xp_logs | Christmas Eve, Jamie has a bout of performance anxiety.

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It was, considering the date, a very subdued Jamie who knocked on the door of the guest room his parents were staying in, and slipped inside when his father answered.

Dan Madrox was alone in the room. Jo was somewhere downstairs, baking cookies or entertaining the kids or trading stories with Alison, or any combination thereof--she'd always been able to keep up with Jamie even after his mutancy manifested, which was, he had always used to think, highly unfair. Dad, though . . . well, he liked people, sure enough, and he'd been happy to meet Jamie's friends and teachers, but he liked the quiet, too, after a long day. And what Jamie needed right now was the quiet, and maybe a word or two of advice.

True to form, Dan laid aside a half-finished wood carving--which was eventually going to be some sort of four-legged creature, possibly a wolf--and closed and put away his knife with deliberate care while Jamie closed the door. "When the hands are busy the mind can relax" was a favorite saying of his, but he'd always had the knack of recognizing when to let his hands be still, too.

"Hey, Dad."

"Jamie. Survived the shopping all right, did you?"

"Yeah." Jamie grinned. "Mom and Kitty and Marie-Ange make a dangerous team, though. And Rahne was starting to get into it too by the end. I blame dolls. They get into the habit of playing dress-up when they're little, and the only thing that changes when they grow up is the size of the doll."

Dan snorted. "Got a point there, I think. 'Course, we just buy more expensive toys, so I'd say it evens out." He cocked his head slightly, a gesture Jamie had inherited. "Something on your mind, son?"

Jamie flopped down in a leather armchair probably more carelessly than its understated elegance really deserved, and frowned. " . . . What do you do when you think you've made a really big mistake, only you can't fix it without hurting somebody's feelings that you don't want to hurt?"

Dan raised his eyebrows. "Depends on the mistake, I'd say."

"Right, right . . ." Jamie sighed. "Okay, it started when Alison caught me trying to put together the drum part for this song I wrote. And then we started talking about it, and she's really tricky, so it all ended up with her helping me write actual music for it, and practicing it with the band, and going down and asking her friend Georgie to sing it, and now it's going to be one of the songs we play at the dance on Friday, and it's about Kitty, and everybody's going to be there, and I can't play it because it's horrible, and what if she doesn't like it, or it's embarrassing, or--but I can't not play it after all Alison did to help get it ready. Can I just get sick? I don't think anybody'd expect me to play the drums if I cover the snare in puke."

Dan stroked his chin thoughtfully, which just happened to mask the few corners of his smile he couldn't quite suppress. "Now, back up a minute there, Jamie. You wrote a song for your girl?"

"Yeah."

"And you got up the guts to play it in public, when she's there to hear it?"

"I think I'm borrowing Alison's guts. She can have them back."

"Well, don't go running off right this minute. There something in the song you think Kitty won't like? What's it about?"

"Well, it's . . ." Jamie smiled slightly, fingers tapping out the beat on the armrest of his chair. "I thought, all the love songs on the radio are about how the girl is really sexy, let's get into bed, you know? And I wanted to do something different than that, so it's about all the amazing things about her personality. And a couple of lines about how she looks too, because I don't want her going away thinking I don't think she's . . . um." Jamie shuffled one foot on the patterned rug. "And then I kind of tied it together with a metaphor, because the personality things get called 'intangibles' and that's her power, becoming intangible. But it came out all sappy and embarrassing."

Dan nodded, and raised a mental glass to his own father and years of poker lessons. "So basically what you did is, you wrote what you feel."

"Uh, yeah. Only not very well."

"Never mind that part right now, and answer me one question. You got any reason to believe she doesn't feel the same for you as you do for her?"

Jamie blinked. "Huh? No, I know she does."

"There you are, then." Dan spread his hands and finally allowed some of his grin to show. "What you want to remember for future reference is, when you've been together as long as you and Kitty have, you only have to start to worry when you have to think about the answer to that question. If you can answer it right off, either everything's fine . . . or at least there's not a whole lot you can do about it."

"So you think she'll like it."

Dan laughed. "Son, I guarantee that. You're getting up there and proving beyond a shadow of a doubt you think about her often enough to go through--how many drafts?"

"Eighteen," Jamie muttered.

"Eighteen drafts, musical composition, Lord knows how many rehearsals, and a public performance. Maybe it's not going around to every house in the country looking for a size six narrow fit, but it's pretty damn close."

Jamie scrunched down in his chair. "Yeah, public performance of the sappiest love song in the history of sappy love songs. Everybody's going to hear it."

Dan frowned slightly. "You ashamed of what you feel?"

Jamie jerked upright. "What? No!"

"Don't be ashamed to say it, then. I'll bet cash money to one of those honey cakes you told us about Kitty won't see a single other person in that club once she figures out what's going on, and if you're there with her when she does you won't either. It's just the wait that's killing you--once you get up there and play, it'll all all fall into place, you watch."

"I guess, when you put it that way."

"Trust me." Dan cocked his head again. "Jamie, would it make it easier if your mom and I weren't there? I'd kinda like to hear it, especially after all this, but we'll clear off if you need us to."

Jamie thought for a moment, then grinned. "Nah. I've walked in on you guys kissing often enough."

Dan snickered. "So you have. And smart decision--pretty sure your mom's going to want to drag me out on the dance floor a time or two, and I wasn't gonna tell her she couldn't."

"Gee, thanks, Dad."

"That's why you have children, Jamie. So you can shove the tough jobs off on somebody who can't say no if they like regular meals."

"Slave labor. I knew it. I'm calling a social worker."

They grinned at each other for a moment, then Jamie got up and gave his dad a clumsy hug. Dan patted him on the back reassuringly.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Any time, son. You feeling better?"

"Yeah." Jamie stood back up. "Should get some sleep, though, it's an early morning tomorrow."

Dan nodded. "Tell your mother I'm turning in, if you see her." He eyed the clock on the mantel. "And Jamie . . . merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too, Dad. G'night."