Title: Old City Bar
Author: Bj Jones
Rating: FRT-13
Disclaimer: I think we all know I don't own them and the reasons why. They are owned by various executives, producers, writers and studios that have more lawyers than I want to mess with. I'm not making any money just borrowing them for a bit and promise to return them.
Summary: In an old city bar...
Beta: Star (Gil)
Genre: Slash
Author's Note: The song just demands to have a story written for it.
Pairing: Speed/Horatio

The bartender walked over to the new customer and set down a bowl of nuts and a napkin. "What can I get you?"

"Actually I'm a reporter..." The middle-aged man, with blondish hair replied as he set his bag down in the chair next to him.

"Of course you are." He wiped the bar down before leaning back, his arms crossed. "And what brings you to my bar on this Christmas Eve?"

"A story," he said, rummaging through the bag.

A young man with dark hair walked by and took the seat next to the reporter. He looked over at the bartender and gave him a warm smile.

The bartender smiled back and asked, "What can I get for you?"

"I hear you have the best beef stew around," the brunette said.

The bartender smiled. "We sure do; you want a cold beer with that?"

"Thanks." He turned towards the reporter. "What story?"

"You must not be from around here." The reporter eyed the stranger.

"Nope, just visiting." He inhaled the aromas from the stew when it was placed in front of him. "Smells delicious."

"Thank you, it's my fathers recipe. He taught me everything I needed to know about cooking." The bartender set the beer down next to the bowl. "Enjoy."

"Thanks." The young man nodded before digging into the warm meal. "So this story?"

The reporter turned back towards the bartender. "It was a night just like this, right?"

"A bit more snow, and a lot less annoying reporters." The bartender shook his head. "Why now of all nights are you asking about it?"

"Your bar its due to close down first of the year, right?" he asked, pulling out a pen and paper. "Despite the efforts of the community."

"It's pretty simple really." He sighed, looking out the window to the falling snow. "I don't pay off my mortgage by the end of the month, the bank sells it to the development company, who wants to make this building into new apartments. Not good for families to have a bar in the building."

"Sounds like a Christmas movie I saw once." The young man gave a sheepish grin.

"Well I doubt seriously a Christmas miracle will be taking place." He shrugged. "It doesn't quite work that way."

"That's not what people say about this place." The reporter leaned on the bar. "You open your bar every Christmas Eve, offering a hot meal and a drink for anyone who wanders by."

"It's Christmas Eve," he said softly. "If one had a home they would already be there; the least I can do for those who don't is offer them a warm place and food on a cold winters night."

The young man looked up listening intently. "That's more than most would do."

"It's really no big deal." He wiped down the counter and moved off to the other side of the bar to talk to an older gentleman.

"How long has he been doing it?" he asked the reporter.

"Ten years," the blonde responded. "It started on a night very much like this, though he was right; there was a lot more snow. Record snow fall that year, I remember how cold that night got."

"What happened?" the young man asked curiously, his stew and beer forgotten.

"A kid came into the bar..." he began.

"If you're going to tell the story, do it some justice." The older gentleman looked over at the two of them.

"I swear, Tom, if you start it off with 'It was a dark and stormy night,' we're disowning you from the bar," someone yelled from one of the tables in the back. "But he's right kid, if you're going to tell it, do it right."

"I just know what's been told to me over the years, passed down from variety of sources, all of them with a different perspective." The reporter turned in his seat talking to the patrons of the bar.

"Well most of us were there that night," Tom said. "And despite the critics and cynics it did happen."

"What?" the young man asked, shaking his head.

"Hey barkeep, why don't you tell it," a patron called out.

Both the reporter and young man turned around and looked at the bartender expectantly.

He shook his head and set down the bar towel, and leaned up against the back of the bar. "It goes like this..."

~*~

The bar had few people in it, mostly his regulars. He wiped down the bar for the hundredth time or at least it seemed. The snow was really coming down, blanketing the city in white, bringing it to a standstill. Even though it was Christmas Eve, he had kept the bar open. Christmas was a time of year for family and friends. He had parted ways from his family years before, and the few friends he had were sitting and morosing softly by the pool table. There was nothing for him to go home to, and for some of the guys this was their only place to go.


In an old city bar
That is never too far
From the places that gather
The dreams that have been

In the safety of night
With its old neon light
It beckons to strangers
And they always come in

And the snow it was falling
The neon was calling
The music was low
And the night
Christmas Eve

And here was the danger
That even with strangers
Inside of this night
It's easier to believe


The sound of the bell on the door jolted the silence. He looked up to see a child walk into the bar. He hesitated, staring at the room and its occupants.

"Kid close the door its cold outside," Tom yelled out.

"Leave the kid alone, Tom." The bartender motioned for the kid to come inside.

The young boy smiled and made his way to the bar and climbed up onto one of the stools. "It's really cold out there."

"What are you doing out there? Where's your parents?" he asked the child.

"I'm fine, you don't have to worry about me," he said. "I'm on my way home and saw the young man outside and wondered if anyone knew who he was."

The bartender looked up and out the window to see a young man standing outside shivering in the snow. He was leaning against the door of the phone booth. One he knew that was broken. He had tried to get it fixed, but the phone company kept telling him they were too busy to fix a rarely used phone booth.

"I've never seen him before, he must not be from this neighborhood." He shrugged, distracting himself by wiping down the already clean bar top.

"Then he must be lost," the kid said.

"Not that I care, but how would you know he's lost?" he asked.

The kid looked out the window then turned back towards the bartender, looking at him with wide dark eyes. "If one could be home, they'd be already there."

Then the door opened wide
And a child came inside
That no one in the bar
Had seen there before

And he asked did we know
That outside in the snow
That someone was lost
Standing outside our door

Then the bartender gazed
Through the smoke and the haze

Through the window and ice
To that corner streetlight

Where standing alone
By a broken pay phone
Was a girl the child said
Could no longer get home

And the snow it was falling
The neon was calling
The bartender turned
And said , not that I care
But how would you know this?
The child said I've noticed
If one could be home
They'd be already there

He looked back out the window at the young man. He closed his eyes, remembering the feeling of being lost and alone. How much he had wished just one person would reach out and help. That hand had never came, and he had struggled but slowly had made a life for himself. But that didn't mean he couldn't be that helping hand. So he did something he hadn't done in years. He set down his rag and took off his apron and walked over to the register. He keyed it open; lifting the cash drawer, he reached back and pulled out a wad of bills. He tucked them into his pocket and stepped out from behind the bar and headed for the door. He could feel the eyes of every one of the patrons on him. He opened the door and stepped outside. He felt a hand in his and looked down to see the child smiling up at him.

He crossed the street and over towards the young man. He wasn't very old, probably barely out of his teens, if that. He was thin, shivering, and looked strung out. Now that he had got a good look at him, he knew that he could be this kids last hope. He gave him a warm smile and held out his hand. "Hi, I own the bar across the street and you look like you could use some help."

The young man stared at him with suspicion. "I don't need your help..."

"Don't please." He held up his hand. "It's okay to accept a helping hand."

"Nothing in this town is for free." The kid shook his head. "I'm not sure what you want..."

"Just to help." The bartender stepped closer. "I've been there kid. I made it through, but we don't always have to do it alone."

He closed his eyes, his body shaking from the cold, drugs, and overwhelmed emotions. "I don't want this anymore."

"What do you want?" he asked.

"To go home." He looked up tears sliding down his face. "I haven't talked to my parents in over a year. I just wanted to call them, you know and when I got here... the phone is broken. It's the story of my life."

The bartender pulled him into his arms and held him close, letting the tears fall. The bartender lifted a hand and flagged down a cab. He stepped back and pushed the young man towards it. "Merry Christmas."

The kid looked down at the wad of money in his hand. "I can't..."

"Take it." He closed the cold hands over the money. "Go home and make a life for yourself."

"Thank you." He shook his head. "No one has shown me this kindness... I'll make it up to you."

"One day when you see someone who needs help, do them the kindness you have received today." The bartender got him seated in the back seat. He looked at the driver. "JFK." He closed the door and watched as the cab drove away.

With a smile he looked around for the young child, only to find the street empty. He looked up to the heavens and saw a clear patch through the snow and clouds, where a single star shown brightly. He stepped back into the bar, his steps echoing in the silence as he made his way towards the bar. He put on his apron and picked up his rag and wiped down the spot where the kid had sat. He looked up to see everyone watching him. He gave them a smile. "Tonight everything is on the house."

Then the bartender came out from behind the bar
And in all of his life he was never that far
And he did something else that he thought no one saw
When he took all the cash from the register drawer

Then he followed the child to the girl across the street
And we watched from the bar as they started to speak
Then he called for a cab and he said J.F.K.
Put the girl in the cab and the cab drove away
And we saw in his hand
That the cash was all gone
From the light that she had
wished upon

If you want to arrange it
This world you can change it
If we could somehow make this
Christmas thing last

By helping a neighbour
Or even a stranger
And to know who needs help
You need only just ask

Then he looked for the child
But the child wasn't there
Just the wind and the snow
Waltzing dreams through the air

So he walked back inside
Somehow different I think
For the rest of the night
No one paid for a drink

~*~

"Not one person left that night," Tom added into the conversation. "It was as if we suddenly realized we were already home."

"And every Christmas Eve since then," a patron spoke up. "The bar stays open welcoming anyone who needs a hot meal, a drink, or just a place to stay warm."

"Wow." The young man smiled at the bartender. "That took a great deal of courage."

"Some say stupidity." The bartender smiled. "Believe me, not everyone finds the story heartwarming. Some of called us a bunch of drunks who fell for a con artist's scam."

"What do you believe?" The reporter asked.

"That one good deed doesn't go unturned." He smiled.

And the cynics will say
That some neighbourhood kid
Wandered in on some bums
In the world where they hid

But they weren't there
So they couldn't see
By an old neon star
On that, night, Christmas Eve

When the snow it was falling
The neon was calling
And in case you should wonder
In case you should care

Why we on our own
Never went home
On that night of all nights
We were already there

The reporter set his notebook down. "Thank you for telling me the story."

"What are you going to do now?" the bartender asked.

"I'm going to write it up and get publicity and try and save the bar. It's a piece of this community and its people," he said.

The young man looked at his watch and gasped. "Ohh, looks like I'm going to be late." He stood up and pulled out his wallet. "How much?"

He held up his hands and shook his head. "No charge, its Christmas."

"You sure?" He pulled out a twenty. "Anything to keep this bar here."

"No..." he stated firmly. "No one pays for food or drink in my place on Christmas Eve. Have a safe journey."

The young man looked at him with dark eyes. "I will and Merry Christmas." He gave a short wave and headed out the door.

"I wonder who he was?" Tom asked from the other side of the bar. "I've never seen him before in the neighborhood."

"Just a visitor passing through..." The bartender lifted the bowl and stared down at the card lying under it. He picked it up and opened it. The bowl dropped against the bar in a loud crash.

"What is it?" the reporter asked.

Tears sprang to the bartender’s eyes, as he read the note.

'You saved my life ten years ago. I now return the kindness you showed me. Thank you and Merry Christmas - Tim'

The reporter looked at the card then at the door. "He was the young man.... oh wow!"

The patrons crowded up to the bar. "What did he leave?"

The bartender just smiled. "The bar." He held up a check for $25,000, enough to pay off his mortgage.

~*~

Tim slipped back into his parent’s house and went looking for his lover. He found him sitting out on the back porch watching the snowfall. He sat down next to him, laying his head on his shoulder

"Where were you?" Horatio asked.

"Repaying kindness that was shown to me." Tim sat up and looked at him.

"The bartender?" he asked.

"He saved my life, H; if he hadn't come out and paid for my ticket home, I would have died that very night." Speed voice was soft and full of emotion.

"And by that simple act he not only saved you, but many others through you. Myself included." Horatio leaned over and gave him a soft kiss. "You're a good man, Timothy Speedle."

"I love you." Speed slipped his hand into Horatio's.

"I love you too." He squeezed the hand and turned back to the speaker. "Merry Christmas."


Then all at once inside that night
He saw it all so clear
The answer that he sought so long
Had always been so near

It's every gift that someone gives
Expecting nothing back
It's every kindness that we do
Each simple little act