"She's a cold hearted, rotten scheming bitch!" Miguel Ortiz complained loudly as he stalked into the apartment he shared with his friend and fellow officer, Tim O'Neill. "That's what she is!"

"Is that any way to talk about our captain?" Tim scolded mildly as he shut the door, even though he shared the sentiment. "It is the season of good will."

"Good will? She doesn't know the meaning of the word!" Ortiz bellowed in outrage. "She doesn't celebrate Christmas! So no-one else gets to either! She probably sacrifices ensigns over an open holly fire for fun!"

"Be glad you're not an ensign then," Tim murmured. He had spent the entire drive back from the U.E.O. Base listening to Miguel rant and rave over Captain Stark's high handed attitude in denying her crew Christmas leave at the very last minute and had reached the conclusion that Miguel hadn't heard a word the communication officer had said since Stark made her announcement. He understood Miguel's feelings though. Ortiz had been bubbling with enthusiasm and plans for a huge family get together. The Cuban hadn't missed a Christmas at home yet and he had been all packed and ready for his flight back to California.

Tim was a little less disappointed. His folks were divorced and he alternated between spending Christmas between them. This time his mom was away and he was due to be with his father. And since his father tended to think Christmas came delivered from Bloomingdales and featured non stop, boring cocktail parties Tim wasn't that disappointed to be missing it. If he had been going home to his mom, it would have hurt a lot more. On the other hand, he did still love his father and he had been looking forward to celebrating with him. Back home it would even have snowed by now.

Miguel was still ranting. "She is a cold hearted bitch. Even Ford agrees and you know how stiff and correct he is."

"Ford's not so bad," Tim said quickly. "Did you know you were starting to repeat yourself?"

Ortiz gave him a filthy look and stalked off towards his bedroom. "As far as I'm concerned, Christmas is cancelled!" he yelled a moment before his door crashed shut.

"Oh." Tim felt a surge of crushing disappointment that was twice as heavy as the one Stark's announcement had caused. If he couldn't celebrate at home, then there was no-one else he would rather have spent the day with than with Ortiz. After a moment though, he looked at Miguel's car keys that he was still holding. Ortiz had been too angry to be allowed to drive. "Well, cancelled or not, we still need to eat," he muttered. "Maybe he'll have calmed down by the time I get back."

Fuming with rage, Miguel lay on his back on his bed with his arms folded behind his head and glared at the ceiling. It really wasn't fair. Getting leave was hard enough at the best of times with Stark as captain, but this really had pulled the rug from under him. It was like a personal affront to him and his family. He had bought gifts for everyone and now it was all ruined. They were all wrapped and everything. Annoyed, he rolled over and thumped the pillow savagely. All he had left to do was wrap Tim's present and give it to him...

"Oh," Startled, Miguel lifted his head and stared at the fancy carved headboard of his bed. Tim was bound to be disappointed too. After all, he did care about his father even if he wasn't as close to him as Miguel was to his. The comtech was also inclined to take him at his word and if Miguel said he wasn't going to celebrate....

Rolling off the bed, Ortiz dived out into the lounge. "Tim? I didn't mean..." he began and paused, realising he was alone. With a flicker of irritation at having his apology thwarted, Miguel headed into the kitchen to see if Tim had left a message. Sure enough, O'Neill had left a note for him on the board in the kitchen. "Gone shopping, huh? TV dinners probably." Miguel shook his head. They had emptied the freezer since they wouldn't be home, which meant Tim would have gone to stock up. The comtech tended to be slightly more practical than his friend in some respects, but his idea of food tended to come in convenience packets. Tim was no cook as Miguel had discovered when they moved in. "Okay, so we'll have to go shopping again. Can't have a proper Christmas dinner that we haven't cooked ourselves. Grinning, Miguel started to rummage through the cupboards to see what they had left. He had planned to make eggnog to share when they exchanged presents before they left and it wouldn't hurt to start early.

He had barely finished when he heard a thud from the direction of the front door and headed out to answer it. Tim was a great one for forgetting his keys. "Tim? That you?"

"Yeah! Who were you expecting?" Tim called back, his voice muffled.

"On, I don't know. Santa's Elf maybe?"

"Who are you calling an elf? Open up!"

Ortiz unlatched the door and pulled it open with a chuckle. "I'm sorry about what I...." Miguel screeched to a verbal halt as he found himself facing an eight foot fir tree with sneakered feet. "Um, we are an ecologically sound household and you don't really have to check up on us. We're really very nice to trees. Tim even collects Bonsai."

"Ortiz!"

"Gee, you sound exactly like my friend O'Neill," Miguel murmured innocently.

"This is heavy!" Tim wailed from the depths of the greenery.

"Really? You do surprise me. It seems to have feet. Can't it carry itself?"

Tim attempted to kick him from underneath, but missed. "Help me!"

Chuckling, Ortiz parted a few branches and peered through them at his friend's flushed face. "Where'd you get it from, Tim?"

"I know where it's going in a minute if you don't get your finger out and help me," O'Neill growled back. Miguel laughed and let go. The springy branches flipped back and Tim yelped. "Oops, sorry." Miguel peeled the branches down to sneak another peek.

"No, you're not, but you will be," O'Neill snarled, glaring at him and awkwardly settling his glasses back in place. "You want the tree or not?"

"Sure." Ortiz took a firm grip on the tree this time and pulled it forwards, guiding it through the door. O'Neill was right, it was heavy. "Where do you want to put it?"

"Down! I don't care where!"

"Okay. Over here." Miguel steered the tree over to the balcony windows and helped O'Neill set it upright. Panting, Tim slung an arm around the Cuban's shoulders and leaned on him.

"I thought I'd never get it up here," he gasped.

"Nice tree," Miguel observed admiringly. "But isn't it a bit big for a Bonsai?"

Tim swatted him and let go, so he could stagger over and collapse onto the couch. "Two minutes and I'll go get the groceries."

Miguel eyed him for a moment, figuring it would take the comtech longer than two minutes to recover. Grinning, he went to fetch the eggnog and returned to hand O'Neill a glass. "Sorry, I was a grouch," he said as he sat down next to Tim on the couch and poured. "I was annoyed, you know?"

"Disappointed, you mean," Tim corrected. "I know the feeling." He took a sip of the thick eggnog and nodded appreciatively. "Good stuff."

"I'm glad you approve. Where did you get the tree? I wouldn't have thought there'd be any left."

"Norway."

"Norway? How'd you get there and back so fast? And wasn't it a bit far to go for a tree?"

"No, idiot. The U.S. Norway. She brings in trees for the families stationed here. I know her supply officer. I dropped by to say hi and take her a present and she'd heard about seaQuest being on stand by. There's always a couple of trees left over and she gave me this one." Tim pursed his lips. "It's a bit big though."

"Doesn't matter. It looks good," Miguel said brightly. "It was a good idea. But, I don't know what we're going to do about decorations. Think we could get some lights?" Neither of them had thought they would be at their new apartment for Christmas and hadn't bothered to buy what they hadn't dreamed they would need.

"We must be able to find some somewhere." Tim looked thoughtful and handed Ortiz his glass. "I'll be right back." He called over his shoulder as he headed for his room.

"Okay." Baffled, Miguel finished his own eggnog and put the glasses on the table and sat back to admire the tree.

"Here we go," Tim came back from his bedroom with a plastic box which he set on the floor and knelt beside it.

"What's that?"

"Last time I was home my mom gave it to me," Tim explained as he opened the box and extracted a carefully wrapped object. "I've had this since I was a kid. Didn't matter where we were in the world, this was mine to put up." Very carefully he unwrapped a beautifully carved and painted wooden figure of a shepherd.

"Your nativity scene?" Miguel said in delight. Sliding off the couch, he helped Tim unpack the box. He remembered seeing the miniature stable at Tim's house when they were kids and had always admired it. "I didn't know you still had this."

"I left it at home with my mom so it wouldn't get damaged," Tim told him as he unwrapped the wooden stable.

Miguel caressed a tiny king and smiled. "Someone put a lot of love and care into this," he said softly, admiring it with an artist's appreciation for skill and beauty.

"My father made it for me," Tim explained, digging into the box.

"Your father?" Miguel gave him an awed look.

"When I was born," Tim said softly and smiled faintly. "People change, Mig."

"They sure do. But I'm glad, you don't." Ortiz hesitated, then put an arm around his friend and hugged him. "I'm sure he still loves you, Tim," he said awkwardly.

"Oh yeah, in his own way," Tim agreed. "I'd rather have had one who played baseball with me like yours, much as I love this thing."

Miguel tightened his grip for a second, then let go and poked curiously into the box at a strand of bright cloth. "What's that?"

"You don't want to know," Tim muttered.

"Sure, I do." Miguel fished the bag out and emptied a heap of large tartan bows out on the carpet. He blinked at the bright pattern. "MacKenzie tartan?" he said slowly.

"MacKenzie tartan," Tim sighed. "What it is to have a heritage to live up to. They came with the nativity scene."

"Oh," Miguel picked one up and held it to his neck like a bow tie. "What do you think?"

After a startled second, Tim laughed and swatted him. "They're for the tree if you want to put them up."

"Why not?" Ortiz gathered them carefully back onto the box. "But first we're going shopping. I made a list."

"Oh," Tim looked suspiciously as if he was looking for an excuse not to go and Miguel pulled him firmly to his feet. "It won't take long with the two of us," he assured him. "Besides, we need lights for the tree too."

"Are you sure we bought enough?" Tim asked from under the heap of boxes Ortiz had balanced in his arms. "I mean there are only the two of us, not the entire Navy."

Miguel finished getting the door open and walked around the comtech to steer him inside. "I don't intend to miss out on any of the stuff I'd get at home. Take the groceries in the kitchen," he told him firmly as he fetched the carrier bags he had left in the corridor. O'Neill didn't move until Miguel prodded him in the middle of his back. "Go on then. What are you waiting for?"

"A pilot. You'll have to point me in the right direction. I can't see where I'm going," Tim said plaintively, peering over his shoulder at him. "And don't you dare sneak a peek in my bags."

"Oh? You got something interesting in there?" Ortiz teased as he dumped the bags and steered Tim helpfully on his way.

"Yes. You could at least help me with this stuff. It's heavy and you did insist on buying it all."

"And who's going to cook it all? And who's going to help me eat it all?" Miguel retorted loftily, but condescended to take a small delicatessen bag of spices. "Here, let me help you."

"Miguel!" Tim screeched in outrage. Ortiz laughed and took an armful of packages off the top as well, guiding the comtech towards the kitchen.

"You'll have to help me with the cooking," he told him brightly. "Fair's fair."

"Okay, okay. But I want ten minutes to put stuff away first. I have to hide your present."

"Oh? I thought you'd already brought me something." Miguel shot a curious glance back at the lounge as he unloaded O'Neill's arms. "But I wondered where you disappeared off to at the mall."

"Well, you were fairly conspicuous by your absence at one point," Tim pointed out. "Did you get me anything?"

"Very subtle, Timothy. No, I didn't," Ortiz lied. "I already brought yours. And since you've searched my room at least three times..."

"I have not!" Tim protested.

"Shouldn't lie this season," Miguel scolded.

"It was twice," Tim muttered, gratefully dumping the last package on the kitchen counter and rubbing his arms.

"Oh, well, I've only searched your room once. So I guess to be fair I should get a free look round?"

"No," Tim said firmly.

"Spoilsport."

"It won't be a surprise if you see it," Tim pointed out logically and hesitated. "Look, I promise to help you with the cooking, but I would like to go out for a while."

"Oh? Why?" Miguel asked suspiciously.

"I, uh, I'd like to go to midnight mass," Tim said uncomfortably.

"Oh," Miguel grinned. "Okay. I'll go with you. It'll be like being at home. We always go to Christmas mass. The whole family descends for it. You go and unpack and I'll stuff this lot in the freezer."

"Uh," Tim hesitated, knowing how unorganised Miguel was concerning sorting the freezer contents. Ortiz would throw everything in and then wonder why he could never find anything afterwards.

"Oh, scram. I'll follow your instructions and put it all in the right drawers," Ortiz chuckled, knowing what he was thinking. "You can consider it part of my present to you."

"Tim?" An hour later, Miguel tapped cautiously on his friend's door. "Can I come in?"

"No!" O'Neill yelped instantly.

"Aw, come on. You must have finished wrapping by now."

"It's a big box."

"Yeah? What's in it?" Bending, Miguel attempted to peer through the keyhole, only to find that O'Neill had left the key in it.

"Something very small," Tim retorted. "I can tell what you're doing, Ortiz."

"Me? Doing what?" Miguel straightened up hastily.

"Looking through the keyhole," Tim replied as he came and flung the door open. "That's not very grown up, you know."

"So? Who wants to grow up?" Miguel peered hopefully around his friend, seeing only the occasional scrap of foil paper and ribbon on the floor.

"I've finished now. You can come in," Tim told him blandly.

"I don't want to now. You've hidden everything." Miguel gave the comtech a hopeful look. "Don't I get a clue?"

"Nope." Dodging around him, Tim headed for the lounge. Ortiz tagged at his heels.

"Aw, come on. A little clue. A cluette."

"No. If I tell you it won't be a surprise and you adore surprises."

"I'll tell you what I got you," Ortiz bargained.

"No, you won't. I know what you're like."

"I'll tell you what I got you if you don't tell me." O'Neill turned around and gave him a hurt look. "Okay, okay. So, I won't tell you," Miguel sighed. O'Neill knew him too well to fall for that threat. "Want to watch the cartoons then? It's your favourite."

"It is?" Tim eyed him suspiciously.

"Yeah. The Tasmanian devil."

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?!" O'Neill complained indignantly. "Once our instructor called me that and you had to sink your teeth into it!"

"Revenge for calling me the Enchilada," Ortiz snorted loftily as he headed for the VidTV and flipped it over to the cartoon channel. "Hey, it's already started." He flung himself onto the couch while Tim lurked at the edge of the room and pretended he didn't want to watch. After a moment though he relented and came and perched on the chair edge.

"I like Pepe Le Pew," he mused.

"Sure you do. It's where you copy your French accent from," Miguel teased.

"No, he reminds me of you. Hopelessly in love 99% of the time."

"What?!" Ortiz screeched and shoved O'Neill off the chair arm. Tim was too busy laughing at his affronted expression to even notice when he hit the floor.

"Especially in the Santa suit," he continued through his giggles and promptly got pounced on and tickled until he was hiccupping so much, Miguel thought he would hurt something if he went on. The hiccups only made Tim laugh even more. Sitting back on his heels, Miguel watched for a moment then slid to his feet.

"Um, while you're busy I'll er go and see if you wrapped my present right."

"What?! No!" Tim sprang after him, cornering the Cuban by the tree and herding him away from his bedroom. "No fair cheating!"

"Stopped you hiccupping though," Miguel chuckled as he held up his hands in surrender at being trapped.

O'Neill glared at him and backed off to flop onto the couch. The Tasmanian Devil was currently having trouble with too much uncooked popcorn. "You're mean, you are," he muttered.

"No, I'm not," Miguel leaned on the back of the couch and prodded his friend's shoulder. "I've figured out what we're having for dinner tomorrow," he told him.

Tim folded his arms and slid down further in his seat. "Not interested."

"Yes, you are," Miguel said easily. "We'll start with a Tomato and Mozzarella salad. Then roast turkey with cranberry spice stuffing, cranberry potato balls, mushrooms with garlic peas and sweet and sour carrots. Then a Yuletide log to follow."

"Sounds boring," O'Neill muttered.

"Liar." Ortiz dug a finger into his friend's shoulder. "We can have turkey chilli meatballs with the leftovers and a pineapple ginger tortoni to follow."

"Oh, the ordinary stuff."

"And if you're nice to me, I'll show you how to make cookies."

O'Neill was silent for several moments, watching Bugs Bunny thwart the Tasmanian Devil yet again. "With Chocolate chips?" he asked carefully.

"Well, possibly," Miguel said serenely, studying his fingernails. "Of course, if it's too boring for you and you're not interested, maybe I won't bother."

O'Neill scrambled round on his knees and grabbed Ortiz by the front of his shirt. "You promised me cookies," he reminded him darkly.

"Actually, it's your turn to cook," Miguel went on, blandly ignoring the fist under his nose. O'Neill yanked him over the back of the couch.

"What do you want? Shrivelled turkey and charcoaled potatoes for Christmas dinner?" he demanded. "You know what happened when I cooked that darn chicken you brought."

Ortiz laughed as Tim prodded a firm finger into his midriff. He was even more ticklish than the comtech. "Well, how was I to know you'd leave the giblets in there?"

"I didn't even know they were in there! You didn't tell me, I had to take them out!"

"I thought everyone knew that. If you hadn't insisted on wearing the rubber gloves to touch the darn thing, you would have felt them."

"I am not inclined to go around sticking my hands inside the rear end of chickens, let alone without rubber gloves," O'Neill retorted loftily. "Besides, what did they want to go and hide the darn things inside it for anyway?"

"Because some people make gravy out of them."

"Then why not put them on the outside where you can see them?"

"Because everyone knows they're on the inside. It's traditional."

"I didn't!"

"Well, everyone except you then."

"And why wrap them in plastic? So you can make plastic gravy?"

"That's how they come."

"Chickens wrap their own giblets - whatever they are - in plastic? I suppose they pluck themselves too?"

"No. Come on, get off me," Miguel was getting a bit winded and O'Neill obligingly shifted off him. "Since it is Christmas, I'll cook and you can help."

"Oh great. I suppose I have to peel the onions again?"

"You'd rather stuff the turkey?"

"I'll do the vegetables," Tim sighed, kneeling back out of the way of his friend as Ortiz struggled off the couch. "Do I at least get to lick the bowl for the Yuletide log?"

"Maybe," Ortiz grinned at the comtech's wistful look. O'Neill had a wealthy family and had never played in the kitchen when he was little. He had moved to California with his mother when his folks were divorced and although his mother was a wonderful lady and Tim adored her, she was not exactly the world's greatest cook. The first time Miguel took his friend home with him, Mama Ortiz had adopted him as a half starved waif and stray and Tim had been doing his best to live up to her impression of him ever since. "Look, if we're going to Christmas mass, we'd better have a decent meal before we go. How about turkey with chilli beans? I brought some turkey fillets."

"Fillets? I thought that was fish."

"How can anyone so bright be so dumb?" Ortiz retorted, grabbing O'Neill's arm and hauling him off the couch.

"You're calling me dumb? You buy a turkey the size of an ostrich and buy fillets as well?"

"Hey, I could have brought ostrich fillets instead," Miguel pointed out as he propelled O'Neill into the kitchen. "They were cheaper. But, I thought turkey would be nice for tonight."

"You realise we'll be eating turkey sandwiches and soup forever, don't you?"

"Oh? You know how to make turkey soup now?"

"Oh, very funny. You know what I mean!"

"Sure." Miguel chuckled as he dug into their vegetable cupboard for the onions and tomatoes. "Here, start peeling."

Half an hour later, Miguel was merrily bopping along to the carols on the radio while he started the sauce he was making for the beans. O'Neill was watching him gloomily.

"I don't see why we can't make cookies now," he complained. "What else is the dough for?"

"Breakfast. It needs time to rise," Miguel explained. Tim sighed wistfully.

"It wouldn't take that long surely," he said plaintively. "And you've been promising me forever that you'd teach me."

Miguel paused, glancing at his watch. "Well, I suppose we could," he said dubiously.

"Please?"

Ortiz glanced up, surprised by the pleading expression in Tim's hazel eyes. "You really want to?"

"Yeah."

"Now, who's being childish?"

"No point in being grown up if you can't be childish once in a while. You did promise."

"Okay, okay. I know when I'm beaten. Find the eggs."

"Was that a pun?"

"No. That was an order. You want cookies, you can do the mixing. I'll supervise."

"You mean boss me around."

"That too. If we start now, they should be about ready by the time we go out."

"Tim, you are not supposed to eat the dough! Put it down!" For the fifth time, Miguel caught O'Neill's hand and slapped his fingers. Tim refused to open his hand. "How many times do I have to tell you? You have to cook it first!"

"I don't see why," Tim protested.

"Because dough reacts to heat and will swell," Ortiz prodded the comtech firmly in the middle. "That includes inside you. And someone as skinny as you would look real funny that way."

"You're making it up."

"Eat it and find out," Miguel said dryly. "But don't expect me to have any sympathy for you when you burst." Tim hesitated, then popped the morsel into his mouth. "Tim!" Miguel's yelp held enough genuine alarm for O'Neill to raise an eyebrow at him.

"It's okay, Mig," he soothed. "It was only a chocolate chip."

"Only? You're sure?"

"Yeah," Tim nodded and eyed the dough he was kneading. "Is this ready yet?"

"No." Miguel responded and clipped the comtech round the ear.

"Hey! What was that for?!" Tim yelped.

"Worrying me," Ortiz snapped and swung a second time. Tim ducked away from him. "And that's for holding out on me with the chocolate chips. Where are they? Come on, give!"

Reluctantly, Tim dug out the remainder of the packet and watched as Miguel took a handful. "How much longer do I have to massage this dough?"

"That's knead, Tim," Ortiz responded smugly. "Massage is what you do to Geisha girls."

"Oh? I thought that was need?"

"Stop playing word games," Ortiz shot back, peeling off his apron. "You can start rolling that dough out now. And while you're at it, stick a clove of garlic in that sauce."

"Huh? Why me?"

"Because there's something I want to set the video for. Be right back."

"Oh. Um, Mig, the garlic...."

"One clove, that's all."

"Yes, but..." O'Neill fell silent. Ortiz had gone. Somewhat doubtfully, Tim eyed the string of garlic Miguel had left next to the oven. "One clove, he says," he muttered, carefully breaking off what looked to be about right and dropping it into the bubbling sauce. It didn't look right somehow, but that what was Ortiz had told him to do and Miguel usually knew what he was doing. Thoughtfully, Tim turned back to tipping out the cookie mixture and looking for the rolling pin. "Mig? Where's the rolling pin?"

"Same place as always."

"Where's that?"

"Second drawer down. Don't forget to flour it."

"Ah, right. Found it. Um, Mig?"

"Flour's top shelf." Miguel didn't wait to be asked this time and with a rueful grin, Tim fetched the packet down and carefully dusted the wooden rolling pin. The sauce was starting to bubble ferociously and he gave it a wary look. Apparently the garlic had disagreed with it. "Mig! The sauce is moving!"

"Turn it down a bit."

"Right." Tim eyed the cooker controls and gingerly fiddled with the knobs until the sauce settled down to merely simmering a bit rather than losing its temper. Ortiz stuck his head round the door.

"How you getting on?"

"Okay. You going to be long?"

"No. I want to find the cookie cutter I brought today. You know which bag it's in?"

"The blue one I think."

"Oh, right. Um, you did only put one clove of garlic in, didn't you?" Miguel was having second thoughts about the wisdom of leaving Tim with anything complicated to do like adding extra ingredients.

"Of course, I did. What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

"Sorry, I asked." Chuckling, Miguel retreated back to the lounge while Tim peered doubtfully into the sauce. Somehow the garlic looked a bit big for one clove. Tim didn't think he had ever seen anything that obvious turning up in anything he had eaten. Maybe he should fish it out and hide it? Better if it was under flavoured than over. He could always say it had been too small. How strong was a clove after all? It took Tim a long moment to realise that the Cuban had sneaked silently up behind him and was peering over his shoulder at the sauce.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me, Tim?" he asked blithely.

"I think that clove is a bit big," Tim said slowly.

"That clove is a whole bulb," Miguel snorted as he reached for a spoon. "I knew I couldn't trust you. Did you think it was going to need a lot of extra flavouring for some reason?"

"Well, I didn't know," Tim lamented. "You said a clove and it looked like a single one to me."

"You really are hopeless at this, aren't you?" Ortiz said dryly. "What are you?"

"Hopeless, Mig," Tim sighed. "I'm sorry. Is it ruined?"

"Nah. I'll thin it out a bit. Hey look," Miguel broke open a fresh garlic bulb and showed his friend the cloves inside. "You use one of these, crushed."

"You didn't tell me to crush it!"

"I know. I thought I'd better be on the cautious side," Ortiz chuckled and ducked as O'Neill threw the wet garlic at him. "Hey come on, can you blame me? I told you they used to check whether spaghetti was cooked or not by throwing it at the wall and you went and did it!"

"That was different. At least the wall is washable. How long did it take to scrape the pancake off the ceiling that you tossed?"

"I was a little over enthusiastic, that's all."

"It's that what you call it? I thought you were practising for the discus!"

"Oh, shut up and roll your cookies out. They won't get baked if you don't get a move on."

Carefully extracting the baking sheet of cookies from the oven, Miguel put them down on the counter top and eyed them doubtfully. They had come out a good colour, but the shape was weird. "Tim, these cookies are supposed to be little fir trees. They look like triffids," he commented. "And what's with the octopus?"

"I had some left over and the cutter wouldn't fit on the bits."

"So, why didn't you roll it out again?"

"Again?" Tim gave him a look of wide eyed innocence. "I didn't know I could do that."

"Maybe I should have let you practice with some plasticine first," Ortiz teased as he tipped the cookies carefully onto a plate. "Don't touch while they're hot. You'll ruin your dinner." Miguel winced slightly as he realised he sounded exactly like Mama Ortiz. Many a time she had scolded her youngest son for snaffling cookies when she wasn't looking: usually with Tim to spur him on. O'Neill reached over and grabbed one anyway, juggling it from hand to hand and blowing on it as it singed his fingers. Ortiz laughed at him. "Serves you right," he scolded.

"I cooked them. I get to sample them," Tim responded firmly and took a tentative nibble on one corner. After a second his dubious expression cleared and he took a second, larger bite.

"Good?" Miguel queried.

"Mmmh, very good." Tim answered and promptly slapped Miguel's hand down as he reached for one. "No, you don't. You'll spoil your dinner!"

"Hey! That's my line!"

"So? You kept telling me off!"

"Aw, go on, Tim. One?"

"Well...."

Ortiz pounced while the comtech was hesitating and took a quick bite. He grinned. "Not bad," he admitted. "Not bad at all for a first attempt." He took a second bite. "You know, these do have a bit of a snap to them. Did you follow the recipe like I told you?"

"Yes," Tim had a wicked grin as he nibbled.

"Word for word?"

"Almost."

"Almost?" With a dark suspicion forming, Miguel stopped nibbling. "Okay, what did you add?"

"Who? Me? Tim 'How do I turn the oven on' O'Neill?"

"Yes, you. Tim 'Which one is the oven' O'Neill," Miguel copied his innocent tone.

"You mean me, the guy who can't even fry an egg without a recipe?"

"O'Neill...."

"I thought I should spice it up a bit, so I used one of the other recipes in your book."

"Which one?" Ortiz demanded impatiently.

"The one with the rum in it," Tim admitted with a mischievous grin.

"Oh," Miguel thought about it for a moment, then grinned and reached for another cookie. "I wonder how many cookies it takes to get drunk on."

"Not that many I don't think. The bottle slipped when I was putting the rum in."

"Slipped? How slipped? How much did you put in?"

"Er, slightly more than the recipe said."

"Tim!"

"Well, there wasn't much left in the bottle and since there is a new one..."

"There's half a bottle left!" Miguel yelped.

"There was half a bottle left," Tim corrected mildly. "You did say you liked rum. They should make the carols a bit brighter, don't you think?"

Tim rolled over onto his back and peered wearily through the early light at the clock. It seemed like he had barely crawled into bed and already he could hear Ortiz moving around. Groaning softly, he closed his eyes again and listened to the faint thuds and thumps coming from the lounge. Goodness knew what Ortiz was up to. After a minute or so, the door creaked open a fraction and Miguel stuck his head in. An eddy of air came in, bringing the smell of hot cinnamon rolls baking.

"I'm awake, Mig," Tim sighed, knowing how enthusiastic the Cuban was about mornings at the best of times, let alone at Christmas. The next moment Miguel had abandoned all pretence of being quiet and hurled himself at the bed, landing on the spot where O'Neill had been if he hadn't yelped and rolled hastily out of the way.

"Do you have to do that?" Tim protested plaintively. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Yep. Time you got up. Merry Christmas, mi amigo."

"Merry Christmas to you too," Tim responded and shoved the Cuban unexpectedly off the bed. Miguel yelped as he hit the floor, then sat up, folded his arms on the edge of the mattress and fluttered his eyelashes at his friend.

"Can I have my present now you're awake?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh, so that’s what you were up to. You were looking for it. Did you find it?" O'Neill asked wryly.

"No," Miguel fluttered his eyelashes again.

"Looking cute at me is not going to help you. We agreed. Presents after breakfast."

"Meanie. I made cinnamon rolls and buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup for breakfast," he told him. "Plus fresh cinnamon coffee. Can't I even see the box?"

"On the other hand, bribery may get you somewhere," Tim grinned, amused by how well his friend knew his weaknesses. "It's in the closet."

Miguel dived across the room and into the comtech's wardrobe with all the eagerness of a hound on the scent. He soon dug out a small box wrapped in scarlet foil and decorated with extravagant gold bows. "Wow. Who's this one for?"

"That's yours. And you can wait until after breakfast to open it."

"But..."

"You only said you wanted to see it," Tim pointed out, grinning at the Cuban's disappointed expression. "Why don't you go and open the one in your room?"

"In my room?" Miguel looked at him in bewilderment.

"I put it under the duvet. You'd have seen it if you hadn't got up when it was still dark!"

Ortiz stared for a second, then carefully put the red box on Tim's bed before he sprinted off to his own room. Tim sighed and rolled out of bed, reluctantly deciding he had better shower and dress since Ortiz was up. It wasn't fair to keep the Cuban waiting when he was this excited and it was Christmas. Before he cold get to the bathroom, Miguel was back with the shiny package under his arm. Hurling himself onto the end of the comtech's bed he proceeded to enthusiastically rip the parcel apart and extract the brightly patterned contents. He held up the soft wool sweater against his chest and gave O'Neill a grin of appreciation.

"Not Aztec?" he teased, admiring the colours.

"I couldn't find one. Navajo was the closest I could find to the pattern you wanted for the carpet. I figured since I wouldn't let you have the carpet, you could at least wear it as a sweater." Tim hesitated. "Do you really like it?" He was always cautious about buying clothes for people, knowing what a lousy dress sense he had for himself. Tim tended not to care what he was wearing, much to his friend's annoyance. Miguel had been striving to change his appearance since the day they met.

"Tim, I love it," Ortiz said seriously, pulling it on over his head. "What do you think?"

"I think you'll be too hot," O'Neill replied seriously. "Come on, Ortiz. You know how lousy I am at picking things to wear."

"You picked this, didn't you?"

"That's different. I was buying it for you. I know the kind of things you wear."

"You should have got yourself one too."

"And look like a jigsaw? No way."

"Oh, so I look like a jigsaw, do I?"

"No! You know what I mean! You could wear a sheet and still look good. I'd look like a roll of kitchen paper!"

Ortiz laughed and slid off the bed to admire his new sweater in Tim's mirror.

"At least you won’t be cold next time we go ashore. Blue is not your colour. You really do like it?"

"I think it's perfect," Miguel said happily, hugging the warm wool to him even if he was starting to perspire in the Hawaiian warmth.

"You'd still better take it off before you melt," Tim told him. "I'm going to take a shower. Hadn't you better check on your rolls before they burn?"

Half an hour later, Tim perched on the couch and watched Miguel happily rummaging among the presents under the tree while he finished his breakfast. Although they had nothing from their families, both young men were popular and had received gifts from numerous friends. Tim had spent days fending off Ortiz' attempts to open everything he was given immediately. Now he was glad he had taken the effort.

"Here," Miguel scrambled over to him on hands and knees and shoved a package patterned with green and gold holly leaves. "This is for you."

"Me? I don't remember seeing this one before," Tim set aside his plate and took the package carefully. It was soft and squidgy in his fingers. "I thought you were looking for your presents."

"Nope," Miguel looked a bit sheepish. "I wanted to see you open this one. I've been hiding it."

"Oh?" Tim gave him a thoughtful look. "This is from you?"

"No." Miguel reached out and turned the label over so he could read it.

"It's from my mom?" Tim said slowly.

"Yeah. Ginny asked me to hide it from you, so it would be a real surprise."

"Oh," Tim seemed at a loss for words.

"Well, go on. Open it, idiot," Miguel urged. "Don't keep me in suspense."

"Okay." Gingerly, Tim unwrapped a corner and peered in while Ortiz fumed impatiently. Catching a glimpse of his friend's face, Tim surrendered to his own curiosity and ripped the paper, extracting a black sweater and unfolding it to show the Tasmanian Devil embroidered on it. A small foil wrapped gift fell out of the folds while Tim was chuckling. Miguel retrieved it for him, shoving it eagerly into his fingers. Obediently, Tim opened it and took out a beautifully made gold tie pin of a Humpback whale.

"That's great," Miguel breathed when Tim dropped it into his hand. O'Neill was reading the card that was enclosed and for a split second, there was a suspiciously bright glint in his eyes. Seeing that, Miguel knelt up and hugged him hard. "I know the feeling, buddy. Want to open your present from me now?"

"Okay," Tim said with forced good cheer.

Miguel bounced over to the tree to fetch it and was soon shoving a second soft and slightly untidy package into his arms. "Great minds think alike," he said wryly as O'Neill gave him a dubious look. Tim grinned and happily tore into the paper, extracting a dark blue sweatshirt. He unfolded it and stopped, gazing in silence at the dolphins that leaped through the waves across the front of the sweatshirt.

"Tim?" Miguel prompted anxiously. "Is it okay?"

"Okay? It's better than okay. It's gorgeous," Tim breathed, running one finger along the sleek line of one Common dolphin that had been lovingly painted onto the cloth. "It must have taken you hours."

Ortiz relaxed and grinned. "It was worth it," he said in delight. "I was tempted to keep it to make you jealous." O'Neill gave him a fierce look at that and hugged it close. "How'd you know I painted it anyway?"

"Are you kidding? I don't know anyone who paints dolphins and whales better than you do." Tim turned the sweatshirt over and gazed at it proudly again.

"I must admit it was awkward finding time. Every time I started you seemed to walk in on me," Miguel said in amusement. He slapped the comtech's knee and got up. "I'd better get on with dinner or we'll starve."

"Already?"

"Tim, I've already started. The turkey will take hours." Ortiz paused to look a little doubtful. "I may have overdone it a little on the size though."

"Better too big than too small," Tim commented. "I remember the first one my mom cooked. It was more like a black canary than a turkey when it came out. As for the stuffing.... Have you ever had crunchy stuffing?"

"I know a recipe for it."

"Sage and onion?"

"Oh, no," Miguel chuckled. "What did you do?"

"Went out for dinner. We had cannelloni."

"Never mind, Tim. This will be a proper turkey. You want to help?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Nope. Not if you want to eat any of it anyway."

"I'd be delighted then," Tim said dryly. "But don't you want to open your present first?"

"Now?" Miguel's eyes lit up.

"Now," Tim agreed with a chuckle. "I can't stand watching you squirm any longer. Go on."

"Yes!" With a yelp of excitement, Miguel bounded to his feet and rushed off to get the package. A few moments later, he was back and skidding to a halt beside his friend. Bows and paper flew as he ripped it open, slowing only a fraction when he got to the box, then the tissue paper, then the smaller box....

"There is something in here, isn't there?" Ortiz asked darkly as he hesitated over the new box.

"Yeah," Tim smirked enjoying the Cuban's frustration.

"What? A little card saying surprise?"

"You'd kill me if I did that," O'Neill chuckled. "It's got something in it. Not much maybe, but something."

"There'd better be," Miguel retorted and pulled the lid off. "If this turns out to be a yo-yo or something..." O'Neill was always threatening to buy him a yo-yo whenever he complained he was bored on seaQuest. Yanking out the blue tissue inside, he stopped in surprise. "You didn't," he gasped.

"I did. You couldn't afford it because you'd brought that necklace for your sister. But you saw it and it was instant love. What else could I do? It's not much."

"Not much he says," Miguel breathed as he sank onto the couch beside his friend and gingerly extracted the silver and turquoise string tie from its paper nest. He held up his prize for a moment, holding his breath as he admired the Thunderbird and aware of a daft grin on his face. "You know how much it is."

"Hey, all I had to do was buy it. You hand painted my sweater."

"Idiot," Miguel grinned at him proudly.

"You like it," Tim said smugly, knowing that look.

"You know I do!" Ortiz elbowed him in the ribs and slipped the Thunderbird around his neck. "How's that?"

"Goes great with the T shirt," Tim assured him solemnly.

"I don't care! I'm wearing it anyway!" Miguel was thrilled with his gift. "Now come on and stop distracting me from getting dinner ready!"

"Tim, if you don't stop eating the pineapple, there won't be any left for the ice cream!" Ortiz scolded, shoving the comtech to one side and retrieving the bowl. "I have to freeze it now anyway."

Tim sank onto a kitchen stool and looked sulky. "You wouldn't let me eat the sponge mixture either," he complained.

"That's because it'd ruin your appetite," Miguel retorted, wiping his hands on his apron and tugging on his oven gloves before turning to the oven.

"That didn't stop you nibbling the cookies," Tim muttered.

"Well, you shouldn't have put the rum in them. They're delicious, even if they do look weird," Miguel retorted as he removed the sponge Tim had helped him to make from the top oven.

"Isn't that a bit flat?" O'Neill asked in bewilderment. "I thought you said they were supposed to rise?"

"This is fine," Miguel assured him, gingerly testing the sponge to see if it was cooked properly. "That doesn't look like a six inch tin to me," Tim murmured.

Miguel laughed. The first time Tim had helped him make a cake he had wanted to know which way he was supposed to measure the cake tin: across or vertically. "This is for a Swiss roll, Tim. we're going to turn it into a log."

"A log of what?"

"A chocolate log," Miguel explained. "Once it's cooled, I'll show you how to put the filling on it and then decorate it. We'll use chocolate."

O'Neill gave him a blank look. "Won't that make it a bit chunky?" he asked in bewilderment.

"Twit. You melt the chocolate first so you can spread it," Miguel chuckled, turning back to his recipe book. "Right. Mushrooms next. You remember how to take the stalks off?"

"I'm not a complete idiot," Tim retorted indignantly, sliding to his feet. "Tell me which one the mushrooms are again?"

Ortiz laughed at the comtech's innocent expression. "You don't get out of it that easy, buddy," he retorted.

"I still don't see why I get to do all the boring stuff, while you do all the good bits!" Tim complained as he accepted the bowl of mushrooms Miguel handed him.

"Well, if you reach my exacting standards, I might let you clean the oven," Ortiz said loftily, then yelped and ducked as Tim attempted to force feed the bowl to him. Their tussle was interrupted, by the bleeping of the vidphone for attention. "I'll get it." Miguel laughed, escaping before O'Neill could decide to tickle him into submission. Rushing into the lounge, he bounced over to the vidphone and punched the line connection.

"Hi," he began and then stopped in awe. "Papa?"

"Hello son, we thought we'd call to wish you merry Christmas," Eduardo Ortiz said warmly, his brown eyes full of love for his youngest son.

"Merry Christmas!" Miguel bounced on the spot in delighted excitement, carolling greetings to the rest of his family as they gathered around Eduardo.

"I loved the necklace!" Serena called, touching the silver at her throat. Miguel had left that for her the last time he was home, not wanting to keep it on board with him. His older brother Tomas waved at him over Eduardo's shoulder.

"Hey, Miggle, where are all the girls? I thought you and Stringbean would be partying! Being young free and single and all that." Tomas yelped as his wife clipped him on the rear end.

"Not this time," Miguel chuckled.

"Are you having a nice time?" Mama Ortiz asked as her husband wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. "Are you having dinner?"

"Tim's helping me cook it," Miguel assured her, bellowing for O'Neill. "We're having turkey and everything. Tim even got us a tree." He touched the string tie he was wearing. "See what he brought me?"

"That's lovely," Mama Ortiz said warmly. "We're going to save all your presents for when you come home and we can have a party especially for you, querido."

"Tim!" Serena waved in excitement as she glimpsed O'Neill. Grabbing the comtech's hand, Miguel yanked him into viewer range, glad to be distracted for a moment. Her black eyes sparkling, Serena blew O'Neill a kiss and winked mischievously.

"Well, go on then," Miguel stuck his elbow in O'Neill's ribs.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes," Miguel ordered sternly.

Tim sighed and, blushing, blew a kiss back to her. There was laughter all round, all of them knowing embarrassed Tim was by Serena's crush on him. Only Serena failed to laugh. She was looking at the young comtech in utter adoration. "Happy Christmas everyone," Tim said affectionately however, regarding Ortiz' family like an extended version of his own. He didn't want to get in Miguel's way though, knowing how much this call must mean to him. "I'd better get back to the peas. This slave driver here expects me to peel them all." He nudged a bewildered Ortiz in the side.

"Peel?" Miguel echoed, confused. "Tim, you don't peel peas!"

"I don't? Oh. Do I leave them in the little green packets then?"

"Pods, Tim, they're called pods!" Seeing O'Neill's grin though, Miguel realised he was being had and gave him a firm shove back towards the kitchen. "Get out of here!" Laughing, the comtech went back to his task, wisely keeping one ear open for the end of the call. It seemed like all too soon, Eduardo was saying:

"Happy Christmas, son. We all wish you were here, but don't forget we all love you."

"I love you all too, Papa," Miguel said softly in reply and Tim heard the faint click of the call being disconnected. Wiping his hands carefully, Tim gave Ortiz a moment to compose himself then trotted in to see how he was getting on. The Cuban was gazing forlornly at the empty screen with a very tiny tremble to his bottom lip giving away his feelings. Tim considered for a moment, then strode over and put an arm around his friend's shoulders. Miguel sniffed, leaned on the comtech for a moment, then turned around and burrowed his nose into O'Neill's chest. Tim promptly put both arms around the Cuban and gave him a fierce hug.

"Glad they called?"

"Yes," Miguel snivelled. "Now, I'm home sick."

"Of course you're home sick," Tim said softly. "You think I don't know how much you wanted to be home for Christmas? You miss your hug quota on seaQuest at the best of times and I'm hardly the best substitute for your family."

"What?" Miguel lifted his head. "You're not a substitute. You are family."

"Oh," Tim said slowly, then grinned. "Thank you, Miguel. That's the nicest Christmas present you could give me. Oh, by the way, this is for you..." Tim dug a folded piece of paper out of the back pocket of his jeans.

"What is it?"

"Read it."

Puzzled, Miguel scrubbed one hand across his eyes and unfolded it, reading quickly. Tim had even written it in Spanish for him. "A scavenger list?" he said in surprise.

"I remember you saying part of your family tradition was a scavenger hunt for your presents. I thought I'd save it for when you got depressed about being here instead of there. That way maybe you could still feel like part of things. I guess this is about as depressed as you'll get. I hope it helps."

"But when did you have time to do it?" Miguel exclaimed in amazement.

"After you went to sleep last night," Tim admitted. "Every time you turned over I thought you were going to wake up. Have you ever had to hide something while someone is asleep? Do you have any idea how loudly paper rustles?"

"Timothy MacKenzie O'Neill, you are the best friend anyone could ever wish for," Miguel said solemnly. "Can I do this now?"

"Sure. As long as you don't mind if I scream when dinner goes wrong."

"Oh," Miguel hovered, clearly frustrated.

"Go on. I'll fix the vegetables," Tim chuckled. "Then you can show me what to do next and go back to searching."

"You think it'll take me that long?" Ortiz said loftily. "No way! I know this apartment inside out!"

"Of course you do," Tim replied smugly. "But I happen to be very good at hiding presents."

"Well? Have you found everything yet?" Tim asked mildly as he set the table. Miguel was perched on the end of the couch, rereading his somewhat tattered scavenger list. In between doing mysterious chef type things in the kitchen that had Tim baffled half the time, Miguel had been searching the apartment and triumphantly stacking the small gifts he found on the coffee table.

"I've still got one to find," Miguel muttered and gave Tim a suspicious look. "Are you sure you haven't moved them since you did this?"

"When could I? You've been watching me all the time." Tim said mildly as he started to put out the crackers. "Want a clue?"

"No!" Miguel hesitated, then let frustration win. "Yes! Tell me!"

"Kitchen," Tim answered. "Break your own rule."

"My own rule?" Miguel stared at him blankly for a moment, then his eyes lit up and he sprinted into the kitchen. A moment later, he re-emerged with the cookie jar and dug into the depths to produce a long silver package. "A pen, definitely a pen," he said happily as he put the jar down.

"You can unwrap them after dinner," Tim said firmly. "I'm starving." He waved a cracker at him. "Come on. Pay me some attention now." Miguel grinned and galloped over to half crush the startled comtech with a hugely affectionate hug.

"Thank you for doing all this for me," he said warmly.

"De nada. You've made sure we don't starve. Now, come on. You can carve the turkey. You'll either get three inch thick slabs or wafers if I do it."

"I don't know where you get all the energy from," Tim groaned a couple of hours later as he sprawled on the couch. Miguel had been to load the dishwasher and bring out the Yuletide log and coffee.

"Simple. I get fresh batteries every Christmas," Ortiz explained as he sat down on the floor and picked up the first of his scavenger gifts. "Can I open these now? Or do you want cake first?"

"I think the cake can wait," Tim said pathetically. "I don't think I ever want to eat again."

"Wimp." Chuckling, Miguel started into his heap of gifts, watched indulgently by his friend as he sorted them out. After a moment, the Cuban looked up and chuckled. "You really are going to sit there and watch me quite happily, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Is there something wrong with that?"

"No. Stay put." Bounding to his feet, Miguel disappeared off into his bedroom and came back with a box, which he deposited in front of O'Neill.

"What's this?"

"Your gift."

"I thought I'd already had it."

"That was this morning. This is now. And if you're good. There’s one more later."

"Oh." Baffled but delighted, Tim sat up and ripped the top off, only to laugh as he found that Ortiz had had the same idea as he had.

"It's a good idea I didn't hide them too," Miguel said smugly. "Otherwise we'd have been crashing into each other all night. I must admit I was going to, but I fell asleep. I remember how much you liked the idea when I told you about it. I thought it'd be fun for you."

"You didn't have to."

"You didn't have to go to all the trouble of hiding everything for me either. Now, come on. Let's open things!"

Half an hour of laughter and exclamations later, Tim and Miguel were nibbling on slices of Yuletide log having managed to somehow find the room for cake after all. The gifts had mostly been small and silly, but all chosen with care. They had both given each other pens and even identical Music discs, chorusing "I knew you'd like it because I did!" and collapsing in a fit of laughter. Tim had given Miguel the threatened Yo-Yo: a gloriously psychedelic object that even lit up when Ortiz twirled it adeptly on its string. Miguel had brought Tim a Tasmanian Devil baseball cap that would go perfectly with his sweater and nearly got him thumped by a gleeful O'Neill.

Watching Tim fiddling with the Einstein's knot he had given him, Miguel popped a chocolate into his mouth from the boxful he had been given by Commander Ford - fellow dedicated chocoholic as the XO was, he knew what Ortiz would appreciate - got up and padded over to the tree to fetch the present he had been saving until last.

"Cold," Tim sang out from the couch.

"What?" Miguel dug under the tree, sniffing the delicious scent of fresh pine needles.

"And getting colder," Tim went on, turning over to prop his chin on the back of the couch and peer at him. "Your present."

With a baffled frown, Miguel pinched a bit of popcorn off the homemade decorations they had made and extracted O'Neill's gift from under the tree. "Hang on, you've hidden my present? Another one?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

Tim ignored him and pointed at the box the Cuban was holding. "Mine?"

Miguel grinned. "Maybe. Where's mine?"

"That'd be telling."

"Tim!!"

"It'll take all the fun out of it."

"Where?"

"In here somewhere," Tim answered, eyeing the box eagerly. Miguel had taken a lot of time over wrapping this one, unlike his normal efforts. "You have to look for it."

"Okay. But you don't get to open this one until I find it. Promise?"

"If I must," Tim sighed.

"Right." Putting the box on the coffee table among the remains of crackers and wrapping paper, Miguel turned in a small circle and headed for the kitchen. He hadn't searched it very well earlier.

"Getting colder," Tim warned and the Cuban hesitated in the doorway. "Freezing in fact. It is in here." Miguel headed back the other way. "Getting warmer," Tim said brightly as he passed. "Colder now." Baffled Miguel came to a stop by the shelving unit.

"How big is it?"

"Big enough to see."

"Oh, very helpful." Miguel started to rummage among the books.

"Getting colder," Tim warned. Ortiz started on the drawers. "Freezing." With a scowl, Miguel headed for the tree again. "Not there, you'll freeze solid," Tim explained. Ortiz circled back. "Cold, but getting warmer. Warmer...." Ortiz came to a stop by the couch and stared down at the lazily sprawled comtech. "I might even say hot," Tim said cheerfully, then yelped as Ortiz crouched and started to rummage under the cushions.

"Am I getting hot yet?" Miguel demanded.

"Very hot," Tim giggled, half smothered by flying cushions. "But not boiling."

Baffled Miguel sat back on his heels, while O'Neill struggled to control himself. The next moment he was flat on his stomach and burrowing under the couch, nearly tipping O'Neill off. "Boiling!" Tim laughed, hanging over the edge to peer under the couch with him.

"Aha! Gotcha!" Miguel emerged, shaking bits off fluff from his hair and triumphantly holding up a slightly dusty scarlet box.

"Well done. Now can I open my present?"

"Go ahead," Miguel sat back cross legged and ripped into his package. It took him only a moment to get open and discover a new digital camera inside.

"I know how much you love gadgets," Tim explained. "And I thought you might guess about the others. This is the latest underwater one and I...Urk!" Tim was startled to have his breathing nearly cut off by the Cuban hugging him.

"It's wonderful. Exactly what I wanted! How did you know?"

Tim managed to pry Miguel's arm loose enough so he could breathe. "Lucky guess," He said, hugging his friend back. "That and the fact you keep borrowing everyone else's. I thought you'd appreciate one of your own."

"Oh, I do. I do. I'll practice in the bath."

"Not when you're in it I trust," Tim chuckled as Ortiz released him to play with his new camera. He started to carefully unwrap his own box. The way Miguel had wrapped it told him to be careful. The cardboard box inside was stamped with Japanese characters, saying 'Handle with Care' and 'This Way Up' and with increasing excitement Tim tugged impatiently at the clips securing it. He didn't recognise where the penknife came from that appeared under his nose but simply grabbed it and pried the box open. Flipping the lid back, he stood up and dug into the thousand of tiny packing pieces, scattering them everywhere.

"Hey, snow!" Miguel laughed as they showered around him. He was watching the expression on Tim's face, waiting for what he hoped would be delight. It was, Tim's expression was sheer joy as he extracted the contents from their packaging and held the statue up in awe. The crane was perfectly painted and carved in every last detail as it stood poised amongst the reeds. "Tim...." Miguel said softly.

"I love it, okay? I absolutely love it," Tim breathed.

"There's another one in the box."

"What?" Tim stared at him, unable to let go of the one bird he had to look for another.

"Here. Let me hold it." Miguel took the statue for him and watched Tim hesitate, hovering anxiously over his gift before diving back into the box. A carefully positioned cardboard sheet divided off the bottom half of the box and Tim tore it out so he could get at the second statue. This one was a match for the first, but of a crane with wings poised for flight. Tim sat down with a thump, lovingly cradling the statue to him.

"Ah, Mig, they are so beautiful. Where did you find them?"

"Remember when you took me round Tokyo and left me in that artist store while you went to buy a kimono for Ginny?"

"The one where you brought enough paints to decorate seaQuest?"

"That's the one. The guy who owned the store made these. I brought them on the spot."

"You didn't have them with you when I picked you up," Tim protested.

"I wouldn't let you go in the store either if you remember," Miguel pointed out cheerfully. "I persuaded him to send them back to the boat for me and got Lt. Sisko to store them for me in Supplies. Do you really like them? I'll take them back if you don't, because I do. The guy who made them has real skill." "Oh no, you won't!" O'Neill made a careful grab for the crane Miguel still held. "Miguel, I adore them. Can I put them up in here?"

"Anywhere you like, amigo. Want to relegate your whales?" He waved at the pair of wooden Humpbacks that adorned the alcove.

"No. Do I have to?" Tim said plaintively.

"Of course not. I dare say I can rig another spotlight for you." Electronics and electrical things Miguel could handle, anything mechanical though was another matter. Miguel paused, affectionately watching Tim happily smirking to himself. "Tim?" he prompted softly.

"Yeah?" O'Neill turned a grin on him.

"You know, I didn't think I would enjoy today at all. But you've made it special. It's been better than I ever dreamed. Thank you."

"Oh," Tim floundered for a second, then very carefully put his statues down and leaned over to hug the Cuban. "Thank you too, amigo. It's been the greatest. What do you say we take the rum cookies for Commander Ford and go down to the base and join in the carol singing?"

"Why not?" Miguel chirped, delighted by the idea. "But only if you wear your Taz hat."

Tim thought it over and then laughed. "Okay. Since it's Christmas, you can have your own way. But if Ford laughs, I'm going to throw you in the sea!"

Miguel grinned as the comtech went to get the cookies while he picked up his brand new camera. Ford would be guaranteed to laugh and he wanted a photo of his expression when he did. Maybe he hadn't been able to get home this time, but somehow it was no longer the disappointment he had expected. Tim had a knack for cheering him up and doing the right thing and Miguel hoped that the cranes had shown how much he appreciated having Tim as his best friend. If he couldn't get home, then there was really no-one he would rather have spent the time with than with his friend.