trail of lights and wound them around his arm.
Jack got caught in his sweater and let out an annoyed huff. It flew across the room and landed short of the hamper. He plopped down on the edge of the bed, a sweater scrunched up in his hands, grinning from ear to ear.
Gabriel tossed the lights back in the box before turning back. Jack hopped to his feet as he replaced his glasses.
“Hey, that’s—”
The dark cobalt blue definitely suited Jack. Patterns wove across the neck and shoulders and along the cuffs, which were too short on Morrison’s arms. Masterful, fine work. His work, of course.
“It’s, um, a little snug.” Jack tugged at the hem of the sweater. Snug was one word for it. The knitted fabric was stretched tight over his torso and strained in the shoulders, showing off the curves of his muscles like it was one of his ridiculously small training shirts.
Gabriel’s heart gave a tight squeeze as warmth bloomed in his chest. For a fleeting moment Jack was twenty-eight again, bright-eyed and optimistic after the official end of the Crisis. Gabriel had spent countless hours studying Fair Isle knitting patterns and the one photograph Jack had of the sweater his mother had knitted him when he was a kid, worried that Jack would hate it but persevering nevertheless. And the look in his eyes had been worth every stitch. Gabriel crossed the floor to sweep Jack up in his arms, pressing kisses along his cheek and down his neck, delighted by Jack’s soft laughter, before settling his head on Jack’s warm shoulder. “I thought you were going to pull out the dirty snowman one, but you’re just a sap.”
“You got me there.”
Gabriel spread his hands out across Jack’s back and held him close, but Jack wiggled free, ducking under his arm to hop back toward the closet. “You’ve gotta wear yours, too.”
A cold shiver ran up Gabriel’s spine. “Oh God, no— ”
Jack held up an ugly, misshapen excuse for an article of clothing between his hands, grinning from ear to ear. It had been a joke gift that same Christmas. Jack couldn’t knit to save his life and the thing could hardly be called a sweater; the stitches were big and loose, leaving gaps, the neck hole was warped on one end, and one sleeve was about a hand longer than the other. Gabriel had laughed so hard he cried, and then he’d cried again later when he thought about just how much time Jack had put into the gesture, made all the more impressive by his inability to knit or sew. God, he loved this man, who gave everything one-hundred percent, even if he was sure he’d fail, even if there was no reward in trying.
Gabriel snatched it from Morrison’s hands and shoved it down over his head. Still ugly and itchy as hell, but Jack beamed at him. Worth it. He smoothed the uneven wool under his hands. Jack had stitched on a felt Christmas tree, complete with misshapen presents under its boughs. Happiness surged in his heart and spread out through his body, dragging a smile and a laugh out of him. Jack had easily won the ugly sweater contest that year, and had placed every other year after alongside his youngest sister and one of his little cousins.
“Looking good,” Jack chuckled, “Always thought that purple was your color.”
“Don’t mock me, old man.”
He flung his arms around Jack’s neck and peppered his face with kisses until Jack started laughing. Eager for the sound, he swept his hands under Jack’s ass and lifted him off his feet.
Jack’s chest shook with laughter even as he kissed Gabriel back, hands sliding over his shaved head. He pulled away with a sigh, a lopsided smile on his face. “Ah, come on, put me down. Let’s put the rest of the lights up. And I know a place where we could get a tree early.”
“Jack, you’re impossible.”
He hefted Jack up against his chest. Long legs wrapped around his waist. “You’re the one who started it.”
“That much is true.”
Gabriel walked them to the couch and threw Jack down on the cushions with a soft thump. He recovered the blanket from the floor and tossed it onto Jack’s head. “Alright, Farm Boy, make room for me.” He flopped down on top of him, pushing Jack’s breath out with a soft puff. He snuggled against Jack’s chest as his boyfriend threw the blanket out over both of them.
It was just the two of them in a cozy little apartment in Zürich, with a view of the lake and the city. Snow stuck to the windows. It wasn’t the life he’d pictured decades before—a little house with painted stucco, a garden full of peppers, a table in the kitchen big enough for the family he’d always wanted plus a few guests—but it was still good, still felt like home. Jack had always wanted a dog, and they had Scout; there were no kids of their own to come and go, but Fareeha and Jesse came and went, poking their noses into their business; his family was thousands of kilometers away, but the rest of their family was just down the hall.
Jack shifted his hands soothingly over Gabriel’s scalp. He hummed contentedly, arching into the palm of his hands. “Feels good,” he mumbled, “Alright. What do you want to watch?”
He reached for the holoscreen control but Jack’s hand fell on top of his to stall him.
“I don’t want to watch anything,” Jack said, “I just want to enjoy this.” A slow, awkward, but completely heartwarming smile arched across his mouth. “Us.”
“Us,” Gabriel repeated. He dropped his head back to Jack’s chest and heaved a long, deep sigh, letting his eyes fall on the window. “Sure you don’t want to go for a romantic walk in the snow?”
“How about a run in the morning?” Jack covered his mouth to stifle a yawn. “I missed this.”
“Yeah.” Gabriel pulled himself up to rest his head over Jack’s heart. He smelled as good as ever, fresh and clean and bright, and warmth radiated out along with every beat of his heart, loud as a drum in his ear. “I missed this, too.”