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c. 1785

"But Mother -"

"No, Henry. You must go to sleep.

"But I can't! Mother, I'm too excited!"

She sighed, smiling fondly at her son. Nearly two hours ago, she had sent him up to bed; and since then, he had come down the stairs to the landing five times. Now, he crouched on the steps, peering at her through the bannisters.

"Mother, may I see the tree?"

"Henry. It has not been put up yet – you know that."

"Mother..." He whined, reaching through bannister towards her. "...Please?"

"Oh, very well." She reached a hand out to the boy. "You may stay up."

He grinned, scampering down the steps and flinging himself into her lap."Thank you, thank you, thank you!" He wiggled around and found a comfortable position to sit, wrapping his arms around her neck and laying his head down on her chest.

She wrapped her arms around the boy, feeling him relax. Humming a seasonal melody, she listened to him ramble on and on about snow, Christmas trees, garlands, snowballs, gifts, twelve days, church...

Finally, Henry's words trailed off, and he fell asleep – just as his mother had expected.

Henry sat up in bed, rapidly blinking the sleep out of his eyes and realising that he was no longer in the parlor with his mother. A grin spread across his face as he realized it was morning, and he scrambled out of bed. Running over to the window, he struggled with the heavy curtains, finally ducking behind them to see out of the window.

Suddenly, he spun away from the window. "Mother! Mother!" There was a strangled gasp down the hall as he pounded on her bedroom door. "Mother, there's snow!"

c. 1813

"Nora! Nora," The young man ran shouting up the stairs, sliding down the hall, "Come, look outside!"

She startled upright in bed at her husband's voice, sighing and falling back to the pillows when she saw his excited face, surmising that there was no emergency. "Henry... At this time of day? Could it not wait for a more reasonable hour?"

"No! It might go away!" He threw open the curtains and opened the windows. "'Tis a glorious morning my dear – would you squander it abed?"

"Yes." She replied, pulling the blanket back over her head.

He sighed, and fell silent. For a moment, Nora relaxed, thinking he had surrendered and left her in peace; but 'twas not to be, for soon she heard him walk over to stand beside the bed.

"...Nora?" He waited for an answer, and then cautiously pulled at the coverlet she held over her. "Nora, please – come and see!" He tried to pull the blanket back, but she tugged them away from him, rolling over.

"Nora, you can't lie abed all day..."

"And whyever not?" She gave up and pushed the blankets back. "Henry, the servants are not awake yet – what has possessed you to be?"

"'Tis the first day of Christmas!" With all of the excitement of a young child, he grasped her hand and pulled her out of bed.

"Henry!" She shrieked, falling out of the bed. At the last moment, he caught her, apologising profusely. She waved him off. "I'm awake now, Henry – what did you simply have to show me right this instant?"

He brightened up from his sudden somberness, once again grinning, and she laughed.

"Snow! There's snow outside, Nora!" He pulled her over to the still open window and point to the lawn outside. "Perhaps we could go skating, or for a walk, or build a snow figure..."

She shivered, reaching out to close the window. "Very well – but after breakfast, my dear. And we still must visit the Bennets, you know we promised."

He sighed, still staring out at the world outside their house. "Of course," He turned to her, pulling himself away from the window, "And was there not to be a ball tonight?"

She sat down at a small table, gently taking down and brushing out her hair. "Yes. At six, I believe."

"Then we still have all of today to ourselves!"

As he left the room with all of the stateliness and calmness of a five year old, she laughed at his antics. Knowing that her day would be filled with snow-soaked dresses, improper games on the ice, and general mothering of her husband, she called after him: "Only until four o'clock!"

c. 1945

"Here." He handed her a mug of hot chocolate and carefully sat down beside her on the rug, leaning back against the sofa.

"Thank you." She took a sip, smiling at the creamy texture and soothing heat.

Henry stared into the fire, smiling as he thought over the day Abigail had shared with him. Behind him, the tree glittered in the light of candles, the tinsel falling off the branches to the paper and gifts beneath. He sighed. Although it had been quite cold and overcast, there had been no snow for the day, not even flurries.

Abigail sighed in contentment, leaning her head on his shoulder. Although the fire was burning hot and her cocoa was still steaming, it still felt cold in the room. "Henry?" She waited until he looked down at her. "Did you have a good day?"

He smiled. "Of course – and there are still eleven more!"

"Eleven?" She frowned, looking up at him in confusion.

"Oh..." He fell silent for a moment, organising his thoughts. "Historically, people would celebrate the Twelve Days of Christmas, the first being on St. Nicholaus' day – the twenty-fifth of December – and the twelfth being on the fifth of January, followed by Epiphany – which is when they celebrate the wise men's homage."

She thought about what he had said for a moment before asking, "So the carol isn't just an odd song about birds and music?"

He laughed. "Rather not." He slipped into his lecturing tone, knowing that she wouldn't mind listening. "The carol was said to have been written as a catechism for young Catholic children during a time when Catholicism was outlawed. Each day stands for a different pillar of the Christian faith." Taking a drink of his cocoa, he set it down and began ticking the points off on his fingers. "The twelve lords are the twelve basic beliefs outlined in the Apostles Creed; the eleven pipers are the eleven apostles who remained true while Judas betrayed Jesus; and the ten ladies are the Ten Commandments. The nine drummers were either meant to be the nine choirs of angels that praised and served God, or the nine fruits of the Spirit. The eight maids are the eight Beatitudes; seven swans stood for the Seven Sacraments of the Church; the six geese are the six days of creation; the golden rings stand for the Torah – or the first five books of the Bible; the Gospels merge with the four calling birds; the Trinity is number three; two turtledoves stood for Jesus' fully divine and fully human nature; and the partridge in the pear tree stood for Jesus on the cross."

"How interesting! And that is how turtledoves, maids, and leaping lords relate to Christmas."

"Yes." He lifted up his cup again. "But 'tis only theory, they cannot seem to find proof of such a thing."

"Well, it makes for a good story."

He nodded in agreement, reaching forward to poke the fire. Seeing that her cup was nearly empty, he took it and pulled himself up off the ground to fill it up. Passing by the tree on his way to the kitchen, he pulled a candy cane off the branches.

Abigail reached over to the back of the sofa, pulling down a heavy afghan and tucking it around her. Her cuckoo clock clicked and whistled, she counted the chimes until it fell silent again. Suddenly, she startled as Henry called from the kitchen.

"Abigail! Come quickly!"

She threw the blanket aside, hurrying to find Henry. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Looking around the kitchen, she saw no one. A cold wind blew in through the open door, and she shivered. Going over to shut it, she saw Henry standing out on the lawn, staring up at the black sky.

"Henry Morgan! It's freezing – what are you doing?"

He turned to her with a smile on his face that seemed to brighten the world. "Merry Christmas, Abigail – it's snowing!"

c. 1953

"...Now, we just need to put this last ball on the top – will you help me?" Henry stood beside the two tiered snowman, with the finished head lying at his feet. Abe stood beside him, bundled up in a coat, hat, scarf, gloves, and boots; practically vibrating with excitement as he nodded and bent down to lift up the ball.

Henry lifted the head, twisting it in place atop the body. Smoothing away the grass and dirt, he blew on his red hands, looking around for his gloves before remembering that Abe was wearing them.

"Daddy? Can we make a face for him?"

"Of course we can!" He swung the child into the air and settled him on his hip, trudging through the snow towards the house. "But we have to be quiet," He cautioned. "Mother's still sleeping."

Abe nodded, pushing his hat back out of his eyes again and holding tightly to his father's neck. "Will he have eyes?"

Henry nodded. "Big, black eyes."

"And a nose?"

"Long, and orange."

"What about a mouth? He has to talk! How will you make his mouth, Daddy?"

"Very carefully – and he will smile."

Abe clapped his hands, stilling suddenly as Henry opened the door. "Daddy," He whispered, "What about a hat? Or a scarf? He'll get cold without them."

Listening carefully, but hearing no sound, Henry set Abe down, pointing him towards the kitchen. "There's a box on the floor with a carrot and coal, could you please bring it back here?"

As the child nodded and disappeared, Henry straightened up and made his way up the stairs to his bedroom, carefully peering in to see if Abigail was still asleep. She was, resting after a late night wrapping presents, and he quietly opened the closet doors to pull out a scarf and an old hat that had somehow survived both time, and his condition. Making his way back downstairs, he found Abe waiting impatiently on the doorstep.

Abigail yawned, stretching and then curling back beneath the heavy, woolen blankets covering the bed. Reaching out, she frowned and opened her eyes, realising that Henry wasn't there any longer. Rolling over towards the window, she blinked at the hazy grey light, the sun not even peeking over the horizon yet. Hissing at the cold floor on her feet as she stepped out of bed, she made her way to the window. Her eyes widened, and she rapidly opened it when she saw what was outside.

"Henry Morgan! What in the world possessed you to make a snowman at this hour in the morning?" She called, still half-asleep."

"Good-morning, mama!"

"Hen – Abraham!" She blinked at the energetic child waving up at her, and slowly waved back.

"Good morning, Abigail – and merry Christmas!"

She sighed. "Henry, you're as much of a child as he is. It isn't even light out yet – how long have you been out there?"

Henry shrugged, grinning up at her. "Abigail – 'tis the best morning of the year, how could we sleep away the time?"

She threw her hands up in surrender. "I give in – I am returning to my bed. And you, Henry Morgan, don't let him get ill – and don't forget my breakfast!"

He saluted her playfully, and Abe copied him. "Yes, m'lady!" He bowed. "As you wish."

She smiled and shook her head, calling down to them before shutting the window: "Merry Christmas!"

c. 1967

Henry sat by the window, staring out at the ground below. There was a thick blanket of snow on the ground; and he smiled, remembering the countless snowballs fights Abe had ambushed him in through the years. Abigail had been included as well, but the ambushes had been stopped after she soundly beat him in the ensuing war after he had pelted her as they returned from church.

The smile melted away, and he looked back over the the empty bed. By now, she would have roused at least once to find him gone, and would likely have fallen back asleep – where was she now? Was she warm? Did she have a tree? Did she receive any gifts? What would she have for breakfast? Would she -

A hesitant knock at the door derailed his train of thought, and startled him.

"Dad?" The voice was gentle, almost frightened – entirely out of its depth.

He sighed, realising that is was Abe.

"Dad, we've got to make breakfast."

Henry turned back to the window. "Not now, Abe. Please."

Abe sighed and turned away. Nothing was the same since she had left, and it seemed as if his father was reeling from a mortal blow – goodness knows he would know what one felt like...

He trudged down the stairs, leaning against the wall in the sitting room. The tinsel and lights on the tree glittered, and the brightly wrapped presents beneath the green boughs beckoned – but nothing felt right. It just didn't feel like Christmas...

Was Abigail all that held their family together, the only thing that held Henry down? Perhaps if they had another child, a younger person to forcibly pull Henry out of – someone of just the right age where they were pushy and utterly tactless, but were also entirely innocent...

Suddenly, Abe straightened up. What they needed was another child in the house! And if that's what it took, well...who was he to argue.

Henry pulled the curtains shut, trying to shut out the memories as well. He knew he should pull himself out of this – for Abe's sake if for nothing else – but he couldn't find the strength to. He sank down on the bed, suddenly exhausted.

Abruptly, there was a quick rap upon the door, jerking Henry out of his gloom.

"Dad! Dad, come on! It's Christmas morning – and there's snow!"

The knocking continued, and Henry could hear the melody of 'Jingle Bells' in the raps.

"Da-ad... Dad! Come on! Breakfast, snow forts, presents, church, dinner, snowmen – what are you waiting for?"

Henry's mouth fell open as he stared at the door, surprised by the complete change in his son's manner. For a moment, he forgot that anything had changed – but then he missed the sleepy hand of his wife pushing him out of bed to deal with their early-rising son, and he sobered again.

"Abraham, please!"

He heard a put-out sigh outside his door, and then Abe stomped down the stairs, muttering about stubborn old men, and people wasting the best morning of the year.

Henry smiled and shook his head, glad that not everything had changed in his life.

Abe slung the bucket holding the perfectly made snowballs over his arm, and began to climb up the ladder which leaned against the house beside Henry's window. Careful not to make a sound, he lifted the unlocked window and parted the curtains. Mentally sighing in relief that his father was looking away from the window – even as he frowned at Henry's dejected appearance – he carefully lifted a snowball and took aim.

There was a gasp of utter surprise, and then a shouted, "Abraham Morgan!" Henry whirled around to face the window, and Abe jerked back in shock – losing his grip on the ladder and falling back to the ground below.

The blow upside the head had been the last thing Henry would have ever expected, and his first reaction was anger that Abe would do such a thing. Just as quickly as the anger had come, it had dissapated, and Henry was ready to give battle to his son in the snow below.

Whirling to issue his challenge to Abe, his heart stopped in terror as he saw his son fall, and he took a faltering step toward the window. Struggling to breathe, he ran down the stairs and out onto the lawn, ignoring the cold wind. He fell to his knees beside Abe, searching for any signs of life – or of injury.

Abe's form was shaking, and the Doctor tried to comfort him. Rolling him over to check for injuries on his front, Henry was surprised to see that Abe was laughing.

At a loss, Henry stared at his son, relieved that he was unharmed – foolhardy, and perhaps frightened; but unharmed. Narrowing his eyes, he quickly shaped a snowball and threw it point-blank at his son.

Abe's laughter stopped as the snow covered his face, but he soon shook it off and returned fire. Soon, the yard was filled with white projectiles as the battle raged, their laughter filling the air as they were hit. When Henry was finally shivering hard enough that the snowball missed Abe by a mile, Abe took pity on him and surrendered, leading his father inside to warm up.

When Henry sat before the fire, wrapped in several blankets and holding a cup of scalding tea, Abe sat down beside him, holding a cup of his own. Both were silent, watching the fire and relaxing.

Henry turned to his son, watching him for a few moments before speaking. "Abe, I..." He broke off unsure what to say or how to thank him.

Abe grinned. "Now, don't say anything too emotional – it isn't worth the awkward trouble."

Henry smiled softly. "Thank you – and, Merry Christmas."

c. 2015

Jo stood beside Lucas in the morgue, watching Henry almost dancing around as he worked. He wasn't truly dancing, but there was something in his manner that suggested an air of uncontainable excitement – something that was quite of of place, and yet pleasant, on the Doctor.

Lucas abruptly turned to her. "What's up with the doc today?"

She pulled herself out of her musing and turned to the assistant. "I have no idea – haven't you asked him?"

"No..." He busied himself with the instruments he was cleaning. "I thought about it, but what if he stops?"

"Stops?"

"Yeah, he's...happy, right now – I don't want to ruin that."

She nodded in understanding. Suddenly, it seemed as if Henry had noticed her presence, and he came over.

"Jo! What an unexpected pleasure – may I ask what brings you here? Another case, perhaps?"

"No, not this time. I actually came down to see if you had taken today off – as it is Christmas Eve."

"As you can see, I have not. Although, I am almost finished with my work here."

"Do you need a ride home, or has Abe returned your bike?"

He frowned. "No, and I do not think I will take a cab -" He brightened up again. "I believe I will take you up on your offer." He took off his lab coat, and returned it, soon reappearing after fetching his own coat and scarf and locking up his office. "Shall we?"

"The car's just outside – merry Christmas, Lucas!"

The assistant waved goodbye to them. "Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! Happy Hanukkah? Kwanza?"

Henry stopped and looked back at his assistant in confusion. "Pardon?"

"Just covering all of the bases, just in case you don't celebrate Christmas or something..." He trailed off.

Henry smiled, to his assistant's surprise.

"Oh, definitely 'merry Christmas', Lucas – and a happy new year!" He added, as he left the building.

Jo followed Henry out of the car, passing him into the shop when he paused to look up at the grey sky. Abe met her, wishing her a merry Christmas.

"Abe. What's with Henry today?"

The older man rolled his eyes. "It's Christmas Eve, and he heard it would snow tonight."

"Snow? That's terrible!"

"Don't let him hear you say that!" He warned.

"Don't let me hear what?" Henry asked, shedding his winter clothes as he entered the shop. "Please, don't tell me that you don't like snow, Detective!"

"Sorry, Henry," She shrugged. "It's cold, wet, mushy, gets everywhere, and makes life dangerous – what's there to like?"

"The beauty? The possibilities? The appearance of a fresh start?" He sighed and put away his coat and scarf. "Will you be staying for dinner?"

"No, I can't – I wish I could though. I've got someone coming over tonight, so..." Leaving the shop, she called back, "Nice to see you again, Abe! Merry Christmas!"

Henry watched her leave, thinking. When Abe came up beside him in curiosity, he turned to him an announced: "I will bring a snowball to work when I next go."

Abe shut his mouth with a snap, staring after his father as Henry went upstairs to finish wrapping presents. Shaking his head at his father antics, he muttered, "Merry Christmas, Jo – you'll need it to make up for the day after..."

Love and joy come to you, and a merry Christmas too; and God bless you, and send you a happy new year – and God send you a happy new year.

AN: Yes, I love Christmas. *grins* Thank you so much for reading this, and I hope you had a merry Christmas, and that you will have a wonderful new year. Gramercy, and God bless!