A/N: It's a few days late, but I hope not too late! This Christmassy fic is obviously inspired by "Silent Night." I haven't really posted anything about Eva as a baby or of Ronon as a new father, so I hope you all enjoy this. Let me know what you think! :)

Also, if you're like who the heck are you, who the heck is Emma, and who the heck is Eva...wellllll, I believe this is my first K+ rated story. Most of my other stuff is rated M, which doesn't show up in the default FFN works page. Feel free to check out my other fics to learn more about these OCs, though the more recent the better. ;)

"Well, Chewie," Sheppard began, clapping Ronon solidly on the back as they left the armory together, "we made it back just in time for Old Saint Nick."

"For who?"

"You know, Santa Claus."

"Oh," he said, lifting his chin in comprehension.

Not too long ago, Ronon wouldn't have had the faintest notion of the mythological Earth figure; but things had changed more than he could have ever imagined over the past year. Seven months earlier, he had become a father. And though his new daughter was half Satedan, the other half of her came from Earth.

Both before and since they had gotten married, his wife always set up a Christmas tree in her (or now their) quarters. Unlike in previous years, though, a veritable mountain of gifts entirely for the baby had begun to accumulate under the small evergreen in their living space over the past three weeks. Every few nights, Ronon would inspect the various parcels, largely for security purposes, both amused and impressed by the resourcefulness many had demonstrated in their choice of wrapping material. Through these inspections, he had immediately begun to notice a strange pattern – nearly all the presents had come from someone called Santa Claus – and so he had asked his wife to elaborate.

The concept was odd, but he supposed he had experienced stranger Earth customs over the past decade, yet there always seemed to be more to learn. Now, according to Sheppard, this Santa Claus had pseudonyms.

He and the colonel stepped into the transporter together.

"If you listen carefully enough, you might just hear the footsteps of eight tiny reindeer on the South Pier tonight," Sheppard said with a wink.

"I don't think Santa comes all the way to the Pegasus Galaxy," Ronon replied.

"You're probably right," Sheppard yawned. "If he did, McKay'd be up all night with a telescope, trying to catch a glimpse of the mega sleigh hyperdrive that could transport the guy from one galaxy to the next overnight."

"Some deer."

Sheppard exhaled sharply at his comment as the doors to the transporter opened. "Night, Ronon. Merry Christmas."

"Oh, uh… thanks. You too." The doors shut again and it was quiet. He never knew how to respond to that. This whole Christmas thing – it wasn't really his to celebrate. Sure, he could play along, indulge his wife's traditions, but a "Merry Christmas" from his own lips felt hollow and disingenuous.

Rolling his shoulders, he shook off the awkwardness and punched the icon of the East Pier on the transporter map, which took him there instantly. The doors slid open to reveal that the corridor's overhead lights had automatically turned off, which mean that it was late. Much later than they had been projected to return. But they had run into complications on the mission…like usual.

Eager to return to his little family, he walked briskly down the hall until he reached his quarters. Knowing the baby would be asleep – and that Emma would be furious with him if he woke her up – he slowed his pace and tread lightly as he entered. Like himself, their little one was a light sleeper.

As he emerged through the doorway, his wife's eyes instantly met his, taking him by surprise; at this hour, he would have expected her to already be asleep. Instead, she sat in the rocking chair near Eva's crib, a book in her lap and an index finger pressed to her lips. Ronon removed his boots and his holster, setting them down without a sound, before making his way toward them. He bent to kiss his wife and when he pulled away, there was an exhausted but manic glint in her eyes.

He expected some sort of comment about how late he was or expression of concern for his safety, but she said something else entirely, for which he was grateful. He didn't want to have to relive the mission. Not now. Not tonight. Not before bed.

"She's been asleep since 7:30," she whispered. "Not a peep."

He raised his eyebrows. That was going on five hours now. Her record was six.

"Do you think she'll sleep through the whole night?" he asked.

"If she does, it'll be a Christmas miracle."

"If she's asleep, why aren't you? Isn't that the point?"

He didn't think it would be possible for her to lower voice even more, but somehow she did. "I'm afraid if I go to sleep, she'll know."

"She'll know and then wake you up?" He narrowed his eyes. "Which would mean that you'd be awake…just like you are now?"

She waggled a finger at him. "You're making me sound like a crazy person."

"Well, if the shoe fits."

She moved to smack him across the arm with her book, but he dodged and sent her a mischievous grin, moving closer to the crib where their child lay, her back rising and falling with every slow, deep breath she took.

"I was getting some reading done anyw – no wait! Don't wake her up."

Ronon's hand hovered over Eva's dark brown head. "I can't greet my child?"

He was just tired enough that he hadn't managed to temper the severity of his tone. But Emma was understanding, realized she was being a bit nonsensical, and shook her head.

"Of course. I'm sorry."

"I'll be careful," he whispered. Gently, he laid his hand on the back of Eva's head and moved it to rest on her back.

Before she was born, he didn't realize that cribs should be kept empty, pillows and blankets included. He always worried she would be cold, sleeping without a blanket, but the heat radiating against his palm reassured him that she was plenty warm.

It had been too many days since he had last seen her. He wanted to lift her up and hold her against his chest, kiss her forehead, and let her know that her father had come home safe to her; but he knew Emma wouldn't let him. And he could hardly blame her for it.
Removing his hand from Eva's back, he turned to his wife. She had gotten up from the rocking chair and was deep in a stretch when he wrapped his arms around her waist. Her eyes opened, appearing a bit startled, before her own arms fell to rest on his shoulders. She, too, was warm, dressed in a thick, cream-colored sweater and leggings, Christmas-themed socks pulled up to her shins.
"Go to bed. I'm here now."

"Aren't you exhausted from the mission?" she asked through a yawn.

He nodded, repressing his own urge to do the same. "Maybe. But it's my turn tonight." He cast a look back to the crib. "I missed her." His eyes met hers again. "And you."

Emma lifted herself to her tiptoes and kissed him before burrowing her head into his chest. "I'm so sleepy," she murmured, her voice getting lost in the folds of his shirt.

"Well don't fall asleep standing here. Get in bed."

She pulled herself away and nodded, walking mindlessly to the mattress. She lifted the covers and sat on the edge, taking her socks off.

"You're not gonna change?" Ronon asked.

She let out another yawn. "What's the point? I'm sure you'll end up undressing me later."

He smirked. If there was one thing he wasn't too tired for, it was that. "Now that would definitely wake the baby."

"I can be quiet!"

He gave her a pointed look as he headed toward the bathroom. "I'd like to see you try."

She hurled one of her balled-up socks at his face, which he caught in his left hand.

"Good night, wife. I need a quick shower, then I'll be on Eva duty for the rest of the night." He stopped short, catching a glimpse of something on the desk. A packet of dining hall crackers, and a cup of coffee. "Midnight snack?" he asked, holding up the crackers.

"Those are for Santa," Emma explained, sliding into bed and bringing the covers to her chin. "Milk and cookies."

"These are not –"

"They didn't have either, okay? So I had to improvise a little bit. She's too young to remember, anyway."

"Then what's the point of doing it?"

Emma picked her other sock off the floor. "I've got one more of these and I'm not afraid to use it."

"All right, all right." He set the crackers back onto the desk, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. "Good night."

"Good night," she smiled, flopping onto her stomach and burying her face into her pillow.

He kept his ears perked for any sounds from the baby over the falling shower water, but there was nothing. For as tired as he was, he moved quickly, dried off, and pulled on some pants before going back to the bedroom. When he opened the door, he came to a halt. Emma had returned to her spot in the rocking chair and, in the short time it had taken him to shower, had fallen asleep. It was Eva, though, who had given him pause. Having pulled herself up by the crib railings, she was standing in the middle of her crib, bouncing up and down in the happy way that babies do, smiling at his appearance. Like him, she was a perpetual scowler, so the rarity of a smile from her always made his heart ache in a strangely pleasant way.

He walked to the crib and offered her his hand, which she squeezed hard enough to temporarily cut off blood flow to the tip of his finger.

"Hey there, pup," he whispered.

She resumed her bouncing, this time holding onto his finger for support rather than the railing.

"I'll get you outta there in a second." He gestured with his chin over to Emma. "I gotta take care of your mom, first."

He extricated his hand from hers, and though it didn't seem to upset her, it threw off her balance and caused her to fall solidly on her bottom. Thinking she might burst into tears, Ronon froze, but all she did was grab her feet in fascination, as though seeing them for the first time.

Ronon turned his attention to Emma, slid his arms underneath her, and carried her to the bed. Weary though she was, she awoke at the disturbance, but settled immediately back into sleep as he wrapped the covers around her once more.

A little squeal came from Eva's direction and he went to scoop her up, planting a kiss on her forehead as he brought her close.

"So why are you up?" he asked, scrutinizing the expression on her face. "Hungry?" He hoped not, since feeding her would require waking up the woman he had just tucked comfortably into bed. "No? Something else?" He gave her backside a cautious sniff, but smelled nothing but the crisp pine of the Christmas tree in the corner and the fresh citrus of the orange garland wrapped around it.

She reached both of her hands toward him, fingers grasping at the air, so he pulled her to his chest and let her nuzzle into his shoulder.

"You just wanna…kick back?" he asked, borrowing a particularly Sheppard-esque turn of phrase. "Yeah? We can do that."

He took a few steps toward the balcony and ran his hand over the door sensor. A rush of cool sea air filled his nostrils and ruffled the soft hairs on Eva's head; hastily, he closed the door before the breeze could wake Emma. As they approached the railing, Eva began to squirm like an oiled fish in his grasp, so he shifted her into a cradled position where she could turn her head and look out at the sea. It was completely still, like a puddle of glass, a perfect mirror of the starless sky above. The moons were so full and bright, Eva squinted against them and their twin reflections in the water.

"Those are the moons," he said to her. "Can you say 'moon?'"

She made a few incoherent babbling sounds and strung them together into what must have sounded like a sentence to her.

Ronon nodded. "Agreed. Couldn't have said it better myself."

They settled into silence after that, without even so much as the rhythm of the waves to break it. Still nights like this were a rarity. Moments like this, spent alone and in peace with his daughter, were rarer still.

He glanced down to her round face, glowing almost silver under the beams of moonlight. Amazing how early children start to look like their parents. Or in Eva's case, like her father. Keller had told them she might have blue eyes at birth that would change and darken over time, apparently many babies did, but hers had always been the exact shade of hazel as his own. Her eyebrows, sparse as they were, had begun to take shape, dark and angular like his. And that mouth, downturned now not in dissatisfaction, but in deep contemplation was as much a reflection of his countenance as the mirrored moons in the surface of the sea.

How was this normal? Commonplace, even? How did so many people feel this same sort of love and pride that he was feeling now, and still carry on like usual with their lives? How did they not let it completely arrest them, alter them? For he was irrevocably altered by her.

He didn't know how long they stood there, absorbing the night. Eventually, Eva turned her head away from the ocean and toward his chest. Her body grew heavy, and though he could have stood there longer as she slept in his arms, he knew it was time to return her to her bed.

He went back inside and gently laid her on her back in her crib, knowing full well that by dawn she would have rolled onto her stomach, just like her mother. Touching his hand to her cheek, he said one last thing to her before letting go.

"Merry Christmas, pup. Now sleep."