A/N: Sorry it's been so long, school started up again for me and I haven't made the time to work on this. Enjoy this short little chapter to remind you of all those warm, fuzzy Christmas feelings, I know I've been missing them in the bleakness that is January. I always enjoy reading your reviews and appreciate the support!

I shake my head, wincing at the headache that still pulses at my temples, as I take in the simplicity of the blueprint laid out across Mr. Solomon's oak table, "This is the best we can come up with? I'm tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse while the rest of you lurk in the shadows?" I attempt to lock eyes with Zach, but he averts my gaze.

Mr. Solomon, "Well Ms. Morgan, this is the work of Agent Townsend, so perhaps keep that in mind when judging the merits of the operation."

Zach rolls his eyes and lets out a small chuckle at Mr. Solomon's disdain for his father.

I smile briefly before reaffixing my scowl as I read through the plans.

My mom takes this moment to chime in, "Why don't we give this a rest? Dinner is almost ready. Zach put this on the table and Cammie fold up those plans." She requests as she hands Zach a steaming dish of stuffing. Zach dutifully accepts her offering.

I am less dutiful as I reply, "Mom, I think your, erm, 'Christmas Dinner' can wait. I wouldn't want to be poisoned before the big day of playing bait to a bunch of mercenaries."

"Very funny Cammie. Now, clear off the table."

I nod, wincing at the movement, as my mom continues, "You'll be happy to know I'm only warming all this food up, no actual cooking required."

I smile at her as I move the plans onto one of Mr. Solomon's bookshelves.

Dinner commences with little fanfare as the four of us sit around a kerosene lamp lit table, passing food around, Zach regaling my mom and stepfather with tales of him saving my butt on missions and me interjecting to note the times I saved his butt. My mom smiles warmly at me then squeeze's my favorite teacher's hand as Zach starts another story and for a moment I cannot fathom the reality of this moment.

For the first time in a long time, I'm not dwelling on the absence of a person at this table or eating microwaved turkey or sitting at a table full of strangers on my grandparent's ranch. Instead, I'm surrounded by people I know and who know me and let me tell you there is a big difference between microwaved turkey and oven-warmed turkey. So, in spite of our safe-house setting, I take a deep breath and attempt to soak in this moment of peace and acceptance as Mr. Solomon throws his head back with a laugh at my mother's memories of the inseparable Blackthorne boys and I lean my still-throbbing head on Zach's shoulder as I feel a warm smile filling my own face. We stay there the rest of the night, Zach's arm around me as we sip at wine and shadows dance across the log-lined walls. I guess this is the comfort and joy all those Christmas Carols have been promising, for the first time, I actually believe them.