Rating: PG
Pairing: Toby/Ginger
Spoilers: Completely AU, so let's say not
Feedback: Makes my day
Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.
Archive: At my site The Band Gazebo (helsinkibaby.ahkay.net) Anywhere else please ask first.
Summary: Ginger takes Toby home for the holidays.
Author's Note: Who do we blame for this? Yep, that's right, Sunny again, in answer to the December challenge on the Toby list. I didn't fit in all the elements, but I did work in the fire, the song, the gift and the kisses…four out of ten ain't bad! All other instalments of the Novembers Past series can be found at my site, The Band Gazebo.

Ginger's arm is linked through mine as we walk along the street, her cheeks pink from cold, her eyes sparkling with happiness. She's chatting away nineteen to the dozen, pointing out this house and that, telling me all about who lived there when she was a child, all the scrapes that they used to get up to. I don't think that I've ever seen her so animated in all the years I've known her, and I realise again that even though we're together now, even though I've known for a very long time how I feel about her, there's still so much that I have to learn about her, so much that I want to know.

It's certainly not the first time that I've had that thought, and maybe that's what has me here in the first place, somewhere that I never thought I'd be.

The West Wing has been in a heightened state of Christmas preparation for the last number of weeks, events being planned with children and cameras, choirs have been singing and music playing in the lobby, at Josh's behest I might add, proving for once and for all that he's laid his ghosts of Christmas past to rest. I tried to play my usual role, that of resident Grinch, but somehow this year, it didn't come off quite the way that it usually does.

It could have something to do with the woman at my side, the fact that she dragged me through the streets of Washington for an entire, precious, free Sunday, looking for the perfect tree. I had no idea why an artificial tree wouldn't do, or come to that, why she needed a tree at all. She just gave me one of those looks, the like of which I became very familiar with during my marriage to Andi and told me that I had no Christmas spirit, before proceeding to do just what she wanted to do anyway. We found, after many hours of looking, the perfect tree, and got it back to her apartment, where we spent the rest of the night decorating it, and let me tell you, it's not as easy as it looks. By the time she'd taken decorations out of my hand for the fifth time, telling me that I was hanging the tinsel wrong - and I don't pretend to understand it either - I was more than ready to leave it all to her, and she was happy to do that too. She banned me from decorations, telling me to instead get the fire going, and once that was done, she exiled me to the kitchen with instructions to make some hot chocolate for both of us, and she finished the tree herself.

I will admit, gladly, that when she was finished, there was something like a work of art in the corner of the living room, shiny baubles, lights and tinsel hung just right, pride of place being a lopsided salt dough reindeer that her niece Alannah made at school and wanted to send to her favourite aunt. She was standing looking at it when I put two mugs of hot chocolate down on the coffee table, and I stepped up behind her, slipping my arms around her waist and kissing her on the cheek. I felt, rather than saw her smile, and despite my Grinch like reputation, I told her, "It's perfect."

Her tone was smug when she replied, "Of course it is," and I couldn't help but tickle her playfully in response. She squealed, and squirmed in my arms, and it ended up with us facing each other, lips meeting. When we pulled apart from one another, I reminded her that the hot chocolate was ready, and we settled ourselves on the couch, curled up in one another's arms.

It was there, in front of the roaring fire, that she broached the subject of Christmas. "Toby…" she began, drawing my name out, and that's when I knew she had something on her mind that she was uncertain about. It's the only time that she puts so many extra syllables in my name.

"Yes?" I asked, turning my head to see her better, making my face as non-threatening as possible, not something that I'm very good at.

"I've been thinking about Christmas," were her next words, and that's when realisation hit me like a ton of bricks. I had no firm plans for the holidays; I just presumed that I'd do what I always did, not much of anything in particular. If I'd thought about it, I'd have remembered that she always goes back to New Jersey for Christmas, that with four brothers, all of whom have families of their own, all of whom convene at the house they grew up in for the holidays, it's a pretty big deal for their family. I should have known that she'd want to go there, that she'd want to be with them. After all, that's how she'd spent every Christmas her entire life, and we've only officially been dating since the summer of this year, less than six months. There was no earthly reason to expect her to stay in Washington just because I was going to be there.

"You're going back home right?" I decided instantly that the best approach was to let her off the hook easily, let her know that I didn't mind her going back to the bosom of her family. Of course I was going to miss her, but that was beside the point. Her happiness was more important, and Christmas is an important time for her, a time for family.

"Yeah. I'm staying with Rick and Dee this year." That did cause me to blink slightly. I knew that Ginger's brother Rick lived a couple of blocks away from his parents' house; I also knew that traditionally at Christmas Ginger didn't stay with him. She stayed at her mother and father's place. "Mom and Dad's is getting crowded with all the kids, and they're all getting bigger," she explained, "And we thought it might be easier if I stayed with Rick and we all walked over on Christmas morning."

I frowned. "Won't the kids want to bring their toys with them?" Because I heard Alannah and Emily on the phone to her the previous week, and if Santa brought them as much as they expected, there was no way they'd be able to carry everything even a couple of blocks.

"Dee and I will walk with the kids," Ginger elaborated without missing a beat. "Rick's going to drive with the presents."

I laughed aloud at that one. "He must love that."

"Oh, he's ecstatic," Ginger chuckled as she took a sip from her mug, her demeanour suddenly becoming more serious. "And he was wondering…I mean, he said that it would be all right…" She stopped abruptly, shaking her head, and her cheeks were pink in a way that wasn't attributable to the heat of the fire. "I should just spit it out." I didn't say anything, just waited for her to continue. "Would you like to come home with me? For Christmas?"

Call me dense, but it had never occurred to me that that was what she was working up to, and I know my mouth dropped open. Seeing that, the uncertain smile that had been hovering around her lips disappeared, and she began speaking in a rush. "I mean, you don't have to, it's just that Rick and Dee would really like to see you again, and I think you know how Alannah and Emily feel about you. We'd be staying at their place, it's not as if you'd be thrown straight into the lion's den so to speak, and-"

"Ginger." I cut across her quietly, firmly, reaching out to take the mug out of her hand, placing it beside mine on the table before wrapping her hands in mine. "Do you want me to go?" I asked her seriously, making sure that her eyes were meeting mine. It was important to me to know that this was coming from her, that she wasn't asking because she felt she had to, or because Rick had pressured her into it.

"I want you to come with me," she told me softly. "I want you to meet my family. To see how we do things around there. And I want to spend the holidays with you." The last was uttered so quietly that I could barely hear her, but it was enough.

"Then I'd love to," I told her, leaning forward and pressing my lips to hers. It was a brief kiss, and then she threw her arms around me, holding me tightly.

I really don't think she's stopped smiling since that night, and I must admit, her enthusiasm was infectious. For once in my life, I went gift shopping without bitching and moaning; also the first time that my nieces and nephews got presents that they actually stand a chance of liking. She helped me with suggestions for everything, family and colleagues included, and we spent huge amounts of time trekking through toyshops looking for the perfect presents for her myriad nieces and nephews. She, of course, got the job of wrapping each and every gift, and it amazed me the amount of pride that she took in it. I can see her still now, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire, wrapping paper, scissors and sellotape in front of her, a pile of unwrapped presents on one side, wrapped presents on the other, singing to herself as she worked. She sang every Christmas song I've ever heard of, and quite a few I hadn't, not pausing for breath during the final verse of "The Twelve Days of Christmas," and displaying a worrying familiarity with the story of "Good King Wenceslas". However, it took her breaking into "Santa Baby," to break my fascination, because the way she was singing it, and the lyrics of the song, had me closing the distance between us, capturing her lips with mine, making her forget all about wrapping presents for the moment.

The presents were shipped to my brother and sisters, and to her family, and we flew up here last night. Today is Christmas Eve, and while we would usually still be at the White House at this stage of the day, this year, knowing how important a family Christmas was to Ginger, knowing how much she wanted me to meet everyone, I will admit to pulling some strings, allowing us both to leave last night. We rented a car at the airport, drove to Rick and Dee's place, greeted with kisses by an extremely enthusiastic Alannah, and a very tired Emily. She soon woke up once she saw the visitors, and Alannah told us that they normally weren't allowed to stay up this late, but because we were coming, Rick and Dee had made an exception.

Of course, once we were there, they were both sent to bed pretty quickly, after Ginger read them a bedtime story apiece. The four of us sat around talking for a while, then Ginger's parents came around, and I was finally introduced to them. I think that they were a little apprehensive about meeting me, knowing that I'm her boss, that I'm older than she is; basically, the same worries that Rick expressed the first time I met him. After a few minutes though, something seemed to shift in the room, all tension dissipating, and I found myself liking them. It's easy to see where Ginger and Rick got their looks from; they are definitely their father's children, in looks anyway. In temperament, there's no doubt that Ginger is her mother's daughter; same quiet manner, but will of steel underneath it all. While she was talking to me, she may have been completely civil on the surface, but there was a definite undercurrent of "Hurt my little girl and I will make you pay" there too. Not that I blamed him - after all, Rick more or less told me the same thing when I first met him, and I agree. Ginger's had far too much pain in her life, and I would never do anything that would cause her pain.

We spent the night talking by the fire, at least until Ginger was yawning almost continuously, and everyone took pity on her and told her that she should go to bed. She didn't have to be told twice, and ignoring Dee's knowing smirk, I made my excuses and went with her. I knew what she was thinking, and just in case I didn't, Ginger made sure to enlighten me, but contrary to Dee's opinion, both of us were too tired for anything like that. We went straight to sleep, although we did make up for it this morning when the alarm went off.

I spent the morning trying to read the newspaper, constantly asking Dee if there was anything I could do to help her, being rebuffed at every turn. The kids were constantly coming up to me, with their toys and their stories, and I quickly realised that the best thing I could do for Dee was to keep them away from her, to allow her to get her work done. Ginger, on the other hand, was out of the house early, something to do with helping her oldest brother Dominic to buy his wife's Christmas present - "It's a tradition" she told me with a shrug, as he barrelled through the back door, introduced himself to me hurriedly, and dragged Ginger away. Dee told me a little bit of the history there, and before long, the door opened again, and another woman came in, introducing herself as Fiona, Dominic's wife, a parade of children on her heels. They were pointed out and named to me, but ran away quickly, prompting Fiona to laugh, and tell me that they weren't usually that shy. Getting to know this family, I somehow didn't doubt it.

Ginger and Dominic weren't that long at the mall, back in time for lunch, and the six adults were gathered around the table when Dominic dropped his bombshell. "By the way Gin," he said casually, too casually I noticed immediately. "Granny wants to see you." There was something hovering around his lips that I couldn't quite make sense of, and I glanced at Ginger, and was confused to see her swallow nervously. "And Toby," Dominic added, almost as an afterthought.

"And Toby?" Ginger echoed, as I looked around the table in confusion, and the other four showed various degrees of amusement.

"Oh yes indeed," Fiona agreed, eyes dancing. "I believe her exact words were 'Ginger had better bring her young man to see me when they get here.' " Her gaze landed squarely on me, and she raised an eyebrow. "You've been summoned Toby."

I chuckled. "Why do I feel like I’m suddenly facing a firing squad?" I asked, and that caused more hilarity amongst the rest of the table, Ginger excluded.

"Oh, you just wait 'til you've faced Granny," Rick told me. "You'll pray for a firing squad."

Ginger's pale face only made me feel more nervous, although her unease seemed to disappear over the course of the day, and now we're on our way to her parents' house to keep my appointment with Granny.

I don’t know whether to be intrigued or scared, so I'm hovering somewhere in between. Ginger is talking a mile a minute still, pointing out who lives where and the memories she has of people I've never met, but she quietens when we turn into a quiet cul-de-sac, stopping in front of a two storey, red brick house. "This is it," she says quietly, and I take in the sight with interest. The garden is neat and well trimmed, and unlike some of the houses around it, there are no snowmen in the garden, or reindeer on the roof. There are some tiny coloured lights strung around the trees in the front garden, and icicle lights hang from the guttering, while a Christmas tree is clearly visible in the front room. The whole effect is very Christmassy, but also very classy, and it gives me another insight into where Ginger came from, how her background has shaped her.

"Should we go in?" I ask her after a minute of standing there, and, taking a deep breath, she nods slowly.

"You should know," she begins, then stops, shaking her head. "Granny is over ninety years of age," she says. "And sometimes, she can say things that… might not necessarily come across as they are meant to."

I frown, trying to read between the lines. "What are you trying to say?"

"That sometimes, although she doesn't mean to be, Granny can be a little bit…cantankerous, I think is the word…" Ginger's trying to talk around this, trying to phrase it in the nicest way, and I burst out laughing.

"You're warning me about cantankerous?" I ask her, and she begins to laugh too.

"I know, I know," she says, closing her eyes, tilting her head back to the sky. "But you just have to remember... she doesn't mean any harm..."

"Cantankerous people never do," I tell her, bringing our joined hands to my lips, holding them there for a moment. That brings a smile to her lips, a genuine one, and I can feel her relax slightly.

"I'm sorry," she tells me. "This probably isn't the way you wanted to celebrate your birthday."

I shake my head, because the fact of the matter is, I'm not a very birthday orientated person at the best of times. "Ginger, believe me," I tell her honestly. "There is nowhere in the world I'd rather be." She lifts an eyebrow and I draw her close to me, pressing my lips to hers quickly. "It's going to be fine," I say, and she nods, taking a deep breath as we begin to make our way up to the house.

Once we get in there, there are even more adults and children running around, and I get introduced to more people than I can possibly remember the names of. But they all get the same kind of looks on their faces when Ginger mentions going to see Granny. "Well, since Granny summoned you, you'd better go Gin," says a tall redheaded man, who I think is Ginger's brother Mike. Then again, it could be her other brother, Neil. I'm not really sure.

"Thanks for the support there Mikey," she tells him dryly, and that, at least, answers one of my wonderings.

"She's in her room," Ginger's mother tells us as she walks by, bowl of potatoes in hand, which she loosens her hold on long enough to pat Ginger's shoulder. "Go on up."

So, taking another deep breath, Ginger stands, with a bob of her head motioning me to follow her. I do so, ignoring the knowing looks and smiles that come from the table. We walk down the hall, as the cries of playing children echo from the rooms around us. We stop at a room at the end of the hall, the door of which is firmly closed, and Ginger's hand is raised, all poised to knock, but then she lets it drop, turning to me. "You'll remember…"

"Ginger…" I'm sounding more like Toby her boss than Toby her boyfriend, and I bite the thought off before I can say anything more, raising my own hand and knocking on the door.

"Come in," is the reply from the other side, and Ginger opens the door, squeezing my hand tightly.

I follow her in, standing back while she goes to the woman sitting in a rocking chair by the window. She crosses the room in record time, and the woman stands up when she sees her, a smile lighting up her face. I barely keep back a gasp when I see that smile; because it's one that's very familiar to me. It's the same smile that I see every day on Ginger's face, the same smile that Alannah bestows on me when she sees me coming, and upon seeing it on this old woman, I hear another piece of the puzzle that is Ginger's life falling into place.

Ginger takes her grandmother into her arms, holding her tightly for a moment, the old woman's white hair just about reaching her granddaughter's shoulder. She's tiny, and slim to boot, looking as if a good gust of wind would blow her over. But her eyes are bright and sharp, and when she pulls back to look Ginger over from top to toe and then speaks, her voice is strong. "You're too thin," are the first words out of her mouth, and a flush of red floods Ginger's cheeks. "You tell your mother that she's to put plenty of meat on your plate."

"Yes Granny," Ginger says, a note of long suffering patience combining with amusement in her face.

"Don't yes Granny me," comes the immediate retort, and I detect the faintest hint of a New York accent when she talks. "Just make sure she does it." She sits down then, the stern countenance she had adopted fading into a gentle smile. "How's my baby girl?"

"I'm good Granny," Ginger says, glancing quickly at me. "There's someone I want you to meet." The old lady turns a laserlike stare on me, and I remind myself that I've faced down Presidents, Vice-Presidents, congressmen, senators, diplomatic aides, and the First Lady in a snit. A little old lady shouldn't have the power to have me quaking in my shoes, and yet, this one does. Still, I take a couple of steps closer as Ginger extends her hand to me, and I take it, stepping as close to her as I can get without actually hiding behind her. "Granny, this is Toby Ziegler."

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs Clark," I say formally, and she looks from me to Ginger and back again before raising her hands in confusion and addressing Ginger.

"This is him? This is the young man I've been hearing so much about?"

"Granny-" Ginger begins, but she doesn't get any further.

"I mean, when I heard the phrase 'young man' I was expecting an actual young man. He's got to be, what? Fifty?"

I shift on my feet slightly. "Today," I admit, and she narrows her eyes. "I'm fifty today," I elaborate. "Today's my birthday."

She leans forward on her chair, hands gripping the armrests. "You're fifty today," she repeats, as if to make sure.

"Yes Ma'am," I reply, giving Ginger's hand a squeeze. She appears to have been struck dumb.

"You're fifty years old. You're one of the most powerful men in the country. You couldn't find a woman your own age without chasing after my grand-daughter?"

"Granny!" Ginger sounds horrified, but I'm strangely calm.

"I don't want a woman my own age," I find myself saying. "I want Ginger." I glance down at her as I speak, hoping that she knows all this anyway, but needing to say it out loud. "There are hundreds of women in Washington. But none of them can hold a candle to your grand-daughter."

Tears are in Ginger's eyes and she battles them back, her hand around my waist pressing me tighter against her the only sign that what I've said is affecting her. I look back at her grandmother, and I'm surprised to see a gleam of triumph in her eyes, a smile hovering around her lips. "Yes," she says. "I think so too." Ginger's head whips around to her, and my own eyebrows raise in surprise, and her grandmother takes advantage of that fact to continue. "Ginger, why don't you step outside for a few moments? Your not-so-young man and I need to have a little chat."

"Granny-" says Ginger in confusion, at the same time as I say, "Mrs Clark-" and once again, we're both interrupted by this incredible woman.

"Ginger, you're not too old to be put over my knee. And as for you-" Her index finger hovers in the air, pointing dead at me. "None of this 'Mrs Clark' nonsense. I'm Granny to everyone in this house, be they Clark by birth or marriage, and that's just how I like it, you understand?"

"Yes Ma'am," is all I can say, which is still better than Ginger can do. She's standing motionless by my side, staring at Granny in shock.

"I'll be gentle with him. I promise," are Granny's last words, and with a last glance at the two of us, Ginger obediently leaves the room, closing the door behind her. My eyes follow her out the door, and only when it closes completely do I look at Granny, who's still looking at me with that same smile on her face. "Sit down Toby," she tells me, motioning to the window seat beside her. "You and I need to have a little talk."

I'm no fool, and I do as I'm told, not taking my eyes off the old woman as she settles herself back in her chair, resembling nothing so much as the President when he's about to embark on an hour long sermon on some trivial topic that I couldn't care less about. "I'm not sure how much Ginger's told you about me," is her opening gambit, the statement hanging out there, waiting for me to supplement it.

"I know that she loves you very much. That she cares about what you think about her. About us," I say honestly, and that has Granny waving a hand.

"Not about that. About the family."

I smile, because Ginger's told me plenty about her family, most of it not suitable to be repeated around her grandmother. "Bits and pieces," I say, and she shakes her head, as if she knows just what I'm thinking.

"Let me guess - all the good stuff that you can't tell an old lady like me, am I right?"

A straight shooter; no nonsense about her - another trait she has in common with Ginger, another trait that I can respect. "Something like that."

"Well, let me fill you in on a few things." She reaches over to the table beside her, taking up an old photo album; its cracked brown spine showing its age, the photos inside a faded sepia colour. She flicks through it until she comes to a particular page. "This is me," she says then, turning the album around to me. "And Ginger's grandfather on our wedding day." I look at the picture, then up at the old woman, unable to keep the surprise off my face, and my reaction makes her grin. "Quite a resemblance, huh?"

"That's putting it mildly," I manage, because the woman staring out at me from that old photograph could be Ginger's twin.

"Dominic - that's my husband; Ginger's brother was named after him - we always wanted a big family," Granny continues. "Lots of children running around. It wasn't meant to be though. Charlie, Ginger's father was our one and only. He was a year old when Dominic died. Pneumonia. I was shattered. People told me that I was young, that I'd get over it, and I got on with my life. I had to; I had a son to raise. But I never really got over it. Never really stopped loving him, and was never able to love anyone else either." She closes that album, leaving it on her lap, reaching for a new, glossier one. "I loved my boy," she tells me. "But there was always a part of me that wanted a little girl as well. When Charlie got married, I thought that that was my chance. Four boys later, I thought it wasn't going to be. Then Ginger came along." Another picture is presented to me, that of Granny, some thirty years younger than she is now, holding a newborn baby in her arms, the child's shock of red hair clearly visible. "They called her after me, you know. Virginia. I tried to talk them out of it, told them it was no kind of name for a little baby, not in those days, but my son's a stubborn man, in case you didn't know. Turned out they were able to shorten it down to Ginger though, which suited her I thought. Understand me Toby, I love all my grandchildren. But Ginger…she's special to me."

The next picture that she shows me, I know for a fact, is ten years old. It's Granny, smiling proudly for the camera, and beside her is Ginger in her wedding dress. "You should have seen her that day Toby," Granny tells me. "I'd never seen her so happy. She was always quieter than the boys, always shyer. Her mother used to be so worried about her; I'd tell her she'd come into her own one day. And she did; with Alan's help. She worshipped him, and he adored her. When she lost him…" Her voice trails off and her face takes on a far away expression.

"She's told me," I say.

Granny turns those sharp blue eyes, so like her granddaughter's, on me. "I was more scared looking at her those days and months after the accident than I've ever been in my life," she admits candidly. "I thought it was going to kill her. Then she went off to New Hampshire. They all thought she was nuts; it was her mother that talked them all into letting her go. But I-" She points to herself with a firm nod. "I was the one who talked her mother into letting her go. I told her she needed to do something to get herself out of that house, away from all those memories." She leans forward in her seat, holding my gaze. "I know what it's like to be widowed young. I know what it's like to be lonely, wishing for a past you can't get back. I didn't want that for my little girl."

There's a moment of silence, because she's looking at me as if to make sure I understand her, and I'm unable to speak.

"Then, as time went by, we got her back. I didn't know why, I didn't care why. All I cared about was that my baby was getting her life back again. And then, this summer, she began to mention you. Even over the phone, I could see the sparkle in her eye. A grandmother knows these things. Of course, Alannah and Emily were excellent spies too." The casual comment makes me laugh aloud. "I know Ginger. I know what she's like when she loves someone. So what I want to know, what I want to ask you is, do you love her?"

The question stuns me, firstly because she asked it in the first place, secondly because it strikes me that I've never told Ginger those exact words. I'm sure she knows, she has to. I think I've shown her, in my deeds, but I've never actually come out and said the words.

"With all my heart," I say simply, and Granny nods.

"And you're going to take care of her?"

"Always."

"You're not going to hurt her? Break her heart? Because I'm warning you-" The finger is raised again, and I've got no doubt that she means her next words. "I'm over ninety years old, but you hurt my little girl, I'm gonna hurt you."

"I would never hurt her," I say, just about managing to keep the smile off my face.

Granny holds my gaze for a moment longer, and she must like what she sees there, because she nods once. "Well then," she says, opening her arms to me. "Welcome to the family." I don't move for a moment, and she tilts her head to one side, beckoning me, and I take the hint, standing and going to her. She enfolds me in a hug, much like the one she gave Ginger when we first entered the room. When I pull away, she takes my face in her hands, pulling my head down and kissing my forehead. I haven't experienced anything like that in a very long time, and it feels oddly nice.

"Thank you," I say, and she waves her hand dismissively.

"Why don't you go get Ginger, then come back in here. She's probably worried that I ate you."

I chuckle, because I'd have been worried about that too. Doing as I was told, I go to the door, stepping out into the hall, and nearly tripping over Ginger, who's sitting on the floor, back against the wall, legs pulled up so that her chin is resting on her knees. Her eyes widen as she looks up at me, and I frown at her. "Were you listening at the door?"

"No." She's a pretty terrible liar, and a boss-like glare from me has her changing her story. "Yes. But I couldn't hear anything." I extend a hand down to her and she takes it, allowing me to pull her up. "Are you ok?"

"I think I'll survive," I tell her, fighting back a smirk, pulling her into the room.

Once Granny sees us, she's in charge once again, and she motions us to the window seat again. I let Ginger sit closest to her grandmother, and Granny reaches across to take her hand. "You've got a good one here," she tells her simply. "Don't let him get away."

There are tears in Ginger's eyes as she looks at Granny, before glancing briefly at me, then back to Granny again. "I won't," she promises.

"He's gonna take care of you," Granny continues, and while I know that Ginger doesn't need taking care of, she doesn't point that out. Not that I blame her mind you. "And if he doesn't, you come to see me."

Ginger laughs through her tears, reaching out to hug Granny, whispering something in her ear that I don't catch, doubtless just as she planned it, but it makes Granny smile, and pat her on the back reassuringly. She does then to Ginger just what she did to me, holding her face in her hands, kissing her forehead.

"You should get down to the rest of them" Granny tells us as Ginger sits back down beside me. "But first, I have a present for Toby."

"For me?" Surprise forces the words past my lips, and Ginger looks as confused as I feel.

"It's Christmas," Granny points out. "And your birthday, not that my grand-daughter saw fit to inform me of that. What kind of Granny doesn't get her grandson a present?"

Her sincerity rings through, and I take the gift-wrapped box from her without a word, beginning to open it once she waves her hand, granting me her permission. I find a small burgundy box, one that's rather dinged with age, and cast a quick look up at Ginger before I open it. An imperceptible shake of her head tells me she doesn't know what's inside either, and when I open the box, her gasp of shock echoes my own sentiments.

Lying nestled on a bed of cotton wool is a gold pocket-watch and chain, obviously old, obviously expensive. "Granny…" Ginger breathes, at the same time as I begin, "This is exquisite, but I-"

"This was given to my husband - your grandfather - by his father on our wedding day," Granny tells us, interrupting both protests. "I kept it, kept it safe, because I wanted to pass it on to our children, or our grandchildren. But as the boys got older, I didn't want to give it to one of them. It's not like I had three others to give out. So, I was going to give it to Alan, Ginger. That was going to be his present, ten years ago." The knowledge of why she never gave it to him casts a pall over the room, and I lay my hand on Ginger's knee. "After that, I put the box back in the drawer again. Until today. Until I knew you'd found the man for you."

Her words have tears streaming down Ginger's cheeks, and a lump comes to my own throat as I lift the watch from the box. It's a heavy weight, and its ticking echoes in the otherwise silent room. I turn it over in my palm and see an inscription there, which I read out loud. "Fugit irreparabile tempus."

"You know what that means?" Granny asks, and I nod.

"The irreplaceable time escapes," I say, looking not at her, but at Ginger, and I can just about see her nod out of the corner of my eye.

"I didn't realise until after he was gone how true that is. But I think you two might just know better than anyone how true it is."

My eyes meet Ginger's, and I nod slowly. "This is a wonderful gift," I say softly, not sure if I'm talking about the watch, the blessing that she's given me and Ginger, or if I'm just talking about Ginger. Maybe it's a mixture of all three. "I'll treasure it always."

"You'd better." There's humour in Granny's voice, and Ginger and I both laugh. "Remember, what I said earlier on."

"I will," I promise, putting the watch back in its box, rising to hug her again. "Thank you."

She hugs me, then she stands. "You want to thank me? How about you escort your two favourite ladies down to the living room? I've got a room full of great grandchildren who are going to sing me some Christmas carols."

I look down at her, this diminutive old woman, the woman who so terrified me a few minutes ago, the woman who has now welcomed me into her family. Then I look at the smiling, yet crying woman who's made it all possible. "I would love to," I say, and with Granny on one arm, and Ginger on the other, we make our way out the door and down the hall.

>*<*>*<

It's much later when Ginger and I finally get a chance to be on our own, after dinner has been eaten, and carols have been sung, and all the children, lead by Alannah and Emily have told me what they're getting for Christmas. We've broken up into small groups, talking amongst ourselves when Ginger takes me by the hand and leads me out to the front porch. The icicle lights dance in the slight breeze, and it's cold enough for our breath to form little clouds in the night air, and from our perch on the bench, we can see the stars twinkling in the night sky. It's a beautiful evening, if a little cold, and we cuddle up close together, ostensibly to keep warm, in reality for that reason, and for another, different reason.

"I think they like you," Ginger tells me after a long silence, one where we just sit together, enjoying the peace and quiet, and solitude.

"Well," I tell her, tightening my arms around her middle. "I like them too."

She twists slightly so that she can see me, her nose crinkling up in a frown. "You're not just saying that, are you? Because you don't have-"

I cut her off with a finger to her lips. "That's not what I'm doing," I tell her honestly. "You have a wonderful family."

Her cheeks flush with colour, and she looks down. "Well, you're part of it now too," she tells me, and while she's trying to be off-hand about it, I can see how much it means to her.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

She smiles, then a thought occurs to her and a peal of giggles escapes her. "I thought Granny was really going to give you what for when she threw me out of there."

"I wasn't so sure that she wouldn't myself," I reply. "She just wanted to make sure I was going to take care of you, that's all."

"And what did you tell her?" She already knows, but she just wants to hear it from me, to hear it again. Once more I'm struck by the realisation that I've never told her just how important she is to me, just how I feel about her. I've always presumed that she knows, never thinking that I might just need to tell her anyway.

"That I'm in love with her grand-daughter," I say, and those words have her twisting around in her seat to look directly at me, and there's a suspicious sheen in her eyes. "And that I would never do anything to hurt her."

She sucks in a shaky breath, her hand reaching up to cup my cheek, pressing her lips to mine, then pulling me into a hug. I return it, burying my head in her hair. I can't remember the last time I was so aware of everything that's going on around me: the stars above us, the Christmas lights dotted through the neighbourhood, the muffled sounds of the family party going on inside. But most important to me is the woman in my arms, the woman who is holding on to me tightly, as if she's afraid that I'm going to slip away from her. The woman who whispers into my ear the words I've been waiting to hear; "I love you too." The woman who's given me the happiest Christmas ever.

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