A/N:I just wanted to say a big general thanks to everyone that has left a review. I really appreciate people taking the time to tell me they are enjoying my stories!

Present Day

Tom heaved an exhausted sigh as he finally keyed in the code to his apartment.

He hadn't made that last public shuttle to Mars. Not even close. At that point, the day had gone so poorly he hadn't wanted to take any more chances - he had to go right to the top. So Tom got himself a stool at the shuttleport departure lounge, swallowed a shot of whiskey with his pride as a chaser, and commed San Francisco.

"I'm sorry, Tom," Owen said, his face downturned. "Any other time I could arrange something in a heartbeat. But I just got a memo from Interstellar Meteorology. They're predicting a nasty ion storm will form in the next eight hours between here and Mars. That public shuttle was probably the last one to get out."

"Dad, I've flown through a hundred ion storms. I could take your personal shuttle, maybe. I promise I won't crash it into a lake this time." Tom added the last bit with a tentative grin. Please, Dad. Do this for me. Just this once.

"Son," the Admiral said, and Tom knew his answer. He had to give his father credit for at least looking apologetic. "They've grounded everything but starships unless it's life or death. And even if they hadn't… My shuttle's not up for those conditions. It's not safe." Owen started to reach towards the screen before letting his hand drop. "Come back to the house. I'll get you out the second it's clear."

Tom looked away as he swallowed hard, feeling the whiskey burn in his stomach. "No, that's OK. Don't go to any trouble. I'll just grab a room here and wait for the next public one. It'll be fine."

"Tom…"

"I understand, Dad, really." He looked up again and forced a smile. "It's just one day. Miral's barely half a year old, she won't know if I get back a little late, right?"

Owen smiled, too, but his eyes stayed worried. "We'll still see you next week? For New Year's? Your mother's keeping it small this year. Just family, a few of the cousins."

"Sure," Tom said with a nod. "As promised. We'll see you then."

The next public shuttle had been scheduled to leave at 0800. Which wouldn't have been so terrible, really. He still would have arrived a bit after noon on Christmas Day. Still plenty of time to cook up a nice holiday roast, open some presents. But then the ion storm had raged on long past initial predictions, and that public shuttle had a six hour delay. He might have left an hour or two earlier, maybe gotten a faster flight, if he'd taken his father up on his offer - but crawling back to the Admiral after turning him down the night before? Tom liked to think he'd grown as a person during his time in the Delta Quadrant, but everyone had their limits.

All of this meant that by the time he got himself, the bedraggled bear, the cookies that he'd picked at during the eighteen hour flight, the painting of the Clown That Ate Christmas, his progressively defoliating tree, and B'Elanna's present to his front door, it was nearly an hour past Miral's bedtime on Christmas Day. No carols, no eggnog by the fire, no holodeck sleigh ride. He'd missed the whole fucking day.

The apartment was dimly lit and quiet. He could hear the steady tinkle of pine needles hitting the tiled floor as he dragged his burdens inside. He propped the tree in a corner where the mess would be easiest to clean, left the rest just inside the door, and collapsed onto the couch, wallowing in his defeat. He really just needed to give up on this goddamn holiday. Lots of kids grew up without Christmas. It's not like it was some kind of requirement for a happy childhood. Why had it seemed so important? It was just another stupid day, artificially imbued with meaning because of the birth of a deity he didn't even believe in. Maybe if he hadn't been so focused on making everything perfect, he would have gotten home on time and actually gotten to see his baby and give his overburdened spouse a break. Nice job, Paris.

"Hey, stranger." B'Elanna was smiling at him from the top of the stairs. Tom's heart lifted at the sight.

"Hey, yourself." No, the damn holiday didn't matter at all. What mattered was he was here, with his family. Who cared what day it was? He stood, shaking off the last of his self-pity, and met his wife at the bottom of the staircase. He wrapped his arms around her, not another word exchanged between them, and pressed his lips to hers. He closed his eyes, breathing in B'Elanna's scent, the smell of home - be it on Voyager or Earth or Mars.

After a long while, but still not nearly long enough, B'Elanna pulled back a centimeter or two. "I missed you, too," she smiled, her eyes bright. "Good to be home?"

"You have no idea," Tom moaned, pressing his face back into the soft patch that lay just above her clavicle.

She broke free, rubbing his back as she guided him towards the couch. "You hungry?" she asked once she pushed him into the cushions. "Want me to replicate you something?"

"I want to spend some time with my wife," he whined, trying to pull her onto the sofa next to him.

B'Elanna just rolled her eyes. "You were only one planet away, Tom. We talked every day. Sometimes twice a day. It's not like you've been out to sea for a year. Let me make you some dinner. Or is it breakfast? And what's with all the stuff?" she asked as she moved towards the kitchen despite his protests. "Did you bring all of Earth back with you?"

Tom just closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the couch, half wishing he'd thrown out the whole lot before he'd come home. He was tired - he'd only grabbed a few hours here and there in the last twenty-four, disturbed by anxiety dreams of angry pine trees wearing elf hats, and toy bears with painted white faces and cavernous red mouths. And the Doc, too, eating bacon and informing Tom that Dr. Zimmerman was a genius and had found a way for the EMH to eat as much as he wanted, if only Tom would let him borrow his tastebuds for a while…

"Tom?"

He jerked awake and looked up to see his wife standing over him, holding a plate with a sandwich that carried the heady smell of salty meat and applewood smoke. "You didn't answer me about breakfast or dinner, so I compromised. Bacon, egg, and cheese on sourdough."

Tom's stomach rumbled as he reached for the plate. "You're too good for me."

"I know," she agreed as she settled next to him on the couch, tucking her feet under his thigh. "I am glad you finally got home, though. I was beginning to worry you weren't going to make it."

Tom was too busy tucking in to look at her. "Didn't you get my messages that I was going to be late? Because of the ion storm?" he asked through a mouthful of bread and egg.

"Of course," she said, thrusting a napkin in his face. "I meant I was worried you weren't going to make it in time for Christmas."

That made him stop chewing. "I didn't," he said, wiping the crumbs off his chin. "Christmas is over in less than four hours."

B'Elanna reached over and stole a stray bit of burnt cheese off his plate. "No." She drew out the word, an eyebrow rising. "Christmas starts in less than four hours. You know it's the twenty-fourth, right?"

"Wait… what are you talking about? Today's the twenty-fifth."

"Tom, Mars is twelve hours behind New York. Not ahead." She shook her head. "Who knew your issues with temporal mechanics included time zones?"

"It's still Christmas Eve?" Tom asked, his mental gears creaking. "Christmas is tomorrow?"

"Yes," B'Elanna confirmed with a slow nod. "Tomorrow. As in: not today."

He jumped to his feet, his food forgotten. "It's Christmas Day! I haven't missed it!"

"Christmas Eve," B'Elanna said, shifting into Tom's abandoned spot on the couch and taking a generous bite of his sandwich. "What are you doing?"

"There's so much to do!" he cried, running over to the tree. "A stand. I need a stand. Did you replicate one?" Tom whipped his head back to look at her. "And the ornaments?"

B'Elanna was openly laughing at him now. "If it was on the list, I replicated it. Everything's piled up in the guest room."

She watched him from her perch on the couch for a while, polishing off his sandwich. Apparently, though, the Christmas Spirit and/or Tom's exuberance was contagious, because before long she had made them a large pitcher of a warm, spicy drink she called ponche con piquete and joined in on the decorating. Even more shocking, when she'd had a couple glasses of ponche and Silent Night came on over the sound system, B'Elanna started to sing along. In the original German.

"The rum in this isn't synthehol, is it?" Tom asked, staring at his slightly blurry cup.

"Nope," she giggled back at him before growing quiet, her eyes narrowing. "It's been a long two weeks for me, too, you know. Don't judge me."

"Of course not," he said with a grin.

Just shy of midnight, they sank into the couch, wrapped in each other's arms, and regarded their decorated tree and family room, as well as the presents they'd wrapped and laid out. "Thanks," B'Elanna said, letting her head grow heavy on Tom's shoulder. "For doing all this. I forgot how nice Christmas could be."

"Me, too," Tom said as he kissed her hair. "I love you, B'Elanna."

"I love you, too." She snuggled in a little closer. "Merry Christmas."