AN: And syrupy mush galore in this chap. If you're not a zoe/john shipper and are just being nice to the author and reading this fic, you may skip, or keep a trash can handy in case you need to toss your cookies.


Chapter 3:

Comfortable in their silence, they walked down the street holding hands. They felt as if they could do so openly since he was well disguised as Jolly Old St. Nick. He was neither jolly, nor old, nor saintly. Still with a fake beard and padded, John relished in the anonymity the disguise afforded him. He also now understood what drew these professional Santas to do what they did every season. It was the eyes that had gotten to him. The way the children's eyes would light up made him feel as if he were doing something good and special. That delight exuded from not just the children but their parents, friends, and grandparents. Even though it sounded trite, being a Santa Claus brought out the Holiday Spirit.

"Are you humming?" Zoe asked in surprise.

"The man in the red suit is humming. . ." said the man in the suit.

"Hmm. All those sweets must have addled your brain," Zoe teased, pondered his humming then started humming along with him. It earned her a surprised look in return.

It never ceased the amaze him the new things he learned about this woman everyday. Zoe was honest to a fault, loyal and put up with far more than she should. A fighter, she got back up and fought for what she wanted over and over again, even though every time she had tried before, she lost. She was understanding and patient, yet, abrasive and took the bull by the horns. She gave respect, and expected it in return. And she was giving, generous to the max not just with money, but with her time, and her resources. Zoe needed something to remind her that she was a good person. One who made a difference, because for all the good she did, there was always that seed of doubt that she didn't do enough.


"Fusco knew I didn't need to get into the Santa suit." John declared around a piece of croissant.

Sitting across him on the floor, on a blanket, for an impromptu picnic, Zoe rolled her eyes. "Jesus! Yes, John. How many times do I have to repeat it?"

"Payback's a bitch," he replied dryly.

"To be fair, you did make him put that ghastly elf suit on." she said, cringing at the memory.

"Doesn't matter. I live to torment the guy," he said defiantly.

"Boys," Zoe muttered as she shook her head in bafflement.

Zoe sighed then stood up and vanished into her room for a flash, reappearing with a hand behind her back.

"What are you hiding," he asked, motioning to her hand that was hidden.

"What's it worth to you," she teased then offered the stylishly wrapped package.

Smiling, he accepted the gift, "For me?"

"No. It's for Bear," she quipped staring at the floor, her cheeks turning pink.

John gracefully stood up and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "Hang on a minute," he said as he made his way to his coat and pulled something out of the pocket.

She fidgeted nervously and bit her lip in expectancy then mumbled, "Oh, get a grip... You're not fourteen . . . for Christ's sake."

John returned quickly and handed her a similarly wrapped package, "This is for you."

"John, you didn't have to," she said.

"I wanted to," he replied simply.

She nodded as they sat next to each other to open their gifts.

"You go," she said, motioning at his box.

"Okay," he responded, having gotten quiet all of a sudden. Swallowing, he carefully peeled away the paper.

"It's a St. Michael's medallion," holding it up, he said softly knowing its meaning. The Archangel St. Michael was the patron saint of the warrior, the protector of those who strive to preserve security, safety and peace. Zoe called him a warrior once, months before.

"I can't be with you twenty-four-seven to save your sorry ass, I thought this will have to do," she said in true Zoe fashion.

"It's perfect," he said as he lifted the chain over his head, landing at just the right spot. Zoe had chosen the length of the chain so that it would lay right under the second button of his dress shirt. It was hidden from view but still protecting.

"Of course, knowing the derelicts you come across, they might use it to garrote you," she said with a slight quirk of her lip.

"They can try. Your turn," he announced.

She carefully opened her package to find a delicate chain made of white gold. It had two white gold beads that the chain went through. Each bead had initials inscribed. KW and MR. Katie Wilson and Madeline Rios.

"That is for you to remember that you, Zoe Morgan, made a difference in those girls' lives. You are their protector," he said meaningfully, cupping her cheek.

"Oh John," she whispered as she looked up at him with tears in her eyes, touched that the gruff, often stoic, single word using, former soldier gave her such a thoughtful gift.

"Shall I?" he asked gently.

Nodding slowly, she allowed him to place the necklace around her neck. It fit her perfectly.

"John, it's . . . where . . . how," she stuttered, still wrestling with an overpowering range of emotions.

Shrugging, he replied, "It's actually a mother's day pendant; which in a way is fitting."

Touching her forehead to his, she shut her eyes and whispered, "It's the most cherished thing I own. Thank you, John."

"Thank you, Zoe."


It began with a kiss, the simple touching of lips then continued to the soft nuzzling and tickling of her cheek with his impossibly long, thick eyelashes. Applying only the softest, gentlest pressure, he kissed behind her ears, her throat, and her chest. He wanted all of her, to give her everything. It felt wonderful, natural, and she kissed him, sighing as his hand crept down to cup her breast. She arched, pressed against him, and his fingers slipped under one strap of her bra, easing it down slowly, slowly. "Nora gave me good advice, don't you think," John said with a smirk; as he slowly peeled away her dainty red lace bra.

She grinned at him when she was completely bare. "How do you like them apples?"

He kissed her "apples" as he shaped and molded them with his palms and fingers, and moved his mouth down, lower, lower. He kissed the tender skin between her bellybutton and pubic bone. He ran his finger along the top edge of her panties, stroked his other hand down her thigh. She lifted her hips when he tugged her panties off. The matching set ended up on the floor, where he knew they would.

He gently explored and caressed her as she cried out deeply. As he crawled up her body, still stroking her, John kissed her hip, her shoulder, the delicate skin below her ear, and then met her mouth with his own. She kissed him eagerly, one arm winding around his neck, the other hand gliding across his hip, caressing him.

John wrapped his arms about her, surrounding her with his warmth. Their mouths met, gentle and sweet, and she sighed, pulling him closer. He made a line of kisses along her jaw, touching the lobe of her ear with his tongue, and Zoe tilted her head back to give him access. Zoe grabbed a hold of the sinewy, strong muscles on his back. So much strength, she thought, so much power. And yet all she was ever shown was tenderness. He was firm and hot and male, and she traced the ridged muscles of his washboard stomach.

He settled between her legs and gathered her wrists up above her head and holding them there. She watched him, eyes wide, as he moved inside her quietly, gently without a word. John pushed himself deeper inside her, and stilled both gasping at the intensity that continued to build. She reveled in the glorious movement, the deepening ingress and with heightened languor until he was fully inside her.

Despite her impatience, Zoe let him to set the tempo, to find the leisurely but assured rhythm. She surrendered to him, to the bliss, and she came first, panting his name pulling her captive arms free. She gripped his shoulders and back as she submitted to the pleasure. She felt adored because it felt like heaven. He began moving again and again. And when it was over he nestled her gently in his arms.

"Merry Christmas, Zoe," he whispered softly into her hair.

"Merry Christmas, John" she replied drowsily.

John slid one arm around her, and with his other hand he tugged at the blanket, covering them. Right then, right there, Zoe couldn't imagine being anywhere else. She could hear his heartbeat, gradually slowing; feel the rise and fall of his chest.

Tangled together, they slept.