Disclaimer: Do not own anything that I wouldn't logically own. Like the US Navy. :)

Note: I have no excuse for how long this chapter took me except that I was dealing with two OCs created by HedgehogQuill, which basically meant I was working blind but for her many helpful hints. I also started spring semester, had strep throat, and had extreme writer's block, sniff. I will try and get the next chapter up sooner, which could happen, but as we're past Christmas now, I am feeling less inspiration. :( It will, however, be finished. I promise. As always, any dates mentioned are based on the movie occurring in June of 1957; Ricky Goddard is Minnie Goddard's big brother who was involved with Elizabeth "Sissy" Hart, Anybodys's big sister-turned-hooker. They broke it off when he joined the Navy upon graduation and a host of unfortunate things happened to Sissy and Anybodys; feel free to PM me if you don't understand anything that has resulted from the minds of LCV Productions. Further notes at the end!

For: SheWhoDreamsByDarkness-x, xXco0kieSsNcReamXx, and especially Megfly for consistently reviewing every single chapter. Which warms the cockles of my heart. :) But mostly for HedgehogQuill, because she is kind enough to let me mess with characters very near and dear to her heart, and because she's been waiting for this chapter, and because her midterms are finally over, and because her birthday was last week. And because she let me borrow the banana-man. So THANKS! :)

—viennacantabile

merry christmas with love

seven : i'll be home for christmas

…in which Ricky makes, and keeps, a promise.

.

I am dreaming tonight of a place I love
Even more than I usually do
And though home, I know, is a long way back
I promise you

Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams
If only in my dreams.

.

Two weeks before Christmas, 1957

.

"Ensign Goddard!"

The shout rang across the deck of the USS Manhattan. Over by the railing, Ricky Goddard turned around, scanning the figures on the ship before fixing on the voice that had called him. He winced as he saw the short, stocky figure of his commanding officer planted imperiously in front of a plane, but automatically saluted. "Here, sir!"

Captain Clark stumped across the deck to Ricky, coming to a stop only when he was a mere six inches away from the taller sailor. The iron-haired captain gazed sternly up at him for a full five minutes and Ricky, wondering exactly which prank they had found him out for this time, began to sweat. If it was the salt-for-sugar swap in the mess hall, he calculated, he could probably just count on a few days of cleaning duty, but if it was the "liberation" of the Captain's personal stamp collection—Ricky's most daring feat yet—then he was definitely in trouble.

"Turns out you're going home, Goddard," barked the captain, eyes still fixed on Ricky. "The ship's almost back to California, and your service's up."

Ricky blinked. That was definitely not what he'd been expecting. "Sir?" he risked.

"Yep," grunted the square-jawed captain. "You and your harebrained shenanigans won't be my problem anymore. I have to tell you, Goddard, I can't wait."

Ricky flashed a sheepish grin. "Sir, I—"

"Got a girl back home, waiting for you?" growled Captain Clark.

Ricky stiffened a little, wondering what the captain was up to. He hesitated before replying with the truth: "No, sir."

The captain eyed him for a long moment. "Too bad," he finally said, before putting a hand on Ricky's shoulder. "You're a good sailor, ensign, and I wish you luck."

Ricky nodded, a little amazed that the captain seemed to be genuinely wishing him well, despite almost two years of Ricky's pranks and pratfalls aboard the Manhattan. "Thanks, sir."

The captain gave him a crusty smile as he began to stump off again. "Don't let the Commies get you on your way out, you hear?"

Ricky grinned and snapped a crisp salute. "No, sir!"

"And Goddard?" added Captain Clark, swiveling around.

Ricky blinked. "Yes, sir?"

The look the Captain gave him could have made a far braver man than Ricky jump off the side of the ship. "That stamp collection better be on my desk by oh-eight hundred hours tomorrow morning, or you'll wish you were on cleaning duty. Got it?"

Ricky attempted a winning smile and gave him a thumbs-up. "Yes, sir!"

.

It was strange, mused Ricky as he sauntered back from his stamp-replacement trip at three in the morning, hands stuffed in his pockets, but he'd somehow managed to forget that this December marked the end of his service. He was sure his parents and baby sister Minnie were counting the days til Ricky's train from California arrived in New York, but Ricky's last letter had been delivered almost a month ago, and the date had just slipped his mind.

And who could blame him? he thought idly as he reached the passageway to his quarters. On a whim, Ricky went on, taking the route that led to the deck and the open air. He settled into his favorite spot at the railing facing forward, into the night. Out here, away from the fast cars and steel skyscrapers and everything civilian life offered, it was so easy to never remember that there was another life besides this one. Under the huge, silent canopy of the stars and the night sky, Ricky forgot about life in New York, how he'd shown his little sister the sights, how he'd roamed the streets with a ragtag bunch called the Jets, how he'd fallen in and out of like with girls whose names and faces were mysteries by now until one day…

Ricky leaned into the wind, feeling the salt air breeze across his skin. He sure was going to miss the Navy, he reflected, and the sense that he was doing all he could to keep the world safe, just like those superheroes in the comics. But Ricky knew it was time to move on, just as he'd known that he'd wanted to join the Navy in the first place when he was seventeen. It was like a little, nagging feeling, telling him to get up and go. Where, he wasn't exactly sure this time, but he knew whatever he was supposed to be doing was out there somewhere, waiting for him. It wasn't a hard decision, this time. Leaving felt natural, right, and this time around, he wasn't leaving someone behind.

And this, thought Ricky with a sigh as he turned around and headed back to his bunk, was where the rule of the ocean bent. He was a continent and an ocean away, but Ricky had never been able to forget Sissy. Even when he'd wanted to, more than anything. But unlike every other girl he'd ever met, she'd stayed in the back of his head, coming out every so often to remind him that he'd had something amazing, wonderful, perfect, even, and he didn't anymore. She was still so real to him that Ricky could picture her flaming red hair and green eyes and hear her voice talking to him, telling him exactly what she thought of him. Sometimes, he argued back. Sometimes he even wrote her letters.

He never sent them, of course. Ricky Goddard was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid. Whatever he'd had with Sissy Hart was in the past, over and done with. He'd moved on—Leilani and a couple other flings were proof enough of that. Ricky barely even thought about Sissy anymore.

Sometimes, he did wonder how she was doing with those godawful parents and spitfire little sister of hers, though. Minnie never mentioned the Harts in her letters; Ricky supposed she didn't want to upset him. Not that it would have. He and Sissy were long over, and it wouldn't have bothered him in the slightest, seeing her name on the paper. In fact, it was almost more odd, not seeing it. Even if they had broken up in the end, they'd spent a good couple of years together, and even if Ricky didn't like to admit it, she'd been the best thing that had ever happened to him. In fact, sometimes he wondered if it'd really been the smart thing to do, breaking up. Of course he knew everything his dad said was true; it wasn't a good idea to spend his service in the Navy thinking about some high school sweetheart, and it probably wasn't good for Sissy, either, waiting back here for him for who knew how long. So they'd agreed. They'd broken up. He'd been miserable, for awhile. But he was okay now, and he figured she had to be, too.

But sometimes it got lonely, on the ship, especially at night. That's when he wrote her the letters.

They weren't anything special. Mostly they just said what he did every day. Get up at the crack of dawn, shovel down breakfast, drill, lunch, drill, dinner, more drill, bed. That kind of thing. He told her about his buddies on the ship (Tom Ferry, Ben Jones, Jimmy Holbrook), and the pranks they got up to. You'd like them, he wrote once, they're just like me, only not as handsome. That was the kind of thing he always used to say to Sissy, because God knew she needed a few laughs back then. Ricky supposed she still did; but again, he didn't know.

He wrote her about Leilani, once, if only because he wanted Sissy to know. Even if he wasn't sure why. But he'd always been able to tell Sissy anything; that was why he'd liked her so much. Ricky wondered what she'd have said in return if he'd actually mailed the letter; he liked to think she'dve been happy for him, because Ricky would have been happy for her, if she'd found someone she really liked.

Sometimes he told her what he couldn't tell anyone else: that he was scared, that he occasionally had doubts that this was the right place for him. There wasn't a war on, sure, at least not officially, but no one actually knew what the Commies had up their sleeves, especially around the Pacific. This was real. He was here. And if something happened, well—he could die. And Ricky definitely wasn't ready for that. He still had too many things he wanted to do with his life. Ricky wanted to make a difference, a real difference, because that was what he'd always been taught: to make his mark, to never let anything come between him and his dreams. The question, though, was whether he already had…

And then sometimes, when it got cold and he was sitting up in his bunk unable to sleep, he wrote her letters where he told her he'd made a mistake, that he still loved her and always would. That if she'd wait for him, his service was almost up and he'd be home soon, and that everything would be just like it used to be. Wait. Please, he wrote, and it'll be like we never broke up at all. We can have each other again. Just the way it used to be.

When Ricky woke up in the morning, he was always glad he never mailed the letters. After all, he hadn't heard from Sissy in years, had no idea what she was up to or if she was seeing someone or even married with kids by now. A pretty girl like her definitely could, and most of the pretty girls Ricky knew (and there had been a lot) would have.

He'd always thought Sissy was different, though. She'd had dreams of her own, and that was probably why he'd liked her so much, and why, even after four years of life in the Navy, he still thought about her more than any other girl he had dated. Because that was the kicker: Ricky still thought about her. And now that he was coming home, Ricky had to wonder if he'd see her again.

Easing open the door to his quarters, Ricky glanced around to see the other men snoring away in their bunks. No one had missed him, not even Billy Corrigan, a notoriously—and dangerously—light sleeper. When the captain found his stamp collection on his desk in a few hours, no one would be able to say that Ricky had been out of bed that night. Not that it would have mattered. In a few days, Ricky would be back on dry land, out of the Navy and away from life in the military. Home free.

Yawning, Ricky quietly shut the door and crawled into his bunk. Then he reached into his shirt pocket and slipped out a worn square of paper.

He didn't even know why he'd brought it; normally, Ricky didn't buy into all that sentimental stuff about your girl's picture being lucky, and at that point, she hadn't even been his girl anymore. But for whatever reason, he'd never gotten rid of the photo, even while he'd been with other girls. It'd stayed with him, just like her face and her voice and her smile and every single memory that was still so clear to him had. Ricky stared at the photo. No, he hadn't forgotten Sissy Hart. And maybe he never would. But really, supposed Ricky as he stretched out on his bunk and tucked the picture into his front pocket, that was okay with him.

.

Christmas Eve, 1957

.

"Hey, handsome," came a playful, distinctly feminine voice off to the right.

Ricky looked up, his eyes widening as he took in the rough-looking neighborhood around him. He'd been so lost in thought he hadn't even noticed where he was going on his bid to reacquaint himself with West Side, but, judging by the run-down look of the tenements and the come-hither smile of the heavily made-up girl, he was now in the red-light district. It wasn't a problem for him—time spent with the Jets and a few years in the Navy tended to cure a guy of being scared in the wrong area of town—but Ricky took a careful glance around, just in case. He didn't exactly feel like being hustled, after all.

"Ya lost, honey?" asked the brunette coyly. "I could help ya out, if ya want…." She dangled the suggestion in the air, and for a second, Ricky was tempted to take her up on it.

Instead, though, he smiled back appreciatively—after all, he'd always been a sucker for a pretty face—but sheepishly ducked his head. "Sorry, I think ya got the wrong guy."

"Ya sure?" she teased, adjusting her skirt.

Ricky grinned back. "Yeah."

She gave him one last appraising smile before moving on. "Your loss, buddy."

Ricky looked around curiously again. Sure, he'd been to the red-light district once or twice on a dare during his year as a Jet, but he had no clue where he was at the moment. Over to his right was a rust-red door, probably a front for a sketchy bar or something. To his left, a dumpster with a man peeking forlornly out from inside. Ricky stared for a minute. The man responded by waving a banana.

Ricky raised an eyebrow, then decided to ignore him, scanning the snow-covered streets ahead. His gaze caught on a clump of people down a nearby alley, who seemed to be male and clustered around a much smaller figure.

Ricky frowned. What were they—?

"Stop!" cried the smaller figure—who was a girl, Ricky realized in an instant—furiously. She seemed to be trying to push them away, and Ricky's hackles instantly went up. It didn't take a genius to figure out that whatever they were doing to her, she definitely didn't like it. Scowling, he bounded over to the alley and shoved the biggest man away.

"Hey, back off!" the man snarled, trying to shake him off. Ricky took the opportunity to slug him one in the gut and grinned as the thug doubled over, gasping. Serves him right, he thought with satisfaction as he turned to the next one and slammed his fist into him. Ricky grinned as the idiot crumpled into a ball on the ground and focused on the last man, who had just knocked the girl to the ground.

"I'd go now," he advised cheerfully. "I just got outta the Navy, an' they taught me a thing or two about hurtin' people I don't like. An', see, I don't think I like you."

The last man didn't need any urging; he immediately took off running, followed by his two wheezing companions.

"Geez. Those assholes," Ricky muttered in disgust, hands on his hips as he watched them go. "Workin' over a girl." He turned around to see the girl brushing her short red hair out of her face and bent over, holding his hand out. "Hey, are you—"

Ricky sucked his breath in. It couldn't be.

"Sissy?" he gaped, taking in her pale, heart-shaped face with amazement. His first thought: when'd she get so skinny? "What're—what're ya doin' here?"

The redhead's green eyes widened, and for a second, Ricky thought she was going to turn around and run away. But she didn't.

"Ricky?" she breathed.

He smiled—he couldn't help it. "Yeah. It's me," he answered wonderingly. He waggled his hand a little. "C'mon, lemme help ya up."

Sissy glanced at his hand and, after a pause, took it. Ricky pulled her slight body up and just stared at her. "Man, it's—it's been ages."

Sissy gave him a smile that, while familiar, looked completely different from the grin he was used to seeing. "Yeah. It has, hasn't it?"

"Wow," Ricky couldn't help saying, still amazed at the sheer coincidence of it all. "I just got back—today, an'—wow."

Sissy shrugged. "Yeah."

"But—hey, look, this ain't no place for you," said Ricky, suddenly remembering they were in the middle of the red-light district and that there were other, worse characters around than the guys he'd scared off. He took her elbow. "Let's get ya outta here."

The corners of Sissy's mouth quirked up a little, as if she was amused. She shrugged. "Sure. Where d'ya wanna go?"

Ricky grinned. "Lemme buy ya a hot chocolate at the Coffee Pot?"

Sissy shrugged. "Sure." Then her face fell. "Wait, I can't. I—gotta work."

"On Christmas Eve?" Ricky asked incredulously. "What kinda job makes ya work on Christmas Eve?"

Sissy shrugged again and seemed to be avoiding his gaze. "Just a job, that's all. Brings in the money. Look, I gotta go, okay?" She made as if to leave, but Ricky impulsively reached for her shoulder.

"Hey, forget about tonight, but—d'ya wanna come over for dinner tomorrow?"

Sissy blinked and looked him straight in the eyes. Hers, he noticed with a strange jolt, were just as green as ever. Even if the rest of her seemed different, at least this was still the same. "Christmas dinner?"

Ricky nodded eagerly. "Yeah. You can bring Annie, too," he added helpfully.

Sissy smiled a little. "Gee, it's been so long since I heard anyone call her that…"

"Yeah? So whaddaya say?" Ricky asked eagerly. "Y'know my folks'd sure be glad to see ya."

Sissy's gaze dropped. "I don' know about that," she said quietly.

Ricky shook his head. "They always liked ya, Sissy, you know that," he reassured her. "It was just—well, you know."

Sissy nodded, an unreadable expression on her face. "Yeah. I guess I do."

"So whaddaya say, then?" asked Ricky, a bit more subdued now. "Even if you ain't sure about my dad, well…you know my ma an' Minnie'd love it if ya came."

Sissy glanced up at him, but didn't say anything.

"An', well…I'd like to have ya there, too," he added quietly, kicking the snow at his feet.

Sissy didn't say anything for a minute, and Ricky bit his lip. "But I guess if ya—"

"What time?"

Ricky grinned, and Sissy rolled her eyes at him. "Dinner's at six. I'll pick ya up—still at the old—"

Sissy shook her head vigorously, her short red hair flying. "Nah, we—moved. I'll just be there at six, okay?"

Ricky frowned. "But—"

"Look, I really gotta get goin', or I'm gonna be late," Sissy cut in apologetically. She hesitated, then leaned in to give him a quick hug. "It was nice seein' ya, Ricky," she whispered, "I'll be there tomorrow."

And with that, she took off so rapidly down the street that within five seconds she was gone.

Ricky stared open-mouthed after her. What in the name of—

Shaking his head, Ricky began to move off in the direction of home. Barely six hours back in New York, and he'd already seen her. After three years of nothing—Sissy, right there, in the flesh. Ricky frowned. There definitely hadn't been much of that…she was too skinny, he thought. And she looked like she hadn't slept in days. What the hell was going on?

Well, thought Ricky, he definitely had a lot of questions he wanted to ask her at dinner tomorrow. And this time, she wasn't going to get away so easily.

.

Christmas, 1957

.

Ding-dong.

"I'll get it!" chirped Minnie happily, setting down a bowl of mashed potatoes and skipping to the door. Ricky grinned fondly at her as he followed, forcing himself to keep his pace at a steady stroll. He was suddenly glad his father wasn't back from a last-minute patrol yet.

"Hi, Sissy!" beamed Minnie, and Ricky felt a jolt. It was her. "Oh, it's so nice to see you after so long! Please come in and make yourself at home! Can I take your coat? Are you thirsty? Would you like a glass of water?"

Sissy, Ricky was happy to see as he sauntered into the hall, was still as amused by his sister as ever. "Hey, Minnie," he teased, "maybe if you'd let her get a word in edgewise, she'd tell ya."

Minnie blushed pink, but didn't seem to mind. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sissy," she giggled. "I'm just so happy you're here, that's all."

Sissy glanced from sister to brother and smiled faintly. "Me, too."

Ricky couldn't seem to keep the smile from his face. "So where's Annie?"

Sissy shrugged. "She said somethin' about how maybe your dad wouldn' be too happy to see her…I thought I'd better not ask. Can't tell what I don't know, see."

Ricky grinned. "You always were smart."

"Speakin'-a whom," added Sissy in a carefully casual voice, "where is your dad?"

Ricky matched her tone. "Still out doin' the rounds, but he said he'd be back soon," he offered. "But my ma's—"

"Hellooo, Sissy dear," sang out Mrs. Goddard, sailing in from the kitchen. She was wrapped in a voluminous apron and holding a wooden spoon in one hand, with a whisk in the other. "It's been such a long time, I'm so glad you're here, and—" She blinked. "Oh, my dear, you're so skinny."

Ricky shot an apologetic look at Sissy, who was blushing. "Hello, Mrs. Goddard," she managed.

Mrs. Goddard appeared positively alarmed. "But, my dear! Come into the kitchen, I must feed you something!"

Minnie giggled. "We've been cooking all day, and Mother needs a new taste-tester," she explained obligingly as Mrs. Goddard towed a bemused Sissy toward the kitchen. "We're all tasted out."

"Not me!" protested Ricky, tagging along after. "I'm always up for taste-testing!"

Minnie beamed. "Oh, I know. But you always like everything!"

"That's because you and Mom are great cooks," Ricky said reasonably. Both Mrs. Goddard and Minnie beamed; Sissy, on the other hand, turned around and gave him a wry look. Ricky's eyes widened—the beat his heart had just skipped was all too familiar.

So it was still there, he thought, amazed. It hadn't gone away, whatever it was that had once existed betweent the two of them. He still cared about her. And she, thought Ricky, eyes settling on Sissy's back, apparently still cared about him. She'd shown up, after all…

Ricky made a snap decision. Speeding up, he caught Sissy's hand. "Hang on."

Sissy glanced back at their joined hands, then at him, startled. "Ricky?"

Mrs. Goddard and Minnie also turned around, identical confused expressions on their wide-eyed faces. "Ricky?"

Ricky grinned sheepishly. "Give us a minute, would ya?"

Mrs. Goddard and Minnie's mouths formed perfect O's as they shared deeply significant glances. Then, as one, they scurried frantically back into the kitchen. "We'll be in here when you're done!" trilled Mrs. Goddard over her shoulder as they vanished through the door with a rustling of crinolines.

Ricky couldn't help but chuckle.

Sissy eyed him, her lips twitching. "So. What's up?"

"Just wanted to talk to ya," Ricky shrugged, facing her completely.

Sissy raised an eyebrow. "Hi."

Ricky laughed and shook his head. "Hi. What I mean is, how are ya?"

Sissy shrugged. "Could be better, could be worse, I guess."

Ricky half-smiled, but kept his eyes fixed keenly on hers until she looked away. "You know what I mean. Somethin's up, I know it."

"I'm fine," Sissy answered glibly. She tilted her head. "Don't I look fine?"

"You're different," Ricky said simply.

Sissy quirked up her mouth. "Really."

"Yeah," said Ricky seriously. He took a step forward and closed his other hand over hers. "I can't really say how or why, but…there's a lot you ain't tellin' me, right?"

Sissy stood looking up at him for what seemed like ages without speaking, just gazing into his eyes, her face searching his for something—Ricky had no idea what.

"Look, it's me," he said softly. "I know we ain't close anymore, but—we were. An' y'know you can tell me anythin', right?"

Sissy took a deep breath and opened her mouth. "Ricky, I—"

"Hope I'm not interruptin' anythin'," boomed a deep voice. Ricky mentally cursed as he turned, his hands automatically dropping Sissy's, to see his father at the door.

"No," he said awkwardly, glancing at Sissy, "no, you're not." It was more of a question than an answer.

"Well, Sissy, I haven't seen you in years," Officer Goddard said genially. "How're ya doin'?"

Sissy's face seemed to have closed over. "Fine," she said vaguely. "I'm fine." She glanced at Ricky. "But—I'm sorry, I forgot. There's something I have to do, so—I'd better go."

Ricky stared at her. There she was, ducking out again. She was definitely hiding something. Well, he thought determinedly, he wasn't about to let it go this time.

"Lemme walk ya home," he told her.

Sissy shook her head quickly. "I can manage."

"No," he insisted, "not right now. I ain't lettin' ya go alone."

Officer Goddard cleared his throat. "No one out there on the streets," he said to no one in particular, eyes on the ceiling. "Somethin' were to happen, could be awhile 'til ya got help…"

Ricky nodded vigorously. "See?" he asked, shooting his father a deeply surprised, grateful look. "I'm takin' ya home."

Sissy shot him an unreadable look, then finally heaved a sigh and nodded. "Okay. Thanks for having me, Officer Goddard," she added carefully, obviously puzzled. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Sissy," Ricky's father returned, and Ricky, if he hadn't known better, would have thought his father winked at him as he slipped into the kitchen.

.

Ricky was so absorbed in talking to a not-talking Sissy and trying to get her to open up about whatever it was that was bothering her that he didn't realize until they had stopped that they were in the red-light district again. He glanced around, brow furrowed. "Sissy…?"

She smiled a little, kicking snow with her feet. "This's me."

Ricky looked at the familiar rust-red, scuffed old tenement building and took a moment to absorb this, his heart sinking. "You live here?"

"Things've changed, Ricky," she sighed. Sissy was quiet for a minute. "A lot happened after you left."

"So tell me," Ricky urged sincerely again. "You know you can tell me anythin'."

"It's a long story," Sissy admitted. Her green eyes looked so tired. "An' none of it's too pretty. Ya won't like it."

Ricky shrugged, gazing at her. She was so different—older, sadder, and so much lonelier than the Sissy he'd known. But that was the thing: she was still Sissy. And that was all that had ever mattered to him.

"Even if I don't, I won't care," he said simply. "I'll still listen. An' no matter what it is, ya won't look any different to me after, I can tell ya that."

Sissy hesitated. "Promise?" she finally asked, in such a quiet, unsure voice that something somewhere in the area of his chest began to ache.

"Yeah," Ricky said softly, holding out his hand. "I do."

Sissy stood still for a long moment, just looking at him. "Well," she said at last, taking his hand, "come on up, an' I'll tell ya."

As Ricky followed her out of the cold white world outside, through the cracked glass door, and into the yellow-lit lobby of the building, he matched her tentative smile. This was strange for both of them—this carefully finding their way back, rebuilding old ties. It was a new direction for both of them, and Ricky wasn't sure where it was going to lead. But somehow, he didn't think he was going to mind finding out. One thing was for sure, Ricky thought determinedly, as he watched the dim yellow light of the fading electric bulbs turn Sissy's hair to fiery gold. He wasn't going to let her go again.

.

.end.

Note the Second: Apologies for any and all errors about the US Navy except one: I took the liberty of naming Ricky's ship Manhattan for obvious reasons, though there have been several real ships with that name. Again, feel free to ask away. :)

Music: Josh Groban's single of the title song, as well as "Merry Christmas Tonight" by Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors, which is basically the counterpart song. It's really sad and lovely; give it a listen. :)

Hint: My favorite couple in the history of ever. That enough for you? :)

love, viennacantabile