Alex and Olivia Montage


Twas the Night Before Christmas...

Email ncruuk

Disclaimer: Not mine. I promise I'm only borrowing them and will return them to their rightful owners whenever they ask for them back. My imagination took a flight of fancy.....my bank account stayed empty. (Seriously, the cast of SVU belong to Dick Wolf and NBC and I'm only borrowing them for some free daydreaming that I wrote down). The poem, “Twas the night before Christmas”, aka “A Visit from St. Nicholas” was written by Clement Clarke Moore in 1822 and used here without permission but great respect.


Spoiler/Author’s Notes: You're over that tricky lesbian hurdle? You're good to go then.....

Rating: 12

Summary: Twas the night before Christmas……




“Elliot!” The congested, noisy squad room silenced at the shout, not because of what was being said, but because of who was saying it.

“Alex, you got it?” asked Elliot, shouldering his way through the sea of uniformed officers and off duty detectives who, out of a mix of duty and hope, had found themselves congregating in the SVU squad room at this late hour on Christmas Eve, waiting for this moment.

“Tear the place apart Detective, there are no limits…” explained Alex, looking around at the assembled gathering, before raising her voice slightly, sensing, correctly, that everyone was looking at her in much the same way children looked to parents on Christmas morning when confronted with a pile of presents – they knew what was expected of them, what they wanted to do, but first, before tearing open the wrappings, they sought the confirming nod of approval.

“…You can search anywhere within the Estate and the Penthouse for anything you think is relevant. Good luck!” As she’d anticipated, her words were enough to prompt a new wave of noise to wash through the Squad Room as caps and jackets were snatched up and car keys tossed, with the SVU detectives co-ordinating the mammoth force, trusting Alex to give Elliot the warrants.

“I thought his ‘connections’ would stop you from getting that…” observed Elliot, carefully placing the fistful of warrants Alex had brought in the inside pocket of his jacket, which he then covered with his heavy outdoor coat – now was not a time to take a chance with damaging them.

“Mr Campbell’s ‘connections’ do extend far and wide in this City and State,” agreed Alex, remembering the sneering look of superiority their suspect (her gut knew he was guilty, but her brain had too many years of training to let her inner voice call him anything but suspect, at least, not for a little while longer.) as Elliot and Olivia told him that evidence would be quickly forthcoming once they had their search warrants whilst she’d watched from the Observation Room, “…but he made the error of including Judge Petrovsky in his Christmas card list. She hates sycophants almost as much as she despises children needing the help of SVU detectives on Christmas Eve…” observed Alex, remembering the look of thunder on the Judge’s face when she had opened her front door in response to Alex’s knock seconds after Lena’s guests had sat down to dinner, only for it to soften as she realised which ADA was daring to ask for a warrant at such a time,

“Who’s the victim?” asked Lena, not yet prepared to let the ADA across the threshold and into the warmth.

“Triplets…they’re six on Tuesday…” Alex didn’t have to say anything more, with Lena casting a quick look over her shoulder towards the dining room and calling out to her guests (who fortunately were all familiar with the potential disruption an arriving ADA could cause on their host’s plans) that they should carry on without her, before immediately ushering Alex through into her study.

“Benson have a suspect?” asked Lena astutely, knowing that it would be Olivia probably catching the full brunt of this particular case, given the victims.

“Mark Campbell,” explained Alex, expecting not only Lena’s grimace, but also the next instruction.

“Lay it out for me Alexandra…” and, if was at all possible given what she was about to hear, Lena Petrovsky settled back into her leather armchair, took a small sip from the glass of wine she’d been holding when she’d answered the door, and completely relaxed, giving Alex her undivided attention.


“Thank you…”

“Don’t thank me yet…” deflected Alex, knowing that the difficult part was, clichéd as it sounded, only just beginning as the painstaking process of supporting the whimpered cries and sobs of three frightened five year olds with hard facts and evidence started with Elliot and his colleagues searching all the properties they could find that were connected with Mark Campbell, a soon to be discredited New York socialite of some reputation.

“Olivia’s in the Crib…” mentioned Elliot casually, noticing Alex’s subtle searching of the squad room as he buttoned up his coat.

“She’s not serving?” asked Alex, surprised that her lover wasn’t going to be kicking down the door.

“She’s, ah, triplet sitting…”

“WHAT?” Alex couldn’t believe what she’d heard Elliot just say. Last she’d heard, the triplets were, admittedly with Olivia as their constant companion, being checked out at hospital.

“Their grandmother’s flying in from San Francisco, gets in to Newark at midnight…” Elliot trailed off as Alex cut across him, understanding what had happened.

“So Child Services didn’t want to get involved for six hours…”

“It’s better in the long run…” reasoned Elliot, although sharing Alex’s frustration. When the ER hadn’t found anything medically wrong with the kids, everything had fallen into administrative limbo until finally, not seeing any other solution, Olivia had scooped up the sleepiest triplet into her arms and, with Elliot’s assistance, returned with the three to the SVU Crib to wait for their grandmother to arrive, “…but she’d probably welcome the company…” hinted Elliot, gently guiding Alex towards the bottom of the stairs up to the crib, conscious he really needed to catch up with his rapidly departing colleagues.

“I don’t, I mean…” Whilst she was excellent with the children that she met in her professional role, Alex had never entirely been comfortable in the presence of small children, not exactly sure what to do. Her lack of a relaxed, or ‘fun’ childhood didn’t help her nervousness, with the blonde constantly feeling like she neither knew what to do, nor had any experiences to draw on.

“Sure you do…” reasoned Elliot good-naturedly, remembering Olivia telling him a little about Alex’s worries, “…you know how to give a loving hug, right?”

“Your point?” Even standing, with one foot on the bottom step, Alex couldn’t relax enough to stop her ‘court bitch’ snapping at Elliot’s question, which she knew he knew the answer to, having interrupted her and Olivia on more than one occasion.

“They’re tired, upset, lonely five year olds on Christmas night – they don’t need much, just a hug and maybe some cookies and milk…” declared Elliot, reaching out for the brown bag which was filled with just that, one of the officers heading out to buy the snack a little while earlier, “…all of which you are capable of Alex…” finished Elliot, before pulling his hat down firmly onto his head and striding out of the squad room, leaving a slightly startled attorney standing at the foot of the stairs up to the Crib, holding a grocery sack full of milk and cookies.



“Who are you?” Any hope Alex had had of quietly entering the Crib were shattered when she found herself eye-level with a frowning five year old.

“Alex, can I come up?” she asked, gesturing to the final few stairs she had yet to climb.

“Who’s Alex Liv?” asked an identically frowning five year old, only this one was a little further away from Alex, sitting on the bed with Olivia.

“My best friend…” answered Liv honestly, smiling at Alex, glad to have some company that was taller than three foot six inches, but especially glad to see her lover.

“She looks pretty…” declared the third child, who miraculously, wasn’t frowning, but that, thought Alex, could possibly be due to her being snuggled protectively up against Olivia’s right side, a position Alex knew from experience was impossible to feel anything other than warm and safe in.

“She’s a girl…” pronounced the first little boy, turning his back on Alex in disgust and returning to clamber up onto the bed and settled back down next to Olivia, seemingly unconcerned that she was a ‘girl’ as well.

“That’s rude Tommy…” criticised his brother, tentatively approaching the now fully arrived Alex and reaching out to touch her dress, obviously preparing to give Olivia’s best friend a hug, only to withdraw, much to Olivia’s concern.

“What’s the matter Jack?” asked the Detective kindly, unable to get up from the bed owing to being held back by the two triplets currently snuggled up against her side and in her lap.

“She’s got prickles…” It was Olivia’s turn to frown at the strange comment, a frown that only deepened as she then saw Alex’s face relax into a smile as she understood what had confused Jack. Putting the grocery sack on the floor by her feet, Alex crouched down to Jack’s level, balancing carefully on her heels.

“My dress has sequins on it, see?” she asked, holding up the hem of her knee length black cocktail dress which, as Jack had just discovered, was heavily sequinned at just the wrong height for a small child to try and hug her.

“They’re not soft…” he observed, running his finger over the small decorations, wondering why anyone would want to wear something so prickly.

“No, but they sparkle…”

“Your dress sparkles?” asked the girl from her safe place snuggled up against Olivia.

“A little bit…” agreed Alex, “…you want to see it?” she asked cautiously, preparing to stand up again, her leg muscles beginning to protest at crouching in two inch heels for about thirty seconds too long.

“Yes please…” the quiet request was actually inaudible to Alex, but Olivia heard it and managed to convey not only Rebecca’s enthusiasm for a fashion show, but her own as well. Words could not begin to describe how Alexandra Cabot elevated the simple little black cocktail dress into an art form.

“Can I stand up Jack?” asked Alex, not wanting to startle the little boy still standing right in front of her.

“Can I have a hug first?”

“Sure…” Ignoring her upset legs for a moment longer, Alex lifted her arms away from her sides, giving Jack the encouragement he needed to wrap small arms around her neck and bury his face in soft blonde hair.

“Me too!” Suddenly, Alex, who hadn’t been concentrating on anything other than not falling over whilst this little boy clung onto her, felt another pair of arms latch onto her neck – it seemed Tommy had got over his initial distrust of her and wanted to join in the hug, nearly knocking Alex over in the process, earning her an amused smirk from her lover, which was returned with an equally amused look that promised all forms of entertaining revenge at a later, more convenient time. Despite her very real fears and reservations about having to interact with these children, Alex was rapidly discovering that maybe, like Olivia, she was good with children.

“You smell like Liv…” pronounced Jack thoughtfully, loosening his grip slightly as he turned to look at his brother for confirmation.

“Yup, she does…why?” asked Tommy, fixing Alex with a look that had Alex suddenly feeling like a witness in cross-examination, rather than an attorney trying to befriend some five year olds.

“We smell like Rebie sometimes…” mused Jack, thinking what could be the reason, only for Tommy to interrupt him.

“That’s the hair soap smell…does your Nana make you and Liv bath together like ours does?” asked Tommy seriously, not understanding why Liv started laughing and Alex struggled to keep her composure.

“We have the same shampoo I guess…” decided Alex finally, uncertain what else to say, and unimpressed with her lover’s badly concealed mirth at her expense, something that Olivia obviously recognised, because she quickly intervened,

“Would you like some milk and cookies?” she asked, looking down at Rebecca, who seemed uninterested in her brothers’ conversation, preferring instead to study Alex’s dress for the sparkly sequins.

Unsurprisingly, the next few minutes were occupied with sorting out milk and cookies for five, a task that required a few trips up and down to the now deserted Squad Room, as first trips to the ‘little men’s room’ were needed, followed by mugs for the children to drink from and coffee powder and a kettle for Alex and Olivia, neither woman having drunk cold milk for years.

“Nana reads us a story when we have cookies…” commented Jack thoughtfully, his words muffled by cookie crumbs as he sat in Alex’s lap, no longer worried about her ‘prickly’ dress, which was now actually more ‘prickly’ for Alex due to cookie crumbs being dropped in interesting places, though she tried to put the strange sensations out of her mind by, amongst other things, marvelling at the sight of Olivia, stretched out on the narrow bed, propped up with a pillow, Rebie curled up against one side, Tommy the other.

“My story book’s downstairs…” began Olivia, thinking of the book of stories she kept in her bottom desk drawer, and trying not to think about the literally hundreds of children who, in the last seven or eight years, had either read or had the stories read to them during their contact with the ‘system’ and the Special Victims’ Unit.

“Don’t you know any stories?” asked Rebie, fiddling with Olivia’s belt buckle and badge, which, despite having lost her shoes some time earlier, Olivia had managed to keep still attached to her belt.

“Well….” Just as Olivia was searching her suddenly imagination-devoid brain for a story, her lover, who had barely said two words since they’d got the triplets settled again, started with a phrase that was universally understood by all children of story-telling age.

“Are you sitting comfortably?” There was a brief pause as all three children wriggled around a bit, elbowing both women in places they were utterly convinced should never, ever be elbowed, before all looked expectantly at Alex, who in that brief moment, found herself recalling words she hadn’t thought of for years, words which, as a child she’d grown to hate, but now, she could finally appreciate for their magic….

“’Twas the night before Christmas…” she began, only for Tommy to interrupt her,

“That’s tonight!” before he was quickly shushed by his sister, who wanted their newest friend to continue with her story, bringing a genuinely warm smile to Alex’s face – for so long, ever since she’d been old enough to read, this poem had been a millstone around her childhood’s neck, with every Christmas Eve her proud if somewhat distant parents summoning her from the comfort of her daily routine with her nanny to recite this poem to assembled relations and friends. It was hardly surprising that Alex had few fond memories of either the poem or Christmas Eve drinks parties…

“’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there….”

As the blonde recited the verses of the famous Christmas poem, her voice softened as long forgotten words were remembered and, with increasing confidence, she stopped reciting the words and instead, began telling the story…a story which also served as a lullaby, with, by the time she’d finished the last line, all three children asleep, snuggled up against their chosen protector.



“Thanks for staying with them…” began Olivia, as she helped her lover into her coat. It was a little past 1am and Rebecca, Tommy and Jack had sleepily but very willingly gone with their grandmother when she’d arrived at the station some thirty minutes earlier, having flown in with just a small item of hand-luggage but a heart full of hugs, kisses and love, which was exactly what her grandchildren were going to need over the coming months as the reality of what they’d experienced at the hands of Mark Campbell would gradually sink in.

“They were sweet…” murmured Alex, not needing to articulate the shared thought that they both immediately had, which was that they were also far too young and innocent to deserve bastards like Campbell being in their life, no matter how great their parents had thought him to be. As cases went, it would be forever remembered by Olivia as one of the strangest, even without the unfortunate timing of it on Christmas Eve. Born to affluent parents who had subsequently separated, their father was enjoying a playboy winter on the Alpine Ski Slopes of Switzerland whilst their mother had tried not to let them cramp her style too much. When Mark Campbell had shown an interest in her, and her children, she’d thrown caution to the wind (they’d subsequently discovered he’d maybe helped that caution with some cocktail assistance), only for it to then emerge he was interested in her children for all the very worst of reasons. No one at the ER had been able to work out why the siblings had managed to remain so relaxed and trusting of Olivia when everything else was crumbling around them, but it had been ultimately decided to ‘go with the flow’, especially when Munch had tracked down the very personification of ‘Mother Christmas’ in the form of the triplets’ grandmother, who immediately abandoned her own plans and started travelling to New York to gather up her grandchildren and do, as she put it, ‘whatever is sensible, whatever they want.’

“You were sweet…” whispered Olivia, gently easing Alex’s trapped hair out from inside her coat, brushing her lips a fraction from Alex’s ear in the process, and causing her fair lover to blush.

“Do you mind if we walk for a bit?” asked Alex, wanting to change the subject away from ‘sweetness’ before she felt like she’d regressed back to kindergarten, though, without question, her lover was definitely the sweetest.

“Sure….” If Olivia was surprised at the request, she didn’t show it, beyond unlocking her desk drawer again and re-holstering her weapon. At 1am, even on Christmas morning, in New York City, you could never be too safe.

Together, they turned out the lights in the now deserted squad room, Elliot having already rung to say they’d found enough evidence to ensure Alex would have a very satisfactory case for the Jury in the New Year, but that they’d be out there, searching for even more evidence for many hours to come. At Elliot’s insistence, Olivia, who had actually been supposed to be signed off from noon on Christmas Eve, agreed to go home and have what remained of her Christmas break with Alex. What she would later realise, when she was lying in bed with Alex, was that it had been her partner, not her lover, urging her home for Christmas.

“You ok?” asked Olivia finally, when, arm in arm, they’d walked about half a block in the general direction of cabs and home.

“Hmm?”

“You’re thinking hard…” prompted Olivia kindly, squeezing Alex’s arm against her side in what the blonde recognised to be the best improvisation of a one armed hug of support that her lover could currently give.

“It’s Christmas Eve…” began Alex, speaking in such a wistful tone that Olivia decided it wasn’t worth pointing out that, for about the last 65 minutes, it had actually been Christmas Day.

“I’m sorry I never made it to that do…” began Olivia, wondering if Alex was at all annoyed that the Detective hadn’t managed to make it to the smart cocktail party she’d meant to accompany Alex to.

“You didn’t miss much, a load of overpriced attorneys wondering why I’d rather go and get a warrant from a Judge than stay and compare the size of my…”

“Not our kind of party? teased Olivia, remembering many a rant from Alex about the very worst kind of male attorney, who seemed determined to earn as much money as possible, normally through having stakes in Corporate Law Firms, without having the actual work interfere with their corporately subsidised golf games and drinks parties.

“Not our kind of party…” agreed Alex, wondering if it had ever been her kind of party and knowing, deep down, that, if it hadn’t been for the woman walking with her towards their apartment through the near deserted streets of Manhattan, it probably could have become her kind of party, given time and the correct nurturing of legal contacts. Instead, she’d found herself completely uninterested by the company and unamused by the posturing. It wasn’t that she had anything against money or ruthlessness per se, quite the opposite if she was honest with herself, but the sheer disregard for anything except self-promotion and interest, that was what she was now realising had caused the acid in her stomach and bile in her throat, not the crimes of Mark Campbell.

“We ok?” asked Olivia, still not convinced from Alex’s slightly unexpected behaviour that she hadn’t managed to screw up the first Christmas she wasn’t supposed to be working in perhaps a decade.

“Definitely…I just…” Alex paused as she tried to work out what she wanted to articulate, “…I just realised I’m not that interested in being an attorney’s attorney…”

“Huh?”

“Not our kind of party…I’m not interested in having what they all have…”

“And that’s an attorney’s attorney?” asked Olivia, wondering if this was something she should just classify as obscure legal randomness and not try to deconstruct.

“I’d rather face Petrovsky in the middle of her Christmas party for a warrant than stand around discussing what fees I was getting…”

“I knew that already sweetheart…” confirmed Olivia, understanding what Alex was grappling with, namely the realisation that, much to Olivia’s eternal relief, Alex wasn’t a greedy, greasy attorney like the Trevor Langden’s of her profession.

“…I didn’t know you could recite poetry…” continued Olivia, picking up their pace a touch – whilst her jacket was warm, it wasn’t warm enough to render the night suitable for a romantic stroll…

“I can’t…”

“So that big long poem you just decided to say aloud, that was what, exactly?” teased Olivia, determined to understand this latest talent of her lover, without letting their conversation get too heavy.

“A long story…and a Cabot family tradition…” sighed Alex, snuggling closer to Olivia, preparing to explain her family’s strange ritual, only for Olivia to work it out for herself.

“You used to recite it at that weird drinks party, didn’t you?” asked Olivia, suddenly remembering Alex last Christmas trying to explain why she didn’t really enjoy Christmas Eve and was therefore not in the least bit offended if Olivia had volunteered to work it.

“Yes, seems I can’t forget it either…” muttered Alex, stepping around a discarded soda can.

“I like it…”

“The poem?”

“The fact that you can remember it…”

“I hated it, standing up and having to perform in front of all these staring people…”

“Excellent training for court…”

“True…” Alex paused to consider the experience from that angle, “…probably about as well received as some of my closings too…” muttered Alex self-mockingly, remembering the glazed looks many of her parents’ guests sported, the glazing she would subsequently learn, was probably alcoholic rather than total boredom.

“And I think it’s a lovely poem…”

“I hated it…”

“But now?” asked Olivia, deciding she wanted to feel her toes again, so taking the opportunity to flag down the passing cab – they’d walked far enough.

“I think I understand why it’s a classic…” pondered Alex, gladly getting into the cab with Olivia.



“Have you set the alarm?” yawned Olivia, stretching out under the covers as Alex turned off the bathroom light and crossed to join her in bed.

“For midday, just in case we don’t wake up sooner…” explained Alex, slipping into bed and snuggling up against Olivia’s right side, resting her hand on Olivia’s chest, feeling the steady pulsing of her heartbeat with her fingertips.

“Mmmm, even the cell phones are off…” It only happened on the rarest of days, when both Alex and Olivia knew that they were entitled to ignore the rest of the world.

“Best Christmas present yet…” agreed Alex, starting to caress the skin her fingertips were resting on, tracking aimless patterns that gradually became more festive as squiggles became holy leaves and berries…

“Sweetheart?”

“Mmmm?”

“Will you repeat that poem?”

“Why?” Whilst she wasn’t unwilling, Alex was never one to let a surprising or strange request from Olivia go un-investigated, if only so as to better understand her enigmatic lover.

“I think I’d like to start a new Christmas Eve tradition…”

“It’s Christmas Day…” Even as she mumbled her protests, Alex found the lines of the poem forming at the front of her mind, liking Olivia’s idea, wanting to share the magical poem with her lover in their own private sanctuary, far away from the routines of their chosen careers, insulated from the realities of their adult lives and memories of their far from perfect childhoods.

“Not on the West Coast it isn’t…” Olivia’s teasing brought Alex’s attention back from her thoughts to her lover, who was swiftly yet gently elbowed as Alex set about playfully wriggling until she was lying comfortably.

“Comfy?” she asked, knowing that the answer would be yes, their current position of legs and bodies entwined having been arrived at after many nights of exploration, practice and refinement. In response to the somewhat rhetorical question, Olivia merely pulled Alex even closer to her, pressing a kiss to the silky blonde strands which, whilst washed with the same shampoo as Olivia used, always managed to smell of summer, as opposed to Olivia’s own hair, which the brunette was always convinced just smelt of soap, much to Alex’s amused disagreement.

Settling herself more comfortably into Olivia’s arms, and turning her head slightly so that it was easier to talk clearly, Alex found the words flowing from her lips as, once again, she ceased to be reciting the poem but was instead telling the magical story…



“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes - how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"



“Good night sweetheart…” mumbled Olivia sleepily, pressing soft kisses to every millimetre of Alex her lips could easily reach.

“Happy Christmas Liv…” countered an equally sleepy and surprisingly content Alex.

“I think this is my new tradition…” mumbled Olivia, though her mumbling was getting more indistinct as she got closer to sleep, Alex not far behind her. As the blonde shifted slightly so as to be more comfortably settled in her lover’s welcome hold, not finding Olivia’s closeness remotely claustrophobic, she found herself agreeing,

“Me too…” before Alex’s breathing evened out to join her lover’s in sleep, their soon to be forgotten dreams following a similar tale, of a little old man with a bright smiling face and a sleigh full of toys visiting triplets and leaving them presents…it was time for everyone to start making new memories now….



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