by J. J. Stone
He reached the last half mile of his route and broke out into an all-out sprint. It was uphill the whole way, and he relished the fire that shot through his legs as he pounded the sidewalk. The houses on either side blurred into streaks of colorful lights as his mind zeroed in on his imaginary finish line. He fought to keep from gasping for breaths as he came within yards of his front door. With a mix of pride and relief, he realized his ribs were not aching nearly as bad as his previous two attempts to sprint.
As he slowed to a halt in front of his townhouse, his arms arched up around his head as he worked to open up his lungs. He glanced up at the whitewash brick of his three-story building and realized how much of a Scrooge he must look like to his neighbors. The houses on either side of his were so decked out in festive decor it almost made James cringe. And then there was his house, the dismal and dark sore thumb right in the middle of a row of Christmas cheer. Maybe I’ll get a wreath or something, he thought as he trod up his front steps and punched in his door code.
There must have been a time in his life where Christmas had been something to look forward to. When it got down to the week before December 25, James always found himself soul-searching for the faintest spark of a memory or indicator that Christmas was something he enjoyed. And every year, Christmas came and went without much celebration on his part, if any at all. Dade had invited him to a couple of parties over the years that they’d worked together, and there was an elderly woman that had faithfully brought him fruit cake every Christmas Eve until she passed away. Then Dade had given up inviting him, and now Christmas was just a day off if they weren’t on a case.
He stepped into his cavernous foyer and silenced his wailing security system before the lights came on through the automated system. His house clicked to life with soft light, illuminating his path down the hallway to the kitchen, past the still-dark study and dining room. He limped along, kneading his right hip muscles as they bunched painfully.
The kitchen welcomed him with its white and black aura of clinical cleanliness. He made a beeline to the refrigerator and yanked it open. After selecting a sports drink, he spent a few moments taking inventory. Besides the sports drinks, there was not much that could be called food left in there. James sighed as he realized he’d have to brave the grocery store. The thought of daily takeout made his stomach twist.
His leg now spasming, James shuffled over to a drawer and sifted through it for a bottle of pain relievers. He found it and popped the cap off, knocking a couple of pills into his mouth and washing them down with a gulp of sports drink. He slipped the bottle of painkillers into his sweatpants pocket and mentally prepared himself to make the painful journey up to his room.
He was halfway up the stairs when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and sighed heavily before answering. “Brenda. I thought I told you to take a day off.”
“I’m sitting in front of my TV with Chinese takeout, if that helps you believe I’m relaxing.”
James chuckled as he finally arrived at his bedroom. He shouldered the door open and put his phone on speaker before tossing it onto his bed. “So, why are you calling?” he asked as he kicked off his running shoes and pulled his sweat-soaked shirt over his head, breathing through the pain of stretching his recovering shoulder.
“I just had a very interesting conversation with Ada.”
James took the phone off speaker and walked into his bathroom, wincing at the icy marble beneath his bare feet. “How is she?”
He hated the surprised pause Brenda gave him. “Um, she’s great,” the agent stammered. “She said she mostly healed up.”
James caught his reflection in the mirror, his eyes drawn to the watercolor swatches of bruises still painting his torso and shoulder. “Good.”
“She told me something you might be interested in.”
“OK …” James turned on the shower and strode across the bathroom to his closet. He pulled out a fresh set of clothes while he waited for the shower to heat up.
“Turns out she was fired after Milwaukee.”
James almost dropped the phone. “What?”
Brenda sighed. “I know. I feel awful.”
“Is she OK?”
Another painful pause from Brenda. “Surprisingly, yes. She actually sounded happy about it.”
Good, James thought. “Why would this interest me?”
“Director Reems wants you to find an analyst, right?”
Everything clicked. “Yes, he does.” James crossed back to the shower and turned it off. “It’s only seven her time, right?”
He could hear the smile in Brenda’s voice. “Yes, sir.”
“I’ll let you go then,” James said as he walked back into his bedroom and carefully flopped down on the bed. “Go enjoy your time off.”
“You do the same.”
The call ended and James looked at the phone for a few seconds. He pushed himself into his pillows, half sitting, half lounging. He stretched his right leg out and hissed as the bundle of cramped muscles screamed. After getting as comfortable as he could, he pushed a hand through his damp hair and scrolled through his phone’s call log. His thumb hovered over Ada’s number briefly before resolutely tapping it. He cleared his throat and raised the phone back to his ear.
——
Ada jostled the box under her arm and pulled her ringing phone from her back pocket. She wedged it between her shoulder and ear as she finished walking up the porch steps and into the house. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s James. Did I get you at a bad time?”
Ada paused in the foyer and carefully set her box down. “Uh, no, you’re fine.” Uncle Mike appeared from around the corner and she motioned at the box. “First Brenda, now you,” she said as she turned and walked back to her car.
“Early Christmas present, I guess.”
Ada chuckled and switched her phone to her other ear. “How are you doing?”
“Still a little sore, but I’ll live.”
Ada reached her car and retrieved an overnight bag from the passenger seat. “Well, good.” She abruptly ran out of small talk and hoped that James would get to his reason for calling.
“Brenda just called me. Told me about your job.”
Dammit, Brenda. “Yeah. It wasn’t that much of a shock, honestly.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I know it’s pretty much all my fault.”
Ada pushed the passenger door shut with her hip and hefted the overloaded bag onto her shoulder. “No it’s not. Really, I’m pretty glad it happened. I loved teaching, but it was definitely time for a change.”
He cleared his throat, a sign that Ada had come to recognize as him broaching something uncomfortable. “My boss, Director Reems, is breathing down my neck about hiring a new analyst.” He cleared his throat again. “So now that you’re in the job market, I was wondering if you’d be interested in coming to Quantico.”
Ada winced as she stepped into the house and shut the door. She deposited her bag in the foyer and ducked into the dining room before Uncle Mike found her. “As an official analyst?”
“I can’t think of a better candidate.”
Guilt rained down on her as she retreated to a dark corner of the room. “James—”
“I’m not expecting an answer right now, obviously. But I already know you’d be a great addition to the team. And it would save us a ton in airline tickets.” He let out a halfhearted chuckled that sounded more like a mask for his uneasiness than anything.
Ada’s eyes squeezed shut as her stomach scrunched. She hated what she had to do to James and his hopefulness. “James, I can’t.”
“I know it would mean moving—”
“It’s not because of that. I already have another job.”
“Oh.” The tinge of disappointment in his voice made her feel terrible. “Well, tha
t’s great.”
A sad smile touched her lips. “Yeah, it’s a writing job, actually.” She lowered her voice as she heard her uncle start playing with Tiny in the kitchen. “It also gave me the perfect excuse to move in with my uncle.”
“Really?” James asked, surprised.
She made sure Uncle Mike was out of hearing range. “He’s sick. And I didn’t want him to be in this house all by himself. So I moved back to Whidbey to be with him, but he thinks I’m here to save money.”
“Well, that’s good that you can be there for him.”
“This shouldn’t affect my ability to help you, though,” Ada said quickly. “I can work this writing job from wherever, honestly.”
“Well, good.” James’s tone had lost most of its friendly timbre. “Well, I’ll let you go, then.”
Ada wasn’t ready for him to hang up. “Do you have any plans for Christmas?”
“Get some work done.” His answer was quick and flat.
“Don’t make me call you Scrooge.”
A genuine laugh escaped from the lead agent. Ada smiled at the sound of it. “I’ll play some carols in the background. Is that festive enough for you?”
“Barely, but I guess it’ll do,” Ada said. “At least eat a gingerbread cookie or something.”
“I can’t make any promises.” Warmth had returned to his voice, and Ada felt better about ending their conversation.
“Well, I’m still moving in, so I better get back to it before Uncle Mike does everything by himself. He insists he could still take on The Hulk.”
James snorted. “I would think you’d know better than to try to change an FBI agent’s mind.”
“I’m a slow learner, I guess.” Ada glanced up as Uncle Mike came into view, eyebrow raised. She waved at him. “Well, I’ve got to run. I’m glad you called.”
“Me too,” James said, and Ada believed him.
“Merry Christmas, James.”
“Yeah, you too.” The call ended and her phone went dark.
Uncle Mike crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “James, huh?”
Ada stood and scowled at him. “I just turned down a full-time analyst position with the BAU.”
Uncle Mike sputtered. “What? Why?”
“Because I like Seattle, and I like writing.” She poked him in the chest. “And I like being with you.”
“Ada …” Uncle Mike looked visibly ill at her decision.
“I’ll still help them with the case. But that’s all I want to do. I couldn’t imagine being in that world every minute of every day.”
Uncle Mike sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry about all of this, Ada-bug.”
Ada planted her hands on his shoulders. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I chose to come here. This is exactly where I want to be.” She let her words sink in before continuing. “You can’t tell me you don’t like the idea of never having to cook or clean again.”
Her uncle’s eyes finally started twinkling again and he wrapped his warm hands around her wrists and squeezed. “I’m glad you’re back, sweetheart.” He pulled her into a gentle bear hug, and Ada felt something she hadn’t experienced in months: peace.
——
James paused by his stereo and adjusted the volume. The lilting tune of familiar Christmas classics filled his study with their contagious festivity. It almost made him wish he had a Christmas tree to gaze at for a few minutes. Almost.
He took a gulp of his fourth cup of coffee that morning and trudged back to his desk. His chair welcomed him in a leather embrace as he dove back into the small mountain of progress reports spread before him. James wished for the millionth time that morning that he hadn’t pushed Dade to complete these. Now, Dade was relaxing at his childhood home on a quick holiday break and James was spending Christmas with his computer.
The window behind James rattled against a burst of winter air, and he swiveled his desk chair to glance outside. A snowstorm had blown in overnight and given Georgetown a white Christmas morning. Across the street, a family had trekked outside in their pajamas and snow boots to make a quick snowman. James grinned as he watched one of the kids sneakily clump together a snowball and lob it into his father’s chest.
Maybe it was the Christmas music, or maybe it was the echoing loneliness of his house, but James watched his neighbors break out into an impromptu family snowball fight and felt a familiar feeling reemerge as the father across the street got pummeled in the face with a frosty barrage of powdery artillery. The aching desire for family hit James full force, and he turned away from the window.
The last time he’d felt this pang this intensely, he had been watching Sasha, his last real girlfriend, make them dinner. The whole scenario of her cooking in the kitchen while he wound down after a long day at work had seemed so strangely normal, and rather than push it out of his mind, he’d allowed himself to imagine further into their future. Imagine what a son or daughter of theirs would look like. What kind of dog they would have. What kind of sports their kid would get into. It still struck him as ironic that Sasha had left him a week later because she didn’t see a future with him. If only he’d had the guts to tell her what he’d envisioned that night. Instead, he’d called one of his FBI Academy classmates who’d never hidden her attraction for him and spent the weekend forgetting all about Sasha.
After that, he resigned himself to the fact that his life belonged to the BAU, and any companionship he felt he needed could be gained through temporary dalliances. The tugging desire for a family, a normal loving family, had been filed away in the back of his mind and instructed to never make itself known again.
What was summoning the feeling out of hiding lately, James had no idea. But he didn’t care to find out. He did what he always did when something selfishly personal plagued him: he got back to work. He grabbed the report closest to him and focused his eyes on it, hoping his mind would follow suit.
A tinny chime sounded from his computer, barely audible in contrast to the suddenly upbeat Christmas tune assaulting his no longer jovial ears. James glanced at the computer screen and saw he had an email. He clicked it open and his heart clenched as he saw the sender.
Merry Christmas.
I think I found Julia. No word yet on Olivia.
I’ll send you a possible location as soon as I can confirm.
-Joe