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David walks into the bar. ~~You think he'd have seen it.~~ He goes to the buffet table, fills up a plate, and sits down at a table with a notebook and a pen and is lost deep in concentration, writing.

If anyone should approach him, they'd probably need to poke him to get his attention.

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"'Golf is a good walk spoiled by a small white ball,'" Charlie quotes with a grin. "So you can conjure a course and a quiet spring day? I'd love to see it."

"I can't promise you anything, but I'll do my damndest, if that's enough?"

He smiles. It's bright enough to light the room.

"All right." Charlie has to laugh--he'd like to see what David's damndest turns out to be.

He holds his hand out. "My best. Shake on it."

Still chuckling, Charlie shakes. "But if all you can manage is a cake, I like cake."

He laughs.

"I'll bear that in mind.

"You won't be disappointed, will you? If I don't manage golf?"

"Of course not. Like I said--all I'd like is a 'happy birthday.' The rest--" H waves his hand. "Extras."

He smiles and takes Charlie's hand again, kisses the knuckles. "You're so easy to please, Charlie Pace."

"It's just a birthday," Charlie says with a shrug.

"I like celebrating birthdays. Makes more sense to me than Christmas, at any rate."

"I like Christmas too," Charlie says comfortably. "Even if sometimes I'd get Christmas-slash-birthday presents. Mostly for the music, I must say."

"My mother was the same. Hers was boxing day. I'm telling you, she hated it.

"I like carols and songs. A mixture of the two. 'Oh, Holy Night' has to be my favourite carol, though.

"What about you?"

"Whoo--oh, I'm not sure. It's like trying to choose a favorite child. As far as carols go . . . 'Gabriel's Message,' maybe. Or the Coventry carol. Very pretty."

"Ah yes, very pretty indeed."

He smiles.

"Play me something. I miss your music."

He smiles and goes to the piano, and begins playing the soft minor chords to introduce the song. He sings softly, eyes closed.

Lullay, thou little tiny child,
By, by, lullay, lullay
Lullay, thou little tiny child,
By, by, lullay, lullay.

O sisters too, how may we do,
For to preserve this day,
This poor youngling for whom we sing,
By, by, lullay, lullay.

Herod the king in his raging,
Charged he hath this day,
His men of night, in his own sight,
All children young to stay.

Then woe is me, poor child, for thee,
And ever mourn and say,
For thy parting not say, nor sing,
By, by, lullay, lullay.

He sings along softly, eyes closed, listening mostly.

And when Charlie's finished, he looks at him and smiles.

"That was beautiful."

"Thanks," Charlie murmurs and plays something vaguely resembling "Silent Night." He says softly, "I think this Christmas is going to be hard, David. Homesick and worried and . . . and everything. I'll try to stay cheerful."

"I'd say we're all in the same boat, but we're really not.

"We're all here for you, Charlie."

He smiles, placing his hand on Charlie's. Yes, try to stay cheerful.

He turns his hand over to grasp David's. "I don't even remember the last few Christmases. Just . . . couldn't bear them, with Mum dead and hardly speaking to Liam. Now that I want to--you know--I want--" He sighs and takes his hand away to start playing again. This time it's "The First Noel," quietly.

"I know. I do."

He hugs Charlie from behind as he plays.

you want to feel wanted feel at home feel needed loved

Charlie stops playing long enough to touch his hand. "Yeah. Exactly.

"I mean, here--it's better that I'm here. I know that. But it's not the same."

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