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A Very Kerry Christmas

Part 1: Tis the Season

Michael turned serious as his thoughts turned to the future. "What will I tell him when he's older?"

"About what?" Fiona asked, not quite following his thoughts.

"About me." Michael pondered his life; his past, how would he explain all that he was, all that he had done. He struggled with the damage his choices had wrought on all he loved.

"Tell him the truth." Fiona presented this option as the obvious one, the only one, really.

Michael grappled with her answer, recognising it as the correct choice, but unsure of exactly how to do that. "Where would I start?"

"Start from the beginning. Start with, 'My name is Michael Westen. I used to be a spy'." As she said those words, Michael smiled. Their eyes met, followed by their lips. Fiona rested her head on his shoulder as they gazed together at the fire, both content, both at peace, both in love, settling into the new life they were creating for themselves and Charlie.

They sat in silence for several moments until Fiona raised a more pressing point. "Anyway, we have more immediate issues to deal with?"

"Issues?" Michael was unaware of any major problems. All indications were that their 'deaths' were accepted as a tragic turn of events. The long-time lovers, Michael Westen and Fiona Glenanne, had lived on the edge, tempting fate at every turn. Their luck had finally deserted them, but they went out in a blaze of glory, destroying a sinister organisation in the process. Those who mourned their passing took solace that the pair faced death together, united for eternity.

"It's December, Michael." Fiona realised that the former spy assumed her statement had to do with their past, but the woman had left it behind. She was not one to dwell on what could not be changed.

Michael brow furrowed as he struggled to find a link to Fiona's statement. Her birthday was in February. They didn't really have an anniversary. His mind was blank and he looked to her for more additional information.

Fiona saw the man's confused expression as he searched for answers. "Impossible, ya are!" They had only returned to Ireland a few weeks before but already the lilt was already returning to her speech. She no longer felt the need to continue to use her false American accent, it came and went as ephemeral as her mood. "Christmas, Michael. It's only a few weeks away."

The ex-spy grimaced as the holiday was mentioned. Many people have happy memories of that particular holiday. Michael Westen, unfortunately, was not one of those people. His holiday memories consisted of alcohol-induced rages from his father often resulting in physical damage to himself or his mother. Christmas meant nervousness, feigned happiness, and ultimately a trip to the hospital or a visit from the police. Once he left home at the age of seventeen, he had left the holiday, if not the memories, behind. Michael stared at his partner as he tried to glean what he was expected to say. "I'm not really a fan..."

Fiona interrupted him. "It's not about you, Michael." Her eyes drifted to Charlie's face. The boy's breathing was deep and even, his face serene. He had fallen asleep on Michael's lap while she had been making tea. "Perhaps it would be better to have this conversation privately." She unpeeled herself from Michael's side, set her mug on the table and stood up. After she gently removed the blanket from Charlie's body, Michael lifted him in his arms and they headed toward his bedroom.

They worked with only the dim illumination of a bedside nightlight. Fiona pulled back the duvet and smoothed the sheets that were emblazoned with trains, readying the bed for its occupant. Michael carefully laid his nephew down, Charlie stirring slightly, and then Fiona tucked the duvet about him. She placed a small kiss on his forehead murmuring, "Sleep well, a stóirín." The adults stood in the doorway for several moments as they watched the slumbering child until Fiona's attention returned to Michael. She took a last glance at Charlie and headed back to the parlour. Michael closed the door as silently as possible and followed closely behind.

Fiona retrieved their cups and poured the remaining tea from the pot. "You managed to celebrate the holiday while you were in Miami." She recalled those strained holiday dinners: Madeline's burnt turkey, Sam's gifts of liquor which he proceeded to drink himself, Michael finding excuses to work on the Charger or some other household project to avoid the festivities.

"That was for my mom." Michael pointed out the obvious.

"Well, now ya can do it for your nephew." Fiona was not about to deprive Charlie of the joy of Christmas because of Michael's issues.

"Look, Fi, I've told you before, I'm not like you. I don't have these great family memories of Christmas Day." He shook his head, uncomfortable with where this particular subject might lead.

"So, its time to make some new memories." Fiona stared him down. She was not about to let Michael's dysfunctional upbringing continue onward with the next generation. Madeline regretted the life she had assisted in creating for her sons. The two women had several conversations before her untimely death about this very subject. She had hoped to give Charlie a much different experience: a home that was filled with security and love. Fiona intended to fulfil the older woman's wishes. It was the least that she could do considering the sacrifice made in order for this recently created family to have a future.

"He's three. He probably won't even realise it's that time of year unless you mention it." Michael was hoping that his partner would agree, ending the entire discussion of the subject.

"He's four and he already noticed the lights going up around town." She pointed out the flaw in his argument. "Or were ya thinkin' we should avoid leavin' the cottage until January?"

Michael read Fiona's expression with ease. The subject was non-negotiable. The O'Donovan household would be celebrating Christmas. "Fine." His voice was terse, his posture indicating that actually he would rather be water boarded. "What exactly did you have in mind?" He rubbed his forehead as he awaited Fiona's response.

Fiona could not help but be amused by the man's reaction. "Well, I thought we'd get matching Christmas jumpers and take a photo that we could include in one of those holiday letters." Her deadpan delivery of this news was met with an open mouthed stare.

She continued. "I know just how to start: Dear Friends, It has been an eventful year. Michael spent the better part of the year vacationing in the Dominican Republic. Unfortunately, he made some rather unsavoury friends." She paused, raising her eyebrows as she thought about THAT woman that wormed her way into Michael's life. "Fiona began a new career as a bounty hunter since the government severely curtailed her arms dealing enterprise after her stint in Allarod Federal Penitentiary."

The former spy face began to relax as he realised she was not serious. "What do really have planned?'

"Ya don't want to hear about how we explain how we faked our own deaths and escaped the country with a three year old in tow?" Michael shook his head slowly. "Ah, just as well, we don't have too many friends left to send cards to anyway." She smiled as she sauntered back to the sofa, cup in hand, Michael following close behind, anxious to discover her true intentions. "Charlie is barely four years old. We can keep things fairly simple, Michael. A tree, some decorations, a few presents."

Fiona leaned against Michael and he slipped his arm around her. They spent a few silent moments gazing at the fire burning in the hearth. Michael considered Fi's plan. A tree, some decorations, and a few presents. It did not sound too complicated. It was exactly what his mom would have wanted for Charlie. He turned toward her and slowly nodded. The countdown to Christmas had begun.

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Morning arrived, Michael banishing the previous night's discussion from his mind, hoping Fiona would do the same. He took another spoonful of yoghurt as he read the paper. Fiona emerged from the bedroom dressed for exercise. She planted a kiss on the top of Charlie's head as he munched on his cereal, 'reading' the box appearing to imitate the movements of his uncle. "Mornin', wee one. Did ya sleep well?" A vigorous nod indicated that the boy had. Her attentions then turned to the man. "And you?"

"When you finally let me sleep." They shared a smile, remembering the antics of the night.

"Tea?" Michael had the kettle on, readying it for when she appeared.

Fiona pulled her hair back. "Later. I'm off for a run. Thought after breakfast you could help Charlie write a letter to Santa." The youngster's head turned toward her, his eyes lit up, and a squeal of delight burst forth. Michael waved his hands trying to stop her but she merely smiled. Charlie looked back at Michael, his face filled with joy, his uncle's hands stopping immediately. "Well, that's sorted." Michael's eyes narrowed as he glared at his lover. Fiona quickly escaped the scene, planning on covering several miles before her return, giving the man time to complete the task and reduce his anger.

He tried to draw out breakfast as long as possible, but there was only so much yoghurt in a container. Finally, both bowls were empty and he could no longer avoid the inevitable. He cleared the dishes, retrieved a paper and pen, and prepared to take dictation. "So, how should we start?"

Charlie placed his elbows on the tables, his head resting on his clenched hands. He said nothing but scrunched his face, suspicious that his uncle did not know what he was doing. "You start with 'Dear Santa'."

"Right." Michael began to write. "So, what do you want to write in the letter?"

"I don't know how to write." Charlie thought his uncle should know this.

"I know. That's why I'm here. You tell me what to say and I write it down." Michael explained the process.

The boy added another fact. "I can't read either."

Michael nodded, unclear as to what his nephew was trying to say. "Your point?'

"How do I know you're writing what I say?" Charlie was guarded. He remembered the time his grandma was going shopping. Grandma asked what he would like from the store. He replied 'Strawberry ice cream!' " When she returned there was the frozen treat as requested. There was also underwear. And there was a catch... wear the underwear instead of his pull-ups and then he could have the ice cream. He was not going to fall for that trap again.

"When Fi gets back she can read it back to you. Then you can be sure it says what you want it to." Michael posed a reasonable solution.

Charlie thought about the suggestion for several moments before responding. "Let's wait for her." He folded his arms across his chest, refusing to speak. They had reached an impasse in negotiations. Michael Westen had been defeated.

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Fiona returned. She had intended to pop in the shower upon her return but one glance at her family prompted a quick change of plans. Charlie sat immobile at the table, his arms crossed, his shoulders slumped. Michael mirrored the youngster's posture. "What's going on?"

"Charlie is reluctant to have a third party involved in the letter writing." Michael glowered at the woman who had embroiled him in this predicament. "Since he can't read or write himself, he's concerned I won't get it right. So, we are waiting for you to witness the accuracy of said letter."

She took a deep breath. This was an unexpected turn of events. "Charlie?" She waited for an explanation.

He beckoned her closer, whispering in her ear. "It's supposed to be a secret." Charlie may be only four but he knew how Santa worked: you had to be good and your Christmas wishes were between you and the man himself.

"Oh, believe me, Charlie, Michael knows how to keep a secret. Armed men could break in and torture him and he would never divulge your Christmas wishes." She threw a sideways glance at her partner filled with the lingering pain over his many past secrets. Michael received the message.

Charlie's eyes grew wide at his aunt's colourful description, his eyes darting to the doorway. "You're not helping." Michael thought Fiona could remedy the situation, but now he had his doubts. Charlie's mind was made up. He would remain silent.

The adults exchanged bewildered glances, unsure how to proceed. "Fiona, can I see you in the kitchen?" Michael moved away, Fiona following close behind. "I told you this was a bad idea!" He began the argument in a hushed voice, not wanting Charlie privy to the conversation.

"How did I know he was going to be as pig headed as you?" She spied the boy still sulking at the table. "I have an idea. Follow my lead." They returned, Charlie avoiding looking at the pair. "Charlie, how would you like to visit Santa? Then you can tell him what you want for Christmas yourself." The boy sat up straight, a small smile beginning to form at the corners of his lips. Even Michael began to relax, as he believed Fiona had found a workable solution. Then, the shoe dropped. "Uncle Michael will take you." Michael was horrified at her words. He jabbed her in the ribs as he planted a false smile on his face, pretending all was well.

Charlie jumped up from the table, ran toward the couple, embracing their legs in joyous abandon. Fiona tilted her head toward her lover, an expression of victory on her face. She had outwitted him once again... at least temporarily. He reached for his nephew, lifting him up into his arms. "Great idea, Fi! We'll all go - together. We'll make it a family thing."

The smile drained from her face. "Touché."

The couple turned their attention to Charlie, his face alight with excitement. It looked like the 'O'Donovan' family was about to make their first visit to Santa!

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"How bad can it be?" Fiona posed the question as they discussed the logistics of the proposed visit. Charlie was pouring over the toy catalog that had come in the newspaper, intently focused on the many options available.

"I think it could be pretty bad." Michael watched his nephew, a bright red crayon in his hand circling possible gifts for Santa to bring.

Fiona turned wistful, remembering her own childhood. "I remember me man trying to get all seven of us on Father Christmas' lap for a photo. Was an epic failure! The boys got into a fistfight. Claire was crying. I tried to see if his beard was real."

"Was it?" The former spy's curiosity was piqued.

"It was, but unfortunately I pulled out a rather large clump of it." She winced at the memory, Santa screeching out a string of expletives as a horde of parents and children looked on in horror. "We were banned from the store from that point on." Michael nodded his head. He was able to envision the scene knowing Fiona - and her brothers. "What about you? Madeline must have taken you and Nate to see Santa Claus." Madeline had loved the holidays. Fiona could not imagine her ignoring this seasonal ritual.

"We didn't visit Santa. Half the time my dad was on a bender and there was no money. My mom would tell Nate and I that the reindeer would overheat in Miami so they had to skip the state of Florida all together."

Fiona's mouth dropped open. "It's a wonder you aren't even more screwed up than you are."

"Thanks?" Michael was not sure if that was a compliment or not. Then, he turned toward the business at hand. "So, where exactly do we have to go to see Santa?" There were no major department stores or shopping malls for miles.

Fiona had gathered Intel at the local park, chatting with some women with children about Charlie's age. "It seems there are two main options. There is something in Killarney called 'Santa's Secret Village', or something like that. There are live reindeer, puppet shows, crafts... apparently a whole day of family fun." The mere thought of it made her nauseous but since this escapade was entirely her idea she tried to put the most positive spin that she was able. "Of course it costs about fifteen euros and has to be booked online." Michael just stared at her, willing her harm with his eyes.

"The other option is Tralee. There's a shopping mall with a toyshop. We can just show up. One of us can stay with Charlie. Learn what he tells Santa while the other shops for it, buys it and slips it in the boot of the car." It was not ideal but it would be efficient use of the journey.

"Tralee? That's like two hours away?" Michael groaned at the thought.

"Excuse me! I once drove from Miami to Tallahassee - and back - to search a crusty old man's equally crusty apartment to find information about one of the many people who have tried to kill you over the years." She stopped, challenging him to dispute her claim. "And I never did get either of the dinners at The Forge you promised me!" Fiona's eyes flashed in anger.

The man held his tongue. He reached for her, bowing his head slightly. "And I appreciate ALL that you've done." His eyes met hers as she waited for him to respond, her posture was rigid, her expression wary. He could see that she expected him to balk, find some reason to prevent the trip. Obviously, her gut told her this was the right move for Charlie. The former spy had learned to trust her instincts over the years. She was usually right and he caused a great deal of harm to those he cared about when he failed to heed her words.

"Tralee, it is." A smile spread across her face and she slipped away to tell Charlie the good news. Michael wondered if he would be lucky enough to have a heart attack before the fateful day arrived.

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The drive took longer than expected. There were several toilet breaks ("Sometimes I wish he were still in pull-ups," moaned Michael more than once.) and snack breaks ("I packed enough for a small army. How am I supposed to know that the only time he is truly hungry is when he's strapped in a car seat?" snapped Fiona). The covert operatives were new to the parent game and were still learning its unspoken rules.

Once arrived they jockeyed for parking and joined the mass of humanity marching toward Santa Claus. He was barely visible as they entered the queue, both adults rolling their eyes at the endless wait that loomed before them. There were crying babies, high-pitched squeals, and incessant chatter. Michael wished that he had brought a weapon or at least a pair of earplugs.

A pair of women with an assortment of wee ones gathered behind them. A girl a bit older than Charlie munched on a filled bun, the jam oozing from its side. She continued to push forward wanting to jump the queue, her mam oblivious to her actions. Fiona did not intend to wait one moment longer than necessary and held her position, refusing to allow the youngster to move past. She veered slightly to the right; Fiona anticipated the move and blocked the path. Still, the girl pressed ever forward.

Fiona watched as the little girl's jam encrusted hand drew closer. Her mother was still deep in her own conversation, virtually ignoring the movements of her charge as she tried to push her way forward. "Those fingers touch my Rag & Bone's and you're going to be writing left handed for quite a while." She whispered the threat, eyebrows raised, eyes steely. The little girl's eyes grew wide as Michael intervened.

"Fi, why don't you run that errand now?" Michael put his arm around his partner guiding her away a potential conflict that would land them in the mall security's office or worse. Fi continued to glare at the girl until she moved back toward her mother.

"Gladly!" This might have been her idea but the reality was worse than she feared. "Remember to take a photo." Michael winced but dared not refuse. "Call me as soon as you know what he wants."

"What if I can't stay that close?" There was a small flaw in her plan.

"You'll think of something." Then, she was gone in a flash, leaving Michael and Charlie, hand in hand, waiting for their turn.

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Twenty agonisingly slow minutes later, Charlie was beckoned near the throne. He settled happily on Santa's lap. Michael snapped a picture quickly and moved closer, hovering nearby to eavesdrop on the conversation. Charlie had no trouble divulging the information he so guarded from him to this complete stranger. He was relieved that his nephew had taken Fiona's suggestion to ask for only one or two items. She had pointed out that greedy children who demanded too many gifts might cause the elves to simply walk off the job one day, ruining Christmas for everyone.

Michael texted Fiona The List, remembering another list that caused so much trouble in his former life, nearly getting him killed along with Fiona. This list was far less complicated but no less important to its owner. Charlie bounded off Santa's lap, a candy cane in his hand, and sought Michael's hand. The joy on Charlie's face warmed Michael's heart. The boy turned slightly and waved goodbye to the man in the red suit. Mission accomplished.

"What should we do now, Charlie?" They had some time to kill before Fiona completed her task.

"We should buy a present for MaFi?" Charlie tried to remove the plastic covering from the candy cane. The youngster invented the nickname during their travels when he had to pretend Auntie Fi was his mother. It had stuck as it rolled off his tongue much easier that Aunt Fiona.

"Fi? I don't even know what she wants." Michael removed the wrapper.

"I know! I know!" Charlie jumped up and down.

Michael felt a set up. Had Fiona planted the thought in the young boy's head? He would play along. "And what does Fiona want?"

"I think she wants pyjamas."

"Pyjamas?" That did not sound like a request the woman would make.

"Yeah. Whenever I come into your room at night, she doesn't have any on!" Charlie sucked on his treat. Michael thought they might need to start locking the bedroom door.

The former spy smiled as they headed toward a lingerie shop. Perhaps he would buy two items: Charlie approved sleepwear and Michael approved sleepwear.

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Fiona stared at the myriad of options before her. The first request had been relatively easy. Charlie longed for a bike. She chose a red one, his favourite colour, and then moved on to the second wish. There were trains of every size and colour but Charlie had indicated that he wanted more friends for Thomas. The trains all had specific names and personalities. She stared at the choices frantically trying to remember which ones he already had. This was a job for two. She called Michael.

"Can ya talk?" Fiona needed a private conversation.

Michael watched as Charlie browsed the pyjama selection, a friendly clerk only to happy to assist him find the perfect gift for his 'mam'. "What do you need?"

"There are hundreds of trains here. Do you remember whom he already has? I know there is a Thomas and an Edward."

"There's definitely a James." Michael thought back to the first time he had played trains with Charlie.

"Gordon. Percy. Toby. Fergus." Fiona perused the shelves. "Why are there no female trains? I'm beginning to think this is some sexist plot." Michael sighed in frustration. "Ah, Emily and Rosie. He definitely does not have those and he should." Fiona picked up the two packages.

"He has a Gordon... and a Henry." Michael searched his memory. "I think that's it."

"Oh, look, a Porter. How can I resist?" Fiona smiled as she thought about her friend an ocean away. "I'm almost done here. Give me about thirty minutes to get this all in the car." She put two more engines into her cart as well as some additional track and headed toward the clerk. She stopped short as something caught her eye: zombie blaster weapons with foam ammunition. A smile crossed her face as she pondered the possibilities and quickly added them to her purchases.

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The ride home was quiet. Charlie crashed within minutes. They had survived the outing!

Michael began to relax. He had agreed to Fiona's plan and it was successfully completed. Charlie's Christmas wishes would be granted and Fi would be content. He did not have to spend any more time thinking about the holiday.

And then she spoke... "I was thinking - maybe we should go to one of those Christmas tree farms and cut down our own tree."

Michael inwardly shuddered. Apparently, the Christmas preparations were still in progress. He decided to drink heavily once they returned to the cottage!