A VERY KERRY CHRISTMAS

Part 2: ' O' Christmas Tree'

"Cut down our own tree? Are we lumberjacks now, Fi?" Michael thought the idea bordered on insanity.

"It should be fun." Fiona grinned at her partner hoping her enthusiasm would be contagious.

"Fun? As I recall your usual idea of fun often involves car chases at a hundred miles an hour, blowing something up, or tasing someone." The former spy had many 'fun' experiences with the woman; arboriculture never entered the picture before. "Frankly, any of those options sound better than slogging around some tree farm in rural Kerry." He glanced through the rear view mirror instinctively checking for a tail.

Fiona's smile faded. "Fine." She stared out the window, momentarily silent, Michael believing the matter was settled. "I'll take Charlie myself. Ya can sit around the cottage musin' about our uncertain future." Michael frowned, her words ringing true. They had a whole new life, a life that he wanted, but he had no idea how to live it. "You are responsible for that little boy." She cocked her head toward the sleeping child in the back seat. "He needs a childhood. As long as I'm around I intend to give him one." Her jaw jutted out, her eyebrows raised, daring him to challenge her.

Michael heard the reprimand in her voice. He glanced through the rear view mirror once more. This time he focused on the sleeping child rather than surveillance. He would do anything for the two people who had accompanied him into 'death'. He intended to have Fiona by his side for eternity, so he had better follow her lead. "Exactly where is this tree farm?" Fiona realised she had won another argument. Little by little, she planned to ease Michael Westen into civilian life, not for herself, but for their forty-pound bundle of joy. She placed a hand gently on his thigh and outlined their next mission.

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A week later Michael found himself back in the car armed with bag of pull-ups and every edible item that he found in the cottage as the O'Donovan family once again headed for Tralee.

"I don't know why you're in such a bad mood about this, Michael?" Fiona confronted her partner once more. "You must have some happy memories of Christmas?"

"Actually, I do." Michael nodded slowly. "The first year that I was in the Army. We had a turkey dinner - that wasn't burnt - and an extra day of leave. I slept like a baby."

A giggle erupted from the back seat. "Like a baby!" Charlie imagined Uncle Michael in diapers.

Michael reminded Fiona of his objections to this current outing. "I still don't see why we have to drive all the way to Tralee to cut down a tree. We live in a damn forest, Fiona. Why don't we just cut one down?"

"Uncle Michael said 'damn'." Another burst of laughter from the backseat.

"Uncle Michael's goin' to get his mouth washed out with soap." She glared at the man. Michael caught Charlie's eye through the rear view mirror and mumbled an apology. "As for cutting down a tree by the cottage, the land about us is either privately owned or designated park land. It would be stealing to take one of those." She lifted her eyebrows believing that fact settled the matter.

"You used to rob banks for a living." Michael was not willing to let the matter drop. "Since when have you shied away from lifting something for a good cause?"

"That was for the 'RA not my benefit." Her voice began to rise. "I think that you are confusing me with another one of your women. You know the one you were engaged to? She was the thief."

Charlie's face showed concern. "Are you fighting?"

Both adults shouted simultaneously, "No." Then, they sighed heavily and grew silent.

After a few quiet moments, Fiona turned to Charlie and flashed a comforting smile. She told the boy a story about her own childhood. "Mostly, we went to a lot in town to get our tree, but there was one year when me da was not in remand and he decided to pile us all in the car and drive to Down to cut our own. Me brothers ran about the place. They all picked up little saws, hacking away at branches at random. Me mam threatening to call Father Christmas to put them all on the naughty list." She smiled as she recalled the day, but soon her thoughts turned. "Come to think of it, I think we were told never to come back."

Michael eyes shifted toward her, thinking the content of this childhood memory was far worse that his use of a 'bad' word. "Fi." The use of her name returned her to the present. "Have you noticed that most of your warm family moments involved being thrown out of a place?" The woman turned pensive as she searched her memory for evidence to dispute that claim, but came up empty, and remained silent.

"Did you ever cut down a tree, Michael?" Charlie posed the question to his uncle.

"No. Our tree came from a box in the garage, my mom arguing with my dad about who was going to get it and set it up. Usually, she and Nate would put it together." Now it was Michael's turn to smile. It was rare for there to be laughter in the Westen household but this yearly ritual always provided a great deal of it. Madeline would set out some cookies and Nate would carefully insert the branches, chatting about his Christmas wishes that were rarely granted. Michael would sit at the table and put together one of his model airplanes. Never participating in the ritual but wanting to experience the all too brief happy moment in their household.

He realised that was what Fiona was trying to do for Charlie, that's what Nate and his mom would want for the youngster. He sighed heavily vowing to be more positive. His promise was soon broken, however, as a rousing chorus of "Jingle Bells" erupted from the back seat, Charlie belting out the song at the top of his lungs, getting about half of the lyrics correct. The rest of the words were in an unintelligible language of Charlie's making. Michael stole a glance toward Fiona, hoping she would intervene and put a stop to the performance. She swallowed hard before quietly inserting a set of ear buds, lessening if not eliminating the sound. Michael was not similarly prepared. He cursed her silently. It was going to be a very long drive.

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The car slowed, Charlie's squeal announcing their arrival. He strained at the bonds of his car seat anxious to move and begin the hunt for the perfect tree. Fiona placed a hand on Michael's thigh. "We'll get started. Why don't you take a few minutes?" She knew her partner needed some solitude, time to regroup, and prepare for the coming mission. Whether Michael Westen was hunting for a terrorist network or a Nordmann fir, he approached each operation in a similar way. He nodded briefly, appreciative of her gesture. Fiona lifted Charlie from the car and the two quickly disappeared into a sea of green.

Michael thought about staying in the car or driving away briefly, insisting there was an essential errand demanding his immediate attention. Either choice would likely result in Fiona's wrath. He had made his choice on that rooftop in Miami- he had turned his life over to her. If this was what she wanted, he would dig deep and see it through. With a sigh and a groan, he eased himself from the vehicle and went in search of his family.

They were not difficult to locate. He simply followed the sound of Charlie's laughter. He moved swiftly to join them, never spotting the boggy ground separating them. "SH..." He stopped himself before the word tumbled from his lips, reluctant to face another admonishment from Fiona. His jaw clenched as he attempted to remove his feet from the viscous substance.

Fiona watched him struggle for several minutes. "I told ya, ya should get some wellies like the rest of us, but ya insisted those combat boots were waterproof." Michael Westen had scoffed at that suggestion. He used to wear Armani. He had not sunk so low that he was about to clomp around in knee high wellies looking like a sheep farmer. At the moment, he was bitterly regretting that decision.

Once on solid ground, Michael stared at his feet, now caked with peat and whatever else it was combined with. Charlie drew closer, squatting down to inspect his uncle's footwear. "Yeah. They are waterproof. I was not expecting a sinkhole in the middle of a Christmas tree farm, Fiona. Seems like a liability. Surprised they didn't block it off so they don't get sued. Lucky, it wasn't Charlie." Michael rested his case.

Fiona whispered. "You're not in the States, Michael. The Irish look where they're goin'. They don't sue people when they're eejits." Michael seethed but remained silent. "As for Charlie, he's watching his step. Lookin' out for stumps, roots, and whatever else may be in his path." Charlie vigorously nodded. Apparently, Michael had missed an important discussion during his moment of solitude.

Charlie grabbed Michael's hand, leading him away from the offending ground. "Follow me!" The former spy gladly complied, Fiona trailing after the pair. Charlie excitedly wound his way around farm, soon dropping Michael's hand as he ran from one tree to the next. Michael thought one tree was as good as another. They were all green, messy, and oozing with sap. Charlie apparently saw something different about each one. Finally, he stopped, a smile brightening his face as he stared upward at the perfect tree. The adults had no such smiles. The stately fir stood ten metres tall. It belonged at Rockefeller Centre, certainly not in their parlour but Michael held his tongue, waiting for Fiona to render judgement.

Her eyes grew wide, her mouth dry as she struggled to find the words. She sighed heavily and made a pronouncement. "Well, that is a fine tree. But if we somehow manage to get it home, we'll have to leave it outside in the garden. It won't fit through the door." Charlie's shoulders slumped. "If you want one to decorate and keep it inside, it can't be taller than Michael." She let him ponder that information. "You decide." She turned slightly away as Charlie continued to stare at the fir.

Michael grabbed her elbow. "You decide? Are you insane? What if he picks that one?"

"He won't." Fiona made the statement with more confidence than she actually felt. Michael could see through her plan, hoping Fiona had calculated the odds correctly. They watched as Charlie slowly moved away, his eyes falling on another option mere steps away. Both adults breathed a bit more easily.

"I like this one!" Charlie stood before the perfect sized tree. He turned to see the adults' reactions. He beamed, as both looked pleased with his choice.

Michael was anxious to cut it down before Charlie could vacillate. His smile quickly faded, however. A sigh of frustration escaped his lips as he realised he had no tool at his disposal to accomplish the task. He was ready to dig the thing up with his bare hands, refusing to be defeated and give Charlie additional time to 'shop'. Fiona smiled noting his obvious distress, slightly enjoying his unease. She removed a saw and an axe from her handbag. "Will these help?"

"You carried them around with you?" The former spy was annoyed with himself for not planning ahead, giving Fiona the opportunity to best him on this adventure.

"You know me, Michael. I come prepared. Would you like to do the honours?" She handed him the implements.

Michael and Charlie sprawled on the ground and they sawed through the trunk together as Fi held the fir steady. Soon, the deed was done. All three grabbed hold of their prize. Michael hoped to make a speedy exit.

As they made their way toward the front of the farm, a clerk greeted them. Michael wanted to pay the man and be on their way. Fiona had other ideas. A conversation ensued, the man inquiring if Charlie had been to see ' Santy' yet. The boy eagerly told the tale to his interested audience. Michael did not understand why even the smallest task here seemed to involve telling your life story to total strangers. He tried not to look annoyed.

Money finally exchanged hands and the man began to walk away, but turned suddenly. "Where's me head?" He took a candy cane from his apron pocket and held it toward the boy.

Charlie's eyes widened. "Is that for me?"

"Tis." He cocked his head toward Fiona. "If yer mammy says so." Charlie's brow furrowed momentarily before he realised the man was talking about his auntie. His eyes shot toward her imploringly. A brief nod of her head gave permission. The sweet was placed in his hands as he thanked the man profusely. "Happy Christmas to ya." The clerk shouted the greeting as he headed toward another family.

Charlie was eventually secured in his car seat, Michael wrestling somewhat with the buckle, Fiona taking charge after watching the man struggle for a while. With both adults in the back seat, Charlie made an announcement. "I need to send a letter to Santa." His guardians froze; Michael gave Fi a death glare.

"We saw him just last week and ya told the man what ya were wishin' for." Fiona tried to ignore Michael's eyes.

"I forgot something." Charlie's brow furrowed, a bit of worry on his face.

"Forgot something?" Michael looked at the boy. "As I recall you were pretty adamant about not buying into the whole letter writing thing. Something change your mind?" Michael was beginning to lose patience. He thought this whole Santa thing was a pain in the ass.

"But I forgot something. Something important." Charlie repeated his need.

Fiona stepped in. "What could you have possibly forgotten? You already asked for a couple of lovely presents. Remember there are lots of other children ... "

"Never mind." Charlie's face darkened, his dark eyes turned serious. Fi recognised the look. It was one she had seen on Michael's face many times before, the one he wore when things seemed hopeless, when he retreated emotionally from the people around him.

Fiona sat next to the boy and looked into his eyes. "We'll write the letter as soon as we're home or we can do it now." Charlie blinked, the darkness lifting. He glanced at his uncle who no longer looked angry. "What's so important, a stóirín?"

The boy thought for several seconds about whether or not to reveal his wish. The caring eyes of the both his uncle and MaFi eased his mind, prompting him to speak. "Candy canes."

"Candy canes?" Michael rolled his eyes.

Charlie explained. "Three candy canes. One for each of us." Fiona swallowed hard. He looked at the one currently clutched in his hand. He beckoned her closer, whispering in her ear. "It's better than yoghurt."

Fiona smiled and patted his hand. Michael nodded slowly, his eyes widening in surprise before he spoke. "Better than yoghurt? Hard to believe but I trust you. We'll write that note. Send it off right away and hope it gets to the North Pole in time. Okay?" Charlie nodded, a contented grin across his face. Then, Michael and Fiona completed their exit plans.

The tree was secured on the roof. The candy can was carefully unwrapped, the adults counting on the treat to keep Charlie quiet for part of the drive. Michael's muddy boots were removed and the family began the trek toward home.

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Once home, furniture was rearranged, the tree placed by the front window, it's fragrance lending an air of Christmas to the cottage. Charlie fell asleep on the sofa while watching the preparations, his eyes straining to stay awake. The couple watched him for several moments before Fiona noted, "We really need some type of bedtime routine. We can't keep lettin' him fall asleep this way."

"Bedtime routine?" Michael looked puzzled.

"Madeline used to give him a bath, some warm milk, tuck him in his own bed, and read him a story. Every night. Like clockwork." Fiona explained.

He thought back to his own childhood, trying to recall if his mom had done the same when he had been young. He seemed to remember her reading to Nate but Michael, always fiercely independent, had preferred solitude, or so he said. He also remembered listening to her voice through the wall, trying to hear the story, refusing to admit that he would like to join in the ritual. He was glad that Madeline got a bit of a 'do over'; mothering another boy the way that she had always wished she had done the first time around. A pang of regret struck him, wishing she had more time to do just that. Michael nodded. "We can do that. We'll start tomorrow night."

"No choice, really. It will be Christmas Eve and Father Christmas will be coming." Fiona pointed out the obvious. Michael was wary, unsure exactly what was required, but he would follow his partner's lead once more. "Why don't you get him settled and I'll make us a cuppa?" She moved toward the kitchen as Michael lifted the sleeping boy, Charlie barely stirring.

Fiona was already on the sofa, mug in hand, when he returned. He joined her, slipping an arm around her, warmed by the fire as they both gazed at the newly installed tree. "Nice, isn't it?" Despite his protestations she could see the man was content, enjoying the fruits of the season.

"It is. Too bad we don't have any decorations." Fiona's mouth dropped open hearing the words, wondering if Michael was finally getting into the holiday spirit.

"As a matter of fact, Charlie and I have plans to decorate it tomorrow. I wasn't sure you would be interested." She paused awaiting any change of mood.

"Decorations?" Michael grimaced a bit. "Fi, we're on a budget. We already spent..."

The woman quickly interrupted. "We're making decorations. I picked up some spray paint, fishing line, a bit of glitter." She paused momentarily. "Charlie is donating his collection to the cause. You know, the pinecones, rocks, and sticks he's been collectin' on our walks." Michael broke into a grin.

"You're welcome to help." Fiona was encouraged, no biting retort came her way, her partner continued to smile.

"I wouldn't miss it!" He raised his mug to toast to her ingenuity and sincerely hoped that none of her decorations would explode. Despite her attempt at normalcy, Fi was still Fi. Michael would oversee the operation and hope that packs of C-4 did not wind up on their Christmas tree.

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The day began early, a slate of tasks loomed. Fiona and Charlie had completed the first set of decorations by the time Michael returned from his run. "Mornin'!" Charlie shouted a greeting as his uncle entered the room.

"Great, we've been here only a few weeks and he's already dropping his g's." Fiona deigned to reply. Michael moved over to the table and picked up one of the completed 'ornaments'. It looked like one of the boy's army men spray painted silver, a loop of fishing line around its neck. "Fi, it looks like this guy's been garrotted."

She shrugged her shoulders. "We'll pretend he's British then." Charlie nodded in agreement, Michael frowning at both.

"And this one?" He pointed to another piece, spray painted gold and rolled in glitter. "Grenade?"

"Pine cone, Michael." She looked annoyed. "Are you going to help or just be critical?" Charlie scowled, unhappy that his uncle did not seem to like their beautiful creations.

Michael turned sheepish, sitting down at once. "What can I do to help?"

She pushed a pile of penne pasta toward her lover, assuaged that he was sufficiently penitent. "You can string these." She soon added, "And before ya ask, it's to be garland, not det cord."

Michael, pressing his lips together, felt the sting of her comment.

The trio worked for several hours, taking breaks when needed. There were snowflakes made of sticks, gold and silver rocks, pods covered in glitter. Each ornament was placed with care on the branches of the fir, the firelight reflecting off the shiny surfaces. Michael lifted Charlie in order for him to place the star, constructed of cardboard and foil, on the top of the tree. The trio admired their handiwork.

Fiona might have designed a much different look for this first tree if she had the budget. She would have likely wanted hand-blown glass balls in shades of white and silver, crystal garland, and perhaps some lace angels. But as she continued to stare at the fir, seeing the beauty of it through Charlie's rapt expression, she realised this was perfect! Even Michael looked pleased and somewhat surprised that their handiwork produced such results. Christmas was nearly here and the O'Donovan family was almost ready to welcome its arrival.