A/N: This is a jointly written, multi-chapter Christmas fiction with Tangler. Story suggested by Tangler. (Read her stories. They are wonderful!) Please follow the story to be notified when new chapters post. Chapter 2 should be up by next week. :) I hope you enjoy it!


December 16th, 2014

Aaron Austen loved fifth grade. He loved his teacher, Mrs. Mathison, and he loved that the week before Christmas was a short one. They got to watch movies and make tree ornaments instead of learning fractions and grammar.

"So, what are you getting your parents for Christmas?" Emily Larson asked, her voice full of enthusiasm. The candy cane she held between her teeth muffled her words as she spoke. It left a red, sticky smear across the corners of her lips.

"I bought my mom a big bottle of perfume. Dad helped me pick it out. It smells weird, but he says she'll love it. And I'm going with mom to get him a new fishing rod this afternoon," Ryan answered as he flicked a wadded-up paper ball at his friend, Simon.

Simon was a freckled boy with red, curly hair. He pushed the paper ball aside gingerly with the edge of a brown pipe cleaner he was using to make reindeer antlers. "I'm making my gifts. I've been working on mom's birdhouse all week and I'm almost done gluing together dad's model F-18 fighter jet. It looks real!" He put his hands together as if he was holding a pair of machine guns and made shooting noises.

"What about you Aaron?" Emily asked, rolling her eyes at Simon.

The fair-haired boy glanced at his hands. He pretended to take interest in gluing his popsicle stick reindeer he had previously abandoned. His best friend, Spencer, raised an eyebrow when he accidentally attached the glittery pom-pom nose to where its tail should have been.

"Rudolph with your butt so bright, won't you guide my sleigh tonight?" Spencer teased in a sing-song fashion.

Emily stifled a giggle.

Spencer gave Aaron a sympathetic smile. "No idea, huh?"

The fifth grader threw his hands in the air and shrugged, his brows knitted in frustration. He slumped in his chair before speaking. "I don't know. I don't have a dad anymore and mom seems sad sometimes. I really want her Christmas gift to be special."

"You don't have a dad anymore? Did he die or something?" Ryan asked with raised eyebrows. Emily punched him in the shoulder, making him yelp and glare at her.

"You can't ask that. It's not nice," she chided and returned the look.

"No. It's okay." Aaron sighed, the corners of his lips turned down. "Jack wasn't exactly my dad. But he lived with us when I was little. I don't remember him much. He and mom got in a big fight and he moved out. It's just been mom and me ever since. And sometimes Grandpa Sam."

"Oh! A divorce! Like Ronnie's parents." Simon's eyes were wide at the revelation.

"Um. Yeah. I guess." Aaron's cheeks were flushed at the admission. "Jack still calls sometimes, but it makes mom cry." Aaron frowned again at the thought. He didn't like it when his mom was upset. He wanted to help but didn't know how.

"Oh," Emily sighed. "That's so sad. I bet she still loves him."

Aaron nodded curtly, avoiding eye contact. He went back to gluing his reindeer and did his best to ignore prying eyes that watched him expectantly. "What?" he grumbled. He felt like he was being examined under a microscope, like the algae in science class.

"Why don't you give him to your mom for Christmas?" Simon suggested. He just finished his reindeer and rubbed his hands together to get rid of dried glue.

Emily put her hand on Aaron's forearm. "That's so sweet. You said your mom still loves him. Oh, Aaron! You have too!"

All the boys except Aaron stuck their tongues out, much to Emily's dismay. She shot them each a drop-dead look.

"It sounds great. But how do I find him? I barely remember what he looks like. And I don't know if my mom wants to see him." Aaron doubted he could pull it off. He felt protective of his mom and didn't want to make things worse. But maybe, just maybe, it would help her.

Emily nodded, empathetically. "She could be nervous like when somebody took forever to ask me share his bus seat." She glared at Ryan who raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"I had to work myself up to it." Ryan grumbled as he puffed out his chest. He wasn't going to admit he was scared she'd say "No."

"Maybe Santa?" Simon suggested quietly, ignoring their banter. The three other children turned to face him.

Ryan's face was filled with disbelief. "Oh, come on! You don't believe in Santa like some fourth-grader. Do you?"

Simon shrugged. "He brought me new Xbox last year and gave my brother a PS4."

"That was probably just your mom, dumbass," Ryan snorted and flicked another ball of paper at him. The name-calling earned him a warning look from Emily.

Simon flicked the paper ball. It launched it into the air towards the back of Mrs. Mathison's head. They all let out a collective sigh of relief when it missed her. She was busy talking to a parent volunteer and didn't notice the flying object.

"I think it's a wonderful idea Aaron!" Emily smiled encouragingly. "I don't know if Santa is real or not, but it wouldn't hurt to try."

Aaron agreed. No self-respecting fifth-grader would actually come out and state they still believed in Santa Clause. But if there was any chance… "You think he'd get Jack for my mom?" Hope kindled in his large, blue eyes.

Emily shrugged and asked Spencer to fetch a sheet of white paper from the art cupboard. "You'll never know unless you write him and ask. I bet if you do, you'll have the best Christmas gift ever!"

Aaron mulled this over in his mind. "Yeah," he finally smiled, revealing the gap where his new canine tooth was starting to grow in. "I guess I would."

Simon agreed. "It's gonna work. Now, how should we start? 'Dear Santa...'" He scrawled in red crayon.

"No! Wait!" Emily snatched the paper from him. "Aaron really needs this. You have to address him properly." She flipped over the paper and proceeded to write, "'Dear, Mr. Santa Claus…'"

"Show off," Simon muttered, rolling his eyes. She gave him dangerous look. "Fine!" He backed off with a huff. "'Dear Mr. Santa Claus.'"

"'I have been a very good boy all year long,'" she continued.

"Except for the time he emptied his jello cup in Spencer's shoes." Ryan laughed, eager to point out something "naughty."

Aaron winced. "That's because I was mad. He put a wad of gum in my hair."

Spencer grinned at the memory of Aaron's clumped hair.

"It'll be okay. Just say you're sorry." Emily passed the paper to Aaron who preferred to write with his ballpoint pen. "'Dear Mr. Santa Claus, I have been a very good boy all year long except the time I put lime jello in Spencer's shoes. I know it was wrong and I am really sorry.'" Emily dictated slowly as Aaron scribbled the words down in his spidery scrawl.

They spent the rest of the afternoon figuring out which words would work best to convince Santa that Aaron needed his help badly. Spencer, who was over the jello incident, went as far as consulting a thesaurus he borrowed from Mrs. Mathison's desk. The rest of the class had settled in to watch Elf.

"Alright." Emily gave a little nod when Aaron had finished writing. "Let's see what we've got here." The three boys scooted in close to listen as she read it out loud, but not loud enough to let their classmates know what they were doing.

"Dear Mr. Santa Claus,

I have been a very good boy all year long except for the time when I put lime jello in Spencer's shoes. I know it was wrong and I am really sorry.

I learned it's better to give than receive. This is why I was wondering if you would help me cheer up two people this holiday season.

I think the best gift my mom could ever get is for her to fall in love with Jack again. I know you usually don't give people as Christmas gifts, but will you make an exception? She's the best mom in the world. I love her and won't ask you for anything special for me. I think he'll make my mom happier than any gift I can give her. Please do this for her! I promise to leave cookies and milk for you and carrots for the reindeer on Christmas Eve.

Thank you again and have a very Merry Christmas with Mrs. Claus and the elves!

Love, Aaron"

"All you have to do is mail it." Emily handed the letter back to Aaron.

He folded it twice and tucked it into his backpack. "If he does exist, I hope he gets it in time."

"You still have a week to go. You could always make your mom something just in case it doesn't get there or Santa is too busy," Simon suggested.

"Yeah," Aaron sighed again. "I guess."

He watched Emily, Ryan and Simon pack up their things and return to their own desks.

"Explain to me again why it's not a crime for Mrs. Mathison to give us homework for Christmas?" Spencer whined, changing the subject. His brown hair hung in a shaggy halo around his face. He scowled at his copy of Elementary Mathematics Grade 5. The book sat on his desk between a black binder filled with loose leaf paper and his Spiderman pencil case. "Christmas is a time for Xbox and Call of Duty, not algebra." Spencer picked up the offensive object in utter disgust, as if it were a live snake. He dropped it in his backpack before it could bite him.

Aaron eyed his best friend with amusement. "You could just finish it tonight. Then it would be done and you won't have to think about it for the rest of vacation."

Spencer made a gagging sound. "Homework?" he gasped dramatically. "On the first night of the holidays? Are you sick or something?"

Aaron scowled when Spencer pressed the back of his hand against his forehead to check his temperature. It was sticky and smelled like tuna. He shook himself free, wiped his blonde bangs with the sleeve of his shirt and turned to his own math book. He slid it into his backpack as the bell rang.

"Okay, class. I know it's been a fun afternoon, but everyone needs to work on the practice problems for 'Unit Five Comparing Fractions.' There will be a test when you get back. Have a safe and happy holiday!" Mrs. Mathison shouted over the raised voices of excited fifth-graders as they filed out of the room. She started to say something else, but stopped. The Santa hat she was wearing threatened to fall off her head. She raised her hands to steady it and gave up with a sigh when she realized that her classroom was already three-quarters empty.

"Have a good one Mrs. M." Aaron smiled at her, waving before he pulled his coat from his cubby.

Spencer followed him out of the classroom.

"You're not really gonna doing your homework tonight?" He whispered when he was out of Mrs. Mathison's earshot. He didn't need to worry. The school yard was practically buzzing with the exuberant shouts of students turned loose upon the world for Christmas holidays.

"Nah." Aaron shrugged. He had to raise his voice. "I did the chapter last week."

"Without being told?" Spencer's tone was incredulous. "There's something seriously wrong with you, Aaron." He teased his friend while shaking his head in an attempt to appear serious.

"We're going to visit my Grandpa Sam in Canada." Aaron shouldered his backpack. "Normally, he comes to visit us, but mom wanted to have Christmas at his cabin this year."

Spencer's eyes widened in amazement. "You're going to the North Pole for Christmas?"

Aaron smirked. "Yup."

He paused and scratched his chin, considering the question. "Well … I don't think we're going that far north. But grandpa says there's snow and everything. He was a Sergeant Major in the Army and knows lots of cool survival stuff. He said we can cut down our own Christmas tree from the forest."

"That's so cool. My dad got ours from Wal-Mart," Spencer was jealous but didn't begrudge his friend. "Does this mean you can't come play Call of Duty with me?" He was disappointed at the thought.

Aaron shrugged. "We're not leaving until Friday."

Spencer's lips curled up, excited at the prospect of gaming together. "Awesome! Let's ask our moms if you can sleep over tonight."


By the time Thursday rolled around, Aaron was in a panic. In early December he had started a calendar on the fridge. He crossed off the days until Friday, December 18th with a bright, green Sharpie. There was a picture of a little cabin and several crookedly-drawn stick people decorating the block. Just one more day!

That afternoon, Kate insisted on shopping. Aaron needed a new winter jacket. His current one was a couple of years old and didn't accommodate his recent growth spurt. They drove to The Shops on Lake Avenue after Aaron spent the morning sleeping in late and playing video games. He was energized and ready to go, the letter temporarily forgotten.

Kate, on the other hand, had trouble matching Aaron's excitement as she chased him around Macy's department store. He was buzzing with excitement over the trip. Her throat felt prickly and she found herself pressing her fingers firmly against her temples, rubbing slow circles to ward away the headache threatening to build.

Regardless, she was determined to get him whatever he needed and put on a pleasant face for him. It wasn't hard. She never realized how much she would love being a mom until she volunteered to raise Aaron as her own. That was almost ten years ago. Now she couldn't imagine life without him.

They eventually selected a puffy, black North Face coat with a fringe of fake fur around the hood. Aaron grinned proudly as he shrugged into it, examining the secret, vertical pocket on the interior.

"It might be too warm for here," Kate explained. "But you'll need this for the mountains."

"How cold does it get?"

"I don't know, Goober. I've never been," she admitted.

Aaron cocked his head to the side. "Grandpa said you guys used to go camping all the time."

Kate gave him a wistful smile while running her fingers lightly over his hair. A few strands stood up from static electricity. "We did. He traveled a lot when I was your age. He was stationed at Fort Lewis in Washington state for a while. We hiked in the woods for hours. Your grandpa taught me a lot."

Kate glanced away from him. There was something flickering in her features Aaron couldn't quite read. He couldn't decide if it was regret or if she was wishing for something.

She remembered a similar conversation with Jack. It was when they were tracking Claire, Charlie and Aaron before he was born on that godforsaken island. It seemed like yesterday. She saw her son's rapt expression and pushed down the feeling of loss that threatened to surface. She resumed talking.

"One day we spent eight hours tracking deer." Her expression brightened again, confusing Aaron. "Being in the woods … it was like grandpa's religion. The cabin we're going to was his dad's, your great-grandpa. He's been fixing it up for months now. I've never been there with him so it will be new for me too."

Aaron nodded, hoping grandpa would teach him some stuff too. "Think he'll show me how to track deer?" He looked up at her with anticipation, his eyes shining.

Kate beamed at her little man. "I'm sure he will. You're going to love it."

Two hours later, Kate stood in line at the checkout musing. She wondered how shopping for a new jacket turned into winter boots, mittens, a hat, scarf, telescopic fishing rod, compass, several maps of Alberta and a cold weather sleeping bag. She drew the line at the Swiss Army knife Aaron pointed it out in one of many glass cases. She issued a firm "No."

"But how will we kill the deer?" Aaron whined slightly, worry apparent in his voice.

She fixed him with a slightly amused look. "Grandpa will teach you how to track deer, not hunt them. He has everything we need at the cabin."

Aaron forgot about it by the time they had reached the car and practically skipped, bursting with excitement at the adventure ahead.

He couldn't stop grinning as he played with his new compass. It appeared old-fashioned with a silver chain and casings. Just like the ones in the explorer books he loved reading. He watched the tiny needle swing when the car rushed past houses and street signs as they drove to their home in Hollywood Hills.

"This is so cool." Aaron's face was glowing. Kate couldn't help but smile back. But she had trouble shaking a feeling of unease forming in her stomach. She started to have second thoughts about taking Aaron on an airplane. What if something happened to the plane? What if there was an accident or he got lost in the woods? Aaron was too young. She didn't want him out in the wild. Not now. Not ever. He had no idea how hard she tried to protect him over the years. She would do anything to keep him safe.

"Hey, Mom…?" Aaron started slowly, looking up from his compass. The expression on her face made him nervous.

"What did we forget?" She asked casually, catching his tone. She prayed he wasn't going to start up about the Swiss Army knife again.

"What do you want for Christmas?" he hedged timidly. Aaron thought of the woods in Canada. He realized, even though he had saved his allowance, there might not be a store nearby Grandpa's if the letter to Santa didn't work. How could he buy her a present if they were in the mountains? He bit his bottom lip and wondered if there was any store nearby so Grandpa Sam could take him to buy mom a gift. Just in case.

Kate considered his question thoughtfully. For you to be safe and grow up happy and healthy, love.

"I already have everything I want," She told him, her voice soft and reassuring. But Aaron was skeptical. He nodded and left her to her thoughts while trying to work out in his head when he could sneak away to mail his letter.


Friday was here before Aaron knew it. The morning dawned cold and clear before making the slow transition to heavy rain showers by early afternoon.

Aaron was surprised how late Kate slept that morning. Normally, she was up and making them breakfast by seven a.m. But it was well past noon before she stumbled down the steps. She was bundled in a robe with circles under her eyes. Aaron didn't mind making his own breakfast. He was big now. He knew where the Frosted Flakes were and could manage popping a couple of Egos in the toaster.

Kate brewed coffee, but had no appetite. She sat on the couch, pulled her knees to her chest, and watched a Christmas movie with Aaron. By the time the rain started, she had recovered slightly. They ate a light supper of chicken nuggets and fries before re-checking their luggage. Kate made sure all of Aaron's presents were secretly packed away in her suitcase. It was important he had gifts to open on Christmas morning.


Kate folded her arms across her chest and shivered into her tailored, black coat as she ushered Aaron into the passenger seat of her Volvo. The boy took his time putting on his seatbelt, fiddling with his hands as he did so. His allowance money was crammed in his Captain America, Velcro wallet and tucked into his new coat's inner pocket.

Kate finished stacking the luggage in the trunk in the trunk, closed it and slipped into the vehicle. Large rain drops started to splash against the windshield and quickly turned into a downpour. She took one last look at the house, slightly distorted by sheets of water coursing down the windshield. She turned on the car and wipers. The exterior was void of Christmas decorations and festive lights, unlike the neighbors.

Aaron tilted his head, watching her. "You okay, Mom?"

"Yeah," Kate force a smile. "I was thinking how weird our house looks without decorations this year. I left a note to tell Santa where to find us."

Aaron fought back a grin and nodded seriously.

"What?" Kate wondered, puzzled.

"Nothing." Aaron shrugged, but started to squirm under her piercing gaze. She always knew if he was holding something back.

"Um, I think I'm getting too old for the whole Santa-thing, Mom." Aaron finally admitted.

Kate's pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. "Santa-thing?"

He nodded.

She sighed internally, but chose not to react. "Well, I'm not. We're putting out milk and cookies when we get to Grandpa's." She bit the side of her lip. Nostalgia swept through her. He was growing up too fast.

"Yeah. Sure, Mom." Aaron relaxed and hugged his backpack close to his chest. Suddenly, a wave of panic poured over him like a bucket of ice.

Santa-thing.

He remembered the letter tucked at the bottom of his backpack and gently fished it out while his mom pulled out of the driveway. She was too busy to notice what he was doing for a few moments.

I forgot to mail the letter!

Kate caught him fiddling with something out of the corner of her eye. "What do you have there?"

"Nothing." He told a small lie and hoped Santa wouldn't notice ... If he was real. He silently wondering how he was going to get his letter to Santa in time. He stealthily shoved it into his coat pocket.

The rain was pouring down in sheets by the time they parked in the covered garage at Terminal Six at LAX airport. They were both glad to get out of the rain. Even if it meant lines of impatient travelers, anxious to visit friends and family for the holidays.

"Looks like we're going to have to wait." Kate wanted to groan after reading the monitor. There was a big "DELAYED" notification next to Air Canada Flight 259 to Calgary.

They checked their luggage, went through security, and sat in the connecting, black vinyl and metal chairs overlooking the runway at their gate. They were comfortable. Despite the crowds, everything was neat and clean. Even the blue, industrial carpet.

Kate hid her anxiety about taking Aaron on a plane by thumbing through a magazine. Aaron, on the other hand, was fascinated at the sight of planes taking off. One minute the huge, steel airbus was rolling down the runway and then, "Bang!" Its nose lifted and it flew so high and fast he lost track of it. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of going on one, but he didn't want Spencer or the other kids in class to think he was a baby.

He would put on a brave face and face it the way Mom taught him to. Mom told him how when he was little and convinced a seven-headed monster lived in the attic above him. "Just count to five. Give your fear only five seconds. That's all. Then it will go away." She was right. He did the same thing during thunderstorms in the winter. He hated thunder and lightning. But it wasn't scary after counting to five. Hopefully it would work on the plane.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and quickly forgot about planes and counting when he realized the letter was gone. His jaw tightened. He checked his backpack just to make sure he didn't put it back inside. It was gone.

His heart started to beat fast. Now his mom wouldn't have a Christmas gift!

Aaron dropped to his knees and looked under the row of seats to no avail. He checked his jean pockets. It wasn't there either.

He would have to retrace his steps. He looked at his Mom. Her head was down as she read an article in National Geographic. She already warned him not to wander off alone. But if he didn't find his letter, Santa would never get it in time!

Aaron slowly found his way back to the security check point, zipping between the passengers headed in the opposite direction towards their gates. He searched the floor, squinting under the reflection of the florescent lights on the tiled floor. He wandered into another terminal. He went around the corner and stared at a large corridor with several shops and a Christmas display in the center. Christmas trees, decorations and big snowmen holding candy canes taller than him twinkled merrily, surrounded by fake snow on the floor.

He froze. He never came this way.

His face twisted into a frown, hit with the reality he was lost. His Mom was going to worry. They would miss their flight. And they would never get to see Grandpa Sam. He ruined their Christmas. Aaron squeezed his eyes shut briefly, fighting tears and began to rush blindly in the direction he was facing.

Suddenly, he ran into something. The impact was hard enough to cause Aaron to fall backwards. He landed on his bottom with a grunt. His hands smacked the cold tile and legs were splayed out in front of him.

"I'm sorry! I didn't see you! I'm lost and…" He frantically began to apologize to the knees of the person he ran into. Warm tears ran down his cheeks.

"Easy there, kiddo. It's alright. This is a big place. It's easy to get lost." The man he ran into was wearing a nice suit. The kind Spencer's dad wore to work. He crouched down until he was eye level with a look of concern. Aaron blinked, staring at the man's white sneakers and the folded scrap of paper underneath.

"My letter!" He cried out in relief.

The man picked it up and examined the paper in his hands. "May I?"

Aaron nodded his breath hitching as he squared his shoulders.

"Hmmm … This sounds very important, Aaron." He extended a hand to help the boy up.

The boy paused. "How did you know my name? Oh, yeah! My letter."

The man offered a small smile and ran a hand over his grey hair before re-reading the child's messy script.

"I'm never gonna get it to Santa in time! And mom's gonna be mad because I wandered off." Aaron wiped his eyes with the back of his coat sleeve.

"We can't let that happen. We better get you back then." The man voice and cadence sounded familiar, but Aaron didn't know why.

"What's your name?" Aaron's sorrow quickly turned into curiosity. If the man knew his name, it was only fair that he shared his. Besides, his mom taught him not to go anywhere with strangers.

The man hesitated for a moment before responding, a small smile on his lips as his blue eyes lit up. "I'm Christian." He visually scanned the area. "Do you remember where you were before you wandered off?"

The boy tilted his head as he thought. "Watching the planes on the runway through a window."

Christian tugged as his collar. "That sounds like every gate in this airport, kiddo." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you remember where you and your mother were headed?"

"Calgary to visit my grandpa. But the letter … I have to mail it!" Aaron began to feel desperate. All he wanted was his mom to be happy.

Christian looked at down at him thoughtfully. "I can deliver it for you if you want. I'm heading to the North Pole anyway."

"You know Santa?" Aaron perked up, sniffed and wiped away the last wet tear trailing down his face. He barely noticed when they began to walk.

"We meet on occasion." Christian winked when Aaron looked up at him.

His round face full of hope. "Do you think he'll be able to help me?"

"You mean find this Jack fellow? Santa is a busy man with Christmas only a few days away."

Aaron was crestfallen. Christian stopped walking and faced Aaron before putting a hand on his small shoulder. He spoke in a serious tone. "It sounds like finding Jack is really important to you."

"It's for my mom," Aaron explained, his voice filled with sadness.

"Something tells me that old Saint Nick will be happy to help you. I know you've been a good boy. The best boys take care of their mothers, just like you." Christian ruffled the Aaron's hair, grinning at him fondly. The sorrow dissipated, replaced by a warm, happy feeling in Aaron's chest. He couldn't help but smile back.

"Is that your mom over there?" He nodded towards a seating area ahead. Kate was still engrossed in whatever she was reading, her fingers pressed against one temple. Aaron knew she would feel really guilty if she found out he wandered away and was lost.

"Thank you, Christian. I…" He turned back but the man was gone. He swiveled and looked in all directions. No trace of Christian or his letter.

"Wow," he said under his breath as he scampered over to his mom and crawled up on the seat next to her.

"Hey, sweet pea." She let the magazine drop in her lap, startled when he hugged her suddenly. His arms were wrapped tightly around her. Kate did the same, pulling him close to her chest as she rubbed his back.

"I thought you said you were getting too old for hugs?" She teased. He always wanted hugs, even at school drop off and pickup. That was before he was in 5th grade. She missed it, not realizing it would end someday.

Aaron shrugged. "Sometimes I'm not. Just don't tell anyone," he whispered in her ear before giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Alright. I won't." She chuckled and slid her arm around his back as he settled in his seat, letting him snuggle close until he drifted off to sleep against her shoulder.


"What do you mean I can't fly direct?" Dr. Jack Shephard tried to sound angry, but his tone was low and flat. The expression on his face was easily masked by the scraggly beard, uneven in both length and color. It hid the sallow flesh underneath that would have given him a pale, sickly appearance.

Cheryl, the ticket agent, unconsciously reacted to his outburst. She squared her shoulders and gazed back at him, her eyes hard and voice firm. "I'm sorry, sir. All the direct flights are overbooked."

Jack's nostrils flared in frustration. He slammed his Oceanic Gold Pass on top of the gate counter and tapped it. His voice was low and terse. "Do you have any idea who I am? What I went through to get this?" Intensity and pain surfaced and was reflected in his tired, brown eyes.

Cheryl glanced down at the pass and shook her head, not knowing the answers.

"This means I can fly wherever I want, whenever I want." Lately, he tended to have the muffled, sloppy demeanor of a man who was never quite drunk enough. But his determination made his speech crisper.

Cheryl did her best to be patient. "Sir, it's the holiday season. The flights have been booked solid for weeks." She waited for the computer screen in front of her to refresh. "We can't bump our paying customers. The best I can do for tonight is put you on one of our Star Alliance partners. You can fly from L.A. to Calgary, Calgary to Vancouver with Air Canada, then fly Oceanic's Saturday red-eye flight from Vancouver direct to Fiji."

Jack's sunken eyes watched her with contempt as she printed out multiple boarding passes, one for each flight.

"You'll be there in plenty of time for Christmas." She watched as he shoved the tickets into his jeans pocket with cold indifference.

He gave her a pointed stare. "Lucky me." His hostility evaporated into gloom. He turned his back and walked with a slow gait towards the security checkpoint line.

Jack flew every Friday night for the past seven years with only a few exceptions. It was easy now since he lost his job at St. Sebastian's a few years ago. He had the Oceanic settlement money to fall back on and a generous inheritance from his father.

If he hit a layover somewhere, it didn't fucking matter. He would find the nearest bar and wait it out. It wasn't like he had to be anywhere and it was hard for him to sleep. Insomnia plagued him. He didn't mind. It was far better than the nightmares filling his dreams when he finally managed to sleep.

Over the years, Jack had become skilled at appearing as if he was still functioning normally. He managed to dress himself in dark jeans and a rumpled dress shirt while carrying his coat and a briefcase. Most of the security agents knew him by name and didn't bat an eyelash when he was screened. Nobody recognized him anymore as an Oceanic-6 member. They assumed he was a businessman who traveled frequently.

Inside the terminal washroom, Jack splashed cold water on his face, intentionally avoiding looking at his reflection in the mirror. His glum expression was hidden behind the mess of dark facial hair across his chin. He rubbed the beard, memorizing the wiry hairs still damp with a wash of cheap airport scotch that had caught on his lips. The taste lingered deep in his throat, following a slight burning sensation that left him pleasantly on edge. He splashed the whiskers around his mouth to wash away the scotch. It was easier when he was inebriated. The beard was nothing more than a stout growth of facial hair. But at that moment, he was sober enough to admit he was hiding behind it.

He glanced around. Surprisingly, for the amount of people in the terminal, there was nobody in the stalls. He put his hand in his pocket and palmed a pill bottle, bringing the hard plastic to his lips. A few of the tablets landed in his mouth and started to dissolve on his tongue. They left a bitter taste. He turned on the tap and swallowed a handful of water to chase the damn things down.

When Jack was finished, he wiped his face and shook his head. There were muffled voices in the terminal resembling whispers that he could almost discern.

His mind drifted. He thought of his father, something he rarely did anymore when sober. The pills and alcohol buried him into the recesses of his mind. His father's image, his dusty cynicism, and his drinking all played back in his mind's eye. Like a black and white movie that made him shudder. He finally looked into the mirror while clutching each side of the sink with his hands. But it wasn't just his own reflection staring back at him. It was his father's too.

"You were always too busy trying to be a hero, Jack. You didn't have luck with the women in your life, chasing the impossible. And you sure as hell aren't going to with that on your face." A deep voice spoke clearly with just the faintest hint of amusement in its tone. Jack felt a chill go down his spine. This was more than a hallucination.

Jack looked over his shoulder with a start. He blew out a sharp breath, his heart hammering. His father's lanky body sat on the edge of the counter with a small smirk, but his eyes were grave while assessing his son's appearance.

"Ghost of Christmas Past. At your service." Christian's smirk disappeared. He genuinely smiled, but his eyes held a tinge of sadness due to his son's condition.

Jack interpreted the look as his father being disappointed. Again. Christian looked exactly as Jack remembered. Dressed to the nines, as always, in a suit. But sporting a red Santa Claus tie Jack had never seen before and white tennis shoes. Why does he have to wear those goddamn tennis shoes? The image made his mouth run dry.

"You … are not … real." Jack vocalized the same mantra he always did when his father appeared before him. His voice wavered. It never happened when he was half-sober and his father never spoke. This was definitely a new development.

Fuck! He needed more benzos.

"That's debatable." Christian took in a deep breath and exhaled before giving Jack a sharp look. "But it doesn't matter. Sorry to rush this along, son, but it's the holidays and I'm needed elsewhere. I need to talk with you." The elder doctor spoke gently, a trait that Jack didn't recall him possessing.

Jack gave a wary laugh. "I need another drink."

The gray-haired man looked at him, his brows coming together with concern. "No. You already drank more than enough for the both of us, Son."

Jack snorted derisively. "From the mouth of my own father, who wasn't sober a day in his life. Well, as long as I can remember. Good one, Dad." His eyes were beginning to burn with rage.

Christian saw Jack's visceral reaction. His neck muscles were strained and a flush crept up into the beard while his fists balled up.

Christian slid off of the granite counter to face his son.

"You're not me, Jack." He said crisply. "You're better than me."

Jack staggered backwards in an attempt to get away until his back hit the white, tiled wall. Christian took a step forward. He was cornered with one hand grasping the sink, the other clenched at his side. His knuckles were bone white under the tension.

"What are you?" Jack rasped, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

Christian watched him, his face full of sympathy. "A father trying to keep his son from making the same stupid mistakes I did in life."

Jack didn't exactly believe what he heard, but he didn't open his mouth in protest either. He tried to convince himself that he was drunker than he thought and this was vivid hallucination. Maybe if he closed his eyes, his dad would disappear.

"I'm not going to leave if you ignore me." Christian spoke as if reading Jack's thoughts. "You need make things right with your family."

That was enough. Jack didn't care anymore. "My family? You're lecturing me about family? Are you listening to yourself? Do you know how ironic that is?" He shook his head and laughed bitterly. "You're wasting your breath. I'm a screw-up. A chip off the old block. One big, fucking screw-up."

"Is that why you lost your job, Jack?"

Jack's nostrils flared. He stared coldly at Christian.

"I guess that's why Sarah left you." The older man shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the counter. He stared at Jack without blinking.

"You were never home long enough to give a damn about what she wanted. You were too busy trying to fix everyone else to notice that it was you who was broken. That's something you can't fix, Jack. You couldn't do it the island or let anyone close enough to help you. All of those lives were lost because you screwed up. And you certainly can't fix yourself now. Maybe you're right. You should stay as far away from Kate and Aaron as possible. They don't need a 'screw-up' like you in their lives." Christian deliberately provoked Jack. His words sliced through the scars as neatly as a scalpel, exposing a festering wound deep inside.

Jack stared down at the tile, seething as he opened and closed his fists. His father vocalized the horrible guilt and feeling of failure he tried to blot out with substance abuse. His heart was racing. He wanted to hit his dad. To punch him so hard he would take it all back. To make him unsay the words. But he instinctually knew he'd be punching at thin air.

He turned and took a shot at one of the mirrors instead, causing it to crack, zig-zag lines fanning out from the point of impact. Jack instantly drew his fist to his chest.

"It hurts doesn't it?" Christian observed sadly. "Not just your hand, Jack. All of it." He stepped closer, his voice softening. "Jack … Son. Listen to me. You aren't meant to be alone." He put his hand on Jack's shoulder causing him to look up briefly into his father's eyes. It was real. He felt the pressure of the familiar hand.

Instead of scorn, he saw something else in his father's eyes. Compassion. He wanted to say he saw love but couldn't accept anyone loving him at this point. He ruined everything.

Jack didn't reply and bowed his head in shame. His knuckles throbbed from the impact. He concentrated on the pain, cradling his fist against his chest. He didn't want his father to see him like this and was almost grateful he was dead. He certainly didn't want his ghost to see how badly he failed.

A mechanical-sounding announcement overhead distracted him.

"Air Canada Flight 259 to Vancouver with service to Calgary now boarding at Gate 44 Terminal 6."

"That's your flight, Son."

Jack blinked and glanced up while holding his bleeding fist. All he saw was an empty washroom.


Jack rushed to the gate to board. He cleaned up the shallow wound on his hand the best he could. He got in the First-Class Premiere line while fishing the boarding pass out of his pocket. That's when he heard it.

A woman was coughing. A young boy's voice responded. "Mom, are you okay?"

"Yes, Goober. I just need some water."

Jack's stopped breathing for a moment. He slowly looked up at the pair in front of him. One word escaped his lips involuntarily, softly as a prayer. "Kate."

She turned and looked up, her green eyes wide with shock. A tremor went through her body.

The blonde boy turned at the same time. He had to tilt his head back get a good look at the tall man who said his mom's name. Aaron's mouth popped open. Despite the beard and years that passed, he recognized the voice. It evoked a memory; a storybook being read. It flashed briefly in his mind.

The man's brown eyes, tired yet surprised, met his. They began to warm up after a few seconds and crinkled at the corners. The man recognized him too.

"Jack?"