Many thanks to my fabulous beta Tish.

Many thanks to Charles Dickens. Your simple story, in all it's incarnations, has inspired so many over the years.

I don't own anything and am making no profit.

Admiral Archer entered the gleaming building, striding along corridors full of beautiful paintings of space and many of its wonders. His back was straight, his gaze not wavering from his chosen path, his footsteps quieted by the plush red carpeting. Ensigns scurried to get out of his way as he stalked past, heading to his office. He noticed none of them, nor cared if he upset their work. In his mind, nothing in Starfleet was as important as his own field – exploration.

He entered his suite of offices and the cool air washed over him. His offices were a stark contrast to those of the rest of the building. While the structure itself was modern in design, all glass and steel, Starfleet made an effort to make the offices within warm and welcoming. Once Jonathon had made admiral and had been given this assignment, he had put his own stamp upon this division. The offices in the Exploration branch were cold, stark, bleak, and pitiless. There was nothing here to distract his corps of ensigns from their appointed tasks.

As he strode past the open cubicles he could see his ensigns all bent over their star charts or reports, working diligently on finding new space for Starfleet to explore, more space in which to find new species, make treaties with them, and ensure the safety of Earth. The mission into the Expanse and then the Romulan War that followed had taught Archer a valuable lesson. The only good alien race was an alien race that entered into a treaty of non-aggression with them. After all, what was more important than that?

He allowed himself a small, barely imperceptible smile – it was good to be the boss, and it was good to have underlings who knew their place in the world, his world. He walked past his personal secretary and into his personal office, even colder and starker than that of his underlings.

Sitting down at his desk, he automatically glanced into the corner and regarded the empty dog bed lying there. He pursed his lips, clenching his jaw slightly but showed no other reaction. He was broken out of his reverie by his lieutenant entering the office. He turned his steely gaze upon him and the other man paled visibly.

"Sir? If I may?" the lieutenant started.

Admiral Archer continued to stare in silence at the small, almost shrunken man before him. His eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch, giving his lieutenant the consent he was seeking.

The man straightened up and started again. "Sir, the ensigns and I would like to take an hour today for a small Christmas party. With your permission, sir, we'd start at 1530."

Admiral Archer continued to stare at the lieutenant before him. The man swallowed nervously. Finally Archer spoke. "Fine, but I'll expect you all in early tomorrow morning, by 0630, to make up the time."

The man swallowed again, starting to perspire in the cold office. "But sir, tomorrow is Christmas, I thought Starfleet authorized leave..." he trailed off at seeing the expression on his superior's face.

"Christmas is a poor excuse for closing Starfleet for a day. Space is infinite. We'll never explore it all by taking breaks for silly holidays that no one wants any longer," Archer growled, his voice low. He spun his chair and regarded the old fashioned wall map of space that was framed and hung on the side wall of his office. It was his only concession to ornament or decoration. But it showed space as people once thought of it, as something finite, something conquerable. He contemplated the map a moment longer and then abruptly swung back to fix the lieutenant with a fierce glare.

"I'll expect you all here early the day after. No excuses. Is that clear?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer he continued, "Unless you have anything else for me Lt. Cratchett, you're dismissed." With that Admiral Archer pushed the lieutenant from his mind and went back to the reports before him on the desk. There were too many parsecs of space and never enough time to explore them all, but he would continue to try.

The morning had barely begun when Admiral Archer was disturbed yet again. Two gentlemen in civilian clothes walked into the office, stopping by Lieutenant Cratchett's desk to ask for the Admiral. When Lt. Cratchett showed them into his office Admiral Archer covertly sized them up while finishing up a memo he was working on. They were dressed well in civilian clothing and had nothing of military bearing about them. They had never been in Starfleet. One of them carried a padd with a swipe bar. Admiral Archer inwardly sighed. He realized who these two must be with. Hearing one of them clear their throats Archer finished his note and then looked up.

"Yes?"

The taller man spoke first. "Good morning Admiral Archer, we are with Starfleet Relief and we would like to ask you for a donation for the foundation to help out those within Starfleet in need." The other man smiled hopefully at him.

Archer looked from one to the other and said, "Has Starfleet stopped granting Housing and Living Allowances?"

The shorter man with the padd spoke, "No sir –"

Archer cut him off. "Has Starfleet Medical stopped caring for those within Starfleet and their dependents?"

Again the shorter man answered, "No sir, but-"

"Has Starfleet stopped giving retirement and bereavement pay?"

"Well no, but surely-"

"Then we have nothing to discuss gentlemen. Since Starfleet continues to look after their own in a myriad of ways, I see no reason to give money to a civilian organization designed to mollycoddle people who should be tough enough to endure the rigors of space." Admiral Archer looked back to his desk and picked up the next document needing his attention, effectively dismissing the two men. He could tell they were unsure of what to do as they continued to stand there, perhaps hoping that he would change his mind and give them the donation they sought.

Admiral Archer could hear a murmur of chatter coming towards his office, inwardly sighing yet again, and looked up. He could see ensigns' heads popping up from their cubicles, smiles on their faces as they greeted the visitor walking towards his office. Admiral Archer saw Lieutenant Cratchett rise and greet the man, this one also dressed in civilian garb, and he wondered briefly how long it had been since the other man had retired. He sniffed, he hadn't thought much of such a good explorer leaving the ranks of Starfleet to stay Earth-bound and have a family.

Lieutenant Cratchett ushered the grinning visitor into the office. "Sir, its Mr. Mayweather to see you, sir."

"I can see who it is, now get back to work," Archer snarled, already on the defensive from the first two visitors who still stood there. He disliked these annual visits from his old helmsman. They reminded him of a time best forgotten.

"Merry Christmas, Captain!" said a beaming Travis Mayweather. "Ah, Starfleet Relief! Are you two here asking for holiday donations?" he asked the two gentlemen.

The two smiled at the warm greeting and the taller one replied, "Yes sir! We are! Would you like to donate to those in need?" The shorter one held out his padd hopefully.

"Yes, I would," said Travis as he fished out his credit card, swiped it through the reader on the side of the padd and then filled out and signed the receipt on the screen.

"Thank you sir," said the first and they nodded themselves out of the office.

Archer watched them leave, his mouth twisted, and then turned to his former helmsman. "What do you want?" he asked abruptly. "I'm busy."

"I wanted to invite you to my annual Christmas party. All the old gang will be there," Travis said as he placed a small silver picture frame, its corner adorned with a beautiful bow, on the desk covered only in work.

"It's Admiral to you, and no, thank you. Every year you invite me to your gathering and every year I refuse. When are you going to give it a rest? I've got more important things to do," he gestured to his covered desk, completely disregarding the small gift.

"Aww, come on sir. You can't live like this. This isn't living. Relax and have fun once in a while. It didn't kill you back in the days you were Captain Archer. What's so different now that you're Admiral Archer?"

Archer's eyes flicked to the photo now sitting on his desk, showing the senior bridge crew of the Enterprise, all of them smiling and happy and alive. One of them he was divided from forever, another of them was dead. Who would be next? He came back to the present, annoyed that he had let his train of thought wander for even that moment.

"What's different is that I have more responsibility, something you've forgotten all about, being retired. You keep Christmas in your way and I'll keep it in mine," he said disdainfully with another look at Travis's sunny smile and civilian clothing. "Now get lost before I have you tossed out of the building. You're not supposed to be in here anyhow." With that Archer went back to reading the top report on a tall stack waiting on his desk.

Travis wilted, pity in his eyes, and then forced a smile back on his face. "You're always welcome, any time; we'd both love to see you." He paused, waiting for a reaction from the older man. Receiving none, he spoke again, softly this time, "Merry Christmas, Captain." And with that, he turned and left the office, wishing the lieutenant a Merry Christmas on his way past the desk.