Author's disclaimer: This is an act of love, not a commercial venture. Not mine, no profits save for personal enjoyment. I make no claims.

Author's notes: Ummm. Dedicated to Dawn. heh. For obvious reasons. The article mentioned in Discover is real -- December 1999. Radish Day is real, it's a Mexican holiday that does, indeed, involve carving radishes.

Wishing Light to you all, however you celebrate, whatever you believe. Thanks for a great year of wonderful stories!

Dawn

by Brighid

"You want to remind me again just why the hell I agreed this?" Jim grumbled as finished pushing back the last of the furniture. He stood back and surveyed his handiwork, grunting slightly in satisfaction. More than enough room for several people to flake out on the floor should they not last until morning.

"Because you love me?" Blair called back from the kitchen where he was busy preparing a feast for the fourteen or so people he and Naomi were having over to celebrate the Winter Solstice.

Jim flicked a wry glance over his shoulder to find Sandburg working the old puppy eyes on him. "Ri-i-i-i-i-ight," he said. "You go with that if it makes you happy. Personally, I think you and your mother slipped some sort of weird peyote byproduct into the moussaka the night you got me to agree to this. Hell, we even took three days off mid-week for it!"

"In return for working Christmas, which when you think about it, shouldn't be that big a deal for a lapsed-Catholic and a non-practicing Jew," Blair reminded him. "And just how the hell does one practice being a Jew, anyway? I've always disliked that expression, like Judaism was some sort of musical instrument or dance routine!" He stuck a dollop of spicy egg-yolk mixture into the hollowed out white. "Have you got the fireplace going yet? Naomi wants it pretty much banked by the time she brings everyone over, so she can do the whole candle lighting thing and then build it up again to a blaze to go with the sunrise."

Jim wandered over and watched as Blair laid out the wheel of devilled eggs on the wooden platter. The kid had been pretty happy that he'd managed to get hold of that Kitchen Witch's Cookbook from the library. He was having a hell of a good time coming up with all these solar-symbolic foods, setting this party up to share with his mom and some of their friends from years gone by. The last few months had been hard on his partner, between the whole dissertation fiasco and then the academy. Naomi had been conspicuously quiet in the last few months, and Jim had feared she was either punishing herself or her son in some obscure sort of way, but then she had breezed into town two weeks ago, and when she'd brought the idea up for this party over dinner. Jim had taken one look at the happiness in his Guide's face and had given in pretty much on the spot. "The fireplace is going nicely, Chief. If you weren't already slaving over a hot stove, you'd have noticed the fact that the temperature in this place is approaching tropical." He peeled off his sweater to make the point. "So, things are cleaned, floor is cleared, and fire is banked. Anything else you expect for this pagan Sabbat thingie of yours? Bring in a goat? Find a virgin?" He grinned as Blair rolled his eyes.

"You are such a prick, man," Blair sighed. "If we needed to find a virgin for this, you're hardly the guy we'd send out looking!" He dodged Jim's sweater-turned-projectile. "Hey! You keep that up, and next year we're celebrating Radish Day." He put the tray of devilled eggs in the fridge. "Nah, I think I've got it all done." He pulled a cold bottle of water out, took a swig from it and then passed it across the counter to Jim, who knocked back half of it in one long gulp. "Actually, Radish Day would be pretty cool. Think we could get Major Crimes involved? Have Simon judge the radish carvings?"

Jim passed the water back to the younger man. "I think if we let the guys carve radishes, we're gonna end up with a whole lot of X-rated vegetables and a harassment suit from Rhonda!"

Blair leaned back against the counter, shaking his head ruefully at Jim as he took another swig of water. "Which only goes to show why you do so badly with the ladies, man. You know nothing about 'em. If we let Rhonda or Megan loose on a radish, the guys would be the ones filing harassment suits. Women are evil." He smiled wickedly. "That's why they're so much fun!"

Jim pondered that a moment. "You scare me," he said at last. "Not that I'm making a judgement or anything. So, why the hell are we celebrating Yule anyway, and not Radish Day? Last time I checked you weren't traipsing off to sacred groves and casting circles in the living room, so what's with this?" he asked, heading over to the couch.

Blair came over to join him. "Whooo, somebody's been watching educational television again!" Jim flipped him off. "Yeah, yeah. Well, it's sort of a special celebration. A lot of the people coming over tonight Naomi met through a women's spirituality group in the seventies -- Naomi was exploring her role in Jewish life as an active, thinking woman. Some of the others were Christian, but a lot of them were Wiccans and Witches and Pagans and all sorts of other alternative denominations. Solstice was one celebration they could all agree on, so they went with it. I mean, it happens whether you read Torah or Qur'an or the Bible, and a lot of the other holidays derive their symbolism from the earlier solstice festivals. And I think I would have wanted to celebrate this one, regardless. It's sort of a pretty heavy-duty solar event this year, what with where we are in relation to the sun and moon ... the moon's at perigee, it's full, and we're just a few days away from..." he trailed off as Jim waved a hand at him. "What?"

"You know, Darwin, I use the Discover magazine for more than just setting my beer on. I read the article, too. And you're right, it's cool. I don't know that I would have baked for it, but it is cool," Jim said, smiling down at his Guide. "Listen, it's about three o'clock, and sunset's about an hour away. Why don't you go engage in some ritual purification with the Ivory bar? You stink," Jim added bluntly, "and it takes you longer to get ready than it does me." He tugged at the thick curls that were just starting to grow back in.

"So, you're staying, then," Blair asked, diffidently, as he stood to head towards the bathroom. Jim reached out, grabbed his arm lightly.

"I'm definitely staying," he said firmly. "Wouldn't miss it for the world." Blair smiled suddenly, brilliantly, and Jim's heart caught and held mid-beat and everything just hung suspended in time. Then Blair was heading to the bathroom and Jim's heart was beating again, but the whole world had shifted on its axis and nothing was quite the same anymore.

The evening started out a little weird, much as Jim had expected. Four of the women were still practicing Wiccans, in a coven together, and they blessed the loft and called the quarters, mercifully abstaining from sage, and then there was a strange sort of ritual/prayer thing that was pretty non-denominational, and some candle-lighting and bread-breaking. He was pretty sure his Grandpa was turning over in his Irish Catholic grave, but hell, it was a least interesting. And something underlying the gestures, something in the cadence of the women's voices, the steadiness of Blair's, spoke to him, held him. He realized, with a start, that even after all these years, there was a part of him that clung to the idea and the promise of light.

It was that belief that had pulled Blair up out of the fountain, back into his body. It was that belief that had sustained him in the grotto, focused him and grounded him and kept him from going insane as Alex had. And when Blair turned to light his taper from Jim's, when the flame caught and held and bathed the younger man's face in its warm glow, it seemed to Jim that his faith, his belief, his light were all there, focused in the face, in the heart, in the hands of his Guide. For the second time that day, he felt the world tilt and slide around him, but it was all right, it was safe, it was good. He'd read the article, he knew it was just the universe going through the motions of eternity, and hell, wasn't that what they were there to celebrate?

Wasn't it the only thing worth celebrating?

After that, he just sort of went with the flow, flirting with the grey-haired ladies and eating whatever Sandburg set in his hands and even dancing with Naomi to some sort of drumbeat one of the pagan's started up. And all the while he was alight, he was incandescent, he was burning through the darkness into morning.

He realized, with a start, that he was having the time of his life. It seemed like everyone had Blair-as-a-kid stories, and hell, he was saving them up for pretty much every bit of blackmail he'd ever need. Best of all, despite all the protesting and the blushing, Blair was having a really great time. He looked relaxed and happy, wearing the woven vest Naomi had brought him from Guatemala, his hoops slipped back into his ears. He looked a hell of a lot like the old Blair, even with the haircut. Jim realized with a sudden start that as much as he liked -- hell, loved -- the Blair he lived and worked with, there was a part of him that missed the old Blair, the kid. But not even the wear of years could dim the glow that leaked out around the edges, the gleam of his eyes and his grin. It was enough to make Jim feel drunk, although he was only drinking the spiced apple juice Blair was serving from the big soup pot on the stove.

Somewhere around six a.m. things quieted down considerably, with everyone settling into twos and threes and talking softly. Jim found himself sitting with his back propped up against the couch, and Blair stretched out on the floor beside him, about three-quarters asleep. Without even really thinking about it, he stroked a flopping curl out of the younger man's face, then maneuvered him so that his head was pillowed on his thigh instead of the floor. He watched as Blair blinked blearily up at him.

"Jim?" he shifted slightly, as if to move, his hand going instinctively to his chin to check for drool.

"Go back to sleep, Chief," Jim laughed softly, wiping a small glistening from the corner of the younger man's mouth. "You're good here, and I'll make sure you're awake before sunrise."

Blair nodded against his leg, and Jim felt the brush of his beard stubble even through the denim of his jeans. "Good. I'm good here." He turned his head slightly, brushed an almost kiss against the Jim's leg. "Love you, man. So glad you stayed." His eyes were still sleepy, but serious, their pupils deep and flickering with reflected candlelight.

"So am I, Sandburg," Jim said. "Blair." He stroked the nape of the younger man's neck until he closed his eyes, and then he leaned back and waited for sunrise, knowing it would only be a pale echo of what had already dawned within him.

Let There Be Light.