Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Through Noel

Archive: Take it if you want it, just drop me a note.

Email: seshat23@yahoo.com

Feedback: Would make a nice Christmas present. :)

Summary: Noel, post-episode; also sort of a wrap up to "Soap Operas"
and "Unforgivable," but you probably don't need to read those.

The Magi's Gift (1/1)
By Seshat

The boards and plastic tarp that covered the window frame were a
glaring reminder to Donna of the hell that Josh had been going
through when she opened the door to his apartment and walked in. The
fact that it was the same window she had thrown open all those months
ago when she had felt suffocated by the emptiness of the apartment
did not escape her. Repressing a slight shudder, she took off her
coat and dropped it on the couch. Silently, Josh followed her
inside, closing the door behind him.

"The super said it might take a few days," he said, his eyes
following what had grabbed her attention. "Holiday season, you
know. I guess it figures, what with my horrible timing, I would pick
the worst time of year to stage a breakdown."

Her eyes rolled at him eloquently. Josh, don't be stupid.

A grin, which was almost, but not quite, up to par with his usual
cocky smile, spread over his face. "On the other hand, my timing was
perfect to advance my secret plot to deprive you of any personal
time."

"Not funny, Josh." But her eyes said otherwise. It was good to see
him smile again.

"So, you've safely escorted me to the hospital and home. Now what?"

"Now we go to bed… You go to bed," she hastily amended, but not
before his lips quirked up wryly. Before he could say anything, she
gave him a gentle shove toward the bedroom. "Come on. Get changed,
it's late."

"Yes, ma'am," he said meekly.

"Okay, so I'm going to make sure that you get ready for bed and then
I'm…" her voice trailed off. He was looking at her, and she wasn't
sure if it was a projection of her own or if there really was a
question in his eyes, but instead of finishing the sentence as she
originally intended, she went to his bureau.

"Donna?"

"I'm just going to use some of your sweats because I don't
particularly feel like sleeping in what I'm wearing." She pulled out
an old Harvard sweatshirt of his, one that she had meant to steal
when she had stayed over before because it was one of those shirts
that had been worn to the point of being really soft and
comfortable. The shirt and pants were obviously too big for her, but
they would have to do.

"Donna, it's Christmas Eve. You don't have to stay here. I'll be
okay."

"I know I don't have to." Holding the sweats in her arms, she turned
to face him. His words were sincere, but again there was that
look. "I've spent enough time on your couch. I'll be fine."

"But Christmas should be spent with family and friends."

"So it should." Her voice was simple and plain.

Realization dawned on his face. "Oh."

"Hurry up and get into bed, or Santa won't come to visit us."

He laughed. "Has it escaped your attention that I'm Jewish, Donna?"

"So?"

"So the last time I checked, Santa was a Christian institution. Not
to mention the fact that we both seem to be beyond the average age of
the usual recipients of visits from Santa."

"Don't be such a Scrooge, Josh. Haven't you ever read the Sun
editorial, `Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus'? Santa is for
everyone." Seeing that he was about to say something else, she
added, "And before you start making some smart remarks about me being
too old to believe in Santa, let me remind you that Santa stands for
intangible things like faith and hope, and we have some good reasons
to believe in those things this year." Her voice faltered.

Josh sat down on his bed. "You are a very wise woman, Donnatella,"
he said after a moment.

Her smile was quick in response. "That's right, just call me Donna
Moss, one of the magi."

He glanced up at her, a strange look on his face, and glanced away
again so fast she thought perhaps she had imagined it.

"Don't forget it when we're at work and I tell you something," she
admonished as she closed the bathroom door behind her.

Brushing her teeth with the toothbrush she had forgotten from months
ago, and which mysteriously hadn't been removed yet from its place by
the sink next to Josh's own brush, Donna listened to the sounds of
him getting ready for bed on the other side of the door. They passed
each other in the doorway, and Donna smiled at the way C.J.'s pajamas
looked on him. She thought she caught a hint of a smile on his face
as he took in the sight of her slender frame swimming in his sweats.

As she walked past the bed, Donna grabbed a blanket; she turned off
the light on her way to the couch and lay down, ready to fall
asleep. She could hear the water running in the other room. With
her eyes closed, the sounds of the apartment were magnified. It was
like the apartment was isolated from the rest of the world. The
faucet squeaked as Josh turned off the water. The door opened, and
Josh's feet padded out.

Donna waited to hear the springs in his bed sigh as he got in, but
instead, the next thing she heard was more shuffling of feet on
floor, and a soft, "Donna?"

She opened one eye to stare balefully at the man standing over the
couch. "What did I say about Santa, Josh?"

"I can't sleep yet," he said plaintively. "Scoot over."

A heavy sigh later, she sat up and made room for him on the couch,
throwing half of the blanket over him so they could share body heat.
Josh propped his legs up on the coffee table. Donna hid a grin when
she saw that his feet were encased in the bunny slippers she had
given him when he got out of the hospital. He had snorted when he
had first seen them, but she could tell from the worn look that he
had used them often, and at least they kept his feet warm. Josh
casually put his arm around her shoulders, his injured hand resting
on her opposite side. With his other hand he picked up the remote
control and switched on the television. "I think there's an `I Love
Lucy' marathon on."

Donna let her head settle comfortably into the crook between his neck
and shoulder, drawing her feet up beneath the blanket. "I think
there's always an `I Love Lucy' marathon on," she murmured, her
eyelids drooping.

So that was how she was going to spend Christmas Eve: curled up next
to Josh, watching old reruns. It certainly had to be one of the
more unusual Christmas Eves she had ever experienced. But the
emotion she was feeling was close to happiness. The soft drone of
the television lulled her into a state somewhere between being asleep
and being awake.

The last thing she remembered was Josh gently extricating himself and
tucking the blanket around her.

*****

Aside from its obvious importance to the tenets of an entire system
of religious beliefs, I have always thought that the Christmas story
is powerful in and of itself. It is a story about faith and love,
forgiveness and hope… not to mention those other little side issues
of peace on earth and goodwill toward men. And despite the fact that
I am not Christian, I can appreciate this great and lasting story.

As a child I was intrigued by Christmas; I didn't understand why all
the kids got excited about some fat old man in a red suit, because of
course, when I asked, my classmates generally told me that Christmas
was all about Santa, and I don't think that they were adequately able
to explain, as Donna did yesterday, the deeper meaning of Santa Claus.

The first time someone told me the story of Christmas, I have to
admit that I wasn't impressed with the immaculate conception part
(not knowing at the time what conception usually involved in the
first place). I felt sorry for the people who had to have their baby
in a barn. I was rather interested by the angel speaking to people
to herald this baby's birth. But I think the characters that I liked
the best were the magi. To me, it was fascinating how these men,
these kings (and aren't the heroes of most childhood fantasies
knights or kings?) traveled a tremendous distance, following a star,
and bearing gifts for a new child brought into this world in a cold
and lonely barn.

What can I say? The woman who enlightened me as to how Christmas
started (the mother of one of my childhood friends) was a great
storyteller, although her proficiency at theology, or lack thereof
depending on your point of view, might have drawn disapproval from
the Mary Marshes of the world.

I sometimes wonder what Mrs. Stevenson was thinking as she told me
the story. Hearing it in the words of someone else, maybe I would
have been bored to tears, but Mrs. Stevenson knew what a seven-year-
old boy wanted to hear, and so I got an adventure story about three
idealistic magi. As the years passed, and I heard the story again,
the significance of the story to many people and its inherent power
became more apparent. But in some holdover from childhood, I have
always had a special appreciation for the magi: for their wisdom and
their spirit, for their faith and their love.

This day I have been blessed with three magi: two wise men and a wise
woman, if you will.

I suppose another way to look at them might be as the ghost of
Christmas past, the ghost of Christmas present, and the ghost of
Christmas future, but rather than dwell on the rather depressing
Dickensian parallels, which would place me in the unflattering role
of Scrooge, I prefer to focus on the gifts that my friends, and most
of all these three extraordinary people, have given me.

I am thankful that Leo had the experience and the kindness to light
the way for a friend in need. He reminded me of my father
yesterday. My father too was the type who would jump into a pit with
a friend. Would it undermine my manliness if I admitted that there
were tears forming in my eyes when Leo told me that I would have a
job as long as he did? As Stanley earlier said, "Thank God for
Leo." He recognized my despair when I was trying my damnedest not to
see it myself. He recognized it from his own darkness, and even
though I am certain that it dredged up painful memories of his own,
he drew from his past and he forced me to get the help I needed.

I am grateful that Stanley had the patience and knowledge to soothe a
troubled soul. In future years, when Christmas Eve rolls around
again, I will always remember this man, this healer, who had the
perception to see through my bullshit and the words to help me let it
go. He made me face the fear I was burying inside.

And above all I am blessed with the presence of Donnatella Moss. She
has been by my side ever since that morning I woke up in the
hospital. And despite my tendencies toward being an asshole at
times, she seems determined to remain here.

It's funny how last night she called herself one of the magi.

Perhaps it wasn't such an extraordinary coincidence, seeing as I
did tell her that she was wise, and the season might naturally lead
to the same train of thought that I have followed. Yet I have a
sneaking suspicion that her words from three weeks ago, that she
is "in tune" to me, are closer to the truth than either one of us
would admit.

And last night she stayed. I know I shouldn't have let her. She was
about to go, I think, but typical of her perspicacity, she read the
unspoken message and stayed. So now I'm sitting on my coffee table,
waiting for her to wake up this morning. This morning that is a day
of worship and holiness for half of the world, and will from now on
be a day of thanks for me. I have received such gifts from all of my
friends, these people who I realize care for me like a family.

It's ridiculous; I am as excited as a child who knows that Santa has
been to visit.

I am alive, and I am for the most part whole, and I can't wait for
Donna to open her eyes.

Okay, she might be a little startled to wake up on Christmas morning
and find her boss sitting here watching her sleep, and she might be
puzzled by the goofy grin on my face, but right now the only thing
keeping me from waking her is the peacefulness of the golden lashes
resting over those delicate shadows under her eyes, shadows that
remind me of the worry I have caused her over the past few days,
weeks, and yes, even months.

So I let her sleep, and I wait until those blue eyes open and I can
tell her thank you. Thank you, Donnatella, for the gift of your
wisdom and your faith and your generosity of spirit.