Yes, kids, it is I, Kira, back with more fluff for your enjoyment. Here's my take on Christmas with our favorite spy couple, told in 12 parts.

Captured Moments:
12 Days of Christmas

Part 1: Partridge in a Pear Tree

On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me
A Partridge in a Pear Tree

"You seem…festive."

Eric Weiss grinned and leaned on the side of my desk, a huge grin on his face. "Why, thank you."

"I wasn't aware you were allowed to wear Christmas ties," I continued, looking up from the paperwork piled in front of me to grin at Weiss' Santa Clause tie.

"Neither was I. Your point?"

I tapped my pen on the desk and laughed. "Nothing, nothing. What are you up to this holiday season?"

"Well, since I'm not a globetrotting super-spy – "

"Weiss," I warned pointedly.

"What? It's true! I get to stay home and spend it with my family in Connecticut. My brother has finally decided his wife can meet the rest of us."

"Poor woman."

"I heard that," Weiss grinned. "What about you?"

"I have no idea," I replied, expression saddening. I leaned my head on my hand and looked off into space, aka the direction of my boyfriend's desk. Weiss followed my gaze and nodded knowingly.

"I see. Wondering if you're doomed to another Bristow celebration."

"My dad's not that bad. He's just…reserved."

Weiss snorted. "Yeah. And mine's normal. Mike usually goes to his mom's. You should ask to go with."

"Right. Hi, Mrs. Vaughn. My mother killed your husband. Turkey, please?"

"I can see how that could be bad."

"I just want to spend it with him, really spend it with him. Last year it was just a present passed during a clandestine meeting." I sighed and pushed some of my long brown hair behind my ear. "But I know how much he loves his family – how could I take that away from him?"

"He's a softy and in love with you. Just ask."

This time, it was my turn to snort at him. Except I did it a little more gracefully. "I don't know. I don't feel comfortable just asking him like that."

"Why? You're dating, right?"

"Obviously."

"I'm glad you've come to that point in your relationship where you've realized everyone in the entire office is aware of you two."

"I've known for awhile," I countered. How could I not? I too heard the gossip traded in the break room, many people talking before they realized whom I was. "Just didn't want to deal with it."

"That whole 'don't fraternize with your fellow agents' thing?"

"You've got it." I paused, frowning as I realized I'd been gazing at Vaughn's desk and he wasn't sitting at it. "Where's Vaughn?"

"I swear, you never ask him where I am," Weiss mumbled, shaking his head. "Why?"

"We're supposed to go shopping today."

"What are you going to get me?" What is he, a kid? I know he plays with a yo-yo and attempts magic tricks, but I was under the impression that the CIA had an age limit and tested maturity before hiring someone. I grinned at him knowingly.

"Can't tell."

"You're no fun!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. He spied Kendall crossing the room behind her and tightened his expression, standing up fully. "Looks like I've got to go. Listen, just ask him. Please? I'm sure he wants to spend it with you just as much as you do with him. And if you haven't noticed, he's a bit shy when it comes to this stuff."

I rolled my eyes and pushed him off, laughing. He wasn't having a good week when it came to Kendall, having already been discovered teaching the techs down in their dark computer banked room yo-yo tricks instead of writing an op report. He narrowly avoided Kendall's gaze as he slipped back into his own station, another person saved by the quick use of alt tab.

With the director retreating to his office after gazing over his troops, the room seemed to buzz again with after lunch conversation, everyone reluctant to relinquish their hold on the mid-day break. Which caused me to wonder why, when most everyone had returned from lunch, even those I knew took an hour and a half when Kendall was tied up in meetings, Vaughn had yet to return.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't one to adopt the habit of lunching separate from my boyfriend – how do you think I knew there were people who took longer lunch breaks? – which is why, when stalking up to his desk at 11:59, I was surprised when he asked if I minded lunching separate.

I narrowed my eyes at him but let him leave. He did, after all, give me a good kiss before dashing off. And I'm nothing if not a sucker for the magic his lips have upon me at any given moment.

"Agent Bristow."

I'm a spy, I really am, but so was Kendall at one time, and he must have been a good one because I swear I jumped the moment his voice rang over my right shoulder.

"Yes?" I asked, swiveling my chair around to face him.

"Have you seen Agent Vaughn? His report is," he paused to check his watch, "15 minutes late."

"I'm here, I'm here," Vaughn's voice rang out accompanied by shuffling footsteps. He dashed to his desk and grabbed a file, depositing it in Kendall's outstretched hand. Kendall gave a grunt of approval and disappeared again.

"It's raining out?" I asked innocently as Vaughn put his arms around my shoulders, giving me a quick peck on my head. Let me tell you something, the sight of him with damp, rain sprinkled hair in a sharp, tailored suit just does something for him. His expression is fresh, youthful, and – "What's going on?"

"Hrm?" He pursed.

I shifted, turning around, taking his hands in mine. What, was he just handling ice? I sandwiched them between mine, rubbing them in an effort to give warmth. While California might not get snow like other regions of the US, it did get cold unrelenting rain and ice, if the temperatures dipped far enough.

"Nothing," I replied with a wave of a hand. He grabbed it mid-air and put it back on his.

"I forgot my gloves this morning," he explained. "Anyway, ready to escape this place?"

"Just as soon as you tell me where you've been," I replied, ready to pull out pouting as a plausible tool for extracting information from him. He hesitated, looking off to the right – I took psychology in college, I know that's the way someone looks when concocting a lie – then smiled down at me and slipped his hands from mine to rest on my face.

"Visited my mother, is that a crime?"

I frowned and turned, shutting down my computer. "Oh."

He sighed behind me as I gathered my coat and purse from the small shelf under the desktop, and was found rubbing his forehead when I stood to face him.

"I don't understand why you won't just come with me one of these times to meet her," Vaughn commented, glancing up at me through those fine lashes of his. We'd been over this time and time again, my reasons the same. How could I fathom meeting her? I feel so responsible for her husband's death simply through relation to his murderer that – I wasn't ready.

So I simply sighed and threw my purse over my shoulder.

"I know, I know, you're not ready. I just wonder if you ever will be," he sighed.

"Are we going to go shopping or dig up the past some more?"

"Shopping, yes."

This man has a list. A list. As in a collection of names in alphabetical order with the gifts for each listed next to them. At least it wasn't on a piece of personalized stationary, because then I would seriously reconsider his mental state. Instead, he pulled a yellow legal page from his wallet and unfolded it once we entered the mall, scanning the stores in front of us and comparing them to where he needed to go.

I pulled an old receipt out of my coat pocket, unwrinkled it, and went down the hurried scrawled list of names wondering what I was going to get everyone. He snorted next to me.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything," he retorted innocently.

"No, but that was a scoff."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just because I don't have a nice list do-"

"I wasn't making fun of your…list."

He so was.

"You so were!"

He shook his head, laughter rivaling the jingling bells of holiday decorations hanging from women's purses, and grabbed my hand, whisking me off to the mountains of Switzerland and a cabin for just the two of us, carolers coming around as we sat snuggled up together in front of a warm fire, not a care in the world. Or, rather, the Discovery Store.

There was a fake fireplace, though.

"Vaughn, just because you act like a child doesn't mean you need to indulge," I commented, tearing my mittens off and 'warming' them in front of the fire. He grinned back at me.

"Weiss. This place has the best yo-yos."

I groaned. "Should have known."

"Plus, my nephew loves all this educational stuff," he added as an afterthought. Nephew? Did he just nephew? Just when you think you know a man…

"Nephew?" I asked, trailing after him as he took large strides through the store, long raincoat billowing out behind him. He was tall and confidant, clearly a fast, productive shopper and not one to return home after shopping with $300 in gifts for others and $300 in 'gifts' for yourself you got to open right away. I should have known his love for order and protocol bled into his personal life.

"Yep. He's five."

He has a five-year-old nephew? Whom he buys presents for? From the Discovery Store? Wait a second here.

"And you're getting him educational toys? What kind of uncle are you?" I scoffed, shaking my head. He stopped suddenly in front of a display of model toys so quickly I rammed into him, a fast display of balance all that kept him from falling into said display of neatly stacked boxes. A floor person gave us a dirty look, and I held back sticking my tongue at him.

"That guy looked like he was ready to kill us."

"You. Kill you. You're the one who stopped traffic here," I retorted quickly. Vaughn shrugged and picked up one of the boxes, examining it as if it were some kind of safe he had to get into. Or something like that. It's sad that all of my metaphors involve illegal activities of some kind.

"Hrmm," he hummed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. I rose to my tip toes, resting my chin on his shoulder for a better vantage point. "Think he'd like this?" he asked, turning his head to look at me. The man has a wonderful profile even when viewed this close.

"If I were five, I'd want a race car."

"Well, with this, he can make his own race car," he pointed out, motioning to the box. Oh please, the kid's going to hate having to construct his toy after the work of unwrapping it.

"I'm just sayin – "

"You don't know this kid," he interrupted, turning around, almost throwing me off balance again. "He's the smartest kid I've ever met. He watches documentaries instead of cartoons and reads. Reads!" His face lit up in such a way I'd never seen before, a sparkle in his eye as he went on and on about this wonderful nephew of his and how he always goes to visit when he has a chance even though they live in Oregon. He loves playing the part of the favorite uncle, trying to get him the coolest gifts whenever he makes it up there for the holidays.

The holidays.

My face must have faltered because he pauses in the middle of his speech, wrinkles furrowing on his brow as a hand came out to rest on my arm. Always concerned about me over himself, the most unselfish man I've ever met, he let the hand holding the box fall to his side and stepped towards me.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I shook my head vigorously and sighed. "Nothing." Trying to brighten my voice, I smiled up at him. "What fun is a list, anyway?"

"Huh?"

The poor man, confused by my sudden change of topic. He really needs to learn how to follow my strings of thought. I flicked the list sticking out of his coat pocket.

"The list."

"All right," he said. "I'll bite."

"You can't be spontaneous. It takes all the fun out of shopping. What if you're in a store and see something one of the people would love but it's not on the list?"

"You alter the list."

"Oh? Doesn't that go against the point of list making?"

His lips turned up into this lopsided smirk in just the right kind of way to make me believe he's up to something. "You want spontaneity."

"It's not that, just that – "

He silenced me with a finger to the lips. "C'mon."

"C'mon where?" I asked as he put the box back on the display and tugged on my hand. He simply smiled back at me in this complete 'trust me' kind of way and dragged me out of the Discovery Store. He didn't stop there, pulling me back towards the exit, ceremoniously taking the well-written list out of his pocket and making a perfect basket with the now crumpled piece of paper in the trashcan as we rushed past.

"The list!" I squeaked, almost pulling him back as I made a bee-line for the trash can.

"Forget the list, Bristow," he chided, holding the door open for me. God, what a perfect man he is. And now, I have the chance to put my mittens back on before rushing out into the cold.

"Where are we going?"

"Hey, don't you trust me?" he shot back.

"Yeah, sure, but not when you're taking me somewhere and I don't know the end destination. I've had people do that before, and trust me, it didn't end well for them."

"It's a surprise. I'm sure you've heard of them."

"In the form of 12 unexpected armed guards," I muttered.

"Well, I might be armed," he started, motioning to the car, "but the only thing I'm guarding is you. I think you're safe."

"I can take you any day," I stated, sliding into the passenger seat. He laughed.

"I know," he smirked, leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek. "One of your more admirable qualities."

"I'll remember that when we get to wherever you're taking me."


As a woman from the great state of California, outdoor malls always made sense. Most of the year, the weather was perfect and no sane person would spend the day inside a monolith of consumerism when they could be window-shopping under the warm sun and blue skies of LA. I'm sure out east, where they get snow and sleet and below zero temperatures the prospect of an outdoor mall frightens them. Then again, they're sure to have climbing jackets and down gloves, ready for the challenge Mother Nature throws at them.

And I had mittens and a nice warm jacket to keep the coldness of a moderately okay temperature from reaching bare skin beneath its protective layer. But Vaughn had forgotten his gloves in the mad rush that had become our mornings, his pockets their only refuge. I only say this because I enjoy watching his hands as he walks. They don't stay still, like most peoples' do. Instead, they move slightly, sometimes scratching the inside of his hand, or picking at the skin next to his thumbnail. I'd been unsuccessful at breaking him of that habit, but it was next on the list, having already gotten him to stop chewing on them idly while watching TV.

But with them inside his pockets, I didn't really have anything to watch, and nothing to hold on to. Slipping my arm through his always made me feel like I was walking to the gymnasium with my prom date and memories of high school came back. He ventured a date with frozen hands and patted my, holding it just over my mitten as we moved from the parking lot to a long row of shops.

I stopped in my tracks.

"Vaughn," I started, peering at windows cluttered with hand-made Christmas items and holiday cheer.

"A lucky find," he replied to my seemingly unintelligible question. "I was hunting for this perfect gift a year ago and happened upon this place. Had to get something one of a kind for the perfect girl."

I consider myself a modern woman. I'd never have a country kitchen or wooden figures with painted on faces. Quilts weren't going to be sitting on my couch any time soon, and the day I purchased an old-fashioned rocking chair would be the day I used it as some kind of weapon towards my own demise. It wasn't, then, the country stores that caught my eye with their turn-of-the-century holiday gifts and dark red trim.

It was the antique store sitting just to it's right.

"I didn't have a list last year," he continued, slowly coaxing me to move again. "Because I only had one name on it. One name that mattered, anyway." I nodded dumbly as he led us to the story, my eyes becoming wider and wider as we neared it.

He'd gone out of his way last year, to find me something perfect. Even after the arguments and insults, the short time we'd been civil with each other and the way I'd continued to treat him despite his own sacrifices for me, he'd gone out of his way to find me something perfect for Christmas. Something I could use and cherish even though it was simple.

And I got him nothing.

He was the one who argued for protocol and rules. I was the one who wanted to follow my heart above all else, to throw them out the window. And yet he'd broken his own rules, placed, I'm sure, for a good reason, and faced inquiry for his actions just to make my holidays a little brighter. Wasn't that what the season was for?

So I made up my mind then and there.

I walked faster, stopping right in front of him with a hand on his chest. He looked at me quizzically, then down at my hand.

"Wait here."

"What?"

"Just...go look in that store over there or something. I'll be right back," I smiled, pointing to the country store. He wrinkled his nose. Uh oh. I sense a whine coming on.

"Sy-dney," he whined. Can I read him or can I read him!

"Please?" I pleaded. He sighed, defeated.

"All right," he conceded. I giggled, yes, giggled, and started for the antique store, my mind made up. He was going to get something special this year, something even he wouldn't be able to top. "Wait!" he called, running up behind me, feet crunching dormant grass. I turned; ready to bring out the pouting again. He simply held out his hands.

"At least give me the gloves if I'm going to have to wait out here," he said. "Because there's no way I'm going in that store."

I laughed and handed them over, laughter growing as he struggled to fit them over his larger hands. I waved and started for the store.

This year, I would rule Christmas.