"If I tried to make up a story, she'd assume I was doing you. Either. Both. It's best not to ask with her, okay?" It's also best not to wonder why she'd assume that. Jesus Jim. Everything but the farm animals indeed.

The real miracle of the holidays is that he's clean.

"Relatives is a safe bet. That way she won't drop the M word. Or the R word." He sighs, but Verity gets a glance. She heard that alright. He's safe muttering under his breath when Clint isn't looking. And he's safe trying to lie when Verity's not listening. Why does he keep track of these things? It's not a healthy thought process to have, Jim.

Now that the sun is down, with only a vague burnt orange hue to the smidges of the horizon, Jim points up to the sky. There's a lot moving up there, but there's more satellites and orbiters and shuttles now than there ever used to be. But there's also stars.

Thousands of tiny pinpricks dotting the sky, more and more visible with each passing moment as the darkness grows and making Jim's pulse race just the tiniest bit. So much left unseen, untouched. And to think he'd almost stayed on this tiny speck of rock at one corner of the galaxy.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"