"Bloody hell," Giles muttered as he opened the door and was confronted with a tall figure covered by a smoldering blanket. "Spike, what are you doing here?"

"Well, it's the holidays, yeah? And I would have gone straight to church like a good little vampire but with my nasty aversion to crucifixes and all," Spike started, a cheeky grin on his face, "I kinda figured that'd be a bad idea. Can I come in?"

Giles took off his glasses and breathed a great sigh. "Yes. Please do come in," he intoned.

Spike slipped past him, ignoring Giles' complete lack of enthusiasm, and dropped his holey blanket to the floor. "What, no tree, no presents, no slayer and friends cluttering up the old homestead?" he asked, looking around the small living area of Giles' apartment.

Shutting the door with a solid thunk, Giles replaced his glasses and leveled Spike with a withering look. "Was there an actual purpose to your visit, Spike, besides disparaging my holiday plans?"

"Blood," the vampire said, picking up a gem-encrusted artifact from the desk and putting it down again.

"I'm sorry?"

"I need blood," he repeated bluntly, looking over at Giles, who still stood by the door. "Because of this chip in my head, I can't get it the good, old-fashioned way. And local suppliers have been… less than accommodating. Seem to think they can charge me any amount they want since I can't threaten to bite 'em."

"Can't imagine why they'd think that," Giles muttered.

"So I thought, Giles has got blood. And that nice Weetabix to boot."

"Spike, why are you really here?"

He hung his head. "Kinda got used to you and the Scoobies being around all the time, watchin' my every move," he muttered. "Gets quiet in a crypt with no one else around."

Giles nodded, saddened to realize he knew exactly what Spike meant. With a sigh of resignation, he pointed towards the television in silent invitation. "I was just about to sit down and watch a Christmas classic."

"Bad Santa?" Spike asked hopefully as he set himself down directly in front of the telly. "I like that one."

"Alistair Sim's Scrooge," Giles corrected, taking a seat on the opposite end of the sofa.

"Oh bloody hell! Who wants to watch some old guy dealing with the ghosts of his past?" Spike sneered, frowning at the older man. "Get enough of that in my own undead life."

Giles gestured towards the door. "You're always welcome to leave."

"Nah," Spike said, swinging his feet up onto the table in front of him and settling in. "I'll get used to it soon enough…"

~End~

It was precisely eight hours, thirty-three minutes and twenty-six seconds past midnight on Christmas day, and the two women in the Pie Maker's life were sitting awkwardly across from each other in a booth at the Pie Hole. They looked neither at each other nor at the room, but solemnly at the table between them.

It was Chuck who finally broke the silence, looking up and presenting a shy smile to her companion "I got you something."

Olive Snook looked up in surprise. "You did?"

For Olive was nothing if not curious.

"Mmhm." Chuck reached for the item beside her, a lumpy round package with a cheery red bow on top.

"What is it?" Olive asked, pulling the item towards her and unwrapping it. The gift turned out to be a round of cheese, pale and pungent in the early morning light. "Cheese. How… interesting."

"It's gouda," Chuck informed her, her smile widening. "The aunts always said you could never go wrong with a good wheel of gouda."

Olive set the cheese aside and shyly brought out a gift of her own. "I got you a little something, too."

"Oh, I love presents!" Chuck took the gaily wrapped gift and tore at the paper, revealing a most appropriate book. "Returning From The Dead: How To Reclaim Your Assets And Reacquaint Yourself With Loved Ones," she read. "Why thank you, Olive!"

"John Joseph Jacobs said it was the single most helpful book he read after his mother's unfortunate incarceration," Olive said proudly.

"I'm sure it will be useful," Chuck replied.

It was while they were both smiling broadly at one another, touched by the gifts they had received, that Emerson Cod arrived. He was bundled against the swirling snow in a tidy wool cap and scarf that he had knitted himself. He was also quite excited.

"We've got ourselves a new case," he announced. "A man on Treehouse Way died with suspicious sleigh marks and – What in hell is that poor dog wearing?"

He was referring, of course, to Digby, who sat quietly and placidly by Olive's feet.

"Reindeer antlers," Olive piped up, while at the same time Chuck said, "But it's Christmas! He'll still be dead tomorrow, won't he?"

Emerson Cod looked from the two women to the dog and back again. "Why do I even bother?" he muttered, shaking his head and taking a seat in the roomy booth next to Chuck. He directed his gaze at Olive. "I don't suppose you have any hot coffee made yet, do you?"

Olive nodded and bounced up from her seat. "I'll be back in a jiffy!"

Left alone with Chuck, Emerson heaved a sigh of frustration. "You have objections to waking the dead on Christmas?"

"Not per se, but it seems rude to wake someone up only to dash their hopes of a joyous holiday one minute later," she explained practically.

He rolled his eyes. "Of course it would. Are there any other holidays you have objections to?"

"Well, Easter maybe, if purely for the symbolism," Chuck noted. "And Mother's Day seems somewhat cruel. The fourth of July?"

"Uh-huh."

Chuck was not at all deterred by his cynicism. "I got you something," she said. With a big smile, she pulled a long flat box from beside her.

"Is it a shovel?" Emerson asked facetiously. "I could really use a shovel right about now."

"Open it and find out," she urged him, pressing the box into his hands.

He did. Inside, on a lining of the softest Irish homespun wool he'd ever felt, were two bamboo knitting needles. The knot in his heart melted just the tiniest bit. "Thank you, Charlotte."

She grinned at him, pleased that her gift had pleased him. It was while they sat there smiling that Olive returned.

"Coffee! Hot coffee!" she chirped, setting a tray with a steaming pot and three mugs on the table.

The Pie Maker, watching the scene from his kitchen, grinned. And for the first time in nearly twenty-one years, eighty-four days, sixteen hours, fifty-four minutes and twenty-seven seconds, he felt completely and thoroughly happy.

"Ok, I have the tree," Luke said as he stood in the doorway of Lorelai's house. "Now where do you want this thing?"

"Over there," she said, pointing towards a corner of the living room. As soon as Luke lugged it there, though, she realized what a bad location it was. "Wait… no, that won't do. It'll block the TV. Over there," she said, pointing to another corner and frowning when he leaned it against the wall there. "No, that blocks the view of Babette's. How about over there?" she asked, pointing to the wall opposite the windows. "Or there. Over there. Near the desk. Oh wait, that will block the –"

"How about I put it right over here?" Luke suggested, dropping the tree onto the floor next to the chair.

Lorelai beamed at his choice of location. "Perfect!"

"Do you have the stand?"

Lorelai frowned. "The stand?"

"Plastic or metal thing that goes underneath, holds water and supports the thing?" he reminded her.

She laughed and waved her hand at him. "Oh, one of those things. No. We don't use a stand. We just put it in a bucket," she said.

"Well, do you have the bucket?"

"I did but then I remembered that I'd used it last summer to put fish in and –" she took one look at Luke's face and stopped. "No, no bucket."

Luke sighed. "I have a few empty spackle buckets at the diner. I'll be right back." With one hand on the doorknob, he pointed at her with the other. "Do not touch the tree until I get back."

She stared at him open-mouthed. "What? Why? I need to make it look all sparkly and shiny and –"

"If it's not on a base – or in a bucket – it'll fall over the minute you try to put any of those crazy ornaments of yours on it. Or worse, Paul Anka will run into it."

"Paul Anka?" she scoffed. "I'm sorry, have you met my dog? Paul Anka does not run. He waddles, he stumbles, he lays there and plays dead. He does not run."

"Fine. Whatever. Just don't start decorating it yet."

She held up her fingers. "I will not start decorating it yet," she vowed. "Scouts honor."

"That's for the boy scouts."

"Boys, shmoys."

"Just… don't touch the tree." He nodded towards her front porch. "And don’t even try doing the lights outside. You'll fall off the ladder. Just wait until I get back and finish setting up the tree. I'll do the lights after that."

Her eyes lit up. "You will?"

"Yeah."

"My hero," she said in a sing song voice.

"Just don't touch anything," he repeated gruffly as he opened the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Go!"

Lorelai waved him off and then stood back to admire the tree. It was tall, but not too tall, and full and bushy with just the right kind of branch up at the top to put the star on. Maybe she could do that. Just the one little star. Surely that wouldn't hurt…

She stepped on the first rung of the stepladder and nearly tumbled to the floor as her heel caught on the edge

Stepping back onto terra firma, she made a mental note to ask Luke to do the star, too. After all, what good was having your very own handyman if you couldn't ask him to put a star on your tree?

~End~

"Oh holy night, oh night divine…" Harriet breathed as the last strain of music from the stage filtered throughout the studio.

"Thank you, God, for this spiritual season that brings so many people together," she whispered. "And for giving these musicians a home for the holidays." She paused and, glancing over to where Matt sat, smiled slightly. "And thank you for Matthew, even if he is a dumbass sometimes."

Tom came up behind her, adjusting the tie on his suit. "Hey, you ready? It's almost our cue for the final goodbye."

She turned away from the musicians and smiled at him. "Yeah. I was just... thanking someone first."

Tom nodded in understanding. "Yeah. Tell Him thank you for me, too."

"Lucy?"

"Lucy," he confirmed. "We have a date next week."

"Good for you." She stopped smiling suddenly and frowned at him in consternation. "You know, it's not like I'm the only one around here who can talk to Him. You could have thanked Him yourself."

"Yeah, but I figure He's more likely to listen to you," Tom told her, shrugging.

She looked back at the musicians, playing yet another carol on stage, and her expression softened. "I think tonight we all have an equal shot at being heard."

Tom followed her gaze and nodded. "Yeah, I guess we do."

~End~

She doesn't feel anything. Not desire or happiness or anger or hate, just a dull emptiness. It makes what she needs to do easier. It makes it bearable.

(She denies what her shaking hand means as she writes the note.)

Her seduction is cold and calculated, a carefully executed plan devised to make him help her. She feels no emotion as he cups her cheek, runs his hands down her sides, kisses her deeply. She can't; she's a machine, not a woman. She simply needs him to love her so that he'll do what she asks.

(She falls to pieces in his embrace and has to close her eyes to block out the sight of his exquisite face.)

The first time she asks him to help her, he refuses; he has obligations to Jonas. The second time, she can tell his resolve is wavering; he hesitates too long before answering. By the third time, she knows she has him right where she wants him. There's no doubt he'll help her track down a cure; he'll do anything for her now, including kill.

(It's a cliché, but they leave in the dead of night. The darkness hides the worry on her face.)

At night, she watches him sleep, peaceful and dreamless, doubtless imagining a future where they can live happily-ever-after together. She thinks she should feel guilt for giving him false hope, but she doesn’t.

(The tear coursing down her cheek says otherwise.)

~ End~

"Mommy! Daddy!"

Huck's shrill cries filled the air, and Andy startled awake.

"Mommmmmmmy!"

He must have been having another nightmare. He'd been having them more frequently lately, ever since his sister had told him that there were monsters living under his bed.

With a sigh of resignation, she threw off the covers, only to realize that Toby was already out of bed and pulling on a pair of pajama pants. "I can go," she told him, knowing he had dealt with Molly's crisis the night before. It was her turn tonight.

He shook his head. "I've got it."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

Flopping back down onto her pillow, she listened to his footsteps echoing down the hallway. There was a creak as he pushed the kids' bedroom door open, and then the low quiet rumble of his voice as he spoke softly to Huck. She heard Huck's childish voice answer back and then another quiet response from Toby.

Whatever he said that second time must have done the trick because within moments he was crawling back under the covers and spooning her from behind.

"Everything ok?" she asked.

"Yeah. Monsters," he mumbled, his lips brushing against her neck.

"Do you want to talk to Molly about her tall tales tomorrow or shall I?" she asked.

He placed a small kiss beneath her ear. "You can do it." He kissed her neck again, his lips lingering just a moment longer this time. "Why do you think I volunteered to get out of bed tonight?" he asked, chuckling.

"I should have known," she said, turning over and smiling at him in the dark. "You gonna protect me from the monsters that lurk under our bed?"

"You think I'm that good?" he asked, rolling her beneath him.

"I know you are," she answered, pulling him down to her and kissing him.

~End~

Danny lowered the script and peered at Matt over the edge of his glasses. "This is it?"

Matt dropped his feet from the edge of the desk and sat forward, eager to hear what he thought.. "Yeah."

"The whole thing?" Danny asked.

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Lucy and Darius don't have any additions or anything?"

"No!" Matt exclaimed, leaning forward even more. He squinted at Danny and asked nervously, "Why? Does it seem like it needs more?"

"It seems a little risky," Danny told him.

"Risky how?"

"Just risky."

"It's not," Matt assured him. "Simon already has the voice for the one thing and Harry'll be up to speed on the other in no time."

"Uhkay."

Matt narrowed his eyes at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing!"

"It'll be fine," Matt insisted.

Danny nodded. "Okay."

"It'll be good, excellent, fine," Matt repeated, giving Danny a look.

"Okay!" Danny sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "I'm just a little concerned it's gonna wind up like the skit last year," he said, frowning. "We were finding ferret and snake… waste… for months afterwards."

"You don't think that's a bit of an exaggeration?"

"I don't care if it is. It's my job to rein you in when you get hare-brained schemes like this."

Matt folded his hands innocently in front of him. "Funny you should say that."

"Say what?"

"Hare-brained."

Danny squinted suspiciously at him. "Why?"

Matt looked away, whistling. "No reason."

"That look's not for nothing. What did you do, Matt?" he demanded.

"There may have been a sketch for tonight that I added at the last minute."

"What kind of sketch?"

"Just… a sketch," Matt answered. "With magicians."

"Magicians?"

"Yeah."

"And..?"

Matt opened his mouth to answer, but Cal poked his head into the office before he had a chance. "Uh, guys? Either of you know anything about rabbits? We may have a bit of a situation."

~End~

Her back was to him and she was staring out the frost-covered window when he came in to drop off some notes for Josh.

"He'll be back in a few minutes," she said, without turning around.

Charlie looked over his shoulder at the bullpen and then back at Donna. "How did you do that?"

Spinning around in the chair, she blinked innocently and asked, "Do what?"

"How did you know I was here? You were facing the window and I'm sure I didn't make any noise," he said, frowning at her.

"I just sensed someone was there," she said.

"Then how come you didn't think I was Josh?"

She sniffed, her nose wrinkling up in an adorably cute way. "I smelled your cologne."

Charlie looked at her suspiciously. "My cologne?"

Donna nodded. "Josh doesn't wear cologne, just aftershave, and it's a completely different kind of scent."

"That's one hell of a nose you have."

She shrugged. "I guess. My mom always said I had an over-developed olfactory sense."

Charlie shook his head. "I'm sure she did." He handed her the memos he was carrying. "These are from the President. He wants to talk to Josh about them as soon as he's back from the Hill."

Donna took them and then glanced at her watch. "Ok. But he's going to need a few more minutes to deal with CJ about the farming and agriculture thing first. I'll send him over as soon as they're done."

"Ok," Charlie muttered, leaving the office. He stopped when he heard CJ's voice from the lobby. He caught the words 'jackass' and 'pineapple' and then Josh's belligerent answer about too-tall press secretaries.

Poking his head back into Josh's office, he stared at Donna. "You did it again!" he marveled. "How did you know he was back already and with CJ?"

"Easy. She was looking for him earlier. I told her he was due back around two. And knowing CJ…"

"She decided to lie in wait." He gave Donna an evaluating look. "You're a devious woman, Donna Moss."

"I know."

~End~

Donna watched the clip play out on the tv screen for the third time that morning.

Indicted for tax fraud…

Josh's run in with the Christian right was the big story for the day, even trumping the President's unfortunate bicycle accident on the early morning news. That was saying something, considering how inconsequential Josh was compared to the President.

Tax fraud…

He shouldn't have said it. He absolutely should not have said it. But he had, and now there was going to be hell to pay. Josh knew it, she knew it -- hell, even her roommate knew it, and her roommate didn't even pay much attention to politics.

Odds were, Josh had spent the night in his office brooding about it. She'd have to do something about that. Nothing overt, of course. He couldn't know she was worried about him. But maybe if she showed some extra sass today, told him a handful of seemingly pointless stories... it might take his mind off things. Or maybe she'd bring him some coffee.

Yes, that's exactly what she'd do.

Setting her own coffee mug down in the sink, she grabbed her suit jacket and her bag. Time to get to work...

~~~

An unbearable day? How about an unbearable week? Month? Whatever the time frame, unbearable is definitely the right term.

It had been bad enough during the campaign, but there – at least – there'd been so much to do (and so few volunteers) that she'd been able to escape whenever they got into one of their petty squabbles.

It's different now. She sits ten feet from his door, she sets his schedule, she's responsible for playing gatekeeper.

How long can she go without making a smart-ass comment? From showing her scorn and dislike? She doesn’t know, but she's about to find out.

~~~

Mandy wasn't wrong, Donna conceded as she paused to watch the President's televised speech begin. They were doing okay.

Sure, there'd been some missteps lately, and sure, the President was having a hard time adjusting to this latest military action, but they were doing okay.

They'd hired Charlie Young today. That was something they'd done right. In the few moments Donna'd spent with him, she already knew she liked him and that's he'd fit in well here.

Meanwhile, CJ was keeping the world safe for democracy – or at least safe from Josh and Sam.

They were doing okay.

Weren't they?

~~~

Donna skimmed the disclosure sheet, looking for an entry more interesting than flowers. CJ'd received a brass doorknocker (she'd have to remember to ask her about that) and Sam had gotten a model schooner, but nothing really struck Donna as truly unique.

Until…

Well, this was interesting. A silk smoking jacket? From one Miss Sarah Wissinger? She scanned her memory, trying to recall the name and face. She'd been thin – and short - with long dark hair. And Josh had gotten a smoking jacket from her?

Hmm.

She jotted it down on her notepad. That definitely qualified for best gift.

~~~

Out of the corner of her eye, Donna watched Josh talking with the President and Leo. She wasn't sure what they were discussing, but they looked serious. She wondered if there was a crisis brewing and they'd have to get back to work.

"Then Mandy asked…"

She was distracted for a moment by CJ, and when she looked back at Josh, he was handing the President a card of some sort and smiling – just the tiniest bit. That was a nice change from the way he'd looked this afternoon when he'd gotten back from his mystery meeting.

She'd asked him about it, of course, but he'd brushed her off with another quip about controlling him. Not that she minded – she did control him, on a professional level at least. What he did on his own time was his business, unless it affected her. But that hadn't seemed to be the case today. Today had seemed personal and, well, personal.

She didn't have much time to dwell on her train of thought, however, because the President was beginning his speech, his voice deep and emotional as he spoke.

"…absent friends, and the ones that are here now."

~~~

She'd done the right thing. Not just because now she had the money to buy a Starbuck's muffin and low-fat latte on the way to work tomorrow, but because she'd made him proud.

He'd never admit it to anyone – least of all her – but she could see it in the way he smiled. It was more than just an indulgent smile at her cute parable. It was pride. Pride that she'd taken one of his little lessons to heart, pride that she'd actually learned something.

Now if she could just make him proud enough to buy her that dvd player…

~~~

He really should remember all the things she did do right, Donna thought as she rushed back to the ladies' room to check on Mandy. The interesting and helpful tidbits she culled from books and then shared with him at the most opportune moments, the unasked for assistance she gave him with his wardrobe, the way she checked up on his old girlfriends…

Ok, so she wasn't checking on Mandy because she was Josh's ex or because he'd asked her to. She was checking up on her because Mandy'd just been dealt a major blow and really, shouldn't someone be checking up on her?

Donna could sympathize with her situation. It was hard trying to do the right thing and then failing. And right now, Donna thought Mandy needed someone who could appreciate that.

At least, she hoped so. Otherwise, this was just one more fool's errand for the night.

~~~

He looked tired. More so than usual, she noted as she looked in on him, typing furiously away on his computer. Tired but… energized?

He certainly hadn't looked that way earlier tonight when Mandy had stopped by. He'd looked frustrated and annoyed. Then she'd mentioned the computers and he'd rushed off to see the President and now… Now he seemed more focused, more optimistic, and much more determined than he had all day.

If it hadn't been so late, she might have asked him why. She might have sat down and asked him to explain how the antiquated computer comment had sparked his imagination. She might have sat with him while he plugged away at whatever revision he was making to the banking bill.

But it was late, and she was tired, too, so she settled for stopping in his doorway to tell him she was heading home. He looked up briefly from his computer, told her to be safe, and then went right back to typing away.

She paused a moment… Maybe she wasn't too tired. Maybe it wasn't too late.

She set down her bag and took a seat.

"Did you know that Mount Rushmore was known as…"

~~~

He hadn't wanted to hear about the banging.

Neither had CJ or Sam.

And Toby? She hadn't even tried to tell him.

But it had been an omen, and her suspicions were confirmed later on when the ceiling almost fell on this head. And then again when the rumors about drug testing started floating around the bullpen. And when Charlie came by and started muttering something about Harrison and exclusive clubs.

Things had gotten a little better after that, but she still wasn't convinced that they were in the clear. So now she sat on her couch and waited. If her earlier prediction was anything to go by, he'd be there any minute.

Maybe she'd run out and get some ice cream before he arrived. Or some honey mustard pretzels.

She never got the chance - the doorbell rang first.

~~~

She took her place in line, shoulder to shoulder with Josh and Leo, as the choir sang.

He'd gotten her a book. Not skis or ski paraphernalia, not a trip to Hawaii or Aspen, but a book, with the most incredible inscription a girl could ever ask for inside.

It was the second best Christmas gift she could have received.

She turned and smiled at Leo, standing straight and proud on her right. That… that had been the first best. What Josh and Sam had tried to do… It was nothing less than the embodiment of the spirit of Christmas.

"I played my best for Him, pa rum pum pum pum…"

~~~

They were all lawyers. All of them except the President, and he was a Nobel prize winning economist, so did it really matter that he'd never passed the bar? Probably not.

The point was, all the men in Washington – from the ones she worked for to the guys she met on the weekends - seemed to have law degrees. It didn't matter whether they'd forgotten the practical applications (like Josh) or still had pretty good game (like Sam); they were lawyers and she was surrounded by them on a daily basis.

So why did her mom continually give her a hard time about meeting the right kind of man?

She'd have to remember to keep Sam in mind the next time she talked to her. He was a lawyer, a good-looking and charming one, too. So what if she considered him a substitute brother? Mom never had to know.

~~~

Whoever got left behind would assume the role. Not just as the head of a division – they'd get the whole shebang. President of the United States.

She could be the one. She knows she could.

She'd be good at it, too.

It would probably be against the rules of succession, though.

Still… the Secretary of Agriculture? What did he know about running a country? He'd need some staff to help him along. A senior assistant who knew her way around, who cared, who'd be able to guide him.

She should convince Josh she needed to stick around the White House that night…

~~~

"She said she knew it in her heart. You know how many things I've been wrong
about in my heart?"

She'd known that walking along the top of the cemetery fence was dangerous for her sister, Gianna. Luckily, Gianna hadn't known it in her heart, because she managed to cross from the gate to the corner and climb down without any major injuries.

She'd known that Tommy Frisco was going to break up with her. All the signs were there. But not only did he not break up with her, he asked her to the prom instead.

She'd known that Craig was the one. They were going to be together forever. It gave her the confidence to quit school and move in with him. Someone should have warned Craig before he started seeing the cute young candy-striper on the side.

She'd known a lot of things in her heart over the years, but she'd learned long ago that her heart was frequently wrong.

~~~

He'd broken their date. Well no, not exactly. It hadn't been an actual date – it had been a not date. A date implied there was a certain amount of romantic interest and this was a strictly friendly, he-owed-her-big-time-for-coming-in-on-her-Saturday-off shopping excursion, not a date.

Still, he'd broken his promise to her so that he could go see Joey Lucas and convince her to find a live one. A noble cause, to be sure, especially when the President himself had requested he do it, but that didn't help her with her dilemma.

She had an actual date arriving in just under an hour, but no shoes to go with the fabulous dress she'd bought Friday on her lunch break.

She frowned into her closet, willing a pair to appear, and wondered what Joey Lucas's shoes looked like.

TBC...

B'elanna knows she should be worrying about other things right now.

Like the ship. Specifically, the reaction core and how the jump may have affected it.

Realistically, she knows Seven can handle any emergency that may come up, but engineering is her responsibility and she thinks that she should be there, making sure everything runs smoothly and efficiently. Or at the very least, making sure that nothing explodes.

Or she should be worrying about her status, since they're now back in Federation space and she's still - first and foremost - a Maquis. The Starfleet personnel on board may have forgotten, but she hasn't and neither have the others. And she's damned sure her new father-in-law hasn't; he may have forgotten the fact temporarily but surely he'll remember once the novelty of his new granddaughter wears off.

Or when Tom disappoints him again and he needs another failure to heap upon his son's shoulders. And what better way to do that then to point out how tragic it is that he had to marry a half-Klingon, all-Maquis woman?

And then there's *her* family. Her fierce, loving grandmother who will silently wonder if B'elanna's destined herself to the same fate as her mother simply because she fell in love with a human male. Not that she'll ever speak the words aloud, but it will be there in her eyes...

The same type of eyes that B'elanna is looking down into now.

The ridges on her daughter's forehead aren't nearly as pronounced as her own. Her skin, which will never be as pale as Tom's, is a smooth and creamy caramel color. Her hands and feet and body are perfectly formed.

But it's her eyes that draw B'elanna's gaze the most.

They have a fierce Klingon look in them – even now, at only a few minutes old - and B'elanna can't help but smile down at her and think that even though she knows she should be worrying about other things, she can't. Because with the baby in her arms and Tom by her side, there's nothing worth worrying about.

~End~

Seth shuffled into Summer's bedroom, unsure of how she would greet him after his summer absence. He decided it was safest to start off the conversation with something not involving them. "I came to get Captain Oats. My mom says you took him."

"I did," she agreed, unsurprised to see him, but not particularly happy looking at having him there. "But I'm not giving him back. He's staying here."

"But…"

"No. Princess Sparkles is rather attached to Captain Oats. And *you* abandoned him."

"I did not-"

She arched a brow at him. "You didn't? I remember a note. No, make that *two* notes. I remember an empty room. I remember that Captain Oats was *all by himself.* That was not cool, Cohen. In fact, it was downright mean. And wrong. And now I'm keeping him," she said, snatching the horse away from Seth's questing hands.

"Summer-"

"Don't 'Summer' me. Hey! Keep your hands off. Stop. You're going to--"

"Oops!"

"Cohen! Look what you did!" Summer looked down, horrified, at the three legged horse in her hands.

"I didn't mean-"

"No, you didn't! But you did. And it hurt."

"Summer…"

"Just go, Cohen, ok? I'll make sure he gets fixed."

He left, defeated, knowing that his precious horse was in good hands and that she would make sure he was repaired.

"I’m sorry, Summer. I never meant to leave you. Or Captain Oats. It was Newport I had to leave."

He said it so softly that she never even heard him.

*The End*

"We'll figure out how to help you out of this mess," Ryan assured the young kid who sat in the passenger seat next to him, looking scared and uncertain. "But first I need to go talk to someone."

"Your wife?" Jack asked.

"No, someone a lot wiser about the kind of trouble you're in."

Jack didn't say a word, just stared out the window as they drove down the wide tree-lined street. After several minutes of silence, Ryan pulled the car into the driveway of a large brown-shingled house and Jack gawked at how homey and lived in it looked.

"I'll only be a minute," Ryan told him. "Do you want to come in or…?"

"I think I'd rather stay out here," Jack mumbled, as he followed Ryan out of the car and onto the porch.

Ryan studied him a moment before nodding and opening the door. "Ok. I'll be right back."

Jack remained silent, staring out at the street, until he heard the soft whoosh of the screen door closing. Then he crept close to the door, moving into a position where he could see and hear the occupants of the room but they couldn't see him.

"Ryan! We weren't expecting you today," a blonde woman was saying as she gave Ryan a hug. "Is Taylor with you?"

"Uh, no, she's not. But I've got…" He stopped and then started again. "Is Sandy around? I need to talk to him. To both of you, actually."

"It's nothing serious is it?" she asked, concern lacing her voice, and Jack wished he could remember a time when his own mom had been that worried about him.

"It is, but it's not me." When she continued to look worriedly at him, he added, "I swear."

"He's upstairs," the woman said, moving to the stairs and calling, "Sandy! Ryan's here."

A tall man with dark hair and bushy eyebrows bounded down the stairs. "Ryan! We didn't know you were coming today."

"I wasn't. But I've got a little bit of a problem."

Like the woman, he instantly looked concerned. "What kind of problem?"

"You know that kid I've been telling you about?"

Sandy nodded. "The one that's been hanging around the construction site."

"Yeah. His name is Jack and… "

"Hi!" a very young sounding voice suddenly chirruped from behind Jack, startling him. He spun away from the open door, afraid the grown-ups inside would realize he'd been listening in, and found a little blonde girl staring up at him curiously. "My name's Sophie. What's yours?"

Taking a few steps away from the open screen door, so their voices wouldn't carry inside, he muttered, "It's Jack."

She made a face at him. "There's a boy in my class named Jack. He's icky. And he makes fun of Princess Sparkles."

Curious, he took a step closer and sat down on the steps next to where the girl stood. "Who, or what, is a Princess Sparkles?"

"She's the best horse that ever lived," Sophie explained. "'Cept for maybe Captain Oats," she confided in a whisper. "But don't tell Summer that. I wouldn't want to hurt her feelings."

"Summer?"

"She's my brother Seth's wife. She gave me Sparkles and Seth gave me Oats, because they were afraid that Scarlett might start chewing on 'em now that she's teething and stuff. I don't think she would, but they said you can't trust little babies to know they shouldn't do things like that."

He grunted in reply and she just kept chattering away, telling him all about her toy horses and some kid named Joey who was exactly 6 months younger than her. Jack tuned most of it out while he strained to hear the rest of the conversation happening in the house, but the tail end of her story caught his attention.

"So anyways… Princess Sparkles and Captain Oats came from the Cohen side of my family," Sophie was just finishing up, "And General Biscuit came from the Atwood side. And Queen Sophia came from the Cooper side."

"You can't have three sides to your family, doofus," he scoffed.

"Can too!" she retorted. "My daddy said so. You can have as many sides as it takes to make a family."

He made a soft snorting noise. "Your dad told you that?"

"Well… he told my teacher when she complained about the family tree I drew in art class, but I heard him telling Mommy about it later, so I know he said it and I know it's true. My daddy doesn't lie."

"Everybody lies," he mumbled, thinking about the people in his family, the people he thought he could trust.

"Not my daddy. And not Ryan. Seth does sometimes, but usually it's just little lies, like telling Summer he changed Scarlett's diaper so he doesn't get in trouble or pretending that he raked the leaves in the yard." The kid paused a moment and her face scrunched up as she thought. "And Aunt Julie lies sometimes, but not to Kaitlyn or Joey or me because she says it's important to be honest with kids. But not everybody lies. *Especially* not my daddy!"

Jack scuffed his shoe against the porch step. "Whatever."

"It's true," she insisted.

"Not likely," he muttered, ducking his head. No matter how honest her dad or her brother were, it wasn't likely they'd be able to help him. No one could. And even if they could, they wouldn't. No one cared enough about a kid like him to help.

"Uh-huh! You'll see."

Which is just about when Jack heard the screen door open behind him. Craning his neck, he looked up to see the dark haired man standing above him.

"Hey, Soph, go say hi to Ryan and give us a minute, would you?" Sandy said as he came outside and sat down on the step next to Jack.

She smiled at him and nodded, her blonde braids swinging. "Ok!" Then she dashed into the house and Jack was left alone with him.

Sandy held out his hand. "Hi. I'm Sandy Cohen, Ryan's dad."

Jack took his hand reluctantly. "Jack Banks."

"Nice to meet you, Jack," Sandy said, his tone soft and friendly. "Here's the thing - Ryan tells me you're in some trouble?"

"I'm not –"

Sandy held up his hand and silenced him. "You are. I'm not exactly sure how much, but I've still got some connections with a few of the state agencies and tomorrow I can make some phone calls and find out. Meanwhile, you're gonna need a place to stay tonight."

Jack remained stubbornly silent and Sandy continued, "There's a guest suite above the garage. It's mostly filled with Sophie's toys and things, but you can stay there tonight. And then, in the morning, we'll go talk to some people and see what our options are."

"Our?" Jack asked, squinting at him dubiously.

"Our," Sandy confirmed, smiling. "We're in this together now. Once you become a Cohen, you're stuck for life."

"But I'm not a Cohen," Jack said.

Sandy smiled widely. "You are now, kid."

~End~

It was another late night at Anthony's, just like any other they had spent there over the last few years. Only it wasn't. Because on previous visits their station wasn't under threat of sale. On other visits they weren't fearful for their jobs. And Casey wasn't determined to throw his career away for Lisa's sake. And Dan wasn't usually so glum.

A woman asked for his and Casey's signatures. He signed the paper she held out to him and returned it to her without any enthusiasm.

"By the way, my roommate's friend knows a girl you used to date."

"Oh yeah? Who?" he asked politely, barely registering the woman's words. Things like this were said to him all the time – the friend of a friend of a friend. After several years of hearing similar comments, he barely paid any attention to what was really said.

"Rebecca Wells?"

And then the woman's words sank in. And he knew who had sent him the flowers.

Rebecca Wells.

She had sent the flowers.

Not Raquel Welch. Not Reggie White. Rebecca Wells.

Dan plunked his glass onto the nearest table and headed for the door. He needed air. His lungs suddenly felt useless, unable to take in much needed oxygen. His stomach cramped with tension.

She had been gone for nearly a year and yet the mention of her name still managed to get to him. Admittedly, he thought of her less and less frequently as time went by. Now he only thought of her every other day instead of every hour. But still, as soon as her name had been mentioned, all the feelings of euphoria and disillusionment and heartache had come rushing back.

Rebecca Wells.

He'd been smitten with her from that first glance in the elevator. There was something about her – something in the eyes that showed a steely strength behind the fragile looking exterior. He had wanted to know more about her and had pursued her relentlessly until she'd succumbed to his charms.

And then she had left. Left to fix a marriage that was beyond repair.

The anger came rushing back and he leaned against the cool brick wall, sliding down it until he was crouching low. He propped his elbows on his folded knees and sank his head into his upturned hands.

He felt a presence and looked up to see Casey standing nearby, a beer clasped lightly in his hand, a slight smile on his face.

"Rebecca sent the flowers."

"Yes."

"Rebecca."

"Yes."

"*Rebecca* sent the flowers."

"So you've said. Three times."

Dan's eyes snapped to Casey's. Was that amusement he saw in his expression? Was Casey *laughing* at him?

He was.

How could he laugh at a time like this? Dan felt like his world had collapsed. Rebecca, the woman he had fallen hard for, the woman who had left him to return to her bastard of a husband, had sent him flowers. Something just wasn't right. He needed to figure this out.

He surged to his feet and began pacing.

"Rebecca sent me flowers," he repeated yet again to himself.

"We've established that," Casey said.

"It's not funny, Casey. She sent me flowers."

"I know."

"Why would she send me flowers?"

"Because she heard about the pending sale and thought you could use some cheering up?" Casey ventured.

Dan ignored him. There was something there. Something his mind refused to grasp.

"She's the one who said goodbye. She the one that decided to go back to Steve Sisko." Scorn dripped from his voice as he said the name.

"Fucking Steve Sisko," Casey amended.

"Fucking Steve Sisko. So why did she send the flowers?"

"Call her. Find out," Casey suggested.

"No. She made it clear that anything that had been between us was over. No, I won't do it," Dan declared, shaking his head to further illustrate his obstinacy.

"Ok then. Come back inside. We'll drown our sorrows in beer."

Dan perked up a little. "You buying?"

"Yes."

Casey clasped an arm around his shoulders and led him back toward Anthony's. "You know, she could have sent them as an apology. Maybe she was afraid to call."

"You think?"

"Maybe. Or maybe she thought it was your birthday."

He couldn't prevent the smile that was beginning to form. "Rebecca sent me flowers."

"Yes, she did." Casey's smile matched his own.

"Damn, but this is getting interesting!" Dan pushed his way through the door into the noisy bar. Maybe Continental Corp. was a lost cause. Maybe he and Casey would no longer be a team. Maybe he wouldn't go to LA.

None of that mattered. Rebecca had sent him flowers. That's all that mattered right now.

~End~

She wasn't the type to normally give Christmas gifts, but this year it seemed like everyone on Serenity need a little cheering up -- herself included – so she'd made an effort to do a little something for everyone, even if it was just something incredibly small, like being extra nice to Jayne for the day.

But she'd known the Captain for a sight longer than she liked admitting and she'd decided that he deserved an actual gift, one that had some sort of meaning. And there wasn't anything better she could think of than the pocketwatch Wash used to keep dangling from the bedpost in their quarters.

She'd already taken it off the post and polished it up nicely, but it needed a bit of shiny wrapping or something before it was ready to be given, so she'd gone looking for some in the footlocker at the end of the bed.

And there, hidden beneath an old blanket, was a small shiny package tied with string with her name written on it in Wash's writing. She picked it up and turned it over.

"Wash, what did you do? What did you get me?" she asked the empty room.

"Open it and find out," Mal said from the open hatch.

She turned, surprised to see him there. "Sir, I didn't know you were there."

"Just walkin' by and noticed your light on. Thought I'd stop in and see if you wanted to share a drink with me. It bein' the holidays and all."

"Not really, sir. Doesn't quite seem like the holidays, despite everything," she commented, looking down at the package in her hands again.

"Open it," he repeated.

"I'm not sure I can."

"You can."

With a sad smile at Mal, she pulled at the string and unwrapped the paper. Nestled inside the package was a soft leather bracelet.

"He used to work on it late at night when the rest of the ship was sleeping," Mal shared. "Said he needed something to do to keep him from contemplating all the emptiness out there."

"That sounds like him."

He stepped down into the room. "Here, let me fasten it for you."

She silently handed the bracelet to him and held out her wrist, too choked up at Wash's gift to do anything more.

Mal slid the clasp closed. "Looks mighty fine on you," he said.

"It does, doesn't it?"

"Yup." He glanced at the door. "Now how about that drink?"

"You go ahead. I'll be up in a minute."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I just have one thing I need to do first."

With a nod, he left, and Zoe sank down onto the bed as she twisted the leather bracelet around her arm. "Merry Christmas, Wash."

And from somewhere out in the 'verse, she swore she heard him whisper it back.

Wes closed his eyes and rested his head back against the rim of the tub. Things were getting harder, and he didn't know if he had the strength to keep on fighting. Everything felt so useless, so wrong, especially now that Fred…

He pushed his thoughts away. It was too painful to think of her as gone, too much for him to handle. That was one of the reasons he had come up here, to the penthouse suite above the office. To get away from the memories of her – memories of her delightful laugh, her shining eyes, her slender limbs…

There was a sudden draft of cool air, and his eyes drifted open to find Illyria standing above him, looking down at his naked form in the tub.

"What is this?" she asked in that cool, calm voice that was like Fred's yet so different. "I do not understand you humans. Why would you sit in such a vessel and fill it with water?"

"It's called a bath. Many of us find them relaxing," Wes answered with a sigh as he closed his eyes again. "Go away, Illyria. You don't belong here."

"Yet I have nowhere else to go."

He opened his eyes once more, and studied her. "That isn't my problem," he told her with cold detachment.

"You are missing the other one, the one whose body I inhabit," she stated. "Would it help if I was her?"

"I… don't know," he admitted softly. He blinked -- astounded by how low he'd sunk to even consider such a thing -- and when he opened his eyes after that brief second, her image had shifted, softened, taken on the more normal coloring of Fred. Against his will, his body reacted to the sight of her there.

"You find me appealing in this form," Illyria said in Fred's soft drawl as she peered down into the bathtub.

It was just too much for him, seeing her there, almost but not quite his Fred. "Go away!" he snapped.

"You order me away even though you enjoy the sight of me like this?" she asked curiously.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you aren't her. You're a sham. A counterfeit. Merely a thing in her body!"

"Maybe if I were to try this… bathing," Illyria said, shifting easily back to her usual blue visage and dipping a finger into the still warm water of the bath.

He instantly shot upright in the bathtub. "Now?"

"Yes."

"You can't!" he protested.

She tilted her head and studied him. "Why?"

"Why? Haven't you heard a word I've been saying? You aren't her!"

Her hand brushed against his thigh and he shivered. "Your voice keeps saying no, but your body… it says yes. And the body does not lie."

"That doesn't matter," he barked. "You can't… we can’t…"

"Why?" she persisted.

"Because it's just not done!" he snapped.

She studied him a moment longer. "You are afraid you might like it," she said. "You find me appealing, even like this."

He shook his head, wanting to deny it even though he couldn't. He did want her. "Please, Illyria, go away."

But she didn't; she stayed. And there was no going back to the way things used to be.