Author's Note – Ok, I know I haven't finished my other story yet, but this just wouldn't leave me alone. I listened to the saddest Christmas song in the whole world and it inspired this fic – I'm not normally about Song Fics, but I'm going to throw the lyrics on the bottom of this so you see where I'm coming from. And I promise I haven't abandoned The Fury of the Wind – this was just a quick release from finals studying.

Just a oneshot Christmas Angst. This story it set a bit in the future - past season six - a little AU perhaps. Also, I've finally corrected my various gramatical mistakes...thats what happens when you're in a rush and you don't have a beta.

She can't help but look at him, sitting just a few feet away from her in the driver's side seat of his government issue SUV. After all, he's like a magnet. He's so good looking, it's almost a crime, and lately, he's been so happy that it makes her insides feel like they're going to burst. He'd gone through some hard times, but the past year and a half… She doesn't want to take all the credit, but she's pretty sure she's a huge part of what healed him.

He feels her eyes on him and turns, grinning like a kid. It melts her heart in a way that she's never experienced before him. He's been especially cheerful lately – and Christmas is two days away. He's been exploring his Jewish heritage and has been regularly attending Temple, and she's started to go too, finding it unexpectedly gratifying. They'd even celebrated Hanukah this year, but that can't keep him from Christmas and boy-hood memories that can't be erased. His non-practicing parents had indulged both he and his brother on Christmas. She knows the holiday season has infected him, and he's infected her.

Robin catches her breath when he smiles just a little broader, skin crinkling around his eyes, one hand squeezing hers, a twinkle in his deep brown eyes. She knows she's totally lost her mind. She's fallen madly in love with Special Agent Don Eppes, and she doesn't even care that it's like a rollercoaster and she's lost all control.

"Just wait til you see what I got you for Christmas," he says, mischief in his eyes. He's been talking about this gift for what's seemed like a month. She can tell he's proud of himself.

"I hope you didn't spend too much, Eppes," she tells him with a laugh. He smiles again, and with all the adoration in his eyes, she can hardly picture the stern, self-reliant FBI agent she'd fallen in love with – not that he wasn't inside someplace, lurking. She knew at a moment's notice that he could go from silly to combat ready. It was part of what made him so unbelievably sexy.

"Nothing but the best for you, Councilor," he tells her mysteriously and pulls into the parking spot in front of his apartment building. She chuckles and glances at the clock. Not quite nine pm, plenty of time for some TV – some kissing…maybe something else. Even after all this time, she feels her cheeks heat up. Something about Don… She turns to him, smiling.

"Are you going to be able to wait two more days?"

"I was thinking, maybe we should just do gifts on Christmas Eve – you know, tomorrow night, just the two of us, here," he said, his hands moving, motioning to the building in front of him. She gauges him and thinks he seems a little nervous, but she puts it down to the fact that neither of them had felt so serious about each other before. She was practically living in his apartment, and in a festive moment, he'd dragged her out last week to cut down their own tree. There she'd been, standing in the middle of a field, three hours from LA, in heels and a suit from work, and Don was lying in the mud, cutting down a seven foot tree with a hack saw that he paid a small fortune for. The sight of it on top of his black Suburban had struck her as funny, but he'd taken her ribbing well, and they'd spent the weekend decorating not only the tree, but his apartment. Secretly, she'd been hoping that his father would stop by. It might cause Alan Eppes a heart attack, but it would be one of relief and shock rather than dismay. Don's apartment was a far cry from the sterile world it had been when she'd dated him the first time around, unpacked boxes and other less tangible baggage considered. These were big steps for both of them.

He's waiting for her answer, and she doesn't want him to sweat it out. "Sure," she replies with a smile, though a panic rises in her chest. She still hasn't bought him anything yet. That gives her one day and that doesn't feel like enough, but she's been putting it off long enough. What does one get the man you hope to cajole into marrying you? She brushes the thought aside as he reaches for the door handle.

"Good," he says with relief as she too opens her door. She turns to look back at him through the open car to make some remark about how he's ruining his Big Bad FBI Agent aura by sounding so anxious, but she never gets the chance.

She hears the noise, a resounding crack, and she knows that sound, and it makes her heart stop. Through the open interior of the darkened SUV, illuminated by the orange cast of the street lamp, everything unfolds before Robin's eyes in slow motion. She sees Don jerk, and let out a surprised grunt of pain, then his body twists away and he's falling, and she hears him hit the ground hard with a thudding noise accompanied by a sharp crack, and she knows for some reason that he's landed on his right side, and the crack is his Glock, striking the pavement under his hip. She barely registers the blood spatter on his window.

She wants to scream, but the sound dies in her throat as the window of her open door explodes around her, showering her in glass, as the bullet continues on it's path, hitting the mirror of the car and the whole apparatus goes spiraling off into the dark. Robin falls unceremoniously to the ground, though she knows she isn't hit – but Don is.

A sniper. It must be, because she can't see anyone else in the vicinity, though she hears people yelling and knows they must have heard the two shots. Logic forces her to move. She knows she's a target, still sitting there on the ground next to the Suburban, so she crawls under her door and in front of the SUV where she can hear the soft ticking of the engine. She's safe there, in between the front of his truck and the building walls, which are just a few feet away. She hold her breath for a moment, but she's got her cell phone out and with a touch of the button is dialing 911 even as she peers under the car.

She can just see Don on his right side, just as she'd guessed, and he's lying so that his face is toward the Suburban. Robin can see that his eyes are closed. It's almost too dark to tell, but he's either fallen in a puddle or there's something pooling under him…

"Hello? Yes, this is Robin Brooks – I need help. We've been shot at by a sniper. He hit my boyfriend – please, we need police and an ambulance," she tells the 911 operator. She's shocked at just how calm her voice is. Inside, she's anything but calm. "Please, hurry. He's an FBI agent." Robin knows this is a good choice of words. In times of strife, no matter the legal turf wars that might exist, all law enforcement and emergency personnel pull out all the stops when a victim is "one of their own."

She barely recalls giving them Don's address or hearing the promise that help is already on the way. Instead, she's crawling towards Don – knowing she's risking her own life, but God – she can't let him die alone there on the pavement. She has to see how he is. While she crawls, she hits a speed dial. David Sinclair answers right away.

In short breaths, she tells him what's happened, and the situation they're still in. David begs her to stay behind cover, but she has a feeling their assailant is gone. If he'd wanted her dead, she already would be. She's convinced the second shot missed on purpose. She didn't really want to contemplate what that meant – but in the back of her mind she imagines this was someone's revenge – and although Don was a likely target, she had a feeling it was someone after her – and they were trying to make her pay – by taking what she cared most about in the world – Don.

She brushes David off. "Please, just send help. And call Alan and Charlie…" Then, she flips her phone shut and puts it back in her pocket, never stopping as she crawls, getting closer and closer. She slides under his door, slithering on the ground as her dress shirt and wool coat are soaked from the cold puddles. Robin shivers and her hands touch Don's keys, lying where they fell. On instinct, she presses the panic button and the alarm goes off. It's not a normal car alarm. Instead, the flashing red and blue lights on the dash and along the back window start up and the police siren screams out. She figures if the sniper is still around, he'll leave now.

Finally, she drags herself up next to Don, shaking hands reaching out for him. His skin is cold and his pulse is barely there, thready and erratic.

"Don?" she calls, and suddenly her voice isn't so calm. She can hear the fear and strain and she starts to shake. He doesn't respond, but she kind of already knew he wouldn't. She doesn't want to move him, but she has to see what happened, so she pushes herself up on one knee, not caring now if the sniper takes another shot. She touches the pool underneath Don's body and realizes that she was right before – it's blood – and far too much of it. She checks his body. There's an entrance wound in his back, right through his left shoulder blade and she realizes the shot was meant for his heart. The exit wound is predictably on the other side. She finds the hole in the black North Face shell she gave him last year for Christmas and sees that the jacket is already slick with blood.

Everything inside her goes cold. She's seen crime scene victims that looked better than Don did now – and they still hadn't made it.

"Please no," she whispers.

The sound of Don's SUV is so loud that she jumps when she sees the LAPD squad cars screech to a halt not far from where she is. She never even heard their sirens. There's an ambulance not far behind, but it stays back, outside the perimeter for the safety of the EMTs. Robin knows they're just following procedure, but she wants to scream. Don needs help. He's dying, right there on the pavement, two days before Christmas.

The next few minutes are a blur. The police officers call out to her and she relates her story, stopping long enough to turn off the panic alarm. She confirms that the man lying on the ground is her boyfriend – Special Agent Donald Eppes, in charge of violent crimes in the greater Los Angeles area, and yes, he's been shot by a sniper. She tries to tell them the sniper is gone, or she would be dead too, but they have to follow their rules and someone is checking the building tops while the officer in charge suggests she stay as close to Don's SUV as possible. She doesn't leave Don's side. Soon enough, the EMT's grow gutsy – after all, there's a federal agent dying on the pavement, so they drive the ambulance out, using the vehicle itself as protection against the direction where the bullets came from.

There's three of them, and two of them assess Don's condition while the other one checks her over. Apparently she's bleeding – a cut on her face, from the glass of Don's car. She didn't notice, she doesn't care, she just keeps her eyes on Don. Then David and Colby are there, and she's never felt so relieved. If no one else does, they'll get Don off the cold ground and to the hospital.

She's right. In a matter of moments, David is issuing orders and confirming the area is safe. Colby is helping her off the ground and the EMTs are loading Don – her friend – her lover – the man she changed her view on life for – onto a bed and towards the back of the ambulance. Robin moves behind them, intent on riding along when one of the EMTs curses.

"He's going into cardiac arrest. Get him in, we have to go now."

Robin stumbles. The EMT who tended to her cut earlier casts her a glance. "Sorry, but you'll have to follow, we don't have room in the back while he's in cardiac arrest." The words are quick and full of apology, but then the ambulance is screaming out of there and Robin feels alone despite the police officers and David and Colby. She turns back to look at Don's SUV, to see that they are already putting yellow tape around it and there's a crowd from Don's building on the sidewalk. She registers a few of their faces, people Don has introduced her to – neighbors – and they all have pity and fear in their eyes.

She knows what they are thinking. They'd always felt safe with Don in the building when they'd found out he was an FBI agent. His presence alone had been cause for rent to go up and make the standard of living that much higher – it had been welcomed. But now, they were faced with violence on their doorstep – and it surrounded the very man they assumed would protect them if danger came knocking at their doors.

She turns to find both of Don's team members watching her worriedly and is pretty sure she hears Colby say something about shock.

"Take me to the hospital," she orders them in her best AUSA voice and would have been mildly amused at Colby's leap into action if the situation hadn't been so dire. Soon, she finds herself ensconced in David's Bureau issue sedan, headed towards the hospital. Its then that she realizes she doesn't even know what hospital they're taking Don to, but apparently, David does. After a few minutes of silence, she speaks. "Did you call Alan and Charlie?"

"Yes," David tells her, looking at her worriedly in the rearview mirror. She knows she probably looks a mess, especially since she's always so well put together, but nothing matters right now. "They're on their way now. Can you tell us what happened?"

Robin knows this is important, knows that they have to ask – that if they caught the guy, her statement, so fresh after the incident would be important in court. None the less, repeating how a nearly perfect evening had been shattered out from underneath her was almost impossible. She squares her shoulders, and with as much detachment as she can, she tells them about how they'd gone to dinner and had plans to go back to Don's apartment – and that they'd sat in the car for a moment before getting out. After that, her breath seems short and she can barely tell them about the shots.

"Whoever it was, they were waiting for us," Robin tells them.

Colby turns around to face her. "Us…you think they were after both of you?"

Robin feels herself hesitating. "I can't be sure, but I've seen enough of these cases… I actually think whoever it was, they were after me – not Don."

Colby blinks.

"You mean you think they shot Don to get back at you," David said, filling in the blanks. Robin nods tiredly in the back seat.

"Yes – he…fired at me, but didn't hit me – it was like a warning shot, and Don was…already down," she finishes, tears forming in her eyes. Colby swears softly.

"Try not to worry about it now – we'll go through a list of suspects later," David tells her, the pity in his voice thick. She knows they're both feeling bad – their boss had been shot and they were realizing it was probably his girlfriend's fault. They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

At the hospital, there's no news. Don had been taken into the ER and they were left to mill about in wildly erratic waiting room. The sensory overload is too much for Robin and she retreats to a corner, withdrawing inwards. In a short time, Alan, Charlie and Amita Eppes are there – the newly-weds looking as distraught as Don's father. David is kind enough to intercept them – Robin isn't sure she can face them right now – not after thinking that this was most likely her fault.

After a few minutes, Alan, who has become like a father to her, sits next to her wordlessly and squeezes her hand. She tries to look up and smile at him, but can't. Soon enough, Amita, who now shared the last name of the family she longed to belong to, is there with a warm wet cloth and cleans the blood off her face and hands. They exchanged an unspoken conversation – yes, the blood on her hands is Don's. Not far away, Charlie is pacing, looking up anxiously every time the door to the back of the ER opens. Robin can't blame him, she feels the same way, and she's tremendously grateful that neither Alan nor Amita ask her what had happened, or what she saw. She doesn't trust her own voice.

When the doctor finally comes out, he looks haggard and not in the least optimistic.

"Agent Eppes' family? Don Eppes?"

They all get up in a rush. The doctor looks from face to face, almost about to mention that David and Colby are clearly not family, but must have thought better of it when he spots their badges clipped to their belts and guns tucked safely in holsters.

He starts without any preamble. "We're taking Don in for surgery right now. The bullet nicked his aorta and caused massive internal and external bleeding. We'll do what we can for him, but it's not looking good. I'm sorry."

The world has frozen over. Robin can't breathe.

"When he's out of surgery, we'll reassess, but I don't want to get your hopes up," he says with as much compassion as he can muster, and then he's gone.

Robin stands with the rest of Don's loved ones in silence.

After a while, they mutely return to their seats. Alan is crying, but the tears are silent and private. Robin wants to cry, but nothing comes. She sits in numb disbelief. Don has been injured so many times in his long career as an FBI agent that she had somehow thought him invincible – what did Charlie call him? An anomaly. He'd always defied the odds. Until now it seemed.

Across the room, Amita tries to calm Charlie, but Don's little brother is a mess. Robin wants to help – she knows how close the two men are, but her own grief stops her.

Hours drag by, midnight comes and goes, and it isn't until the early hours of Christmas Eve that they hear anything.

A new doctor has appeared, asking for them and Alan, as patriarch, leads the way. The doctor has nothing good to say, besides the fact that Don had survived the surgery. The damage is severe. They did what they could. It was one in a thousand chances that Don would survive. Charlie takes that statistic and leaves the room. Everyone else stays. The doctor promises to make Don comfortable and yo wait to see what would happen, but chances were, that by nightfall, he would be gone.

Only one person is allowed to sit in the ICU, so they take turns. The doctor urges them to say their goodbyes, apologies written all over his face. Robin sits with the man she loves, but can't bring herself to say a word. She just clutches his hand and touches his face, trying to memorize every part of it – lifeless as it is. They had intabated him at some point, and if the air hadn't been being forced into his lungs, she knew he would be dead. His skin's so pale and his body so still that he already looks long gone. The pain is unbearable for her.

She stays there most of the day, not even bothering to call her office, despite the fact that she'd planned to work that day. By now they would know that a federal agent had been shot and no doubt it would be like wildfire that it was Don Eppes. No one from the office will bother her.

By late afternoon, Don is continually getting worse, and the doctors insist on no more visitors. She tries to protest, they all do, but only Alan gets his way. Because he is Don's father, he is granted the right to stay. Robin can't help but feel betrayed and angry. She was just the girlfriend – not the father or the brother. If she had shared Don's last name, been his wife – then it would be her sitting next to him as he took his last breaths. But instead, it would be Alan who would see his son out of life. The man looked like he wouldn't be long to follow considering the pain and loss already in his eyes. Robin thinks she's starting to feel the same way.

Alan promises her in a deathly quiet voice that he will call if there was any change.

Amita, who has given up on Charlie for the time being hugs Robin tightly.

Colby offers to drive her home, but halfway there, Robin's chest grows tight as she thinks about being so far away from Don. She grabs Colby's arm. "Take me to Don's," she insists. Colby looks at her like he wants to say no – like he thinks it's a bad idea, but he doesn't argue with her. Instead, he drives her to the scene of the attack the night before. Don's SUV is gone, as is the shattered glass from the window and the mirror that had been blown off. Even the blood has been cleaned up.

"Robin, are you sure you want to do this?" Colby asks doubtfully. Robin fingers the key to Don's apartment on her key ring.

"Yes, I'll be fine," she assures him. She can tell Colby is thinking that if Don knew he was letting this happen, his boss would kick his tail. If he was able to. But he wasn't. So she gets out of the car and offers Colby a fake smile. "Thank you."

She doesn't look back. She makes her way into the building and climbs the stairs until she reached the familiar polished wood door that she recognizes. Her hands shake as she fights to slide the key into the lock, but soon she's through the door and she pushes it shut behind her, locking it as she does, and then the sobs come. She leans heavily against the door and lets it all out – all the pain, the fear, the disappointment, the anger… All of it boils out in hot tears that stream down her face. After she's cried all the tears she thinks she has, she weakly pushes away from the door and stumbles into the living room where she flicks on the lights and there, in front of her, stands the Christmas tree.

She stares at it in morbid fascination, just the sight of it causing pain to constrict her chest. It represents the best parts of her relationship with Don – the part that let them both let go of the jobs that ruled their lives but still be understood by someone else. She has no idea how long she stands there staring, but soon enough, she's moving mechanically, switching on the lights on the tree and it bursts into brilliant color and she chokes out a sob. Slowly, she looks around at the tasteful but simple Christmas decorations they'd bought and inhales the scent of pine. She knows that as long as she lives, she will never forget this.

Robin sinks down on the couch and just sits there for what seems like hours, her cell phone in front of her as she waits for news. It never rings. After a while, she decides she's too numb about what's happening, and that further punishment is necessary, so she turns the CD player on. Don had found a selection of Christmas music, but he'd been drawn to a particular album she thought was too melancholy for Christmas – Sarah McLachlan. Still, it seemed to fit the mood now, so she finds the saddest song on the album and then wanders into the kitchen

She's never been much of a cook, but Don is quite talented – he'd gotten that from his father. She assumed, since he'd asked her to do Christmas Eve with him that he had something planned, and she wasn't disappointed. No doubt he'd known she would say yes. In the refrigerator she sees a small turkey, already dressed, and a myriad of containers that no doubt had something delightful in them. She can't bear to look in them, instead, she reaches for a bottle of water. Still, she looks at each container, no doubt created with care for a night he'd been hoping to enjoy.

Another sob escapes her lips and she stumbles back, out of the small kitchen into the smaller foyer where she bumps into the piano bench. She loses her balance and flops down onto it and turns, nearly horrified.

A year ago, around Christmas, Don had brought her to the apartment one day, pleased as a cat who had just gotten a canary. He wanted to show her something – something that turned out to be the piano. He'd gotten one that looked nearly like his mother's – he'd been playing at his brother's house a lot, but after Charlie and Amita had gotten engaged, he'd been reluctant to spend so much time in their space. She could tell he ached to play – he'd become quite good at it – and on very bad days, he would sit at night and just play, over and over until whatever had happened at work melted away. Robin loved to sit and listen. He was exceptionally talented.

Robin sits there, staring at the ivory keys and the weight of the realization that she'd never hear Don's fingers on it again crushes her. She gropes at the piano bench, just trying to hold on, faced with another flood of tears. How could she do this? How could she go one without him?

This was exactly what she'd been trying to avoid when she'd broken up with him the first time. Sure, she'd thought he wasn't ready for a serious relationship at the time – but she wasn't going to deny that she was simply afraid he would leave her. She knew the realities of his job – knew that any day could be his last. She didn't want to live like that. She wanted a partner that was safe everyday. She'd lost that battle.

Robin forces herself off the piano bench, her fingers trailing along the edge of the smooth wood. She glances up at the photos that cover the wall above the piano. There are so many, and all so painful.

She had always loved the black and white photo of Margaret and Alan Eppes holding a three year old Don between them by the hands, swinging him back and forth, a look of pure joy on his face. It was one of her favorites. And there was one of Don and his team, arms slung around each other – it was back when Megan Reeves had been his partner. They were all in their FBI gear and someone had snapped the candid after a successful operation, and they were all grinning. There was the formal photo of Don and Charlie at Charlie and Amita's wedding – Don had been Charlie's best man, and there was a photo of them shaking hands. The next was the family photo at the wedding that Alan had insisted she be in.

"Donny's not too far behind Charlie," the older man had assured her, already telling Charlie and Amita he was ready for grandchildren in nine months while he manhandled her next to Don. Don had squeezed her hand and whispered 'thanks' and 'sorry' all at once. She remembered the feeling – half relief that he wasn't about to drop to one knee, and half disappointment that he had apologized.

She stumbles down the hallway, away from the photos, tears blinding her and she realizes too late that Colby was probably right. Coming back here had been a mistake. She knew now that life without Don was going to be impossibly painful. How was she supposed to box up all of these memories of him? How was she supposed to go on with her life after she'd shared so much of it with him? What was she to do with the things they had bought together, the mementos of places they'd gone together? She didn't think she could bear to have them around. And if she heard a piano play? She figured her world would come crashing down around her – just like it was doing now.

A few hours later, she awakes with a start. She isn't sure how she'd gotten to the couch or how she'd fallen asleep, but now she was stiff and cold. She stands up and stretches stiffly, then she checks the clock – it's almost midnight.

There was no point in going home now, though she knew that getting in Don's bed would be exquisite torture – but she needed sleep. The few moments of rest she'd gotten at the hospital in the hard plastic chairs hadn't really counted.

With a lump in her throat she makes her way to the bed that had become a place of refuge, safety and fun for her. All the memories of she and Don…he was a good lover, there was no doubt about that.

Robin looks down at the clothing she's wearing – the same outfit she'd been in the night before when her world had fallen apart. Her white blouse was still dirty with mud-water that had soaked through her jacket when she'd crawled to Don. She shed the offending clothes, needing desperately to be closer to Don. She made her way blindly to his closet, searching for something that was him – all him, and she found it, on the shelf – a neatly folded hooded sweatshirt he wore on weekends with the FBI emblem on the front and the words 'Instructor' emblazoned on the back – a leftover from his days at Quantico. She tugs on the blue sweatshirt and it comes down, but it isn't alone. Something hard strikes her bare foot and she yelps in surprise and mild pain.

Confused, she drops the hoodie and on her hands and knees in the semi-dark of the room, she searches for the offending object. Finally, her hand brushes over a small box, its surface soft. She freezes.

With shaking hands, she grasps the box and stands, moving towards the bed, flipping on the light she always reads by. It reveals a ruby red velvet box clutched in her hand. She knows she shouldn't, but she can't stop herself, and she opens the little clamshell.

What she finds inside makes everything a million times better and a million times worse. Three good sized diamonds wink out at her, nestled in a silk lining, atop a platinum band. An engagement ring. She knows she shouldn't assume – but in her heart, she knows it was for her. She'd seen the one he'd bought for Kim Hall – it was still in an envelope in a box someplace and it was nothing like this. No, this ring was for her.

Shaking violently, Robin closes the box and drags herself back to the closet. She places the box neatly back on the shelf and stares at it. It's everything shes been afraid of and everything she desperately wants. In that moment, she knows that if he'd done it – if he'd dropped to one knee and asked, that without a doubt, she wouldn't have hesitated.

It dawns on her then that this was what tonight was supposed to have been about. Why Don had been so nervous. After all, there were no presents under the tree. And he loved to put things under the tree – but this – this ring had been her gift this year. And now, it was all for nothing.

Hurriedly, she ends up back in the bed, wishing that the bullet had taken her instead, and if that couldn't be the way it was, that it had taken both of them. Shivering, she huddles under the sheets that smell just like Don and weeps.

The digital clock reads after midnight, but sleep won't come. She stares up through Don's skylight, her eyes on the stars, thinking of how many times they'd done such a thing together. "Merry Christmas, my love," she whispers, her voice rough with emotion. She lays there for a long time and at some point, she finally drifts off.

When she awakes, she's confused. She knows she's at Don's but can't be sure why his warm body isn't there next to hers. She lays there for a moment before reality strikes her and she wishes she could burrow down into the bed and forget everything. She closes her eyes and tries to imagine his body next to hers and with a terrified gasp, finds that she can't.

"No!" she cries, sitting up. It didn't happen that quickly, did it? Forgetting? It couldn't. She can't believe this was happening. Can't believe that Don was being taken from her – especially on Christmas.

She forces herself out of bed to check her cell phone, though she's terrified at the prospect of what she might find. Still, she feels raw disappointment when she discovers there are no new messages at all. She can only guess at what Alan's silence means.

She stands there, lost in the living room of Don's apartment, staring at the tree when her eyes lock on the shelf near the tree. It's covered with photos – ones that she herself had picked out – there were a few of them both together, but there was one that stood out. It was in the middle of the other two and it was just Don.

With her heart in her throat, she moves towards it. She has a copy in her house – she loves it that much. It had been taken a year ago today – on Christmas morning. In a freak storm, it had snowed on Christmas day in Los Angeles. Not a lot of snow, of course – but enough to cover the ground and bring the normally warm city to a grinding halt. Don had been delighted. He'd woken her up and dragged her out of bed to peer out the window at the snow. He'd dressed quickly – his favorite pair of jeans, she'd noted and a black fleece pullover and he was out the door, calling for her to follow. At the last second, she'd grabbed the little red digital camera they'd bought over the summer on a weekend trip to Santa Barbara. She'd bounded out the door behind him, his mood infectious. She'd caught him standing in the snow, looking around with wonder, happiness and love like a halo around him. He'd bent down and scooped a few handfuls of the powdery substance and tossed it in the air, hands up, a grin on his face. She'd never had better timing with a camera. It was, as they said, picture perfect.

"I keep this moment, by and by," she says softly, touching the face in the photo, remembering how perfect some of their days were.

It's too much – too much to bear. Don was gone. She had lost him now – forever.

It drives her to the shower where she stands in the scalding water until it begins to grow cold – she has no idea for how long. Feeling raw with pain, her skin pink from too much heat, she towels off, not sure what to do with herself. Through the closed door, she hears her phone. Her heart drops to the bottom of her stomach and she hesitates, hand on the doorknob, but then pulls herself together and goes out to the living room.

She reaches for the cell phone and flips it open to see that it's only been a text message.

'Come to the hospital, and hurry.' The message is from Amita. Fear grips Robin. This was it.

She calls a cab, then dresses methodically in clothes she's left in his closet, even making the bed and closing the closet on the ring box. She turns off the lights to the tree and locks the door, feeling like she's closing a tomb that she'll never return to. The cab is waiting, and she rides in silence to the hospital, the cabbie watching her warily. She imagines she looked horrible, but can't bring herself to care.

When she arrives, she stands in the brisk air outside, unsure she wants to go in. If she does, there will be no going back. A ride up the elevator will take her to news she doesn't want. Don was either dead, or on his way.

Her legs move whether she wants them to or not, and soon she's through the door. The hospital is very quiet – anyone who is there on Christmas Day has nothing to be cheerful about – and she sees pain all around her, mirroring her own.

Before she realizes, she's on the third floor, following a blue stripe to the ICU. As she gets close, she takes in the family that she would now never have. Charlie, sitting in a chair, head in his hands, Amita next to him, holding his shoulder, but her head down too. Alan was nowhere to be seen. She hesitates. What would she say to them? How could she eclipse her own loss to help with theirs? She moves forward again and Amita looks up, and there are tears on her face, but she's smiling.

Robin frowns. What on earth? How could she smile at a time like this?

Then the dark haired beauty is out of her chair, arms open to Robin, a smile so huge on her face it hurts. In a moment, Amita is hugging her.

"A Christmas miracle," the girl murmurs in Robin's ear.

Robin's heart stops. A miracle?

She extricates herself from Amita's grasp and pushes the woman she viewed as a sister back a bit. "What are you talking about? Don…he's…he's…." She can't bring herself to say it.

Then, Charlie is there, and although his face is wet with tears as well, he too is smiling.

"He's not dead. The doctor's said – a miracle – a Christmas miracle. He's alive. And awake."

Robin feels her knees go weak and she would have fallen if the Eppes' hadn't caught her.

"But I thought… The doctor said…" she trails off in bewilderment as they lead her to a chair.

"I know, but he made it – he pulled through. The doctor's are optimistic. They say he's going to live – that it's going to be a hard road back – but he's going to make it. They said it seemed like he was too stubborn to let go and someone upstairs was looking out for him."

The sob comes out before Robin can stop it and it doesn't end until she feels rough hands on her face and she looks up to meet Alan's warm eyes. They are wet with tears, but happy ones.

"Someone wants to see you," he says, his voice rough with emotion.

She nods, having to see Don to believe what they are saying. Alan half carries her to the door of the ICU room, then ushers her in, leaving her alone.

And there, on the bed, is the object of her desire, and true to their words he is alive – and awake. Tired and pain-filled brown eyes meet hers, but the relief in them is unmistakable when he sees her, and she cries again, rushing to his side, reaching for his hand.

"Don." It's all she can say – but it's more than enough. She feels him squeeze her hand and it's the best Christmas gift she'd ever been given. She meets his eyes again and feels the love and warmth there. "Merry Christmas, my love."

Fin

Wintersong

The lake is frozen over
The trees are white with snow
And all around reminders of you
Are everywhere I go
Ooh ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh ooh
It's late and morning's in no hurry
But sleep won't set me free
I lie awake and try to recall
How your body felt beside me
When silence gets too hard to handle
And the night too long

And this is how I see you
In the snow on Christmas morning
Love and happiness surround you
As you throw your arms up to the sky
I keep this moment by and by
Oh how I miss you now, my love
Marry Christmas marry Christmas marry Christmas, my love

A sense of joy fills the air
And I daydream and I stare
Above the tree and I see
Your star up there

And this is how I see you
In the snow on Christmas morning
Love and happiness surround you
As you throw your arms up to the sky
I keep this moment by and