A/N: A holiday gift for those of you who love Maggie. It popped into my head last night, so I took the time to write it down to share. This takes place right at the end of When Eagles Fly before Heart of A Lion. Molly is 3 weeks old and they just brought her home from the hospital. It's Christmas Eve. Enjoy!
It had been a very long day, and Bobby was exhausted. Alex and the baby were asleep, and Maggie and Tom were getting ready for bed. He sat heavily on the couch with a full tumbler of scotch. He resolved to avoid taking the medication Wrightweiler prescribed for pain as much as he could. He hated the way it fogged up his head. So he settled for the scotch, which calmed his pain without totally messing up his head. He didn't drink enough to fully impair him, just enough to ease the pain in his arm and help him sleep.
Maggie and Tom came out and climbed onto the couch with him. "Is Santa comin' t'night, Daddy?" Maggie asked.
"Later, yes."
She set a book in his lap, 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. Every Christmas Eve, she asked him to read that book to her and Tommy. "Is Molly too little for a story this year?"
"She's sleeping. I'll read it to her later when she wakes up."
That satisfied Maggie. She and Tom settled on either side of him and he read the book to them. When he was done, he closed it and set it on the coffee table. "Okay, guys, ready for bed?"
Tommy made a face. "Wanna p'ay, Dada."
"Not tonight, buddy. Tomorrow we're going to Grampa's and you'll have a houseful of kids to play with. Come on. I'll tuck you in."
He was disappointed, but only for a moment. "'Kay."
Bobby followed Tom into his bedroom and tucked him in with a red puppy, his chosen bedmate for the night. Bobby kissed his son's soft hair. "Good night, Tommy."
"Night, Dada."
As Bobby got to the door, he heard Tommy say, "'Uv oo, Dada."
He smiled. "I love you, too, Tom. Sweet dreams."
He found Maggie still sitting on the couch. "Ready, mouse?"
"I hava question, Daddy."
That could take awhile. He sat beside her. "What's your question?"
"In school yest'aday, we singed Chrissmas songs, but some of 'em, I don' unnerstand."
"Like what?"
"Like Deck the Halls. It's fun to sing, but it doesn' make sense. An' when we was at Church with Grampa Sunday, we singed Chrissmas songs, too. But what does Harold have to do with Chrissmas?"
"Harold?"
"Yeah. Harky Harold Angels sing. It doesn' make sense."
Bobby laughed. "A lot of classic Christmas songs were written a long time ago. Over time, language changes, and some of the words they used to use aren't in common use any more. The song you sang in church was Hark, the Herald Angels Sing. It means listen to the angels announcing the Savior's birth."
"Oh. Why don' they jus' say that?"
"They do. They just use old words."
"So why do they call Don's parrot stupid? And what about the troll Carol?"
Bobby glanced at his glass, certain he hadn't had too much yet. He should be able to understand a conversation with Maggie. "What?"
"You know. Don we now his gay a parrot. My frien' Gary has a big brother and he said his brother tol' him that gay means stupid."
Her question made a little more sense and he was reassured about the conversation. "Gay has a couple of different meanings. In the song, gay means happy."
"So Don's parrot is happy?"
Glad he hadn't take the prescription, he said, "Go get me a pen and some paper."
She scurried off to find a pen and paper, and he drank half of what remained in his glass. He'd address the troll later. She climbed back up beside him and he began to write the lyrics to one of Christmas' least understood songs. "This is a very old song. The English words to the tune were written in the late 1800's which is why it's so hard to understand."
He wrote: Deck the halls with boughs of holly.
She looked at the words and waited. He wrote below it: Decorate the rooms with branches of holly.
"Is that what it says? Really, Daddy?"
"Really. Back when this was written, holly branches were very decorative. Today we use lights and garland and pine wreaths more than holly."
Next he wrote: 'Tis the season to be jolly.
"I unnerstand that!"
He smiled and kissed her head, writing next: Don we now our gay apparel.
She looked confused. "It's not a parrot?"
With a soft chuckle, he answered, "No, baby."
He wrote: Now we dress in clothes that are bright and happy.
"You're not jokin' me, are you?"
"No, I'm not. That's what it means."
Next, he wrote: Troll the ancient yuletide carol.
She pointed to the paper. "There's Carol the troll!"
Another soft laugh and he wrote: Sing the old Christmas songs.
She looked at him, her dark eyes confused and suspicious of her father's playful side. "You sure you're not jokin' me?"
He kissed her head. "I'm sure. I told you, words can change their meanings over time. These lyrics were written in Victorian England. The world has changed a lot since then, and so has the language."
He turned back to the paper and wrote: See the blazing Yule before us.
"What do you think that means?"
She gave it some thought as he read it to her. "It means somethin's burnin', but what's a Yule?"
"It refers to a Yule log." He picked up the remote and turned the television to the burning Yule log that was broadcast every year on Christmas Eve. "That is a Yule log."
"Why do they call it that? Why don't they call it a Christmas log or jus' wood?"
He considered how to explain it to her. "For as long as there have been people, there have been celebrations at different times of the year. Yule is an ancient winter celebration that originated with Germanic people in Europe a very long time ago. It is still practiced by people who are not Christian and choose to follow the ancient religion. The Roman winter festival was called Saturnalia, and the Jewish winter holiday is Hanukkah. As Christianity developed, they chose the winter season to celebrate the birth of Christ, so people who became Christian would have an easier time fitting in to their new religion. So there are a lot of festivals around the time we celebrate Christmas. The Yule log was burned to honor the Horned God in non-Christian religions. Traditionally, among Christians, it is burned to bring prosperity and to protect from evil."
She listened with wide-eyed amazement to his explanation. "Wow, Daddy. I didn't know there was so much to learn about Chrissmas!" She motioned to the paper, brimming with the excitement of learning more. "What's next?"
He ran through the song in his head, then wrote: Strike the harp and join the chorus.
She studied the words. "Chorus is a bunch a singers. Aunt Reggie is in the chorus at church."
"Right," he replied, writing: Play the harp and join the singing.
The next line was: Follow me in merry measure.
Seeing her confusion, he translated: Follow me in happy dancing.
Then: While I tell of Yuletide treasure.
"Treasure? Like pirates?"
"Not quite. Treasure can be anything you value. It may refer to gifts given at Christmas, or even to the stories of Christmas, like the ones I've read you."
"So Ebyneezer Scrooge is a Chrissmas treasure?"
He smiled. "Yes, he is. He's one of the most enduring treasures of Christmas."
"Like the Grinch?"
He laughed again. "Yes, baby. Like the Grinch. So have I answered your questions?"
She hugged him. "Yes. Thank you, Daddy. You al'ays know the ans'ers to my questions. I'll let you know when I have more."
"Keep them coming, Maggie. Come on. I'll tuck you in."
He followed her to her room and tucked her into her bed with her bunny. "Good night, baby."
"Good night, Daddy. Tell Santa I hope he likes the cookies Grampa he'ped me make for him."
"I'm sure he'll love them, but I'll tell him."
He left the room, pulling the door closed. Returning to the living room, he sat on the couch and nursed the rest of his drink as he watched the Yule log on the television. Mike had given them a high definition television a few months ago, and the burning log on the screen was so vivid he could almost feel the warmth from it.
He remembered as a boy his mother would always play the Yule log on Christmas Eve, and he would fall asleep listening to the Christmas music that underscored his arguing parents. He refilled his glass and set it on the coffee table. Checking on the kids to make sure they were sleeping, he slipped into the bedroom to retrieve the presents that were hidden in the back of the closet.
"Bobby?"
"I'm sorry. I was trying not to wake you."
She switched on the bedside lamp. "Let me give you a hand."
He knew better than to argue. Alex loved arranging the gifts under the tree, but he had hoped she would take a break this year. She was only three weeks out from major abdominal surgery. "I'll carry them into the living room," he insisted. He might not always listen to what the doctor said, but he made certain she did.
She offered no argument, even though his arm was still in a cast and caused him significant pain. She pulled on her robe and checked on the baby before she walked over to him. Reaching out, she rubbed her hands over his upper arms.
He studied her face. To him, she looked tired, like new mothers always looked, with an underlying glow of happiness. He rubbed his thumb along her jawline and leaned down to kiss her. "Are you happy, Alex?"
When she smiled at him, her face lit up and her amber eyes glowed with a light that began someplace deep in her soul. "I have never been happier."
Her words should have been enough to fuel a happiness of his own, but he remained melancholic. The holidays had always been a season of stress and uncertainty for him. In spite of his current happiness, the past continued to haunt him, especially at this time of the year. He tried to keep it from Alex and the kids, with varying success. Maggie was always able to read and reflect his moods, so he kept his guard especially tight when he was around her. Alex didn't always understand him, and the dark side of his soul often frustrated her. But he did his best.
He carried the boxes of gifts into the living room and Alex got happily to the task of organizing the colorful packages beneath the tree. "Did they let your mom have a tree this year?" she asked.
"They tried, but she had an episode and threw it across the room, cursing my father. She cut herself on a broken ornament."
"So we won't be bringing the kids to see her tomorrow?"
"No. She's still restrained and sedated. Once she's better we'll take them to visit. I'll go out to see her after they open their presents, and then we'll go out to your dad's." She wasn't able to drive yet, or he would just meet them there after his visit. "I'll make it a quick visit. I doubt she'll even know I'm there. I'll leave her gifts with the nurses. They'll be sure she gets them if she comes out of it before next week when I go out to see her."
She was quiet for a few moments as he took a drink and watched her. Turning her head toward him, she asked, "Do you remember a happy Christmas?"
Silent, he looked into his glass and thought. She joined him on the couch and said, "It shouldn't be that difficult to remember a happy Christmas."
"Maggie's first Christmas."
She rubbed his thigh. "What about when you were little?"
He leaned back and put his arm around her, drawing her close. "Frank told me stories of holidays with my grandparents, before they died, before Mom got sick. He said they were happy. I was close to my grandparents, but I was six when they died. My aunt tried to look out for us after that, but eventually, she stopped trying. Mom resented her interference. She undermined every support system she ever had, until finally, all she had was me."
She leaned up and kissed his cheek. "She is lucky to have you."
"I've tried to do the right thing, to be a good son. It was never good enough, until Maggie came along." He shifted his eyes to her. "Something changed in the way she saw me once I had a family. It's like my existence was finally justified."
She touched his cheek, but he withdrew from her. He wanted her, but she was still restricted from sex by the doctor and he was afraid he might hurt her, so he stayed away. "You'd better finish the tree," he suggested.
She tried to see things from his perspective, but she couldn't quite understand why he'd been keeping her at a distance since Molly was born. She returned to the tree and continued to arrange the gifts beneath it. Silently, he watched her as he nursed his drink, listening to the Christmas carols on the TV.
When she was done, she returned to the couch, driven by a resolve to connect with him. Her eye caught the pad of paper on the table and she picked it up, reading the lyrics and translations he had written on it. "What's this?"
"Maggie didn't understand Deck the Halls, so I tried to explain it to her. She wanted to know about Carol the troll and why Don's parrot was stupid."
He smiled at her baffled expression and explained where the parrot and troll came from. She laughed. "Leave it to Maggie."
"Why don't you go back to bed, baby?" he suggested.
"Why don't you come with me?"
His eyes strayed to the opening of her robe but he forced himself to look away. "I think I'll stay out here for a little while."
She knew what that meant. He would either wait until she was asleep to come to bed or he would sleep on the couch. Neither option was acceptable. She leaned in suddenly and kissed him, pressing herself into him as he tried to lean away. She straddled his lap and worked his shirt off, opening her robe.
He tried to protest, but she refused to let him get away with it. With the whiskey in his system, she knew she would win this battle. Finally breaking the kiss, she leaned back and said, "I can't have sex yet, but there are alternatives."
His head was spinning. "Alternatives?"
It had not occurred to him that she would be willing to play around to satisfy his needs when she was unable to fulfill her own.
She smiled at his interest. "Why don't you come with me and find out?" she challenged.
She slipped off his lap and trotted to the bedroom. He got up, knocking the empty glass to the floor. He didn't notice. His full attention was on his wife as he scrambled after her.
It looked as though it might be a merry Christmas after all.