((Alright, now for some Charlie/Amita, since I've been neglecting those two for some reason. Sorry this took a little while. First I had my cat sitting on top of my keyboard, then, being the airhead I am, I forgot to save. So I had gibberish written across my screen. And then I had this CSI: New York story that I couldn't get rid of until I wrote it.

As I said before, please review! It'll keep me writing. Also, I desperately need ideas. I'm running out of songs fast, so please request your favorites. ))

Snowy nights and Christmas lights,
Icy windowpanes,
Make me wish that we could be
Together again.

He had always loved Christmas, not for the gifts or for the tree, but for the warmth it seemed to generate. His family had always gotten deep into the holiday spirit each year, with a huge tree draped with tinsel, and heavy with ornaments. Lights always glimmered on the outside of the house, and always blinked merrily within the emerald boughs of the tree. The house was always bustling with energy around this time of year, people stopping by left and right with wishes for a Merry Christmas, and such. When he was a child, he remembered eyeing the ever-growing stack of Christmas packages tied with ribbons and wrapped in shiny paper that reflected light from the tree. However, it was not the material things at all, no matter how much it may sound like it was. It was the feeling, the emotion, intertwined with the material things. Smiles and laughter, warmth and hope. Something you couldn't replace, could only remember until the next year came, and everything started over again.

The only year he had not loved the general mutual happiness of the holidays was the year his mother had died. He remembered the almost desolate feeling that ushered Christmas in that year, the way memories of his mother clung to every little thing. Every ornament, every bough of holly, even the tree. That was the hardest year he remembered ever facing. The year he lost his mother.

Though this Christmas was swiftly beginning to rival that one.

And the windy winter avenues
Just don't seem the same,
And the Christmas carols sound like blues,
But the choir is not to blame.

He and Amita had begun arguing, over what he couldn't remember. It had been shortly after Thanksgiving, he remembered. Some tiny thing that got both of them riled up. A mole hill that they turned into a mountain so high, it felt as if they would never scale it. Sighing, Charlie ran a hand through his mop of curly black hair, flopping down on a chair in the garage, staring at the chalkboard, at the white marks that crawled across it. Numbers and signs working their way to the end of the board.

If only there was a math that could break down that mountain, that could help him and Amita. The problem of winning a girl back. Smiling in spite of himself, Charlie stood to erase the numbers, watching in half-hearted fascination as the chalk dust clouds rose in plumes above his head. Leaving the garage, he walked through the house to find a coat. Finally finding one, he shrugged it on before leaving the house. Maybe a walk would cheer him up, clear his mind. A couple doors down, a group of carolers sang Silent Night and Jingle Bells, but they seemed to Charlie like blues. Reminders that Christmas was coming, and one of the people that mattered most in his life wasn't there with him.

But it doesn't have to be that way.
What we had should never have ended.
I'll be dropping by today.
We could easily get it together tonight.
It's only right.

Shuffling along the street, kicking at a stone that would then scuttle down the sidewalk in front of him, Charlie's head suddenly shot up. He could go see Amita, explain himself...apologize. Tell her everything that he hadn't had a chance to before that infamous mountain built itself up. Checking his watch, he headed purposefully in a new direction. It was time to end this nonsense, he decided, a new bounce in his step. Time for this mountain to come crashing down in a perfectly calculated...no. This wasn't math. This was emotion, something that, no matter how hard one tried, could ever be measured by numbers.

Crowded stores, the corner Santa Claus,
Tinseled afternoons,
And the sidewalk bands play their songs
Slightly out of tune.

It was busy in town, the streets filled with last-minute holiday shoppers, busily rushing this way and that, carrying enormous bags stuffed full of things to give their loved ones. Pushing his way through the bustle, he made his way into a store, wandered the aisles for a while. Two sales clerks asked him if he needed help, and twice he refused their help. He needed to make this choice on his own. Glancing at the different flowers lined up in bunches in front of him, he reached out to touch a delicate petal. Gerber daisies, carnations, roses and lillies watched him almost accusingly from here he stood. The marigolds and irisis seemed to mock him, almost like the singing flowers in Alice and Wonderland. Silenly cursing Disney, he went with the classics. A dozen red roses, wrapped in shiny cellphane, tied with red ribbon. Perfect. Paying for his purchase, he left the store quickly as he could, pushing through the crowds now in a more delicate manner, not wanting anything to happen to the twelve perfect roses he held in his hand.

Down the windy winter avenues
There walks a lonely man,
And if I told you who he is,
Well I think you'd understand.

To anyone else, he probably looked crazy, walking as fast as he was while carrying this many flowers, nearly knocking over grandmothers buying last minute gifts for their grandkids. Yet to himself, all of his actions made perfect sense. Running into CalSci, he basically sprinted to Amita's office, skidding to a stop when he realized she wasn't there. Cursing in a manner that would, had this been a cartoon, made the leaves on the roses curl, he took off again. He didn't buy these roses for nothing, after all.

But it doesn't have to be that way.
What we had should never have ended.
I'll be dropping by today.
We could easily get it together tonight.
It's only right.

The sudden knocking at the door made her jump, nearly scattering the papers she had on the table in front of her all over the place. Catching them in time, she glanced at the door as the knocking came again.
"Coming!" she called, jogging toward the door. Peering through the peephole quickly, she opened the door, peering around the solid wooden frame.

The face that greeted her was both one that she wanted to see desperately, and one she desperately did not want to see. But there that face was, looking so painfully sad, his eyes so mournful, so apologetic, she nearly cried. In his hands, he held a bouqet of roses, which he held out to her awkwardly. She invited him in, and they both soon stood in the entryway.
"Well...thank you. For the flowers," she said, feeling more awkward than she had in a long time.
"They reminded me of you," was his simple answer, an answer so unlike the elaborate ones he usually gave. "Look, Amita, I came to apologize. This argument of ours, I don't even remember what it was about. All I know is that it built up a mountain between us." He was explaining desperately, he knew, waving his hands around as he spoke. Reaching out those hands, he took Amita's, intertwining their fingers. "A mountain I really want to get over." Dropping one of her hands, he ran his now free hand through her dark hair, then raised her chin up with two fingers, so that he was looking her straight in the eye.
"I want to, too, Charlie," she said with a shaky smile. Feeling almost giddy, Charlie pulled her toward him, smiling down at her before pressing his lips gently to hers. She responded immediatly, kissing him back, winding her arms around his neck.
"Merry Christmas, Charlie," she said with a smile when they pulled away. "Merry Christmas."

No, it doesn't have to be that way.
What we had should never have ended.
I'll be dropping by today.
We could easily get it together tonight.
It's only right.