| Subject: Christmas Nigh; Adeste Fi! - Part 25A /25 (split in two due to length) |
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Teacup
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Date Posted: 21:40:10 08/06/07 Mon
In reply to:
Teacup (aka Ever-Xmas)
's message, "Christmas Nigh; Adeste Fi!" on 23:51:19 06/30/07 Sat
A/N: Terribly sorry about the delay in posting this last part. It was not at all intentional. Real life just made me extremely busy all of a sudden, and I had to make other things a priority.
However, in keeping with my July 25th stand-in for Dec. 25th schedule, … that would mean Aug. 6th would stand in for January 6th. And January 6th is Epiphany (aka 12th Night or ‘Little Christmas’). It’s the celebration of the visit of the Three Wise Men (aka Magi or Kings) to baby Jesus.
In my family, we literally celebrate our ‘Little Christmas’ as a mini-Christmas. Everyone exchanges gifts again (albeit on a much smaller level – like little bags of snack food). But we also use it for all those gifts that were being made, but didn’t get finished for Christmas itself, or ordered, but didn’t come on time. So, in keeping with that tradition … I’m actually on time for celebrating ‘Little Christmas’ in August!
Also, on the plus side, this last part is very long (so long I had to break it up in posting), and there are loads and loads of Christmas references (and some you’ll think are for another holiday, but they really aren’t) … and of course, you get see our favorite couple … being a happy couple.
Christmas Nigh; Adeste Fi!
Where we left off:
He helped her up a little and pulled back the covers. This all seemed like such forbidden territory to him. This was Sarah MacKenzie’s bed.
He made his way to the other side, but paused, trying to decide whether to hold her when he got in or just lie close. He took in the view of her in bed, in her teddy bear print PJs. How the woman could make even those look sexy was a phenomenon. Yeah, this definitely felt like forbidden territory.
“So, you gonna let me snuggle with all of your teddy bears?” he asked, trying in a round about way to see if she wanted him to hold her.
Mac smiled, being a bit more coherent since Harm came out of the bathroom and interacted with her. “Well, … I was going to let you snuggle with me. … But if it’s just the bears you’re interested in, … I could take off my top and let you sleep just holding that instead.”
“Haha,” laughed Harm, getting into bed. “… Trust me, if you take off your top, … it’s not the teddy bears I’m going to be interested in.”
Mac laughed this time. Then she rolled over and draped her arm around him after he put the flashlight on the nightstand.
Harm pulled the covers up and cuddled close with Mac. “Do I need to worry about you getting up bright and early Christmas morning?” he asked.
“Mmm, … it’s already Christmas morning,” she told him, based on her innate knowledge of the time. “… And no,” she answered, “I want to stay in bed as long as possible.” She was entwined with Harm; of course she would want to prolong that experience.
“So we can settle down for a long winter’s nap,” Harm stated.
“Mmm-hmm,” Mac agreed. “A Christmas nap.” She raised her head and gave Harm a quick kiss.
He took that as being a Christmas wish from her, so he summed up, in toast format, “Merry Christmas to us.”
Ready to give in to slumber, Mac added, “And to us … a good night.”
Harm’s heart felt so full, as he whispered, “A great night, Sarah.”
Part 25 (End of story)
He couldn’t sleep. In a strange bed for the night, he had a hard time finding slumber. And when he had drifted off, the dreams came, … the central focus of which was a certain beautiful girl. But the dreams were bittersweet and left him with an odd, fearful feeling. So now he lay with his eyes open. … It was dark. And he had to use the bathroom.
Trudging his way back from the head, a noise caught his attention. Cautiously, he approached the living room, which he found alight with a soft glow. And there, standing by the Christmas tree was a portly old man, with one hand resting on his belly and the other holding a can of Coca-Cola, which he proceeded to take a swig of.
“You know, caffeine will keep you up all night.”
The older man startled upon hearing the voice, almost splashing the drink. “Damn it all, Mikey! Don’t sneak up on your old man like that!”
“Shh,” Mikey Roberts hushed his father. “We don’t want to wake everyone up.”
Big Bud agreed with a grunt.
“Seriously though,” the young midshipman told his dad, “you won’t be able to sleep if you keep drinking that.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” was the mumbled response.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Big Bud gruffly answered. “What are you doing awake?”
“Had to use the head. I heard noise in here, so I came to check it out.” Then, slightly embarrassed, he admitted, “… And … I was having some wacky dreams.”
“Bad dreams?” asked his dad with more concern than Mikey would have expected.
“Not entirely bad. … Just weird mostly.”
“Weird how?” Looking a little uncomfortable, Big Bud, added, “… I, uh … I got time … if you wanna share.”
“No, that’s alright,” Mikey declined, wary of this softer side of his father.
“Oh, come on,” pleaded Big Bud, trying to sound chipper. “I could use the company, and you look like you could get it off your chest.”
Mikey hesitated, but eventually sat down, and his father did likewise.
“Well, I’m pretty sure I was dreaming about Christmas of last year,” started the younger Roberts. “Chaplain Turner had been preaching. And I had just heard about getting into the Academy. But the first thing I really remember … is a big room. It was all white in my dream. Everything was white. … And then there was this group of girls. They were all real pretty, … wearing these tight, white formal dresses with long gloves and everything. They were from the south, I think. … Yeah, they were southern belles … all done up.”
“Sounds like a pretty good dream to me,” his father interrupted.
“Well, it was at first,” agreed Mikey. He got a wistful smile on his face, as he said, “And there was this one girl … Her name was Carol, and she was the prettiest of all the belles. I caught her eye and she smiled at me. She stretched out her hand for me to take, … and I fell in love.”
Mikey was in a daze, thinking about his fantasy girl, as he continued to describe his dreams. “Then the white room turned into a white, sandy beach. It was an island, I think. Yeah, … Christmas Island. I held onto Carol’s hand and invited her to walk on the beach.”
“Was she in a bikini now?” asked Big Bud, hoping for that mental image.
“No, … shorts and a tank top.”
“But the other women on the beach, … they must have been in bikinis?”
Mikey creased his brow as he remembered. “The beach was full of people, … but not lying in the sun. They were getting ready for a race. There were dogs … and those … inflatable figures that people put out on their lawns as Christmas decorations. The dogs were going to pull people riding on those things.”
“You stopped dreaming of a beautiful woman to see dogs and blow-up Santas instead?”
“No, Dad. It’s all connected. See, … Carol wanted me to enter the race so I could win money to get us to California, where she could meet up with her father. So I saddled myself up to a big inflatable snowman that was attached by two lines to a group of Huskies. … The race started, and the dogs took off down the beach. The snowman skimmed along the sand for awhile, but eventually lifted up in the air. And then the dogs ran into the water and somehow they changed into boats, and I was … almost parasailing, except it was like the snowman that I was hanging on to was flying on his own. We were soaring above the ocean, … above the world.”
“So, did you win the race?”
“Yeah, I did. … But I ended up losing what was more important. … We somehow ended up in California. Carol appeared there. We spent Christmas Day together. … I gave her my heart last Christmas.”
Mikey now looked very glum. “But the very next day, she gave it away. The day after Christmas I got up feeling like a king, because I was so happy. But then I looked out … and found her laying about, feasting on breakfast with this guy, Stephen. He was rubbing suntan lotion over her tanned skin, … so deep and crisp and even. … It turns out that it wasn’t her father that she wanted to find. It was her ex-boyfriend, who she wanted to get back together with. … She was just using me.”
For a fictional scenario, it left Mikey feeling very emotionally devastated.
“That’s what women’ll do to you,” said the older Roberts. “Best thing is not to ever give them your heart. … But we can’t seem to keep from doing that anyway.”
“What’s worse,” said Mikey, “is that there was a man in the race, … father of three of the other belles. But they weren’t from the south, … they were from some poor country. Those girls, … they were pretty enough, but their clothes weren’t as nice as the rest. It turns out that their family lost their money. The father wanted to send his daughters to another country for a better life. He knew that if they stayed … his daughters would probably end up … working the streets.” Mikey’s voice was full of shame and pity.
“They were the ones who should have gotten that money,” he continued. “I had wasted it on Carol instead. … But then, … in my dream, I suddenly had more money, … bags of it. So, I found the father of those girls and tried to give it to him, but he wouldn’t take it.”
“What kind of idiot doesn’t take free money?”
“It was his pride. He wouldn’t accept charity. He shut the door on me and closed all the windows to his small house. But I couldn’t leave like that. So, I came back at night, climbed up on the housetop, and threw the money bags down the chimney. … It was the only way I could get the money to that family.”
Big Bud looked surprised and confused. “Haven’t you learned that if someone refuses a gift, you don’t question it?”
“Dad, come on, I had to do something, … especially after I’d been played like that. … I really was a fool in that dream of last Christmas. … Maybe you’re right; it’s better to hold onto our hearts.”
Big Bud noticed the disappointed and tired look his son wore and tried to be more optimistic. “… Why don’t you try going back to sleep and dream of this Christmas instead. But to keep you from tears,” his father advised, “… this year give your heart to someone special.”
“I don’t think I’ve met that special girl yet,” Mikey replied. Then he turned things around. “So, what’s keeping you up?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Pop. … I told you what’s keeping me up. Maybe you’ll feel better if you talk about it?”
“I’m fine,” insisted the master chief.
“Okay,” Mikey gave up. “… I guess I’ll just go back to bed then.”
He began to stand up, when he heard his father ask, “Do you ever have really bad dreams?”
“Nightmares?” Mikey settled back down on the couch. “… Sure. Everyone does sometimes.”
“I, … uh … I get these nightmares before Christmas every year,” admitted Big Bud.
“What kind of nightmares?”
Mikey’s father closed his eyes for a moment and recalled the images. “It’s nighttime,” he began to describe his dreams, “and I’m in an apartment, – a lot like the one we had when you were just a little tyke. … Anyway, there’s this baby there with no one to look after it. And the baby starts crying and just won’t stop. … I pick the little guy up and find this stuffed animal on the floor, … an oversized mouse, so I give it to the kid. He grabs it, quiets down, and finally starts to go to sleep.”
Big Bud began to look more agitated. “That’s when the dumb doorbell rings. I answer, and there’s this very old man. He’s a bum off the street, and he’s got a hat out, … begging for change. I tell him to get lost. He says, … ‘Please sir, just a penny.’ I tell him I ain’t got any, and I slam the door. But I hear him yelling from the hall, ‘God bless you.’”
He continued the story, complaining, “The baby wakes up, of course, and starts to cry again. … I think maybe he’s hungry, and I see there are some raisins on the table. I try to feed them to him, but he throws them down. … That’s when I start hearing music … from people outside. There are carolers at my door … singing something about Peter and Paul and … soul cakes. … And that’s when things start to get really weird,” said Big Bud before taking a long pause.
“What happens then?” Mikey prompted.
“I open the door to tell the carolers to go away, … but I’ve never seen carolers like this before. They’re not people. They’re … figures that look like they were made of clay. … The first one was an angel, and while the others sang she looked at the baby and asked me, ‘What child is this?’ … I said, ‘How the hell should I know!’” Big Bud exclaimed with frustration.
He went on. “Then there was this king, and he demanded the baby for himself, so I handed the kid over. Hell, I didn’t know what to do with the kid anyhow.”
After a moment, Big Bud swallowed nervously. “But the king … started hitting the boy. And then I … I changed my mind and tried to get the baby back. But I only managed to grab the damned stuffed mouse and knock the crown off the king’s head. Then the mouse … grew big, … really big until I realize it was a human-sized rat! It bends over and picks up the crown to put on his own head, and he draws a sword on me!”
His hands began to clench, as he proceeded with the story. “So, I look around for something to use as a weapon, but all I could find were the raisins, which suddenly seem to be made of that weird clay too. They began to grow legs and arms and … and grew big too! The carolers kept singing, … some new song now, … and the raisins started … dancing. And suddenly we’re in a forest.”
Mikey noticed his father was beginning to sweat. The older man stared at a point on the floor, not hiding the fear on his face.
“They all gather and start piling rocks around this one tree -- a Christmas tree. But there was another tree, which they named. They called it Jesse. It, … you know, … looked like a Christmas tree, but it was bare. Then this white bird flies over me. … I thought it was going to crap on my head, but it just heads to that … Jesse tree. And then an apple falls from the branches, even though it’s not an apple tree.”
Big Bud hesitated, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I try to pick the fruit up, when I’m surrounded by … monsters.”
“Monsters?” asked Mikey.
“Yeah,” his father confirmed. “… Don’t laugh, but they were creatures from old horror films. Zombies, Dracula, … that hunchback guy, Wolf-man, … even Frankenstein. … They were all clay-creatures too. … I thought they were gonna come after me.” Big Bud rubbed his neck protectively. “…But they were busy with their new play. … They planned to rob Santa’s sleigh.”
Mikey would have expressed amusement at that idea if his father didn’t look so terrified.
“And there was this one guy with a jack-o’-lantern head running around. I’m not sure what he was doing, but I think he wanted to … hijack Christmas or something. … Other creatures were going to blast the North Pole, and attempt to drill into Santa’s workshop.”
With a distant look, Big Bud recounted, “… That’s when I see the rat king again; … he had the baby, which had turned into that clay stuff too. I tried to go after the kid, but some of the singers got in the way. I realized that one of them … was the devil.”
After another gulp, the retired master chief whispered, “He … he told me not to bother. And then I saw that a new figure had the child. It had been with the carolers too, … wearing a hood. I realized then that the figure was … Death.”
He risked a quick glance at his son, before insisting, “I tried to tell him to leave the kid alone. The baby was innocent, hadn’t done anything to deserve to be hurt. But he … when he saw me coming near, he … ripped the leg off the child, … just like it really was clay. And there was a horrible scream … I don’t know if it was the baby … or me.”
Big Bud closed his eyes. “I found myself back in uniform. I was deployed … and for some reason, I was in Sarajevo that Christmas Eve. When the sound of screaming stopped, … it was totally quiet. I knew there had been a lot of blood spilled.”
For a moment, he paused. “…The next day, Christmas Day, I looked out onto the river in the morning, and I saw three ships come sailing in.”
“Then what?” asked Mikey. “Who or what was on those ships?”
“A guy named Emmanuel captained the first boat. Other than that, I don’t know,” his father admitted. “That’s where I always wake up.” He tried to recover, and dismiss the nightmare. “I don’t know where that nonsense came from. It must have just been some undigested meat, or bad cheese, or something else I ate before bed.”
There was still a look of terror and guilt on Big Bud’s face. Mikey knew that the dream had shaken his father and that it was far more meaningful than the simple manifestation of some food substance, -- though it would have been more likely to have been the influence of the alcohol his father had consumed prior to bed than from any bad meat or cheese.
“You know what I think?” said Mikey. “I think you should take your own advice and go back to bed.”
“No thank you.”
Mikey tried to lighten things up, suggesting, “Maybe there’s a happy ending to the dream after all. You know, … like Santa thwarts the monsters’ efforts to rob his sack by giving them presents of their own, – a new cape for Dracula, a razor for Wolf-man so he can shave. Maybe the monsters will learn about the Christmas spirit.”
Big Bud did not find his son’s comments amusing.
So Mikey tried again. “Maybe something very good is on those ships. Something that represents how everything can be saved.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure everything will work out in the end,” said Big Bud sarcastically. “Countries will see the light and declare, ‘War is over. Happy Christmas.’”
“No, but maybe the baby ends up okay after all. Maybe that child will be able to overcome Death. Good does have a tendency to triumph,” said Mikey. “We just have to have faith.”
“I guess,” his father reluctantly agreed.
“Go back to sleep,” Mikey encouraged. “Nothing bad will actually happen. We’re all safe here, … surrounded by family.”
“I’m glad I’m here,” Big Bud admitted.
“Yeah, … there’s no place like home for the holidays,” Mikey reflected with a smile. Being with his brother’s family made that statement really true this year. “… Now let’s get some rest before little AJ comes waking everyone up.”
The two Roberts’ men made their way back to bed. They had only pleasant dreams the rest of the night.
----
The next morning Mac thought she registered Harm get up to use the bathroom and brush his teeth before coming back to bed, but she was not awake enough to know for sure. Content that he was by her side again, she fell back to sleep.
Forty minutes later, she was ready to get up. She glanced at the clock, which was blinking 12:25 at her. The time was wrong, of course. It simply indicated that the power had come back on twenty-five minutes earlier.
When Mac emerged from the bathroom, she gazed at the empty bed. Harm had been there when she got up, hadn’t he? For a brief second she questioned whether she had dreamt all of what happened the night before. But her anxiety did not last long. Mac could feel him nearby. She could see the sheets tangled and the impression left in the pillow he had slept on.
She figured he might be in the kitchen, but he wasn’t. A quick search found him, eyes closed, lying on the floor underneath the Christmas tree, resting his head on his hands.
Mac approached him, and when he opened his eyes, she exclaimed, “Look what Santa left me! Are you my present?”
Harm laughed as Mac sat down next to him. “Maybe,” he answered. With a look of mischief he asked, “Are you going to unwrap me?”
This made Mac laugh too. She leaned down to kiss him, before responding with a smile, “Not today. But, with any luck, … soon. … What are you doing lying out here anyway?”
“Uh, … checking to see if any presents were delivered while we slept.”
“I thought you weren’t expecting Santa?” she questioned.
“I wasn’t, … but I thought he might have given you a visit.”
With a slight trace of sadness, Mac told Harm, “Santa hasn’t come for me since I was a very little girl.”
It nearly broke Harm’s heart. He noted, sympathetically, “You stopped believing, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess I did,” Mac said.
She paused, remembering the previous evening and Harm’s words. ‘Yes, MacKenzie, there is a Santa Claus,’ he had declared, as a confirmation of his love.
“… Until last night,” she amended.
This made Harm smile. “Well, I guess that made the difference.” He pointed to an envelope that Mac had not noticed under the tree. It had ‘Sarah’ written on it.
She eyed Harm skeptically, but picked up the envelope and opened it. Inside was a creased piece of paper cut into a shape.
Upon unfolding it, she discovered that it was a heart. And written on it was:
"HR + SM
Forever"
Mac raised her eyebrows as she looked at Harm. “This is from Santa?”
“Well, I didn’t hear anyone else sneak in here last night, did you? He’s the only one who could have gotten in without you noticing, don’t you think?”
Mac was beaming, as she told Harm with some surprise, “You are a romantic at heart.”
Seriously, Harm noted, “Only with you, Sarah. …” He couldn’t help the tug of a smile on his lips though as he added, “‘Cause you’re part of my heart.” He pointed at the paper still in Mac’s hands.
“Corny, sailor.”
“Too corny?” he checked.
Mac’s eyes were twinkling, during her brief pause. “… No, … I’m enjoying this new side of you,” she decided. “Are you ready for some breakfast?”
“It’s my job to give that to you, isn’t it? … Since we spent the night together?” He had never forgotten her comment from years ago, the morning after they had to spend the night in the Appalachians when she had been shot in the leg.
Mac vaguely remembered joking with Harm at some point after they had to ‘spend the night together’ that she expected breakfast the next morning, so she conceded, “I guess it is.” However, she insisted, “But I’m making the coffee.”
She got the brew going and went to shower and get dressed. Mac spent a little more time than usual selecting an outfit. Something casual and ‘Christmassy’ that she would look especially good in – for Harm.
Walking into the kitchen, Mac inhaled the scent of cooking food. “Smells good,” she said. She immediately noticed bacon lying out, ready to be fried up. “And you’re making …”
Mac stopped talking when Harm, with a bare chest, came into her view.
“Bacon?” Harm finished for her. “… Yes. I figured you might want some, since it was in your fridge.”
“Uh, … yeah,” Mac agreed, only partly paying attention to what he was saying. The image of him in nothing but the airplane PJ pants she had given him had her mentally drooling. She had imagined him in only this attire when she purchased the pants, but the reality was so much better. And so distracting.
“Is there a reason you’re shirtless?” she asked, without really thinking the question through.
“Now that the heat’s back on, I got warm, … so I took the sweatshirt off,” he explained.
“Yeah, but … you should … put a t-shirt on or something,” Mac told him.
“This bothers you?”
“… No.” She shook herself out of her daze, and answered with more focus. “No, … it’s just … the bacon splatters. … You could burn yourself.”
“I’ll be careful.” He smirked a little with the knowledge that she was covering for the fact that she found his current state of dress distracting. That was okay. Truth be told, he was finding her in her Christmas outfit quite pleasantly distracting as well.
Mac’s attention was drawn to Harm’s current activity. “What’s this?”
“Pancakes.”
“I know that.” She was referring to the shapes that he was making with the batter. “Are those … socks?”
“Stockings,” Harm corrected. “For Christmas.”
“Ah,” said Mac, understanding. “What’s the one you’re working on now?”
The one he was playing with in the skillet was certainly more complicated than a stocking.
“This one,” he replied, “is an angel.” Then he added, “… In honor of you.”
Smiling despite herself, Mac shook her head. “Sappy, Rabb.”
“I was trying to be romantic,” he defended himself.
Mac looked at him in an amused manner. She seemed to be reflecting over something.
“What?” asked Harm, referring to the way she was looking at him.
“Just you … becoming a romantic.”
He grinned. “Certifiably so.”
“Oh, you’re certifiable alright,” teased Mac about his sanity. She approached him, and added, “But I love you anyway.” She put her arms around him and let her hands enjoy the feel of his bare skin. She was about to give him a kiss when they heard a knock at the door.
“Why is it, … when you are about to kiss me, someone has to knock at the door?” Harm asked, slightly frustrated.
“I don’t know, … but you’d better put a shirt on.”
“Why?”
“… People might get the wrong idea.”
Harm’s face contorted. “And what would the wrong idea be?”
Mac didn’t have time to banter with him at the moment. As she made her way to the door, she pinned him with a glare that left no room for dispute. “Shirt, … now,” she demanded, pointing at him and then to the bedroom.
As he headed to find the shirt he had on last night, he glared back. “Since you’re my girlfriend, you get to boss me around now?” Harm inquired with a smile.
Mac, who had just peeked to see who was on the other side of the door, looked back at him and smirked. “And don’t you forget it,” she joked, before pulling on the handle.
---
TBC in Part 25 B (due to posting length restrictions)
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