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“A very Merry Christmas to you, sir!”
Robert smiled gently as his assistant slipped through the door, closing it carefully behind him. It was kind of Michael to stay so late, especially when his parents and fiancee were waiting at home. But it was past time for him to be going; any later, and he would risk being snowed in.
A fire crackled in the hearth, and dinner was getting cold. Work had kept them busy until nightfall; even on Christmas Eve, there was always more that needed to be done. The forces of evil never rested, and so neither did the Speedwagon Foundation.
Speedwagon Foundation. The name still sounded wrong, but Erina had insisted. He had argued with her year after year, but it never did any good. Once Erina decided on something she never changed course. The Speedwagon Foundation was the “proper name”, and so the Speedwagon Foundation it was.
“I still think we should have named it after Jonathan,” Robert said. He could imagine Erina’s gentle smile. But Jonathan would have wanted to name it after you . All those years together, and he didn’t think he’d ever won an argument with her.
He poured a small glass of wine. Sauvignon, Erina’s favorite, though she never had more than one glass. It made her dizzy when she drank too much. Jonathan…Jonathan never drank except in company. Speedwagon placed a glass of water at the head of the table.
Languedoc for himself. If a younger Speedwagon could travel forward in time, he would have been horrified. Wine was a “sissy drink”, and a real man would only drink the kind of rotgut that killed you before you were thirty. But his younger self had never imagined that he would live to see thirty. If the rival gangs didn’t get him, the police would.
Now he was the police. Director of the Foundation, guardian against the hidden evils that threatened the world. He had come so far from the proud, stupid, vicious criminal that had taken money to murder an aristo. All these years later, and the memory still filled him with shame. He hadn’t deserved a second chance.
He had gotten one anyway. Jonathan was always eager to show mercy, even to the point of madness. If Dio had been willing to change- if he had been willing to accept his second chance- Robert thought that Jonathan could have forgiven him.
He took a small sip, chuckling quietly. Absolute madness, but that was Jonathan for you. He would always do the right thing, no matter how dangerous it was. Only Jonathan would think about giving a snake like Dio a chance to change.
Only Jonathan would offer his hand to a hardened killer. Robert should have died in the gutter he came from, but Jonathan had seen him as more than a street tough. He had seen what Robert could become.
Maybe Erina had been right. The Foundation should be named after him, because he had done the most to build it. But all that he had done was only possible because of Jonathan.
Because of Erina, who had saved him after Jonathan was gone. Robert had spent his life in darkness, and then the sun had risen. Everything was different in that warmth and light; his world was transformed, and he could become the person he should be. The person Jonathan knew that he was.
Without Jonathan, he had wondered if there was any point in going on. Erina had shared his grief, and she had anchored him to life. She had helped him to see that there was still a purpose in the world, even when everything felt empty.
It never went away. Sometimes he woke up and forgot that Jonathan was dead. Sometimes he would hear a father talking to his son about manners and flee to be alone, to weep for what should have been. Robert would never be truly healed, and he would never want to be.
Losing Erina had been easier. She had held her son in her arms and welcomed the arrival of her first grandchild. She had fought evil in her own way, battling ignorance and cruelty, and she had lived a long, happy life, surrounded by people who loved her. When her hair turned grey and she began to walk with a cane, Robert had not been consumed with furious hatred at the world. He had accepted the inevitable.
Robert laid the plates as he had last year, and the year before, and every year back to the first Christmas he and Erina shared. It had been her idea in the beginning. He had not wanted to celebrate Christmas without Jonathan, so they had celebrated with him. An empty chair at the head of the table; a plate filled with all the letters they had written that year.
This year there were two empty chairs. Next year…next year there might be three. The thought did not frighten Robert. He had never truly been afraid of his own death. Before Jonathan, he was an arrogant fool; afterwards, he had an example to follow.
He did not know what death would bring. But Robert wanted to believe that somewhere, there was an empty chair waiting for him.