Disclaimer: All stories are individuals of themselves and are unrelated to each other.

It's a few days before Christmas and Madge is just about to flip off the light on her nightstand when she hears a sniffle coming from the living room.

She's been living with Gale for almost a year now so she knows his different sounds (some better than others, of course), but she also knows that he isn't sick. He sniffles again, a little louder than last time, and with sleepy eyes she climbs from their bed and makes her way to the living room.

Madge finds Gale sitting on the floor with a just-wrapped present in his hands and tears in his eyes. "Gale?" she calls. He straightens up at once, turning his head so she can't see and quickly reaching up to swat his eyes. "You okay?"

He coughs to clear his throat before shrugging ever so slightly. "I thought you went to bed." His voice is rough and her heart twists in almost instantaneous worry.

"Reading," Madge tells him. She pads across the cool hardwood floor to him and repeats, "You okay?"

"Yeah," he rasps. But Gale is definitely not okay.

Madge walks more into their living room, past their twinkling Christmas tree to sit on the couch behind him, and rests her hands on his shoulders. Gale leans into her grasp with his forehead on her forearm and lets out a soft breath. He turns in a way where his eyelashes brush her skin, and they're definitely wet.

"What's wrong?" she whispers, massaging his shoulders lightly. They've been dating for almost three years now and she's never seen him cry. It strikes up something in Madge that makes her panic, it tugs at her heart in ways she hadn't known possible. "Talk to me."

Gale nudges her arm another time before shaking his head. "I'm fine, baby. Get some sleep." But Madge doesn't leave. She stays, working her hands over his shoulder blades, until he finally sighs in defeat. "I'm just thinking about my dad," Gale murmurs so quietly Madge is surprised she's heard him. "He um…" Gale trails off, clearing his throat. "He died just a couple weeks before Christmas."

Gale finally looks over his shoulder to Madge and she pulls back her arms, gesturing for him to join her on the couch. On unsteady legs he hoists himself up and beside her, and she nestles against him at once.

"I didn't know that," Madge says. She knew he died, of course. It was years ago. But she never knew when on a timeline.

"Not really part of the story I normally share." Gale tugs her closer, draping his arm over her shoulders and playing with the tips of her hair. "It was icy. He got in a wreck." His voice gets thick. "One day we were hanging ornaments, the next he was dead, and then the next we were opening presents in a very quiet living room."

"I'm so sorry," Madge whispers, turning into him. "I never knew."

Again Gale shrugs. "I don't really tell people." But Gale loves Madge, has opened his heart to her, so of course she can hear this. "Some years are harder than others," he admits softly. "This is… it's been ten years. And it still hurts, you know?"

"Of course."

Gale hadn't considered ever telling this story but it's coming out now, all of the words flowing from him before he can stop it. "He had presents under the tree," Gale carries on weakly. "Whenever we'd come across them actually on Christmas… Ma would start crying, she'd have to leave the room. And Rory would look to me to see how to react. And Vick… he was still so little, he didn't really understand."

Madge does the mental math in her head. If Gale had been 14, Rory would've been eight, Vick would've been six. Posy still hadn't been born then.

"We just left them there," Gale continues. "The presents. And the next day I went up to Ma and asked her what we were going to do with them. And she cried some more and said, 'well, we'll have to return them, won't we?' Because we needed the money. I knew we would need the money. So when she was sleeping I just, I went down and opened them all, took off the wrapping paper, threw it out, put all the presents in a bag so the kids wouldn't have to see them."

"I'm so sorry," Madge says another time. "You had to do it alone?"

"I'd rather do it alone," Gale murmurs. "But it still…" he trails off. "It was hard. It was so hard."

She can imagine it in her head. Gale, smaller, scrawnier, angrier, sitting in his living room with nothing but the lights on the Christmas tree giving him the ability to see. Carefully sliding his fingers under the tape, trying not to make a sound, trying not to wake his family. Opening presents his father would've used, would've used with Gale. Fishing rods and camping tents, arrows for a bow, wire for snares.

Madge turns to look at him, finding more tears in his eyes. But Gale isn't looking back at her. He's distant, perhaps remembering this all for himself.

"I'm sorry," he finally rasps, blinking hard and shaking his head as though trying to get the thoughts away. He turns to look at her. "I'm fine, I swear."

"Hey, it's okay," Madge soothes him. She nuzzles back into his side and he lets out a trembling breath, pulling her closer. "You're allowed to feel like this," she reminds him.

Gale sighs deeply. His voice is still rough when he says, "I just wish I didn't."

They celebrate Christmas morning on their own this year considering it's the first Christmas since they've moved in together. But later in the afternoon they're going to swing by Madge's parents house, and then have dinner with the rest of the Hawthorne's.

There aren't too many things under the tree but neither of them mind. They sit cross legged on the ground, trading things back and forth, watching the other open their gifts with bright smiles.

Finally everything under the tree us gone and they've both made out nicely. But still, Madge stands. "I have something else," she says.

Gale watches her warily. "Okay?" He leans backwards where he's sitting on the ground to grab his coffee mug that he's set out of the way, and waits for her to return from their bedroom. In her hands in a small present with plain blue wrapping. Nothing overly fancy and nothing too big. "What is it?" he asks.

"Well, open it," she responds, settling down again and handing it over.

Gale looks suspicious but there's a smile on his face. He sets his mug down before carefully tearing into the paper. The smile slips from his face when a small picture frame is revealed, and is completely gone when he sees the photo placed inside.

"Madge," he exhales.

"Your mom helped me find it," she says quickly. Madge fidgets a little bit, unsure if this is too far. Gale's studying the photo. It's of him and his father back when Gale was young, maybe only ten. The two of them are standing by the Christmas tree with broad smiles on their faces, and even then Gale resembles his father. "I thought that–I just thought maybe… I mean of course, it's awful that you lost him so close to Christmas but… you had good memories of Christmas with him too." She gnaws on her bottom lip as Gale runs his finger over the glass before looking up at her. "Is it too much?"

There are tears in his eyes again and he quickly shakes his head. "No," Gale murmurs. He sets the frame aside and lunges across the floor to her, pulling Madge close. "It's perfect," he breathes before pressing his lips to hers. It's a quick kiss but it says everything. Thank you. I love you. Thank you.

When they part only his eyelashes are wet, but Madge instinctively swipes below his eyes with her thumbs anyway. "You are… so strong," she whispers to him. Gale leans into her grasp, his smile slowly returning. "And I love you so much, I just hope you know that."

"I know that," he nods. "And I love you."

They set the frame on a nearby table that has a few other photos on it as well before settling on the couch together. Gale wraps his arms around Madge and nuzzles into her neck, kissing her gently. With her by his side, things don't feel so hard.