A/N: Fluff. Fluff, fluff, fluff, fluff, fluff. Because I needed fluff.

#*#*#*#*#

Jax watched anxiously for Mary to get off the plane. They were practically nose to nose before they spotted each other.

"It's easier to find Steve," Mary said, grinning. "He sticks out, you know. Above the crowd."

"I stick out . . .around the crowd," Jax said.

"You look awesome, shut up," Mary said, throwing her arms around Jax. "You guys, seriously. A VW? I can not believe . . . is it at the house, really? The garage?"

They started walking toward the airport exit.

"It is. I've never worked on a bug, I'm excited. How much you wanna learn?" Jax asked.

"You think I can do it?" Mary questioned. She looked skeptical.

"Yes," Jax said emphatically. "If you're interested, I'll show you. If not, you just get to choose the specs, and that will still be fun. How was your Christmas with your Aunt Deb?"

"Nice," Mary said. "I met up with some friends while I was there, helped Aunt Deb with some things in her condo . . . missed you guys, but it was good. How were things here?"

They climbed into Jax's Supra. She grimaced as she ratcheted the driver's seat back another inch, and Mary hummed sympathetically.

"So?" Mary prompted. "Your Christmas, with Steve."

"Oh, it was good," Jax said. "The team came over on Christmas Eve. I did a traditional dinner, you know - turkey, stuffing, the whole nine yards. Figured, next year, I might have my hands full. We'll probably do finger foods next year. And then, Christmas day we, um, slept late and then we worked on the Airstream . . ."

Steve reached up easily and snagged the mistletoe, playfully dangling it over Jax's head as they made their way up the stairs. Jax turned on the next to last step and looped her arms around Steve's neck. He grinned at her and held the mistletoe up, raising an eyebrow.

"Goof," she said, as she snagged the back of his neck and pressed her lips to his. He tossed the mistletoe in the general direction of the landing, cradling her head with one big hand while his other arm slid around her back.

"Mistletoe," Jax murmured, blinking slowly. "No, don't look smug . . . mistletoe is poisonous to cats."

"Shit," Steve said, casting around the landing. Pupule glared at him and Jax stifled a giggle. Steve secured the mistletoe, double bagged it, and placed it in the bottom of the bathroom wastebasket.

"Thanks," Jax mumbled around her toothbrush.

"He thinks I was trying to off him," Steve mumbled around his.

Jax rubbed her back absently as she puttered around the room, stopping more than once to twist and roll her neck.

"Your back hurts," Steve observed quietly. He was standing in the doorframe, arms crossed, watching.

"I guess," she shrugged. She looked at the bed wistfully. There was a time that Steve would have nudged her over onto her stomach and rubbed her back . . . she glanced down at the generous curve of her belly and sighed.

"Aw, ku'uipo," Steve murmured sympathetically. He turned the covers down on the bed and patted the mattress. "Come'ere."

She slid between the cool sheets and stretched, watching him curiously as he rummaged in her bedside drawer.

"What are you -" she started to say.

"Aha," he declared, holding a tube of coconut oil lotion in hand. "Found it."

"My stretch mark cream?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him as she propped up on one elbow.

"Oh. I just knew you smelled more like coconut than honeysuckle these days. What are - never mind. Scoot your back over to the edge of the bed," he said.

She looked at him skeptically.

"I won't let you fall," he assured her, squeezing some of the lotion onto his hands.

She huffed and squirmed as she turned over, awkwardly, until she was close to the edge of the bed. He knelt on the floor next to her and stroked his big hands firmly down her back, pressing the heels of his hands against her spine.

"Holy shit," she breathed.

"Good?" he asked. The heel of one hand made its way back up her spine, then both hands were wrapped warmly around the aching muscles of her neck.

She muttered something unintelligible, and he chuckled. She closed her eyes and sighed again.

When she opened them, the softest light of morning was seeping in between the blinds.

"Hmm?" she mumbled, confused.

"Mele Kalikimaka," Steve murmured, his arms wrapped around her securely.

"I fell asleep," she said.

"Ummhmm," he agreed.

"I'm sorry. There was mistletoe and everything," she sighed. "Mele Kalikimaka."

He stroked his fingertips over her stomach. "Next year . . . will be their first Christmas."

"I bet you Danny and Rachel's gift next year will be 'What to Expect the Toddler Years'," Jax quipped, giggling.

"The sequel to 'What to Expect the First Year?' This year's gift," Steve laughed. "How many of those are there?"

"I have no idea," Jax whispered. "Lots, I guess. I didn't read all of "What to Expect When You're Expecting'. Probably why I'm so clueless."

"The parts I read were kind of terrifying," Steve said. "And I've seen combat on several continents. Anyway. Our last Christmas alone, just the two of us . . . shit." He sighed and flipped over on his back.

Jax turned over, with difficulty, and nestled her head on his shoulder, tossing a leg over his. "What? What's wrong?"

"I should have taken you to the big island or something," Steve said. "A resort."

Jax snorted. "The tourists would mistake me for an attraction. An albino whale. Besides, I'm excited about working on the Airstream. I can't wait to help you build the boardwalk . . ." She sat up and grinned at him.

"What?" he asked, smiling up at her indulgently, a big hand reaching up to push her sleep-mussed hair away from her face.

"Mele Kalikimaka," she said. "I want you to open your present. But first I gotta pee."

He chuckled and unfolded himself more slowly from the bed, pulling the covers up out of habit.

#*#*#*#*#

"What did you get Steve for Christmas?" Mary asked. They were still fighting their way through the busy airport traffic - both islanders returning home from holiday travel, and tourists coming to enjoy a break from winter.

"Hmm? Oh. A tool belt," Jax said absently.

"Seriously? A tool belt. And your big plan for Christmas was to spend the day on home improvement?" Mary asked, dubious.

"Steve and I don't do well with too much time on our hands," Jax said. "And yeah . . . " she sighed happily. "Tool belt."

Mary's face scrunched in confusion.

"Like a thigh holster," Jax mumbled, blushing. "For hammers and stuff."

#*#*#*#*#

"Boots?" Danny asked, incredulous, as he reached across Steve's desk for the stapler. "You got Jax boots for Christmas?"

"Work boots," Steve said, rummaging for a paper clip. Year end reports were kicking their asses. "Her SWAT boots aren't appropriate for construction activity. Too hot, no ventilation."

"What's wrong with sneakers?" Danny demanded.

"Around nails? Wood slivers? Power tools?" Steve countered. He smirked at Danny and dropped his voice. "Couldn't risk an injury while we worked on the Airstream . . . she can't exactly see her feet. But you didn't hear that from me."

Danny chuckled. 'Oh, yeah, I remember those days. Rachel was glad to be in Hawaii for this last pregnancy - she defaulted to flip flops for the last month. In Jersey, I had to tie her shoes for her."

#*#*#*#*#

"I love it," Steve said, running his calloused hand over the smooth leather of the tool belt. "It reminds me of the one that was my grandfather's."

"The one you keep hanging in the garage, even though it really can't be used," Jax said softly. She pulled her legs up under her, sitting sideways on the sofa to look at him. 'Yeah."

He took her mug and sat it gently on the coffee table with one hand, cupping her face with the other, and tilting her face to kiss her gently. His long arm snagged a box from under the tree, and he put it on the sofa cushion next to her.

She removed the paper and opened the box, moving aside the tissue paper and pulling out a pair of brown workboots.

"They look like your desert boots," she said, grinning widely. "I love your desert boots."

He laughed and wrapped a hand around her ankle. "Emphasis on desert. Your SWAT boots are way too heavy for working in this climate." He hesitated, his thumb tracing over her ankle. "This house . . . we're about to bring the fourth generation of McGarrett here. Jax, it's not fancy, and it will never be new. There are going to be ongoing repairs and maintenance, staying ahead of the salt."

Her eyes sparkled. "It's home. It's worth it."

"Well, then let's make a boardwalk," Steve said.

"I'm going to run up and get a thicker pair of socks," Jax decided. "Start the coffee?"

Steve was puttering in the kitchen, pouring their coffee into unbreakable outdoor thermoses, when he heard Jax huffing in frustration on the stairs. He turned, smothering a grin when he saw her struggling with her boots. She'd managed to get her feet into them, but couldn't bend to reach the laces.

"Hey," he said, smiling at her. He gestured for her to take a seat on the stairs, and took one booted foot at a time and tied the laces, double knotting them for security.

She stood up, hooking her thumbs into the pockets of her denim overall shorts, which she'd tossed over a simple sporty swim top.

He blinked at her, absently flicking his tongue over his bottom lip.

"I put on sunscreen," she said hesitantly, glancing down at herself. "I know, I don't really have tanks or anything that fit, or jeans -"

"'S'perfect," he mumbled. "Boots comfy?"

"Very," she said, bouncing up on her toes. "Awesome. Oooh, coffee."

She grabbed her thermos and headed out the back door. Pupule stalked down the stairs behind her, weaving slightly, his fur disheveled. He stopped on the bottom stair and gazed up at Steve.

"How'm I supposed to get any work done, her looking like that, hmm?" Steve asked the cat. Pupule walked deliberately down the hall and stood in front of the babies' room. "Oh, yeah," Steve sighed. "We're on a deadline."

He stepped into the laundry room and quickly swapped out his polo shirt for his USNA t-shirt, the sleeves long ago discarded. Grabbing the tool belt in one hand and his coffee in the other, he headed out the door and joined Jax as she perused a stack of lumber.

"How do you know where to start?" she asked. "And how did you learn -" she gestured at the lumber and the heavy, carefully organized tool box.

He took a sip of coffee and rested his thermos carefully on a stack of wood. "Annapolis," he said quietly, as he fastened the tool belt around his hips. "Summers . . . I stayed there, worked with Habitat for Humanity. My first year after graduation . . . I accepted a humanitarian deployment. Rebuilding a village in - well. I can't say."

She was looking up at him, her fingers tracing over the ink on his biceps. "It sounds nice . . . why doesn't it seem like a happy memory?"

"I always thought it was," he said. He glanced back toward the house. "Now I think . . . I should have come home. Helped my dad."

"Well . . . did he ever ask? Send for you?" Jax asked, squinting up at him.

"Nah," Steve said. He shook off the mood and leaned over his toolbox, selecting a heavy hammer, pry bar, and some other implements and slipping them into his tool belt. Jax tilted her head appreciatively at the sight. He stood, gesturing toward the stack of wood, and the weight of the tools pulled his battered cargos lower on his hips. Turning to face her, he picked up the hem of his tshirt to wipe some sawdust from his face.

"Jax? That sound like a plan?" he prompted.

Her eyes flicked from the belt, to the flash of toned abs, to his ink. "Hunh?" she asked. "I have no idea what you just said."

"Your job is going to be to stabilise each board while I secured it," he repeated.

She blinked at him owlishly.

"Put your foot on the board while I nail it, so it doesn't bounce out of place," he said, smirking.

They laid out the boards, fidgeting with them until they were pleased with the placement.

"It's perfect," Jax said, as they stood back to admire the effect. "It's like a little boardwalk sidewalk."

"Great. That's actually the hardest part, laying it out," Steve said. He grabbed his hammer and then rummaged in his truck for the nails he'd picked up at the hardware store. "Okay, angle your foot against the board, about center, and try not to move it. I'll start with a nail in each end, and then add one in the middle."

"Don't you need a nail gun?" Jax asked, glancing at the considerable work ahead of them.

Steve tapped a nail into place, then drove it home with one powerful stroke of the hammer.

"Nah, I'm fine," he said absently, repeating the process on the other end of the board. Jax sighed, a curious little noise that caught his attention. He glanced up at her, his eyes flicking up over the line of her legs, the curve of her stomach, one strap of her overalls slipping off one bronzed shoulder.

They finished the boards leading from the driveway to the Airstream's generous parking pad.

"You look like you really need to rehydrate," Jax commented. A slight sheen of sweat deepened the colors of Steve's ink, and she traced her fingers over the swirls.

He toyed with the metal clasps of her overalls. "You should take a break, too. I know your back was hurting after being on your feet yesterday."

She murmured in agreement as his hand slid into her hair and tilted her head back.

"We should probably test everything in the Airstream," he murmured. "I had an electrician and plumber set up the hook ups, but . . . you know. We should make sure the fans and screens work to cool it." He started walking her backwards toward the door of the trailer.

"Couldn't hurt to check out the shower," she said, deft fingers already working on the tool belt. "That involves the electrical, the plumbing, and the drain. Very complex." She stepped backwards, unconcerned, trusting that he wasn't going to let her fall.

"Anything could need adjusting," he agreed. His hand wrapped around her hip, guiding her backwards up the stairs. The second stair put her at the perfect height for a slow, gentle, unhurried kiss . . .

The trail of clothes led from the door of the Airstream back to the tidy, ship-like bedroom.

"The fans work great," Jax murmured. She shivered and flailed a hand absently toward the sheet tangled around her ankles.

Steve smiled and untangled it, pulling it gently up to her shoulders. His big hand pushed the edge of it away from her hip, his thumb tracing over the ink there. She blinked up at him, her lashes fanning over her sun flushed cheeks.

"I haven't dared look to closely," she said. "I was afraid gaining weight would -"

"Perfect. It's still perfect," he assured her, his hand sliding under the sheet to rest on her stomach. "With all the swimming . . . I think whatever you've gained is all baby. Babies."

"That's what the coconut oil was about," she said, dropping her eyes. "I didn't want the ink to be ruined with stretch marks . . . I have enough scars. I'll have another one, with the C-section. I'm going to be a mess . . ."

He silenced her with a kiss, his free hand cupping around her face.

"And when have I ever, ever cared?" he reminded her. He traced a gentle finger over the jagged, irregular scar on her shoulder. "Much rather you have a C-section scar than a bullet scar, any day. I'll be with you for the C-section, and we'll finally be able to hold the babies."

She snuggled into his embrace. "We only have four weeks. Names. We haven't talked about names."

He was quiet for a long moment, and she turned to face him. Her fingers traced over the line of his jaw, the stubble flecked with more silver than when she'd first met him.

"You have an idea," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Tell."

"I'm totally open but . . . I was thinking, maybe naming the babies after our siblings," he said slowly. "Mary . . . Billy . . . "

She nodded, smiling, even as a soft sheen of tears filled her eyes.

"Danny," he continued, grinning. "Freddie."

"You do know there's only two babies," she said, laughing softly. "Shit . . . you want - you want to plan on more . . . I don't know -"

"No, ku'uipo," he said quickly. "No, I . . . we can toss names around for these two. Middle names, you know . . . it's just an idea."

"Oh," she said, relieved. "Okay. I love the idea." She was quiet, and he thought she was turning names over in her head.

"Steve?" she said finally.

"Yeah?"

"We need showers," she said. "And I can't bear the idea of putting my stinky overalls back on."

"Hmm," he murmured in agreement. He'd learned to accept her wild leaps of thought as part of the pregnancy. But putting his sweat dampened clothes back on after they'd tested the Airstream's shower connection didn't appeal to him, either.

"How're we gonna get back into the house?" she snickered.

Eventually, they settled on wrapping in sheets and making a run for it, dodging the fat, insolent raindrops of an impending afternoon thunderstorm. The rest of the day was spent eating leftovers and dozing, snuggled together on the sofa.

Pupule regarded them serenely from his position in the corner of the couch. This was more like it. He blinked sleepily at the Christmas tree before his purr turned into a snore.

#*#*#*#*#

"Steve?" Danny prompted. "So, did you get to the porch you wanted to add, or no?"

"Hmm?" Steve asked, pulling his attention back to his partner and the stack of papers between them. "Oh. Porch. No, thunderstorm rolled in. Ended up taking us Christmas day and yesterday to finish the boardwalk."

"Thunderstorm," Danny asked suspiciously. "The one that rolled in about two o-clock, was over by three?"

"Yup," Steve said. He suddenly found the year-end report on car insurance claims filed by the team completely engrossing. He cleared his throat and refused to meet Danny's eyes. "So, ah, how did Gracie like her dollhouse?"

"Ah, the Barbie dream house which is in turn a veterinary hospital, or an international banking firm, of which Barbara is the C.E.O.," Danny said, his voice full of unmistakable pride. "She loves it. We all love the season passes to the zoo and aquarium, too, from Uncle Steve and Auntie Jax. Gracie's already marking the calendar with the special events. Have you and Jax figured out your gifts yet?"

Steve grinned up at him. "We read the first chapter, the one about what to do the first week at home. That's as far as we got. But the pillows . . . I have to admit, we're a little confused. There's the ones that look like oversized airplane travel pillows -"

"You'll appreciate those when you're trying to give the tiny little things their bottles," Danny said. "They curve around, give you a place to rest your elbows."

"Ah," Steve said, nodding. It made sense. "And the one giant fluffy pillow, as big as Jax?"

Danny sighed. "Sorry, man. Rachel insisted. Jax is gonna love it, these last few weeks of pregnancy, it will help her get comfortable when nothing else will. And, it will give her great support, keep pressure off the C-section incision."

"Then why are you apologising, Danny?" Steve asked, his face scrunched in confusion.

"Because," Danny sighed. "Charlie is gonna be walking soon, and that damn pillow is still between me and Rachel too many nights."

Grover arrived, having slept in to offset some of the jet lag from his return flight from Chicago. He ambled into Steve's office.

"Hey, Lou," Steve said, standing up and clapping him on the shoulder. "Welcome home, man. Good to have you back."

"Good to be back," Grover said. "Damn, I'd forgotten how cold it is in Chicago. Catch me up, what's going on here?"

"End of year reports," Steve said. "And Danny's apologising because Rachel got Jax a giant pillow for Christmas." He still looked confused.

"Ah, man," Grover said, shaking his head sympathetically.

Steve looked at Danny and Grover, who were both regarding him with fond, inscrutable expressions.

"What?" he demanded.

They smiled and chuckled.

"It's gonna be great," Danny said, his blue eyes crinkling in a smile. "Danny's Law. You and Jax . . . you're gonna have a very, very happy new year."