A/N: Busy baking all day and finally got a chance to post these... Thank you for the reviews! I'm so glad you like this story. Here's the rest of it - enjoy and Merry Christmas!

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Chapter 7:

My dad takes off the Santa hat, beard, and jacket for dinner, and comes to the table in those ridiculous red pants and a plain white dress shirt he was wearing under the jacket. I quietly giggle every time I come into the dining room, as Amélie and I bring the dishes full of food in from the kitchen.

"It looks delicious, Sydney," he says as I finally sit down in my chair.

"Thank you, Dad. But Amélie deserves all the credit. She did most of the work."

"Oh, it was no trouble," she insists as everyone starts to make their plates, passing the food around the table.

Michael and I help the girls with theirs, cutting up their food for them in bite-size pieces, although he has to discreetly tell me what they will eat. Fortunately, it didn't look like our parents noticed as they served themselves.

We're about two-thirds of the way through our meal, making small talk as we eat, when I casually ask my dad how work was going. He looks at me suspiciously and sets his fork down on his plate before answering, "What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"This is the third time you've asked me something you already know and that's been just during dinner."

"She's been asking questions about all of us, Grandpa," Emily pipes in.

Francie adds, "Yeah, since she had a car accident last night."

"And she calls Daddy by our last name now."

"And she didn't know Aunt Amy was having a baby—"

"Or that she was married to Uncle Eric—"

"Girls!" Michael shuts them up, but the damage has been done. I'm currently avoiding all the eyes that are watching me, including Michael's as he reaches for my hand and tries to explain. "Syd…sh-she drove her car off the road last night and hit a fence… She hit her head on the steering wheel—"

"My God!" Amélie cries out. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"She didn't want anyone to worry," Michael continues for me.

My father picks his napkin off his lap and slams it on the table as he gets up to walk around to me. "Damnit, Vaughn. Why didn't you take her to the hospital?"

"She asked me not to," he says just as my dad kneels in front of me and starts his own examination of my pupils and looking for where the bump might have been although it was now concealed under several layers of makeup.

He continues the argument. "You should have taken her anyway—"

"She felt fine—"

"She could have a concussion!" Dad jumps to his feet to turn to him.

"I know that, Jack!" Michael stands to face him and they start a full-blown shouting match. "But I was also trained to recognize the symptoms—"

"The memory loss is one of the biggest—that should have been your first clue!"

"It was! But—"

"You should have called me!"

"Alright, that's enough!" I yell as I jump up from my chair and look at both of them. "I am a full-grown woman who can make her own decisions about my health! If you want to know why I didn't go to the hospital, I'll tell you why." I've gotten everybody's attention now, and they're all watching and waiting for me to continue. "Because it's Christmas. And I didn't want anybody's Christmas to be spoiled by a medical problem that wasn't even a real emergency—especially the girls. So what if I'm missing a few years worth of memories. They'll come back, and even if they don't, I'll always remember this Christmas as the best one I've ever had." I look from Michael to my father. "Until now, at least."

"How many 'years' are you missing?" This was from Amélie, still sitting in her chair at the other end of the table.

Looking back at the girls again, and noticing that they were done eating, and watching me a little too intently for my answer, I ask, "Girls? Can you go take your toys up to your room, so we grown-ups can talk for a few minutes?"

"Aw, Mom," Emily whines.

"Do we have to?"

Jonas stands and sets his napkin on the table beside his plate. "I'll take care of them, so the four of you can talk."

"Thank you, dear," Amélie reaches for his hand and squeezes it as he walks around her to corral Francie and Emily out of the room, amidst their protests. He even gets Janie out of her high chair and takes her too, as she's busy making holes in her uneaten mashed potatoes with the spout of her upside-down sippy cup.

"Thank you, Jonas," I offer as well, as he walks around us to leave with Jane on his arm.

As soon as they're out of the room, I sit back down in my chair and avoid all of their eyes. When I do speak, my voice is quiet and hesitant. "The last thing I remember was…Christmas Eve…two-thousand-five."

"What?" Amélie exclaims, just as Jack speaks.

"Sydney, that was ten years ago."

"I know that, Dad."

Amélie is concerned. "You don't remember the girls? Or getting married?"

I shake my head somberly and meet her eyes. "Or meeting you," I admit. They're all quiet as I explain, "I know it was probably…an unwise decision not to go to the hospital, but once Michael had described what our life was like, I wanted to see it. I wanted to live it for a while. And the last thing I wanted to do was ruin the girls' Christmas by letting on that their own mother didn't remember them."

As they relax, Michael reclaims his chair and my father sits down in Emily's seat and leans forward on his arm. "You should still see a doctor, Sydney."

I'm nodding. "I've already made the decision to go on Monday, if nothing has changed by then. I just want to spend this weekend relaxing and enjoying what I have now because it's a hell of a lot better than the life I had before when I was completely alone."

"You weren't alone—"

"I was too alone!" I argue with my father. "When you plan to spend Christmas Eve with a pint of ice cream and a bottle of scotch, you know just how alone you really are! Where was your concern for me then?"

"Sydney, at that time I was busy trying to find out what had happened to you—who had been responsible--"

"Yeah, you were so focused on that, Dad, that you forgot to see how I was handling my first Christmas by myself." With my dad silenced, I slowly turn to Michael. "If you hadn't called that night…I don't want to think how miserable I would've been." Thinking back to how bitter I'd been just before the accident, I actually laugh lightly. "Even if I did think you were going to tell me you were moving to get away from me so you could be happy with Lauren, at least you got me out of the house."

"You really thought that that's what I was going to tell you?"

"Yeah." I shake my head with a little astonishment. "I'm surprised I never told you that." I pull my gaze from him and look down at my hands. "You had started pulling away from me, avoiding me…I was sure you didn't want me around anymore."

"Oh, Syd." He pinches the bridge of his nose and leans his elbow on the table as if there was more to the story.

"I told him to back off," my dad admits and I turn to look at him.

"What?"

Michael explains, "Syd, the last thing either of us wanted was to see you get hurt."

"So you told Michael to avoid me?" I aim the question at my father. "You thought that would make it easier on me?"

"I was only trying to help. Everything I've ever done for you has been with the best intentions, Sydney."

"I guess I know that, but Dad, you've interfered in my life too much. Can't you just be my father and let Michael and I make our own decisions? Or is all the interfering because you still don't trust Michael to take care of me?"

My dad leans forward with his elbows on the table. "Sydney, before your mother died, she asked me to make a promise to take care of you—to make sure you were always safe. And even though I wasn't really there for you growing up, I knew you were safe."

"Dad, since the day that I met Vaughn…that's been his job. And I think he's been pretty damn good at it, if I've made it this far."

My father starts to rise to leave, as if he feels like he's no longer needed. "No, Dad. Sit down. I want you to stay. I want you in my life, just…let me live it." He sits back down, but he's apprehensive. "I know," I look around the table. "Let's all have some dessert."

He relaxes a little as Michael invites Jonas and the girls back into the dining room for a piece of pie. Amélie had made three—two pumpkin pies, and one apple, and as we start to eat it, I'm still amazed that she was able to find all of the ingredients in my kitchen. And they were probably the best I've ever had.

When we're through, my dad decides it's time for him to say goodnight, assuring me that he's holding no grudges. So after hugging and kissing the girls, and saying goodbye to Michael, Amélie, and Jonas, I walk him outside. "Dinner was nice," he says; more of a compliment than I'd expected from the stoic Jack Bristow, especially after telling him that Michael was doing his job of protecting me and was doing it well. Of course, he was still wearing the Santa pants and carrying the hat, jacket, and beard in his hands, which was about ten times more sentiment than I'd ever thought possible.

"It was nice," I answer. "It was the first real family meal I remember having since Mom—" I stop abruptly when I realize I'm about to ruin the end of a beautiful family day.

"It's okay, Sydney," he anticipates what I was going to say. "I was just thinking the same thing." He and I share a moment of understanding; I know that there are certain things that will never change—we both still care deeply about her. "Take care of yourself," he says before he leans over and kisses my cheek. He turns to start down the steps to leave.

"Dad?" I get his attention again. He stops one step down and turns to look at me to continue. "Are you still with the Agency?"

He shakes his head. "Only as a consultant on occasion."

"Oh," I nod. "Well… If…if you ever hear from Mom…tell her I…" I take a breath to build up the nerve to finish my thought. "I-I miss her."

He takes a moment before answering, and in that moment, I know the truth. My suspicions Michael had told me about, believing that my father knew where my mother was, were true. I could see it in his eyes as he answered quietly, "I will."

I smile knowingly and nod. "Goodnight, Dad."

"Goodnight."

After I watch him drive away, I go over to sit on the swing, and look out at the neighbors' houses, swathed in multi-colored lights and decorations littered throughout their yards. It still seems unreal that I'm actually here, living this life that I never knew I wanted.

I'm only alone for a few minutes when I hear someone behind me. "You okay?"

The sound of Michael's voice puts a smile on my face for what seems like the thousandth time since the accident, and I sit up straighter to make room for him beside me on the swing. He smiles at me as he sits down, and puts his arm around my shoulders. "Where is everybody?" I ask, as I kick off my shoes and tuck my feet up under me.

"They're inside, watching the end of 'It's a Wonderful Life' on TV."

"Mmm…" I murmur, snuggling further into his embrace. "It is a wonderful life." If it wasn't for the secret I still have about my mother's past. Opening my eyes again, I divulge, "Just before he left, I told my dad to tell my mother that I miss her."

"That's…good," he says supportively, yet I can tell the wound is still there.

"Is it? Is it right that I should have feelings for the woman that tore apart your family?"

"It's your family now too, Syd."

"I know…which just makes it worse that we've haven't told your mother, don't you think?"

He shrugs, but before he can argue, we hear Amélie say, "I already know."

Michael and I both jump as we turn to look at her. "What, Mom?" he asks.

She closes the front door and takes a couple of steps toward us. "Your father told me about your mother before you were married."

"He did? Why?" I ask.

"I suppose he wanted to make sure that nothing else came between you two and your happiness again."

"Amélie," I say, standing up off of the swing to face her. "I am so sorry."

She walks toward me until we're mere feet apart. "Don't be sorry for something you had no control over, Sydney. Besides," she adds, touching my cheek. "I couldn't have chosen a better wife for my son. You're like the daughter I never had." She smiles at me and then at Michael as she touches his cheek too. "Keep her out here for a little while so I can start on the dishes."

I feel the need to protest. "Mom, no—"

"I insist," she stops me, holding up a hand. "You two relax."

She leaves us alone by retreating back into the warmth of our house, closing the door behind her as Michael and I sit back down again in defeat. "Well, I didn't expect that," he admits quietly and I nod.

"Neither did I. She completely dismissed Lauren." He and I both laugh at that and the tension completely dissipates—both of us knowing that that was not what he was referring to. "What happened to her anyway?"

"Lauren?" I nod. "Oh, she went back home to her parents'. And she was pretty amicable with me during the divorce proceedings, but she never talked to you again."

"I guess she really hated me."

"Well, she almost had to. Her husband was in love with you," he says, kissing my hair.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I tell him, "And here I was so sure that you wanted to get away from me because I was hurting your relationship with her. I can't believe my dad thought that distancing yourself from me would help me."

"Well, that was only one part of the reason," he admits. "He also didn't want you and I to have an affair. And let's face it…that is where we were headed."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Every time we touched, it was like my skin was on fire. I thought I would go crazy. So I figured that if I took his advice and avoided you, I'd be able to get over you faster."

"And?"

"And here we are ten years later," he answers, his lips curving into a half-grin.

"Point taken," I smile with him. Fiddling with a button on his shirt, I ask, "How did that go over with my dad?"

"Oh, gosh. It was really tough for the first few years, and not just with him. There was a lot of fighting and anger and hard decisions we had to make, but somehow we made it."

I snuggle in closer, curling my body up next to him and closing my eyes. "Mmm… It was worth it."

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