A/N: I noticed that there were zilch stories about Jeff on this site so I thought, why not?! I know he came off as an asshole but we don't know much about him, and I thought that it might be interesting to get a different perspective, or at least some insight into his character. So here it is. Please don't hate me because I'm being nice to him! Also, I don't know where BmB is set, so I chose New York. Well.okay just read and review I guess!

Disclaimer: they belong to Sandra Delete.


It's fucking freezing out here. The wind is the awful wet kind that always proceeds snow and freezes you from the inside out, it's leaking under my thin coat, through the holes in my sweater and making me ache with cold. It's December 24 but I'll fuck my hat if there's any Christmas spirit in St. Mark's Place, East Village, New York or maybe the whole world. Jimmeny, I hate Christmas.

I find a clear spot in the square and take my guitar out of the case, leaving it open so people can give me their spare change, and start to play 'Silent Night'.

I hate doing this alone. I absolutely hate it. Usually Jaycee comes with me and we play and sing together, but for the past week we've been splitting up, she takes Soho and I take East Village. We make more money that way. More money for Lacy. I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to get the image of beautiful Lacy, curled up in a shivering ball of misery back at the squat. We just don't have enough money to buy AZT for her and Howie anymore. I don't know when that changed, spring maybe. When I lost my job, or maybe further back, maybe money started getting tight last winter when smack became more than just a vice.

"Silent night, holy night

all is calm, all is bright."

The wind picks up and I shiver harder. Only nine more hours to go!


"Wow! Harley, look it's so shiny!!" squeals Skids happily. "Preeeeeeetty!"

"Yeah, it's nice Skids." I say. "Erm.what is it?"

"It's a.it's a.I don't know." He cocks his head to the side and peers at the shiny globe quizzically, "What is it?" he pokes it. "What is it?"

"It's a lawn ornament." Sighs the tired man at the desk. You put it in a bird bath and it reflects the light."

"What's the point of that?" I ask, nobody has a garden in New York.

The attendant looks baffled, "Well."

"I'm going to name it Alfred!" declares Skids. "Hello Alfred. Goodbye Alfred." He drags me out of the store and out onto the freezing street. We've been out here for an hour, looking for last minute Christmas gifts. I personally feel I should get a dispensation from all this as I am, after all, a Jewish Atheist. But Mik disagrees, so here I am at eight in the morning, being dragged around East Village (because it's the only place Mik or Cy or Sheequa won't bump into me) by a very caffinated Skids.

"Don't you love Christmas, Harley?!"

No. No I don't. "Yes, I love it." okay so it's not all bad. There are certain perks. "Why don't we go to St. Mark's Place?" I suggest, "The street vendors might have something interesting."

"Okay! Weee! It's snowing!"

"Cool! Snow!" Now this is something to be enthusiastic about.

*** We've been trolling the square for half an hour when I hear the voice. There's no mistaking it.

"Angels we have heard on high

singing sweetly o'r the plane

and the mountains in reply

echoing their joyous strain."

"Skids," I say quietly, "is that.?"

"Is what?"

"Listen." He does for a moment, then;



in Excelsies day-oh


In Excelsies daaaay-oh."

It's Jeff. He's standing by a coffee vendor, strumming his old acoustic guitar, the one I bought him for his birthday, singing Christmas carols. Well it's nice to know that even though I wasn't good enough for him anymore, that damn guitar still is. But why the hell is he doing this? Is it some outpouring of Christmas spirit? Not likely. Jeff hates Christmas almost as much as I do. Skids and I stand there, frozen staring at him. I'm beginning to feel vindicated. He treated me like shit, he forgot about all his friends and now here he is, singing for money in St. Mark's Place.

Then he looks up.

He looks up and he sees us.

And suddenly I'm not feeling so good anymore.


They're standing there. My past is standing there. Skids and-and Harley. They're standing and watching me play and I know what they're thinking 'Serves the bastard right.' And you know what? They're right. All this, it serves me right. For being so horrible to them. For leaving them for such a stupid reason! I don't care about that stuff anymore. I honestly don't care that Harley's gay. And I miss him. I miss all of them so much. Not that I'll ever get a chance to tell them-to tell him-any of that.

Jaycee would say that this is Karma, or the Three Fold Law or something like that. I did something horrible and now I'm suffering for it. But why do Jaycee and Howie and Lacy have to suffer too? What did they do?

I swallow hard, don't think about it don't think about it don't think about it don't think just sing. So I push back the humiliation that's burning in my throat, threatening to choke me, and belt out 'Gloria' at the top of my lungs.

Think of Lacy, shivering sick and sing for her. Think about Howie, who'd do anything for anyone, even a stranger 'cause that's just how big his heart is and sing for him. Think about Jaycee, my wonderful, sweet, beautiful girlfriend Jaycee who's selling her sole in Soho right now, just like me and sing for her.

I'd sell my sole for you. For all of you. To keep you warm one more day, to make you well, to see you smile, to keep you off a street corner, out of a strip club, off of smack for one more night. I'd sell my sole to fix it all. To turn back time and never say what I said do what I did. A million times I'd turn back time to fix it all. Please believe me, I wish I'd never hurt anyone!


He's crying. He's standing there, playing 'Gloria', singing his heart out with his eyes closed and crying and crying and crying.

When it's over people cheer and clap and I realize he's drawn quite a crowd. He wipes his eyes and bows. I expect him to shut his guitar case and stride off, a grand finish, you know? But he doesn't. He just strums a few opening chords, and even though I know it's killing him to do it, he shouts into the audience,

"Any requests, ladies and gentlemen?! Any requests?!"

"Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer!"

"Frosty the Snowman!"

"Silent Night!"

"Jingle Bells."

"Away in the Manger!"

"One Thing!" I yell, loud as I can. It's Jeff's favorite song. He looks straight at me and smiles just a little bit. I smile back.

"One Thing for the kind gentleman!" he announces, as he strums the opening chords. "Restless tonight

'cause I wasted the light

between both of these times

I drew a really thin line

It's not what I planned

And not that I can

But you should be mine

Across a line

If I traded it all

If I gave it all the way for one thing

Just for one thing

If I sorted it out

If I knew all about this one thing

Wouldn't that be something?"


It's snowing like crazy swirling down in torrents all around me as I sing. The crowd's dissipating, trying to find shelter. But I stay and sing. Because Harley and Skids are still there. And they're the only ones who need to hear this.

A/N: lyrics belong to Finger Eleven.