A/N: I don't own 24, Bill or Karen. But I wish I did. But I don't.
A/N2: Review, please!
A/N3: Cross posted on AO3.
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The snow fell outside, providing a soft hush around the Vermont cabin. Christmas lights were on the outside of the structure, 'Angels We Have Heard on High' softly playing from the music box-light synchronizer.
Aromas of cinnamon and vanilla seep through the rooms. Mingling with the scent of a fresh Christmas tree, the three scents assault the scenes of the homeowner's wife. A small whimper and minor fuss changes the aire of the room.
"Shhh," Karen Hayes-Buchanan whispers. "No fussing, m'dear." Karen's blonde hair lays around the three month old in her arms as the woman shifts the baby closer to her neck. Karen lays a soft kiss in the brown fuzz of the baby's hair. "No fussing, Princess." The baby wiggles a touch more before a heavy sigh and she goes solid against the chest of her mother. Karen softly rubs the baby's back and hums in tune with the light notes of the music from outside.
The music changes, the baby's breathing evens out and Karen shifts the now-sleeping infant into her other arm. A smile comes across her face soon joined by a yawn. Looking around the room – lit only by the white lights on the Christmas tree – Karen sways over to the long beige couch and lays across it; putting one foot on the floor. She places the baby on her stomach, so the infants head is over Karen's beating heart. A lone tear falls down her cheek as she recalls how blessed she really is.
Thumping on the ceiling alerts the 48-year-old that her husband is up upstairs. She sends her eyes upward, like she could see his next move. The movement doesn't stop, it gets louder until he creeks down the stairs, peering over the railing, stopping just before the bottom step. He looks over at her and the baby, dimly lit and he cracks a smile.
The baby fusses again, but recoils back into her mother's warmth. The man on the stairs watches the bond between mother and daughter. "Shhh, pretty girl," Karen whispers into her daughter's hair.
"Karen?" The voice on the stairs softly says. "K?" She grins as she looks at her husband, softly sliding his socked feet on the hardwood of the room to her. "Karen? It's 4:30 a.m."
"I know, Bill, I know," her voice replies. "But little Miss was fussy and you were out cold. You needed the rest, honey." She takes her hand off the baby's back and reaches out for some assistance. "And I didn't want to risk her having a full out tantrum and waking you up." He pulls her to her feet and hugs them close. He loves being their protector and his heart wants to burst with love and pride.
The paper carrier arrives and throws the paper against the front door with a loud thud. Karen shakes her head and she slowly spins in a circle to appease the sleeping baby.
"God, I love you Karen Hayes." Bill says as he watches the mother interact unconsciously with her daughter. Karen's smile lights up her face, the lines gone as she looks at her husband.
"And I love you too Bill Buchanan." She replies walking over to him and leading him to the kitchen. The moonlight streaming through the white lace curtains shine a sliver glow to the room. When she shivers slightly, Bill moves to the pantry. "It's too early for coffee, Bill."
"That's fine," he comments as he rummages through the pantry. Pulling out a box of Swiss Miss, he retrieves two packets and places the box back in on the shelf. Waving the packets in front of her, he asks, "a bitta marshmallows and some whipped cream?"
"You know me too well, Mr. Buchanan." She says almost in a low growl. Once again she shifts the infant in her arms to cross her body before moving the kitchen breakfast bar stool out from under the bar slightly. Leaning her weight against the stool, Karen cradles the baby with a soft 'shhhh.' Content, Karen watches her husband softly grab a pan from the rack before pouring milk into the pan. Bill reaches the mug shelf, and reaches for two pulling them down to the bar. As the milk warms, he puts a squirt of whipped cream in the pan. "Bill?" She asks quietly, her eyes on their daughter; the product of their love, as she whimpers and quivers. "Can you heat up a bottle?" He hums in agreement before spooning a few spoons of the warmed milk into a medium sized container.
Bill kisses his daughter's forehead and his wife's cheek as he transfers the bottle to Karen. The baby suckles the nipple of the bottle and sucks it for every last drop.
"Hungry she is," Karen states matter-of-factly as she watches her daughter's blue eyes fade into the eyelids. Grabbing a red and white dish towel from the bar, Karen props her daughter up, places the towel on her shoulder and burps the baby.
Just as the baby burps, Bill places a mug of hot chocolate and whipped cream in front of Karen's seat. She gives him a silent nod in thanks and wraps a hand around the heated glass. Bill stands by and watches Karen quietly protect and adore their daughter. It still amazed him.
"You know," he said, wiping the cream moustache from his mouth, "if President Logan told me 20 months ago that I'd be here, I'd tell him he was nuts."
"He is." Karen joked which gained a hearty laugh from her spouse.
With a quick glare, he responded, "seriously. I'd tell him he was nuts. I'm 55 years old, twice divorced, third times a charm man who enjoys an occasional diaper change." He scoffed at his own recognizance. "I enjoy changing a dirty diaper at 55. Who does that?" He barely heard her as he took their empty teacups and placed them clanking into the sink.
"You." She deadpanned turning her body to him. Like he recognized his wife's movements, he reached into her arms and lifted his slumbering daughter from her mother's arms to his. Bill shifted a few inches to the window so he could see the beauty from the moon's light. "You're right, Buchanan," she gave a smirk at his last name, "Logan may have been nuts, but this was the best decision he ever made. Sending me to CTU. C. T. You."
Bill strode over to his wife as she got up off the chair and kissed her lips was as much passion as he could muster – still holding the infant. "C. T. You." He repeated the line before leading his wife and daughter back upstairs.
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Buchanan." Karen said to her husband as he placed their daughter into her oak crib next to the side of the king-sized bed.
"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Buchanan," he said climbing back into bed, pulling the covers up to his chest and turning over to wrap his arms around his wife.
"Merry Christmas, Chloe," they both said in unison to their daughter as the night slowly drifted them off to a silent, peaceful, calm night.