A/N- okay, we all knew this was coming! I've decided to make a short story out of that Christmas one-shot. I know holiday season is over, but try to stay in that holiday mood for my little holiday fairy tale. Also, this is my first attempt to write in Mark's POV, I might not be very good at it so my apologies. Hopefully it'll get better.

Chapter 2

It had stopped snowing by the time he woke up. Now the City was waking, covered with soft layer of frost, which the rising sun was slowly melting away. He lingered near his bedroom window, looking down at the trees in Central Park. Their trunks were laced with snowflakes that glistened in the sunlight. For just a moment, he let memories take hold on him again. He tried to shut them out, but he could hardly resist them. It was always impossible to do so around the holidays' season. Everything always seemed to go back to that far away day… December 24th, 9 PM. When it all started. He could hardly believe it all happened ten years ago.

He turned away from the window, replacing that sudden sense of nostalgia with a more reasonable approach. He had a lot of work to do that day and he was already late. Taking his bag from the living room floor, he took a look around him, and sighed wearily. Whoever would walk in there would think he had just moved in. The room had hardly any furniture except for a leather sofa, some bookshelves, half empty, a television and his photography equipment. Everything else was still packed in carton boxes that were spread all over the bare parquet floor. Boxes full of memories. The truth was, that he lived there for almost three months, and back then he unpacked only what was necessary. The rest, he figured, he could do later. He had never found the right time for it.

As always, he chose to walk to the gallery instead of getting stuck in traffic. There was something in the chilly morning air that made him feel refreshed. His head was throbbing. He hardly slept the night before. Only this time, he couldn't blame his work for this insomnia. Not even the past memories that came back to haunt him in his sleep every now and again. Well, not exactly. It was a memory of a different kind this time. Just like years before, the source of his restless night, of his worries, his thoughts, was… her.

It was still unbelievable to him, the way she had just showed up there, out of the blue, in the middle of his gallery. Back then when she left, he thought he'd never see her again. He still had that postcard somewhere, in one of the boxes on his living room floor. Back then, it was the only thing of hers he could hold on to. Back then, when he was still in love with her. He stuffed it inside a thick book one day, when he decided he didn't want to hear from her ever again. It was right after they lost Collins. He remembered how much she loved Collins, so he and Roger did everything they could to locate her before the funeral. They thought she'd want to go over there, to say goodbye to her friend… but they couldn't find her. He told himself it was her second chance to regret leaving them, to prove that she still cared about them, but she didn't take it. She didn't come back. She had completely given up on them. And with that realization, he gave up on her as well. His nearly obsessive love for her was instinctively replaced with anger and hate, but then it simply started to fade away. She became nothing more than a memory. He had plenty of those. He had almost forgotten her.

And then she came back.

She was obviously different, he thought. She was still beautiful, more than he ever allowed himself to remember, but in a different way, a way he wasn't sure he could really define. He suspected that this change was not only external. She said she was in town for business, which was another unbelievable fact. He couldn't prevent from a small smile to curl on his lips. Who would have thought?

He crossed the street towards the gallery, pondering over the only question that occupied his thoughts from the moment he got home the other night.

Should he call her?

He laughed when he realized he had been through this before so many years ago, when the same beautiful girl wrote her phone number on his arm in a crowded bar. It took him three days to brew enough courage and call her back then. This time, he knew, he didn't have much time. She was leaving town in a week or two, and then who knew if he'd ever see her again. But did he really want to go through all that again? She said she missed him and of course, he missed her too, how could he not miss her? And he told her he'd call… but should he?

I'm kind of living with someone… It's not a 'he'… Her voice echoed through his mind. He tried to convince himself this small fact didn't bother him. Why would it? It was just dinner, after all. He was the one suggesting it. He wasn't expecting anything to happen, really. Not after all this time. Above all things, he wasn't expecting to fall back in love with her like so many years before. But she was his friend. They shared a past and memories. He was just curious to know what she has been doing all this time.

Since they didn't open before ten every morning, the gallery was still dark and empty as he walked in. He took off his coat and entered the back room, where his office was. A woman raised her head from a large notebook, and smiled as she noticed him.

"Merry Christmas, Cohen," she greeted.

He frowned. "Happy Chanukah, Horowitz." He turned from her to pour himself coffee.

"Yeah, like I don't have enough from my parents when it comes to reminding me what an awful Jew I am," she huffed her discontent. "Woke up late again?"

"I'm sorry, next time I'll bring a note from my mother," he teased and hung his coat on a rack in the corner.

He knew Tammy Horowitz for years. She was a student in a photography workshop he instructed, and they dated couple of times before they got to the mutual realization it would never work. They just had too many things in common. They stayed good friends ever since, and she was the only one he could think about in helping him running his gallery when it finally opened. Tammy was his closest friend, especially after Roger died. She was intelligent, funny and sarcastic, and she always seemed to know what was on his mind, even when he didn't say anything.

They talked some more about the gallery while he finished his coffee. He listened to her story about an odd couple that visited there the previous day while he was gone, but couldn't stay concentrated. His thoughts kept wandering back to the previous evening's events. To call or not to call, that is the quest-

"Something is bothering you," she said all of a sudden. His head snapped up, and he realized that she was staring at him, waiting for his answer on something she said, and he didn't even hear. "What is it?"

"Nothing bothers me, why do you think that?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You can't fool me, Cohen. Come on, let me guess," she snatched his empty coffee mug and peered inside.

He stared at her in disbelief. "Since when you do that?"

"There are some things you still don't know about me," she replied mysteriously. From some reason, the way she said it reminded him of Maureen. "Come on, sit down and shut up, let's see if I'm right."

He sighed, but knew better than argue with her. He sat down across from her and watched attentively as she looked inside the mug in concentration.

"Hmm. I see… a woman… can't see her face very clearly, but I see a name."

He cocked an eyebrow. "A name," he repeated skeptically.

She barely looked at him. "Ah-huh. It looks like… Starts with an M… Marianna… no, wait, that's not that… Mo… Maureen… Johnson. That's it."

He couldn't do much, but stare. How on earth did she do that?

She noticed his look of amazement, it appeared. She smirked. "Don't look at me like that, Cohen, and answer these two questions. The first is when the hell did you meet a girl you never told me about and the second, when are you going to call her?" she finished, holding up a small card in her right hand. It looked familiar.

"Where did you find that?" he asked, snatching the card from her hand.

"It was here, by the phone." There wasn't the least of guilt in her voice.

"I should have seen this coming."

"So are you going to tell me who is she or what?"

"Knowing you, you won't let it go until I will."

"Exactly. So you'd better do it out of your free will." Their gazes locked, hers as stubborn as his. He sighed, giving up. She smiled in satisfaction. "When did you meet her?"

"Yesterday evening, right after you left."

"Is she pretty?"

He smiled. It was so un-Tammy to ask such a thing. She sounded like such a girl. "Yes, she is."

"Single?"

"Divorced," he replied shortly, mostly because it was all he knew. She only mentioned it briefly the other night and he didn't ask more because, well, it was none of his business. Still, it caught him completely by off guard because it was so unlike her. He knew there must have been something else in this story.

"Is she blind? A serial killer? Temporarily insane?"

Okay, now he couldn't see where she was going with her questions. "No… why would you ask that?"

"Because, Cohen, I'm trying to figure out why the hell she gave this card to you of all people!"

"Oh, thank you very much! That's very sweet of you to say. Like I don't feel pathetic enough without your generous help, being single at almost 35."

"I thought we had this agreement; we'll marry each other if we won't find a suitable match in the next three years or so."

"May I remind you that it was you who suggested this so-called agreement in Michael and Rachel's wedding while you were drunk?"

She had that contemplating expression on, but only for a second. Then she looked at him, deadly serious. "Maybe we should consider it. I mean, we're pathetic enough even without it. It will surely make our parents happy." She smirked, then looked at him. "So a pretty woman walks into this gallery, she's hitting on you, and leaves her number out of her own free will."

"This isn't what happened-" he tried to protest.

"I'm sure it isn't, but let me have my fun!"

"No, you don't understand. I don't know her from yesterday."

Now she looked slightly confused. "Oh?"

"I thought I told you this before. A long time ago, she was the one that-"

"-Dumped you for another woman?" she completed with sudden realization.

She made it sound so pitiful, impossibly more pitiful than it already was. Sometimes he just felt like strangling her. "Gee, you surely now how to boost someone's ego, huh?"

"Well, it's her, right? I remember it now. She was the girl that broke your heart almost a decade ago? The one you couldn't stop talking about on our first date, even though it's been years since you had last seen her?"

"What? I didn't-"

"First stage: denial," she cut him off shamelessly.

"What are you talking about? I was over her by the time you and I had our first date! I AM over her right now!"

"So what is she doing back in New York?" she asked, snatching the card again, ignoring his attempts for self-defense.

"I don't know. I haven't seen her for years and then suddenly, yesterday she was here."

"Specifically looking for you?"

"No, she didn't seem like she knew I'd be here. It was kind of strange actually." He remembered that awkward moment, right after he told her that they were all gone. That seemed to hurt her, like she wasn't expecting to hear it. Just for a moment, he was glad that it hurt her, just as he was glad his nasty remark that followed hurt her too. He thought she deserved it for turning her back on them, for showing care and interest only after it was too late. Maybe it was childish to feel that way, but he couldn't help it. But then again, he couldn't stop thinking about what he had seen in her eyes. Happiness, contentment, serenity. This was what living so far away did to her. And it might have worked the same way on him, too, if only… but now it was too late for if only's and what if's.

"You should call her, you know," said Tammy all of a sudden, startling him. Her voice was unusually soft. She looked at him seriously.

"What?"

"Call her. Think about it, Cohen. She walked into this gallery, ten years after you've last seen her. What are the odds for something like that to happen? If that's not a sign from God, I don't know what is."

"I thought you didn't believe in God."

"Whether it's God or Cupid or I don't know who else might be there watching you, it's a sign. And you shouldn't ignore it. Give her a call."

"Okay. Fine. I will. I'll do it later though, we've got work to do now."

"Ay, ay Sir," she saluted him jokingly and left the small office to unlock the gallery's front doors.

He went into Bloomingdale's this afternoon. He hated going in there, and he hated it even more during holidays, but he had no other choice. He was supposed to visit his mother in Scarsdale this weekend for a Chanukah family dinner and he wanted to buy her something nice. Ever since his father died couple of years back, he slowly renewed his relationship with his mother. Sure, there was always Cindy who lived down the street to keep in eye on her whenever needed, but the truth was that he missed his mom. They always got along pretty well. It was his father who disapproved everything he ever tried to be good at. But with him gone, everything seemed to be a lot easier.

As he expected, there were tons of people in the huge department store. For some, it was just a refuge from the snow that started falling again. For others, it was a source of entertainment for their obviously bored children. Some of them, mostly men, seemed to have the same problem he had. He walked quite cluelessly among the floors for a while, pondering over what he should buy and what would be the fastest way to leave the store and go back to the gallery. It was always more crowded in the afternoon. He didn't want to leave Tammy to handle the crowds all by herself. It didn't seem fair considering the fact it was his gallery and therefore, under his responsibility. She was just nice offering to help him.

As he passed through the children's department, a certain sight caught his eye, making him to stop in his tracks. He smiled and watched as a small girl was standing on tiptoes, trying to reach a big Piglet doll that was resting on a higher shelf. She had long, beautiful, chocolate-colored curls that got to the middle of her back when her head tilted backwards, as she stretched up to get to the shelf. The doll she was trying to reach for was huge in her standards; actually, they were almost the same size, and although it wasn't on the highest shelf, it was too high for her. She didn't look more than six years old, as far as he could tell.

Not having kids of his own, children in this age were always a source of fascination for him. He loved taking pictures of them, playing in the park. They always looked so innocent and careless. He was more careful with it now, though, after that time when he nearly got himself arrested, when one hysterical mother thought him to be some kind of a pedophile or a freak.

But this little one… He was wondering what she was doing there all by herself. He looked around, looking for someone who might be her mother or father, maybe even a brother or a sister, but everyone else around were gathered in groups, and no one seemed to notice this cute little girl. She was wearing what looked like a quite expensive red woolen coat. She wasn't just a girl from the street; she was obviously well taken care of.

He didn't have a heart to just stand there and watch her struggling to reach the doll without doing anything to help her. He didn't think of what he was about to do, he just approached her. Easily reaching for the pink, funny-looking pig, he picked it up and handed it to her. She looked surprised for just a second, before the confusion in her greenish-gray eyes was replaced with a spark of happiness and gratitude.

"Merry Christmas, Mister!" she greeted him, smiling brightly. Two of her front teeth were missing, he noticed, feeling his heart melting.

"Merry Christmas," he replied, returning her smile. "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Libby."

"Libby," he repeated smiling. "That's a pretty name. Nice to meet you, Libby, I'm Mark."

She giggled. "Nice to meet you!" she imitated. She was so adorable. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't figure out of whom. Again, he wondered where were her parents. He was kind of worried about her being there alone, which he thought was weird because he only knew her for three minutes or so. "Where are your mommy and daddy, Libby? You shouldn't be here alone, they'll be worried about you."

She was about to point to some direction, probably to where her parents were, when a woman's voice was heard from somewhere behind him.

"Libby, thank God, there you are!"

He recognized that voice, he realized. He glanced at the girl again, and it suddenly dawned on him. He instantly figured whom she reminded him of.

"What did I tell you about talking to stra-"

He turned, and she stopped mid-sentence as their gazes locked. Her expression was a mixture of worry, horror and confusion as she turned her gaze from him to the child… her daughter? And back to him.

"Mark."