I'll Be Home for Christmas

Author: BadgerGater

Email: [email protected]

Category: Christmas, Angst

Rating: G

Season/Sequel: Season three-four; you may want to read Four Months in Hell (posted on Heliopolis 2 due to mature content or available at O'Neill's House)

Summary: Sara O'Neill recalls Christmas 1990

Warnings: Major Kleenex alert

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted without the author's consent.

Author's Notes: I heard this song while Christmas shopping and couldn't help thinking of how it would have affected Sara, missing Jack, in 1990

(Thanks to Corine, Carol & Tanya)

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God, she hated that song.

At home, she'd left the Christmas records tucked away in the back of the closet. If it hadn't been for Charlie, there wouldn't be a tree or any decorations, not a single garland or angel or reindeer in sight.

But she couldn't deny a four year old boy his Christmas, Charlie needed these normal things in his life, especially since he wasn't going to have his Daddy home for Christmas, and every day it looked more and more like maybe Jack would never come home again.

Stop it Sara, you can't think that way. Jack is alive. He'll find a way. He's a survivor. He's beaten the odds before. He always finds a way. He'll come home to you and Charlie.

Please God, make it so.

So here they were at the mall, just days before Christmas, buying a present for Charlie's pre-school teacher and one for her Grandma back in Ohio and another for her Dad. They were pretending there was nothing wrong; pretending that her husband was just away on another mission and would be home any day.

Sara didn't know how much more pretending she could do. And then she heard that song and she wanted to crumble right there in the middle of all the Christmas hustle and bustle. How could anyone just carry on when the man you loved was, was, she didn't even know... a prisoner, hurt or dead or dying or.....

Hold on, Sara, don't lose it now, not here, not in public, not in front of Charlie.

"Mommy, what's wrong?" His hand was tugging at hers, his face looking up, trying to understand.

Sara tried to wipe the tears from her face before he saw them. He was only four, and he didn't understand. She didn't want him to be sad, not at Christmas, didn't want him to lose hope, and didn't want him to think she'd lost hope. "Sorry, baby, I just miss Daddy."

"I miss Daddy too. When is he coming home? He'll be here for Christmas, won't he?"

"I told you, Charlie, I don't know. You know how Daddy's job is, how sometimes he has to be away, working...."

"To keep us safe," he said seriously.

"Who told you that?"

"Daddy, before he left. He told me he was going away to help make the world safe and it was my job to keep you safe until he got back." Charlie looked up at his mother. "But Mommy, who keeps Daddy safe?"

Such an innocent question, one with no answer, she thought, trying not to choke on her unshed tears. Who would keep Daddy safe? Frank hadn't. Frank Cromwell, Jack’s CO and best friend had failed them, failed to live up to his promise that he’d always bring Jack home to her, that he would never come home without him.

It had been nearly two months now, two long, agonizing months in limbo. Sara tried not to think, tried to tell herself that this was just another mission, Jack was just away, and he'd be home any day now. She tried never to think about what her husband might be going through, about what might have happened to him, whether he was even still alive. She couldn't think about it because she would go crazy with the worry and the fear.

"Daddy is pretty good at taking care of himself, you know that, Charlie," she told him, trying to convince herself, as she did every day. Please God, let it be so.

She remembered again their parting, that day like so many other days when Jack left, unable to tell her where he was going or when he would be back. Then, as always, he hugged her at the door, not saying goodbye, not saying he'd be home, never promising her those things that a soldier couldn't promise. His parting words were only "I love you" and he had hugged her so fiercely she thought she'd break in half. Then he was gone, like he'd gone away dozens of times before, never looking back. Only this time, it was different, this time he hadn't come back and he might never come back.

She knew how much he loved his career, the Air Force and how proud he was of what he'd achieved, and how much it meant to him. She'd known that from the start, before she had married him and borne his child, that she would have to share him with the Air Force. She knew Jack hated leaving them and that he loved coming home to them. So she didn't really understand then why he did it, why he had to do it, why he had to leave and risk his life. She didn't understand how he could leave them. He'd tried to explain it to her, but Jack never was very good with words. He simply told her it was a dirty job and someone had to do it, and it might as well be him. It was what he was good at. It was something important, it was keeping his country and his family safe. It was also action and adventure and an adrenaline rush and she knew those were things he craved, things he needed. No nine to five desk jobs for Jack O'Neill. No easy stateside tours.

He was who he was, and he knew it and she knew it, but that didn't make it hurt any less when he left, didn't make the nights alone any less lonely.

For Charlie's sake, she'd kept things as normal as possible these last two months. She'd battled to keep control ever since that awful day when Judy Cromwell had come to her door with that Colonel, she couldn't even remember his name, the one who'd come to tell her Jack hadn't come back with his team. She was told that he was first presumed dead, that was how he'd been left behind. That he was now a confirmed prisoner of the Iraqis. That since we weren't officially at war, there would be none of the niceties of war. Niceties of war? No visits from the Red Cross, no Geneva Convention to protect him. She knew what that meant. It meant they could do anything they wanted to the man she loved, that there were no rules for how he would be treated. All's fair in love and war and this was war, even if no one had yet declared it to be one.

Oh Jack. She knew he was tough and strong. She knew he would fight and scrap to survive. She had to believe he would find a way to come back to them, because she couldn't bear losing him. Charlie needed him. She needed him.

There were times when she couldn't stand it, when she thought she would fall apart, shatter into a million pieces, when her imagination ran wild, and then she remembered their son, and how he needed her to be strong for him. She didn't have time to fall apart; she didn't have the right to fall apart, not when Charlie needed her.

Sara O'Neill pasted a smile on her face and asked him, "shall we go see Santa?"

"Yes!"

Charlie was so much like his dad, she thought, all courage and bravado, never one to be shy. Boldly he climbed up on Santa's lap, didn't even wait for an invitation.

"And what’s your name, young man?" Santa asked.

"I'm Charlie O'Neill."

"So Charlie, have you been a good boy this year?"

He grinned, Jack's impish grin. "I've been very good."

"So then Charlie, what is it you want for Christmas this year?"

"I want my Daddy to be home. He's in the Air Force and he went away a long time ago and he's not back..."

Sara bit back a sob. She caught Santa's eye, shook her head no at his inquiring glance.

"Well, sometimes, Charlie, Santa can't do things like get Daddy's home for Christmas. Sometimes Daddy's have important jobs they can't leave to be home, no matter how much they want to be with their little boys. But Santa will do his best. There must be something else you want, isn't there?"

Charlie shook his head, stubbornly, looking so much like Jack in that moment that Sara's heart skipped a beat. "Just Daddy."

The Santa looked up at her, something sad in his eyes. Tough job, being a Santa in an Air Force town with a war on the way. Jack wasn't the only dad not home this Christmas, but....

Sara mouthed a silent 'thank you' at the Santa and took her son's small hand.

They were almost finished shopping when the boy asked, "Mommy, we got something for Mrs. Hensler and Great Grandma and Grandpa but we didn't buy anything for Daddy."

"What do you think he wants?"

Charlie paused a moment, then smiled. "Daddy always says he doesn't care what we buy him, but I think he wants a new hockey stick. He always says the old one doesn't work right, that's why he can't score so many goals," the boy answered.

Sara grinned. That sounded so like Jack, so like something he would tell Charlie. "So okay, new hockey stick it is."

That night, they wrapped presents. Charlie helped wrap the hockey stick, and Sara added a bow, and a card 'to Daddy from Charlie and Mommy.'

As she taped the card to the odd shaped package, her hands began to shake. Lord, please, please let him come home to open this. It doesn't have to be for Christmas, just sometime. Soon. Anytime. Just...

"How many days until Christmas, Mommy?"

"Four."

"I bet Daddy's on his way."

"Honey," she sat Charlie on the sofa with her. "Honey, look, you know I explained to you that Daddy's a long ways away. He has to do some important work to keep bad people from hurting other people, and Daddy may have to stay there for a while longer. We don't know when Daddy will be home." She forced the tears to wait, forced her voice to remain steady. "You know he will come home for Christmas if he can, but please, Charlie, don't set your heart on it."

His eyes were so big, the brown depths so like Jack's, and then he threw his arms around her in a hug that reminded her of the passionate way Jack embraced her, that to die for hug that was so unexpected coming from that quiet man. She loved Jack's hugs and Lord how she missed them. A single tear leaked from her eye, trailing down her cheek. Charlie wiped it away. "Don't cry, Mommy. Daddy will come home. Daddy always comes home."

<><><><><>

With Charlie safely tucked away in bed, Sara picked up the bits and pieces of paper and ribbon, straightening up the living room. She found a dozen small chores to keep her busy. Finally, she picked up Charlie's jacket and carried it to the hallway, opening the closet door to hang it there, next to Jack's favorite coat, the black leather jacket she had given him for Christmas the year Charlie was born.

She thought that was the best Christmas of her whole life, they were so happy, Charlie making their lives complete. Jack, newly promoted to Major, had looked so handsome in that coat. She could still see him trying it on, smiling that smile that always melted her heart, his brown eyes shining, his hand taking hold of hers, his lips soft on her cheek, and his whispered 'thank you' in her ear.

Unthinkingly, she pulled the coat off the hanger, burying her face in the soft material. It smelled like Jack, the soft scent of his aftershave mixed with the sweet tang of the leather.

Right then and there, Sara lost it. She missed him, God, it was so unbearable, to think he might never come home to them, to her. The tears started, slowly at first, then great wracking sobs shook her as she sank slowly to the floor, there in the hallway, clutching his jacket, alone with her fears and her despair. She held the coat, rocking back and forth on the hard floor, sobbing, hugging the jacket the way she so desperately wished she could hug him. "Jack, oh please, oh Jack I need you. I miss you. I know you're out there. I know. Come back to us, we need you, Charlie needs you. I need you. I can't go on like this, not without you. Oh God, please."

Sara wasn't sure how long she knelt there, on the floor, holding that coat, but finally she pushed herself to her feet, hung the jacket back in the closet and curled up on the couch. This night, like so many others, she couldn't go up to her bed, their bed and their room, and face that empty spot next to her. Instead, huddled on the sofa, across the room from the sweet scent of the Christmas tree, she cried herself to sleep.

<><><><><>

Christmas came and went, and Jack didn't come home. Charlie accepted her explanations, he was young enough to believe what she told him, to take her words at face value. He seemed okay, until the day she had to take down the Christmas tree, pack away the decorations and put Jack's presents away.

He refused to participate, sitting sullenly on the sofa, watching her, an angry look on his face.

"Charlie, the needles are all falling off the tree. We have to get rid of it."

"What about Daddy?" he asked stubbornly.

"Charlie, Daddy will understand."

"No, he won't," and the boy started to cry.

Her patience broke. She had held herself together for two and a half months, for 10 weeks, for 73 long days and longer nights, and it was suddenly beyond her to hold it all in any longer. "Charlie, stop it," she snapped. " The tree has to go. Crying won't change a thing."

The four-year-old only cried harder. His sobs gradually quieted into hiccups with only an occasional tear rolling down his cheek while he still stared angrily at her as she removed the decorations and lights from the tree.

"Charlie," she hadn't meant to yell at him or be angry, but holding her emotions in check was too much.

Finally, in a very small voice, he asked, "does this mean Daddy's not coming home? Like Grandma, when we put away Grandma's things?"

"Oh God, Charlie, no," she cried, sweeping the boy into her arms. "We're not getting rid of Daddy's things. Daddy is a long ways away, and he is trying very, very hard to come home to us. But he can't yet. We have to believe he will come, Charlie. Every day, we have to tell ourselves that maybe today will be the day he'll call and we'll know he's safe and coming home. We can't give up, Charlie, never. Daddy won't give up on us and we won't give up on him."

He didn't understand, she knew that, and that was okay, because there was no way to explain POWs and undeclared wars and political pawns to a four-year-old who only understood that his Daddy hadn't come home for Christmas.

So they made it a part of their daily ritual, as she helped him dress every morning, to tell him that maybe today would be the day that Daddy came home. She wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, she didn't know if it made things better or worse, but saying the words gave her hope.

It was hard to hold on to that hope as the days passed into weeks, and she watched the news every night. The bombing started and then the war began and in only days came to its swift conclusion. And then the call came, the one she had waited for, for so long, and his voice was on the other end, and it was over.

Well, not really over. He wasn't the same, when he finally did come home, and it was a long time before their lives returned to something like normal. He wasn't the same man who left her; some part of him was missing, stolen from him during those long months, during that time he never talked about. And though in time he became almost the man he used to be, the truth was, he was never the same.

In all that happened after that Christmas of 1990, in Jack coming home so dark and changed and distant, so wounded and locked up inside himself and his dark memories, and his refusal to talk about that time, they had all put that Christmas behind them. Charlie gave him the hockey stick, but that was the only bit of that Christmas they ever shared.

<><><><><>

It was Christmas Eve, and hers was the last face he expected to find at his door.

"I should have called, I'm sorry," Sara said, seeing the look he gave her. But the truth was, she didn't know if she had the courage to do this, unsure until that moment she'd found herself pulling into his driveway.

"No. It's all right. Come in. Please," he said, opening the door.

He looked tired, like he hadn't been sleeping well, and she was sure he hadn't knowing him, knowing he would have been feeling lonely at this season. That was Jack, too proud and too stubborn to let anyone comfort him.

"Coffee?" he asked.

She didn't want to stay, but he certainly looked like he needed some, and maybe some company, too. "Sure," she answered, following him into his small, neat kitchen, noting there was not a tree or a single holiday decoration in the house.

He noticed her glances. "I go in for the minimalist look," he said, in that self-deprecating way.

"Ahh, well, you've succeeded."

She sat silently at the table while he made the coffee in the same way he did everything, concentrating completely on the task.

Finally, he brought a cup over and set it in front of her, offering her cream, and asked, "so what brings you here?"

She looked across the table at him. After all this time, she still didn't know what she felt for him. There was so much love and hurt and hunger and pain there, in the air between them. A part of her missed him while another part reminded her of how terribly he'd hurt her with his silences. Some of her confusion must have shown in her face, because he suddenly dropped his gaze to his coffee cup.

So Jack, she thought, always avoiding the emotion.

She sighed. "I found this." She pulled a small, wrapped package from her purse.

He looked at her questioningly. "What is it?"

"A Christmas present, silly."

"I know that. I mean..." and then he looked at the tag. 'To Daddy, Love Charlie.' The first three words were written in Sara's neat hand, the last was scrawled in a child's young hand, each letter drawn carefully. He looked up at her.

"I found it, the other day, when I was unpacking the Christmas decorations from the attic. Some boxes were way back in the corner..."

He was staring at her, eyes hooded. "And?"

"I hadn't looked in them, for years. There were old things in there, and I remembered the one year we couldn't find the old lights and we'd bought new ones..."

"I remember," he said softly.

"They were in this box. From 1990." She said the year carefully, looking up at him. "The year you weren't home, when you were in Ir..."

"When I wasn't home..." he said hastily.

God, he still couldn't even let her say the name of the place, still couldn't talk about it, she was sure, just like she'd never told him about the despairing, hopeless nights she'd cried herself to sleep, hugging his pillow or one of his shirts, terrified she'd never see him again. "Charlie had me buy that hockey stick..." she went on.

"I remember." As if she'd think he could ever forget.

"Well, a couple of weeks before Christmas that year, he'd brought this home from school. He wouldn't let me see it, it was all wrapped in tissue paper. We found a box for it, and I wrapped it, and we put it with the other Christmas things. Somehow, what with everything that happened, it was forgotten, and I never thought of it again. Until the other night, I found it there, in that box of old decorations. I don't know how it ended up there..." she found herself fighting to hold back the tears, thinking about Charlie and that terrible Christmas when she didn't know if she was a POW's wife or a widow.

"Charlie," his quiet voice stopped her. His hands were caressing the box, holding it like it was some holy relic, like he was afraid it would crumble in his hands.

"You should open it."

He looked up then with that deer caught in the headlights look that made her heart ache. Once again, he looked down, and with shaking fingers he pulled the bow off the small box and lifted the lid. Inside, wrapped in brittle, yellowed tissue paper, was a small circle of clay, a bit of yarn looped through a small hole in it. On the clay was a little boy's handprint.

Jack’s finger traced the outline, slowly, and he thought his heart would break in two, leap right out of his chest, right there in his kitchen, to hold this thing Charlie had made for him. Carefully, he lifted it from the box, and felt something on the back. He turned it over and there were the words, etched in the clay, 'to the world's best Daddy. Love Charlie.'

Jack sobbed, the sound escaping him before he could stop it. He got up, turned away from Sara and toward the sliding glass doors that opened onto the snow covered deck. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, closed his eyes, trying to still the pounding of his heart.

He stood there so long she didn't know what to do or say. Finally, "Jack?"

He turned back to her, that wounded look tearing another hole in her heart, reminding her why she should stay away because there was so much hurt there, between them. Because when she saw him she wanted to take him back into her arms and love him, irrational as that was, knowing he would only hurt her again because that was the way it was between them. Too much pain mixed in with the love, too much hurt to overshadow the comfort, too much past to see a today or a tomorrow.

But it didn't stop the way she ached to comfort him, if only he'd let her.

Jack couldn't say a word. He walked back across the room, sat down because his legs were shaking so badly he wasn't sure he could stand up any longer. He reached across the table and touched her hand, his long fingers sliding gently over hers. He couldn't look at her, just stared down at that tiny, fragile thing in its brightly colored box.

"He was a great kid," she said, softly, trying to find something to comfort him.

He nodded.

"He missed you so much that Christmas."

He said nothing.

"I missed you so much that Christmas," she admitted, reaching out, her hands ruffling the silvered hair, and he leaned into her touch.

Long moments passed, silently.

Finally, he pulled away, picked up the box and closed the lid. Hoarsely, he said, "you should take this," and pressed it into her hand.

"It's yours. It was for you."

He shook his head, looking away from her. "I can't. I can't keep this. You should have it. Take it."

She pulled her hand back, letting the box sit on the kitchen table, anger in her voice now."Goddamn it Jack, don't do this to me. Don't play your little games with me. Giving this to me won't undo what you did. It won't bring him back or buy me back." She stopped, seeing the hurt look cross his face. "Jack, I didn't mean that."

"Of course you did."

She took a deep breath. "No. I didn't. Jack. It's just every time I'm around you, I don't know what I want, I don't know who I am, who you are, what we mean to each other, if anything. We've never resolved anything and I don't know if we ever can, when you won't talk to me. The truth is, sometimes I miss you and other times I don't ever want to see your face again. I remember the good times and I can't forget the bad and seeing you always leaves me confused and, and..."

"Lost?"

Softly she answered, "yes."

He stood then, and pulled her to her feet, enveloping her in his arms, in that hug she had longed for so often, one of his hugs, the kind that always made her feel warm and safe and loved.

After a moment, she pulled away. "I've got to go."

"You could stay, if you like. Help me decorate the tree."

"No really, I'm invited to go out with friends from work. I was only going to stay a minute, drop that off." And then she looked into his face, saw the disappointment, the loneliness and the pain, the things he managed to hide from everyone else, but that he never could hide from her, and something there made her stop. She never could resist that lost little boy look. "But, I could stay, a bit."

He smiled, a genuine smile that faded into a grin. "Ah, well, first we'll have to go get a few things."

"Like?"

"Like a tree. Lights. Decorations." He looked at her. "I, ahh, like to be spontaneous."

"Right." Why had she let herself get talked into this? Damn it, Jack could always do this to her, that's why she'd stayed away, because he always roped her into his schemes.

So she put her coat back on and he grabbed his from the closet and joined her at the door. Together, they headed for the a nearby tree lot.

Jack, as always, grabbed the first tree he saw. "How about this one?"

"Too small."

"This one?"

"Too big."

"This one?"

"Too spindly."

"Oh for crying out loud," he said teasingly. "This one."

"Okay."

He paid for the tree. At a nearby store, he quickly grabbed boxes of lights and decorations. Back at his house, he carried in the tree. Jack strung the lights while Sara set ornaments on the tree. Finally, she stood back to admire their handiwork and he came to stand beside her. "What do you think?" she asked.

"Perfect," he said, "ready for the top."

Jack opened the last package, pulled out a golden star for the top. Tall as he was, he couldn't reach to set it in place, so he went to the kitchen for a chair. Setting it beside the tree, he climbed atop it and set the star on the tree's peak. "How's that?"

"A little to the right."
"Okay." He shifted the ornament. "How's that?"

"Hmm, a little too far, back to the left." she ordered.

He moved the star again. "That it?"

"No, more that way," she pointed right again.

He reached to shift the star, and the chair tilted. He lost his balance, and crashed to the floor, lying still.

"Jack?" Sara rushed across the room. He was lying face down, not moving. Oh God, she thought. "Jack?" she grabbed his shoulder, rolled him over, his eyes were closed...

And then his eyes popped open, and he was laughing, grabbing her arms, pulling her down on top of him.

"Jack!" but she was laughing now too, to see him look like that. She slapped his chest. "Dammit, don't scare me like that."
He looked suddenly serious. "Were you worried?" Was that a touch of longing in his voice?

"No," she laughed.

Together, they climbed to their feet, and she noticed him wincing.

"You okay?" there was worry in her voice.

"Oh, yeah, fine. I think I'll have a few bruises though," he said, rubbing his shoulder.

"It's crooked," she said, looking at the star.

"Crooked is good," he grinned. "Original."

"Minimal," she laughed.

"Ya think?" they said together, and laughed.

He hugged her again, enjoying it, enjoying the feel of her in his arms, here in his home, sharing something besides hurt. "Okay, how about I start a fire?"

"I could make more coffee."

"Deal."

He lit the fire, the cheery flames flickering through his living room as he sank onto the couch.

In a couple of minutes, she was there with the coffee. Sara considered taking the chair across the room, then thought what the hell, she was here and it was Christmas, and well, why not?

She sat down on the couch next to him, and when he leaned over and put his arm around her shoulders, she leaned into his chest.

Sara felt him sigh, as his hand came up to caress her hair.

God how she had missed his touch, the feel of his hands.

"This is nice," he said so softly she thought she'd imagined the words, but then she looked up and saw the smile on his face. "Sara, I..."

"Shh, Jack, no words tonight, please? Can we just be here, together?"

He nodded, slid his arm down around her shoulder and pulled her in closer as she snuggled in against his chest, the feel of his flannel shirt soft against her cheek.

In the dark house, lit only by the soft glow of the red and green lights and the flickering flames, they sat silently together for a long time.

Finally, she noticed him grinning and asked, "what are you thinking?"

He was quiet, and she was afraid he wouldn't answer, but finally in a soft voice he said, "I was remembering the Christmas we got the bike for Charlie."

She smiled. "He loved it."

"Yeah. I was scared he'd break his leg riding it, it really was way too big for him."

"I told you that when we bought it," she said with a grin.

"And I didn't listen."

"Oh course not," she laughed.

He went silent again, watching the flames, and the smile disappeared. "I'm sorry."

She raised her face from his chest to look up at him.

"All the Christmases I was gone, all the ones I missed, I never thought how hard it was for you.."

"Doesn't matter now."

"It does," he said quietly, still staring into the flames. "I had everything then and I didn't appreciate it."

She began to cry then, softly, her tears soaking his shirt. He wrapped his arms around her and held her, until the tears stopped and he realized she was asleep.

Jack dozed off and on during the night, but mostly, he spent the long hours sifting through his memories. Through the quiet hours of the night, he simply sat with Sara in his arms, holding her, hoping this one night of comfort could in some small measure make up for all the nights he hadn't been there for her, all the Christmases he wasn't home, and every other night she had been alone. Careful not to disturb her, he reached over to the chair and pulled the throw off the back, wrapping the blanket around the two of them, and staring into the flames.

He didn't realize she was awake until her soft voice asked, "Jack?"

"Hmmm."

"What time is it?"

"I don't know. Middle of the night."

"I should go home."

"Too late now. You don't want to be on the road at this hour. You might as well stay until morning. Go back to sleep."

Wrapped safely in his arms, she slept, dreaming of another Christmas long ago, of a little boy with his daddy's brown eyes.

Dawn was coloring the sky when she woke again.

"Oh my God," she saw his eyes were open. "Jack, I'm sorry. I didn't mean.... Did you get any sleep?"

He smiled, shook his head. "Wasn't my first sleepless night."

"No, I wouldn't imagine it was." She sat up, stretched, ran a hand through her hair. "Jack, I..."
He smiled that little boy smile, groaned as he climbed stiffly to his feet.

She looked at him with alarm. "You okay?"

He grinned. "I'm always a little creaky in the morning. Getting old."
"You?" she said with affection. "You'll never be old Jack. Never."

"Somedays, I feel a hundred and fifty," he said solemnly. "And then there's some days where I feel like I'm 15. I'll make coffee," he offered.

She grinned. "Look, Jack, I really have to go, I'm supposed to be to my sister's for breakfast in a couple hours. But maybe some other time?"

"I'd like that."

"Me too."

"Maybe dinner," he asked, "later in the week? I'll call."

She nodded. "Sounds good."

He helped her into her coat, and at the door, she hesitantly reached up and kissed him, and he answered, a hunger in his kiss that she returned, longingly.

"You do have somewhere to go today, don't you?" she asked.

He nodded. "Actually, I'm on call at the base. I'll have dinner with my team there," he said.

She nodded, genuinely happy that he wouldn't be alone on this day. "That's good, that you'll be with friends today."

He stood in the doorway as she started down the walk. "Thanks for the gift," he said, and she wasn't sure what he meant, until he waved back at the inside of the house, "for the present from Charlie, and for staying. I'm glad..."

Impulsively, she hugged him again. "Me too."

"Merry Christmas, Sara."

"Merry Christmas, Jack."

<><>FINIS<><>