Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or copyrighted products so mentioned in the following story. Well, unless I have the copyrighted products in my house, in which case I purchased them, so I thus own those particular entities of the copyrighted product, so technically, I own the copyrighted product but not the copyright. Oh, OK, rephrase: I do not own any stock in any of the aforementioned copyrighted products.
xx xx
Alex stood on tip-toe over her fat spruce tree, experimenting with different places to put her Hallmark ornament. The latest addition of mice in a Crayon box found its way next to a shiny red globe. She wasn't one of those people who collected every Hallmark ornament ever made. Her tree consisted of white lights and multi-colored orbs to match the crayons. The eye didn't fight over what to look at first. The mice got all the attention.
By the window, Bobby bounced her nephew on his knee to the rhythm of Nat King Cole's crooning, a tiny smile on his face and falling snowflakes reflecting in his eyes. The baby made a continuous humming noise, delighting in how his voice vibrated as he jiggled.
"Need help with the star?" asked Bobby when Eames pulled her tree-topper out of the box.
She sent him a look. "No, thank you. I've got a footstool." The top of the tree grazed her ceiling, just over seven feet up. The five-foot-three Eames propped herself on the stool and teetered over to place the star on the crown.
Bobby grinned. Yes, she could take care of herself. He just liked to pretend he didn't remember that sometimes. It got her riled up.
He'd stopped by to spend some time with his best friend during the last week before Christmas, thrilled to find her with her adorable little nephew. The more time he spent with the kid, the more his respect grew for Alex. Not just for her, but women everywhere. They could make babies. Little humans. How cool is that? He was a long way away from wishing he had his own uterus, but that didn't hamper his awe.
She left the room for a moment to put the empty boxes back in her closet, reentering with a wrapped package and a big smile. Bobby's ears pricked up as the baby started to wriggle. He stood, setting the kid gently on the floor and reaching for the present.
Alex pulled it out of his grasp. "Ah-ah," she said with no trace of a grin. "You have to promise not to open it until Christmas."
He rolled his eyes. "OK, all right, I promise."
Reluctantly, she handed it over. He grinned over the To/From tag.
"To: Bobby
From: Alex
Oops, no, I mean Santa"
He shook his head. "He came down early all the way from the North Pole just for me?"
"Of course he did, Goren," said Alex returning to her baby. "He comes for all the special little boys who've been extra-good this year."
He snorted. Yeah, if there was one thing he'd been this year, it was good. He'd been good for—oh, gosh, how long? What was her name? That redheaded lady he'd met at the Veteran's Day Parade back in '03. Melissa. Yeah. He'd been good all the way back since Melissa. Wow, that was a long time ago. He'd got more glances in that dusty old dark-green uniform than anyone else on the sidewalk. Probably because it still fit him like it was tailored yesterday. Other soldiers went soft. Other soldiers weren't cops.
She'd smiled at him on the pier, to which he nodded cordially. Men have a tendency to overestimate the significance of a smile. But she'd followed up by coming to his side, sticking her hand in his back pocket and whispering low in his ear, "Hey soldier, can I polish your medal?"
Bingo.
Ballsy women were exactly what he looked for in terms of bed-warmers. Anything other than that required a bit more subtlety. If they wanted him to care about them, they had to prove themselves care-worthy. He had too much on his mind to worry about every one night stand he'd had in the last twenty-five years.
The song changed to Bing Crosby's White Christmas, knocking him back into winter with Alex, the tree, and the baby. She took the kid in her arms and groaned as he pounded on her breast. "It's not lunch time yet, doll," she scolded, pulling him away. Goren found something else to look at.
When he thought she wasn't facing him, he brought the package up to the side of his head and shook. No sound whatsoever.
"Don't even think about it, Goren," warned Eames. She set the boy back down to crawl around the floor to his little heart's content. "I packed it so full of soundproof foam a bat couldn't tell you what's in it."
His shoulders drooped a bit but he placed the box back in his chair. "Just for that, you're not getting your present until the very last minute."
She frowned. "You didn't have to get me anything."
"Yes I did. But you're going to have to wait." He sauntered over to the tree, examining the room reflected in the ornaments. She watched him dip and weave to get different angles of his round, attractive face, totally amused. He was dressed in a blue and beige flannel shirt and jeans, always somehow prim and proper in spite of his casual dress. She shook her head.
She was just about to ask him if he wanted anything to drink when his pager went off. He jumped and checked it, sighing when he read the number. "That's Mom," he told Alex. "I forgot—I always call her early before Christmas. Better get down there," he reached for his coat. "Thanks again for the present. I can hardly wait." She handed it to him, concerned.
"Is everything all right?"
"Yes, of course." He paused, looking at her. "I'm sorry I'm being so rude, leaving so suddenly." Another lengthy, exhausted sigh. "She's getting old and I'm all she's got left. The docs give her a few more years and she'll never be able to recognize me. After that… who knows? Maybe another year."
Alex nodded, her hand on his shoulder. He was just squeezing in every last available moment with a dying woman. "Be careful out there," she said, wrapping her arms around his waist. He was getting thin.
"I will," he promised, returning the hug. "Keep an eye on the baby. You can see him grow." With a small smile, he pulled the door closed behind him.
xx xx
Christmas morning, Eames rolled over in her bed and rubbed her eyes like a toddler. She smiled, inhaling the feel of Christmas. All over her building she heard kids squeal with excitement. She remembered the small collection of gifts under her tree and hopped out of bed, her slippers tapping the ground with a merry pitter-patter. The presents and cards from her old friends and favorite family members glimmered under the tree. Unable to resist until after breakfast, she parked her little backside on the floor, legs crossed Indian-style, and tore at it.
After her third box had been sent aside, something glinting in the corner of her eye caught her attention. A thick red ribbon stuck out from under her front door. Curious, she got to her feet and undid all the locks. In her doorway, a wide, narrow package sat on the ground. She recognized the messy, left-handed scribble on the tag immediately and brought the present inside.
Tearing the paper apart, she found a slender piece of paper composed of dozens of newspaper clippings. Running her eyes over it, briefly the first time, she found every time she'd ever been mentioned in the paper. Words had been ripped from other headlines to create the one atop the personalized article.
GOREN CAN'T WORK WITHOUT EAMES
Detective Alexandra Eames suggested that Goren look higher than he'd been planning on searching, putting him on the right track. Her resources provided invaluable to the solving of the case in which Goren was left fumbling. Working without Eames, on maternity leave, Goren seems to be losing it.
The case was solved when Goren uncovered the perpetrator's fondness for gambling. "Actually, it was her idea," he corrected reporters, signaling to his partner…
And so it continued. She knew he kept newspaper articles, especially the ones that criticized him. He even carried around the ones that hurt his feelings enough. The week Nicole Wallace disappeared his pockets rustled like he'd stuffed the entire New York Times in his pants.
But if there was only one person in the city who didn't overlook the efforts of Alexandra Eames, it was Robert Goren. That was all that mattered.
Suddenly the build-it-yourself model Ferrari seemed pathetically inadequate. She wiped a tear off her cheek and looked under the article. A small, framed picture of the two of them at the Plaza, Goren seated and Eames standing next to him with her tiny arm slung around his bull neck. She sighed. The picture had been taken a year ago. Look how he'd grayed… thinned… aged. He was smiling, broadly and jovially in the photo. Why didn't he smile anymore?
She pushed away another tear, made for another reason and set the picture down. With the other hand she picked up the phone.
"H'lo?" he said, as though he had something in his mouth.
"Bobby? It's Alex."
"Oh, hi Eames," he said, taking a piece of plastic out from between his lips. "I was just puttering. How's it going?"
"Good," she said. "I got your present."
"I hope so. I put it in your hall."
A beat passed silently. She heard him swear lightly once, like a man who just accidentally glued something to himself. "Thank you," she whispered. "It means a lot to me to know I'm remembered."
He sniffed. "No problem. I just wish I could find a rooftop tall enough to shout it from. And thank you for my gift. What do you think? Red or black?"
She shook her head with a broad smile. "You'd kill yourself in a red Ferrari."
He paused. "So black then?"
"Yes, Bobby. Go with black."
"Will do." Another pause. "Uh… I kind of need two hands for this."
"Oh," she said. "OK, then. See you later."
"Right."
"And Bobby?"
"Yeah?"
She hesitated, wanting to say so much but unable to think of a way to say it. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Alex." There was a smile in his voice.