Disclaimer: The characters of Jack Malone, Samantha Spade, Martin Fitzgerald, Danny Taylor, Vivian Johnson, Paula Van Doran, Maria Malone and Father Sean Walker belong to Jerry Bruckheimer Productions and CBS – I've just borrowed them for this Winter's tale!

The snow had been falling incessantly for the last four hours. What amazed Samantha the most was the speed at which it had covered everything in its path. The New York skyline was now liberally dusted a powdery white. Street signs, cars and skyscrapers were all iced, just like the Christmas cake she used to help her mother make all those years ago. It was as if the snow was a living, breathing entity, with a plan and a mind of its own. That it was going to cause chaos she had no doubt. Traffic would be backed up for hours and the subway would be crowded with commuters forced to abandon their snowbound vehicles.

She hated the cold. If she hadn't left her Christmas shopping so late, she certainly wouldn't be out here on this snowy Christmas Eve. But she had left it late, and so here she was, freezing her ass off with the other last minute shoppers, all of them hurrying from store to store, paying over the odds for gifts that would be in the bargain bin come January. She was tempted to blame the demands of the job for her seasonal tardiness, but she knew that wasn't true. Vivian had started her shopping weeks ago, Martin too. She'd seen the artist sketch pads and brightly coloured paints he'd bought for his two small nieces, the cashmere scarf purchased from 'Pierre's' for his mother and the silver antique cufflinks for his father. She hadn't seen what he'd bought for her, but she knew he'd bought something.

He'd invited her to spend Christmas Day with him at his parents' house, but she wasn't ready for that. Not yet. Instead they'd compromised – Christmas Eve dinner at his place, just the two of them. Early Christmas morning she would catch a flight to her mother's and he would fly to his parents, for the traditional Fitzgerald gathering in DC. He was at his apartment right now, preparing roast duck with all the trimmings. She smiled, imagining him in his spotless kitchen, with a blue and white striped apron tied around his waist. He'd be one of those organised cooks she decided; the type who chops up all the ingredients in advance and washes the dishes as they go. He'd get out the best cutlery, light some candles and ensure that a quality bottle of wine was airing on the side. The heating would be high enough to thaw out her frozen fingers and toes, but not so hot that it made her flush. The stereo would be playing something melodic on low, not romantic, he wouldn't wanna push things too hard, but something mellow. They'd have dinner and then exchange gifts.

It was strange, buying a gift for Martin. Not strange in a bad way, just different. Their shift from colleagues to lovers hadn't been planned, but it had happened. Whether he'd caught her at a weak moment or a strong one she wasn't sure. It had been nice to be held for the whole night, to wake up together, rather than being abandoned in the early hours. It had been nice not to feel the pain, the guilt, the hopeless despair. True the highs were not as high, but neither were the lows as low. And may be she was better that way.

It had taken a while to pick out Martin's gift and even now she wasn't sure she'd gotten it right. The sales assistant had raved over the water resistant, shock resistant, latest edition climber's watch so much, that Samantha had felt she had to buy it, if only to stop the woman's incessant babbling. She hadn't known Martin was a climber until the Brian Owen case. Martin had been the one to find him. Spotting the photographer from the top of the cliff edge, he'd scrambled his way down to the injured man and called it in. Later, when she'd seen the climb he'd made, she'd raised her eyebrows and jokingly asked him if he were Spiderman. He'd blushed and laughed it off, modestly explaining that he'd been president of the climbing club in college. He still climbed when he got a chance. He said he loved the freedom, the challenge of moulding his body to become one with the rock. She'd never heard him talk with such passion, such openness and although afterwards he'd been a little embarrassed, it had struck a chord with her. And so, for the first time in her life she'd found herself in an outdoors shop, fumbling her way through rock boots and chalk bags, until she'd been pounced on by the over enthusiastic sales assistant.

As she walked toward the subway, she could feel the snowflakes against her face, tickling her nose on their descent to the street below. Her feet, encased in thick fur lined boots, trudged heavily through the mounds of snow in her path, and her breath when she exhaled danced away in cloudy spirals like cigarette smoke. She was wearing her warmest coat and scarf, and her hands were gloved, but still she was cold.

And yet that wasn't entirely true. Martin's wasn't the only gift she'd bought tonight. The other gift, the guilty, secret gift, the one that she shouldn't have bought, was burning a hole in her pocket so bright, that she had enough heat to keep her going through to New Years.

She knew she shouldn't have bought it, had no right to buy it. But she'd seen it and thought of him. The thought had become an impulse, the impulse so strong it was impossible to ignore. And then, before she even knew what she was doing, she was at the counter, handing over her money and picking out gift-wrap. She shouldn't have bought it, but then 'he' wasn't supposed to be here. She was never supposed to see 'him' again. He'd gone to Chicago to rebuild his life and she'd stayed in New York to rebuild hers. And she had rebuilt it, or she'd started to at least. And then 'he'd' come back. His life was in tatters, his soul almost destroyed, but for the first time since they'd met he was free.

But she wasn't.

The paper chains hanging from the ceiling and the tinsel on the computer screens were not the only remnants from the Bureau's annual Christmas party. Jack had managed to snag a plate of sorry-looking sandwiches, some chips with an unidentifiable dip, a slice of chocolate gateau and a bottle of red wine. It wasn't exactly a feast, but he doubted that even Van Doran expected anyone to be working this late on Christmas Eve. For once not wanting to be alone in his office, he had pulled up a chair at the conference table and settled down to eat. The stereo from the party had been left behind and wanting company, he idly reached across and flicked it on. He winced as a far too cheery Christmas song assaulted his ear drums. Hastily turning down the volume, he played around with the controls until he found a mellower track. The strains of Bing Crosby crooning 'White Christmas' drifted across the room, and Jack gave a wry smile – appropriate song given the current weather conditions.

The snow had taken everyone by surprise. It had been cold all week, but the weather guys had, had all New York convinced that a white Christmas wasn't on the cards this year. 'Shows what they know' he thought with a grunt. He didn't mind the cold; he was used to New York winters. But the snow sometimes caused him problems. Weather like this, he had to take it a little slow. Last year, Hannah, full of youthful enthusiasm, had flung herself on him, when he'd come to inspect the snow people she and Kate had fashioned out in the front yard. Without a sure footing, his faulty knee had twisted and he'd landed on it, with both his weight and hers. The pain had brought tears to his eyes, but he'd hidden it from Kate and Hannah, not wanting to spoil their fun. He'd hidden a lot of things from them last year, but they knew things now, and he knew that he'd spoilt a lot more than their fun.

He hadn't been out in the snow yet today. In fact, he'd barely noticed the weather, as he'd forced smiles and small talk at the Christmas party. He'd laughed and joked with Danny, even managed a respectable peck on the cheek for Van Doran, when a drunken intel analyst had cornered them with some mistletoe. He'd shaken hands and wished colleagues 'Happy Holidays', and whilst he may not have been the life and soul of the party, he'd figured he'd put on a good enough show. He'd given it half an hour before claiming he had paper work to finish. Some of his team had tried to persuade him to stay, but he'd refused. She'd caught his eye as he'd turned to go, but she hadn't asked him to stay. And so he'd left them to it, and whilst he could still hear the laughing and joking, the music and the clinking glasses, at least he hadn't had to keep up the smile.

By 6pm he'd been able to tell that the party was starting to break up. He could hear them calling out farewells and exchanging plans for the evening ahead. Some were off home to partners and children, others heading on to clubs and bars to enjoy a little more festive spirit before facing the snowy trek home. As much as he wanted to hide in his paper work, he knew he'd have to face them before they left – face 'her'.

Vivian had been the first to stick her head around his door. She'd had her coat on and had wrapped a bright red scarf around her neck. In her hands were yet more parcels – she'd been shopping for weeks. She'd paused just inside the door, her eyes clear and determined.

'I'm going now Jack' she'd said.

He'd nodded 'Okay'.

She hadn't smiled and he knew why. He'd disappointed her – the way he'd acted, the things he'd done. It had changed their relationship. Sure she still did her job as well as ever, but he'd lost her respect and he knew it.

She'd seemed reluctant to go; like there was more she wanted to say. He'd sighed, wondering how many times he'd have to atone, how many people he'd hurt and how he could put it right.

'Are you seeing the girls this holiday Jack?' she'd asked.

He'd look up surprised. It had been the first time she'd mentioned his situation since they'd rowed in the car.

'Yeah, yeah I am' he'd replied gruffly 'but not until the twenty-seventh. They're staying with their mother until then'.

She'd nodded and then released a breath 'You know I'm cooking Christmas Eve dinner for Reggie and Marcus tonight' she'd said. She'd looked at him with those direct eyes 'There's always room for one more'.

Their eyes met and although her face was still hard, her eyes were not. He'd swallowed, a sudden lump in his throat.

'Thanks' he'd said softly.

She'd smiled that smile of hers, the one that said she knew what was going on, knew that when he'd said 'thanks' it wasn't just about the dinner invitation.

'But you're not gonna come are you?' she'd said knowingly.

'I'm fine Viv' he'd replied 'I'll be fine'.

'Are you sure Jack?' she'd asked, her eyes probing, profiling him in the way she'd profiled so many others.

'Yes I'm sure' he'd said 'Now go, they're waiting for you'.

'Well you know where we are if you change your mind' she'd said. But she'd known he wouldn't.

'Yeah I know' he'd said. 'Happy Holidays Viv'.

'Happy holidays Jack'.

Fifteen minutes later, Danny had appeared at the door. He, like Viv, had been dressed to face the cold, the collar of his trench coat already turned up, a black knitted skull cap pulled down over his short hair.

'Hey Jack, a group of us are headed out to 'Malloy's' carry on the party a little more' he'd said, a lopsided grin on his face.

'You're drinking?' Jack had asked, one eyebrow slightly raised

'They're drinking' Danny had corrected him 'me, I'm more interested in a certain fire inspector who said she might be there'.

'Hey Danny, c'mon man!' voices had shouted from outside the door 'We're getting' mighty thirsty out here'.

Danny had leaned back out the door 'I'll be right there' he'd shouted. When his head had reappeared, he'd still been grinning 'So Jack, you wanna come with?' he'd asked

'Thanks' he'd replied 'but I got a lot of work to finish up here before I head out'.

'Really?' Danny had said, his eyebrows arching skywards 'Van Doran still cracking the whip?'

He'd shrugged 'I messed a lot of people around when I didn't take the job in Chicago, I guess I have to prove myself again now I'm back'.

'Well you don't have to prove anything to me' Danny had said 'It's good to have you back man'.

He'd smiled, appreciating the support 'Thanks, it's good to be back'.

'Well have a good one Jack and don't work too late, weather's getting pretty bad out there'.

He'd nodded 'Happy Holidays Danny' he'd said.

'Happy Holidays Jack.'

A 6.30pm there'd been a knock on the door.

'Come in' he'd called out.

Even if the door hadn't been glass, he'd have known it was gonna be Martin; he was the only one of the team who ever knocked. The younger man had, had two shopping bags filled with groceries in his hands. They'd looked so out of place with his formal suit and long trench coat that Jack had looked the younger man up and down and smiled

'Never had you figured for a chef' he'd said dryly.

Martin had smiled back 'Not sure that I am one, but I'm gonna give it a shot' he'd replied. 'I have to admit that I didn't get much practice when I was growing up. My mom isn't really one for cooking.'

'Yeah?' Jack had said, mildly surprised 'Doesn't she have to entertain your father's big shot entourage in Washington?'

Martin had lowered his voice conspiratorially 'You know she'd never admit it, but whenever she has a real important dinner party she orders in'.

Jack had snorted, enjoying the irony 'You spending the holidays with your folks?' he'd asked.

Martin had nodded 'Heading over to DC tomorrow for the annual Fitzgerald Christmas dinner'.

'Well say 'Merry Christmas' to the Deputy Director for me' Jack had said with a wry smile.

Martin had nodded 'I'll be sure and do that' he'd said equally wry 'no doubt he'd love to extend his best wishes to you too'.

He'd smiled 'I'm sure he would'.

And that was when 'she' had come in. Bursting through the door with her blonde hair hanging loose and her coat done up on the wrong buttons, she'd stopped awkwardly beside Martin, hovering on the threshold.

He'd felt his breath catch in his throat.

'Just wanted to let you know I'm heading out now too' she'd said, her voice unusually high, 'Still got Christmas shopping to do; you know, see if I can pick up any last minute bargains'. She'd seemed flustered, uncomfortable. She was never relaxed around him anymore. That was his fault too.

'You'd better hurry if you wanna catch the stores before they close' he'd said, his voice a little gruff.

She'd look at him, a hint of something in her eyes 'You know me' she'd said, 'I like to live on the edge.'

He'd paused, swallowed 'Yeah I know' he'd said.

Their eyes had met and for one brief moment he'd felt that spark of electricity and with it a surge of hope. But she'd quickly looked away, her eyes jumping to Martin instead. And Martin had looked back at her. And watching the two of them, standing there in the doorway to his office, looking at each other and then looking at him, suddenly he'd known. At that moment he'd wished with all his heart that he wasn't a skilled profiler, wasn't well versed in the art of body language, that he couldn't read those tell tale signals that gave the game away. But he was and he could and he knew that the cold feeling that had started in his stomach and was spreading through every nerve and sinew, turning his very blood to ice, had nothing to do with the snow outside.

He had sat there, trying to put it together, trying to work it out. And then Martin had spoken.

'You know everyone else has gone' Martin had said 'Are you heading out now too Jack, cause we can walk out with you.'

'We?' he'd thought 'so it's 'we' now?' and he'd wondered how long it had been 'we'.

'Jack?' Martin had prompted 'Are you heading home?'

'Home?' he'd thought 'Where was home?' It certainly wasn't the apartment he'd lived in with Maria and the girls; that had been rented out when he was supposed to move to Chicago. The hotel room he'd been living in recently wasn't home, and now maybe home wasn't with 'her' either.

'I've still got some stuff to finish up here before I head out' he'd said, surprised to find his voice was still working. 'I'm gonna be another couple of hours at least'.

She'd caught his eye and this time he'd been the one to look away. He'd known that she'd understood that he didn't have a home to go to, that he was working late on Christmas Eve not because he had to, but because he didn't have anywhere else to go. And he wondered if she knew that he'd been hoping that if he stayed late, then maybe she'd stay late too and then maybe they could finally talk about what he'd said, what he'd done.

She'd opened her mouth to say something, and for a moment he'd wondered if may be he'd been wrong about her and Martin. But then she'd closed her mouth and Martin had spoken instead

'Well don't work too hard Jack' he'd said 'And Happy Holidays'.

He'd nodded 'You too'

And then she'd looked at him, her brown eyes sending him a message that for once he couldn't read

'Take care Jack' she'd said.

'Take care Sam' he'd replied.

And he'd had a horrible feeling that 'Take care' meant 'goodbye'.

TO BE CONTINUED ……