Control woke alone and looked up at the stars painted on the ceiling.

The room was dark and cozy.  The sheets still held Lily's scent, her warmth.  He could hear her moving somewhere in the apartment.  Content, he rolled over and settled on his side.  From the vague aches throughout his body, he could tell he'd slept for hours without moving.

It was very different, sleeping with Lily.  Alone he half-slept, tossed and turned, woke and drifted in and out of nightmares.  With her he slept the sweet and dreamless sleep of the dead.

An interesting notion, that.

He rolled again and looked at the clock.  It was late afternoon.  He was hungry.  Not surprising.  He sat up slowly, stretched.  Found his pants and undershirt, and went in search of his lover.

Lily was painting the bathroom yet again.  She wore a loose silk camisole and matching panties, and if it hadn't been for the spot of green paint on her cheek, she might have stepped right out of a lingerie catalog.

"Again?" Control asked.

Lily grinned slyly.  "Okay.  Just let me put the paint away."

"Imp."  He grabbed her, mindful of the open jar of paint in her hand, and kissed her deeply.  His hands slid over the silk of her underclothes; he hooked his thumbs around the sides of her waist and his long fingertips met on her back over her lower spine.  "I meant, are we painting the bathroom again?"

"Hmmm," Lily grunted.  "I liked the leaves, but they were just too … too …"

"Dainty," Control supplied.  The last time he'd been to the apartment, the bathroom mirror was surrounded by a delicate strand of stenciled leaves.  This time when he arrived the vines had been painted over.

"Exactly."  She gestured towards her new effort. 

He moved around behind her, his hands sliding over her waist, and studied the new leaves.  The theme was indeed the same, vines of leaves encircling the mirror, but these leaves were bright and bold, each only slightly smaller than his hand.  There was nothing dainty about them; they were distinctly Lily's touch.  "Much better," Control agreed.  "More you."

She smiled.  "You need to be in here?"

"No.  I was thinking about starting some supper."

"I can do that."

"You paint.  I'll cook." 

Lily leaned back and turned her head for another kiss.  "I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too."

He went and explored the kitchen, started some chicken breasts baking and made himself a plate of crackers and cheese slices.  Then he took a kitchen chair back and set it in the hallway outside the bathroom.  He balanced the plate on his knee and settled in to watch her work. 

The stenciling seemed to him a remarkably tedious process.  She took one stencil for one color, placed it and painted the open places, then moved on to the next area.  When the first color was dry, she returned with a new stencil, painted in a new color.  This particular pattern had five different colors.  Lily moved with remarkable organization and precision, but it still struck Control as the slowest way to complete the job.  "Why don't you freehand them?" he finally asked.

Lily glanced at him.  "Hold up your little finger."

Cautiously, Control did so.

"All my artistic talent," she advised, "could be contained in that much space."

"Hmm."  He finished his crackers, took his plate back to the kitchen and started a pot of rice.  Then he went back to the bathroom, crowded in beside her, and deftly freehanded the fourth color on the leaves she'd just worked on.

Lily glanced at him, sighed.  "So many unexpected talents you have."

"Likewise, I'm sure."  He painted for a moment in silence.  "After dinner I should check in at the office.  See what kind of chaos they've created today."

She nodded.  "A whole day without you, they wouldn't know what to think."

"Or they would, which worries me more."  He kissed the top of her head possessively, watching her reflection in the bathroom mirror.  "But I have had quite a wonderful day with you." 

"Me, too."

It was the Sunday after Thanksgiving.  Control had gone to the office every day of the long weekend; the Company did not close for holidays.  But personnel had been sparse and things had been relatively quiet around the world.  He had been able to come and go without drawing attention.  Lily had arrived back from the Balkans on Saturday night.  They had not slept until after noon on Sunday.  It had been wonderful.

"What do you want to do about Christmas?" he asked in passing.

Lily's paint brush hesitated in mid-air as she froze.  Pressed against her in the small bathroom, Control could feel her body tense.  He looked sharply at the mirror.  Her eyes were expressionless.  She'd gone blank.

For one instant, he was furious.  After all they'd been through, after all they were to each other, that she could still freeze him out this way, that she could shut down, turn off her emotions, slam the door on his …

Then his fury was gone.  Her blankness was her protection, a retreat she'd learned before she'd learned to walk or talk, her way of defending herself from the deep injuries life had inflicted on her.  She did not go blank to shut him out; she went blank because it was how she had always defended herself.  She went blank because something had hurt her.

Control put his brush and paint down, took hers out of her unmoving hand, turned her around and wrapped his arms tightly around her. 

Almost immediately, she put her arms around him, melted against him.  Took the comfort that he offered.  "Sorry," she muttered.

"It's all right," he murmured back.  "I didn't know there was a nerve there."

Lily shook her head against his chest.  "It's nothing."

"Uh-huh." 

"I just never had a Christmas that didn't suck."

Control cradled her head against him, swayed gently to rock her.  He closed his eyes for a moment, cursing his lack of insight.  Her childhood, her drunken teenage parents, of course there had been no stockings hung by the chimney with care.  The orphanage had probably been better, but there was nothing like Christmas to remind those without a family that they had no family.  Since then?  Years alone, he imagined.  Avoiding the pitying invitations of casual friends to join their family.  Volunteering to work on the holiday when she could.  He knew that routine all too well. 

And with him …

The first year of their relationship, when their affair had been so casual, she'd been in Yugoslavia for Christmas, and he'd been working.  He hadn't seen her until after the New Year.  They'd exchanged casually personal gifts, had phenomenal sex.  He'd thought it had been enough.  They'd been apart for the two years after that. 

The year before this they had spent Christmas together at the cabin.  It had been a quiet few days.  Lily had slept through much of it.  She'd hardly begun healing from her capture and torture in Nicaragua; her heart was still broken from her miscarriage.  They had been together, but their reborn love was quiet, subdued.  Control had let the holiday pass without even commenting on it.

This year was different.  This year she was well.  This year their love was committed and vibrant.  This year they would be together.  Really together.

"Tell me what you want," he said quietly.  "We can have any kind of Christmas you like."

Lily shook her head, still nestled against his chest.  "Whatever you want to do is fine."

Control shifted, stroked her back.  "No.  Tell me what you've dreamed of, Lily.  Let me make it real for you."

"I can't."

"Why?" he asked patiently.

She finally managed to look up at him. "I never had any dreams about Christmas."

He studied her for a long moment.  Her eyes were sad and still guarded.  Control sighed and kissed her forehead.  "My poor angel."      

"No," she said, more firmly.  "I have everything I want.  Everything.  Right here. Christmas …"  she shrugged.  "However you want to celebrate, I'm in.  Tell me what you want me to do.  I just … I don't have any ideas."

Control nodded thoughtfully.  "All right.  Let me think about it.  I'll make some plans."

"Thank you."

"I haven't done anything yet."

"Thank you for thinking of it."

Control kissed her forehead again.  Then, unwilling to resist, he bent further and claimed her lips with his.

* * * * *

Lily Romanov got home from work – back from Yugoslavia –  late on the 23^rd of December.  By the time she got back to her apartment it was past midnight, technically Christmas Eve.

She was fully aware that her boss and lover had juggled her schedule so that she could be in New York for Christmas.  On one level she was uncomfortable with that idea; they had both gone to great pains to see that their relationship didn't afford her any special treatment.  On the other hand, she had worked every Christmas since she joined the Company and she felt rather entitled to take one off. 

Besides, she admitted to herself wryly, she wouldn't have traded a night with him for anything in the world.

She half-expected that he'd be waiting for her.  No, she amended, not expected, only hoped.  He wasn't.  She showered quickly, glanced unenthusiastically in the refrigerator, saw nothing that induced any enthusiasm, and went to bed.

But deeper still in the night she woke, motionless, and listened.  No sound now.  There had been a step, a key, a faint creak at the back door.  She waited.  A long pause of silence.  Then steps on the kitchen floor.  The back door creaked faintly shut; the bolt locked.  She listened to him stride across the kitchen and living room, open the closet, rattle hangers.

Control would never try to sneak into her apartment while she was there, any more than she would try to sneak up on him.  There were enough senseless tragedies in the world.

He didn't expect her to be asleep by the time he got to the bedroom, either.  "Lily, my love?"

"Kedves," she answered warmly.  She sat up, held her bare arms out to him.   

"You don't want to do that," he warned, sitting on the side of the bed.  "I'm half frozen."

"I don't care," Lily answered.  She wrapped her arms around him, trying not to flinch at the touch of his cold hands on her naked skin.  "How are you?"

"Better now," he rumbled.  "You?"

"Fine."  She turned her head, caught his lips with hers.  Just lips at first, chaste and gentle.  Then her tongue flickered lightly against his lips, a question, and he opened to her, kissed her deeper, eager, hungry.

Then he lifted his head.  "I can't stay," he said.

Lily studied him by the dim light that came from the open bedroom door.  He was freshly showered and shaved, wearing a suit.  Ready for the office – nearly.  But his tie was still undone, his top button open.  Nearly ready for the office, but persuadable.  She wondered if he knew he was giving that signal. 

She caught the two ends of his tie and drew him back to her.  She shifted the tie ends to one hand, put the other on the back of his head, and kissed him slowly, lingeringly.  "Stay."

He caught her lithe body closer to his, one hand on the small of her back, the other between her shoulders, pressed her bare chest against his shirt, ignoring the lingering cold.  Lily leaned back, pulling him towards the bed.  He leaned with her, to a point, and then stopped.  "I have to go, Lily."

He loosened his embrace, lowered her the rest of the way to the bed.  She kept her grip on his tie.  "You don't."

"I do."

"But …"

"Tonight," he promised.  "If I go in now, I can get everything done and I can stay tonight."

Lily pouted prettily, already resigned.  "Do you want me to come in?"

Control shook his head.  "No.  But set a clock.  I need you up and showered and fed by nine."

"Where am I going?"

He hesitated, then smiled.  "I have such plans for you, my love."

"What?"

"It's a surprise.  You'll like it, I promise.  Just … follow the instructions."

Lily regarded him with open suspicion.  "Kedves …"

"You said I could celebrate Christmas any way I wanted to."

"Yes, but …"

"Follow the instructions.  I'll see you tonight."  He pried her fingers gently from his tie, buttoned his shirt and tied the tie.  He kissed her one more time, then tucked the covers up under her chin before he stood and went to the door.  "I love you, Lily.  Go back to sleep."

Lily listened while he slipped out of the apartment.  She set her clock as instructed, then closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep.  Ten seconds later she opened them again.  He had planned a Christmas surprise for her?  What surprise?  Follow the instructions?  What was he up to? 

And why in the world had he come to the apartment at all?  For thirty seconds of kissing?  Well, she'd always take what she could get, but it seemed strange.  To wake her up just to tell her to go back to sleep?

What was he planning?

* * * * *

Control made his way silently in shadows to his car, parked discreetly six blocks away.  He turned his overcoat collar up against the wind, shoved his hands in his pockets.  It was bitter cold, but the forecast promised much warmer for tomorrow, with snow flurries by nightfall.  Perfect.

He could almost feel Lily behind him in the darkness.  Awake, curious, expectant.  Anticipating Christmas delights she could only begin to guess at.  Feeling, perhaps for the first time, the sweet, child-like eagerness for the holiday that should be the right of every child.

He smiled contentedly as he walked.  So far, everything was going precisely according to plan.

* * * * *

Per instructions, Lily was up, showered, and fed well before nine.  Dressing, however, took her right up to the deadline.  She debated an uncharacteristically long time about what to wear; as she had no idea what Control had in mind for the day, she had no idea what was appropriate.  She finally settled on her favorite jeans and a presentable but not dressy sweater.  It was, she decided, easy enough to change if the situation called for it.

To be on the safe side, she put her hair back rather formally and put on make-up.

At nine o'clock she settled on the couch to wait for – whatever.

At nine-o-three she bounced up and paced. 

By nine ten, she gave up and called the office.  She went through Simms' line first, but he was in meetings.  She dialed Control's public line and spoke to Sue, his secretary.  Yes, he was in, yes, he was in meetings with the tie boys, no, Sue didn't think anybody was looking for Lily to come to the office.  She'd tell Simms she'd called.

"And Merry Christmas, Lily."

Lily caught her breath at the unexpected pain that simple phrase caused.  "You too, Sue."

She hung up the phone and sat down again, folded her hands and made herself breath.  This was not going to be the Christmas she had always known.  No hiding under the bed from the drunken fights.  No painful, shameful watching her cousins open new toys at Grandma's house, while she got hand-me-down clothes, because she needed them more than dolls.  No walking the streets alone, glancing through glowing windows at the happy gatherings.  No huddling in third-world offices with half-drunk spies, all desperate for the hours to pass, for these days to be over, all alone despite each other's company. 

Not this year.

She had not, until his comment after Thanksgiving, given any thought to the fact that she hated Christmas.  She had merely avoided thinking about it until it was upon her, and then struggled through it with as little notice as she could manage.  Now, suddenly, she had someone to share it with, and like a cold drink in an oasis, she could see clearly how dry and brutal everything that had gone before had been.

Lily sighed and considered having a drink.  She shook her head.  Nine in the morning, and you're wanting a drink.  Splendid. 

She wondered rather seriously if she should call her shrink.

There was a sharp, impatient knock on the door.

Lily jumped and went to the door.  Through the peep hole, she could see a red-faced, middle-aged man, in a battered ball cap. "Delivery!" he shouted.

She opened the door.  He handed her a largish, flat box, wrapped in brown paper.  Then he shoved in a much larger box, rectangular and apparently heavy.  "There you go," he grunted.

"Thanks," she answered, flustered, studying the package in her hands.  It was heavier than it looked.

The delivery man stared at her.

"Oh," Lily said.  "Uh, hang on a minute …"

On the shelf beside the door were two ten dollar bills, neatly and obviously deliberately laid out for this occasion.  She snagged one and handed it to the man.

He glanced at the bill, and his demeanor improved dramatically.  "Thank you, miss.  Merry Christmas."

"Uh … yeah.  You, too."  It had less sting to it this time.

She kicked the door shut and locked it.

The big box had no markings on it.  It was thigh-high on her, three foot across and deep.  Interesting.   She carried the smaller package back to the couch and hesitated.  If it was a gift, maybe she was supposed to wait until he got here to open it …

That thought held for perhaps five seconds, and then she tore the wrapping off. 

Inside the package was a stack of record albums.  They were old, the covers battered with worn edges.  Christmas albums.  The Firestone Singers Favorite Christmas Carols.  Volumes One through Five.  The disks themselves were thick, much heavier than the modern albums Lily owned.  They had a few scratches, but they looked like they'd still play.

On the top of the stack was a fine vellum card, the size of a wedding announcement, professionally lettered with raised black ink.  The card read, "Play these.  Assemble that.  Follow the instructions."

Lily sighed.   Christmas carols?  On the short list of things she'd just realized she loathed, they were damn close to the top.  But she turned the first album cover over and studied it.  He hadn't bought these anywhere.  He'd had these, for years.  These albums were his, from his family, a part of his past, a memory from his own childhood.   They were an astonishing gift.

Follow the instructions.

With mixed emotions, she stood and put the first album on the stereo.  The Firestone Singers also had a Firestone Orchestra.  It wasn't quite as bad as she'd feared.

Curious, Lily turned to the other box.  "Assemble that," she mused as she cut the packing tape.

Inside was a Christmas tree, in pieces.  There were, at the top of the box, instructions.

Lily chuckled uneasily.  She'd never had her own Christmas tree, certainly never assembled one.  But she could follow instructions.

She looked around, figured out where she was going to put the thing, and moved the furniture accordingly.  Then she began removing the pieces of the tree from the box and, as instructed, sorting them by size.

The Firestone Singers wrapped her in carols, in six-part harmony with full orchestral background, and Lily Romanov launched tentatively into her first real Christmas.

* * * * * 

It took the duration of the whole first album, but Lily stepped back from the tree with considerable satisfaction.  It looked like a pine tree.  Or, at least, it looked as much like a pine tree as something made of plastic and wire ever could. 

It seemed rather naked, there in the corner of her living room, but she was unexpectedly pleased with it anyhow. Perhaps he was bringing ornaments over later.  Perhaps more treasures from his family. 

She was definitely starting to warm up to her lover's ideas about Christmas, Firestone Singers and all.

Lily went to refill her coffee cup.  Before she got to the kitchen, there was another knock at the door.  

"Ah," she said aloud, "the other ten, of course."  She'd forgotten to wonder why there were two ten-dollar bills.

At the door was another delivery man.  A boy, actually, probably still a teenager, and he seemed genuinely cheerful even before the tip.  He'd brought her two garment boxes, one very large,  both white and tied with gold ribbons.  Laughing, Lily dropped them on the couch and opened the smaller box. 

The engraved card said, "Wear this."

In the box was a sweater, cashmere, winter white, shot through with gold threads, glittering and very festive.  There were also trousers – they were, Lily decided, too finely tailored to be called pants – also winter white, heavy flannel.  Flat gold shoes, elegant and comfortable-looking, completed the outfit.

Lily grinned in delight.  He'd never tried to dress her before.  Of course, he'd never bought her a tree before, either.  It was a beautiful outfit, but one that she never would have bought for herself. 

She carried the box to the bedroom and changed quickly.  The clothes fit perfectly, of course.  The cashmere felt delicious against her skin.  She picked some gold earring and studied her reflection in the bedroom mirror as she put them in.  She looked positively … Christmassy.

She slipped on the gold shoes and went back to the living room.  She was dressed to go out, obviously, but where was she going?  Had she missed a card somewhere?  Where were her further instructions?

The second, larger box still waited on the couch.  Laughing at herself, Lily opened it.  Inside was a dress coat, winter white to match the rest of the outfit, of course.   She touched the fabric.  Though it looked warm, it was impossibly soft. Lambs' wool, perhaps. 

Lily studied the coat for a long moment without taking it out of the box.  The tree she could understand.  The outfit, maybe.  But this coat must have cost … she didn't want to think about what this coat must have cost.  Money was no object, not to him, she knew all about the investments, about the pile of emeralds, about the Swiss accounts, but that wasn't the point …

She thought about calling the office again.  About saying, very firmly, this is wonderful, thank you, but enough already, no more extravagance …

Practical considerations aside, she couldn't do it.  He had obviously gone to a lot of trouble – witness the engraved instructions – and thought and care, never mind the expense.  She'd told him he could do whatever he wanted for Christmas.  'I'm in,' she'd said.  'Just tell me what you want me to do.'

The albums from his family Christmases.  The waking her at dawn with veiled promises of surprises. 

She knew what he was doing now, and she knew why.

But it's not necessary, she wanted to protest.  I don't need all the Christmas trimmings, I don't need trees or music or expensive gifts.  If I don't have to be alone this Christmas, that's enough, that's all I want, if I can be with the man I love on Christmas, what more is there?

If she called him and asked him to stop here, he would.  He would honor her wishes, and whatever other surprises he had planned would fall by the wayside.  He'd be disappointed, but he wouldn't say a word.  He'd understand that she'd been overwhelmed, that she couldn't accept so many gifts. 

He'd be disappointed …

Lily bit her lip.  He knows all about this, she thought.  He knows how you feel about things that feel like charity.  This is not charity.  You don't need a thousand dollar coat.  You have a coat.  This is a luxury, an extravagance.  He knows that, too.

He wants to make Christmas for you.  His way.  And you told him he could.

Call him up and call it off.  Or follow the instructions.

She thought about it for a long, long moment.

Then she took the coat out of the box and put it on.

Beneath the coat in the box were a sparkly gold scarf and gloves.  No hat; her knew she wouldn't wear it.  There was also a fine white envelope.

With a wary sigh, Lily opened the envelope.  There was a card, printed with more instructions.  There was also a stack of crisp new hundred dollar bills.

Lily flinched, but she read the instructions.  'Good job on the tree, but it looks a little bare.  Go here, buy ornaments and lights.  Have them delivered.  Spend it all, please.'  At the bottom of the card was an address, in the heart of the shopping district.  She wasn't certain, off hand, that it was Saks, but it was in the right block.

She paused again, considering the cash.  No one in their right mind could spend that much money on Christmas ornaments.  And she had money of her own, she could afford …

Follow the instructions.

Lily nodded resolutely and went to get her purse.

* * * * *   

She slid into the driver's seat of her car, her sleek little black Mercedes that Control had bought for her.  She should never have let him buy her the car, she thought grimly.  It had led to …well, to Christmas.  Let a man buy you a car, and next he's buying you a tree.  And a coat.  And heaven only knew what else.

A sprig of holly hung from the rear view mirror.

Lily turned the car on.  With the ignition, the stereo came on.  From her tape deck, Manhattan Transfer began singing more Christmas songs at her, in elegant, spare harmonies.

Lily sighed.  This, she decided, was getting completely out of hand.

* * * * *

The lower floors of the store were stuffed with people, but the Christmas Shoppe seemed curiously empty.  Two middle-aged cashiers, both women, chatted quietly behind the register.  A young couple browsed the rows, and a mother with a toddler and a cranky teenager hurried through. 

Lily stopped at the entrance to the department – an archway covered with garlands and lights – and stared, lost.   She didn't even know where to start.

The taller of the cashiers spotted her.  "Can I help you with something?" she asked in a professionally friendly way.

Lily smiled uneasily and walked to the counter.  "I have to decorate a tree."

"You're in the right place, then."

"I've never decorated a tree before."

The cashiers shared a look.  "Never?" the shorter one asked.

"Never."

"Well," the woman sighed, rather disapproving, "it's never too late to start.  What sort of things do you like?"

"I have no idea," Lily confessed.

"What color are the lights?" the taller woman asked.

Lily swallowed.  "There aren't any lights yet."

The cashiers shared another look.  The taller one reached for a basket.  "Right, then.  I'm Sally.  This is Sue.  Don't you worry, we'll get you all set.  Come over here."

Lily followed her – Sue hung back, checked that the register was locked, and then followed – to a row of decorated Christmas trees.  "Basically," Sally said, "you have two choices.  White, or colored.  Mini or full-size."

"That's four choices," Lily pointed out. 

"We only have the minis in the white," Sue countered.  "Now you're down to three choices."

Lily studied the trees.  The colored lights were pretty.  The full-sized bulbs seemed too bulky; she liked the mini lights.  The white seemed more elegant.  "White, mini," she decided.

She could feel the relief that passed through the cashiers.  They had established, at least, that she could make a decision. 

"Good," Sally said.  "How big is your tree?"

"Six feet," Lily guessed.  "Not terribly big around."

"Well, then, two strands of lights would do fine, but three would be more festive."

"Three," Lily declared.  Sally found the lights and tucked them in the basket.

"Good," Sue said.  "Now, what kind of room do you have?"

Lily frowned, confused.  "It's in the living room."

"What's the décor?"

"Oh.  Sorry.  It's sort of … Mediterranean light."  They both looked at her blankly.  "Freehand Casablanca."

"Ahh," they said in unison.  "So there's a man involved," Sally said.  "That makes a difference."

"No Victorian," Sue agreed.  "Too frilly.  Men hate it."

Lily grinned.  "Nothing modern, either.  He's kind of traditional."

"Well, that narrows it down. I'll be right back."  Sue went to check on the young couple; she ended up ringing them out.  The woman and her children left without buying anything. 

"This way," Sally urged.  She took the young agent to a row that was full of simple bulbs in many colors.  "Your best bet is to start with the basics, then add some accent pieces.  Pick a few boxes of these, whatever colors you like best."

Lily studied the choices.  Christmas bulbs came in every sparkling color she could imagine.  They also came in a variety of sizes.  She ignored the biggest ones, deciding they'd look absurd on her little tree.  The middle and smaller sizes appealed to her.  She selected boxes of gold and silver, red and blue.  Green, she decided, wouldn't show up anyhow.  Pink and turquoise, and all their non-primary cousins, were similarly dismissed.  But she also selected a box of burgundy, and a box of royal purple. 

She caught a glimpse of the price tags.  For simple balls of colored glass, they were priced like they were made of real gold.  She stopped looking at the tags.

Sue waited patiently, without comment, but again it was clear that she was pleased this young woman could make such quick decisions.   She was also warming up to the young woman's free-spending ways.

"Is that enough?" Lily asked.

"Should be just fine, for a six-footer.  Now, come over here, see what you think of these."

In the next row there was an assortment of individual ornaments.  Some were carved of wood, others shaped in glass.  Santa's and windmills, angels, tiny toys, a dizzying assortment of ornaments waited.  Lily hesitated, then reached for a dark wooden toy truck.  It would go, in their living room.  She selected another, and another.

Sally re-joined them silently.  She looked at the full shopping basket on her associate's arm, went back to the register and got an empty one.  The two of them waited silently, patiently, taking the ornaments that Lily selected as she worked her way down the row. 

At the end of the row, she turned and made her way back up the other side.  Then she glanced up.  Both shopping baskets were now full.  "Am I done now?" she asked hopefully.

The two saleswomen smiled at her.  "Your tree should be very lovely," Sally assured her.

"That wasn't so hard."

"No," Sue said, "it's easy once you get started.  Shall we ring you up?"

"Yes, please."

"Or do you need other decorations for your home?" Sally prompted.

Lily hesitated.  "Other … decorations?"

"You might as well look around," Sue advised.  "Something may strike your fancy."

The young woman looked around.  An older couple had wandered in, but the department was still pretty quiet.  "I'll take a look."

Sue took the two full baskets to the counter; Sally followed the young woman as she drifted into the giftware section.  "Do you like snow globes?"

"Uhhhh …"

"We have some beautiful musical ones."  She gestured to an entire shelf of ornate snow globes on elaborate bases. 

Lily drifted past them.  They were pretty enough, but nothing really struck her fancy, until she got to the end of the row.  There, alone on the end cap, was a globe that contained a city.  A river snaked through the city, dividing it in half.  The fake snow lay deep on the roofs and streets.   She stared at it, a small smile playing across her lips.

"It plays Tchaikovsky," Sally offered.  "Hungarian Dance, from the Nutcracker."

The woman didn't move.  Sue reached past her and turned the switch.  The base of the globe played an impossibly elaborate little tune.  "It's Budapest," Lily said softly.

"Is it?"

"Yes."  Lily shook off her trance, smiled at the woman.  "I must have it."

Sally reached under the display for the box.  "It's, uh, it's three hundred dollars," she offered tentatively. 

Romanov hesitated for one moment.  By the rough tally in her head, she was already close to the end of her lover's generous contribution.  But she had her own credit card.  He's said to spend it all.  He hadn't said she couldn't spend more.

"It's all right," she said.  "I'll take it."

Sally boxed up the globe for her.  Lily also bought silver candle holders and bay candles, a lighted pine swag for the doorway, a grape-fruit sized ball of mistletoe, decked with a ribbon for hanging.   And a last-minute addition, a crystal angel for the top of the tree.

Then she waited, with rather nervous anticipation, as the ladies rang up her purchases.  No one in their right mind could spend that much, she mused with wry amusement, and I spent more.  Well, at least he couldn't say she hadn't followed his instructions.

And the tree was going to be beautiful.

The total, as Sue announced it, was far, far less than Lily had anticipated.  "Are you sure?" she asked.

"It's Christmas Eve," the cashier explained.  "Decorations are half off."

"Oh."

"But not giftware."

"Oh."  Lily handed over the stack of hundreds.

The women shared a look, counted the bills.  Rang them through, and presented Lily with eighty-four dollars in change.

Lily looked at the change.  Spend it all, he'd said, and he'd probably known there was a sale.  She could go back and buy a few more things.  But looking at the vast pile of ornaments behind the counter, bagged up for delivery to her apartment building, she could not imagine anything else she needed.  She glanced around the empty department again.  Then she split the twenties up, two in each hand, and handed them to the cashiers.   "Thank you so much for your help," she said sincerely.  "I couldn't have done this without you."

Sally and Sue shared another look, and then each took her tip, thanking the young woman.  "It'll all be delivered before five," Sue promised.

"That'll be fine.  The manager's office can sign for them."  Lily turned and started out.

"Miss?" Sue called after her.

Lily turned back.  "Yes?"

"This is for you."

Sue held out a formal white envelope to her.

* * * * *

Hesitant, almost fearful, Lily carried the envelope to a quiet corner of the store, behind a rack of sweaters.  It was fat.  She opened the envelope gingerly. 

There were more hundred dollar bills in the envelope, perhaps twice as many as there had been in the last one.  Lily groaned out loud.

The card had another address, within walking distance.  Beneath, it read, 'Go to the big tree.  Buy toys.'

She tucked the envelope closed and put it in her coat pocket.  Her thousand dollar coat pocket.  This was insane.  She had to stop this.  The amount of money he was spending was making her dizzy, queasy.  This wasn't what she wanted.  It wasn't supposed to be about money.  Ornaments, fine, but toys?  What was he thinking?

And yet.  And yet.

One more stop, she thought, and if there's more money I'll call him and end this.

She went to the toy store.

* * * * *

The big tree was easy to find.  It was thirty feet tall, and it stood in the center of the atrium.  It had moving robotic toys, nodding dolls and carolers.  It had a train track, with a toy train that ran in and out of the tree's branches, tooting merrily.

Beneath the tree was a mountain of new toys, unwrapped.  Stuck to each was a construction paper Christmas tree with writing on it.  More of the plain little trees still hung on the magnificent center tree.

A handful of men and woman were gathering the toys from beneath the tree and hauling them out the front door to a waiting truck.  A worried-looking man with a clip board checked off each thing as it went. 

Lily drifted up to him.  "Big shopping list?" she asked casually.

"Orphanage, children's hospital, foster homes, soup kitchens.  Everybody needs toys this year."  He didn't even look up from his board.

"What's with the little trees?"

"They're, uh, gift requests.  From the children on our lists."  He did glance up then, eyed the evidently wealthy young woman at his elbow.  "It's not too late, if you'd like to donate a toy or two."

"I think I will," Lily answered easily.  She gestured.  "What happens to the tags that don't get a donation?"

The man sighed heavily.  "We do our best to get those children something.  It's not usually what they asked for, but something."

She reached inside her coat and felt the heavy envelope there.  So much money.  Far more money than she would ever have taken for herself.  Her man knew her too well.  Much, much too well.

"Gather them up," she said to the man.  "I'll buy."

He stared at her.  "All of them?"

"All of them."  She tapped the youngest of his helpers. "You.  Put down those boxes, climb up there and get all the unclaimed requests."  Then she turned to the center cashier stand.  "You.  Get me a manager."

"He's at lunch."

"Then find him.  I need somebody who can negotiate a discount for me."

"Uh, miss, we don't …"

Lily drew the envelope out of her pocket, drew out the bills and ruffled them.  "Don't what?"

"I'll get the manager."

* * * * *

It took less than an hour.  Lily was exhausted, but jubilant.  They had found every present for every child whose wishes remained on the tree.  The man with the clipboard had nearly exploded with gratitude and relief.  She had negotiated a bulk deal with the manager; he wouldn't give her a discount, but he'd thrown in additional small gifts, a change of clothes for the dolls and Barbies, locks for the three bikes, accessories.  He also agreed to deliver the rest of the toys.  She had spent nearly every dime of Control's money; her change was five dollars and twenty-seven cents. 

She could not stop grinning.  But she was ready to go home.

Outside the store, a tall, thin black man rang his bell next to a Salvation Army kettle.  Lily paused and dropped the last five dollars into the kettle.  "Thank you, miss," the man said.  "Merry Christmas."

She didn't flinch at all this time.  "To you, too."

She took two steps before he called her back.  "Miss?  Miss?"

Lily turned and took the elegant white envelope from his hand.

* * * * *

A small black and white photo of a woman's face.  A crisp five dollar bill, which Lily regarded with significant relief.  A printed card, with an address and instructions.  'Meet this woman.  Will call, your name.'

Lily stood in the busy theatre lobby, studying the faces and the photo.  The vast atrium was awash with women and girls, all dressed in their holiday finest.  The women were fussing, anxious.  The girls were skipping, laughing, eager.  There was satin and lace everywhere.  Many of the mothers had shopping bags, and many of the girls had incongruous backpacks or school bags. 

So far, though, Lily could not locate the woman in the photo.  

She had no idea what they had all gathered to see, nor if she had tickets.

'Will call, your name,' she read again.  The trick was all in the punctuation.  She made her way through the crowd of dime-store perfume and painful dress shoes to the will-call window.  Ahead of her in line was a woman with a toddler by the hand and at least six middle-sized girls.   

"Romanov," Lily pronounced when her turn came. 

The attendant flipped through the alphabetical stack and drew out her ticket envelope.  She hesitated, reading the small post-it note attached.  "Oh," she said, "Miss Romanov."  She handed her the tickets.  "If you'd meet me by that door over there?"

Lily groaned aloud, but went to the locked door.  The woman opened it from the other side and handed her a shopping bag from the toy store she'd just left.  Inside were several packages, all wrapped in white with gold ribbon.  The tag on the top package read, "To Emily."

"Hmmm," she mused.  Did she even know an Emily?  But trust Control, follow instructions.  "Thank you," she said, taking the bag and slipping the woman the five dollar bill. 

As she turned, a loud voice from half-way across the lobby called, "Oh, there you are!"

Lily scanned the crowd, located the woman in the picture as she came across the floor towards her.  She was a plump woman, perhaps forty, in her best black wool coat with a colorful Christmas brooch and her clearly unfamiliar heels.  Beside her was a small girl in a red coat and glossy black dress shoes.  She gripped her mother's hand fiercely, but she kept looking up at the vast, grandly decorated ceiling and stumbling as she walked.  Behind them, two bigger girls, also in their very best coats and their black patent leather shoes, trailed anxiously.  They were clearly terrified of getting lost.

I know these people, Lily thought dimly.  No, I don't know them, but I've seen them somewhere … damn it, Control, give me another clue …

As soon as the woman was close enough, she grabbed Lily's hand eagerly in hers.  "Oh, Miss Romanov, I was afraid we'd miss you, are we late?"

Lily smiled like she knew what was going on.  "Not at all.  I just got here."

"I couldn't believe it when Munchie called and said you'd got us tickets.  The girls were just heartbroken that they couldn't come.  But their dance teacher just told them about it yesterday, and by then it was sold out …"

Ahh, Lily thought, of course.  Munchie's family.  She's seen their pictures in the mailroom.  He always made a point to show her the newest pictures of his girls. 

The woman was introducing her daughters.  "… Elizabeth," she said, her hand on the oldest girl's shoulder, "and this is Sophie, and this …" the smallest girl had wandered off ten feet, "Emily!  Get back here!"

The pre-schooler obediently returned.  "Girls, say hello to Miss Romanov."

"Lily," she corrected easily.

"To Miss Lily," the mother amended.  The older girls muttered greeting.  Emily just stared at her. 

The crowd, on some invisible cue, started moving towards the theatre doors.  "We should go in," Lily said.  She had missed the mother's name, if she'd heard it, and she was trying frantically to remember it from her conversations with Munchie.

The woman nodded, herding the girls in front of her with a gesture.  Without comment, the bigger girls took the smaller one by each hand protectively.  "I'm so glad you're with us," the mother confided.  "I don't know if I'd feel safe to keep track of them all in this crowd."

Lily shrugged.  "I've always wanted to come," she confessed.  "But unless you have a little girl to bring along …"

"Well, you can feel free to borrow mine any time you want."

At the door, Lily took the tickets out of the envelope and passed them to the usher.  She tried to catch a glimpse of what they were seeing, but he was too quick to take them.

He did, however, hand them all programs.

"I want to sit there," Emily said loudly, pointing to the elegant box seats at the sides of the balcony.

"Oh, no, darling, we can't …" her mother began.

"That's where you're sitting," the usher said.  "Follow me, please."

They followed, the girls and then the women.  "You got us box seats?" the mother whispered in surprise.    

"It was all they had left," Lily whispered back.  That was probably true, she mused.  She was teasing another little mystery in her mind.  Munchie had called her to see if she could get tickets, but she'd never gotten the message.  So Control had what, tapped into her voicemail box at the office?  No challenge there.  But getting the message back to Munchie, without using his own voice … that was tricky. 

The usher pulled back the curtain and let them into the box.  There were five chairs, deep and cushy velvet, three in the back row and two in the front. 

"I want to sit by Mommy," Sophie said.

"No, I want to!" Elizabeth protested.

"I want to sit in front," Emily chimed in.

"Done," Lily pronounced.  She parked the mother in the middle of the back row, with the bigger girls on either side of her, and put Emily in the front row with her.  The chairs were carefully staggered so that everyone had a perfect view of the stage.  Also, Lily observed, they had a perfect view of the entire audience.  Useful to remember.

Except, of course, that the entire audience had a perfect view of her as well.

They shuffled around for a bit, getting settled. The girls took off their coats, and Lily genuinely complimented their dresses, remembering that their mother made nearly all their clothes.  Sophie's dress was dark green, trimmed with about a mile of wide white lace.  Elizabeth's dress was Christmas red and the lace was off-white.  Little Emily wore royal purple, with no lace at all, but with beading on the bodice.  "I don't like lace," she confided to Lily.  "It's itchy."

"I agree," Lily whispered back.  "They're really beautiful," she told Munchie's wife.  "You must have spent forever on them."

The woman flushed.  "I enjoy it.  And now that Emily's started preschool I have a few hours a day …" She hesitated, clearly afraid that she was about to bore the city woman with talk of domestic arts.

"I can't sew a button on," Lily said.  "I have the greatest admiration for your skill.  It's really amazing."

Shelly – Lily remembered triumphantly, Shelly – blushed deeply.  "I've been thinking, when Emily goes to school full time, that I might start a little home business.  You know, custom-make dresses for little girls."  She sighed.  "It won't be long before these two will only wear jeans.  It was a struggle to get them dressed up today."

The older girls made faces at her.  "When's it going to start?" Sophie said.

Lily sat down and finally glanced at the program.  'The Nutcracker Suite.'  She nodded.  Of course.  What other Christmas tradition did you need little girls to accompany you to?  Reading further, she was a bit relieved to find that they were watching only selected excerpts, not the entire ballet.  An hour's worth would be enough for Emily – and for Lily, too.

There was something then about a tea, but the lights dimmed before Lily could read it.  It didn't matter.  She sat back and watched as the curtain rose, the stage lights came up, and the ballet began, in a happy home full of trees and lights and happy children.

Her heart spiraled into an unexpected funk. 

Emily left her chair and climbed into Lily's lap.   Startled, Lily whispered, "Are you okay?" 

"Yes," the little girl whispered back.

Shelly sat forward behind them.  "I can take her …" she offered.

"No, we're fine," Lily answered.  They were.  The little girl settled on in the circle of her arms, warm and soft and undeniably alive, and Lily's funk vanished.  She brushed her cheek against the girl's hair.  It was freshly washed, with Johnson's baby shampoo, and it was all Lily could do not to kiss her.

When the rat king appeared, Emily shrank back against her protectress.  Lily's arms tightened protectively.  "I'm not scared," Emily whispered uncertainly.    

"Okay."  Lily answered, as if there had never been any question of that, and drew the child closer still.

When the lights came up, sixty-five minutes later, the girls were beaming.  "That was sooo cool!" Elizabeth said.  "Can we be mice next year?"

"You can audition," Shelly said uneasily.  "We'll talk to your dance teacher." 

She threw a desperate look to Lily, who just shrugged.  "It can probably be arranged," she offered quietly. 

"I'll try to give you a little more notice," Shelly promised. 

"Are you coming to tea with us?" Sophie asked.

"Tea?" Lily answered.

"You have to come with us," Emily insisted.  She took Lily's hand possessively.  "You just have to."

"Well, I'll come and see if they have a seat for me," Lily promised, bemused.  She carried the shopping bag with one hand, kept Emily's hand in her other.

They followed the lines of woman and girls into the lobby of the next theatre.  There were tables set there, with white linen tablecloths and festive centerpieces, gilt chairs and tuxedoed waiters.

"Wow," the girls said in unison.

Lily nodded, surprised.  "Tea?" she asked Shelly.

"It's part of the package.  Tchaikovsky and Tea.  You can stay, can't you?"

"Yes," Lily said.  "I can stay."

They found a table and got the girls settled.  Around them, children began to open their packs and mothers to rumble through their shopping bags.  A variety of stuffed bears appeared.

"What's with the bears?" Sophie asked.

Their waiter approached with a carafe of tea.  "Didn't you bring bears to share your tea party?" he asked with pity.

The girls stared, crestfallen.  Emily's bottom lip came out, through she did not cry.

"I didn't know," Shelly said quickly.  "I thought it was just the tea …"

Lily shifted, kicked the shopping bag.  "Oh," she said, with startled realization. She brought the bag out and passed out the packages, one to each girl.  Bless you, my love, she thought warmly.  I don't know how you did it, but bless you.

The girls tore the packages open.  The bears within were insanely elaborate, all of them pale brown, all dressed in very fine Christmas dresses.  They were also, astonishingly, color-coded to the girls:  Elizabeth's bear wore Christmas red, Sophie's deep green.  Emily's bear was dressed in royal purple – with beads, not lace.  The girls were overjoyed. 

"How did you do that?" Shelly asked.  "I mean, Munchie's always telling me how good you are, but honestly, I had no idea …"

Lily grinned uneasily.  "I'm sure I can't explain it," she said modestly.

Emily climbed down from her chair, came to Lily's side, and kissed her on the cheek.  "I love my bear, Miss Lily.  Thank you."

"You're very welcome, my sweet."

The other girls quickly followed her example.  Lily actually blushed with pleasure.  Then they all got settled again, and had a tea party.

There was tea, and there was hot cocoa, which the girls all chose.  There were dainty finger sandwiches, which the girls had to be coaxed to try.  Elizabeth hated the ham spread, but they all liked the cucumber and the cheese.  Emily was the one who discovered that the perfect little triangles with purple filling were in fact peanut butter and jelly.

There followed then an astonishing array of dainty cookies and baked goods.  Everything was tasteful and elegant; real china, linen napkins.  The waiters hovered obsequiously.  The girls were a bit overwhelmed by the elegance of it all, but they managed with their best manners.  

It was positively delightful.

When the tea was over, they put on their coats and gathered their bears and Lily walked with them to their car, keeping Emily close in the press of sidewalk traffic.  She kissed them each as they got into the car. 

"I can't thank you enough," Shelly said.  "They had such a wonderful time.  So did I."

Lily smiled.  "I did, too.  Thank you for sharing them with me." 

"You'll let Munchie know what the tickets cost?"

"I'll let him know when I get the bill," Lily promised.  True enough, for a lie.  "Be careful driving back."

"I will.  Merry Christmas."

Lily watched her get into the car thoughtfully.  Then, quietly, she answered, "Merry Christmas."

She couldn't get the smile off her face as she walked back to her own car.  They were delightful, Munchie's girls.  The ballet, the tea – she never would have thought of that on her own, but it had been wonderful. 

She wondered if she could go home now.

Control had been in her car.  She could smell the cigar as soon as she opened the door.  He hadn't been smoking, but the scent lingered on his overcoat, then on the leather seats.  Lily grinned wearily and slid into the seat.

The holly that had hung from the mirror was gone. Now there was small branch of fresh pine.  Clipped to it were tickets.  She took them down.  Rockefeller Center skating rink.  One for admission, one for skate rental.

I don't skate, Lily thought firmly. 

Still …

Resigned, delighted, she started the car.

From her tape player, Nat King Cole crooned Christmas classics.

* * * * *

"Well?" a familiar voice rumbled at her elbow.  "Are you going to stand there and watch all day, or are you going to lace up your skates and give it a go?"

Lily beamed.  "Hello, Robert."  She kissed him warmly on the cheek. 

"Hello, love. Where are your skates?"  His were slung over his shoulder, the laces tied together.

"I don't skate," Lily admitted.

McCall frowned at her.  "You don't, or you can't?"

"I can't."

"Nonsense.  I've seen you dance in four-inch stiletto heels.  I'm quite certain you can ice skate."

Lily considered the skaters dancing across the center of the ice.  "I don't think so."

Robert followed her gaze.  "Oh, not like that.  Not today, anyhow."  He gestured to the edges of the ring, where beginners stumbled and wavered and fell.  "But you have to start somewhere."

"I do?"

"I insist."

She considered him for a long moment.  Robert McCall insisting was fairly formidable, and she had very little will to resist.  "It's on your head, then."

"It's more likely to be on your backside, but we shall see.  Come on, let's get you some skates."

They got skates and found space on a bench to lace them up.  "Good and tight," Robert advised.  "You don't want to break an ankle."

"Oh, you make this sound so inviting," Lily teased. 

"Well, to be completely honest, you're more likely to break an arm."

"That makes is so much better."

He watched as she finished tying her laces.  "Ready?"

"No."

McCall stood and slid out onto the ice.  He turned and held his hands out to her.  "Come on, then."

Lily took a deep breath and stood up.  Then she fell back onto the bench.  "Well, that went well."

Robert slid closer, took her hands and pulled her to her feet.   "It's not like you to be timid, Lily."

"I am not being timid," she bristled.  Then she laughed.  "Them's fighting words, you know."

He nodded wisely.  "You're skating, you know."

She looked around.  They were ten feet down the ice from the bench.  She promptly panicked and flailed.  Robert caught her closer, tucking his arm around her shoulder as she steadied.

Lily laughed again.  "You've done this before."

"I have," Robert admitted.  "I taught Scott to skate.  Come to think of it, I taught his mother to skate."

"And is that how Scott came about?"

"Ahhhh … no," Robert said, after some consideration.  "That was sailing.  Don't pick your feet up.  Slide them.  Now turn your toes out just a little …"

He caught her again.  "A little," he repeated patiently.  "Just a bit … there, that's it."  His grip loosened slightly. 

Lily promptly fell on her butt.

"I'm so sorry," Robert said, turning to help her up.  "I thought I had you."

The woman was laughing.  "No problem.  I think I feel better now."  She struggled to her feet, with Robert's help, and began to actually skate. 

"Got the worst over with," he observed.  He held her arm still, but stopped trying to keep her upright.  They made their way around the ring. 

"Well, good," Lily said as they approached their starting bench again.  "Now we've skated.  Can I stop?"

McCall sighed.  "If you must."

"No." 

They skated on.  Then from behind there was a scrape of a sideways blade, and a spray of ice spattered their legs.  "Hey!" Scott called.

Lily fell on her butt again.

"Scott!" Robert bellowed.  "Stop that!  Now pick her up!"

"I can manage …" Lily protested.

Scott skated behind her, put his hands under her armpits, and lifted her to her feet.  "Hi, Lily.  Merry Christmas."

"Hi, Scott."  She stumbled as he released her, but Robert caught her again. 

The young man looked at the two of them.  "Sorry.  I didn't know it was your first time."

The woman threw her head back and laughed yet again.  "Well, it is, so be gentle!"

Scott blushed brightly. 

"Ahem," Robert said stiffly. "This activity was at one time the height of genteel civility."

"Yeah," Lily answered, "and then you got me involved with it."

He sighed and took her arm and they skated.  Scott took her arm from the other side.  "Better?" he asked.

"This is much better," Lily agreed.  Between the two of them, she felt quite certain that she wouldn't fall down again.  Or, at least, that she wouldn't fall alone.  "Where's Becky?"

"There," Scott said, with a gesture.

Becky Baker, his girlfriend, was in the center of the ring, skating fairly credible figures.

"Oh," Lily said, with genuine admiration.  "She's really good."

"Yeah," Scott beamed.  "She is."

The woman snickered.  "Well, but it's not her first time."

Scott blushed again; he'd barely recovered his normal coloring from the first time.  "No, it's not."

"You know," Robert said evenly, "with a bit of dedicated practice you might also be … good."

Lily laughed and tried to fall down again.  The men hauled her back upright. 

"A good bit of dedicated practice," Robert amended. 

They skated around several times, chatting casually, while Lily gained confidence.  Then Becky joined them, and they skated four in a chain until the rink guard yelled at them. 

"Enough?" Robert inquired.

"Enough," Lily admitted.  "My thighs are screaming."

Scott laughed until he fell down.

"Ahhh … yes," Robert answered, smirking. "I should have warned you about that."

"I want cocoa," Becky announced.

They found a table next to the ice and sent Scott for hot drinks.  Lily could not help staring at the towering Christmas tree at the side of the rink.  "How do they do that?" she asked.

"They use a cherry picker," Robert pronounced. He considered the height of the tree, then shuddered softly.  "You could not pay me enough to decorate that tree."

"I love that tree," Becky said.  "When I first came here, I didn't have a tree in my apartment, so I decided that one was mine."

Lily leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.  The gesture startled the younger woman, but she smiled.  "You, too?"

"No," Lily answered softly.  "I never claimed a tree before this year."

Scott returned with a tray and distributed the paper cups of cocoa.  "You never had a Christmas tree?" he asked in disbelief.

She hesitated.  "Not one to call my own, no."

"You should come have dinner with us," the young man declared. 

"She has other plans," Robert said firmly.

"Oh."  Scott sipped his cocoa.  "You do?"

"I think so," Lily answered. 

"Well, if they fall through …"

"Thanks.  I'll keep it in mind."

They drank their cocoa and they chatted.  They watched the skaters and the sunset, they talked about plans, and they watched the city light up.  Scott and Becky returned to the ice for a while, and eventually Robert and Lily joined them. 

Lily even managed to circle the rink once all on her own.  "This is fun," she announced triumphantly, once she was safely on Robert's arm again.

"I thought you'd like it."

"You come here often?"

"No.  Only on Christmas Eve." 

"Oh."

McCall nodded, reflecting.  "When Scott was very small -- when his mother and I were still married -- we came down to finish some shopping one year.  And he wanted to skate, so I brought him here and Kay went shopping for a few hours by herself.  It worked out so well that we did it for a number of years after."

Lily wavered, caught her balance.  "I like it."

"Then after we separated, of course he spent every Christmas with Kay.  But when I was around, she'd bring him here to meet me, and we'd skate while she shopped …"  He shook his head.  "And then it just ended.  I was too busy, too many years in a row, Scott grew to be a young man -- a rather angry young man.  Not without cause.  And then …"  He paused, looked across the ice to where his son was horsing around with his girlfriend.  "Several years ago I found out that he had started coming here again, on Christmas Eve.  So I joined him."

"Robert, that's wonderful."

"Yes, it is," McCall agreed.  "It would be more wonderful if I hadn't wasted all those years in between."

Lily hugged his arm.  "I feel like I'm intruding on your family now."

"No, no," McCall assured her.  "It's never been a very sentimental occasion.  Just a chance to get out and have a little … fun.  I'm glad you came today."

She stretched up to kiss him on the cheek.  "Thank you."  Then she fell on her butt.      

Laughing, Robert hauled her to her feet.  "I'm afraid it's time to turn your skates in, my dear," he said regretfully.

"Oh," she said.  "I didn't know there was a falling-down limit."

"There isn't," he answered.  "But you have other places to go."

"I do?" she asked suspiciously.

"You do."  He handed her the next white envelope.

Lily chuckled.  "Are you, uh, in on this whole adventure?"

McCall shook his head.  "I am not, nor do I wish to be."  Then he leaned and kissed her cheek.  "But Merry Christmas, my dear."

"Merry Christmas, Robert."

* * * * *

It began to snow in big, fluffy flakes.

In the car, listening to Andy Williams, the latest tape, she opened the envelope.  No card this time.  Instead, there was a church bulletin.  For the Children's Christmas Pageant at St. Christina's, which started in forty-five minutes.

"You've got to be kidding," Lily said aloud.

She turned the program over.  There was a note scribbled on the back, but it wasn't Control's writing.  It was Mickey Kostmayer's.  'Please come keep me company in the balcony.  Please?'

Please, twice in one note?  He sounded downright frantic, for Mickey.

At least there wasn't any money in this one.  There was, on the passenger's seat, a white-wrapped deli sandwich.  Turkey on wheat, lettuce, mayo, black olives.  The minute she opened it, Lily realized she was starving.

"Follow the instructions," she said to herself, and she ate as she drove.

* * * * *

The church was packed.  Lily made her way up the back steps to the balcony, and found Mickey Kostmayer at the far end of the back row of pews.  He'd saved her a seat, or rather half of one.  Everyone crowded together to make room for her.

"You look great," Kostmayer commented.  He handed her a slender, short candle, with a circle of cardboard around its base.

"Thanks.  What's this for?"

"You'll see."

The organ began to play an unexpectedly bouncy prelude.  More people crowded into the pews.  The air was thick again with the smell of discount store perfume.  Lily looked out over the crowd.  So many couples, so many families.  Grandparents, young couples with tiny babies.  Christmas was, above all, about not being alone.

Which was why she'd always hated it.  Until now.  "Where's Annie?" she asked.

"Nice of him."

"And since she had to come, of course I had to."

"So why'd you drag me along?"

Kostmayer glanced at her.  "What are you talking about?"

"Your note, on the program?"

"Huh?"

Lily struggled in the close quarters and brought the program out of her pocket.  Mickey glance at it and handed it back, grinning.  "Not me."

"It's your writing."

He shrugged.  "I didn't write it.  Might talk to your boyfriend about it."

"Oh."  Lily sighed.  "So many unexpected talents he has."

"I don't want to know."

A choir of small angels -- bed-sheet gowns and wire and glitter wings -- started in the back of the church and made their way to the front, singing.  The congregation rose and sang with them, "O Little Town of Bethlehem." 

The lyrics were printed in the small program, but Lily noticed that very few of the parishioners needed to consult them.  They knew all the words, to all the verses.  They sang this song together, every year for years on end.

She never had.  Not once. 

The song ended.  The angels made a loose semi-circle behind the crudely-constructed stable.  The people settled back into their pews to watch.  

Lily tried to maintain her mildly disinterested front.  It would not do to have Mickey thinking she'd gone all mushy.  But the children were earnest and irresistible.  The Virgin Mary was eight inches taller than her husband Joseph, but he still tried valiantly to look like he was supporting her as they walked up the main aisle.  The very smallest children filed in from the sides.  They crawled on their hands and knees and were costumed as -- Lily had to think about it to decide -- sheep and cows.  They nosed about the young couple adorably and persistently, until the congregation giggled and one of the shepherds had to come out early and drive them back with his staff.  The tallest of the angel chorus acted as the narrator.  When he announced that the Baby Jesus was born, tall Mary broke character, walked to the front row of the congregation, and took her newborn brother from her mother's arms.  She carried him back to the stage and settled him in the manger, then knelt down and went back to being Mary.

The crowd sighed in unison, Lily with them.

She caught Kostmayer's crooked little grin, but he didn’t say anything.

They stood again and sang, "Away in a Manger."

More shepherds came, which was good, as the unruly kindergarten lambs and calves were more than one beleaguered fifth-grader could manage.  They took turns delivering their story, about seeing a star in the heavens over the field where they were tending their flocks.  The third shepherd forgot his line, stammered, blushed bright red, while the others looked helplessly at him.  Then an angel -- probably his slightly older sister -- stepped forward and whispered in his ear.  Grinning, the shepherd delivered his lines. 

Then the lead angel announced the arrival of the three wise guys.  Wise men, he quickly announced with a half-apologetic smirk.   

"Had it right the first time," Mickey muttered.

The three wise guys were, in this instance, three tall middle-school girls.  There was evidently a shortage of young men in the parish.  They did the best they could, folding their arms to cover their chests under flowing cotton robes, speaking in false deep voices.  Presenting gifts wrapped in shiny paper, gold and silver and purple.  

The newborn squalled, and Mary quickly swept him up and put him over her shoulder.  He belched audibly, to the great amusement of the congregation, and then settled again.

The pageant ended with them singing, with the parishioners, "Silent Night."  The lights went down, and all of the older children produced candles from within their costumes.  The lead angel lit his from the altar candle, then lit the candles of the two angels on each side of him.  They passed on the flames to the other cast members.  When all the children's candles were lit, they moved to the front row and lit the candles of the people sitting at the end of the pews.  They, in turn, lit the candle of the person next to them.

The light spread through the dark church like a wave, on a swell of music, on a swell of emotion.

In the balcony, an usher appeared at Lily's elbow and offered her a light.  She lit her candle carefully from his, then turned and lit Mickey's.  He passed the flame on as well, then turned to look at her in the dim light.  "Are you crying, Romanov?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Just checking."  He grinned, teasing, then relented and kissed her on the cheek.  He leaned forward and brought a present, flat and about nine by twelve, from the floor.  "Here.  Take this with you."

Lily regarded the present in surprise.  "I didn't get you anything."

"It's not for you.  It's for him."

"Him him?"

"Uh-huh.  Kind of a … peace offering."

"Do you need to make peace offerings?"

Mickey shrugged.  He wasn't about to tell her, or anyone else, that Control had caught him by the neck in the parking garage of their office building.  Nor that the spymaster had told him in explicit detail exactly what he'd do to Kostmayer if he ever laid hands on Romanov again.  Mickey was deeply impressed by the man's scope of imagination.  He also believed every word of it.  But the matter had ended there, for both of them.  "It's just a token," he assured her.  "Merry Christmas, Lily."

"Merry Christmas, Mickey."

* * * * * 

In the Mercedes, the pine had been replaced with mistletoe.  Propped on the dashboard, a last white card said, "Come home, please."

Lily smiled, through tears that started up again.  She started the car.  A woman's voice, with a warm country twang, sang "O Holy Night" from her tape deck, accompanied only by a piano.

The snow came down in thick sheets and began to blanket the city in clean white.

* * * * *

Control plugged in the Christmas tree lights and stepped back to consider his work.  It was satisfactory.  Hands on his hips, he paced slowly from side to side, examining the tree.  Quite satisfactory, he decided, with a satisfied nod.  He glanced at the mountain of decorations that had been delivered with the lights.  Good girl, he thought warmly.  He hadn't been sure she'd go along. 

He heard her footsteps on the stairs, her key in the door.  Unconsciously, he ran his hand through his hair.  He thought about rolling his sleeves down, putting his tie back on, but there was need for that, and no time.  Lily burst in in a blur of white and almost knocked him over flying into his arms. 

"There's my girl," he murmured warmly.  Then, gently concerned, "Are you crying?"

"No," Lily insisted.

He leaned back, keeping her in his arms, and wiped her tears away with his thumbs.  "So you approve of my Christmas, do you?"

Lily sniffed.  "You're the best boyfriend in the world.  Do you know that?"

Control laughed.  "Boyfriend?  I can't remember that last time anybody called me that."

"I have never, ever had a day like this one.  Thank you."  She kissed him warmly.  "Thank you, thank you."

He murmured contentedly.  "I wasn't entirely sure you wouldn’t balk."

"I almost did," Lily admitted. 

"The first envelope of money?"

"The coat."

"Ah.  Well, I'm glad you went on."  He released her, went behind her to slip her coat off.  "And it looks damn good on you."

Lily bit her lip.  "You really shouldn't have …"

"Hush."  He hung her coat over the chair to dry, came back to hold her again.  Smiling fondly, he brushed the snow off her hair.  "Do you know that I fell in love with you with snow in your hair?"

Tears slid down her cheeks again, and he brushed them away with his lips.  "Stop that."

"I just … you just …"

"Are you hungry?"

Lily nodded.  "But thanks for the sandwich.  And the tree, and the ornaments, and the …"

"Shhh," Control said, as the tears started anew.  "I'll make you a little dinner, and then you're off to see Handel's Messiah."

She dropped her chin to her chest, weary but resigned.  "As you wish."

"Unless you'd rather stay in with me."

Lily glanced up sideways at him, smiling.  "Yes, please."

"Good.  I couldn't get tickets to Messiah anyhow."  He kissed her cheek.  "Into a long hot shower with you, then, and into your flannel gown.  I'll make us supper, and then we'll see about dressing this tree."

Lily made it all the way to the hallway before she turned and ran into his arms again. "I love you," she whispered.  "Do you know how much I love you?"

"I have some idea, yes."  Control kissed her slowly, indolently.  "All right, off with you now."  He turned her by the shoulders and pushed her toward the bathroom.  When she was gone, when the shower started, he went to the kitchen.

* * * * *

Lily regarded the bowl of milk soup dubiously.  A thin sheen of melted butter floated on its surface.  "What is it?" she finally asked.

"Oyster stew."

"Hmm."

"Try it," he urged.  He took her spoon and spooned up an oyster from the bottom of the bowl.  Still suspicious, she opened her mouth and took it.  Chewed at length, then swallowed. "It's good," she said in surprise.

"Yes, love," Control laughed.  "I'm not trying to poison you here."

"But it's so simple."

"Milk and cream, oysters and butter.  Salt and pepper.  My grandmother used to make it.  But only on Christmas Eve."

Lily smiled, delighted.  "Why?"

He shrugged.  "Oysters were expensive.  But for Christmas Eve, it's festive enough, exotic, and it's easy to make.  Plus the warm milk makes the children fall asleep."

"And the oysters?" she teased.

Control pursed his lips, remembering.  "My grandfather liked the oysters very much, as I recall."   

She slurped down another bite.  "What else?  Tell me more."

"Cranberries." He gestured to the small plate of cranberry jelly.  It was topped with whipped cream, and it had not come from a can. "She had this big old hand grinder that bolted to the edge of the counter, and she used to make us take turns grinding the cranberries.  The littlest kids thought it was great fun, and the bigger kids tried to run away."

Lily glittered.  "And the salad?" she asked.  There was a bowl of green salad on the table, sprinkled with sugared almonds and mandarin orange slices.

"I learned that in Paris," Control admitted.  "I just like it.  I'm not a slave to tradition, after all."

They ate the rest of their dinner swiftly; salad and stew, fresh dinner rolls and cranberry dessert.  "Enough?" Control asked.  "I could make you a ham sandwich."

"No, this is fine.  Thank you."  Lily stood up and carried her dishes to the kitchen. 

"Leave those," Control said.  "We'll clean up later.  Come make a tree with me."

Instead, she flung herself into her arms again.  "I love you," she declared. 

"That's just the oysters talking."

* * * * *

Control put on another of his ancient Christmas albums. Lily stood absolutely still, a gold bulb dangling on its hook from her fingertip. 

"What?" Control asked.

"I don't know where to put it."

"Put it anywhere."

She just looked at him, lost.

"Lily," he said patiently, "there isn't any trick to this. There's no wrong way to do it.  Just hang it somewhere where it dangles, and where there's not already another one."  She still hesitated.  "If you don't like it there, you can always move it around."

Hesitantly, she approached the tree and hung the bulb.  "There?"

"That's fine."  He waited, while she just stood and looked.  "Now get another one," he finally prompted.

"I … kinda thought I'd go with the minimalist look," Lily answered.

Control laughed out loud.  "As you wish," he agreed.  "We'll just store the rest for next year."

"Well, maybe a few more."

"All right."

They decorated the tree, chatting, laughing, kissing.  "These are beautiful," Control said.  "You did well."

Lily shrugged.  "I had help."

"You still did well."  He turned the album over.  A sweet, slow song began, and he waited until her hands were empty and swung her into his arms to dance.  "I have always liked this one."

"How long have you had these albums?" Lily asked.

"I bought them for my mother.  The year after my dad was killed."  He paused.  They'd been over that story, he and Lily.  But this part of it had no pain.  "When I cleaned out her house, they were still there, so I took them home.  But I haven't listened to them in a long, long time.  Probably since before you were born."

"Not that long," Lily protested.

"Maybe not quite that long," he allowed, smiling.  Then he sobered.  "It just never felt right, listening to them alone."

She curled closed in his arms, kissed his cheek.  "Thank you, kedves."

"Thank you, my love."

The song ended, and they moved a bit apart.  Control considered the tree again.  "It's looking pretty full," he commented.  "I don't know what's in the rest of those boxes, but some of it really will have to wait until next year."

Lily shook her head.  "This is the last of the ornaments," she said, holding the nearly-empty box.  "The rest are other decorations."

"Ahh," he answered approvingly.  While she hung the last few things on the tree, he opened one of the boxes and brought out the snow globe.  "Lily?"

"Hmm?"

"It's Budapest."

"Yes, I know.  Where did you ever find it?"

Control shook his head.  "Where did you find it?"

"It was on the end cap, all by itself.  I thought you left it out for me."

"I've never seen it before.  I've never seen one like it before.  It's … it's perfect, it's beautiful."

Lily smiled warmly.  "You should take it home with you."

Control carried the globe to the coffee table and set it down.  "This is my home, Lily."

They looked at each other for a long moment, across the living room.  There were no other words, and no need for them.

Control hung the garland, and the mistletoe, with requisite kissing.   Then he came to the crystal angel, the last touch of their Christmas decorating.  "Ready?" he asked.  Lily was still rearranging ornaments on the tree.

"You should never have told me I could change them around.  Now I'll spend all night doing it."

"Everybody needs a hobby."  He joined her at the tree, put his arm around her waist, and put the angel on the top of the tree.  "There," he said with satisfaction.  "Now it's Christmas."

They kissed sweetly, rather chastely, mindful of the watching angel.

"Eggnog."

"Pardon?"

"Now we need eggnog.  Real eggnog, not that nonsense in the carton."

"Oh."

"Get the white throw out, put it by the tree and we'll have a nightcap."