A/N: Thanks for all of your reviews! I've been traveling a lot lately and reading your comments helps to keep me motivated when writing out of a hotel room starts to become frustrating. Please, keep them coming!

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Christmas Eve; 2219 Zulu; Harm and Mac's Home; Falls Church, Virginia

November swiftly gave way to December as Harm and Mac's makeshift family settled into the challenges of living under one roof. The first few days proved especially trying. Both adults, having grown accustomed to a certain amount of privacy after years of living alone, almost immediately found themselves stumbling not only over each other but over Mattie as well. Although technically only a four-bedroom home, the house boasted a walk-up attic. Harm was turning it into a retreat for the teenager, framing in the walls and adding a small private bath. Unfortunately, though, as a result Mattie couldn't move in until it was finished. In the meantime she took up residence in one of the two unclaimed bedrooms on the second floor where she was forced to share the hall bathroom with Harm. After his first encounter with feminine hygiene products, he doubled his efforts and completed the project a full week ahead of schedule. By the time the holiday season rolled around, Mattie was happily ensconced in her new room and Harm once again had a bathroom all to himself.

The living room glowed in Technicolor as the lights on the Christmas tree flickered to life. Rocking back on his heels as he admired the sight, Harm thought about the tremendous amount of effort Mac had put into decorating their home for the holidays. Each year she pulled out all the stops, but this Christmas she'd really outdone herself. The house looked absolutely spectacular. Harm couldn't remember ever feeling more contented and secure during the holiday seasons than he did at that moment.

A sudden burst of laughter from the direction of the kitchen intruded on his musings, and his lips curled upward in an involuntary smile. Knees creaking as he rose, he stood and headed through the dining room where he paused in the doorway to the adjoining kitchen. Mac and Trish were working side-by-side at the counter with their backs turned to the door. Watching as Mac's shoulders heaved with a girlish giggle, it occurred to him that this truly was the best Christmas he'd had in a long time.

Even Thanksgiving, after a rocky start, had turned out to be a wonderful holiday once he'd learned how to survive hormonal overload. He and Mac had invited the Roberts family to join them in celebrating their first Thanksgiving in the new house. Trish and Frank had also been planning to attend, but unexpected business at the gallery had eventually required them to be in California over the holiday, thus leaving the responsibility for the celebration dinner entirely up to Mac. An hour or so before Bud and Harriet were to arrive, Harm had found himself furtively picking up the phone and dialing their number.

"Roberts residence."

"Bud, it's Harm."

"Hi, sir!" In the background, Harm heard a loud thump and the sound of a child yelling, followed shortly thereafter by an infant's wail. "Um, don't worry, sir, we'll be there in an hour as promised," Bud assured him distractedly.

"I know you will, Bud. Listen, would you mind getting Harriet for me? I need to talk to her about something."

"Sure, sir, hang on."

A few moments later Harriet came on the line, somewhat out of breath. "Commander?"

"Hey Harriet," Harm said, lowering his voice into a near whisper. "I'm sorry for disturbing you, but I could really use some advice right now."

"What's on your mind, sir?"

"It's Mac," he began. "She's not acting like herself. Ever since 0600 this morning she's been in high gear trying to get everything ready for dinner tonight and I'm beginning to get a little concerned, especially after what just happened."

"Sir?"

"I found her in the kitchen bawling her eyes out."

"Let me guess – she wasn't peeling onions, was she?"

"No, she was peeling potatoes," he confirmed, frustration creeping into his voice. "When I ask her what's the matter, she says it's nothing and kicks me out of the room. I don't understand, Harriet. What am I doing wrong? I'm only trying to help."

"It's most likely hormone-related, sir. When you're pregnant, tears tend to come from anything and everything. She probably had no idea why she was crying and I'm sure was embarrassed to be caught losing control like that."

"So what should I do?"

Harriet paused. "You could always give her a hug and tell her that you love her. That's what Bud used to do for me, anyway."

A flutter of panic lodged in Harm's throat. Loving Mac was one thing, but putting his feelings into words was something else entirely. "I can't tell her that, Harriet!" Not yet, anyway, he silently acknowledged to himself.

"Then I'd suggest at least giving her a hug. I wouldn't be surprised if she's a little overwhelmed with her first formal dinner in the new house."

After a few more brief words, Harm thanked Harriet and said goodbye. Armed with Harriet's suggested strategy, he'd waited a few minutes before quietly returning to the kitchen. Mac stood at the counter sniffling back her tears as she dropped another potato into the large pot on the stove. Caught up in her own emotions, she didn't sense Harm's approach until his arms wrapped soothingly around her middle. She tensed up, but then almost immediately relaxed back into his embrace with a muted sob. They continued that way for a long while, motionless, until the weeping eased up and she pulled away. Afterward, neither had felt the need to speak, and Mac returned to the task of preparing dinner as though nothing earth-shattering had taken place. Grateful for Harriet's guidance, Harm mentally filed the term 'hug therapy' away for future reference.

"Earth to Harm!"

Startled out of his reverie, it took him a moment before he remembered that Thanksgiving was over – it was Christmas Eve, he was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, and his mother had asked him a question. She and Mac were watching him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"Sorry, Mom. What did you say?"

"Marshmallows?" she repeated, holding out a bag of the sweets to help emphasize her query.

"Huh?" What did marshmallows have to do with Christmas dinner? He stared at her blankly.

"I think that's a 'no', Trish," Mac answered for him, chucking as she grabbed a nearby towel and wiped her hands.

"What's a 'no'?" Harm looked at her in confusion.

"Should I prepare the sweet potatoes with marshmallows?" Asking him for the third time, it was apparent that his mother's patience was starting to wear thin.

"No," he said instantly, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Smiling flirtatiously as she patted him on the shoulder, Mac turned to the older woman with a grin. "See, Trish? I told you I know my flyboy." Before either of them could say anything, she had sauntered out of the kitchen and disappeared down the hallway.

Harm stared after her for a moment, surprised that she and his mother had been talking about him behind his back. Then a grin slowly spread across his features as he realized what she'd said: 'my flyboy'. Yes, he thought happily, this is definitely turning out to be the best Christmas ever.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

To be continued...

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---