Title: A MERRY LITTLE DATE
Rating: PG
Spoilers: JAG Episode - "A Merry Little Christmas"
Disclaimer: Apologies to Viacom, Paramount & Belisarius Productions for borrowing some JAG characters and taking them in a different direction.
Summary: Two questions pulled at me when I saw this year's JAG Holiday episode---where was Webb and what kind of date would Clay and Sarah have on Christmas Eve? I've embellished and taken outrageous liberties with the Webb backstory, but it's angsty enough to suit me. :D
Author's Note: First, always keep in mind that I am NOT a writer. As a result, reading any of my scribblings is always a risk. Also, at this time of the year, I'm a sucker for all of those Hallmark Hall of Fame Christmas specials---even the commercials (like the one where the young boy brings a shoebox to school for show-and-tell and each holiday ornament inside represents a year in his life) can make me reach for the tissues. Yes, 'tis the season for sappy and sweet! So be warned---the sap runneth over. [BTW, I sometimes begin sentences with 'and' or 'but' and even end sentences with prepositions. Heck, sometimes I just put punctuation at the end of phrases. It's probably because I can't do that in RL! ]
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CHRISTMAS EVE, 2003
5:30 PM (EST) MAC'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN
Mac punched in his number from memory and impatiently waited for Webb to pick up. All afternoon she'd felt a bit lost and unsettled. Vouching for Harm and trying to convince the judge that he was wonderful daddy material had drained her. Despite everything, even all the pettiness and distance the last few months had generated between them, she honestly did feel that Harm would make a wonderful father some day. What jolted her was the realization that she no longer thought of him as a daddy-candidate for *her* future children. When had that happened?
Webb's voice-mail message began its run and Mac nearly screamed with frustration. She wanted to speak to Clay and she wanted to speak to him now. Three days of silence had convinced her that he was off coordinating some type of op for the agency. Why was it only when she couldn't contact him that she realized how much she missed him? She missed..Webb? When had that happened?
But, damn---she really did. She'd gotten used to their late-night dinners and the way he just happened to keep her refrigerator stocked with his favorite soft drink. Right now she just missed his reassuring presence and the way he actually listened to what she had to say. She missed how honest he was about his feelings and she even missed his totally over-the-top suggestive remarks. Somehow he never seemed to push but always made it clear that she was the one he wanted. Well, where was he when she wanted him---like now? Mac heard the beep at the end of his voice-mail and left a message:
"Clay, this is Sarah. Look, I, uh, I got your message. I'm not even going to ask how you got it to flash on my monitor---but don't mess with my laptop again, understand Spook? And, uh, okay. A Christmas Eve date sounds good, really good. Can we make it around eight? I'm going to attend Chaplain Turner's annual service around seven-thirty. Come if you can---it's at the Navy Chapel on Third. I'll be home as soon as I can--- just use the spare key and make yourself at home. And Clay? I've.I've.missed you. Merry Christmas!"
Mac slowly replaced the receiver and felt ridiculous. So she missed him. Why not tell him? Running an agitated hand through her short hair, Mac headed for the bathroom to touch up her make-up. If she could get out of the apartment within the next twenty minutes, she might just make it back to her office before traffic got too heavy. Hopefully, she could pick up a couple of legal briefs without being late to the chapel.
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CHRISTMAS EVE, 2003
7:40 PM (EST) MAC'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN
Webb leaned back against the door and pocketed the key he'd just used. He was so tired, he'd nearly begged off when he'd accessed Mac's message two hours earlier. He knew she'd understand, but.well, she'd actually said she'd missed him. Nothing on this earth---not even the exhaustion he was experiencing from three straight days of tracking false leads on terrorist cells---could keep him from this date with Sarah tonight.
He removed his black wool overcoat and hung it on the coat rack. Looking around at the mail piled up on her desk and the Marine Corp mug still sitting on the coffee table, Webb released a sigh of satisfaction. Stepping into Mac's apartment was like coming home. No, it was better than coming home. His home felt empty and lifeless while hers seemed like a haven from the rest of the world. The elaborate Christmas tree and its twinkling lights caught his attention. Walking over, he absently fingered a lace-and-felt ornament. Staring intently at the homemade angel, he tried to recall the last time he'd actually trimmed a tree. There must have been some tree he'd helped to decorate in his youth, but he just couldn't think of one. Frowning at this oversight, Webb bent down and placed his gift to Sarah under the tree.
Wandering over to the mantle, Webb picked up a toy elf and grinned: he loved that about Sarah---she still let the kid in her shine through. Most people would adorn their homes with long, tapered candles or carefully selected pinecones, but Sarah had all sorts of colorful toys jumbled among the holly and ivy. A red Hot Wheels car caught his eye. Webb picked it up and ran it along the edge of the mantle for a few moments, remembering his own collection from childhood. Stopping just short of making car sounds while the small wheels careened around the edge of miniature teddy bear, Webb brought the car to a screeching halt and laughed out loud. Replacing the red metal toy more or less where he'd found it, Webb stood back and looked down at the fireplace.
Feeling in the mood for a cozy fire all of a sudden, he hefted a couple of Mac's pre-cut logs onto the grate and opened the flue. By the time Webb had gotten the logs lit and the screen in place, he had shed his jacket and tie. Brushing some stray specks of bark from his green sweater vest, he headed for the kitchen to wash up. Rolling up his sleeves, he automatically checked out the neatly appointed kitchen nook as he scrubbed his hands.
Grabbing up a snowman towel, Webb shot a look at the luminescent numbers on the microwave. Eight oh-two---the service must be over by now. She had asked him to join them, but he just wasn't in a socializing mood tonight. And he was thirsty. Snatching a can of Cherry Coke out of the fridge, Webb popped the top and drank deeply as he approached the couch. Making himself comfortable, he decided to make the phone call he'd been putting off all afternoon.
Pulling a cell phone out of the jacket he'd draped over the back of the couch, he let out a deep breath. Taking another swallow of the icy soda, Webb leaned back and just absorbed the warmth of the fire and the comfort of the Christmas tree lights. He didn't exactly dread this call. He was just so drained right now that he didn't think he could muster the right degree of joviality it required.
One last swallow of Cherry Coke and he hit the send button and raised the phone to his ear. She answered on the fifth ring.
"Hello, Mother. Clayton here." There, that sounded appropriately energetic and happy.
"Oh, Clayton! How are you dear?"
"Fine, fine. And you, Mother?" Webb began tapping his forefinger on the arm of the couch.
"Oh, darling, I'm the same as ever. I'm so glad you called! Will I be seeing you tomorrow or does the job come first again?"
Porter Webb had a knack for making her only son feel guilty even when he had the best of intentions. "Mother."
"I know dear. You've grown so much like your father over the years, but I do understand Clayton."
That was the problem---he was nothing like his father. He'd tried to be, but had given up about five years ago. Seeing Rabb chase that ghost had finally convinced him to let go. "No, Mother, you don't."
"Don't I?" That knowing sound in his mother's voice brought a reluctant smile to his face. That was the great cosmic joke in her life. She never did really understand what was going on. Sometimes she was good at guessing and she was great at bluffing, but the very nature of his father's work had left her alone and resigned for the most part. Once she had quit the agency to raise her family---him---she'd been totally left out of the loop. That he had chosen the same profession as his father had neither surprised nor pleased her. Hell, maybe she did understand.
"No, because I'm definitely coming home for Christmas tomorrow. Christmas wouldn't be the same without you, Mother. I hope you know that."
"Darling, I do know. I love you, too, son." Well, damn---she did understand.
"I should hope so! And Mother? I, uh, I might bring a friend."
"Really?" Uh-oh, that was a suggestive word.
"Yes. Maybe. It's not confirmed yet."
Webb heard a light sigh before she responded. He hated not being able to tell her anything definite, but Sarah might say no. She might have other plans. Then where would he be? "All right dear. I can tell I'm not supposed to ask any questions, but can I just say one thing?"
"Okay." Best to play it cautious here---there was no telling what his mother might say.
"I hope she says yes, dear. I'd like to meet her." Damn, how did she know? What had he said? This was why he'd been putting off the call, damnit!
"Take care of yourself Mother---I'll see you tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Clayton. And good luck!" He heard the teasing in his mother's voice but was determined not to give away any more information.
"Merry Christmas, Mother."
"Merry Christmas, dear."
Webb flipped his silver cell phone closed and tossed it onto the end table. Leaning back into the cushions of the couch, he stared deeply into the fire, wondering when he'd last celebrated a happy Christmas at home. Irritated with his introspective mood, he checked the time again: eight- thirty-three. Retrieving his cell from the table, he dialed Sarah's number. He wasn't surprised to hear the message telling him she had cut off her phone. She'd more than likely done so before the service and had simply neglected to cut it back on. He left a voice-mail message letting her know he was waiting in her apartment and flopped back onto the couch.
Ten minutes later Clayton was lost in his own thoughts, surrounded by twinkling tree lights and staring deeply into a roaring fire.
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DECEMBER 22, 1968
2:30 PM (EST) LANCASTER DAY SCHOOL MRS. MARSHALL'S KINDERGARTEN CLASS
Ellen Marshall looked over at the little boy industriously cutting out snowflake after snowflake. The small safety scissors were held carefully in his right hand while his left hand kept the tight folds of construction paper steady for each precise cut.
"Maggie, I just don't understand it. His mother's never missed picking him up before. Bless his heart---look at him. So serious about each ornament he's cutting out. Do you think he even realizes how late his mother is?"
"Of course he does, poor little fella. The past thirty minutes must have felt like an eternity to him. How a mother could be so irresponsible as to forget her own child----it just makes me boil. When I think of-."
"No, Maggie. Not Mrs. Webb. She didn't forget him. I don't know what's holding her up, but she didn't forget him. I've seen her with him and she's the real thing. I think the only reason she even brought him to school today was because she wanted Clayton to see Santa Claus with the rest of his class."
"Well, then, I hate to suggest this Ellen, but maybe you'd better let the principal know. And you'd better do it before the last bell for the older kids rings." Seeing her friend's worried look turn to distress, Maggie tried to reassure her. "Look, it could be nothing more than a traffic jam. You stay here with cutie-pie and I'll go get Mr. Hanks. Okay, hon?"
"Yeah, Mags, you're right. It's just..I really appreciate your help Maggie. Yeah, go get Mr. Hanks."
Ellen carefully closed the classroom door and was startled to look down and see large blue-green eyes staring up at her.
"Mother hasn't forgotten me Missus Marshall."
Ellen kneeled down, straightened Clayton's little school tie and tucked it back into his uniform vest. "Honey, did you hear everything Miss Sharpe and I said?"
"Yes, ma'am. I hear lots of stuff. Father says I'm a natural 'cause I can remember stuff almost tatum."
"Tatum?" Ellen paused in brushing some glitter off one of his rosy cheeks. "Do you mean 'verbatim'?"
"Prob'ly. I wasn't sure 'bout that word, but my mother says it's not ne'ssary for a boy my age to know ev'rything."
Mrs. Marshall quickly hugged her young kindergartener, earning a big smile from him. "I'll have to agree with your mother on that one, young man. You want to go see if we can find some orange juice and cookies in the faculty lounge?"
"No thank you, Missus Marshall. I have to wait right here so Mother can find me." He was so serious when he said this that Ellen wanted to giggle-- -particularly when he licked his lips at the mention of some juice and cookies.
"How about if we leave a note for her, then?" his teacher bargained.
Clayton's freckled face screwed up a little as he considered her offer, but he eventually shook his head. "I'm sorry ma'am, but I promised Father I'd do zackly what Mother said. An' she said under no circus stances was I to wander off again."
Ellen stood. "Well, dear, it's not exactly wandering off if I'm with you."
It was obvious that the little boy was really tempted, but he straightened his shoulders and puffed out a little sigh. "I just can't, Missus Marshall. I promised. 'Sides, Father says she gets lost without me an' I don't want Mother to get lost."
"Oh, Clayton. Naturally, you're going to keep your promise." Clayton's proud smile revealed a missing front tooth. "Now that I think about it, I imagine your mother *would* be lost without you. I know if you were my little boy, I'd feel the same way."
"Really, Missus Marshall?" If it was possible, his solemn eyes got wider.
"Really, Clayton. Now, what if I go and get us some juice? Is that okay?" Ellen heard his little tummy start to growl and hid a smile behind her hand.
Clayton's dark head bobbed up and down.
"All right then." Ellen walked to the door and opened it. "You stay here and finish your ornaments and I'll bring us back a little snack."
"Okay," he beamed. "Thank you, Missus Marshall."
The small boy obediently ran back to the craft table and began to form a three-dimensional ornament with his snowflakes. He was carefully spreading sticky white paste onto a red snowflake when he heard the door open. Hastily wiping his hands down the sides of his pants, Clayton looked towards the door and stopped short.
Tears came to his eyes as relief poured through his small body. Hurtling himself across the room, he wrapped his short arms around his mother's legs. She immediately bent down to pick her little boy up. Clayton didn't hesitate. Burying his tear-filled face into her neck, he hung on for dear life. His mother hugged him back, rocking him in her arms just like she did before he started kindergarten.
"I told them you hadn't forgotten me, Mother. I told them!" he cried into her shoulder.
"Oh, Clayton. Darling, I could never forget you. Never! I'm so sorry we're late, so sorry." Porter Webb hugged her son closer and kissed his warm forehead. Sitting him on the tall counter by the door, she opened her small purse and pulled out a packet of tissues. Wiping the tears from his blinking eyes, Porter ran a loving hand through his soft curls. "I'll bet you were a brave young man, weren't you?"
"Uh-huh, (sniff) I tried. An' I stayed right here like you told me." A sticky finger traced a stray tear down Porter's jaw. "Did I get you losted again, Mother?"
"Darling, I'm always lost without you," his mother laughed shakily. "But this time it was your father's fault."
"Father? Father's home?" Clayton's voice was filled with hesitant hope, his bright eyes surrounded by tear-spiked lashes.
A deep voice emerged from the doorway, a voice that had almost become unfamiliar to the young boy. "Right here, son. Home for the holidays, for once."
"Mother," Clay whispered with awe, "it's really him! It's Father, isn't it?"
Porter saw her husband wince at the uncertainty in their son's voice. Neville swallowed hard before he tossed Clayton high into the air and caught him close. "It's me, sport! Honest to God, it's me," he choked out.
Settling Clayton back on the counter, Neville put an arm around his wife and looked down into the small face so like his own. "My God, Porter. Look how he's grown!"
"Yes, you've grown three whole inches over the past seven months, haven't you Clayton?" Porter had already gathered up their son's uniform jacket and warm winter coat. Handing them over to Neville, she placed another kiss on Clayton's cheek and began gathering up his art project to take home.
Neville and Clayton stared at one another for a moment, both inspecting the other for signs of recognition. Clayton saw his father look up at his mother and shake his head. "Have I gotten too big Father? Have I changed too much?" he asked in a sad voice.
"Son, I.Porter? Help me out here, sweetheart?" Neville beseeched his wife for some help, but she continued to carefully place the snowflakes in a paper bag.
"'S'okay, Father. Really. Don't matter." Clayton hung his head down and pumped his legs back and forth, the heels of his shoes methodically hitting the side of the counter. Neville looked down at his little boy, knowing he'd somehow made him feel rejected, but not knowing what to do or say to correct the situation. He looked helplessly in his wife's direction.
Porter threw him a disgusted look, so Neville tried again. Placing a gentle finger under his son's wobbling chin, he raised the small face to his own and looked into eyes that were identical to Porter's. "Clayton, you're my son and I love you. Never doubt that, sport. I love everything about you and I'm just so amazed at how big and strong you've become. Look at you! You grew up while I was gone," Neville smiled.
"Three whole inches---right Mother?" Clayton looked around his father's tall form to seek his mother's confirmation.
"That's right, darling: three whole inches," Porter called out.
Neville began to push Clayton's arms into the uniform jacket and wrap him up for the cold weather outside. Just as he was placing the brightly colored toboggan over his son's curls, Porter walked over and nudged him, "Ask him, Neville."
Neville cleared his throat again. "I understand you had a little visit with Santa Claus today, sport," he ventured.
Clayton gave his father a cautious look. "Yes, sir. He gave me a piece of candy, but I didn't eat it." Right on cue, a little growl came from the vicinity of Clayton's tummy.
His parents shared an amused smile and Neville lifted Clayton onto his broad shoulders. "Oh, Mother, look! I'm on top of the world!" came Clayton's excited squeal.
Neville laughed out loud and Porter grinned up at her husband, planting a grateful kiss on his jaw. "Ask him now," she whispered.
The small family happily waved to Mrs. Marshall and Mr. Hanks as they walked down the hallowed halls of the day school. Neville held Clayton securely on his shoulders as his son clutched his ears for balance. Leaning his head back, Neville finally asked the question Porter had been badgering him about. He wanted to make this the best Christmas ever for his small family. He'd collected several small gifts over the past few months, but he had no idea what his own son wanted for Christmas. Neville had decided that no matter what his son asked for, it would be under the tree on Christmas morning. He'd move heaven and earth to make it so.
"Hey, Sport!"
"Hey, Father!"
"Did you tell Santa Claus what you wanted for Christmas?"
"Yes, sir! Santa Claus is the best!"
"Oh, really?" Neville grinned over at his wife and squeezed her hand. "What'd you ask for, son?"
Neville opened the passenger door of the car for his wife and swung Clayton down from his shoulders. Clayton climbed over his mother's legs and settled on the front seat between his parents.
"Tell your father what you asked for Clayton," Porter prodded.
Neville had just walked around to the driver's side and started the car. Now he leaned one arm on the steering wheel and looked down at his son. "That's right, sport. What's good old Santa Claus supposed to bring you this week?"
"You, Father. I asked Santa to bring you home for Christmas," Clayton piped up, then squirmed toward his mother. Porter picked up his little hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze
"Santa Claus is the best, isn't he Mother?"
"The absolute best, Clayton," Porter assured him. Hearing another growl from his small tummy, Porter asked, "Are you hungry dear?"
"Starved! Breakfast was a long time ago, wasn't it?" Clayton looked up at Neville. For some reason his father was searching through his coat pockets for something. Finally, coming up empty, he loudly cleared his throat and, staring straight ahead, put the car in gear.
"You hungry too, Father?"
Neville just reached down a large hand and patted Clayton's leg. This time, Porter did help him out. "Clayton, I believe your father is even hungrier than you are. It's a good thing I've got a big turkey ready and waiting for us at home. Think that'll do, Clayton?"
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CHRISTMAS EVE, 2003
10:40 PM (EST) MAC'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN
"Clayton? Clay?" Mac shook his shoulder, concerned when she didn't get an immediate response.
"Clay?" Mac placed a hand on his forehead, but he didn't seem overly warm.
"Sarah," came a groggy voice, "Sarah, damnit I'm sorry. Must've drifted off. Sorry."
"Are you sick? You don't have that Fujian flu do you? Please tell me you got the flu shot when it was offered."
"Mmm-hmm. Got the shot." Webb maneuvered himself to a sitting position and came fully awake, wincing a little at the crick in his neck. Gesturing towards her sweats, he asked, "You wear that to the service?"
"Nope. I didn't see you on the couch when I got home, so I figured you stood me up. When I changed out of my uniform and finally saw your coat on the rack, I realized I'd actually stood you up. I'm sorry Clay. About our date, I mean." Mac sat down on the couch beside of him and didn't protest when he took her hand.
It was then that he realized Mac was disturbed about something. "Tell me about it, Sarah," he urged. Clay propped his feet up on the coffee table and rubbed his eyes with his free hand.
Propping her own sock-covered feet beside of his, Mac leaned her head onto his shoulder. "You don't want to hear this Clay," she murmured.
"Yeah, I do, Sarah," he assured her.
"It involves Harm," she warned.
"Does it involve you, too," he wanted to know.
"Sorta," she hedged.
"Then tell me about it, Sarah." Clay lifted her palm to his mouth for a brief kiss. "I'm here for you, don't you know that?"
"Well, you did make it home in time for Christmas, didn't you?" she teased.
Clay opened his eyes and turned to look down at her. Feeling his stare, Mac met his eyes and was warmed by the intense look in Clay's eyes.
"Sarah, I will always be here for you if you'll let me. You're important to me. I missed you, too, you know."
"You did?" Mac closed her eyes again and snuggled into his warm shoulder.
"Yeah, I did. Want to know what I asked Santa for this year?" Clay leaned his head back against the couch and stared into the dying embers of the fire.
"You still believe in Santa Claus?" Mac asked.
"Absolutely. He's the best!" The lilt had returned to Clay's voice and Mac could already feel her mood begin to lighten.
"Okay, what'd you ask for?" The funny thing was, she really wanted to know.
"A Christmas Eve date. With you." Clay was pleased with his answer and Mac was certain that he was telling the truth.
"Really? Did you get it?" Surely Clay wouldn't consider just sitting on the couch with her a real date. It felt right to her, but men were different..
"I'm here. You're here. You said yes on my voice-mail. And it's still Christmas Eve. What would you say?" Well, he didn't sound disappointed--- quite the opposite, in fact.
"I say you don't ask for much." Sarah brought their hands up to her lips and studied his hand wrapped protectively around her own.
"Seems like plenty to me," he assured her.
"Oh, Clay. How do you manage to keep saying and doing all the right things? It's scary, you know?"
"Yeah? Well, I promise you I don't do it on purpose. You asked me to be honest with you and I'm just being honest. Hey, it's strange for me, too."
"Did I ever tell you what a turn-on this honesty of yours is?" As soon as she said it, Mac wanted to take it back. It was too revealing for her to face right now.
"No, you didn't. Care to rectify that?" he suggested.
"Maybe later," she jokingly promised.
"Don't forget." Clay gruffly warned her.
Mac snorted, "As if you'd let me!"
"You're right," he assured her. "I won't let you forget."
They rested in companionable silence while the fire crackled down to a faint glow. Neither was actually sleepy, but both were reluctant to disturb the comfort zone they'd created. "Clay?"
"Hmm?" He turned his head toward hers.
"This couch is pretty comfortable isn't it?" Mac pulled her hand from his and smoothed down his shirt-sleeve.
"Mm-hmmm." Clay reached over and shifted a lock of hair out of her eyes.
"Think maybe we can just stay here until Santa arrives?" Mac's gaze never left the dying embers in the fireplace.
"Mm-hmmm." Clay turned her head towards his and nodded his head in agreement.
Mac's smile was echoed in her eyes. "'Kay. Merry Christmas, Clay."
Clay pulled Mac into his arms and kissed her with an undemanding passion. Just as she was starting to respond, he pulled back. "Merry Christmas, Sarah. You ready to discuss how my honesty turns you on yet?"
Mac licked her lips and kept her arms locked around his neck. "Something tells me I'll need to be fully alert for that discussion. Can I have a rain check on that? Maybe tomorrow?"
"Depends. You got any plans for tomorrow?"
Mac pulled her arms down to his chest and plucked at his sweater. "I sort of assumed any plans would include you."
Clay dropped a kiss on her forehead and settled back against the cushions. "Good assumption. Think we could squeeze in a visit to my mother's. I told her I might bring along a friend this year."
Mac leaned up on her elbow and looked down at him. "You don't think she'll mind?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"All right." She settled back down beside of him. "We'll squeeze in a visit to your mother."
"Thank you, Sarah. It means a lot to me." He raised his arms up and crossed them behind his head. "You still haven't told me about Rabb, you know. Going to keep me in suspense?"
"No, but let's hold off on that one 'til later. Okay?"
"Not a problem." A stomach growled, breaking their lazy silence. They both laughed and Clay asked, "Hungry?"
"Starved! You?"
"Running on empty," he confessed.
Neither moved from the couch. "I made a pot roast yesterday. Wanna heat it up?"
Clay shifted a little. "Ah, so the crock pot comes in handy, does it?"
"Yeah, you were right. It was a thoughtful birthday present, okay?" Mac tried to sit up a little. "I'm sorry I razzed you about it."
"'S'okay. I should be getting used to it. At least you're eating some healthy meals these days."
The joking insult instantly brought Mac to life. "Look, for your information, I've always eaten healthy meals. And I've rarely been sick a day in my life, Mr. If-It's-Cold-Outside-Then-I-Must-Have-One-Too."
Clay visibly winced. "Ouch. Don't tempt the fates there, Sarah." He pulled his feet down from the coffee table and reluctantly dragged himself up from the warmth of the couch. Reaching down for Mac's hand, he pulled her up beside him and pushed her ahead of him towards the kitchen.
"Clay, did you bring any more of that Italian roast coffee with you. I drank up the last of it this morning."
"There's more in the freezer."
Mac glanced back over her shoulder, "The freezer?"
"Behind your stash of chocolate chip ice cream and the Nutty Buddies."
"When'd you put it there?"
Clay merely smiled.
"Right." Mac pushed him towards the coffee-maker. "You get the coffee started and I'll nuke the leftovers. Nutty Buddies for dessert?"
"Absolutely," Clay agreed. "What more could a man ask for on the perfect Christmas Eve date?"
Mac leaned back against the counter, suddenly unsure of herself. "I'm sorry, Clay."
"For what?" Clay was filling the glass carafe with water. "This is perfect. A home-cooked meal, scintillating conversation, the companionship of a truly fantastic woman---*and* Nutty Buddies?" He shoved the carafe back into the coffee-maker and spread open his arms. "Sarah, men have died for less."
Mac was giggling uncontrollably. "Oh, Clay. I've missed you."
"Yeah? Me, too. I've missed you, too." Clay caressed her cheek, then quickly opened the freezer. "C'mon slowpoke, let's get it in gear before we both starve to death."
Mac stared at his back for a moment and smiled. She flipped on the radio and "Jingle Bell Rock" soon filled the small kitchen with its merry refrain. As the midnight hour approached, they sang and danced around the confined space until their feast was ready. When all was said and done, it was one of the best dates either one of them had ever experienced.
~~~~~~~~~~HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
Rating: PG
Spoilers: JAG Episode - "A Merry Little Christmas"
Disclaimer: Apologies to Viacom, Paramount & Belisarius Productions for borrowing some JAG characters and taking them in a different direction.
Summary: Two questions pulled at me when I saw this year's JAG Holiday episode---where was Webb and what kind of date would Clay and Sarah have on Christmas Eve? I've embellished and taken outrageous liberties with the Webb backstory, but it's angsty enough to suit me. :D
Author's Note: First, always keep in mind that I am NOT a writer. As a result, reading any of my scribblings is always a risk. Also, at this time of the year, I'm a sucker for all of those Hallmark Hall of Fame Christmas specials---even the commercials (like the one where the young boy brings a shoebox to school for show-and-tell and each holiday ornament inside represents a year in his life) can make me reach for the tissues. Yes, 'tis the season for sappy and sweet! So be warned---the sap runneth over. [BTW, I sometimes begin sentences with 'and' or 'but' and even end sentences with prepositions. Heck, sometimes I just put punctuation at the end of phrases. It's probably because I can't do that in RL! ]
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CHRISTMAS EVE, 2003
5:30 PM (EST) MAC'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN
Mac punched in his number from memory and impatiently waited for Webb to pick up. All afternoon she'd felt a bit lost and unsettled. Vouching for Harm and trying to convince the judge that he was wonderful daddy material had drained her. Despite everything, even all the pettiness and distance the last few months had generated between them, she honestly did feel that Harm would make a wonderful father some day. What jolted her was the realization that she no longer thought of him as a daddy-candidate for *her* future children. When had that happened?
Webb's voice-mail message began its run and Mac nearly screamed with frustration. She wanted to speak to Clay and she wanted to speak to him now. Three days of silence had convinced her that he was off coordinating some type of op for the agency. Why was it only when she couldn't contact him that she realized how much she missed him? She missed..Webb? When had that happened?
But, damn---she really did. She'd gotten used to their late-night dinners and the way he just happened to keep her refrigerator stocked with his favorite soft drink. Right now she just missed his reassuring presence and the way he actually listened to what she had to say. She missed how honest he was about his feelings and she even missed his totally over-the-top suggestive remarks. Somehow he never seemed to push but always made it clear that she was the one he wanted. Well, where was he when she wanted him---like now? Mac heard the beep at the end of his voice-mail and left a message:
"Clay, this is Sarah. Look, I, uh, I got your message. I'm not even going to ask how you got it to flash on my monitor---but don't mess with my laptop again, understand Spook? And, uh, okay. A Christmas Eve date sounds good, really good. Can we make it around eight? I'm going to attend Chaplain Turner's annual service around seven-thirty. Come if you can---it's at the Navy Chapel on Third. I'll be home as soon as I can--- just use the spare key and make yourself at home. And Clay? I've.I've.missed you. Merry Christmas!"
Mac slowly replaced the receiver and felt ridiculous. So she missed him. Why not tell him? Running an agitated hand through her short hair, Mac headed for the bathroom to touch up her make-up. If she could get out of the apartment within the next twenty minutes, she might just make it back to her office before traffic got too heavy. Hopefully, she could pick up a couple of legal briefs without being late to the chapel.
===============================================================
CHRISTMAS EVE, 2003
7:40 PM (EST) MAC'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN
Webb leaned back against the door and pocketed the key he'd just used. He was so tired, he'd nearly begged off when he'd accessed Mac's message two hours earlier. He knew she'd understand, but.well, she'd actually said she'd missed him. Nothing on this earth---not even the exhaustion he was experiencing from three straight days of tracking false leads on terrorist cells---could keep him from this date with Sarah tonight.
He removed his black wool overcoat and hung it on the coat rack. Looking around at the mail piled up on her desk and the Marine Corp mug still sitting on the coffee table, Webb released a sigh of satisfaction. Stepping into Mac's apartment was like coming home. No, it was better than coming home. His home felt empty and lifeless while hers seemed like a haven from the rest of the world. The elaborate Christmas tree and its twinkling lights caught his attention. Walking over, he absently fingered a lace-and-felt ornament. Staring intently at the homemade angel, he tried to recall the last time he'd actually trimmed a tree. There must have been some tree he'd helped to decorate in his youth, but he just couldn't think of one. Frowning at this oversight, Webb bent down and placed his gift to Sarah under the tree.
Wandering over to the mantle, Webb picked up a toy elf and grinned: he loved that about Sarah---she still let the kid in her shine through. Most people would adorn their homes with long, tapered candles or carefully selected pinecones, but Sarah had all sorts of colorful toys jumbled among the holly and ivy. A red Hot Wheels car caught his eye. Webb picked it up and ran it along the edge of the mantle for a few moments, remembering his own collection from childhood. Stopping just short of making car sounds while the small wheels careened around the edge of miniature teddy bear, Webb brought the car to a screeching halt and laughed out loud. Replacing the red metal toy more or less where he'd found it, Webb stood back and looked down at the fireplace.
Feeling in the mood for a cozy fire all of a sudden, he hefted a couple of Mac's pre-cut logs onto the grate and opened the flue. By the time Webb had gotten the logs lit and the screen in place, he had shed his jacket and tie. Brushing some stray specks of bark from his green sweater vest, he headed for the kitchen to wash up. Rolling up his sleeves, he automatically checked out the neatly appointed kitchen nook as he scrubbed his hands.
Grabbing up a snowman towel, Webb shot a look at the luminescent numbers on the microwave. Eight oh-two---the service must be over by now. She had asked him to join them, but he just wasn't in a socializing mood tonight. And he was thirsty. Snatching a can of Cherry Coke out of the fridge, Webb popped the top and drank deeply as he approached the couch. Making himself comfortable, he decided to make the phone call he'd been putting off all afternoon.
Pulling a cell phone out of the jacket he'd draped over the back of the couch, he let out a deep breath. Taking another swallow of the icy soda, Webb leaned back and just absorbed the warmth of the fire and the comfort of the Christmas tree lights. He didn't exactly dread this call. He was just so drained right now that he didn't think he could muster the right degree of joviality it required.
One last swallow of Cherry Coke and he hit the send button and raised the phone to his ear. She answered on the fifth ring.
"Hello, Mother. Clayton here." There, that sounded appropriately energetic and happy.
"Oh, Clayton! How are you dear?"
"Fine, fine. And you, Mother?" Webb began tapping his forefinger on the arm of the couch.
"Oh, darling, I'm the same as ever. I'm so glad you called! Will I be seeing you tomorrow or does the job come first again?"
Porter Webb had a knack for making her only son feel guilty even when he had the best of intentions. "Mother."
"I know dear. You've grown so much like your father over the years, but I do understand Clayton."
That was the problem---he was nothing like his father. He'd tried to be, but had given up about five years ago. Seeing Rabb chase that ghost had finally convinced him to let go. "No, Mother, you don't."
"Don't I?" That knowing sound in his mother's voice brought a reluctant smile to his face. That was the great cosmic joke in her life. She never did really understand what was going on. Sometimes she was good at guessing and she was great at bluffing, but the very nature of his father's work had left her alone and resigned for the most part. Once she had quit the agency to raise her family---him---she'd been totally left out of the loop. That he had chosen the same profession as his father had neither surprised nor pleased her. Hell, maybe she did understand.
"No, because I'm definitely coming home for Christmas tomorrow. Christmas wouldn't be the same without you, Mother. I hope you know that."
"Darling, I do know. I love you, too, son." Well, damn---she did understand.
"I should hope so! And Mother? I, uh, I might bring a friend."
"Really?" Uh-oh, that was a suggestive word.
"Yes. Maybe. It's not confirmed yet."
Webb heard a light sigh before she responded. He hated not being able to tell her anything definite, but Sarah might say no. She might have other plans. Then where would he be? "All right dear. I can tell I'm not supposed to ask any questions, but can I just say one thing?"
"Okay." Best to play it cautious here---there was no telling what his mother might say.
"I hope she says yes, dear. I'd like to meet her." Damn, how did she know? What had he said? This was why he'd been putting off the call, damnit!
"Take care of yourself Mother---I'll see you tomorrow."
"Goodnight, Clayton. And good luck!" He heard the teasing in his mother's voice but was determined not to give away any more information.
"Merry Christmas, Mother."
"Merry Christmas, dear."
Webb flipped his silver cell phone closed and tossed it onto the end table. Leaning back into the cushions of the couch, he stared deeply into the fire, wondering when he'd last celebrated a happy Christmas at home. Irritated with his introspective mood, he checked the time again: eight- thirty-three. Retrieving his cell from the table, he dialed Sarah's number. He wasn't surprised to hear the message telling him she had cut off her phone. She'd more than likely done so before the service and had simply neglected to cut it back on. He left a voice-mail message letting her know he was waiting in her apartment and flopped back onto the couch.
Ten minutes later Clayton was lost in his own thoughts, surrounded by twinkling tree lights and staring deeply into a roaring fire.
===============================================================
DECEMBER 22, 1968
2:30 PM (EST) LANCASTER DAY SCHOOL MRS. MARSHALL'S KINDERGARTEN CLASS
Ellen Marshall looked over at the little boy industriously cutting out snowflake after snowflake. The small safety scissors were held carefully in his right hand while his left hand kept the tight folds of construction paper steady for each precise cut.
"Maggie, I just don't understand it. His mother's never missed picking him up before. Bless his heart---look at him. So serious about each ornament he's cutting out. Do you think he even realizes how late his mother is?"
"Of course he does, poor little fella. The past thirty minutes must have felt like an eternity to him. How a mother could be so irresponsible as to forget her own child----it just makes me boil. When I think of-."
"No, Maggie. Not Mrs. Webb. She didn't forget him. I don't know what's holding her up, but she didn't forget him. I've seen her with him and she's the real thing. I think the only reason she even brought him to school today was because she wanted Clayton to see Santa Claus with the rest of his class."
"Well, then, I hate to suggest this Ellen, but maybe you'd better let the principal know. And you'd better do it before the last bell for the older kids rings." Seeing her friend's worried look turn to distress, Maggie tried to reassure her. "Look, it could be nothing more than a traffic jam. You stay here with cutie-pie and I'll go get Mr. Hanks. Okay, hon?"
"Yeah, Mags, you're right. It's just..I really appreciate your help Maggie. Yeah, go get Mr. Hanks."
Ellen carefully closed the classroom door and was startled to look down and see large blue-green eyes staring up at her.
"Mother hasn't forgotten me Missus Marshall."
Ellen kneeled down, straightened Clayton's little school tie and tucked it back into his uniform vest. "Honey, did you hear everything Miss Sharpe and I said?"
"Yes, ma'am. I hear lots of stuff. Father says I'm a natural 'cause I can remember stuff almost tatum."
"Tatum?" Ellen paused in brushing some glitter off one of his rosy cheeks. "Do you mean 'verbatim'?"
"Prob'ly. I wasn't sure 'bout that word, but my mother says it's not ne'ssary for a boy my age to know ev'rything."
Mrs. Marshall quickly hugged her young kindergartener, earning a big smile from him. "I'll have to agree with your mother on that one, young man. You want to go see if we can find some orange juice and cookies in the faculty lounge?"
"No thank you, Missus Marshall. I have to wait right here so Mother can find me." He was so serious when he said this that Ellen wanted to giggle-- -particularly when he licked his lips at the mention of some juice and cookies.
"How about if we leave a note for her, then?" his teacher bargained.
Clayton's freckled face screwed up a little as he considered her offer, but he eventually shook his head. "I'm sorry ma'am, but I promised Father I'd do zackly what Mother said. An' she said under no circus stances was I to wander off again."
Ellen stood. "Well, dear, it's not exactly wandering off if I'm with you."
It was obvious that the little boy was really tempted, but he straightened his shoulders and puffed out a little sigh. "I just can't, Missus Marshall. I promised. 'Sides, Father says she gets lost without me an' I don't want Mother to get lost."
"Oh, Clayton. Naturally, you're going to keep your promise." Clayton's proud smile revealed a missing front tooth. "Now that I think about it, I imagine your mother *would* be lost without you. I know if you were my little boy, I'd feel the same way."
"Really, Missus Marshall?" If it was possible, his solemn eyes got wider.
"Really, Clayton. Now, what if I go and get us some juice? Is that okay?" Ellen heard his little tummy start to growl and hid a smile behind her hand.
Clayton's dark head bobbed up and down.
"All right then." Ellen walked to the door and opened it. "You stay here and finish your ornaments and I'll bring us back a little snack."
"Okay," he beamed. "Thank you, Missus Marshall."
The small boy obediently ran back to the craft table and began to form a three-dimensional ornament with his snowflakes. He was carefully spreading sticky white paste onto a red snowflake when he heard the door open. Hastily wiping his hands down the sides of his pants, Clayton looked towards the door and stopped short.
Tears came to his eyes as relief poured through his small body. Hurtling himself across the room, he wrapped his short arms around his mother's legs. She immediately bent down to pick her little boy up. Clayton didn't hesitate. Burying his tear-filled face into her neck, he hung on for dear life. His mother hugged him back, rocking him in her arms just like she did before he started kindergarten.
"I told them you hadn't forgotten me, Mother. I told them!" he cried into her shoulder.
"Oh, Clayton. Darling, I could never forget you. Never! I'm so sorry we're late, so sorry." Porter Webb hugged her son closer and kissed his warm forehead. Sitting him on the tall counter by the door, she opened her small purse and pulled out a packet of tissues. Wiping the tears from his blinking eyes, Porter ran a loving hand through his soft curls. "I'll bet you were a brave young man, weren't you?"
"Uh-huh, (sniff) I tried. An' I stayed right here like you told me." A sticky finger traced a stray tear down Porter's jaw. "Did I get you losted again, Mother?"
"Darling, I'm always lost without you," his mother laughed shakily. "But this time it was your father's fault."
"Father? Father's home?" Clayton's voice was filled with hesitant hope, his bright eyes surrounded by tear-spiked lashes.
A deep voice emerged from the doorway, a voice that had almost become unfamiliar to the young boy. "Right here, son. Home for the holidays, for once."
"Mother," Clay whispered with awe, "it's really him! It's Father, isn't it?"
Porter saw her husband wince at the uncertainty in their son's voice. Neville swallowed hard before he tossed Clayton high into the air and caught him close. "It's me, sport! Honest to God, it's me," he choked out.
Settling Clayton back on the counter, Neville put an arm around his wife and looked down into the small face so like his own. "My God, Porter. Look how he's grown!"
"Yes, you've grown three whole inches over the past seven months, haven't you Clayton?" Porter had already gathered up their son's uniform jacket and warm winter coat. Handing them over to Neville, she placed another kiss on Clayton's cheek and began gathering up his art project to take home.
Neville and Clayton stared at one another for a moment, both inspecting the other for signs of recognition. Clayton saw his father look up at his mother and shake his head. "Have I gotten too big Father? Have I changed too much?" he asked in a sad voice.
"Son, I.Porter? Help me out here, sweetheart?" Neville beseeched his wife for some help, but she continued to carefully place the snowflakes in a paper bag.
"'S'okay, Father. Really. Don't matter." Clayton hung his head down and pumped his legs back and forth, the heels of his shoes methodically hitting the side of the counter. Neville looked down at his little boy, knowing he'd somehow made him feel rejected, but not knowing what to do or say to correct the situation. He looked helplessly in his wife's direction.
Porter threw him a disgusted look, so Neville tried again. Placing a gentle finger under his son's wobbling chin, he raised the small face to his own and looked into eyes that were identical to Porter's. "Clayton, you're my son and I love you. Never doubt that, sport. I love everything about you and I'm just so amazed at how big and strong you've become. Look at you! You grew up while I was gone," Neville smiled.
"Three whole inches---right Mother?" Clayton looked around his father's tall form to seek his mother's confirmation.
"That's right, darling: three whole inches," Porter called out.
Neville began to push Clayton's arms into the uniform jacket and wrap him up for the cold weather outside. Just as he was placing the brightly colored toboggan over his son's curls, Porter walked over and nudged him, "Ask him, Neville."
Neville cleared his throat again. "I understand you had a little visit with Santa Claus today, sport," he ventured.
Clayton gave his father a cautious look. "Yes, sir. He gave me a piece of candy, but I didn't eat it." Right on cue, a little growl came from the vicinity of Clayton's tummy.
His parents shared an amused smile and Neville lifted Clayton onto his broad shoulders. "Oh, Mother, look! I'm on top of the world!" came Clayton's excited squeal.
Neville laughed out loud and Porter grinned up at her husband, planting a grateful kiss on his jaw. "Ask him now," she whispered.
The small family happily waved to Mrs. Marshall and Mr. Hanks as they walked down the hallowed halls of the day school. Neville held Clayton securely on his shoulders as his son clutched his ears for balance. Leaning his head back, Neville finally asked the question Porter had been badgering him about. He wanted to make this the best Christmas ever for his small family. He'd collected several small gifts over the past few months, but he had no idea what his own son wanted for Christmas. Neville had decided that no matter what his son asked for, it would be under the tree on Christmas morning. He'd move heaven and earth to make it so.
"Hey, Sport!"
"Hey, Father!"
"Did you tell Santa Claus what you wanted for Christmas?"
"Yes, sir! Santa Claus is the best!"
"Oh, really?" Neville grinned over at his wife and squeezed her hand. "What'd you ask for, son?"
Neville opened the passenger door of the car for his wife and swung Clayton down from his shoulders. Clayton climbed over his mother's legs and settled on the front seat between his parents.
"Tell your father what you asked for Clayton," Porter prodded.
Neville had just walked around to the driver's side and started the car. Now he leaned one arm on the steering wheel and looked down at his son. "That's right, sport. What's good old Santa Claus supposed to bring you this week?"
"You, Father. I asked Santa to bring you home for Christmas," Clayton piped up, then squirmed toward his mother. Porter picked up his little hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze
"Santa Claus is the best, isn't he Mother?"
"The absolute best, Clayton," Porter assured him. Hearing another growl from his small tummy, Porter asked, "Are you hungry dear?"
"Starved! Breakfast was a long time ago, wasn't it?" Clayton looked up at Neville. For some reason his father was searching through his coat pockets for something. Finally, coming up empty, he loudly cleared his throat and, staring straight ahead, put the car in gear.
"You hungry too, Father?"
Neville just reached down a large hand and patted Clayton's leg. This time, Porter did help him out. "Clayton, I believe your father is even hungrier than you are. It's a good thing I've got a big turkey ready and waiting for us at home. Think that'll do, Clayton?"
===============================================================
CHRISTMAS EVE, 2003
10:40 PM (EST) MAC'S APARTMENT GEORGETOWN
"Clayton? Clay?" Mac shook his shoulder, concerned when she didn't get an immediate response.
"Clay?" Mac placed a hand on his forehead, but he didn't seem overly warm.
"Sarah," came a groggy voice, "Sarah, damnit I'm sorry. Must've drifted off. Sorry."
"Are you sick? You don't have that Fujian flu do you? Please tell me you got the flu shot when it was offered."
"Mmm-hmm. Got the shot." Webb maneuvered himself to a sitting position and came fully awake, wincing a little at the crick in his neck. Gesturing towards her sweats, he asked, "You wear that to the service?"
"Nope. I didn't see you on the couch when I got home, so I figured you stood me up. When I changed out of my uniform and finally saw your coat on the rack, I realized I'd actually stood you up. I'm sorry Clay. About our date, I mean." Mac sat down on the couch beside of him and didn't protest when he took her hand.
It was then that he realized Mac was disturbed about something. "Tell me about it, Sarah," he urged. Clay propped his feet up on the coffee table and rubbed his eyes with his free hand.
Propping her own sock-covered feet beside of his, Mac leaned her head onto his shoulder. "You don't want to hear this Clay," she murmured.
"Yeah, I do, Sarah," he assured her.
"It involves Harm," she warned.
"Does it involve you, too," he wanted to know.
"Sorta," she hedged.
"Then tell me about it, Sarah." Clay lifted her palm to his mouth for a brief kiss. "I'm here for you, don't you know that?"
"Well, you did make it home in time for Christmas, didn't you?" she teased.
Clay opened his eyes and turned to look down at her. Feeling his stare, Mac met his eyes and was warmed by the intense look in Clay's eyes.
"Sarah, I will always be here for you if you'll let me. You're important to me. I missed you, too, you know."
"You did?" Mac closed her eyes again and snuggled into his warm shoulder.
"Yeah, I did. Want to know what I asked Santa for this year?" Clay leaned his head back against the couch and stared into the dying embers of the fire.
"You still believe in Santa Claus?" Mac asked.
"Absolutely. He's the best!" The lilt had returned to Clay's voice and Mac could already feel her mood begin to lighten.
"Okay, what'd you ask for?" The funny thing was, she really wanted to know.
"A Christmas Eve date. With you." Clay was pleased with his answer and Mac was certain that he was telling the truth.
"Really? Did you get it?" Surely Clay wouldn't consider just sitting on the couch with her a real date. It felt right to her, but men were different..
"I'm here. You're here. You said yes on my voice-mail. And it's still Christmas Eve. What would you say?" Well, he didn't sound disappointed--- quite the opposite, in fact.
"I say you don't ask for much." Sarah brought their hands up to her lips and studied his hand wrapped protectively around her own.
"Seems like plenty to me," he assured her.
"Oh, Clay. How do you manage to keep saying and doing all the right things? It's scary, you know?"
"Yeah? Well, I promise you I don't do it on purpose. You asked me to be honest with you and I'm just being honest. Hey, it's strange for me, too."
"Did I ever tell you what a turn-on this honesty of yours is?" As soon as she said it, Mac wanted to take it back. It was too revealing for her to face right now.
"No, you didn't. Care to rectify that?" he suggested.
"Maybe later," she jokingly promised.
"Don't forget." Clay gruffly warned her.
Mac snorted, "As if you'd let me!"
"You're right," he assured her. "I won't let you forget."
They rested in companionable silence while the fire crackled down to a faint glow. Neither was actually sleepy, but both were reluctant to disturb the comfort zone they'd created. "Clay?"
"Hmm?" He turned his head toward hers.
"This couch is pretty comfortable isn't it?" Mac pulled her hand from his and smoothed down his shirt-sleeve.
"Mm-hmmm." Clay reached over and shifted a lock of hair out of her eyes.
"Think maybe we can just stay here until Santa arrives?" Mac's gaze never left the dying embers in the fireplace.
"Mm-hmmm." Clay turned her head towards his and nodded his head in agreement.
Mac's smile was echoed in her eyes. "'Kay. Merry Christmas, Clay."
Clay pulled Mac into his arms and kissed her with an undemanding passion. Just as she was starting to respond, he pulled back. "Merry Christmas, Sarah. You ready to discuss how my honesty turns you on yet?"
Mac licked her lips and kept her arms locked around his neck. "Something tells me I'll need to be fully alert for that discussion. Can I have a rain check on that? Maybe tomorrow?"
"Depends. You got any plans for tomorrow?"
Mac pulled her arms down to his chest and plucked at his sweater. "I sort of assumed any plans would include you."
Clay dropped a kiss on her forehead and settled back against the cushions. "Good assumption. Think we could squeeze in a visit to my mother's. I told her I might bring along a friend this year."
Mac leaned up on her elbow and looked down at him. "You don't think she'll mind?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"All right." She settled back down beside of him. "We'll squeeze in a visit to your mother."
"Thank you, Sarah. It means a lot to me." He raised his arms up and crossed them behind his head. "You still haven't told me about Rabb, you know. Going to keep me in suspense?"
"No, but let's hold off on that one 'til later. Okay?"
"Not a problem." A stomach growled, breaking their lazy silence. They both laughed and Clay asked, "Hungry?"
"Starved! You?"
"Running on empty," he confessed.
Neither moved from the couch. "I made a pot roast yesterday. Wanna heat it up?"
Clay shifted a little. "Ah, so the crock pot comes in handy, does it?"
"Yeah, you were right. It was a thoughtful birthday present, okay?" Mac tried to sit up a little. "I'm sorry I razzed you about it."
"'S'okay. I should be getting used to it. At least you're eating some healthy meals these days."
The joking insult instantly brought Mac to life. "Look, for your information, I've always eaten healthy meals. And I've rarely been sick a day in my life, Mr. If-It's-Cold-Outside-Then-I-Must-Have-One-Too."
Clay visibly winced. "Ouch. Don't tempt the fates there, Sarah." He pulled his feet down from the coffee table and reluctantly dragged himself up from the warmth of the couch. Reaching down for Mac's hand, he pulled her up beside him and pushed her ahead of him towards the kitchen.
"Clay, did you bring any more of that Italian roast coffee with you. I drank up the last of it this morning."
"There's more in the freezer."
Mac glanced back over her shoulder, "The freezer?"
"Behind your stash of chocolate chip ice cream and the Nutty Buddies."
"When'd you put it there?"
Clay merely smiled.
"Right." Mac pushed him towards the coffee-maker. "You get the coffee started and I'll nuke the leftovers. Nutty Buddies for dessert?"
"Absolutely," Clay agreed. "What more could a man ask for on the perfect Christmas Eve date?"
Mac leaned back against the counter, suddenly unsure of herself. "I'm sorry, Clay."
"For what?" Clay was filling the glass carafe with water. "This is perfect. A home-cooked meal, scintillating conversation, the companionship of a truly fantastic woman---*and* Nutty Buddies?" He shoved the carafe back into the coffee-maker and spread open his arms. "Sarah, men have died for less."
Mac was giggling uncontrollably. "Oh, Clay. I've missed you."
"Yeah? Me, too. I've missed you, too." Clay caressed her cheek, then quickly opened the freezer. "C'mon slowpoke, let's get it in gear before we both starve to death."
Mac stared at his back for a moment and smiled. She flipped on the radio and "Jingle Bell Rock" soon filled the small kitchen with its merry refrain. As the midnight hour approached, they sang and danced around the confined space until their feast was ready. When all was said and done, it was one of the best dates either one of them had ever experienced.
~~~~~~~~~~HAPPY HOLIDAYS!