Standard fanfiction disclaimers apply. (babe, R and S HEA implied. Morelli is here, not happy but not harmed.)

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a/n: Thanksgiving kicks off the holiday season...and this story, though set at Christmas could be a Thanksgiving dinner instead. Christmas Dinner with the Plums-a Mercenary Ranger short, set in my AU Plum world.

Please look at my other stories for more background, if needed.…enjoy! And Happy, happy Holidays.

Home for Christmas

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I looked at the Plum family gathered 'round the food-laden table of a traditional Italian American family's Christmas Eve and wondered how the hell we got here tonight.

Well, actually I do know, but still.

I drew a deep breath, feeling Stephanie sitting close on my right, Julie to my left, Grandma Mazur safely down the other end and on the opposite side, by Morelli and Kloughn.

Ice storm raging outside.

Mr. Plum sat at the table's head, passing dishes, pouring wine and grunting an occasional Merry Christmaswhen pressed. Mrs. Plum came in from the kitchen and took her seat. I forced myself not to politely rise when she entered the room, but it was hard, those manners a natural part of my upbringing. Julie too had served herself but unlike the Kloughns and the Plums, she would not pick up her fork until Mrs. Plum picked up her own. Instead Mrs. Plum filled her wine glass and made a toast, "To family and friends and loved ones, Merry Christmas."

"Salut'," responded everyone at the table and then they dug in. We ate in relative silence for a few minutes. Finally Mrs. Plum bethought herself to be hostess-y and she leaned in a bit and said to me, "We are very happy you and Julie are here tonight, Ranger."

"Thank you, Mrs. Plum." I didn't smile at her because I was afraid she'd drop the lasagna tray.

Mrs. Plum smiled anyway and went on, "But won't your own family be missing you?"

Julie gave me a sidelong glance I was glad Steph couldn't see. I said, "Well, the storm…."

"But your mother must miss you! "

"I guess." If she even notices it's Christmas in whatever godforsaken country she's in tonight….

"Your parents must be very proud of you."

What!

I glanced at Stephanie who smiled encouragingly at me. No help there.

... ... ...

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At first Christmas Eve seemed to be going well. Mom was overjoyed to have both Ranger and Morelli at her table and my dad, who isn't very fond of Joe, was pleased to see Ranger. Everyone was kind and welcoming to Julie, once they recovered from the shock of her exceptional appearance. She looked exactly like Ranger only tiny, dainty and female-all long shiny dark hair, and liquid black eyes and skin like pale brown satin, in Julie's case, flushed rose with excitement. Julie Manoso, age eleven now, was beautiful.

A few hours earlier I had finished up my searches and was getting my coat and gun and purse when Ranger and Julie had appeared at my cubicle at Rangeman.

"Hi, Julie! I see your flight made it, you beat the storm. Merry Christmas!"

"Hi, Steph." She hugged me tight and smiled at me. Omigod.

I said, "What's up for the holiday? Is this your first Christmas in Trenton?"

Things I had not dared to ask Ranger.

"No, I come, like, every other year. But Daddy says it's too icy to drive to my aunt's house."

She calls Ranger Daddy? But….

He said quietly, "Maybe in the morning, chica."

Julie finished, "So we are doing Christmas Eve here!"

Hmmmm.

Hesitantly, who knew, maybe Julie was thrilled to have an evening with Ranger all to herself... I said, "Maybe…well, would the two of you like to come to my mom's house for Christmas Eve? My sister and all her kids will be there, the two oldest girls are about your age. And she has a new baby. There's a tree and we sing carols after dinner and there's a ton of food. I don't know if my mom and grandma will make it to midnight mass, but if they go you could go too if you wanted, it is a candlelight service." I was babbling, but I had loved that midnight service when I was a child.

I shut up and looked at Ranger. "You'd both be very welcome."

"Morelli gonna be there?

"Yes."

"Oh, Daddy, can we? It sounds fun and we'd still have our Christmas Eve together later. You know Ella is away and we were just going to do pizza or something…."

"If you'd like to go, of course we can go, baby." He turned to me, "Thank you, babe. If you're sure your mother won't be overwhelmed by two extra mouths to feed?"

"That's what holidays are all about, Ranger. I know she'll be thrilled."

And she was, plus Dad was happy to see Ranger whom he liked and respected and who could be trusted never to take the last helping of dessert.

But now Ranger looked at me with what I could only describe as a deer caught in the headlights expression in his usually blank eyes. I wondered why his parents being proud of him scared him so bad? Myself, I was pleased my mother had said it, even though the notion of Ranger actually having parents seemed somewhat odd.

After a few seconds he just said, "It's complicated, ma'am."

"Please call me Ellen, dear."

"Ellen."

Kloughn looked up from his ziti and meatballs and said, "Well, weren't you in the army? Some kind of commando dude? Did they give you medals and stuff? Were you wounded in action?"

Morelli, on my left, snorted. "Yeah, Ranger, tell us some war stories. Show us your Purple Heart."

Ranger frowned a tiny bit. Thank god Mom said, "I wasn't referring to Ranger's military career, I meant his success in business. Any mother would be proud!"

Thank you, mom, I thought. Ranger said nothing.

"So—usually you do spend Christmas with your folks?" Great, all of a sudden my dad woke up and piped in.

"With family."

"Your mother and dad? In Newark, I think Stephanie said?" Mom again.

... ... ...

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I really didn't want to go there with Julie sitting beside me. Not that I have any huge secrets from her—she's a child, but she is my child and as such is both smart and intuitive. And she knows I am not from Newark.

Now she decided to dig me out of this pit of well-intentioned nosiness. She looked up from her plate and said, "We spend Christmas with my aunt Olivia in Long Island and my daddy's brothers and sister and my cousins. My grandpa died a few years ago, I was just a baby. It was September—um—" Glance over at me. I shrugged. Then, "And my grandma is usually …"

"That's enough, Julie."

Now everyone was wondering silently what my mother was up to that I'd cut Julie off.

Morelli sneered, "Your mom isn't so—welcoming, Manoso? Or maybe she is too welcoming."

Morelli totally has his heart set on my mother being a crack 'ho. As if!

So, okay, obnoxious, but a great distraction from the prospect of an Aunt Olivia in Long Island. Poor Livy, her description sounded even WASP-ier than she really was. Julie looked over at Morelli with big eyes as Valerie and her two girls all giggled, more at Morelli's tone than with knowledge of his meaning.

I shoved some shrimp parmesan into my mouth and chewed so I didn't have to answer right away. Stephanie said, "Joe!" though, in a shocked voice. Defending me, so cute.

... ... ...

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I thought about the last time I'd seen my mom at Christmas. We—my Delta unit—had been in a firefight in…well, nevermind. Had some casualties that needed attention before our extraction time in twelve hours. We had our mark in hand—we were evacuating some pro-US warlord, a real slimeball—and were well set, but I had three guys down and what I was pretty sure was a broken wrist myself.

My XO, my executive officer or in this case, my second in command—as is usual in Spec Ops, he was a master sergeant, not a commissioned officer—had been on the comm. unit and came to me with the intell that there was a Medecins sans Frontiers—Doctors Without Borders—medical aid site a few miles south through some scrub and hills. An easy march. I figured even my wounded men could make it. And a few painful hours later—hot, sweaty and hungry—we found the clearing with the green MASH tents. Large red crosses showed that this was indeed a medical unit.

My XO said, "What if they only speak French?"

"What?"

"Aren't they French? You know how they hate us…."

There are all nationalities with that service, but I was too fucked up with exhaustion and pain to explain. I just said, "If they only speak French, I'll do the talking."

"Who ever knew you spoke effin' French, boss."

I gave him one of my lethal stares and we moved out into the clearing. Immediately a figure in unmarked cammo fatigues stepped out of the largest tent.

"Whoa, hot stuff," I heard behind me.

The woman strode towards us, her face set sternly, her gold-streaked dark brown hair in a bouncy ponytail at her back. When she got close I saw that her combats were actually marked with the universal international Red Cross and she had a stethoscope draped around her neck.

She showed no surprise to see us and no reaction to the admiring murmur of my men. Our clothes were, as always with black ops jobs, unmarked—just plain khaki fatigues in this case, no USA, no flag patches, no names, no captain's bars …but she walked right up to me and stopped, eyeing me in silence. I knew she'd seen my wounded personnel, had noted my wrist wrapped and in a sling, my rifle clutched one-handed, maybe pain lines on my face.

For just one instant she looked like she might smile or cry or even hug me, but she just gave me a curt nod.

I said, "Merry Christmas, mom."

"Merry Christmas, Ranger. What am I patching up this time? I see you broke your wrist, what else?"

Good old mom, all business all the time. My mother is a reconstructive orthopedic surgeon who likes to spend at least six months a year fixing, she says, all the evils guys like me and my dad and her own dad have foisted on the world at large.

I don't think she's proud of me.

... ... ...

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When I came out of my reverie, the conversation had passed me by. Talk was about bowl games and the girls' school and sports. Cell phones (Julie scored big with her latest version iPhone) and so on.

Much later, as I carefully drove myself and Julie and Stephanie home on the icy streets of a deserted Trenton, Julie said from the backseat, "Why didn't you say Grandma Elizabeth is a doctor, Daddy?"

Stephanie looked closely at me, I could feel her stare. Not sure if she was questioning my mom being a doctor or Julie consistently calling me Daddy instead of Ranger, our closeness just another little secret that we were giving out tonight, I guessed.

"I don't know, Julie, " I admitted.

"She emailed me, she is in Somalia, working with the famine relief corps this Christmas."

Maybe she is and maybe she isn't.

But, "I'm glad she wrote you, baby."

"She said to say she loves you and Merry Christmas."

Steph reached out and touched my hand. I gave her mittened fingers a quick squeeze before moving my hand back to the wheel, being careful with my precious cargo on this icy night.

Much of the time I have no clue what to say that isn't a blatant lie, so I just stay silent. Julie never seems to mind, she reads my thoughts and feelings, but maybe Stephanie worries, I don't know. But for now, I let the silent snowy night, the silence of Christmas surround us and drove on.

And I thought, Merry Christmas, mom. I love you.

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And somewhere far away in Africa or Afghanistan, Uzbekistan or Guatemala or wherever, a tall slim woman raised her head for moment as if she had heard. A slight smile skimmed her beautiful face and she thought, Merry Christmas, my son—because, his name in reality, the nmame she gave him at birth- was not Ranger or Carlos, but a secret she clutched in her heart—Merry Christmas, I love you too.

The end