Sleepy-eyed and stifling a yawn, Hunter fumbled around the corner and banged inconsiderately on the door diagonally across from his own. "Morning," he announced, trying to shake off the drowsy stupor that seemed intent on haunting him today. "Time to get up!"

There was an inarticulate groan from the other side of the door... which was actually pretty good, considering the number of times he'd gotten no response at all. He glanced over at the door that stood open, revealing an empty room. She was the early riser in the family--an early bird anomaly among a nest of night owls.

"Come on, buddy," he called, banging on the door in front of him again. "Up and at 'em."

With that, he left the room and the occupant it sheltered to their own devices. He wasn't entirely sure that the day's festivities would win out over the comfortable draw of a slept-in bed, but he was convinced that he himself needed coffee either way. His bed, unfortunately, had lost the battle with the day's agenda, and caffeine was the only thing that was going to stave off a rematch.

The kitchen was less welcoming in the morning light than it had been the night before, but he worked around the mess. He heard a door open as he got the coffee started, and the bathroom door slammed a moment later. So drastic measures wouldn't be called for after all. Too bad. Might have woken him up, too.

Hunter had plunked two bowls down on the table by the time twelve years worth of lanky stubbornness stumbled into the kitchen. He grabbed a box from the cupboard and filled them both to overflowing, dumping spoons on the table in between and yanking the refrigerator open. His breakfast companion had plunked himself down in a chair and stared while Hunter poured milk into the spaces between cereal.

They ate in silence, as was their habit. If it was an effort just to get out of bed, small talk was out of the question. They had to be up this early if they were going to make their scheduled itinerary, and they had to be up exactly this early. No earlier. Certain other members of the family felt it was important to leave "buffer" time, time for foolishness or unexpected emergencies that could throw the schedule off.

The two of them knew better. They got up only as soon as they had to in order to dress, eat, and climb into the car. All other activities were non-essential and therefore not something that necessitated an earlier start.

Breakfast was cleared by the simple expedient of dropping the bowls and silverware in the sink, and they were ready to hit the road. Hunter took his wallet and his cell phone. His traveling companion outfitted himself with headphones, personal music selection, sunglasses, and a backpack. Hunter rolled his eyes, watching the kid climb into the passenger seat with all the detachment of a teenager.

Great, he thought, torn between amusement and dismay. Those are the years we need to drag out. Can't he just stay twelve until he's twenty?

He had thought the same thing about pretty much every other year of Hanoi's life, so maybe he was worrying for nothing. But after seeing the teen years from an adult's perspective the first time through, he wasn't eager to repeat the experience. He was convinced, especially after looking back on his own high school years, that it would only be worse with a boy than it had been with a girl.

He turned the radio on as soon as he started the truck, which elicited a storm of protest from his passenger. Hunter pointed out that he had headphones. Hanoi countered that it wasn't his own musical influences that he was worried about, but what Hunter's said about him. It was the principle of the thing, he argued, and Hunter rolled his eyes. Why did that sound familiar?

"Let's talk about industry standards," Hunter said, turning out onto the main road. "If we're gonna talk about principles, let's talk about this so-called music you're so into. Does it have anything other than a beat?"

"Does it need anything else? Come on, if you're listening to old school Toby Keith for the message, then I really am worried about your principles."

This was where Hunter was at a disadvantage. They might start from the same level first thing in the morning, but the kid woke up way faster than he did. How come young brains seemed to engage so quickly when criticizing and so slowly when studying?

It was an argument Hunter was doomed to lose, and finally he resorted to the "I'm driving so I get to decide" line of reasoning. It would only be a few more years before that came back to haunt him, and he was determined to make the most of them. They fell to bickering several times along the familiar route. Each time, Hunter only became more aware that this kid was going to debate him into a corner one day. Just like his dad.

"Headphones off," he ordered when they arrived at their destination. "You know the rules, buddy. Leave 'em in the car."

Hanoi went from confrontational pre-teen to pathetic child in the time it took to blink. "But it'll be forever until we leave, and there's nothing to do..."

"There's plenty to do," Hunter said firmly. "You can bring them in the car on the way to Grandma's, but you're not wearing them in the house."

Or not so firmly. He could tell by the immediate lightening of that deliberately sorrowful expression that he had just been "negotiated." Bringing the headphones in the car on the next leg of the trip had been a victory in itself.

His brother's house at the edge of town had been the subject of much teasing when first purchased, having as it did a very cutesy picket fence and blue vinyl siding. When Hunter's husband had started talking about the possibility of a house soon after, however, every word had come back to haunt him. He had since learned when to keep his mouth shut.

He had learned, Hunter amended ruefully, but he had never gotten any better at it. So when Tori appeared in the open doorway with a fistful of apron and her husband at her shoulder, Hunter had to smirk. They were hopeless. When their dog collided with Tori's legs and tumbled through the door, ungainly legs going in every direction, he laughed aloud. Geez, they could make postcards out of anything they did.

Hanoi was frowning down at the dog by now, steadfastly refusing to humor him with a pat. "Work equals force times distance," he informed the eager dog. "You're doing way too much work. You should either slow down or move around less."

"Happy Thanksgiving, guys," Tori called, waving at them from the porch. "Come on in!"

"Good to see you, bro," Blake added as they came up the steps. "Hey kid," he greeted Hanoi. "Kevin's out back with the basketball hoop."

The boy looked up at Hunter beseechingly, and he just shook his head in fond amusement. Hanging out with the adults while they socialized in typically boring grown up ways was no picnic for any kid, and Hunter knew it as well as he did. "Just remember to come in before we leave."

Hanoi rolled his eyes, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which it probably was, but the exasperation reminded his father of someone else. "Sure thing," he said, taking off around the house without a second glance.

"How are you guys doing?" Tori asked gently, as the three of them made their way inside. "Have you heard anything from Cam?"

"Yeah," Hunter muttered. "He called last night."

He could remember a time when he had scoffed at the idea of long-distance relationships. He had sworn he would never be involved in one--too much trouble, the stress of never knowing exactly how your partner was or what he was doing... it wasn't just a matter of control, either. It was a question of physical separation from someone you supposedly depended on.

Hunter hated being lonely.

Unfortunately, Hanoi was a lot like him in that respect. Cam was independent, self-sufficient to a fault, and in the face of loneliness he could bury himself in work. The family members he'd left behind had only each other.

"He call late?" Blake guessed, leaving the front door open behind them. They were alarmingly idyllic for a family that lived in a California suburb.

"Yeah, I woke Hanoi up." Hunter clapped Blake on the shoulder as they followed Tori into the kitchen, more for the warmth of human contact than anything else. God, this fall had sucked. "We all had a nice little family chat. Us in our PJs at two in the morning, and them in the middle of some alien spaceport somewhere."

Tori just gave him a sympathetic smile for his bitter tone, but Blake studied him carefully. "You still okay with all of this, bro?"

Hunter glanced out the window at the backyard. "It's not me I'm worried about."

"How's he doing?" Tori asked, opening the oven to slide a casserole in. "Blake, the vegetables."

"Yeah, right." Blake sprang into action. With his head in the refrigerator he added over his shoulder, "Hanoi seems fine. He has a blast when he's over here, and you said his grades are as good as they've ever been."

"Yeah, well." Hunter watched the kids challenge each other with ridiculous basketball tricks, thinking of Cam's pretended disdain whenever practice became an issue at their house. "Grades aren't everything."

"Bro." Blake dumped several bundles of vegetables onto the counter at once, reaching for a cutting board. Or a knife. Probably both. "You have two kids, y'know."

Hunter just set his jaw, still staring out the window.

Tori put a hand on her hip and hitched the other one up on the counter. She and her niece had always been close, maybe more so because Tori didn't have a girl of her own. "How's Michiko doing?"

"Having the time of her life," Hunter admitted grudgingly. "Hanoi is convinced she must be an alien herself, she loves it so much." His birthday present to his sister had been a fake genealogy detailing "the true history" of her adoption. Michiko hadn't been amused, and Hunter had had to swear up and down to Cam that he hadn't known about it beforehand.

"And Cam?" Tori insisted, quietly but inexorably.

Hunter shifted. "He likes it too," he grumbled. He didn't see what was so great about hanging out with aliens, himself. Weren't people on Earth weird enough? What were they looking for out there, anyway?

He was grateful that he had at least one child who showed zero interest in space travel. Michiko's normally withdrawn air evaporated when confronted with anything relating to other planets, and her delight was just enough to make him forgive Leanne for introducing her to the academies' space program in the first place. Just.

If Hanoi had gone for it too, though...

"Then I guess you're lucky," Blake told the vegetables he was efficiently chopping. "She's not old enough to be out there on her own, and you wouldn't want her to be anyway. You're lucky Cam doesn't mind taking her on these crazy 'sabbaticals'."

"What's wrong with Earth?" Hunter wanted to know. "What's wrong with California? I don't get it, bro. Why'd they want to go off on some messed up adventure instead of being with us?"

"Maybe they're wondering the same thing," Tori said carefully. "Why would you want to stay behind instead of being with them?"

Because California was home. It was where they'd met, been married, watched their kids grow up. Hunter stared out the window, wondering if it could be any less home to Cam and Michiko. And if not, what made them want to leave?

Blake and Tori let him brood for longer than they probably should have, but eventually he got his act together and managed some small contribution to the dinner preparations. He arranged some of the vegetables Blake had chopped on a plate while his brother steamed or mashed the rest of them. Tori produced a bowl of homemade cookies from the night before, limiting each of them to one before she covered the bowl and added it to the growing pile on the counter.

For years they had gone to Tori's parents' house for Thanksgiving. Cam's family didn't make much of a fuss over the holiday, so they took the kids to Grandma's... or as close to it as they could manage. Tori's mom had quickly gotten smart about the influx of growing children and had recently delegated the cooking of turkeys to two separate relatives. She was still in charge of the location and organization, and with less cooking she found more time to encourage a festive atmosphere.

An atmosphere they wouldn't all get to enjoy, this year. He wasn't brooding, he told himself. He was just wondering if Cam and Michiko would bother to celebrate at all.

"What about Christmas?" Tori asked casually, while they were cleaning up. The casserole was ready, the extra appetizers and desserts had been arranged, and they were almost ready to call the kids. "Will we see all of you for Christmas?"

"Yeah," Hunter assured her. He said it not because he knew for sure, but because the last time he had asked Cam had said "yes" and he hadn't dared to ask again. "They'll be back by then."

"Time to go," Blake called out the back door. "Beat feet to the front of the house, Kev, Hanoi."

Hunter watched them go with a smile before being distracted by Tori's instructions for food-to-car transport. He and Blake found themselves as loaded down as she was, and they still had to make a second trip. It was almost noon before they were actually on the road to Grandma's house. Thanksgiving was a day-long event... but it was always worth it.

At least, it was worth it to him.

He didn't ignore the house on purpose. He honestly didn't notice stuff like dust and dirty dishes and disorganized shoes--shoes, for crying out loud. Who cared if they were neat or not? He knew Cam noticed, though, so he made the effort. He kept the place clean, he made the kids pick up after themselves, and he didn't kick his shoes halfway down the hall just because he could.

It still surprised him how different the place looked when there was someone around who did notice that kind of thing. His initial effort at holiday decorating had involved turning the "Extreme Ironing" calendar in the kitchen from November to December. Getting a Christmas tree had always been a family activity, he reasoned, so it would be unfair for him to assume that responsibility all by himself. And after the tree, what other decorations were there?

Hunter's mouth curved upward in a tiny smirk. Nothing, really. Except for the wreath that now hung on the door, the candles in the front windows, and paper snowflakes pinned to the bulletin board. The tree occupied its usual place of prominence in the rec room, colored lights sparkling amidst more ornaments than any family had a right to own. Some people were seriously obsessed with filling every branch.

"I get to pick!" Michiko called, slipping into the rec room just ahead of her brother and making a beeline for the television. "I've been away; I haven't gotten to see anything!"

"That's why I should get to pick," Hanoi countered. He was right behind her, the two of them clearly released from dinner cleanup and ready to begin their Christmas Eve rituals. "I've been here and I've had to see everything at least once already. It's all new to you so what do you care?"

Hunter overrode them both. "I'm picking," he informed them. "Muppet Christmas Carol. End of discussion."

This was met with disappointed exclamations and calculated wheedling, but he stood firm. He knew from long experience that this was one of the few funny holiday movies that someone with an annoyingly intelligent disposition would deign to pick apart. Plus it set the right tone for the evening.

"Movie time!" Hunter announced, loudly enough that it could be heard through the house. It was unnecessary, since the ones who generally needed to be called were already here, but it made him feel more at home. Funny that the feeling had been so lacking lately when he had been here the whole time.

"That's my chair," Hanoi informed Michiko. "I always sit there when Dad and I watch stuff at night."

"Tough," she retorted. "There's plenty of other places to sit."

Hanoi scowled at her. "When are you leaving again?" he wanted to know.

She just smiled sweetly at him. "Never."

With a heavy sigh, Hanoi pulled a beanbag out of the pile in the corner and flung himself down in it, arms crossed sullenly over his chest. Hunter kept his mouth shut, knowing that anything he said would just lead to an endless round of "But he started it!" and "I did not!" Instead he cued up the movie and silently thanked anyone who was listening for bringing them these two terrible, wonderful kids.

A motion in the doorway made him look up just as a familiar and deeply missed voice suggested, "A little help, here?"

Michiko was on her feet immediately, darting over to remove two mugs of hot chocolate from the precarious grasp of their ambitious handler. "Thank you," Cam said, balancing the remaining mugs in either hand. Michiko dipped her head in a quick imitation bow, then delivered one of her mugs to the coffee table and retreated to her chair with the other.

Cam's gaze went to the television as he handed Hanoi a mug. "Ah, the familiar bastardization of Charles Dickens. Nothing personifies respect for the holiday season like a bunch of singing puppets."

Hunter couldn't help but smile and he knew the expression was there in his voice. "Just for that," he said over his shoulder, "you're not getting the remote."

The movie didn't keep anyone quiet, and he hadn't expected it to. Everyone knew the songs by heart, hot chocolate was better with marshmallows, the movie was long and the distractions were frequent. Hanoi made multiple trips into the kitchen, Michiko got up to get a camera and then later, a book, and at one point the phone rang.

Hunter tightened his arm around Cam's shoulders when he made a move to get up. "We don't answer the phone in this house on Christmas Eve," he informed him. In truth, he wasn't about to let go of his husband without some extensive bargaining and a non-negotiable return time of five or fewer minutes.

Voice mail broadcast the message being left anyway, and it was a woman's voice that said wryly, "Don't get up, guys. I'm just calling to let you know that dinner tomorrow is being moved back an hour--"

"Aunt Tori!" Michiko dropped her book and leapt out of her chair. She ran around the corner into the kitchen, and a clatter preceded her breathless, "Hello?" as she interrupted the phone's recording system.

Hunter felt Cam relax against him again, and he smiled contentedly. They listened to Michiko chatter on about her adventures, watched without comment while Hanoi stole her chair in her absence, and used the movie as an excuse to do nothing but sit there and hold each other. It was easily the best evening Hunter had enjoyed in months.

Each kid was allowed to open one present before going to bed. As usual, Cam picked the presents for them while pretending they could choose anything they wanted. How he remembered what was in every box was a mystery to Hunter, who felt that all wrapped packages had a certain amount of anonymity. Regardless, Cam ensured that neither of them ended up with something annoyingly loud or engrossing just before going to sleep.

Gifts opened, the kids were finally sent to bed, and Hunter was his usual helpful self when it came to filling the stockings. He carried things from their hiding places to the rec room, dumped them on the couch, and then sat back to watch Cam sort them out. This year he took particular pleasure in the ritual, giving him as it did extra time to do nothing but watch someone he hadn't seen enough of lately.

Cam's hair was longer. It was also a little bit uneven, if one devoted their full attention to staring at it for an extended period of time... and Hunter did. He wondered if Cam had trusted their daughter with a pair of scissors or if he had done it himself.

"Hey," Cam said, his voice making Hunter realize that the job was almost done. Only one small present was leftover, and Cam was carrying it himself as he moved over to sit next to Hunter. "I brought you something special."

"Yeah," Hunter agreed quietly. He didn't take his eyes off of Cam's face. "You did."

When they turned out the lights, the warm glow of the tree filled the rec room, and they stood there admiring the scene for a moment. Then the tree, too, darkened, and Hunter felt warm fingers slide in between his own. They made their way to the bedroom without a word.

There were a lot of considerations one didn't have to make when one slept alone. Hunter was just as happy to have them all back, from having to wait for the shower to taking turns brushing their teeth. He trimmed Cam's hair for him, enough to make it even but not enough to really change its length, and Cam smiled at him when their eyes met in the mirror. He didn't know how he'd gotten used to doing without this constant, familiar intimacy.

Crawling into bed with his husband was one of the best parts of the day. The novelty hadn't worn off yet; this contented feeling had yet to fade back into the obscurity of habit. Maybe it never would, not if Cam planned on more of these crazy trips. Hunter refused to think about it right now. Instead he just wrapped his arms around the person he loved most in the world and closed his eyes.

Waking up the same way he'd fallen asleep made any morning worth the consciousness required to enjoy it. He smiled into the darkness when he heard Cam's whispered, "I love you."

"Love you too," he mumbled. He peered through the cracks in his eyelids, acknowledging the shadows of sheets and skin in the dimly lit room. All was right with the world when Cam was here. "What time is it?"

"Too early," Cam's voice replied, interrupted by a muffled yawn. "Six-ish." The mattress shifted as he squirmed in Hunter's embrace to nuzzle his shoulder. "Merry Christmas."

Hunter opened his eyes the rest of the way, unable to resist the view. "Back at you," he murmured, kissing Cam's forehead.

The radio was already playing in Michiko's room when they emerged from the sanctuary of the bedroom. Her door was cracked open, and Hunter could see her stretching on the floor. Still in her pajamas... that was something. She had this abominable fondness for the early morning hours. Hanoi's door, on the other hand, was still shut, and no matter what day it was it would probably stay that way until someone pounded on it.

Pausing only to call "Morning" and "Merry Christmas" to Michiko, Hunter pounded on the closed door as he had so many times before. He and Hanoi had a lot in common, and they had fun goofing off in the absence of their more responsible family members. But their old routine was so much better with the rest of the family around to nag them about it.

As was their tradition, everyone emptied their stockings before breakfast. It had kept the kids off their backs when they were younger, while still yielding to the more practical necessities of food and coffee. Hunter cooked, the kids ate at a disgustingly fast pace, and Cam told them to sit up straight and get their elbows off the table. Typical family harmony, or lack thereof, was not sacrificed even for present-giving holidays.

It took them hours to open everything under the tree. Mostly because Cam, and Michiko by extension, didn't believe in just tearing the paper off, saying thank you, and moving on. They had to analyze each gift, hear its story, and plan its future use. It was funny to see Michiko echoing Cam without even seeming to realize it... although it sharpened Hunter's disappointment at the time he lost with her while she was away.

Cam probably felt the same way about Hanoi, he realized. But as long as their children's interests drew them in opposite directions, what else could they do? It wasn't fair to hold either of them back. What would happen when they got older, Hunter wondered? How far away would their kids one day end up?

Cam put out a hand to steady himself as he made his way between the couch and the table, maneuvering amidst the wrapping paper strewn across the floor. Hunter reached up automatically, their fingers just brushing when the contact turned out to be unnecessary. Two wedding bands glinted in the brightening light of late morning: a promise upheld in the face of the future's uncertainty.

They spent most of the afternoon outside, testing out new equipment and making a lot of noise. Lunch was an eat-when-you're-hungry sort of affair. Presents lost their shine, as all good presents do when they're used immediately. And the sibling rivalry was kept to a bearable level, giving both Hunter and Cam time to get used to the task of referring again.

The kids' energy wasn't even touched by the time Christmas dinner began to loom large on the clock. Too bad, too, because Hunter was already regretting the tremendous family gathering that was about to occur. There had been a time when he and Cam had suggested splitting the holidays: one with one family, the next with the other, but Tori's mother--via Tori and Blake--had been horrified by the suggestion.

There was nothing for it, according to the irresistible force that was Lila Hanson, but to bring Cam's father along to her house and the assorted relatives that converged there at the slightest excuse. Between Cam's father, their family, Blake, Tori, and Kevin, the eight of them made up almost half of the holiday crowd. It was an overwhelming number, all put together, and Hunter would have preferred to do the quiet family thing with just the ninja relatives from time to time.

They did, for birthdays. But Leanne and her dad didn't celebrate Christmas, they were currently out of the country on business, and the will of the remaining majority prevailed--even when the majority was Tori's mom. Hunter had to admit that she hosted some interesting parties. What really made it worth it, though, was seeing Cam so solidly the center of attention. He liked seeing his ridiculously intelligent husband get the chance to show off for an appreciative crowd every once in a while.

It was a good day. The party overwhelmed him within a couple of hours, but the kids fit right in. The raucous entertainment, over-gifting, and constant eating really wasn't his style. Hanoi and Kevin terrorized the house with new toys and yells that their relatives only encouraged, and Michiko attached herself to Tori's side and refused to stop talking. Hunter figured it was good for her to have a mom-ish figure to look up to.

He himself retreated from the festivities for a few minutes, standing out on the front steps and watching the lights in other people's houses. It was funny, he mused. When he was a teenager, he had always envied other kids' big families and annual holiday travel. Now he wondered if growing up in a small family had actually determined his preference for quieter events. He preferred the constancy of a pleasant everyday life to these lavish, disruptive displays.

The door creaked open behind him, more light spilling out onto the steps and then vanishing as the door closed again. "Brooding?" a welcome voice asked, bringing its own warmth to set off the chill air that swirled around them.

Hunter smiled at the street, then turned his head as Cam nudged his shoulder gently. Hunter unfolded his arms and wrapped one around Cam, exhaling a soundless sigh of contentment. "Nah," he murmured. "Just taking it all in."