The snow was just perfect for making snowballs. Not too hard. Not too powdery. Just the right consistency. Nikita put the twins down in the snow, which was barely two inches on the ground, and they immediately scrambled for a handful of the white stuff.

Faith was the first to experiment. She stuck her gloved hand into her mouth and the snow melted on her tongue. She giggled excitedly and clapped her hands, the sound muffled because of her gloves. Chris watched his sister avidly, attempting to imitate what she did. He frowned when he tasted the snow, however, evidently deciding that the taste did not meet with his approval.

Nikita laughed at the grimace Chris made, poking Michael in the ribs to look at his son. "Michael! Look at Chris! He hates it as much as Faith loves it!"

Michael smiled softly. "Opposites. Like us, Kita?"

"Not so far apart anymore, I think. What do you think, Michael?"

"I think we’re as close as any two people can be and still be individuals, Kita."

She kissed him, brushing more snow off his cheek. Michael was gazing at her thoughtfully when Birkoff tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, no fair, the target can’t fraternize with the players."

Michael considered that a real drawback and said so. Birkoff laughed. "I don’t make the rules, I just enforce ‘em."

Nikita snorted impolitely. "You hear that, Michael? He thinks I might take unfair advantage of you."

"I wish you would," he whispered.

Her mouth dropped open for a moment, and she gestured at Michael. "You are so naughty this morning, Michael. Am I going to have to punish you?"

Michael’s expression grew enigmatic. "Hmm...define punish..."

She playfully slapped him on the arm, and another layer of snow fell from his jacket. "What were you doing, rolling in the snow or something?"

"You’ve never made snow angels? Oh, Kita, we have to do something about that right away. Declan, come here."

Declan ran up to Michael, almost out of breath from chasing Birkoff around the snow-covered lawn. He dropped the snowball he was holding. "You need something?"

"Nikita has never made a snow angel. Do you have them in Ireland?"

"Aye. Of course."

Declan took Nikita by the hand and demonstrated how to make a snow angel. Nikita lay on the ground on her back and said, "Look, guys, I feel really silly."

Declan shook his head. "We’re not done yet."

"Now move your arms like this." He showed her how to move, and she imitated his movements.

"What now?"

"Now you get up, very carefully, and you admire your handiwork."

Nikita looked puzzled. "How do--Oh my God! That’s beautiful!" She stared at the snow angel she created in the snow. "I did that?"

"Aye, so you did," Declan agreed.

"Can we make more?"

Nikita’s expression was so child-like, so innocent, and so pure. Her enthusiasm for this, as for anything, was so untarnished by other people’s expectations, it shone as brightly as her spirit.

"Sure," said Declan.

Birkoff ran over, giggling, and when he saw what they were doing, he threw himself down in the snow beside Nikita. For several minutes, they forgot about the snowball fight and made snow angels.

Michael watched them play and smiled. Nikita was right. It was a perfect day. It just couldn’t get much better.

***

Several minutes later, exhausted, Nikita lay in the snow, unmoving. Michael pulled her to her feet, and she leaned on him. "My bright snow angel...what a shame I can’t put you on top of the Christmas tree..."

She wrapped her arms around his waist, more to hold herself up than anything else. She closed her eyes and lay her head against his chest, automatically seeking his heartbeat. There it was, loud and strong. Michael glanced down. "Are you falling asleep on me, Kita?"

She mumbled something under her breath, and Michael laughed. The resulting rumble under her ear woke her instantly. "It’s only Christmas once a year, doucette. If you fall asleep and miss one of the twins’ magic moments, you’ll never forgive yourself."

It would be so easy to give in and sleep right now. But Nikita heard what Michael said, and she knew he was right. That was exactly how she felt. If she missed something significant, she would be upset beyond belief.

He put his arm around her and let her lay her head on his shoulder, more or less pulling her along with him as they approached the house. The twins gurgled eagerly when they saw their parents coming. Michael picked up Chris, while Nikita picked up Faith, and together, they brought the babies back into the house. "You stay with the twins, Kita, and get warmed up. I owe the boys a snowball fight." He winked at her and left.

Michael gave them a run for their money. It was exhilarating. The chase... the cold...the cheating. Walter bobbed and wove, better than the much younger Birkoff, but Declan was the star, tagging Michael a total of thirteen times. Birkoff jumped up and down, almost as excited as if he had won himself.

They all worked up an extraordinary appetite by the time they called it a morning. Declan promised everyone hot chocolate, made with real milk, real cocoa, and real tiny marshmallows. They took a vote on whether they should have scrambled eggs or French toast. French toast won by a landslide.

Birkoff leaned on Declan. "Can I have mine with cinnamon and powdered sugar?"

Declan smiled at him. "Of course, Seymour. It helps to know the cook." He put his arm around Birkoff, and they walked into the house together.

Michael put his arm around Walter. "You’re still pretty good at this, Walter."

"Hey, I ain’t dead yet, Michael. I got plenty of life in me yet."

"I know you do, Walter."

***

When he walked into the house, Michael automatically sought out Nikita, but she wasn’t where he’d left her. The babies were warm and dry and in their carriers on the kitchen table. Declan was making breakfast, and Birkoff was preparing to feed the twins. Walter had gone to his workshop to get his gifts for the twins. But Nikita was nowhere in sight.

Michael finally found her. She was sitting cross- legged on the floor, next to the Christmas tree, surrounded by gaily wrapped Christmas presents. Her arms were wrapped around a big red box, her head was so low, it almost touched her chest. Her hair was draped across her face, making her expression completely unreadable. Michael bent over her and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She was asleep.

He removed the box from her arms, and he lay her down on the floor, on her side, so she could sleep more comfortably. Missing breakfast wouldn’t be all that terrible. Better she slept now than later, when everyone was opening their gifts. He stroked her hair back from her face and kissed her lightly. Sweet, sleeping angel.

Birkoff’s eyes lit up when he saw the Christmas tree. He loved the tiny fairy lights, as Nikita called them, that decorated the tree. He loved the handmade ornaments that Declan created for the tree. And he loved the sprawling expanse of vibrantly colored Christmas presents that surrounded the tree. But most of all, he loved how all of this made him feel.

When he was growing up, he didn’t find much reason to celebrate at the holidays. With everything that was going on in his young life, he simply could not believe in Christmas. When he was older, and he moved to Section, there was even less cause to celebrate the holidays. Emotional investments were a bad idea inside Section. Even in something as relatively trivial as a holiday. Each belief that an operative lost was another piece of himself gone forever, never to come back.

But now, he belonged somewhere. He had someone. He had a family. People who would care if he overslept one morning, not just if he suddenly disappeared. He liked that. No, he needed that. He needed to know he mattered to someone. And not just because he knew how to make a computer sing.

So, for Birkoff, the Christmas tree was a symbol, both of everything he’d lost and everything he’d gained. He loved his new life. He had a future now, not just a past. His past was merely a place he had lived, once upon a time. It was a scary place, amongst even scarier people, but there, he had met the people who would change his life and give him a chance to make a new one.

He smiled at Declan, who smiled back, but didn’t know why Birkoff was smiling. He reached for Declan’s hand, and he didn’t know who was more surprised, him or Declan. Always one to worry about what other people would think, Birkoff had hesitated for years, letting his whole life be put on hold, mostly at the whim of others. Now he loved someone, who loved him back. If fear was the lock, love was the key.

Michael woke Nikita, and she seemed startled to find everyone gathered in the living room. He whispered to her that she had been asleep for over an hour, and he could not hold anyone back from opening their Christmas presents any longer. He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Sorry, love, I tried to keep everyone in the kitchen as long as possible, but they were beginning to get restless."

She tried to sit up, but she was too unsteady to do it herself. Michael slid down to the floor and sat behind her, pulling her into his embrace. "If you can manage to keep your eyes open, we can pull this off. Then you can head straight to bed, okay?" he whispered.

She stopped struggling to remain upright and relaxed against Michael. He felt the difference in the tension of her body immediately. As a reward, he kissed the nape of her neck and began to plait her hair into a long, thick braid, the way she normally wore it.

Though Michael was making the effort to be discreet to save Nikita any embarrassment, the truth was, the entire family was aware of why both of them were so tired. But Walter felt ashamed of himself for telling everyone now. The devoted way Michael applied himself to taking care of Nikita made him regret what he said out of frustration.

Declan knelt on the floor with Faith. "I didn’t think you’d want the twins loose under the Christmas tree, Michael. It’s too dangerous. I can hold onto Fee. Do you want to hold Chris?" Declan wanted to ask Nikita, but she was obviously so sleepy, she could barely see straight.

Still, Nikita held out her arms for Chris. Michael’s eyes met Declan’s over Nikita’s head, and he agreed silently that Nikita should hold Chris. While he held Nikita. Walter checked his camera, deciding that even though he could not undo what he did, he could take plenty of pictures for Nikita to pore over later.

Chris was not at all frustrated by the limits imposed by his mother. He settled nicely into her lap, and she stroked his arms lovingly. But Fee was not so forgiving. She protested being restrained by Declan’s embrace, and she began to cry. Eventually, Declan turned to Birkoff for help. "She likes you better, Seymour. Maybe she’ll sit with you."

Birkoff smiled. It was rare for him to be the solution to a problem. This made a nice change. Maybe the upcoming new year would be just as special. He took Fee from Declan, and Fee instantly smiled as though she recognized Birkoff. "Buh-Buh," she said, quite emphatically.

"She wants her bottle? She just had one," Birkoff said, puzzled.

Declan regarded Birkoff fondly. "No, she wants you."

Birkoff looked startled for a second, then the sweetest smile crossed his face. He put Fee in his lap, and the little girl continued to move so she could see him better, fixing her changeable grey-green eyes on his face. When she put out a tiny hand to touch his chin, though, Birkoff felt tears come into his eyes. He thanked God for sending him a family like this. He couldn’t love Fee any more than if she were his own. He saw the tender look that Michael gave Fee, and he didn’t know if he would have been as generous with sharing her as Michael. But then again, the past few days had changed all of them, for the better.

"Are Maddy and Neil coming over later, Michael?" Declan asked, noting they hadn’t called.

Michael nodded sleepily. Holding onto Nikita felt good, but it was relaxing him to the point where he was having trouble staying awake himself. "After dinner."

"Since everyone else has their hands full, would you like me to give out the presents then?"

Michael nodded again. This was such a peaceful scene. Everything felt like it was coming together in ways he hadn’t foreseen. He dropped his head to Nikita’s shoulder and sighed with satisfaction. His family. He felt so possessive of Nikita, that was not a new feeling, but now, it extended to the rest of them. His family. Not just Chris and Fee. But everyone. Declan, Birkoff, Walter. Sometimes he even included Maddy and Neil amongst his family. He wondered if they felt the same way. He knew that Nikita did. It was important to her. And increasingly, he could see it was important to Birkoff. Even Declan. No, especially Declan. And Walter, Walter covered what he felt sometimes with that gruff, curmudgeonly facade, but inside, he was as soft as a marshmallow.

Walter dragged his latest objets d’art into the living room. They were stunning. Masterful works. Michael’s mouth dropped open, and even Nikita reacted. "Oh, Dad." She knew she was going to cry, but they were so exquisitely wrought.

Walter had hand-carved, out of oak, a rocking horse for each child. As always, he had engraved their names deeply into the wood. Fee’s rocking horse had a long, braided, multi-colored mane and huge green eyes, the only colors used on the wood. Walter shrugged at Michael. "Couldn’t find grey paint. So the eyes are green. Oh, and it’s non-toxic. The paint. Just in case. I know how Fee likes to put everything into her mouth."

Michael swallowed. Maybe it was because he was unusually tired, but he felt almost overcome with emotion. Then again, Nikita was crying, too. Though she was trying desperately not to.

"It’s so special, Walter, thank you," Michael said huskily.

Walter nodded his head. "For Lucky...sorry, I mean, Chris. I made the mane out of blonder wood, to add contrast and to match his hair." And, of course, the huge eyes were dark blue. Chris clapped his hands, as if he understood, and Nikita kissed him, knowing that the tears she was trying to hold back were now streaking down her face, unreservedly.

"Thank you, Dad," Nikita said, sounding almost breathless.

Michael closed his eyes for a moment to regain control, but it was futile. When he opened them again, he knew the tears were still there. Walter looked uncomfortable. More than ever, he felt acutely guilty for raging at them about their pre-dawn lovemaking. "I’m sorry, Sugar."

She smiled through her tears. "It’s okay, Dad."

He glanced nervously at Michael. Michael nodded. "If Kita says it’s okay, it’s okay."

"Merry Christmas," said Walter.

"Merry Christmas," echoed everyone.

"I have a present for you, Michael." Nikita’s voice was soft but compelling. Michael kissed her cheek. "You can give it to me later, doucette."

She smiled slowly. "Not that kind of present, Michael."

Michael cleared his throat unconsciously. Declan turned his head away, but his expression was quite blank. Birkoff missed the entire exchange, absorbed in playing fingers and toes with Fee. Only Walter paid any obvious attention to what Nikita said, and he reddened.

She handed Chris to Michael. With Nikita clambering along the carpet on her hands and knees, Michael tried not to see the way her hips moved back and forth. It was wonderful that the desire between them was every bit as strong as when they first married, but it would be embarrassing, to say the least, for him to become aroused in front of everyone.

She pulled out the big red box that Michael had found in her arms earlier. "I didn’t have time to wrap it, sorry," she said apologetically, knowing the real reason she never got to wrap it.

He reached out and pressed his palm to her cheek, gently caressing her face. The look in Michael’s eyes was so intense, it captured everyone’s attention. "That’s okay."

His other arm carefully wrapped around Chris, Michael looked at the box Nikita held. She put it down between them, opening the lid. Michael peered into the box and gasped. "Kita!"

Drawn by the sharp gasp and Michael’s tone, Declan looked over his shoulder. He gasped, too. Birkoff frowned. What was going on? Never one to be left out, Birkoff leaned on Declan and looked into the box with them, his eyes growing round. Walter shook his head. "Fools, the lot of you. What’s the big deal? What could fit in there that would take you all by surprise?"

He looked into the box. Damn. Leave it to Sugar to render the men speechless. They couldn’t help themselves, they saw soulful eyes and they melted. Walter chuckled.

"Sugar, you’re something else."

Nikita smiled, a bit more alert now. Michael didn’t know what to say. There was nothing inside the huge box, but a note. In big, black capital letters, it read: "Nikita Samuelle has chosen you to be the father of her next child." There was a crudely drawn arrow indicating that the note should be turned over. Michael never saw it. He was lost in thought.

Nikita knew what he was thinking. He was calculating, trying to figure out when they must have slipped up. She giggled to herself. It was a mean trick, but so effective in getting his attention. "Michael, turn the note over," she coaxed. He blinked absently.

He turned the note over and burst out laughing. Birkoff snickered as well, and Declan hid a grin behind his hand. She was some piece of work, Nikita Samuelle. Walter was the last to read the rest of the note. He frowned. "I think you’ve been too long without sleep, Sugar. You’re getting as goofy as your old man here."

The rest of the note read: He (or she) should be born around the time of the new millennium. But take heart, there is a brand-new puppy waiting to be claimed by some deserving little boy.

"Do you know any deserving little boys, Michael?"

"I hardly think I qualify, Kita," he said dryly, trying not to laugh.

"But don’t you know someone who does?" she said, gesturing at their son.

Michael grinned. "Chris, your mother is torturing me again. Make her stop."

Chris looked up at his father, so heartbreakingly like Nikita, Michael wanted to cry. His smile faded. "He’s a bit young for a dog, Kita."

"But you’re not, Michael. Can’t you take care of it for him, until he’s old enough?"

Several pairs of eyes turned in Michael’s direction, all beseeching the same thing. He waited. He was sure someone would say something, and he knew who it would be, too. Birkoff.

"I never had a dog, Michael. I’ll take care of the puppy, if you like."

Michael sighed. So did Declan. Michael stared at the younger man. Declan chuckled. "You know damn well who’s going to inherit the dog, Michael, don’t you? I don’t know what you’re worried about. You’re well out of it, I’d say."

"What is this, the gift that keeps on giving?" Walter harrumphed. "Each of you keeps passing the puppy on to the next person, and the only one left would be..." They all turned to stare at Walter. "...me..."

He began backing up. "Aw, no...no, no, no...I don’t do dogs. Dogs need to be walked and taken care of. Let Birkoff have the puppy. He wants it. Ask him."

Birkoff looked at Declan. Declan laughed. "Stop looking at me like I’m your father. You don’t need to ask my permission to have a dog, Sey."

"Michael?" Birkoff asked. "It’s your gift, in the first place. I’m not sure how Nikita feels about you giving it away."

Michael smiled. "I’m not giving it away, Birkoff. I’m keeping it in the family. Right? Besides, it’s just until Chris is old enough to take care of it himself."

Nikita placed her hand over Michael’s, as if agreeing with him, and together, they smiled warmly at Birkoff. "It’s your call, Birkoff," Nikita said.

Birkoff glanced at Declan again, as if seeking his advice. Declan refused to make the decision for him, but he smiled softly. "It’s okay with me, Sey. As long as I don’t come home one day to find I’ve been replaced by the dog, it’s fine."

Birkoff giggled. "It’s a deal."

"So where is the mystery puppy, Sugar?"

"Out in the garage, in a basket, wrapped in nice, warm blankets, Dad. I didn’t want him to freeze while we were all making up our minds who was going to take care of him."

Michael asked, "What kind of dog are we talking about, Kita?"

"Standard issue, saved from the shelter, mutt."

"I should have known," Michael said. He hugged her as best as he could, with only one arm free, the other still wrapped around his son. He kissed her forehead. "You have so much damn love to give, Kita, but you never run out."

"That’s the beauty of it, Michael. Love always comes back to you. The more you give, the more you have."

He managed to get close enough to kiss her mouth, feeling quite overcome by what she said. "I love you," he whispered, not even really caring if anyone overheard him right now.

Birkoff glanced at the couple embracing, then back at Declan. "Let’s go rescue the puppy, Declan."

Declan smiled and helped Birkoff to his feet. "Merry Christmas, boyo."

"Thanks, Declan."

He shrugged. "Me? I didn’t give you the puppy, Sey."

"No...you gave me something better." He hugged Declan, and Declan returned the embrace.

"Always and forever..."

Birkoff came inside, clutching the puppy to his chest, the most beatific smile on his face anyone had ever seen. "Can we keep him inside, Nikita?"

"Uhhh..." Nikita shook her head faintly. "The garage will be plenty warm enough for the dog, Birkoff."

His face fell. "You sure? I mean, I wouldn’t want anything to happen to him, he’s such a little guy..."

It was painfully obvious that Birkoff and the puppy had bonded already. To pull the two apart would be cruel, and if there was one thing that Nikita was not, it was cruel. She gave Declan a skeptical glance, sure that he would object, but he said nothing.

"Well, Birkoff, if it’s okay with Declan, it’s okay with me." Birkoff jumped up and down like a boy, and he would have hugged Nikita, but for the puppy in his arms.

Declan crossed his arms in front of him. "Why do I have the feeling I’m going to be sorry I didn’t say no?"

Nikita shrugged. "Why do I have the same feeling?"

Birkoff wrapped the puppy back in its blanket and carried it to Declan’s room. Belatedly realizing that Birkoff left the box with the shredded newspaper behind, Declan sighed. "You realize, of course, the puppy isn’t even paper-trained yet."

"Looks like you’re going to have an...interesting evening," said Walter with a sputter that could have been a laugh.

Michael clapped a hand on Declan’s shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. "It could have been worse. You know how Kita feels about strays. I’m surprised she didn’t bring home more than one."

Declan groaned. "Please, don’t give her any ideas. If Seymour hears that, he’s going to want another one, just to keep the first one company."

Michael yawned expansively. "Well, we’re going to get out of your way now, Declan, and take a much-needed nap. Just give us a yell when dinner’s ready."

"Are you sure it’s safe to go up there?"

Michael laughed. "Pretty sure, yes. We’re both out on our feet."

Declan turned away, muttering under his breath. Michael called to his back, "What did you say, Declan?"

He never even turned around, just kept on moving, waving one hand over his shoulder as he called out, "I said, famous last words!"

Michael faced Nikita, his hands on both her shoulders. He had the impression he was the only thing holding her up right now. "Declan seems to think we won’t sleep once we get upstairs."

Nikita smiled sleepily at her husband. "He must be kidding....and you must be dreaming, if you don’t wipe that look off your face...right now..." Michael gave her an enigmatic look.

He took her by the hand and led her upstairs, sure she would fall over without assistance. Once they were safely in their bedroom, he locked the door behind him before starting to undress.

"Michael, why are you taking your clothes off? We’re only going to lie down for a nap. We don’t even have to get under the covers."

He kissed her as he started to pull her T-shirt over her head. "You know me, I like to be prepared for all contingencies."

"Mi-chael..." she warned, as he began to nuzzle her neck. "That’s how we got this way in the first place."

He grinned against her neck. "I know." He kissed her ear, then her cheek, and her forehead, in that order. "Did I miss any spots?"

She smiled slowly and pointed to her mouth. "Right here."

"Oh, no, I was avoiding that spot," he whispered.

She frowned. "Why?"

His green eyes darkened dramatically, even as tired as he was. "You know why...cause it leads to...this." He nudged her mouth open with his tongue, and she sighed, allowing him entrance to explore further.

"Mmm...you’d better put me to bed."

"Why do you think I locked the door?" he said softly, laughter vying with passion briefly.

***

Declan went down to his room to check on Birkoff and the puppy. As soon as he opened the door, he knew he was in trouble. There was Birkoff, lying on the bed, his head on the pillow, the puppy sleeping on his chest. He couldn’t resist, he reached out and touched Birkoff’s forehead with his one slender finger, gently pushing his hair out of his eyes. Birkoff shifted in his sleep, but the puppy didn’t stir.

There went every admonition that was in Declan’s head. Puppies piddle on the carpet, they chew, they find your socks and run off with them...the list was endless. But when he saw the sweet expression on Birkoff’s face, he knew he’d never utter those words to him. At least, not today.

He backed out of the room and quietly closed the door. Carpets and socks could be easily replaced. A heart like Birkoff’s was irreplaceable.

***

After a few hours, Declan finally had Christmas dinner ready. Only there didn’t seem to be anyone around to eat it. Just as he was wondering if it would be only him and Walter, the others trickled into the dining room slowly. Michael didn’t look rested at all, if anything, he looked...well...different. Wait, he knew what it was. Michael and Nikita were wearing each other’s T-shirts now. Aha, he knew he was right not to venture upstairs. Sometimes you didn’t need to be psychic when something was so obvious.

He started setting the table, and just as he got to the silverware, he felt a breath on the back of his neck. Turning around, he saw Birkoff standing behind him, looking somewhat anxious. Dropping the spoon he was holding, Declan grabbed Birkoff and dragged him into the kitchen. "What’s wrong, Sey?"

Birkoff sniffled. "I’m sorry, Declan. I fell asleep...and the puppy...well, he did what puppies do..."

"On?" Declan didn’t really want the details, but he’d learned that sometimes it was better to have them. It saved flying off the handle for absolutely no good reason.

Birkoff held up what used to be one of Declan’s favorite bandanas. It was beyond salvage.

"I’m not upset, Seymour. Were you afraid I would be?" Declan asked with considerable compassion, wondering again what kind of people routinely abused their children. Birkoff didn’t always show it, but he was clearly a product of that kind of home.

Birkoff nodded, his eyes filling with tears. "You’re not mad?"

Declan shook his head. "No, I’m not. Do you think I should be?"

Birkoff looked conflicted. "Well, they would be."

"They being your parents?"

He nodded again. Declan pulled him into his arms and hugged him. "No, boyo, I’m not like that. And neither are you. You’ve got a sweet, sensitive soul, and no one like you should ever be treated that way. Ever." Declan felt himself starting to choke on emotions he always held in check.

Birkoff closed his eyes and cried. "Ssh, I’ll take care of you." Declan tried to comfort him, as best he could, and eventually, Birkoff was calm again. Declan took a napkin and wiped Birkoff’s eyes, glad to see the pain change to relief finally.

Birkoff blinked at Declan, seeing the pain now reflected in his eyes. "What is it, Declan?"

"Just thinking, that’s all. Better to let it go."

"Let what go?" Birkoff looked concerned. "What do you mean?"

"It’s just that--I hate the thought of anyone hurting you so much, Seymour. It makes me feel a bit...violent." He clenched his teeth and regained control of his runaway feelings.

"You would defend me like that, Declan?" Birkoff looked as if he could hardly believe it. No one had ever championed him like that. Even if it made no sense to counter violence with violence, Birkoff couldn’t help but feel reassured by Declan’s feelings.

Declan nodded. "Aye. I love you."

Birkoff’s face broke into a smile. "Thank you, Declan. Thank you." He threw his arms around Declan and hugged him as tightly as he could.

Michael cleared his throat meaningfully, as he popped his head into the kitchen. "Not to interrupt, but are we going to eat soon?" he asked hopefully.

Declan smiled. "Keep your shirt on, Michael. That is, if you can." Michael looked startled, then laughed. Soon the three of them were laughing heartily, and the harmony that Christmas brought to the house was restored.

Neil helped Madeline out of the car. She was so big at this stage of her pregnancy, she needed to rock back and forth to gain enough momentum to get up. "Are you sure other women have been this big at four months, Neil?"

Neil kissed her softly, trying to reassure her non- verbally. "I know this is all new to you, love, but you’re going to be fine. Trust me, it’s not twins."

Madeline nodded, wondering why that almost disappointed her. Neil kissed her again, seeing how easily distracted she was. He pushed her long dark hair behind her ear and continued to stroke the side of her head closest to him. "Are you ready for Christmas hoopla?"

She smiled. "Of course. It just wouldn’t seem like Christmas without hoopla."

They giggled together like conspiring children, plotting to take over the celebration inside.

***

Nikita heard the doorbell and dropped her napkin on the table. They were nearly done with dinner. Declan had just served dessert, and Walter was helping himself to yet another piece of pumpkin pie. Michael started to rise, but Nikita smiled and gestured to him to stay where he was. "I’ll get it, Michael. It’s probably Madeline and Neil."

Nikita answered the door, inviting Madeline and Neil to come in. Madeline hugged Nikita, feeling more and more like the surrogate mother she needed, and less and less like the professional psychotherapist she was. Hers was not a complicated life. Madeline did not want much anymore. Just to make sure that her baby was born healthy. Oh, and to have Neil around for so many years, she finally grew tired of seeing her love reflected back from his eyes.

Nikita lightly grasped Madeline’s hand. "You look so well. Is everything going okay?"

Madeline glanced at Neil before answering. "He says I have nothing to worry about, but I’m so big this early. Do you think it’s twins, Nikita?"

"Well,..." she rolled her eyes. "I’m hardly an expert."

"But you’re the only woman I know who’s had twins."

Neil shrugged. "Oh, sure, give a woman the best year of her life, and what does she do? Asks her girlfriend what’s going on." Neil laughed, his dry wit refreshing to Nikita’s ear.

Madeline winked at Nikita. "I’m married to a frustrated comedian. Medicine isn’t enough for Neil."

Nikita smiled congenially. "The others are waiting for you, Maddy. You, too, Neil."

Neil rubbed the back of Madeline’s neck affectionately. "You’re a good hostess, Nikita, but I know I’m merely an afterthought. Maddy’s the real show."

Madeline looked hurt. "Neil, how can you say that? I didn’t realize you were feeling so left out of things."

"It’s okay, Maddy," Neil continued softly, his voice calm and reassuring. "You’re pregnant, I’m not."

Madeline giggled despite herself. She was not one to giggle. She might laugh, or even chuckle, but she was not one given to giggles. "Mood lability is so unpredictable. I’m sure it makes me the very devil to live with."

Neil wisely refrained from commenting on that. Nikita silently agreed. She knew firsthand how she would try to elicit information from Michael, and no matter how subtle she was, he would always discover her ulterior motive.

Madeline held onto Nikita’s hands, perhaps unconsciously seeking support, and suddenly she gave a gasp of surprise. "Oh, how lovely!"

Nikita knew she had spotted the diamond eternity ring Michael gave her. Madeline rubbed Nikita’s ring finger on her right hand. "It’s beautiful, the stones seem quite perfect, Nikita."

She smiled. "I’m sure they are. But that’s not why I love the ring." Despite her shyness about revealing her feelings in front of Madeline, she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to share how she felt with someone who would understand, and Madeline knew Michael, perhaps in ways she didn’t.

She pulled Madeline aside, with an apologetic sidelong glance at Neil. "Maddy..." she said, in a tone that implied confidence in the older woman. In fact, Madeline heard her speak her name in a way that, more and more, was beginning to sound like Mom.

"Michael said he bought it for me because...he would marry me all over again," Nikita whispered to Madeline. Tears came to her eyes, and she wiped at them surreptitiously, knowing she felt vulnerable, because this was, after all, Madeline. Yet, on another level, she knew that she trusted her now, that somewhere along the line, she had become Maddy.

Madeline smiled, her dark chocolate eyes gleaming. "Of course, he would. I have never seen such love as Michael has for you, Nikita. He risked everything for you...how does it feel, knowing you’re that important to someone?"

Nikita bit her lip, trying not to cry. "Like the past doesn’t matter anymore."

Madeline welcomed the younger woman into her arms, and Nikita held onto her, like the lifeline she had proven herself to be, time and time again. "You’re going to be completely healed one day, Nikita... When the past fades, you will truly live in the present, and even your fears for the future won’t matter."

Nikita closed her eyes tightly, squeezing the tears back. "I love him so much, Maddy. And I know it sounds dumb, but the ring is...like...tangible proof that he loves me the same way. Like, it’s something he didn’t have to do, but he did it anyway. Does any of this make sense at all?"

Nikita’s rambling speech merely showed how close her own emotions were running to the surface. It did indeed make sense to Madeline, and Madeline said so. "Nikita," she said, stroking the younger woman’s hair, "as much as you need to be shown how much you are loved, that’s how much Michael needs to show you he loves you. The two of you are bonded in a very special way that transcends the average marriage."

Madeline hugged Nikita one last time before releasing her. "In fact, you two always made me feel envious. As ambitious as Michael was, at one time, he gave it all up, for you. For you, Nikita. I’ve never had anyone sacrifice that much for me." The gleam in her eyes faded, then brightened again. "Until I met Neil."

"Oh, he doesn’t have anything worth giving up, in the way that Michael did, but it doesn’t matter. Neil loves me in a way I never thought I would be. And even better, he makes me feel like I deserve it." Madeline emphasized the last part, knowing it would have special meaning for Nikita, who felt similarly about Michael.

"You do understand, Maddy." Nikita rubbed her cheeks vigorously, trying to obliterate any signs of tears. She didn’t want Michael to think she was sad or upset on Christmas. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

Madeline smiled, that enigmatic, Mona Lisa-like smile. "I always have, Nikita. I always have."