All I Ever Wanted

The roses looked out of place as they lay on the snow-covered grave, breaking the monotone color scheme of the surroundings. The hand that placed them there hesitated and then slowly pulled away.

"I brought you your favorites one last time. They are not in season, but I do not think anyone will notice this one time."

The man's soft, musical voice carried over the newly fallen snow, tinged with barely covered sorrow. His rugged winter coat was wrapped tightly around his tall, fit body, the collar pulled up around his elegant neck. He reached up and pushed back a lock of hair with his right hand, out of force of habit more than need, then stretched the hand out one final time to rearrange the flowers, making sure that they were angled against the headstone just so.

"He will be here soon. I need to make sure everything is ready." The voice now became a whisper, filled with anticipation and a touch of worry. "I know you said that he needs me more than you ever did, but what if you were wrong? What if he does not want me? I am not sure you ever really understood what that would mean…" His voice trailed off and his face took on the far away expression of someone lost in thoughts better left alone.

Snow began to fall again and the man pulled his scarf a little closer. "Maybe you should have told him about me, prepared him somehow. It is not as easy for everyone as it was for you. What if I do or say the wrong thing? What if he cannot believe?"

As the man turned to walk away, a small yellow bird landed on top of the grave marker and warbled out a soft lilting song. He stopped to stare, a smile, seldom used in the past several weeks, appearing on his face. "You too are a little out of season my friend. Are you hungry?" He turned his hand over, offering a handful of bird seed to his new companion. The bird looked at him cautiously, unsure if it should give up the safety of its location for the tasty treat. "Come on, it is safe. I will not hurt you." Finally, the bird flew to the waiting hand and began to eagerly snap up the offered food. As the man watched it eat, he felt his spirits rise a little. Maybe everything would work out. Just maybe…

The house was just as he remembered it. It had been over a year and a half since Blaine had last made the drive up to the lake house, but it almost seemed like yesterday. He half expected Peter to be standing on the deck waiting for him, puffing on his cigar and enjoying an evening drink, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. He brought the car to a stop at the bottom of the driveway, unable or unwilling to continue on. This was it. This was probably the last time that he would see the house, the last time he would see those places filled with memories of Peter. He had lost his father a year ago and now he had lost his surrogate father, the one person most responsible for the man Blaine was today.

Blaine was one of 'The Andersons' of Chicago, an extremely wealthy family at the top of Chicago society. His life had been filled with mansions, limousines and hobnobbing with the rich and powerful. Always in the public eye, Blaine was expected to be poised, well-spoken, and thoughtful - a perfect ambassador for the family and the family business. Despite the Anderson's wealth and position, or perhaps because of it, his parents had put a strong emphasis on giving back to the community as they didn't want their son growing up isolated from the problems of the real world. He had been expected from a very young age to take part in the charities that the family funded. He spent his childhood volunteering at food banks and pet shelters and tagging along with his mother to charity fundraisers, but didn't truly find his place until he was 14 and the Andersons founded a music camp for disadvantage kids. Kids who might never have had the chance to learn a musical instrument or discover a love of music due to their family circumstances could do so at Camp Wenatchee and Blaine knew it was where he was meant to be the second he arrived.

He spent his summers as a counselor at the camp, teaching guitar and piano to the younger kids and leading sing-offs next to the campfire. The camp had been managed by Peter Hobson, an old family friend and former A&R executive for a major music label. Peter had spent his career influencing the careers of some of the biggest names in music and when he retired he decided that the camp was the perfect place for him to influence the next generation. He became a mentor and second father to Blaine, even more so when Blaine realized he was gay at the age of 15. Afraid to tell his parents, Blaine had come out to Peter, who helped him by telling of his own experiences as a gay man. He helped Blaine come to terms with it and be proud of himself and then gave him the courage to tell his parents.

Much to his surprise, Blaine's parents had taken his confession very well. They hugged him, told him they would always love him, and set about treating him just the same as they ever had. They also made an effort to socialize with Peter more than before and began adding trips to Peter's lake house to their vacation itineraries. Blaine continued to volunteer at the camp all throughout college and spent a lot of time on his own with Peter at the lake, jamming on music together and writing songs. While double majoring in music and business made for a hectic college schedule, it was a glorious time for Blaine. Despite his family's best efforts, the pressure of being an Anderson sometimes got to him. He tried to be perfect and please everyone, be everything that people expected of him, but when it became too much it was only through music that Blaine could cope. When he sat down at the piano or sang a song he was able to escape from the weight of the family name and he reveled in the freedom that he felt.

While Blaine's parents had been accepting about him being gay, they weren't as thrilled when he told them that he wanted to pursue music as a career. The family business had always had an Anderson in charge and he was expected to take his father, William's, place one day. Peter teamed up with Blaine to help him change his father's mind. They bombarded William with facts and figures about the music industry, played him some of Blaine's original songs and even brought him to an open mic night so that he could see his son play and see the effect he had on an audience. In the end they prevailed and William agreed to begin grooming his nephew Evan to be the next CEO of Anderson World Wide.

Happy to be able to pursue his dream, Blaine moved to New York after graduating. Peter introduced him to the right people and he started paying his dues in small clubs throughout the city. He became quite a local draw and was sought after as a song writer by many established artists. Finally, he was offered a record deal of his own, earned totally through his talent and not by his family name. Peter couldn't have been more proud if Blaine had been his own son.

Then tragedy struck. Blaine's father and cousin had been killed in a private plane crash while returning home from a business meeting. That and a subsequent scandal had rocked the Anderson family to its core. Blaine's mother asked him to come home and return to the family business and he couldn't refuse her, despite his own dreams. When he told Peter he was quitting music and returning to Chicago, Peter had been furious. He had been adamant that Blaine not abandon his dreams and their argument on the subject had turned into a huge fight. They parted ways on bad terms and hadn't spoken in a year, neither one willing to hold out the olive branch. Then, about a month ago Blaine received a letter from a lawyer informing him that Peter had died and had left the lake house to him in his will. Since Peter had requested that there be no funeral, Blaine had been left to grieve alone, regretting that he hadn't had time to reconcile with his friend.

Now here he was, coming to the lake house to pack up some mementos and say a final goodbye. He hadn't planned the trip ahead of time, but the Christmas holidays had left him feeling very nostalgic and he suddenly wanted to be closer to Peter in some way. He had told his mother he was leaving, packed a bag, notified work that he was taking some time off and jumped in his car. Luckily, his uncharacteristic spontaneity had come a few days after the last big snowstorm to hit the area, so his drive had been an easy, if long, one. As he put the car in gear again and started up the driveway he was pleasantly surprised to see that it had been recently plowed. There had been almost a foot and a half of snow since Peter had died, but someone was obviously still taking care of the house. Blaine brought the car to a stop in front of the two-door garage, not having the controller needed to open the doors. He locked the doors as he exited, smiling slightly to himself at his actions. You can take the boy out of the city, but you can't take the city out of the boy. Who was going to try and steal a car way out here?

Whoever had plowed the driveway had obviously been at work at the house too, as a path to the front door had been cleared, as well as one down the hill to the lake. For a second, Blaine was tempted to take that second path and go down to the water's edge, but the lake held even more memories of Peter than the house did, if that was possible, and he didn't think he was ready for that yet. He retrieved his luggage from the car and began the slow walk up to the house. The house seemed brighter and more kept up than the last time he had visited. Peter must have finally broken down and gotten someone to paint and take care of the place. Even the garden looked more cared for, the beauty of the landscaping recognizable even in the dead of winter.

As he reached the front porch, Blaine caught a riot of colors out of the corner of his eye. As he turned to see what had caught his attention his bags slipped from his fingers. All along the porch leading to the backyard were rose bushes. Rose bushes in full bloom. Roses in full bloom in the middle of winter. Blaine knew that those roses had been Peter's favorites, but how on earth had he managed to get them to bloom out of season? He stood and stared for several minutes until the cold began to seep through the protection of his coat, reminding him that the sun was setting and it was time to get inside. He picked up his fallen bags and continued to the door, fumbling with the keychain to find the right key. It slid easily into the lock and the door opened. Blaine slid the keys into his pocket and stepped inside.

Blaine reached for the light switch out of habit, but quickly realized that the house was already cozily lit. A soft flickering light filtered from the living room and Blaine's heart jumped a little in his chest. Was someone else in the house? Was there an intruder? He set down his luggage and walked silently to the living room door, stopping just outside and tentatively poking his head around the door frame. Cheery flames in the fireplace greeted him, popping and cracking and projecting their shadows onto the walls, but that was the only movement in the room. He released the captured breath he didn't know he had been holding, but knew he couldn't totally relax yet. He performed a quick check of the rest of the house. No one else was present, but everywhere were signs that someone had prepared the house for his visit. Fresh towels were laid out in the bathroom. The bed in the master bedroom was turned down, waiting for the occupant to slip in between in the sheets. The kitchen was well stocked and the refrigerator was full of fresh food. Who could have done this? He hadn't told anyone he was coming this weekend.

Once he had confirmed he was alone in the house, Blaine was able to relax and he soon found himself back in the living room. The room had changed quite a bit since he was there last. The drapery and some of the furniture were new, but the most notable change was that Peter had finally taken the time to display the items he had collected during his extensive world travels. The bookshelves were full of memories, evidence of a life spent being a true citizen of the world. Blaine recognized most of the items and as he picked up each item in turn he could hear Peter's gruff voice relating the adventure that led him to the item. He walked slowly around the room, lost in thought, until he came upon a table in the back corner, upon which stood an ancient looking samovar, a traditional metal container used to heat water in Russia and the Middle East. Peter had collected several on his travels through the years, but Blaine didn't recognize this one. It was beautiful, with detailed workmanship in gold, silver and enamel, but that wasn't what drew Blaine to it. The samovar almost seemed to be glowing, even though it was untouched by the light of the fire there in the corner of the room. The golden metal seemed to pulse with life and it looked like it would be warm to the touch. He gazed at the object for several minutes, tracing the lines of the decorative pattern with his fingertip. Peter must have been especially excited about this find.

As his thoughts returned to Peter once again, Blaine felt a wave of sadness wash over him. Tomorrow he would have to begin the process of deciding what items to take with him, which to have shipped to him back in Chicago and which to leave behind. Wearily, he walked into the kitchen, not hungry, but needing something to do. He looked into the fridge and was surprised to see several bottles of his favorite beer. Had those been there before? He hadn't seen them, but they must have been. He grabbed a couple of bottles and returned to the couch in front of the fireplace. He lifted up the first bottle in a silent toast to Peter and proceeded to lose himself in memories once again. Several hours and several beers later, Blaine headed up to the master bedroom. He brushed his teeth and slipped on some pajama bottoms before sliding between the sheets of the turned down bed.

As Blaine's breathing evened out, the shadows in the corner of the room began to stir. A tall, lithe figure stepped out into the moonlight streaming in from the window and moved gracefully to stand next to the bed. He studied the sleeping man, taking in the lines of exhaustion that marked his face. He was peaceful in sleep, but had looked troubled in front of the fire; Handsome, but sad. He reached a fingertip down to lightly stroke Blaine's cheek, but was startled at the resulting tingling sensation and hurriedly pulled it back. His fate was now in this man's hands. What would he decide to do? What would the future hold, if there even was one? He was nervous about what might happen, but there was something else there too, something he had never felt before, but could not put a name to. He stepped back from the bed, back into the shadows and soon it was like he was never there. Blaine slept on, not stirring.