A/N: I aimed for fluff, but I missed it by a mile. Maybe more. I may or may not elaborate on the last paragraph in another fic. I decided to end it like I did as an angry nod to TPTB's decision to kill off one of our people. I hope I am wrong in what I think is going to play out, but I do believe they are going to send our loved ones out with a bang rather than a whimper. And it isn't going to be a good bang. Think gunshots, not fireworks. I doubt very much we will be satisfied with the way it plays out. :-[

Since this one didn't quite work out the way I intended, I am working on another Christmas story, which I hope (fingers crossed) to have done by Christmas. No promises, but I am certainly going to try. I don't plan for it to be a long one, but I am, once again, aiming for a happy tale, laced with intermittent angst, of course. After all, what good is a happy ending if you don't work for it?

Goren stood by the window with a full tumbler of scotch, looking out at the falling snow. Christmas Eve, the loneliest night of the year. In the past, he had always spent the evening and part of the following day at Carmel Ridge. He enjoyed the delight with which his mother opened the gifts he gave her, even if the comments that followed were critical. Last year, she had also gotten a gift from Eames, the only one Eames ever had the chance to give her--a micropile blanket with an abstract design in beautiful shades of pinks and yellows. It was soft and warm, and his mother had loved it. Today, it was neatly folded and tucked into a box on the shelf in his closet, along with some of his mother's other belongings. He had not moved the box since he'd brought it home right after her death. Someday, he would take it down and go through it again, but he didn't have the emotional strength for it yet. It would come in time.

Four months had passed since her death, and he still missed her. He'd always been lonely, but since losing his mother, his loneliness was complete. He couldn't count on his brother for anything. He hadn't even made an appearance at the funeral. No, he was alone in the world. He had no one.

A knock at the door drew him from his reflections and he crossed the room to answer it. He wasn't expecting anyone, and he doubted Frank would waste his time with a visit. He couldn't be expected to take time away from getting high. Pulling the door open, he was surprised to find Logan in the hall, holding two paper bags and grinning. "Merry Christmas!"

"Logan..? What are you doing here?"

"Mind if I come in?"

"N-No, no...come on in."

He stepped back out of the way and took one of the bags from Logan. As he headed for the kitchen, Logan said, "I thought I'd treat you to a traditional Logan Christmas: Chinese take-out, Jim Beam, Wild Turkey and eggnog."

"I thought you had a girlfriend."

Logan began unloading the bags. "Yeah, well, that didn't work out. She started talking about marriage and kids and that's just not me. So I moved on. It's just you and me, buddy."

Goren was still puzzled. "Why me?"

Logan didn't miss a beat. "Because I know what it's like to be alone in the world, and I know that's how you're feeling tonight. I remember when my mother died. She made my life hell, but I noticed when she was gone, especially that first Christmas. I thought you could use the company."

Goren watched him dish out the take-out and pour two glasses, half Jim Beam and half eggnog. Handing Goren a plate and a glass, he raised his own glass in a toast. "To our mothers, God rest their souls."

Goren hesitated for a moment, not sure Logan meant what he was toasting. But then again, it didn't matter, because he knew that in his own heart, that was exactly what he wished for his mother—the rest and the peace she never found in life. He touched his glass to Logan's and they went into the living room.

It took a couple of glasses of eggnog before Logan was finally able to begin prying Goren from his shell. "What was she like?" he asked.

Goren looked into his glass. "She did a lot of things that I hated her for when I was a kid. I blamed her for driving my father away and then Frank. I didn't understand her disease until I was older and I began studying it. It was a long time before I understood enough to forgive her."

"I never forgave my mother. They say alcoholism's a disease, but I'm not sure I buy into it. She beat me, she was never there for me, she made my life hell."

Goren nodded slowly. "I get that. I never forgave my father for the things he did, and I don't know if I can forgive Frank. But it was different with my mother. It was just...different. She needed me to be there for her, no matter what she did."

"When she was sober, my mother always told me that it wasn't her fault, that she loved me and I had to forgive her. But it never worked that way. Not with me."

"Mom didn't apologize and she never admitted to being at fault. Somehow, the fault was always mine. But she never knew that she'd done something wrong. When I was nine, she broke my arm, and Frank told her I fell out of a tree. I didn't understand what he was doing then, but he made me go along with him."

Logan got up and refreshed their drinks, bringing the bottle to the coffee table when he returned. "It was hard, watching what you were going through. But I didn't know what I could do to help. None of us did, not even Eames. She came to me, to ask for advice. Me, of all people! But she knew I'd had a sick and belligerent mother, and she asked me how I handled her death. I couldn't help her because it was so different for me. You took it so hard when you lost your mother, and I didn't when I lost mine, So I guess we all fell flat there and let you down."

Goren shrugged. "I didn't expect anything from anyone. And when Eames reached out, I didn't know how to respond, so I didn't. I just pretended she never said anything about it. Maybe she thought I was being an ass, but I honestly had no idea how to accept her offer of help."

"She didn't think you were an ass, not about that, anyway. She knew you were hurting and it hurt her that she couldn't help. She understands what it's like to lose someone you love, someone your life revolved around. Maybe it's not exactly the same thing, but in a way it kinda is."

"Philosophy doesn't suit you any more than psychology does, Mike."

"Maybe not. I just wanted you to know we tried."

"Thanks."

"You know...what happened to you upstate back on Halloween...she feels responsible for that. Did you know that?"

Goren's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"While you were in the hospital, I ran into her in a little dive in my neighborhood. I think she was trying to hide from anyone she knew." He gave a little smile. "Surprise."

In spite of the dark subject, they both laughed. Logan poured more whiskey into their glasses, managing not to spill too much. Goren didn't notice. His heart rate began to accelerate as soon as Logan mentioned Tate's. He took a big drink and added more whiskey to his glass. Logan did notice. Quietly, he said, "She told me she was the one who talked you into helping your brother, that you were not inclined to even talk to him until she said something. And then when you cooked up that scheme to help his kid...she went along with you. I don't think any partner of mine would have stuck their necks out that far for me." He laughed a little. "Ironic, ain't it?"

"What's that?"

"I punched a councilman, right there on the courthouse steps in front of the world, and I got my ass banished to Staten Island for ten years. But I kept my badge. You try to do the right thing and uncover torture and murder in a prison, and they take away your badge."

"How did you handle it?"

"One day at a time, man. That's the only way you'll make it. Just take it one day at a time." He let out a heavy breath. "Hey, come on, buck up. It's Christmas Eve." He looked around. "You got a pen and a piece of paper?"

"Uh, yeah. In the top drawer of the desk."

After two attempts, Logan got off the couch and negotiated his way across the room. Sitting at the desk, he pulled out a piece of paper and a black marker. After a few minutes of work, he turned and held up his drawing. "There we go," he announced.

"What is it?"

"Whaddya mean, what is it?" He looked at the picture. "Well, I guess it'd be better if I was sober. It's a Christmas tree. You don't have one."

He tore off a piece of tape and got up from the chair, stumbling a couple of steps to the television, where he taped the tree. "There! Now it's more like Christmas. Did you buy any presents this year?"

"Just two. A book about pirates for Eames' nephew and a necklace for her."

"Did she like it?"

"I, uh, I haven't seen her yet to give it to her."

"Didja call her?"

"No. I'm not going to interfere with her holidays. She likes Christmas. I'll see her sooner or later."

"Man, you gotta reach out sometimes."

Goren shook his head. "No. It's too easy to get your hand batted away."

"Not if you don't grope her."

"What?"

"Get with the program, Goren. All she wants is for you to meet her partway. Hell, I don't think she cares if you don't make it halfway. Just a little effort from you will make her a happy camper."

"I'm fine, Logan. I don't need anyone."

Logan nodded as he collapsed back onto the couch and looked at his masterpiece. "You keep tellin' yourself that. That won't make it true. She cares about you. Why can't you just accept that?"

"I have my reasons."

"Maybe she thinks too well of you."

Goren nodded slowly in agreement. "I know she does."

With a snort, Logan took a drink. "You're an idiot."

It was close to midnight. They had finished off both bottles Logan brought and started on Goren's supply. The mood had lightened considerably, which relieved Logan. It was good to see Goren laugh.

Just past the hour, someone knocked at the door. The two men looked at each other. "Expecting someone?" Logan asked.

"No. But I wasn't expecting you, either."

He got off the couch with difficulty and made his way to the door. He stumbled back a step when he pulled the door open, grabbing onto it for balance. Then he stared mutely at the vision in the hallway. Blinking deliberately, he cocked his head to the side. "Eames? What are you doing here?"

"It's Christmas," she answered, amused.

"Why aren't you with your family?"

"Can I come in?"

"What? Oh, yeah...sure. Come in."

He backed away from her until he ran into the wall. With a patient smile, she took the door from him and swung it closed. "Eames!" Logan called from the couch. "Come join the party."

She reached out and grasped her partner's hand. Logan slid over on the couch and encouraged her to sit beside him. Goren sat down at her other side. Sliding his arm along the back of the couch behind her, he twisted at the waist to face her. "Why aren't you with your family?" he repeated.

"I have two families," she explained. "We all get together at my parents' house on Christmas Eve, and then everyone has their own Christmas Day celebration at home. The way it's snowing out, I wasn't sure I'd be able to make it back into the city from my parents' place, so I came back now. I wanted to spend Christmas Day with you."

"With...me?"

Logan leaned forward. "Yes, Einstein. With you."

Goren was still frowning. "You said...two families."

"Yes. My parents and my siblings and their kids are one. You are the other. You are my partner, my other family."

"Should I leave?" Logan teased.

Eames looked at him. "In your condition? Don't be an idiot." She turned back to her partner. "So, what do you say? Spend Christmas with me? I can almost guarantee a less chaotic day than you've had in the past."

"You're sure about this?"

She smiled. "I drove all the way back to the city in a snowstorm. I'm sure." She reached out and picked up his drink, giving it a sniff. "Eggnog and rum?"

Logan leaned in toward her again. "The eggnog outlasted the Jim Beam and Wild Turkey I brought."

"Rum is good," she said with a smile, looking over the edge of the glass at Goren as she took a drink. "And this is good rum."

She hadn't seen him since just after he was suspended, and she missed him. Since they'd become partners it was the longest she had ever gone without seeing him. She wanted to tell him that, but she wasn't sure how receptive he would be to the sentiment. She knew he was angry, and she was not certain at all how much of his anger was directed toward her. So she had given him his space, once again wondering if it was the right thing to do. With Goren, she never knew.

She refreshed his glass with eggnog and rum, then leaned back into the couch between the two men, settling the glass right in the center of her chest. She smiled to herself when they both noticed. She glanced around the room, noting the absence of any Christmas decorations. In the past, he had at least put up a small tree he kept in the hall closet. She couldn't blame him though. He didn't have a lot to celebrate this year.

Then she noticed the drawing taped to the television. "Uh, what is that?"

Logan grinned. "That is our Christmas tree. See the star on top?"

"Okay...and which of you Picassos drew it?"

"That would be me," he responded.

"Nice, Logan. Don't quit your day job. You would redefine the term 'starving artist'."

That got a laugh from both men, and much of the tension faded. She took another drink. She had a long way to go to catch up with them.

Logan passed out on the couch in a semi-sitting position before Eames was ready to call it a night. Goren had slowed his drinking almost to a halt after she arrived, so she had an opportunity to catch up to him. More accurately, as he began to sober, they kind of met in the middle. Once Logan was out, things got uncomfortable, and Goren got up suddenly and left the room.

Eames wasn't surprised. His natural inclination was to avoid situations that made him uncomfortable, and she didn't really blame him. She rose from the recliner, picked up her drink and walked to the window. She always loved the snow. It made the world look innocent, hiding all the things she saw every day beneath a frozen veneer of white.

When he returned to the room, she didn't move from her place by the window. She was giving him his space, and she knew he appreciated that. She was very used to giving him his space. So when he stepped up behind her, she was surprised. Hoping to avoid further tension, she said, "I was right to come back tonight. The roads will be bad in the morning. This is a big storm..."

"I really don't want to talk about the weather, Eames," he murmured into her ear.

Resting a hand tentatively on her waist, he reached around to hand her a small, wrapped box.

She leaned back against his chest and looked at it. He tensed but didn't move away. She took the silver box which was adorned by a red and green foil ribbon. "What's this?" she asked.

He braced his other hand on the wall to keep himself from toppling forward on top of her, and he brushed his lips lightly over her cheek. "Merry Christmas, Eames."

Then he moved away from her. She felt suddenly cold, like someone had yanked off her blanket on a cold morning. Joe did that once...only once. She chased away the memory and turned. He took a seat in the recliner, holding his glass but not drinking. He watched the eggnog in the glass as he swirled it. She walked to the couch, silently cursing whoever it was that kept tipping the floor one way and then the other. "You didn't have to..." she began, but he waved his hand.

"I bought it a couple of months ago, before I lost my job."

"Bobby, you didn't..."

"Please, Eames. I'm not in a bad mood right now. I don't want to discuss my situation."

She knew only too well how to handle him when he'd been drinking. His moods could be volatile and she wasn't in any condition to handle his anger, which seemed to simmer very close to the surface these days, ready to erupt. She didn't see that his sessions with Olivet could do him any harm.

"Open it," he said, his tone dancing on the razor's edge between request and command.

She sensed the increase in his tension and she could almost feel the heat of rising anger, but she couldn't identify its source. She slowly removed the ribbon and then the frosted silver foil. A folded card was tucked into the gold ribbon that secured the gold box beneath the foil. "Aren't you supposed to put the card on the outside of the package?" she teased, trying to lighten his mood.

"I knew who it was for," he answered, reminding her that he didn't do much Christmas shopping.

She opened the note, recognizing his writing. They say Christmas is a time to count our blessings. Mine begin and end with a single digit. You are my blessing. Merry Christmas.

She looked up, but his attention had returned to his swirling eggnog. Wisely, she said nothing. Pulling off the ribbon, she opened the gold box. Nestled within the cottony stuffing was a petite gold chain with a simple, elegant gold pendant. In the center of the pendant was a dazzling blue sapphire, her birthstone. He'd placed it in a different box than the one the jeweler would have supplied, so she wouldn't know where he'd gotten it.

When she looked up, she saw that now he was watching her, apprehensive. She looked at the necklace, then back at him. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything," he replied.

She approached him and held out the box. "Put it on me, please."

"Seriously?"

"Of course."

He rose, took the necklace from the box and fumbled with the clasp as she turned her back to him, pulling her hair out of the way. He reached around her, settling the pendant against her chest, and he fastened the clasp. Then he took her hair from her hand and feathered it through his fingers, watching it fall about her shoulders.

She turned around. The pendant found its home just above the rise of her breasts, drawing his eye exactly where he didn't want it to go. He didn't have the will to look away.

With a smile, she stepped closer. She knew full well that touching him was a risky proposition, even when he was sober. She had great difficulty predicting his actions of late. Since his suspension, he'd become even more withdrawn and angry, and she could no longer reach him. She remained furious at Moran, and it showed in her attitude toward the chief of detectives and, to a lesser degree, Ross. Over the years she had learned to control her emotions, but strong emotion still slipped through. Her protective instinct toward her partner was as strong as his was toward her.

Ignoring any possible repercussions, she leaned up quickly, so he would not have time to react and pull away. Softly, she kissed him. She had never done anything like this before, although she had kissed his cheek after his mother's funeral. Right now, however, it felt right to her.

If he had been sober, he would have pulled away, possibly even reacted with anger. But the alcohol running through his system had greater control of his actions than he did. Sliding his arms around her waist, he pulled her against him, deepening the kiss. She relaxed against his body until he moved away, releasing her. "I-I shouldn't have done that," he said.

"Bobby..."

He turned away from her and sat back down in the recliner. She knew he was determined to spend the night in the chair so she could have the more comfortable bed. "You don't have to sleep in the chair," she insisted.

"Good night, Eames."

The thought of debating it with him flashed through her head and she almost began the process, until the very small part of her brain still thinking clearly eeked its way to the surface, demanding to be heard. Any sort of debate with him could only end badly, for both of them. Silently, she stepped around the chair and walked down the hall to the bathroom with the debate between her clear rationality and her inebriated pugnacity raging on.

When she returned to the living room, he was sleeping. "Damn it," she muttered.

She was ready for a fight. With a heavy sigh, she walked to the linen closet down the hall and pulled out two blankets. At least he kept the blankets where most people do. After covering Logan, who had stretched out on the couch, she spread the other blanket over Goren, leaned down to kiss his forehead, and she went down the hall to the bedroom.

When Eames woke late the next morning, Logan was gone and Goren was in the kitchen, fixing coffee. He looked up at her. "Good morning."

Just a few months ago, before he went into Tate's, he would have smiled with his greeting. Something had happened to him behind the walls of that prison, and she hoped he was discussing it with Olivet because he wouldn't talk to her about it.

He'd spent most of twelve hours following his rescue in a semi-coma. Delirium persisted when he did struggle to the surface, and she had been terrified for him. Once fully hydrated, he came out of it, but he refused to discuss it, reacting with irrational anger when she did try to push him. Wisely, she decided to let the matter drop between them, but that did not mean she didn't see the change in him. His suspension and forced visits to Olivet did not help matters any. She wanted to help him, to connect with him on some level, but she couldn't. He had retreated too far for her to reach.

Accepting the cup of coffee he held out to her, she responded, "Good morning."

"Hungry?"

"Not really. Do you think we could talk without arguing for a little while?"

"Not if you want to discuss Tate's or my suspension."

His answer did not surprise her any more than her request surprised him. "Well, then how is it going with Olivet?"

He shrugged, walking past her into the living room. She followed him, sitting beside him as he answered, "All right, I guess. She pushes and I push back. She says I have anger issues that we should work on. There's a lot of silence between us."

It was a safe answer, and it was all he was going to give her. "Why am I not surprised?" she commented, trying not to snap at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

There was that anger again. One of the things he seemed to have lost was his unwillingness to challenge her. "All I mean is that you're not very talkative, not when it comes to yourself and what you're feeling. You aren't in touch with any of your emotions any more, except anger. That seems to be your response to everything."

"What reason do I have to feel any other way?" he demanded.

"You could try to be reasonable with me," she insisted. "Instead of shutting me out all the time."

He looked into his coffee cup. The best thing he could do for her these days was to shut her out. He wanted his badge back, but he had his doubts it was going to happen. When the department cut him loose for good, he wasn't sure what he was going to do. His options were fairly limited. So the best thing he could do for her was to distance himself from her, hopefully making it easier for her to let go.

She knew the signs. He was shutting down on her again. Without saying anything more, she rose from her seat, crossed to the door and took her coat from its hook. "Call me when you're ready to talk to me."

She knew as well as he did that he wouldn't call. Even during the times he missed her most, he wouldn't call. He did not try to stop her from leaving and she didn't turn back. That would have been a mistake. She did not want him to see the tears in her eyes.

She wore the pendant he'd given her every day, as a sign of faith, not in the system, but in him. She still held a smoldering ember of faith that he was going to get his badge back.

But when he betrayed her and took an undercover job without her, without even telling her, she took off the pendant. She would not put it back on until he came under suspicion for killing his brother. After that, she never took it off again.

Almost a year and a half after putting the pendant back on, on a spring day from which he would never recover, they buried her with it, still nestled against her breast where he had placed it on that snowy Christmas Eve.