CHRISTMAS IN HOLLYWOOD .

[EZRA HART]

He almost wished that he could pull off the Scrooge thing. You know, big scowl, hating Christmas, fucking with little kids who want presents. Making fun of kids with crutches and, possibly, going back and forth through time in an instant Disney classic. The only one who could remotely pull off the "bitch, please" thing was Daileh, and she was too far away to really get him out of going to Jackson's. And besides, it wasn't that he didn't want to go see Jackson. He was dying to--and Layla, of course--and he absolutely loved Christmas. Free shit, right? And an excuse to make as many cookies as he possibly could, beat the shit out of those faggy singers who always showed up at his doorstep, and wear more red than he usually did (nearly impossible).

It was just...he didn't know what to get them, and now that Jackson had Layla, half of his original gift ideas were out. Not only that, but he had no idea what a four year old girl wanted (other than a pony, or shit like that). A dress? A baking kit? Nothing too huge, like a gown; then he'd upstage Jackson. Nothing too small, like a piece of paper that said "IOU", because then he'd be the dick. Oh, and he had to pretend it was from Santa, in which case he'd get eaten alive if he didn't find whatever was in her wishlist. He almost wished that Blair was still around. As much of a bitch she was, she had a baby girl too, and would probably be willing to give a few ideas if he held the little brat off the roof for a couple of minutes.

So, that left him where he was now. Climbing the stairs to Jackson's apartment, a brown sack thrown over his back and snow-covered hair bouncing up and down. He came to the landing and set down his bag, straightening to his full height and brushing all the snow off of his body. Snowstorms (what bitches). He leaned forward against the cold door and knocked a few times, calling out, "Santa's best helper, I smell cookies, so open the goddamn door." Thirty seconds before he got yelled at for cursing and shit like that. Whatever. Layla could read minds, couldn't she?

[JACKSON SALES]

Normally, no big deal was made of Christmas, unless someone wanted it to be. Usually, Jackson would be his non-merry self and sign up for the night shift at The Secret, crooning soft songs for the people there to drown out their winter sorrows, like he was. He'd work the bar before going back home to a cold apartment and an empty fridge. Back before, when his family was actually that, there would be a huge dinner, presents, stockings, the works. With Layla, Jackson had to fall back on his own childhood, trying to figure out what to do. Layla wouldn't talk about Christmas' with her mother, well, the kid tried hard not to talk about her mom at all. If she did, it was because Jackson made her, which he seldom did. He figured once she got older, she'd decide what he needed to know and not know.

But, Jackson and Layla had gone out and bought a fake tree ("Daddy, this one will last longer." / "Yeah, but it doesn't have the smell." / "...So?" / ".....Fine. We're not getting the pink one though." / "BUT DADDY!"), stockings, ornaments, the works. Layla had even picked out a stocking for Ezra, because she demanded for days he come over, before his best friend finally agreed, even though Jackson secretly knew he'd been planning a visit the entire time. Their stockings were modest; Layla's was pink with hints of black and gray, Jackson's black with red, and Ezra's, Layla decided on, nearly matched hers, trading gray for red. Ezra hadn't been over to see it, but Layla was sure he would like it. Besides, she'd know, with the whole mind reading thing.

"Daddy, Uncle Ezra is commin' up the stairs!" Like that. It freaked him out, but even at four years old, she could control her power better than anyone else he knew that could read minds. It blew his mind. Leaving his post in the kitchen, he dried his hands on the towel in his hands, following Layla and Thor to the door. Layla was already poised to open it before she stopped, looking back at Jackson with a grin on her face. He looked up, hearing Ezra's voice. "Yeah, yeah, you owe Layla a dollar now," he said, helping Layla open the door and picking up Thor, who was about to make a run at Ezra's feet. "Come in, come in. The turkey is already done and all that jazz." Closing the door, he set Thor down, who then made his run at Ezra. "We're gonna eat soon, then do presents." He watched Layla tug at Ezra's hand (more like jumping to try and touch it, considering she was on the shorter side than most four year olds). ""Uncle Ezra, you gotta see your stocking! I picked it for you! And the tree! And the cookies! Come on!!"

[EZRA HART]

The door swung open and the perfect little family was revealed. Thor, barking madly and wagging his tail, Jackson holding him and looking a little tired, and Layla ready with the doorknob. He grinned, picking up the sack and throwing it over his shoulder. "Santa dropped all this stuff at my house. Pretty sure he got the wrong address, though," he started, pushing past the three of them and into the living room, "and isn't it Christmas ham? Or are we doing multi-holiday? Festivus for the rest of us." It wasn't like they were ever great at Christmas. In fact, he wasn't even sure if Jackson knew what to do at Christmas, other than sit around a big, sparkly, gay tree and give presents. He had to give it to him, though, everything looked pretty nice for the first time having a kid.

The last time they had Christmas was after the second summer they'd known Daileh--when he and Jackson were eight, and Daileh was seven. That was the year that he'd tried to run away from home (unsuccessfully) and ended up walking down three blocks to Jackson's, climbing through the window, and laying in his bed until the boy came home from his family Christmas trip. Maybe, he thought, Jackson and his family would have something better waiting for him in the morning than his mother did. Daileh, for whatever reason, was there a half an hour later, peeking her eyes over the edge of the window before scrambling in. They played in his room until about ten p.m. on Christmas eve, when both passed out in the sea of paper airplanes that they had made for Jackson's special Christmas gift. But Jackson didn't return for another three days, and on Christmas morning, Daileh dragged her tired self out of the house, down the block, and back to her family for their tradition (killing babies, or something of the sort). He waited, alone, until they came home.

And...there was no Christmas miracle. No mysterious presents under the tree, no puppies jumping out of boxes, and certainly no parents returning to claim their children. Instead, there were a lot of awkward silences, some yelling, a few phone calls, and a half-hearted snow angel left outside. That was what Christmas was to him. A few leftover cookies and a bad idea.

The first thing he saw when he turned around, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, was Thor bounding up to him. He smirked a little and picked the pup up, scratching its back and ears and trying to avoid the frantically swinging tail. "Hey baby," he cooed, kissing the side of his head, "miss me?" The redhead had just begun to be attacked by Thor's slobber when he felt a nip at his hand, and looked down. There was Layla, hopping up and down and trying to grab his attention. The smirk grew a little bit, and he set the bouncing puppy down on the ground, bending down to Layla's eye level as he did so. "Alright, I'll see the stocking. But it's gotta be a surprise, 'kay?" He closed his eyes and stuck his hand out promptly.

"Lead me into any walls, and your dad will pay for it."

[JACKSON SALES]

True to form, Ezra was his exuberant self, regardless of the fact this holiday season wasn't one of his favorites. Probably his least, due to all the misfortunes of his past, which Jackson felt guilty about. His parents always liked to escape for the holidays, meaning they were rarely home for the event but back a few days later. As he grew older, and the family started to crumble, he was there, usually him being the one escaping. Sometimes he and Ezra would go to New York for a day, looking at the hustle and bustle and the tree in Central Park. On those occasions, he would close his eyes and wish for a happy Christmas, one where he was with the people he loves and loved him in return. One where there was no bullshit, just happy.

Jackson was determined to make this one of those.

He closed the door behind Ezra, turning to watch his smaller family interact with his oldest friend. It was hard to believe how much had changed in one year, but all of it being well worth it. Sometimes Ezra stared in disbelief at his 'transformation' (Jackson's word, because Ezra couldn't come up with anything better), watching him with Layla. It was nice to have someone to depend on him that wasn't doing it just because. Layla meant everything to him now, and he could tell she was working his magic on Ezra as well. "Yeah, well, we didn't get to do a traditional Thanksgiving because, well, we had to get away for a few days." Meaning, Edward had decided to try and surprise them, so Jackson grabbed Layla and Thor, put them in the car, and drove all night to get away. They didn't go back until he was sure Edward gave up. It was something he didn't tell Ezra, not yet anyway. "Layla decided she wanted turkey, so we're having turkey." And that was the end of it. Jackson balanced himself on the arm of the couch, bending down to grab Thor when Layla finally got Ezra's attention the way she wanted.

"Stay on your knees then, please." Jackson laughed, and Layla grinned at him before setting off for the fireplace where the stocking hung. She was slow in her efforts, taking the words Ezra spoke to heart. She hated to see her daddy in pain, and she could always tell, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Her little mind reading trick never failed. "Okay, stop!" Layla giggled, touching Ezra's face so he would open his eyes. Jackson set Thor down, watching him gallop to sniff the bag Ezra brought in before looking back to the man in question. "And look, no walls. Imagine that." He added, turning more to look at his daughter and best friend.

[EZRA HART]

Get away for a few days? He looked up, locking eyes with the other boy, and raised an eyebrow. Don't think you're getting away with this, he warned, absent-mindedly stroking Thor as he bounded around his feet. We'll talk later. Eh, it could wait. He knew what was wrong, anyway; the only time Jackson ever said things like that was when his father was involved. And if they had to go for a few days, it was worse than it had been for a while. He wasn't that concerned, though; if Jackson hadn't pulled him over to talk about it (or break down), and Layla seemed pretty okay, then it could wait until after all the presents were opened and Layla was safely asleep in her bed upstairs. For now, he was in Christmas mode, and that meant that nothing would get him down (at least, in front of the kid). "Either way," he added as Layla grabbed his hand. "Turkey's fine with me."

Ezra tried to subdue his grin as he was lead across the living room on his knees at a glacial pace. "Can't we go any faster?" he whined, smiling smugly at Layla's attempt to keep her father safe. He had to give it to Jackson--he made one adorable kid. Finally, they came to a stop, and he jerked forward, wobbling a little as he steadied himself again. A little twitch passed as her warm fingers touched his cheek, cold with the outside frost, and his eyes fluttered open. His eyes followed Layla's hand up the fireplace and to the three (well, four, if you included the tiny one for Thor) stockings dangling from it. Jackson, Layla, Ezra. Cute. He let out a low whistle and looked over to the girl next to him. "How did you know that pink was my favorite color?" he grinned, reaching over to tickle her sides.

Without warning, Ezra snatched her up in his arms, pulling her into his chest and cackling as evilly as he could. He swayed a bit as he got to his feet, steadying himself and bouncing Layla up so that their faces were at the same eye level. "And now the tree, right?" He waltzed across the room, stumbling a little as Thor, barking happily, attempted to join in their dance, and paused near the tree and the bag he'd left underneath it. "Jeeesus christ," he muttered, looking it up and down. "That is one good lookin' tree." He looked over at Layla, feigning surprise. "You didn't pick out that gorgeous piece of wood, did you?"

[JACKSON SALES]

Yes, Jackson was going to get a talking to when Layla was asleep, he knew. Whatever, it's not a big deal. Because it wasn't. Jackson was a big boy, he could protect his family when it mattered most. And sure, people could argue that a twenty year old should not have to take care of a four year old, but this was his daughter. She was his life now, like it or not (and believe me, Jackson LOVES it). But, for now, he was happy to celebrate Christmas with the people who mattered most in his life. Sure, that was sappy, but being a father had made Jackson see the finer things in life. Yadda yadda yadda, he was a changed man, Ezra would always say, but whatever. Ezra was the one to take care of him when he worked, so whatever. He too was being sucked into the Layla charm.

Speaking of which, he brought himself back and watched his best friend interact with his daughter. For being a killer (hell, they both were, but everyone knew Jackson was the one with the heart in the duo), he was pretty gentle and kind around her. Jackson couldn't understand it, but he secretly loved it. And so did Layla, because she was cute and everyone loved her and she loved the attention. Layla giggled, causing Jackson to smile. "S'kay, you don't gotta lie. But I added red, see?!" She did, she had been pretty insistent in the fact, and of course Jackson relented. A sad Layla made for a sad EVERYONE.

Layla let out a squeal when Ezra picked her up, turning it into a giggle before she pressed her face into his cheek for a make-shift kiss. She nodded at the tree, looking at it and Ezra, before looking at her father. "Daddy wanted to get a real one, but these last longer!" Sure, the tree was pretty, something Jackson wanted, but let Layla help decorate anyway. He even let her put the star at the top, something she too picked out. At the rate it was going, Layla would soon be in charge if Jackson didn't watch himself. Not that he minded. "Daddy made it all pretty!" She looked over again to him, her eyes asking why he wasn't over with them. Jackson smiled. He was content with this, with all of this.

[EZRA HART]

"Tch." He rolled his eyes, bumping Layla up a bit higher to balance her weight out. "Your dad and his crazy living tree obsessions," he sighed, shaking his head and looking back over to the tree. He could already tell that Layla had decorated it--there were makeshift ornaments placed in odd spaces, areas where there didn't seem to be any ornaments at all, areas where there were too much ornaments, and lights clumsily wrapped around the tree. It was cute, though, and a good attempt for a kid her age. In fact, he was pretty sure that she was the smartest kid he knew (excluding Blair's little hellion, who had already figured out that it was funny to cause him physical harm or damage). He moved his eyes to the top of the tree where a tiny, golden star rested. His lips twitched into a small smile. Yep, that was probably Layla, too. At the rate this kid was going, she'd have taken over Jackson's authority by New Year's Eve, become president at age nine, and then moved on to rule the world by twelve. And that preteen PMS stress wouldn't be good for the economy.

As Layla looked over to Jackson, he took his chance to relax a little bit. "Hold on a minute, kid," he muttered, gently lowering her to the ground and setting her down next to the tree. He stretchced back to his full height again and began searching his pockets. Where did I put them? Fuck. He was entirely sure that he'd put his cigarettes in his pocket before he'd left for Jackson's. He'd had them in the car that morning, hadn't he? Lifting his hand out of his left pocket, he looked at the crumpled up concert tickets and photos of him and Dai in the booth (Dai looking characteristically unamused and himself looking characteristically drunk-but-actually-sober). The redhead smirked for a moment, but slid them back in his pocket and checked the other one. Ah. Well, he found the lighter. He flicked it on for a moment, watching as the flame licked his finger out from the red container, and then, turning it off, placed it back in his jacket pocket. Eh, well. If he couldn't find a pack, there was always the good chance he'd left some at Jackson's.

Instead, he made his way over to the couch and plopped down, grabbing a pillow and flipping so that he created his own personal (makeshift) bed. He watched Jackson for a moment, glanced at Layla, and then moved back up to her father. "So...are we gonna play some Christmas music, or am I gonna have to go all Aretha on your asses?" Which, in all honesty, was something he'd been wanting to do since June.

[JACKSON SALES]

Layla made her way over to Jackson the moment Ezra set her down, grinning brightly. He matched it, leaning down to give her a hug before pulling her into his arms. "You did good, kid," he told her, smiling at the way she pushed her face into his neck in embarrassment. He stood watching his best friend pat down his pockets, unaware of what was going on, unknowing to him Layla did. Her eyebrows furrowed and her tiny hands clinched into fists. He tore his gaze away to look at his daughter, who looked angrier than a pitbull. It was a scary sight. "Hey, short stuff, whats wrong?" She ignored him, instead glaring at Ezra. "Those are bad for you!" she exclaimed, her tone a tack above screeching. Jackson looked between her and Ezra, confusing clearly written on his face. Between Ezra and Layla, it was always hard to get something out of them. Both were stubborn in their ways, and both didn't like to share, which made Jackson worried about dealing with Layla when she grew older.

He let it slide, for know, storing it away for future reference and blackmail. It was obviously a Ezra and Layla thing, which was something either he wasn't allowed to know, or couldn't because he wasn't as smart as his daughter. At least she hadn't inherited his power to kill. Jackson wouldn't be able to live with himself then. He was lost in thought, not seeing Ezra play with the lighter but Layla saw, her eye widening and her grasp on her father growing tighter. She curled closer when Ezra came near and flopped down on the couch, tucking her head against Jackson's neck, her eyes on her Uncle.

Jackson was severely confused, but answered regardless. "Christmas music blows, you and I both know that. I still don't get why you like the stuff though," he added, shaking his head but looking funny due to Layla's head blocking some of his movements. "Baby girl, whats wrong?!" She shook her head, wrapping tighter against Jackson and turning her head away from the couch. Jackson brought a hand to her back, rubbing it up and down her tense frame, feeling her relax slightly. He looked back at Ezra, sighing.

[EZRA HART]

Ezra glanced up as Jackson spoke, preoccupied with the thought of lighting up, and shrugged. Seems fine to me, he mused, checking his back pockets. Layla was always excited about one thing or another. If it wasn't the fact that Ezra was coming over to make tacos (and sing his Taco Tuesday jingle), it was that Jackson had written a new song, or that Ezra was going to get himself killed with that motorcycle, or that the new boy down the block pushed her in the mud for some strange reason. Layla was the cutesy type of kid that, unfortunately, tended to have something to say about everything. In fact, she was probably upset that he'd knocked over an ornament, or something like that. There was no real reason to worry. However, as he was searching his right pocket, Layla let out a screech so loud that he was sure that several of the windows were supposed to have shattered; immediately, he looked up, shocked, and stared at the little girl. "S'wrong, chica?" What was bad for who? He looked over at Jackson, but the boy was equally confused. Clearly, she'd been speaking to him. So what--oh. Oh. The cigarettes.

He always forgot that Layla could read minds--though, he admitted, you didn't need to be able to to understand what he was looking for. Sheepishly, he rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging. "I know, Lay. I'll stop after this one, kay?" he assured her, flashing a quick, weary smile and removing his hands from his pockets. "Swear. I'll be good after this one." He didn't take it too seriously; he wouldn't smoke in front of Layla for a month or so to let her cool down. Besides, he always said that--that he would stop right after the cigarette he was smoking. It wasn't like it was going to happen any time soon. He was hooked, and he knew it--everyone knew it--and the only two people who had the guts to tell him off were Sam and Layla (he didn't think Jackson gave a shit either way), who really never enforced it. He'd tried those damn patches for about a month, or something. Retarderd. He ended up throwing them out and blowing his leftover money on smoothies at the seven-eleven.

"What's not to love about jingle bells?" Ezra countered, bouncing his feet to the beat of the song and humming lightly. "Or jingle bell rock, for that matter? What a briiight time, it's the riiiiight time to rock the night away?" He pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Or the Italian Christmas donkey?" He made the donkey noise that Layla loved, hoping it would distract her from thoughts of stealing his cigarettes, or something, and quietly went back to hunting for his pack. Goddamn, did I leave them outside the shower again?

[JACKSON SALES]

For some reason, Layla had decided to take a 180 in her attitude and refused to talk or look at Ezra. He knew that dinner would still take a few hours still, so if he put Layla down for a nap no one would be harmed. He brushed Layla's blond hair away from her eyes, watching Layla close her eyes in something that was close to defeat. He looked back up at Ezra when he said something, eyes somewhat wide with a pinch of confusion and wider with fear. Layla typically didn't do this, usually she was very vocal about what was wrong in her life. Like when she missed her mom, or when she would mumble over and over again when Jackson would pick her up from the neighbors after work that her day sucked and she missed him. Basically, his daughter was just like Ezra.

He knew Ezra couldn't see it, but Layla shook her head, her lips muttering something even he couldn't understand. Jackson was a tad frazzled, not knowing what to do in the new situation. He bit his lip, looking over where Layla's bedroom was before sighing. "I'm going to go put her down for a few hours, kay? I'll be back in a few." It wouldn't take that long, Layla was already starting to become boneless in his arms. He shifted her higher as he gave a small smile to his best friend, before going to the hallway and pushing Layla's door open with his foot. Being four years old going on ten, he had bought her a bed for her room, which helped when she had a nightmare, because then it didn't take her that long to reach him. It also helped in situations like this. He pulled the covers back with one hand and slowly set her down, making sure her head was fully on the pillow. It was warm enough in the house so she didn't need all her blankets but he put a small sheet over her anyway, before leaving and closing the door.

He entered and Ezra spoke, but he couldn't find himself to care. He sat down on the couch next to Ezra, resting his head against his hands, elbows balancing on his knees. He took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I'm going to ask you what the hell that was about, and you're going to tell me. She's never done something like that before, which obviously means it really upset her. So, you're going to tell me, and you're not going to lie, because no matter how much of an ass you are sometimes, this is my daughter, and that would just be shitty." He took a breath, not looking over at him, but keeping his gaze on the floor under him. "So, talk."

[EZRA HART]

He shrugged as Jackson passed him, carrying the depressed and annoyed Layla up the stairs and out of sight. It wasn't his fault, he reminded himself. Layla had been upset, and he'd tried to help her feel better. That was it, right? The only thing he'd done was promise here that he'd get better. If anything, he should've helped the situation, not have made it worse. Yeah, right. Okay. He felt a little better. He settled deeper into the couch, pulling his hoodie up and laying his head back against the armrest. His eyes trailed lazily over the room. There were a few Christmas decorations, nothing exceptional--a wreath on the door, some red banners trailing across the fireplace, a few Christmas-themed stickers stuck to the windows (he could tell it was Layla's doing, as they overlapped and there were a hell of a lot more Santas than necessary). Overall, it was the cute little Christmas scene that he'd always pictured. Of course, he had pictured himself smaller, and generally with more presents and friends there to celebrate--and, of course, his little sister with him. As of late, however, Tia had begun to ignore him.

It wasn't like she had been as fascinated with him as he was she in the beginning. There was a few moments of touching "hey, I have an actual family", but that passed as soon as she began to know Ezra. More shame came and less happiness. Then Tia had started seeing Jackson, and Ezra became less and less frequent in her life. After a few more weeks, she hadn't talked to him at all. Jackson didn't seem to either. Daileh was busy with Mort, and gave off the feeling that she was a little too busy even when he wasn't around. Sam refused to see him, and went off with Asher. For a good month or so, it was just him, alone in his apartment. Not even the stupid turtles that he'd gotten for Sam had paid attention to him. It'd gotten to the point where he, for the first time, found himself asking what he'd done wrong. But then, just as quickly as everyone had left him, they were back at his side--well, with the exception of Tia. At this point, it didn't look like she would return, either.

He snapped out of his thoughts as he heard the other boy coming down the stairs again, and he quickly switched his position so that he was sitting up again, crossing his legs and leaning backwards against his arms. Jackson plopped down and began his quick instructions, which the redhead droned out as he looked to the floor. Once he was finished, Ezra lifted his eyes a bit and glanced to his side, watching as Jackson stared down the floor. "She wanted me to stop smoking, that's all," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "She read my mind, figured out what I was looking for--the pack of cigarettes--hey, did I leave a pack here?--ahh...oh, yeah. She figured out that I wanted to smoke and flipped out at me." He nodded and kicked his legs up on the table again. "Guess she's seen too many of those above-the-influence commercials."

[JACKSON SALES]

If he sat on the couch and just focused on his breathing, either Ezra would assume he was having a heart attack or that Jackson was really pissed off. Truth be told, Jackson didn't know what to think. Well, he did, because from Ezra had told him, Layla's reaction had made a lot of sense. One time she had caught him smoking, waking up from a nightmare and running into him room, stopping short when she found him standing against the window, blowing the smoke outside. He didn't realize it at first, but it triggered some memory in her, and set her off, and it had taken hours to calm her down. Once that finally happened and she passed out in his arms, he let her sleep with him in his bed, not sleeping himself because he was so busy watching her. When she woke up, she was still upset but she told him a story that made it all make sense.

One of her first memories was being in her mom's arms, and her mom was speaking louder than she normally did. Then, she was being put down, and there were a lot of loud noises, so she started crying to get them to stop. Fast forward a few years, and Layla was again sitting in her mom's arms, when she spotted weird circular marks are her mom's arms. She had asked, and her mom told her, which didn't make much sense, but Layla left it alone. Then, her mom died, and every question she had about it was never answered for months, until Jackson came into her life and made everything better. And of course, Jackson understood what the marks were, because he was older and knew better, but wasn't sure how to tell Layla. But, he did, the best way possible, and she freaked out and told him never to smoke ever again and went on and on, crying herself into a fit before passing out.

It'd been a few months, but he'd never picked up a cigarette since.

He sighed, the parental sigh that made him feel older than nineteen. "She's young enough to understand right from wrong, and to her, that's wrong." Jackson kept his gaze on the ground, eyes closed, afraid of doing otherwise. He didn't need this today, not the day where is two favorite people were together with him in the same place, which was something that did not happen as often as he would have liked. "She'll want you to stop until you do, and you can't lie to her, because she knows better." Again, he sighed. His anger was boiling, but it seemed fruitless to boil over against Ezra. Jackson knew his best friend well enough to know he wouldn't stop, would just cover his tracks to the nines in order for Layla to be happy. And eventually, he would falter, and Layla would know (she kept tabs on the important people in her life. her power was too much for her young age, and how she managed it, he didn't know. but, she told him she followed his thoughts and Ezra's, to make sure they were always okay). "Just," he paused, not really knowing what he wanted to ask, but did anyway. "I don't want to say lie to her, because that's impossible. She's almost five, and smarter than most people I know." Jackson took a chance to look up, eyes locking with Ezra's figure. "If I can't trust you, then she can't, and that means we have no one. I can't live with having no one, Ezra. Not anymore, not with her around. Regeneration means nothing if something happens to her." Jackson was pretty sure his point was not coming across. If she can't be around you, I- I can't live with that. I'm not saying change. I'm saying try harder to be good. He looked away again, almost ashamed with himself for seemingly making demands out of someone who didn't need to have them. Ezra didn't need to be the extra person in Layla's life. He didn't have to be, but somehow, he was. And Jackson was pretty sure Ezra didn't know that, and was totally sure he was about to.

[EZRA HART]

He didn't want to think it, but it was true; he did not, by any means, want to grow up.

Ever.

Everyone was always trying to make him give up his old ways. The most prominent fighter for this belief was, of course, Sammii. He'd spent their entire relationship scultping and breaking and destroying what had been the old Ezra -- free, bubbly, lusty, wicked -- into what the boy thought was the new and improved Ezra -- quiet, "pure", nice, and thoughtful. It was like the only thing that the other boy had actually wanted to stay the same was his looks (but really, who could blame him?). Over a matter of months, his friends had stopped talking to him as much, the Shameless Slut Brigade (composed of Trent, Fletcher, Parker, Blair, and other hallway skanks) had stopped flirting with him in the halls, and even the goddamn freshmen were no longer afraid of him. Sam had effectively taken the Big, Bad Wolf of Winterthorne and turned him into a helpless, sweet Little Red. Except, of course, that he was still of freakish height, and any pansy who thought they could mess with him would find out otherwise.

Even Daileh had come to him when she had seemingly discovered she'd fallen for Mort (utter B.S., he'd helped bring that sinking ship down a little faster); she wanted advice on being in love, and what it was like, because -- clearly -- he was such an expert on it. Well, Dai had known exactly what it was like for him. He gave up everything he'd ever known. As Dai began to remember it, he began to realize it, and slowly the old Ezra returned. Not in the same way, of course. It was a gradual return. The big hit came when Mort thought it'd be a great idea to steal his heart, a time in which he had completely reverted back to old ways. And, once he got his precious organ back, he realized that he didn't need it. He was much, much happier spending his nights slutting himself to anyone who passed and drinking until he passed out. It was just...him. Being free. Being childish. Having fun.

And he was fucking nineteen. He didn't know what it took to be a father, or anything scary like that. He knew how much liquor he could hold, though.

And he knew that Jackson didn't mean it -- as Jackson had been the one to remind him in the first place that he was losing himself to Sam -- but it was just one of those things that dads had to do. Sacrifice, whether it was himself or others. In this case, it was Ezra. For some reason, Layla seemed to already know that Ezra was as much of a father figure as Jackson (well, you know, a little less with the whole genetics and cruisin-for-a-boozin thing). It was beyond him how that had occurred; other than the fact that he was Jackson's best friend, he couldn't see a reason. Sure, he played with her, and sure, they had fun, but he didn't think that made him a dad. Then again, he didn't have much to base that statement off of (granted, he hadn't tried to drown Layla yet, which was good).

Plus, it couldn't have been just being around here. He was "just around" Blair's kid, and look what'd happened there -- he'd only been around the little bastard for a few minutes when it thought hey, here's a good idea, let's PISS EZRA OFF. It was just like it's goddamn mother. Granted, the baby was wrapped up, so it knew how to keep its legs closed.

He thought about what Jackson had told him for a few moments and leaned back against the couch, pulling his legs up as he did so. "I don't want to stop," he mumbled. "I tried to stop. You know that. You watched me." It'd been about a day or two before he caved and stole some from Dai. "I'm nineteen," he added, biting down on his lip ring and staring the wall down, "and I'm pretty much the same I was at sixteen. Think about it, man. I'm never going to grow up." Whether they wanted it or not, it was probably true; he'd reached a level that didn't seem passable by his standards.

He fell silent for a little bit.

"And what's gonna happen when she finds out how many people I've killed, huh?" he asked suddenly, light eyes flickering over to the boy. "What is your kid gonna say when she realizes how many other daddies and mommies I've slaughtered?" A surge of anger fueled him on. "If she's gonna keep tabs on me because I smoke, it's only a matter of time before she realizes what both of us did. And what then, huh? Do you have the heart to tell her what happened?" He felt himself standing up, staring down at the figure. "Don't give me that shit about trust, Jackson. If I didn't give a shit, I'd be out there right now, telling the cops it was all you and Daileh. I wouldn't be here, either. You know that. I wouldn't have worked my ass off for Mort to keep you and your goddamn kid alive." He huffed a little. "In fact, I probably would have killed you."

[JACKSON SALES]

Growing up, Jackson had wanted to grow up. He wanted to seem older, look older, be older. With Ezra as a best friend, that made it hard at times, but everyone who encountered the duo always seemed to think he was the mature one, which he was. August wasn't that far from April, as far as Jackson was concerned. Of course, all of that mattered when Ezra would use it against him, which was often growing up, but now that they were older, not so much. For a long time they gauged themselves on everything typical teenage boys did, except with a twist, because they killed people on the side. Jackson wasn't proud of it, in fact, his first kill had been a mistake, but Ezra didn't care, because it meant he was that much closer to him. It freaked Jackson out to begin with, but eventually he came into it, but his kill rate was nowhere near Ezra's, nor would it ever be. Not anymore, not with Layla in the picture. Ezra was a sweet talker when he desperately wanted something, but that was something that Jackson would not budge on. Not anymore, not when he had someone who looked up to him and depended on him for everything in her life now.

Being a father changed everything.

And sure, he couldn't expect Ezra to drop everything now that Layla took a shine to him. But, in the back of his mind, it seemed unfair. Jackson hadn't wanted all of this thrust upon him, hell, he didn't even know Layla existed until just six months ago, just around his birthday. The world shifted, and everything changed. He had different responsibilities, different chores, and he had to adapt. He didn't mind, really, the moment Jackson saw Layla he knew what was in store and he knew with all his demonic heart he wanted that little girl to love him, and she did, wholeheartedly. But, he had to adapt, and change, and Ezra did too, but not like this. His change was different, and sure, Jackson had been there during the good times and the bad, but now with Layla, everything was different. If his friendship with his best friend, someone he had known since he was five, well, he couldn't take that. To make it short, if he lost Ezra, it would be the equivalent of losing Layla. It would metaphorically kill him.

"So you want to die of lung cancer? Be gone sooner?" That was something else Jackson didn't want to see happen. He knew in time, he'd have to bury everyone, including Layla. That part, if he could, he would change. Never dying, never feeling but a brief flash of pain, it sucked. It was almost as if it was a curse, thrust upon him and only him to deal with. Just like an evil joke someone in the gene pool had wanted to play. Someone like his father. Jackson clinched his fits unknowingly. "I've know for a very long time you were never going to grow up, man. Trust me, you have your moments of maturity-" Jackson paused, recounting the time Ezra swooped in and grabbed him from the bloody mess after his father shot and killed his mom, grabbing him away from where he sat clutching his mom's dead body and far away, to safety, where he held Jackson until dawn when the tears broke and there was nothing but an empty shell. "But you gotta see it from my perspective."

And then, well, Ezra got mad. And sure, Jackson had been around Ezra long enough to know the difference between Ezra's bouts of anger. But this one, it felt different. It felt meaner, with an edge of I-don't-really-mean-this-but-I'm-kind-of-ticked-off-so-I'm-say-it-anyway. And yeah, it hurt. Kind of like something being ripped out of him. Jackson never meant literally that he didn't trust Ezra. He couldn't, he wouldn't. But, maybe he did. Maybe he meant that he couldn't be around Ezra that much anyone. Maybe he meant he needed to treat Ezra differently, because, well, because of what he and Ezra were. KILLERS.

Jackson knew the day would come when Layla would see the images in his head, from the people he killed, some without a single thought. And she would be scared, scared beyond her wits, and Jackson knew that would be one of the hardest days of his life. It would be different than when she saw into Ezra's head. Ezra liked blood, he liked the people he killed to be tortured beyond belief. He liked to take his time, to make the person feel every possible thing that could be felt before he slaughtered them. With Jackson, all it took was a single thought, a massive dose of pain to the head before something in their brain became too much and they died. It was short, sweet, and to the point, and most of all, clean. No blood, no fuss. But when Layla found out, and looked at him like he was a monster, what then? How would he explain that he didn't know any better, when he certainly did? Wasn't that the duty of the parent?

"Don't fucking remind me of that," Jackson seethed, his voice betraying the fact he was trying not to let his anger get the best of him. "Don't you think from the moment I took her in, that was the one thing I worried about most, apart from her safety and well-being? Don't you think that the look on her face when she discovers the two people she puts her trust into the most above all else are monsters? Don't you think I see that realization every single fucking night when I go to bed?" Jackson was shaking slightly, just his hands, and he had to look away again at the ground. He tried to focus on his breathing, but couldn't, not with what Ezra was saying.

"Don't you fucking dare play this off on something unrelated, asshole. You know I trust you with everything about me. You know how scared I was when I saw you kill that guy in the alley, and how scared I was the first time I killed someone too. But you, you were there. Always there. Just like you are now, and now you're going to stand there and question fifteen years of friendship based solely on the fact of my daughter?" Jackson huffed too, his head cocked over towards Ezra's standing figure.

And then, well, he snapped.

He got in Ezra's face, finger in his chest and eyes narrowed like he meant this. "She's not a goddamn kid, Ezra, she's my daughter. She's all I got. Just like you, you're all I got too. We've been friends for fifteen years, that says something, doesn't it?" He took a breath, but continued, not wanting Ezra to interrupt. "So don't fucking stand there and tell me you ax me the first chance you got, because it would be the biggest lie ever. You need me, just like I need you. And you know it, you know you need me in your life, and it kills you, doesn't it? It pains you to need someone like you need me. This isn't a matter of trust, this isn't a matter of ANYTHING. This is me and you, and you and me, and at the end of the day, the only thing that could EVER come between that is Layla, and weather or not you can be around her." He took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. He couldn't say anymore, feeling like he'd said enough for the moment. Now, it was waiting, just waiting to see what Ezra would do.

[EZRA HART]

He felt like he was drowning all over again. Granted, it wasn't like what he had felt before with his father--where he was kicking and thrashing and gasping for breath as the water invaded his lungs and blinded his view of the man holding him underwater. It wasn't like fear attacking every edge of him, or panic-stricken punches and to the face and loss of oxygen that made him faint of heart. No, this feeling was more like drowning everything out. He was swimming in a sea of the words Jackson threw at him, but he brushed by each one of them like it was nothing. They slid right over him like they had no meaning at all. He'd never felt like this with Jackson before; hell, he'd ignored him a thousand times before, sure--Ezra, make sure to clean up after the body (yeah, yeah). Ezra, you can't just fucking acid them to the face and expect the police not to catch you (okay, jesus christ, I won't). Ezra, you fucking douchebag, didn't I tell you not to let him follow? Fuck you, Jackson. Anyone who's with us knows where we meet, and anyone who's not is dead. Simple as that.

And he wasn't ignoring him because he didn't like him any more, or something stupid like that. They'd been best friends for fifteen years, and nothing in the world would make him leave Jackson's side (or dislike him in any way). He was ignoring him because he was pissed and uncontrollably upset and, as usual, stuck in his own little egotistical realm. He zoned out while Jackson yelled at him, feeling the numbness creep over as he slowly processed whatever he was being told. No shit. One day Layla would wake up and realize that her two favorite people in the world had been the ones to take care of nearly half of the teaching staff and most of the murders in their very town, and yeah, it would hurt her a lot, if not terrify her to death. And all the memories that she'd shared with the two of them would seem like it had been lost forever. For a long time, most likely, she wouldn't talk to them--and if she did again, it wouldn't be with the same admiration as it had before. Then again, part of him screamed out that he didn't really care at all, and that Layla could do whatever she wanted.

He didn't want to think it, but he was jealous of a five year-old. Well, almost five year-old. Ever since Layla had been part of the picture, Jackson had spent all of his time with her. Every time Ezra called, he was rejected. Gotta take care of the kid, after all. Every time he went over to see them, he was ignored for the kid. For anyone else, it might have been okay; but this was Ezra, and not only his ego took a major blow, but his happiness. To him, it wasn't fair that their fifteen years of friendship had gone down the drain because of this little kid. He wanted Jackson to love him as much as he had before. He wanted all the attention back on him. He wanted to walk in the room and know that he was what Jackson was looking at and thinking about. And, at this point, anything that he could argue with Jackson over was worth it. At least he would be what he was thinking about. Only him, like he'd wanted.

He realized that Jackson was up in his face. Directly against him, finger-pressed-to-chest and all that jazz. He was about to interrupt but Jackson, always the smarter, kept on charging through his speech. He waited until the end, face contorted with anger, and finally yelled back, "Don't fucking give me that count-for-something bullshit. How long have you known Layla, huh?" He threw up his hands. "She just waltzed right in and stole the show, didn't she? It took her like...what, two days to make up for fifteen years?" He growled angrily and took a step forward as Jackson backed up. "And no, I don't fucking know if you need me anymore! When have you ever fucking needed me in the past few months, huh? I've barely fucking seen you because you're doing fan-fucking-tabulous without me." He winced a little.

"Oh, you know what? You're right, your Majesty," he sneered back, shoving Jackson as he grimaced. "You're right. I'm sorry. It does hurt me so goddamn much that I give WAY MORE THAN WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU THINK ABOUT ME, BECAUSE, OBVIOUSLY, I'M THE BIGGEST GODDAMN JACKASS IN THE WORLD. WHY SHOULD YOU PAY ATTENTION, HUH?" He promptly kicked the couch. "NO SHIT, ASSHOLE. NO SHIT SHE COMES BETWEEN US. NO SHIT THAT I CAN'T--" He broke off for a few moments, huffing and staring the other boy down as he heaved. "No," he corrected, snatching his coat from the couch and pulling it on. "No, it's not worth it." He brushed past the other boy.

"Merry Christmas."