December 24 (Christmas Eve)
The Carter-O'Neill home was alive with the sounds of Christmas cheer, a warm haven against the crisp chill of the Colorado winter outside. The smell of baking cookies wafted from the kitchen, filling the air with the rich, buttery scent of sugar and cinnamon. Sam's favorite holiday playlist played softly in the background, a mix of nostalgic carols and upbeat classics, lending a steady rhythm to the joyful chaos within.
Jack stood at the kitchen counter, stirring a mug of coffee and watching the kids bicker over decorations. Grace directed her siblings with military precision, ensuring the tinsel was draped evenly and the ornaments correctly spaced. Ever the rebel, Matilda kept sneaking mismatched ornaments onto the tree, grinning at Jake every time Grace rolled her eyes. Jake was the picture of excitement, his small hands carefully adjusting the tiny nativity scene beneath the tree while humming "Jingle Bells" under his breath.
Jack's gaze lingered on his son; a nervous flicker crossed his face. He'd spent the better part of the night orchestrating a minor miracle, and now he just had to wait for the President of the United States to be true to his word. He turned as Sam entered the room, her sleeves rolled up and her usual calm determination firmly in place.
"What's the plan, General?" Jack asked, a smirk playing on his lips.
"The plan is to survive Christmas Eve without burning down the house," Sam replied, tapping his mug with her own before taking a sip. She glanced at Jake, who was now twirling a ribbon in his hands, his face glowing with anticipation. "He's so excited, isn't he?"
"Yeah," Jack said, his voice softer. "He's got a big heart. Makes me want to get this one right, you know?"
Sam reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She asked him about his mission when he arrived late the night before. Jack had simply kissed her, his lips brushing hers with a quiet intensity, and whispered, "All taken care of. Don't worry." The warmth in his tone had reassured her, but when she'd pressed for details, he had merely climbed into bed, his exhaustion evident. He'd been asleep almost immediately, leaving her wondering how he'd managed to pull off what seemed impossible. Now, watching him sip his coffee, she felt curious but decided to let it lie.
"You already are, Jack. Trust me," pulling him out of his thoughts.
The fire crackled gently in the hearth, casting a flickering glow across the room. The light from the flames reflected in the glass of the family photos on the wall—snapshots of adventures, milestones, and the everyday moments that told their story. The kids had set up their small nativity scene near the coffee table, a mix of traditional figurines and Jake's addition of a toy soldier standing guard over baby Jesus.
A cluster of candles flickered on the side table, their soft light amplifying the room's warmth. Their wax carried the faint aroma of vanilla and pine, enhancing the atmosphere like a cozy embrace. The glow of Christmas lights framed the windows, and from outside, the house shone brightly, its exterior lined with meticulously hung icicle lights that Jack had grumbled over but secretly enjoyed every year.
As the snow began to fall gently outside, blanketing the world in white, the house felt like a small, bright beacon of love and joy—a perfect reflection of the family it sheltered.
"Please, Mom! Please, Dad!" Jake's voice almost whined as he bounced on his toes, tugging at Sam's sleeve. Grace and Matilda stood behind him, each wearing their most persuasive expressions.
"It's perfect outside," Matilda added, gesturing toward the frosty backyard visible through the window. "Fresh snow, no footprints… it's practically begging for snow angels."
"We'll only be out for ten minutes," Grace promised, though her serious tone was undermined by the glimmer of excitement in her eyes.
Sam and Jack exchanged a look. Jack raised an eyebrow, his mug of coffee halfway to his lips. "They're relentless," he muttered.
Sam sighed, folding her arms.
"It's freezing out there, and you'll all be soaked in five minutes."
"We'll wear coats, gloves, hats, everything!" Jake piped up, his voice brimming with hope.
Matilda elbowed Grace.
"Come on, you're supposed to be the responsible one. Convince them!"
Grace rolled her eyes but turned to Sam and Jack.
"It's Christmas Eve. This is a core memory in the making. Snow angels today, happy kids forever. Isn't that what you're always saying about traditions, Mom?"
Sam's lips twitched, and she glanced at Jack, who smirked.
"She's got you there, Carter."
Sam groaned theatrically.
"Fine. Ten minutes. And you'd better bundle up!"
The kids cheered, scrambling for their coats, scarves, and mittens as Sam and Jack followed leisurely.
The backyard was a pristine blanket of white, the snow glittering under the pale morning sun. The chill in the air nipped at their noses as they stepped outside, bundled in layers. The kids wasted no time throwing themselves onto the untouched snow, their laughter echoing in the quiet neighborhood as they flailed their arms and legs to create snow angels.
Sam leaned against Jack, wrapping her arms around herself to keep warm.
"You know this won't stay peaceful for long, right?" she murmured.
"Oh, I'm counting on it," Jack replied, his breath fogging the air.
Sure enough, Matilda sat up from her snow angel, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. She scooped up a handful of snow, packed it into a loose ball, and lobbed it at Grace, hitting her square in the shoulder.
"Hey!" Grace yelped, brushing off the snow. "You're gonna regret that, Tilda!"
Within moments, the backyard was a battleground. Snowballs flew in every direction as the kids darted between bushes and trees for cover. Jake giggled uncontrollably as he dodged Grace's well-aimed throws, his tiny hands struggling to pack snow fast enough.
"Who's side are we on?" Jack asked, glancing at Sam.
"I think it's every person for themselves," Sam replied with a grin.
Jack's answer was to scoop up a handful of snow and gently lob it at her.
"Game on, Carter."
Sam retaliated with a precision throw that hit him square in the chest.
"You're gonna regret that, O'Neill."
Before long, the parents were fully engaged in the snow war. Jack teamed up with Jake, calling out strategies like they were on an off-world mission, while Sam partnered with Grace, both launching expertly formed snowballs from their makeshift fortress behind a tree. True to form, Matilda operated as a rogue agent, targeting everyone with her rapid-fire snowball attacks.
The air was filled with laughter, shouts, and the satisfying thuds of snowballs hitting their marks. The cold seeped into their gloves and boots, but no one cared. Jack's hat was askew, and Sam's cheeks were flushed from the exertion. Jake's high-pitched giggles were contagious, and even Grace couldn't keep her usual composure as she shrieked when Matilda ambushed her from behind a snow-covered bush.
Finally, after what felt like both minutes and hours, Sam raised her hands in surrender.
"All right, truce! Truce!"
Jack dropped his latest snowball and plopped onto the snow, grinning like a kid.
"Not bad, Carter. But I think Jake and I had the upper hand."
Jake beamed, collapsing beside his dad.
"We were awesome, weren't we, Dad?"
"The best," Jack replied, ruffling Jake's snow-damp hair.
The family peeled off their soaked layers and took turns in the shower—the house filled with the comforting scents of clean clothes and damp winter boots drying by the door. Sam pulled on a fresh sweater and smiled as she caught sight of Jake, his blonde hair still wet, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a steaming mug of cocoa.
"That was amazing," he declared, his voice still breathless from their adventure.
Matilda, wrapped in a blanket, smirked.
"You got lucky, Jake. Next time, I'm taking you down."
"Bring it," Jake replied, grinning.
Sam leaned against the doorway, watching her family with a contentment that warmed her more than any hot shower could. Jack appeared at her side, his hair still dripping and his flannel shirt slightly askew.
"Worth it?" he asked, nudging her lightly.
"Definitely," she replied, her smile soft. "Even if my gloves will take a week to dry."
Jack chuckled, slipping an arm around her shoulders as they both turned their gaze back to the kids, who debated whether snow forts or angels were the superior winter pastime.
"Merry Christmas, Carter," Jack murmured.
"Merry Christmas, Jack."
"What should we play while we warm up?" Grace asked, settling onto the floor beside Matilda, wrapped in a blanket.
"Marshmallow Tower!" Jake exclaimed, his eyes lighting up.
Matilda groaned. "I'm terrible at that game! My tower always falls over."
"Because you eat half the marshmallows before you start," Grace teased, earning an exaggerated glare from Matilda.
Sam set down a tray with bowls of mini marshmallows and toothpicks.
"Rules are simple: build the tallest marshmallow tower without it collapsing. Eating your materials is an automatic disqualification." She gave Matilda a pointed look, and everyone laughed.
The kids leaned into the game with competitive energy. Jake's tiny hands worked carefully, his tongue poking out in concentration as he carefully stacked marshmallows. Grace's tower was tall and precise, her engineering instincts shining through. Matilda, true to form, built with chaotic speed, her tower teetering dangerously with each addition.
"Jake, if you win, I'll give you my hot cocoa," Matilda bargained as her tower wobbled.
Jake grinned. "Deal!"
Jack, watching from the couch, chuckled.
"I've got five bucks on Grace. That kid's unstoppable."
"Betting on your kids now?" Sam teased, leaning against him. "Bold move, O'Neill."
Matilda's tower gave out with a dramatic crash, and she threw her hands up in mock outrage. "No fair! Jake's using tiny hands to his advantage!"
"Not my fault I'm better," Jake replied with a cheeky grin, holding up his still-standing creation.
The games continued with trivia, charades, and a Carter-O'Neill favorite called "Present Scramble," where small wrapped boxes were passed around to music, and whoever was holding one when the music stopped had to guess what was inside. Jake's wild guesses had everyone in stitches—his confident declaration that a tiny box contained "a spaceship" earned him applause.
By the time the games ended, the kids were thoroughly entertained and ready for their next adventure. Grace stretched and announced, "All right, troops. It's time to report for kitchen duty."
"Ugh,"...do we have to?" Matilda groaned dramatically, flopping onto the couch as though the weight of responsibility was too much to bear.
"Yes, you have to," Sam replied, raising an eyebrow at her daughter. "Christmas dinner doesn't make itself."
"And don't think you're getting out of soup duty," Grace added, grinning smugly as she nudged Matilda with her foot.
Jake, still clutching his empty mug of cocoa, sat up straight.
"I can help with the carrots, right?"
"You've got it, buddy," Sam said warmly. "Let's see your vegetable magic."
Jack stretched and stood up, clapping his hands together.
"Come on, Matilda. Time to earn your dessert privileges."
Matilda sighed theatrically but couldn't help the grin tugging at her lips. "Fine, but only because I want cookies later."
As the family began shuffling toward the kitchen, laughter and playful teasing filled the air. The moment's warmth carried them to the next part of their Christmas traditions.
The warm glow of the dining room lights cast soft shadows over the table, where five plates were set with casual care. Unlike the big, formal Christmas Day feast planned for tomorrow, Christmas Eve dinner was quiet and understated—something they could enjoy together without fuss or frills. A simple red-and-green tablecloth brightened the room, with a candle flickering cheerfully at the center, its wax pooling slowly around its base.
The meal was comforting, homemade but not overly fancy—reflecting their family's desire to slow down and enjoy the evening. A creamy potato soup steamed in wide ceramic bowls, accompanied by slices of crusty garlic bread stacked in a basket lined with a festive napkin. A plate of Sam's favorite roasted vegetables—carrots, green beans, and butternut squash—added color to the table. On the far end sat a small honey-glazed ham, golden and glistening in the soft light, its sweet aroma mingling with the scent of pine from the living room's Christmas tree.
Matilda and Jake sat side by side, fidgeting in their chairs as they slathered extra butter onto their bread, crumbs already littering their napkins. Jake took careful, deliberate bites, his tiny fingers carefully clutching the bread's edges, while Matilda scarfed hers down as though she were in a race. Across from them, Grace—ever the little organizer—folded her napkin neatly on her lap and offered Jake a quiet, conspiratorial smile as she handed him a second slice of bread when their mom wasn't looking.
Jack leaned back in his chair with a sigh of contentment, and one arm slung lazily over the back of his seat as he sipped his glass of beer.
"Who's ready for cookies after this?" he asked, teasing.
Matilda immediately shot her hand into the air, nearly knocking over her soup bowl excitedly. "Me! I get to frost them, right?"
"You get to help frost them," Grace corrected primly, earning a groan from her sister. "Otherwise, you're just going to mix all the colors again."
Sam chuckled softly, fondly smiling as she spooned more soup into Jake's bowl. She looked across the table at Jack, their eyes meeting briefly in the quiet, unspoken moment shared only between parents who'd survived years of bedtime chaos and sticky kitchen mishaps. For all the mess and noise, this—this simple dinner and these fleeting moments—were what mattered most.
"So," Jack said, spearing a piece of ham with his fork. "What's everyone hoping Santa brings tonight?"
"I already know I'm getting the science kit," Grace said confidently. "I left detailed instructions in my letter, and I've been good all year."
"Good is debatable," Matilda teased, smirking as she reached for another roll. "Did Santa see what happened to my math test last month?"
Grace shot her a look.
"Santa isn't grading your tests, Tilda. He's focused on behavior."
"Exactly," Matilda said, her grin widening. "I was nice to Jake when he ate my Halloween candy. That should count for something."
Jake, who had been quietly nibbling on his bread, looked up wide-eyed.
"You weren't that nice. You told me I owed you three years of chores."
Matilda laughed, shrugging. "Fair trade."
Sam chuckled, shaking her head.
"What about you, Jake? What are you hoping Santa brings?"
Jake hesitated, his fork hovering over his plate.
"The Dancing Prima Doll," he whispered, barely audible. "But… what if Santa didn't get my letter? Or… what if he runs out before he gets here?"
Jack leaned forward, his voice soft but steady, as he marveled at the brilliance of their kids. It was no surprise, really—being Carter's children, genius practically ran in their DNA. The twins, barely four years old, were already reading chapter books and writing sentences that most kindergarteners wouldn't attempt. And Grace? At just ten, she was breezing through algebra like a warm-up exercise, casually solving problems that made Jack's head spin. She'd even started dabbling in concepts so advanced that Jack didn't bother pretending to understand. "It's like living with a mini think tank," he muttered, equal parts proud and overwhelmed.
"Santa's pretty good at his job, kiddo. If you sent that letter, he got it."
"But what if he's too busy?" Jake pressed, his blue eyes wide with worry. "There are so many kids in the world. How can he read all the letters? And what if his sleigh isn't big enough to hold all the presents?"
Matilda chimed in, her tone playful but thoughtful.
"Yeah, how does he do it? Does he have, like, a turbocharged sleigh or something?"
"Maybe he has helpers," Grace suggested, her logical mind kicking in. "A fleet of delivery drones. That would be efficient."
Jake frowned. "But that's not very magical."
Sam smiled, reaching across the table to gently squeeze Jake's hand.
"You're right, Jake. It's not just about logistics. It's about believing in the magic of Christmas. Santa isn't just one person; he's part of a bigger story—one that's about giving, kindness, and making people happy. That's how he makes it work."
"But what about the kids who don't get presents?" Jake asked softly, his voice tinged with sadness. "Does that mean Santa forgot them?"
The table grew quiet for a moment. Jack cleared his throat, his tone thoughtful as he replied.
"Sometimes, Santa needs a little help. That's why people like us pitch in—donating toys, helping neighbors, or just being kind to someone having a rough time. That's part of the magic, too. It's not all on Santa."
Grace nodded, her expression serious.
"So, we're like Santa's backup team?"
"Exactly," Sam said, her smile warm. "And when we help, we're spreading the magic even further."
Jake seemed to mull this over, a small smile forming as he looked down at his plate.
"I like that."
Matilda leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.
"Okay, but if we're Santa's team, I should get extra cookies for all my hard work this year."
"Nice try, kid," Jack said, laughing as he passed her the apple cider. "Santa doesn't pay in cookies."
The conversation shifted back to lighter topics, with the kids debating which Christmas movie they should watch later and recounting their favorite holiday memories. Jake's earlier apprehension seemed to fade, replaced by a quiet contentment as he leaned into the warmth of the family gathering.
The glow of the candles flickered softly as the evening wore on, the laughter and chatter filling the room with a sense of peace and togetherness.
After the dishes were cleared, a knock at the door broke through the cozy hum of conversation. Jack exchanged a knowing glance with Sam as he stood and went to the entryway.
Outside, a sleek black SUV idled in the driveway, its windows tinted. Two Secret Service agents emerged, their professional expressions giving nothing away. They handed Jack a box wrapped in pristine gold paper.
"Mission accomplished, General," one agent said, nodding sharply.
Jack grinned. "You didn't see me, and I didn't see you."
"Understood."
Jack smirked as he hid it under the tree, feeling a rare sense of accomplishment.
Sam looked at him with a raised eyebrow after getting up from her chair to see who was knocking at their door on Christmas Eve.
"What did you do?" she asked, suspicion lacing her tone.
Jack just winked and said, "You'll see tomorrow."
Sam glanced at their gigantic Christmas tree before returning to the dining room. The current debate seemed to revolve around whether Santa wore red swimming trunks when delivering presents in southern countries. She had to work hard to stifle a laugh.
Jack, behind her, put his hands on her waist, pulling her to him.
"Not bad for a low-key night, huh?" he whispered.
Sam smiled as she looked at their dining table and their over-enthusiastic children, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Perfect, actually," she admitted, covering his hands with hers.
Later, as the family settled into the living room for their Christmas Eve traditions, the warmth of the fire and the twinkling lights made everything feel magical. The kids curled up on the couch, hot cocoa in hand, as Sam read aloud from The Night Before Christmas. Jake leaned against her side, his eyelids growing heavy, while Matilda sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping her cocoa with a marshmallow-topped grin. Ever the responsible eldest, Grace quietly took pictures, capturing the scene for the family album.
Jake tugged on Jack's sleeve when the story ended, his tiny voice breaking the silence.
"Do you think Santa will know what I really want?"
Jack knelt beside him, ruffling his son's hair.
"I think Santa knows everything, buddy," he said softly, glancing at the tree where a golden-wrapped box sat hidden behind the other presents. He shared a brief, knowing smile with Sam.
Jake's face lit up with a sleepy but hopeful smile, and Jack scooped him up, carrying him upstairs to bed. Matilda and Grace followed, Grace holding Jake's hand as they ascended the staircase, her quiet maturity balancing Matilda's boisterous energy.
Later that evening, after the children had gone to bed, the Carter-O'Neill home fell into a peaceful quiet. The faint glow of the Christmas lights reflected on the walls, and the soft hum of the heating system created a soothing backdrop as Sam and Jack finally retreated to their bedroom. The day had been a whirlwind of activity, and now they could finally enjoy a moment alone.
Sam slipped into bed, her hair slightly damp from a quick shower, and pulled the covers around her. Already lying on his side, Jack looked up from the book he'd been pretending to read. He gave her a lazy smile, suggesting he wasn't quite as tired as he let on.
"What?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow as she settled in beside him.
"Nothing," Jack replied, his grin widening. "Just enjoying the view."
Sam rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, O'Neill."
"Oh, but it's almost Christmas," he teased, setting the book aside and shifting closer to her.
She leaned back against the headboard, observing him.
"Okay, spill it. Who was at the door earlier?"
Jack feigned confusion, scratching his chin.
"Door? What door?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Sam said, narrowing her eyes. "Christmas Eve, mysterious knock, and now you're acting all smug. What did you do?"
Jack stretched out, clasping his hands behind his head, clearly enjoying himself.
"You'll see tomorrow."
Sam groaned when he repeated the same sentence and turned to face him fully, tucking one leg under her as she leaned closer.
"Jack," she said, her voice low and coaxing. "Was it about Jake's gift? Did you actually get the Prima Doll? And how?"
Jack's lips twitched, but he stayed silent, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Come on," she pressed, placing a hand on his chest. Her fingers trailed lightly, drawing idle patterns against his t-shirt. "You can't just leave me hanging like this."
"I can and I will," Jack replied, his tone playful but resolute.
Sam's eyes gleamed with determination.
"Oh, we'll see about that," she murmured. Slowly, she leaned closer, her lips brushing against his jawline, soft and deliberate.
Jack stiffened slightly, his resolve already beginning to waver.
"Carter," he warned, though his voice lacked any real conviction.
"Yes, General?" she whispered, her breath warm against his skin as her hand slid to his shoulder.
"This is highly unethical," Jack muttered, his eyes closing briefly as she kissed his neck.
"Unethical would be me letting you get away with this secrecy," Sam countered, her voice full of mock seriousness.
She didn't stop there. Her kisses became more purposeful, trailing along his jawline and down to the hollow of his throat. Her hands, no longer content with idle patterns, moved with intention, sliding under the hem of his t-shirt to brush against his skin. The warmth of her touch and the determination in her movements made Jack's breath hitch audibly.
"Sam," he said, his voice tighter now, his defenses rapidly crumbling as she shifted closer, her body pressing against his. She didn't respond, instead capturing his mouth with hers in a kiss that was equal parts challenging and intoxicating. Jack's hands instinctively moved to her waist, his grip firm but hesitant as though he were trying to ground himself.
"You're playing dirty," he muttered against her lips, his resolve hanging by a thread.
"Desperate times," she murmured back, her tone full of mischief as she nipped lightly at his lower lip.
Jack's fingers flexed at her waist, and for a moment, it seemed he was about to give in entirely. His breathing was ragged, his pulse racing, and every instinct screamed for him to surrender. But his military training kicked in at the last possible second—that ingrained ability to adapt under pressure.
"You know," he said, his voice a little hoarse, "I think Jake's carrots might still be a little uneven. We should double-check before the big dinner tomorrow."
Sam froze, pulling back just enough to glare at him.
"Carrots? Seriously?"
Jack shrugged, his expression perfectly innocent despite the heat still lingering in his eyes.
"Hey, precision matters."
Sam groaned, burying her face in his neck.
"You're impossible."
Jack chuckled, seizing the opportunity to roll her onto her back and pin her gently beneath him.
"And you're relentless," he said, his grin smug as he leaned down to kiss her properly. "But you'll just have to wait until tomorrow."
Sam sighed dramatically but didn't resist as his lips found hers. Despite his evasiveness, the warmth of his kiss and the weight of his body pressing against hers were enough to make her momentarily forget her mission for answers.
"Fine," she murmured against his mouth, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. "But this isn't over."
Jack pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his brown eyes twinkling with affection and amusement.
"Wouldn't have it any other way, Carter."
The laughter and soft murmurs of teasing faded into the quiet of the night, with the promise of Christmas morning just around the corner.