One Silent Night

Carter has been in love with Mia for years, but it takes a Christmas miracle to throw them together…

This is the story I wrote for the CAW 14 competition on the Forum. I hope you like it! If you want to, I would appreciate it if you could go give it a vote.

It’s a pretty long story, so if you’re only here for thee sex, well, I supposed you can just scroll down to the bottom.

All comments are welcome, as always!


One Silent Night
By Hornypixy

Carter stood by his window, one eye on the watch on his wrist. It was just after eleven, that magical hour when most of the traffic died down and the neighbourhood in the old downtown area settled in for the night, the quiet creeping through the air with the mist from the small stream to the west of his apartment. Across the road he could see some early Christmas decorations, but he knew that the real lighting up would start in about two weeks.

She would be along soon.

He shifted the threadbare curtain a little to the side and tried to peer down the street, attempting to see her approach sooner, but he knew she would appear around the corner as always, and that he would have no chance to look at her neat little form until she does. He looked at his watch. Another minute had passed.

She would be along soon.

He fretted restlessly when the minutes continued to trickle away, like the incessant dripping of droplets in the back of his mind; a tap that didn’t quite close all the way.

She would be along soon.

And then, finally, she was there. His hands tightened around the folds of the curtain as he watched her round the corner, his very being tightening up in anticipation as his eyes followed her hungrily. She was wearing her dark, mid-thigh-length coat, and he could see her shapely leg taking carefully measured steps.

Her head was bent down, as always, obscuring her features, and he wondered once again what he would see if she looked up. He knew a little about her – her skin was milky pale in comparison to her dark coat. Her hair was also dark, cut in a straight, no-frills bob that reached her chin and was usually tucked away behind her ear. Her arms were always folded across her chest, as if she was trying to get away from her surroundings by climbing into herself. She was a picture of despondency and hopelessness as she walked down the pavement, the mist from the river swirling around her legs with ghostlike tendrils.

She was breaking his heart.

He followed her with his eyes, knowing her pattern well. Under the next streetlamp she would stop, bend over to adjust her shoe in the weak glow, and then continue around the corner to wherever she was going. And he would have to wait until tomorrow to see her again. What did it say about him, about how low he’s sunk, that these two minutes of watching an unknown girl walk down the street was the culmination of all his hopes and dreams? That his every day was spent in a state of endless waiting, waiting? He was forever waiting for something – for the night to be over so he can get up, for the shops to open so he can struggle down the stairs with his bad knee screaming in protest to buy coffee and a microwave dinner. For the afternoon to pass so he could sit on the small little balcony his apartment was outfitted with and watch the sun set over the dingy part of the city horizon he was privy to.

He watched her as she stopped on cue, her fingers busily tweaking at the straps of her shoes. More than anything, he was always, always waiting for her.
She got up after a few seconds and his eyes followed her as she proceeded down the street, her pace a little faster now, as if she was suddenly aware of the hour and the fact that she was a pretty girl, walking alone. When he could no longer see her, he pulled the curtains in place and turned around, facing the dingy apartment he owned.

And deep down, he knew, the longest wait of all was the countdown of years that would mark the end of his miserable existence.
*
“What can I get for you?” Mia asked the two men who were sitting in a booth in the back. They were both dressed in similar casual attire – jeans, dark jackets, sneakers – but she knew without asking that they were cops. They had that shrewd look in their eyes, the restless air of inquisitive minds.

Her shoulders tingled and she forced herself not to twitch nervously. They were just out for a meal, maybe discussing a breakthrough or a dead-end in a recent case. Nothing to worry about. Cops and officers came in here all the time for coffee and doughnuts and meals.

They are not looking for you. They are not looking for you. They are not looking for you.

She chanted her mantra repeatedly in her mind as her fingers scribbled down their order. It was never wise to allow cops – or anybody else, for that matter – to sense your fear. It gave them reason to start questioning things she preferred to remain unquestioned – what’s your name? Where are you from?

Her feet were killing her. Her swollen ankle was throbbing from her earlier slip on a wet floor, and she wanted nothing more than for the day to end so she could go home to Nikita. Her back was no longer aching as much as burning from carrying the heavy trays back and forth, the pain a constant companion in her lower back. She shot a quick glance at the clock on the wall behind the counter as she unloaded dirty dishes in the sink and swiped her tray down where a cup had left a ring. It was a few minutes to ten – closing time was ten thirty – so she had a while to go yet. Angelo had gotten one of the girls to wrap threadbare tinsel around the clock and cash register. Despite the fact that it was clearly older than the shop, it was still ugly and gaudy, a glittery, cheap string of false cheer that did nothing but highlight the shop’s worn-down visage.

She ended her shift at ten thirty with an argument with Angelo, the owner and manager, who wanted her to stay for ‘stock taking’, his term for sexually harassing the girls when there was nobody around to help them. She refused and, as a result, lost her job.

Her heart sank at the idea of finding something new, again. How much longer? she wondered as she packed the things in her locker over into her bag. How much longer was she going to struggle through life like this? Every day was a fight to survive. There were bills to be paid, a house to clean, a little sister to care for. Somebody needed to put food on the table, needed to make sure the police didn’t discover them and send them back to…

Not going to happen, she thought. No matter what happened, they were never going back to that dark, dark place they’d escaped from six years ago. She was twenty-three now, old enough by law to become her sister’s legal guardian, if they needed to take a legal route for any reason. She could only hope that would never happen. If there was ever any questions, any queries, she would pack up their things and they would leave. Again. They’d done it before, when it seemed necessary – it was so easy to disappear into the night, after all.


She clutched the black carry-all that held an extra shirt, some clean socks, a comb and a few tampons in case she ever needed them unexpectedly. The cheap second-hand cell phone was stashed in the pocket of her coat, where she could feel it vibrate if Nikita phoned her.

She was in a bigger hurry than usual, walking as fast as she could on her sore ankle and looking around her edgily. The shadows seemed denser, the streetlights dimmer, the air quieter.

She hated this part of the city during the night. It was dark and it smelled like old trash and the murky, filthy water of the little stream on the other side of the dilapidated railing.

She was being stupid, Mia decided. She has been walking this route every night for the past three years, and nothing has ever happened to her before.

She swallowed her fear and walked out from under the tree. The rest had not done her ankle good. It was cooling down and stiffening up and she winced each time she stepped on it. She limped around the corner that would take her down the semi-nice street with the old buildings. Most of them had been townhouses in their hey-days, but they had fallen into slight disrepair since. She imagined living in one of them. It would be warm, and the roof wouldn’t leak in eleven places every time it rained. In the winter, she would light a fire in the living room, and she and Nikita would sit in front of it.

And maybe the sky would rain money and Unicorns soon.
*
Carter managed to convince himself not to watch for her again. How much longer was he going to wait for a miracle that was not going to happen? His dark-haired girl was never going to do anything else except walk past his building. He’d considered going downstairs at eleven more times than he could count, but three guesses as to how she would react to a man waiting to talk to her at that time of night. He had tried to follow her a few times, but his knee was so bad that he couldn’t keep up, not without being seen. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her into taking a different route. She was his fantasy, his perfect vision of innocence and beauty and hope. No matter how the weather looked – whether it was a balmy spring evening, or an icy cold snowing one, she walked down his street every single night. He’d been watching her for close to three years now, and he knew that she was off one Sunday a month, always the last one.

He wished, for the hundredth time, that he knew more about her. He wanted to know where she worked, wanted to know her name. Was she married, maybe, with a kid?

It was a moot point, in any case. Even if she wasn’t married, she wouldn’t waste her time on somebody like him – jobless and injured beyond repair, with nothing to give her but his name and an old apartment that used to belong to his grandmother.

He forced himself to stay seated as the clock ticked closer to eleven. It was ridiculous, this fascination of his with a girl he’s never even met. He spent his time building fantasies around her in which she needed his help, and in his dream world, his knee was still in its pre-explosion condition. He was still fit and strong, a Navy SEAL who could do anything he set his mind to.

Forcing himself to be realistic, he took a swallow from the beer he rarely indulged in. She was probably married, or living with somebody. Probably had a kid, and took a night job so that she could spend time with the little one during the day. She was probably perfectly happy with her life, and this desire to rescue her was a left-over emotion from his SEAL days where being a hero was part of the job description.
He missed his team.

And there it was – the crux of the matter. He missed his team, his friends, almost more than he missed the mobility that had been stolen from him in that awful explosion four years ago. So far, he’d beaten the odds, but for the past couple years, he hadn’t made any progress beyond walking with the help of a crutch. After his time in the hospital and physiotherapy rehab centre ran out, he moved back to the city where he had grown up. It was as far away from the base as he could find, and he had needed the distance at the time, not to mention the rent-free apartment his grandmother had lived in until she passed away.

But now, after months of seclusion, the truth was finally sinking in. He was never going to be able to run through jungles and over desert dunes again. His days of scaling mountains and hiding out yards away from the enemy camps were over. No matter how hard he worked, his leg was never going to be up to it again. He was going to have to consider those options the psychologist had tried to talk to him about.

His mouth thinned. Private security: where SEAL careers go to die.

He managed to avoid the window until just after eleven, when he couldn’t take it anymore and he stood up, cursing himself for his weakness.

A few minutes later, the girl came around the corner. Carter felt the familiar constriction of his heart as the streetlight casted a dull glow around her dark hair. She was limping tonight, favouring her right leg, and carrying a black bag in one hand. He frowned, watching her progress with concern. She was definitely stepping gingerly, and she was moving much slower than usual. So much so that he would probably be able to keep up with her if he followed her.
Carter made the decision in less than a second. Grabbing his crutch and a jacket, he left his apartment.
*
It happened in the darkness under the overhanging branches of a gnarled old tree, where the searching fingers of light could not reach. The gap in the pavement where two slabs of concrete had pulled away from each other snagged at the sneaker on her injured foot and she pitched forward with a sharp cry of pain. She landed awkwardly on all fours, and the sting of scraped palms joined the pain in her foot. She gave a tearless sob and uttered a few choice swearwords. She must look a sight indeed – down on all fours with one leg elevated in the air behind her at an awkward and unattractive angle.

“Are you all right?”

The voice behind her came from absolutely nowhere. Mia swung around as much as was possible for a human in the dog-near-a-fire-hydrant-position and ended up landing on her butt. She scrambled back and saw the man limping closer. From her position on the ground, it seemed as if he was a giant, rising out from the mist, leaning heavily on a crutch and yet managing to walk without making a sound.

“I don’t have a lot of money on me,” she said, holding her black carry-all up like an offering. “But take what I have. Just please don’t hurt me.” Panic tightened her voice.

“I don’t want you money,” he said, stopping at a safe distance from her and holding out his hands to show he was unarmed. “And I’m not going to hurt you.”

His voice was deep and soothing, somehow managing to calm her nerves.

“Let me help you up,” the stranger continued. He came closer and held his hand out. She hesitated a few seconds before letting him haul her up. She dusted her palms on her jacket, felt the sting of asphalt cutting into her skin like pieces of brittle glass. The enormous man held onto her elbow as she balanced on one leg.

“Thanks,” she said stiffly. “I hurt my ankle earlier tonight and I tripped on the pavement. I’m fine now, thank you.”

He didn’t reply and for the first time, she looked at his face. The faded street lights were casting mysterious planes over his face, highlighting his features. He had dark hair about a week overdue for a cut, and from what she could see, a strong nose and chin. His eyes appeared to be dark and intense, and his cheekbones were just high enough to make him pretty. His lips, however, looked soft and full and like an exotic dish, one you needed to serve up with strawberries and chocolate sauce and whipped cream and what on earth was she doing, thinking about his mouth like she wanted a taste?

A sudden, unexpected dimple made its way to surface when he gave a small crooked smile, and suddenly he looked much younger.

“My name is Carter,” he said, as if it was important to him that she knew who he was. “I live in that building over there. See the balcony? That’s my apartment. I hurt my knee a few years back and it was bothering me tonight, so I decided to take a short stroll around the block. Saw you falling down. Why don’t you let me have a look at your ankle? What’s your name?”

“Mia,” she said.

“Mia,” he murmured, and for a single moment, it seemed as if he was tasting her name on his tongue, rolling it around his palate like a fine wine he wanted savour and appreciate. He led her over to the railing, and she balanced against it as he got down with some difficulty to examine her foot.

“Do you have first aid experience?” she asked when he started to prod lightly at her swollen ankle. He held her heel and rotated her foot slightly. She gasped, instinctively yanking back when pain shot through her leg.

“Easy,” he soothed, softly stroking. “It’s a really bad sprain. I used to be a hospital corpsman for the Navy SEALS, so I’ve seen my fair share of injuries.”

“You were a SEAL?” she asked and closed her eyes as the touch of his fingers on her leg sent tingles dancing over her skin. His hands were so soft, so gentle, as he tested the tightness of her shoe around the swelling.

“Yeah, but I screwed up my knee in an explosion so I’m no longer active. Listen, you need to get off your foot. It must be killing you.”

“It’s painful,” she admitted. “But I’m not too far from home.”

“Is there anybody who can fetch you?”

“No, only my sister and she’s too young to drive. Not to mention that we don’t own a car. Ouch, dammit, that hurt!”

“Sorry,” he said and got up. “Look, how far do you live?”

Mia looked at him. How far could she trust this man? She didn’t know him, but he seemed… kind, somehow. Gentle.

“About two miles,’ she admitted, and at his glower, looked down at her hands. She got the sense he was angry with her for some reason.

“I’m not letting you walk that far on an injury like that. Why don’t you let me drive you home?”

Trusting somebody to help you up after a fall was one thing, but getting into a car with a stranger, leading him to her sister… that would be stupid, and reckless, and many other things she couldn’t afford to be.

“Thank you, but I’ll just call a cab.”

He nodded once. “Come wait inside, at least,” he said. “I’ll give you some ice and painkillers.”

She hesitated as the logical part of her mind warred with the part that was in pain and wanted nothing more than to get off her foot, have some painkillers and let somebody else make the decisions for once.
“All right,” she said after a few seconds. “Thank you very much.”


He tried to see his apartment through her eyes, and wasn’t sure what to think. It was small, with an open plan kitchen and living room that was separated by a breakfast counter that held stacks of books on the one side. There were three doors leading from the sitting room. Though it was reasonably clean and neat and didn’t scream ‘poverty,’ it was a clear exhibit of his lack of funds.

She was glancing around anxiously, her eyes darting from his TV to the front door and back to the kitchen, where the dishes were piled neatly in the sink. He saw them linger for a few seconds on the three doors that lead out of the living room and sensed her fear of being trapped. She reminded him of a little animal, cornered and shivering, waiting to be attacked by a predator.

“The bathroom’s through there,’ he said, pointing. “Those two doors lead to the bedrooms. Don’t worry, I set up the torture chamber in the basement.”

He expected her to laugh at his lame joke, wanted to lift her mood, but she just gave a small, tight smile and clutched her tote bag closer to her body.

“Sit here,” he said, cupping one hand under her elbow and leading her to a comfortable wingback chair. “You have an interesting accent,” he said as he went into the kitchen to switch on the coffee machine that was his only indulgence. “It’s very faint, but I have an ear for languages. Are you from Europe?”

She was silent for a few seconds before replying. “My family came to America when I was very young. But yes, I was born in Europe.”
“Your accent is almost Slavic,” he said. “But not Russian. Not quite.”
She didn’t offer any further information, so he pressed. “Are you from Poland?”
“No,” she said, reluctantly. “Georgia.”
“It borders Russia and Turkey, doesn’t it?”
“I… yes. Yes, it does. You’re good with this.”
“Simple matter of geography. So how old were you when you left?”
“I was five.”
He did the quick maths. “So you must have left in the time of the civil war in the early nineties.”
She nodded her head and he watched the movement play with her hair. “We first went to Poland, and from there made our way here. My stepfather had some… business associates that helped us.”
He could read between the lines as well as anybody, and guessed it to mean they didn’t follow the legal route. Which probably meant she was still an illegal immigrant.

It explained a lot, but he wasn’t going to call her out on it.
“Would you like some coffee?” he asked as the rich scent filled the apartment. “To take the painkillers.”
“I would love coffee, thank you,” she said. He poured her a cup and added sugar generously. He handed it to her with an unopened bottle of strong pain medication.

“You can have that,” he said. “It’s prescription. It’s what I drink for my knee, but I try to avoid it over the long term because it can be addictive. But you should be fine for a few weeks. Just take one now, and another before you go to sleep. These pills will make you sleepy, but it should help for your ankle. Will you let me put a bandage on?”

She looked up at him from under her dark lashes. “I will, thank you.”


Carter stood on the pavement, watching the taxi’s red taillights disappear around the corner. It felt all wrong, letting her drive off after finally meeting her. He pressed the heel of his hand against his chest, as if he wanted to rub away an ache. He’d given her his number, but what were his chances of getting a call?

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself before turning around and limping up the stairs. Why on earth would she call him? Even if she was the type of damsel in distress who called for help, he was probably the last person she would ask. What kind of help could he offer her, in any case? Without his mobility, who was he?

No-one.