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Brian feels like one of those crazy pop-up stores he used to see at the mall, if he was ever dumb enough to venture there between the months of November and January, gets dropped off by the truckload at their house while he’s out.
He blinks, coming back in from the garage, momentarily forgetting the need for the shower, looking at the boxes and boxes of unopened holiday decorations strewn around. “What happened?”
Mia walks by, Jack strapped to her chest with that baby bjorn thing, a roll of tinsel around one arm. “It’s Christmas.” The brightness in her voice could truly light up a room, even if it doesn’t even begin to answer Brian’s question.
Brian blinks again, maybe thinking it’ll all disappear if he puts in a little more effort. It’s still there. “Yeah, but…”
“I know, I know. No tree. It’s hard, to get one here. It’ll be here in a few days. Which reminds me. Dom!” She shouts. “Dom!”
“I’m comin’,” Dom calls back, ambling up the front porch. He, at the very least, does not seem phased by the Christmas explosion at their home. “What’cha need?”
“The guy says the tree will be there day after tomorrow, but you’ll need to go pick it up,” Mia tells him, bouncing Jack slightly as she does.
“Got’cha,” Dom says, nodding. “Anything I can do to help?”
Brian wonders if removing the stuff from the premises counts as helping, but he knows better than to say it.
“Go clean up before you touch anything,” Mia says sternly, then turns to Jack. “We don’t want dirt on anything, no we don’t, no we don’t.”
Bemused, Brian follows Dom upstairs. “She, uh, into Christmas?”
Dom shrugs, closing their bedroom door. “Well, it is Jack’s first.”
Which doesn’t mean much to Brian, but Dom doesn’t seem to notice that as he strips off his grease stained shirt, then shucks his pants. “You coming, or you just gonna stare?” He tosses over his shoulder, now naked, walking into the ensuite.
Brian doesn’t have to think about that . He strips quickly, leaving his clothes where they fall, and follows Dom into the bathroom.
Of course, when they get out, Mia does genuinely expect them to help with the piles and piles of Christmas decorations, which is how Brian ends up up a ladder, hanging Christmas lights on top of the front porch, while Letty critiques laughingly from below.
“They’re crooked,” she says, for the seventh time.
“You’re crooked ,” Brian mutters, but it’s not a great insult when it’s true about both of them, anyways, so he settles for just flipping her off.
She laughs, and walks over to criticize Dom’s side of the lights, which are just as haphazard as Brian’s.
Once they get the lights hung and the ladders put away, it’s getting dark, but that just means there’s work inside the house. Mia has custom Christmas door mats, throw blankets, pillows, and little knick-knacks to place out. Brian can’t fathom the sheer magnitude of it all, but he fetches and carries as well as he ever has. There’s garland for the stair rail and knick-knacks and even Christmas plates.
Then there’s the religious stuff, the manger scene and advent wreaths and some sort of prayer card thing that Dom and Mia bicker about the placement of. Elena and Brian just share a look.
“They always like this?” Elena asks.
“Never spent Christmas with them,” Brian replies, trying not to draw too much attention to himself.
Letty snorts and walks by. “This is nothing. We ain’t even started yet. Buckle up.”
Sure enough, suddenly flowers they don’t even have are a matter of debate, and the fact that Jack, who has not even started to crawl yet, might go and eat one, and Brian feels a headache coming on.
Brian gets a reprieve by offering to put Jack to bed, and he takes his time getting the baby down. “Whole family’s gone nuts, huh?” Brian says, careful to keep his voice low and soothing. He’s long since learned it’s not what you say, but how you say it, and Jack’s eyes droop even as Brian vents. “What we need all this mess for, huh? You’re not gonna remember any of this.”
Jack coos as him as Brian rocks him gently, then kisses his forehead before settling him into the crib. “I’ll try to stop them from going too nuts,” Brian promises as he quietly turns the baby monitor on and backs out.
Somehow, though, he knows he can’t keep that promise.
By the time another week has passed, there’s a tree up. The tree has involved a three hour decorating process, lights and glass ornaments and tinsel and many, many tears when Mia realizes all their ornaments are still in Los Angeles and will likely never be seen by them again.
“We’ll just have to fill this tree with new ones,” Dom says. “Ones Jack makes.”
Brian…thinks he remembers that. An elementary school project, or something. Paper snowflakes, maybe, something six month old Jack is most definitely not ready for.
Mia sniffles but nods, wiping tears furiously on her sleeve. Dom pulls her into a hug, rubbing her back until she’s calm and steady again, when she pushes away with a small shove and a smaller smile.
Brian tries not to look too closely. It hits some of them, sometimes. That they can never go back. Doesn’t mean they like an audience for it.
By the time there’s two Advent candles lit at family dinner and Jack takes immeasurable pleasure in watching his Aunt Letty blow them out when family meal is done, Dom turns to Brian as they wash up. “What’re we getting Jack?”
“Getting Jack?”
“For Christmas?” Dom’s mostly patient as he says it, not like Brian’s the dumbest schmuck alive, but it’s clear that he expects Brian to keep pace with his thought process here.
Brian blinks, processes that, lets himself stop scrubbing. Right. Christmas. Because kids get gifts at Christmas. “Uh…I don’t know?”
“You even been shopping at all yet?” Dom says. His voice is level, so it’s not an accusation, except it is, because he knows Brian hasn’t been shopping . Brian barely leaves the home, usually goes into the little nearby town once or twice a week, usually with Dom. He hasn’t bought more than lube, coffee, and car parts for himself in weeks.
Brian bites his lip. Feels this out. “Am I too late?”
“We’ll go tomorrow,” Dom says quietly. His hip bumps Brian’s. “C’mon. Let’s finish up.”
In bed that night, once the house is quiet, the room lit only by the moon coming through the relatively thin balcony curtains, Dom speaks up very quietly. “Christmas is one of those family things you don’t got, huh?”
It’s very plain-spoken, matter-of-fact. There’s no pity, no mocking, no judgement. So Brian closes his eyes and nods.
“Overtime’s real good on Christmas,” Brian says into the silent of the room. “We needed the money bad. So, Mom, she’d take the shift, and we couldn’t afford…I think she tried to do something. I don’t really remember. Not like this. And then, later…when we had money again—” When she remarried, Brian means, and doesn’t say it, although Dom well knows “—We tried once. It was awful. Mom started taking Christmas shifts again after that.”
Dom runs a hand down Brian’s side, from just under his shoulder to his hip, slow. “And after?”
Brian closes his eyes. Dom already knows the answer. Rome rejected him. He didn’t exactly make friends on the force. Overtime is good for the Christmas shift. Brian didn’t celebrate Christmas.
Dom’s hand stills, presses a little more firmly into Brian’s hip. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow, then,” he says. “And show you…the shopping…” He shakes his head. “The shopping isn’t what it’s about, you know. You’ll see. It’ll be good.”
“You don’t gotta sell me on it, I’m here.”
Dom rolls them both, so he can spoon up close behind Brian, kiss the back of his neck, leaving his lips pressed there, one arm draped around his hips, as if to say damn right , and Brian…
Brian feels himself settle, and is actually able to get some sleep.
They skip town entirely and drive forty minutes out of their way to go to the big shopping complex Brian tends to avoid like the plague.
It’s overpriced, ritzy, has mostly stuff Brian would usually want nothing to do with, but here they are, two weeks until Christmas, wading into the mob.
Thankfully, they’re both big guys, so they get a little bit of space around themselves. Just enough to move, for Dom to steer them towards a toy store, where they clear out the little toy cars and a dump truck practically big enough for Jack to ride it and some beach toys. Entirely too much, but hey, if you can’t spoil your nephew, then what the hell is twenty three million dollars even for?
Once they dump all of that in the back of the Nissan, they’re right back into the mall, looking for shit for everyone else. Brian’s going a little cross-eyed at all the holiday displays, deals and special offers and promotions being blasted at him in gaudy lettering, but Dom pulls him to the side, big hands on his shoulders, and presses their foreheads together. “Slow down,” he rumbles. “Think ‘bout what would mean something.”
All Brian’s thinking is that he’s ass at this, apparently, but Dom’s in his face and it’s helping close out all the extra noise, helping him narrow down his scope. He nods.
Weighted down by bags, they hit the food court, which makes Brian a little twitchy, flash back to the old days where he picked up some extra cash doing crowd control for event venues in LA. Jesus Christ, Christmas shopping is a nightmare.
And, he still hasn’t done anything for Dom.
Brian drives home, and driving has always helped him think. He has toys for Jack, and seeds for Elena—bright flowers, he thinks she’ll like it. He bought some art piece for Mia, painted by a local kid, and he can actually tell what it’s a picture of, so that’s a win for him. Letty’s hard, but he buys her a new pair of good sunglasses to replace the ones she lost when learning to surf with him last month.
Which still leaves Dom. The hardest part, probably.
The thing about Dom, he’s not a stuff guy. What he has is precious, but he’s never huge on getting more. And while he’d probably like a new shirt or new sunglasses or car parts, none of that feels like a Christmas gift. Not if Brian really understands what Dom says Christmas is.
Christmas is supposed to mean something. And all of that would mean I think about you sometimes and I vaguely know what you like. I know your shirt size, your favorite colors. I know the current state of your car . Which is all well and good, but Brian wants this to mean something real. Something more.
The Torettos have given him a family. Christmas, in all its insane glory. He’s not capable of saying the words very often, but if this is how you tell someone they matter, Brian wants to do it right, when it comes to Dom.
He takes the long way home, to think it over. Dom doesn’t say anything, just relaxes in the passenger’s seat, eyes closed and head leaned back slightly.
And suddenly, Brian has an idea.
The food turns into its own nightmare. Mia starts cooking three days before Christmas, pies and casseroles prepped in the fridge, everyone appointed various tasks. Brian, for his part, is particularly good at opening cans and slicing things.
Then the cleaning starts, which Brian is at least more equipped to handle. Letty laughs and reminds Mia that they’re not even having guests, but Mia waves her off, and Dom says something in rapid-fire Spanish about their mother, so Letty lets it go, and they cook and clean.
By the end of it, Brian’s pretty sure he could be living in a postcard, or a made-for-TV movie, if that movie also contained a baby managing to undo whatever you just cleaned.
That’s okay, though. Brian sits with Jack on his lap in the main room, watching the ten foot tall tree, as Jack babbles at the pretty lights, as Elena bakes cookies in the kitchen. “Still think this is nuts,” he whispers to Jack, who just babbles back.
“You can’t even eat cookies.”
Jack makes grabby-hands at the lights.
“And you won’t remember a single present.”
“Gah.”
Brian sighs. “Yeah. Fair enough.”
Everyone ends up going to midnight mass except Brian, who would never describe himself as particularly religious. He stays home with the sleeping baby.
So he wraps his gifts and puts them all under the tree, where a small pile already waits. He even sees his name on a couple packages, and tries to ignore the way his heart skips.
By the time the others get back, Brian’s already in bed. Dom comes up to bed quietly, strips off his church clothes, and slides into bed behind Brian. He pulls him close, then kisses the back of his neck, right under his hairline. “Merry Christmas, Brian.”
Usually, they take turns waking up early with Jack. But this morning, the first time he’s up after first light, everyone gets up. Still in pajamas, coffee in hand, they make their way to the main room.
Mia feeds Jack as Letty distributes a pile of gifts to everyone. Once he’s done his first feeding of the day, everyone helps open Jack’s gifts, cooing over the truly irresponsible pile of toys. Then, they move onto their own.
Brian feels like a dragon on top of a treasure hoard or something, as his pile grows. Mia’s given him a new beach blanket, Elena some fake, wooden flowers meant to go on a desk or dresser, which she gives him a private smile over. Letty gives him a collection of terrible bumper stickers he would never put on a car, but laughs at anyways. She must have been collecting those for a while.
There’s nothing from Dom yet, nothing offered, nothing under the tree, but that’s alright. There could be a million reasons why not. It could be something that’s more complicated than just stuff . It could be in the garage. It could be a gift just for them, no one else’s eyes; couples do that, right?
So he offers Dom his gift, and he’ll try to deny to his dying day that his hands shake. The trouble is Brian doesn’t have any of his usual fallbacks to use, to center himself. He can’t become ice. Not to Dom. It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it’s that he physically can’t, anymore. Not with Dom.
Dom accepts the package with a simple brush of hands, then carefully removes the paper from the box. When he opens it, it’s a pile of maps, starting with a world map, getting more specific.
Dom looks at him, eyebrow raised, and Brian just has to hope that this doesn’t suck. “I wanna go on a trip,” he says. “Just you and me. Anywhere you want to go. You pick. Just us, and the car, and the road. I…” He trails off, because there’s no way to tell Dom what it means, to ride side by side with him. Not in front of others. Not without just saying those words that are so damn hard to say. “I thought, maybe we’d take the Charger.” They’ve put a lot of work into that car. It’ll be nice to pay it off on the road together.
Dom smiles, then kisses him, soft and quick. They’re not really big on public displays, even in front of the family. The world has too much to say about guys like them for that. Which means every kiss from Dom in front of prying eyes means Dom feels it so much he can’t help himself. Which means Brian can’t help but feel his heart beat a little faster.
“We’re gonna have to wait on that trip,” he says, an inch from Brian’s mouth, the last words Brian expected to hear right then.
“What? Why?” Disappointment sinks into his gut. He didn’t expect them to leave this afternoon or even this month, but he assumed Dom wanted to go too, would want this. That he wouldn’t want to push it off, ignore it.
But that kiss…
“C’mon,” Dom says, tugging Brian to his feet, leading him outside, still in pajamas. The family follows them, like a messed up little train. Dom leads them all over to the garage, then throws open the door to the far bay.
Brian comes to stand beside him, to get a look. It’s possibly one of the most mangled cars he’s ever seen, but his eyes skirt across it. Good bones.
“You talk about it all the time,” Dom says quietly. “How much it meant…it’s not the same car. Obviously. But maybe this time, we’ll…well. Brian, you wanna build another Supra with me?”
He should ask what the engine looks like, maybe, or what’s left inside of her that still works. Instead, he pictures them, wherever Dom chooses, rushing down the open road in their car. The one they built, twice over. He nods, throat too tight to speak.
“Damn. Coming from Dom, that’s basically a proposal,” Letty whispers, but not quiet enough that they can’t all hear it in the still morning air.
Brian’s eyes whip to her, but she’s not joking. No one else is, either. He looks back to Dom, who definitely isn’t joking. “How ‘bout it, Brian?” He steps closer to the car, to Brian. “Wanna build this car with me? Uh, forever? Make it the O’Conner-Toretto car?”
The metaphor is a little clumsy. Mia must think so too, because she has to add her two cents. “Don’t be stupid, Dom,” she says. “It’s just the Toretto car. Right, Brian?”
Brian can’t even move . It’s like his brain is liquid. For someone known for thinking on his feet, he’s sure falling down on the job.
Dom studies him. “Yeah? Brian Toretto, huh?”
Brian forces himself to swallow, forces his throat to relax, to let the words out, as hard as they are. “Well. Since I finally figured out this whole family thing and all…” It’s not enough, not adequate to explain what he means. He takes a deep breath. “Didn’t know what I was missing until I had it. And now that I do, I’m sure as hell not giving it up.”
Dom kisses Brian, hand snaking around his hip, and Brian is helpless but to kiss him back, pushing him closer by the shoulders.
“Forever, Bri.”
Brian’s face hurts from smiling so widely. “Yeah.”
Dom kisses him again, this time pushing him against the remains of the Supra— their Supra—to Letty’s cat-calling delight.
It’s Mia who interrupts them. “No cars on Christmas, boys.”
Dom works his thigh between Brian’s legs. “Let us have a minute, Mia.”
Mia huffs. “Fine. But in five minutes, Letty’s going to drag you both back to the house.”
There are retreating footsteps, but Brian hardly notices, pressed between Dom and their car as he is.