Bear took a couple hours to get back, as he was spending some time with his dad before the big celebration tomorrow. Lion and I watched the tellie in companionable silence—some Christmas program I couldn't remember the name of—but we turned it off when Tiger came out to sit with us, since he wasn't supposed to look at screens for a while. Lion took my empty coffee cup and replaced it with hot chocolate, insisting I didn't need any more caffeine.

My fingers were no longer numb, which was nice, but they ached a bit after being so cold for so long.

I acquiesced to a hot shower before Bear got home, and it was more soothing than I thought it would be—I nearly fell asleep standing up before I remembered it was only eight or so, and we still had dinner and gifts to do.

I changed into Lion's hoodie (freshly washed) and some sweats, pulling on some socks to keep as much of the heat from the shower as I could. I smiled at Lion and Bear, who was in the kitchen with his coat still on, and plopped back down into the corner of the couch opposite Tiger, burrowing under a blanket.

"Cold much?" Tiger asked, raising an eyebrow. Luckily, his headache was miniscule at the moment.

I hummed in acknowledgement, trying to keep my eyes open. I felt someone gently flick my head after a second and realized that I had, indeed, let my eyes fall shut. I looked up to see Bear's upside-down face. He dropped a candy cane into my lap.

"Merry Christmas," he grinned, and I smiled back, fumbling with still-slow fingers to tear the plastic off the sweet. "Bella told me about Vihaan! Good riddance. Arsehole."

"Mahika and Jessie are okay," I said, finally ripping the plastic down far enough to nibble on the end. "Jessie's stutter is a little better. Um. She liked her present. Mahika was kind of quiet, but I figure she has a lot on her mind."

"I'm glad they're doing well," Bear said candidly, relaxing into the open armchair.

"How's Dad Johnson?" Tiger asked, nursing a mug of eggnog. I kind of wanted to try some just because they thought I was nineteen and I definitely could.

"Oh, he's actually doing really well," Bear said, sitting up straighter. Reluctantly, though a bit excitedly, I disentangled myself from the blanket and passed Lion on my way into the kitchen, catching sight of the pitcher of eggnog on the counter. "He found this new job in banking that gave him a hell of a raise, so he was finally able to move into some better housing. Comes with heating and everything. What time are your parents coming in?"

"Should be tomorrow around noon," I heard Tiger say as I got a mug from one of the lower shelves and eyed the pitcher, pouring about a knuckle's worth of eggnog into the mug. I had the viscerally powerful feeling that I was doing something wrong—Ian would kick my arse, and Jack would have my head—but the guys didn't know I wasn't eighteen, so…I was technically allowed.

Conversation continued at my back as I gave the mug an experimental swirl, feeling oddly apprehensive. I'd had the mouthfuls of whiskey in the hotel on our first mission, but I was also actively bleeding and coming down from a panic attack and a fight, so…I didn't really taste it as much as I felt it. Plus, Tom and I had tried a couple sips of vodka from his dad's liquor when we were twelve (which had ended less than splendidly), but maybe eggnog would be a little better.

I sniffed it experimentally, and—wow, yeah, that was strong.

I heard the guys laugh and I heard Lion mention Jacob and Angelica and Jonah, and I distantly wondered if I should've gotten something for the adults. In my defense, though, I didn't know I'd be seeing them.

I swirled the eggnog around in the mug again and took a hesitant sip, determinedly not breathing in through my nose so I wouldn't have the added strength of the smell as well as the taste.

It didn't help.

I choked a little, coughing as I reluctantly swallowed the motor oil. Shit, that was bloody awful. It tasted, I imagined, something like rubbing alcohol with something that might have once been cream. It was probably Tiger who made the bloody batch—from what I'd seen, he didn't really do restraint when it came to alcohol, but I'd never seen him tipsy, so I supposed he handled it well. I wondered how Lion felt about it.

Needless to say, I didn't try it again.

"Jag, you alright in there?" Bear called, the conversation having ceased when I started choking.

I managed an affirmative noise as I grabbed milk from the fridge and drank it straight from the carton, alleviating the foul, sharp taste of lingering alcohol somewhat. "Fine. Uh, fine."

Yeah, no. I definitely wasn't telling them about that. That was not only embarrassing, but also traumatic.

I refilled the mug with hot chocolate after a thorough wash and sat back down in the corner of the couch.

That was…probably not something I'd try again.

I just tried eggnog, I texted Tom after a moment, figuring he'd at least appreciate my attempt. It was really truly horrible.

Tom didn't text back for a moment, and I thought he might've been asleep—it was two hours later there, and he always slept early on Christmas Eve—but he texted back a moment later.

WHAT? without me?

I smiled absently. Without you. And I'm never drinking it again. Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas!

I slid my phone back into my pocket as conversation lulled until Tiger's next question: "Okay, is it time for dinner? Because I'm about to eat my bloody foot."

"Should be done now," Lion acquiesced. "We can bring the presents out here, too, so it's ready when we're done."

This was…so stupidly domestic. It really, truly was. Just three grown men and a runaway teenager, celebrating Christmas without a care in the world…it just seemed so surreal. I didn't think I'd have Christmas again, not after Jack—I didn't think the Pleasures could've given me what I needed, despite their care and concern. It would never be the same.

This wasn't at all the same. Everything was different—no tree, just a couple decorations, and homemade food, instead of the takeout Jack usually picked up for us and Ian, when he was home. Presents Christmas Eve instead of Christmas morning. Besides, we'd never had extended family come in for Christmas—it was always just me and Ian, then me and Ian and Jack. Everything was different.

But that didn't mean it had to be bad. It wasn't bad at all, in fact.

I left Lion's keyboard under my bed—I hadn't even attempted to wrap it. I'd stuck a bow on the corner and called it a day. I'd just drag it out to the living room when we got to him—my leg was fine now, aside from an occasional throb, so it wouldn't be a problem.

"Okay, this is a stupid and sappy tradition, but I like it, so we do it," Bear said as we all settled back around the living room, holding his own mug of eggnog. Lion had peppermint tea, and my stomach was starting to hurt from all the hot chocolate, so I'd switched to tea, as well. "Everybody has to say at least one thing they're thankful for that they didn't have last year. Yes, Tiger, you too, you old grouch."

"I'm barely a year older than you," Tiger growled, chucking a pillow in his direction.

Bear dodged with practiced ease and continued, unbothered. "Yeah, but that's the gist. I'll go first. Um…I'm thankful for Lion's restraining order against the devil," he started out. I tensed, worried about Lion's reaction, but Lion just smiled and lifted his mug of tea, as if in a toast. "Oh! I'm thankful for…Tiger's dad finally getting some sense knocked into him and taking some time with the literal best woman ever." I assumed that was Tiger's mum. "I'm grateful for Vihaan being shoved in jail, the bastard. And I'm thankful for Jag slash Matthew slash Alex."

I blinked, cutting my eyes to him in surprise, but he just grinned. "Your turn."

"Oh," I said slowly. "Um. Well…" How did I put into words all the things I was grateful for? All the things I didn't have on the run, all the things I'd had to leave behind at the Pleasures', with Jack, with Ian? "I…I mean…this," I said, waving a hand around the room in a poor attempt to encompass everything they'd given me, knowingly and unknowingly. "Just…this. Everything."

Luckily, my unitmates were sharp enough to read between the lines, and we moved on. The tea was warm, but the warmth in my chest felt a little too real for that.

Lion was grateful for confronting his feelings about his father, Angelica's continued happiness, for me, and for getting to spend Christmas with his family, blood and otherwise.

Tiger grumbled something about emotional grown bloody men, and mumbled something about his sanity. Bear wouldn't let him alone until he said something else, so he waved a hand in my direction with a roll of his eyes, but anyone could see he didn't mean it badly. I smiled, warm.

"Okay, food," Bear said, having officially taken over as announcer and host of the evening. "And presents."

We exchanged gifts as we ate, between spurts of easy conversation and laughter. Lion's eyes positively glowed at the keyboard when I finally dragged it out of my room, but his eyes grew a little worried as he asked about the cost. I rolled my eyes and shoved the giant box at him so he had no choice but to take it, as it was precariously balanced between the two of us. "I don't care about the money. I just thought you'd like it."

Lion smiled, looking genuinely happy. "I do. I really, really do, Alex. Thanks." The turned his eyes on me, earnest and bright and stupidly happy.

I blushed, unbidden, and sank back onto the couch.

Lion liked Tiger's and Bear's gifts too, so we moved on to Tiger, who looked positively overjoyed at the coffee pot. That is to say, he was rendered speechless for a long few seconds—the most joyful I'd ever seen him.

Bear liked the stuff for the kids, and thanked me profusely for not getting any more stuff for him—"I'm already a kleptomaniac, so this is perfect! You're a really good gift giver, actually."—and then it was my turn.

"Merry Christmas, newest victim," Bear said, grinning as he shoved an envelope and a small box my way. "We kind of collaborated on all of your presents, and one of them won't be here until tomorrow."

"That's fine," I said, going for the envelope first, at Lion's instructions. I tore it open carefully and pulled out a glossy ticket, squinting to read the fine print. It took me a second to figure out what it meant, but when I did, I almost bloody dropped it.

"You didn't," I breathed, holding the ticket to the soccer match between Chelsea and Arsenal on December 28th. "What—how did you get tickets?"

"Actually, we got five," Bear said, looking pleased at the unabashed shock on my face. "Friend of Tiger's dad had seasonal tickets but couldn't attend this game, so he sold them cheap. We traded in the two front row tickets for a few general seating tickets. Snake actually did the trading, since we weren't here, but whatever." I distantly remembered a day or two before we came home, Snake left, saying he had to run some errands, even though I knew he was done shopping. This must've been the errand. "You like it?"

"Are you kidding?" I asked, feeling a genuine grin split my face. It felt odd. I didn't think I'd smiled like this, or felt like this, in a long time—this carefree, this real. This young. "I can't believe—I can't believe you got tickets! This was supposed to be one of the biggest games of the year, I—holy shit, Tom's going to lose his mind," I rambled. "I can't—no, this is awesome."

I finally looked up away from the ticket, grinning like a madman. "Thank you guys, honestly. This is—this is ridiculously exciting. I don't—I can't say thank you enough times."

Despite my early, all-consuming, ridiculously childish obsession with football from a young age, I hadn't ever gone to may games. Ian took me a couple times on special occasions, but when he had time away from work, he much preferred other activities—mountain biking, rock climbing, skiing, sledding, things like that. He hated being stagnant, still, so I imagined a multi-hour sporting event wasn't the most fun for him. Jack barely knew what the sport was, confusing it with American football more than once, so as much as I loved spending time with her, she wasn't the most fun to hang out with at those games. Tom and I didn't exactly have the pocket change to buy the tickets ourselves, either, so we settled for watching the big games at home or at watch parties with friends.

Football was something I'd slowly given up on as I became further entrenched in the world of spies and death. It was almost too normal, too good, for the person I felt myself becoming, and I wanted it to be a good memory—something untainted by blackmail and blood and bone. Slowly, surely, I'd let it go, watching from far distances, relegating it to the Alex Rider who had an uncle and Jack and his innocence, where it would stay.

This felt like a tiny, tiny olive branch from the person I used to be, the kid I used to be. An olive branch to tell me that I wasn't all lost. That I wasn't completely gone, and that I could still have a little bit of what I used to love.

"Thank you," I said again. "I—I'm really excited. Just—wow. Thank you."

The words seemed so dull in comparison to the spark of life in my chest.

"Glad you like it," Lion said with a smile. It might have just been me, but there was something like relief in his eyes. I supposed he'd been more worried than he let on. I felt kind of bad, but I was still riding the high of knowing I was going to an awesome football game in a few days, so I couldn't be upset. "Open the other one."

"You don't get to know the third one until it gets here tomorrow, but yeah, open the other one," Tiger commented, taking a generous sip of eggnog.

"Are you sure you're supposed to drink with a concussion?" I asked dubiously, carefully tearing at the wrapping paper with cartoon Santa Clauses. "That's pretty strong."

Tiger peered over the mug at me with a raised eyebrow. "How would you know, squirt?"

I averted my eyes to the present and shrugged. "Context clues, and your general personality."

"Hm," he said, still suspicious. Damn.

The paper gave way to a small box about two inches by two inches, like the kind you'd get jewelry in. I felt my face pinch in confusion—I didn't wear jewelry. It almost looked like a box someone might propose with. "You could at least buy me dinner first," I deadpanned before I really thought about it. Lion and Tiger laughed, and Bear threw a pillow at me and yelled at me to get on with it.

I did, carefully shimmying the top off the box to reveal a shiny bronze key.

I didn't want to seem ungrateful, but I didn't really know what I'd been given. "I'm really sorry, I…what is this to?"

"The flat," Lion said.

"But I have a key," I said, thinking of the tarnished old thing I kept on a key ring with a Chelsea soccer chain.

"No, you have the spare key," Bear explained patiently. "This is your key."

I blinked at him, then looked back down at the key in my hand.

It was such a benign gift. Such a small little thing, probably fairly inexpensive to have made. It was just bronze, just a hunk of metal cut in the shape of jagged grooves that fit just right to open the door to safety. I'd had dozens of keys before that didn't mean anything, because for most kids keys were normal—my house in Chelsea, my bike lock, the safe spare, Tom's bike lock, since he always forgot his…I'd had so many keys, and this one was no different.

I felt like I'd been gifted the world.

It took a moment of staring, of understanding, before I put the lid back on the box and settled it in my lap, secure and close. "Thank you." The words were small, and I couldn't say any more than that, but I was lucky. I was lucky, because they didn't expect any more than that.

"You're welcome," Lion said gently.

"Oh! And these. They're not wrapped, sorry," Bear said, fishing around in a paper bag at the foot of his chair before chucking something at me.

I barely kept it from hitting my face, letting the offending object fall into my lap—a pair of thick gloves with different material on the fingertips so I could still use my phone with them on. "Lion called while I was still out and I found a department store open late. Did you seriously spend all day in this weather without gloves? The medic in me is crying," Bear said as I tried them on. They fit really well, actually, and were warm and snug.

"Use. Them." Lion said with a raised eyebrow and no trace of a smile before I could even respond. "Maybe you'll avoid frostbite."

I hid a smile behind an eyeroll and tucked them into the pocket of the hoodie. "I will. Thanks."

Lion raised an eyebrow, but smiled, exasperated and small. "I'll believe it when I see it."

…

Jack used to put in old Christmas films on Christmas Eve. Not last Christmas. Last Christmas things had been awkward and stilted and oh so wrong. I remembered turning in early that night and crying because I knew no matter how late I stayed up hoping, Ian wasn't coming home that year.

But on other Christmases, Jack would keep us awake for ages. We ordered takeout, usually Chinese or Thai, and put in the old stop motion films—The Little Drummer Boy, Santa Claus is Comin' to Town, Rudolph—as well as some other classics, like Frosty the Snowman. My favorite was the Polar Express.

Most years, Ian managed to be back by a couple days before Christmas, but as I now had an acute understanding of general madmen, international crises didn't take holidays, unfortunately. There were a few years where he came home late on Christmas Eve or not at all. I stayed up late waiting for him—late enough sometimes that Jack threatened me to bed by telling me that Santa wouldn't come if I stayed up too late. Reluctantly, I went to bed.

Jack always had this sixth sense about my emotions. When Christmas morning rolled around, I only wanted one thing—Ian to be home. When he wasn't, I tried to hide it, I really did, but Jack could always tell how disappointed I was. Those years she took extra care to make or do my favorite things, and I remember her positively laying into Ian when he got home and thought I couldn't hear.

Tonight, with L-Unit, it was different. Tiger told us about some of his Christmas traditions: since he was unaccustomed to staying in one place for too long, and he had both Egyptian and Japanese influence—neither of which traditionally celebrate Christmas—his experiences were a little different. When he was traveling or with family, they celebrated on January 7th, as his father was a member of the Coptic Orthodox Church. His mother, full-blooded Japanese, celebrated on the 25th, but celebrated it as more of a holiday than a religious observance. Apparently, strawberry shortcake was a common Japanese tradition, and his mum would be making one while she was here.

Lion told us about how he and Angelica would celebrate Christmas together under their father's nose, saving and buying or making each other gifts. After their father was asleep or passed out, they'd sneak into the kitchen and make hot chocolate with whipped cream and crushed peppermint, or they would celebrate with friends' families, later in high school. I knew it couldn't have been easy, but Lion spoke fondly about the memories, and that was enough for me.

Bear and his dad had some traditions too, though they weren't set in stone. Bear wasn't very religious, but his father was, so they normally went to church. Then they made it a point to cook together—different things every year. They went to a soup kitchen for a couple years, animal shelters others. Bear confided that even during the bad years, when his mother was gone and their relationship was strained at best, Christmas was always a good memory.

"Did you have any Christmas traditions, Alex?" Tiger asked, subtly rubbing his temple. His eyes were unclouded and alert, though, so I figured it was just a headache.

I smiled, glancing at the tellie. "Yeah. Some. Jack—my nanny. She was an awful cook for the most part, so we ordered takeout. Watched a bunch of movies—the classics, you know? She always made us watch the stop motion films, too, but they grew on me."

"Oh my God, I loved the stop motion films," Bear said wistfully. "Little Drummer Boywas my favorite. Thrilled my dad, since it was one of the actual religious ones."

"My favorite's The Polar Express," I offered. "Ian would spend the days with us when he was home, but he was away a lot. On the years he was home for a couple weeks for sure, Jack would go back to America to visit her family."

"Ohhh, an American," Bear said thoughtfully. "Was she one of those people who decorated the day after Halloween?"

I laughed, painful nostalgia in my chest. "Yes. The morning of November 1st, or whenever I got home from school, she made me help her get all the decorations out of the garage. Ian and I never really decorated before she lived with us—we lived a bunch of different places when I was little, so it was just too much stuff to transport. But Jack didn't leave a single place in the house undecorated."

I smiled into my tea, and I could feel Lion watching me carefully out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't need to worry. It was painful, and heavy, but I simply couldn't feel hurt in this warm flat with safety and a key and the possibility of a future.

Bear, caught off guard by the mention of the stop motion films, ended up demanding we watch one for old times' sake, so Tiger hooked up his laptop to the tellie and we watched Little Drummer Boy. I dozed off halfway through and woke to the credits rolling and Lion's gentle hand on my shoulder, sleep in my eyes.

"Go to bed," he said quietly, prying the mug from my hands. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," I mumbled, staggering to Elliot's room and all but collapsing onto the bed, pulling the blanket over my shoulders and falling quickly asleep.

I dreamed of fire, but for once, it was soft. Instead of ravaging my dreamscape, it was a pleasant, crackling glow, and instead of red tendrils like Jack's hair, it was a soft orange. It was warm and safe and quiet, and if I squinted through the haze of smoke curling above the flame, I could see Jack—whole, safe, happy, smiling Jack—and Ian, with the gentle smile that sometimes, sometimes, cracked through years of weathering work of facing humanity's lowest and cruelest evils. The Ian that was just my uncle.

It was a very good dream.

…

Contrary to my pleasant sleep, I was rudely awoken by a pillow landing on my head, having been thrown from the door.

I shot up in bed, reaching for my nightstand for something to defend myself, the lamp, a knife, anything, before my eyes settled on Tiger in the doorway. He was staring at me with a raised eyebrow and not a shred of regret.

I collapsed back in bed, throwing an arm over my eyes as I caught my breath. "You could've woken me like a normal person."

"Neither of us are normal people, I'm afraid," he said flatly, peering back into the hallway to look at something. "Get up. Your third present is here."

"I'll open it later," I mumbled sleepily. "What time is it?"

"Time to get your lazy arse out of bed, you slug!" A new voice shouted from the doorway, just before a much more sizeable object was thrown onto my bed.

I scrambled to remove my arm from my face, blinking lingering sleep out of my eyes as quickly as I could. I turned to see who the hell had just catapulted onto my bed.

I blinked, my mind uncomprehending, but it didn't take me long to get over my shock.

"Tom!" I exclaimed, feeling my face light up as Tom sat up, reaching out to hug me, but I was already there. "What the hell are you doing here? You're meant to be in Italy!"

"Yeah, well, Jerry's spending the holiday with his girlfriend, and the last place I want to be is with my parents," he said matter-of-factly, disengaging and pulling back, still wearing that sun-bright smile I was never fully sure I deserved. "Crashing your holiday seems way more interesting. Besides, since you're still all top-secret no-fly, I figured I'd come to you. Now scooch over, I'm tired," he said, yawning before he flopped back down, kicking his backpack off my bed with a thud.

He probably was tired. It was early—eight? Nine?—and he'd probably flown overnight from Italy, because he knew I couldn't go to him.

I was grateful, more than grateful, that I would be getting to spend Christmas with Lion and Tiger and Bear and their families, but I was also subconsciously, viscerally disappointed, because I knew I'd be the only one without family. I'd be the only one without that person, those memories to share, and—well, of course it hurt. It hurt a little more than I'd been willing to acknowledge, even to myself.

And Tom—Tom.

I could only stare as he fell almost right to sleep, feeling far luckier than I deserved. Knowing that L-Unit had probably collaborated on this, spoken to Tom and made the arrangements, and brought me the only piece of my past I'd acknowledged that I was allowed to keep beyond memories.

I didn't think L-Unit or Tom would ever know how much they did for me in their simple, thoughtful gestures, but I could only joyfully, willingly resign myself to showing them my gratitude for as long as I was allowed. And I hoped it would be a long, long time.

A/N: Hey! Shorter than normal, but sweet :) I hope you liked it! We needed some fluff, haha. (BTW the little mystery I mentioned last chapter is now irrelevant because I changed that part of my plan sorry :P)

Disclaimer: I know nothing about English soccer / football stuff, and did very shallow research, so I'm sorry if anything is wrong. Also, I make no claim to know much if anything about traditional Japanese or Egyptian-Christian holiday celebrations, and all my information came from some research, so please let me know if anything is incorrect!

Ha. REVIEWS. You guys spoil me: ElNonie, MemoryisKey, MillieM04, Fox, Cortanacordeliacarstairs, M-chanchen, Psycloptic Furry, NeleWW, CakeMania225, Lily, Dobby and Padfoot, OnlyABookworm, Em0Wolf, Puff and Proud, Asilrettor, JoJohanna, taliaTMNTdrea, KMER79, Guest, Guest, Guest, Guest, Guest, and seth 8627!

Fox: Aww thanks so much! Happy Easter :)

Cortanacordeliacarstairs: Omg ty! You're so sweet. And oh, thanks for the information!

Lily: Omg wow that's a lot of words XD Thank you! And yes, Lion is my favorite :)

Guest (Every time I see…): Omg thank you so much!

Guest (EEEEEEEEE): Awww thanks!

Guest (Heyho): Hey! Thanks :) I hope things become easier for you, and I'm glad you're enjoying it!

Guest (I just reread this…): Omg wow! Haha thank you so much! That's so awesome to hear, thank you! And to your question, Alex has never said anything, but they suspect. They're not too worried right now, since I think you can join the army at 17 with parental permission, so it's not shocking to them. It will be later, though, haha XD Thank you!

Guest (The Jessie and Alex scene…): Haha I knowwww, thanks! Hahaha I am, and I love it! Thanks!

…

PS NATIONAL ANIME DAY IS APRIL 15TH GO WATCH SOME ANIME LOVE YOU