Cascade Police Department
Cascade, Washington
12/24/99

"Ho ho friggin ho."

"Ellison, can it."

"Awww, man, that is so uncool. Could you two maybe be a little less grumpy?"

The three men were in various positions in a cramped office at the back of the Major Crimes Division of the Cascade PD. The first speaker, a huge man with close-cropped hair and dark blue eyes, was shutting the door behind him, a few papers clenched in his fist in danger of being crumpled beyond repair. He didn't seem responsive to the other men's comments. "Simon, at the risk of sounding like a particular long-haired neo-hippy anthropologist... this sucks."

Simon Banks sat upright at his desk, eyes shooting daggers at the taller man. "Jim, I'm well aware of what you think about being here on Christmas Eve. I feel the same way."

Jim Ellison threw his files down on Simon's desk and himself into a chair right after it. "If you're looking for sympathy, you're really cold." He shot daggers at the third man. "Or is that what you've been doing in here for the last twenty minutes? Commiserating with the man who makes our schedules."

The younger man, looking decidedly out of place with the two policemen, held up his hands in surrender. He had to reach back to brush a stubborn lock of his long, brown hair back behind his ear, his wide sky-blue eyes flashing a familiar exasperated look at his partner. "You know, Jim, we could actually be having a half-way decent time if you'd just relax. Besides, there's no need to vent at Simon. He at least has a family he could be spending time with right now."

Ellison's eyes swung to him. "Why is it you feel like you have to remind me that I don't have any close family here right at the time the major holidays swing around?"

Blair Sandburg's eyes went from exasperated to wounded puppy-dog in a flash. "That isn't what I meant. You know you're family to me, man. And I am to you. And we're both right here, so it's not like we're missing out on anything."

Affection softened the glare in Ellison's eyes, but he didn't back down totally. "We're missing our own apartment, a home-cooked Christmas dinner, a tree, presents, not being at work....we're missing a lot, Chief."

"Give it a rest, Ellison." Simon leaned forward and locked eyes with the man. "What have you got? Anything at all?"

Ellison groaned and brushed the papers he'd droppped with one hand. "Nothing. Every single alibi checked out. We've got ten gang members who all back each other's story, and there isn't a damn thing we can do about it. Merry Christmas."

"Jim! Man, stop spoiling the holiday for me." Sandburg's voice was strained under the haze of good humor. "You haven't said one thing today without ending it with a crack about the holidays. 'Ho ho friggin ho', 'Happy Hellidays, Chief', 'If this case is the only present Santa's bringing me, I'm gonna hunt the old bastard down and stick Rudolph up his-'"

"Cut it out, you two," Simon was having obvious trouble holding back his laughter at the easy-going Blair Sandburg's wickedly accurate impression of his grumpy partner and roommate.

Ellison's laughter was hidden through years of practice. "Watch it, kid," he stage-whispered to Sandburg. "You're turning into a smart-ass." Without waiting for a response, he swung his undivided attention to Simon. "What do we do now, captain?"

"Nothing." Simon's humor faded abruptly. "It's all we can do. We watch these punks and wait for them to commit some crime we can get on tape. That seems to be the only way they can't slip through our hands."

"Come on, guys, let it go. Can't we just forget about it tonight?"

Sandburg was ignored.

Ellison snorted his agreement with his Captain. "I remember the days these street brats couldn't afford to hire slick lawyers who could weasel them out of anything."

"Please," Simon grimaced. "I remember the days when kids settled problems with their fists and not with Ak-47s."

Jim nodded, getting in to the game seriously. "I remember when-"

"You're showing your age, guys," Blair couldn't resist interrupting. "I thought you big strong cops were sensitive about that."

Simon gave him an exasperrated look. "You refuse to take any of this seriously, don't you?"

Blair nodded firmly. Simon noticed a shadow on the younger man's face, a flash of some dark emotion that Blair quickly concealed under a sigh.

Unaware, Ellison glanced down at the papers, mug shots of the ten boys they had just been forced to release on a petty, twisted technicality. "I wish we could afford to take it lightly," he grumbled. "But I find it hard to laugh when we've got seasoned criminals who aren't old enough to be in high school yet, not that they would go, who we just throw back into the streets to become even more seasoned. It's enough to put a damper on the glow of the Christmas lights, don't you think?"

To Ellison's surprise, Blair's eyes were completely serious. "No. I don't. I don't want to."

"Blair, look-"

"No. Forget it, I don't want to look. I don't want to know why we're sitting at work on Christmas Eve doing catch-up paperwork when we could be out celebrating. I don't want to know why you're intent on screwing up any sort of fun I want to have."

Ellison gave his partner a serious look. "Blair, this case load isn't going to wait for-"

"Stop it, Jim." The kid stood and started pacing around the small space restlessly. "I especially don't want to know that there are kids out there with guns killing each other, or maniacs blowing up homeless people in deserted warehouses, or psycho everymen going nuts and shooting their families, or people committing suicide left and right because no one bothered to stop and tell them, 'hey, man, it's not that bad. Things get kinda gloomy around the holidays, but there's no need to do anything rash. We all get a little low now and then, you don't have to end it like this.'" His voice was rising- some pent-up demons neither of the other men knew he had were obviously unwilling to stay pent-up. "I don't want to know why we can't reach any of these people. We can tell them there are options for them. We can tell those kids on the street that they can grow up to be something decent, we can tell those maniacs that there's a better way to release their fury at what the world has become. But they don't listen, man. None of them ever listen, and they never stop. Not even on the holidays. I really really don't want to know why." He wheeled and aimed his emotion-clouded face out the small window and down to the streets below. "I want to forget about it all, for one day. Just go home and drink cocoa and listen to meaningless tired old Christmas carols. Why is that too much to ask?" And as quickly as the anger hit, it washed away, leaving behind a rather hollow ache.

There was a long silence as his tirade winded down.

Simon and Jim glanced at each other, eyes sharing the same look of concerned confusion.

Finally Jim stood up and approached his partner. His friend. The older man's confusion was quickly replaced by a too-familiar thread of guilt. The kid was burnt out. Again. It wasn't that rare anymore, the kid saw too much of Jim's job, and it got to him. Blair was an anthropologist, a student. He was also the kindest, warmest heart Jim Ellison had ever known. Being confronted with the dregs of humanity day in and day out wore on his sense of innocence. Blair would come to the point where he wouldn't know what to make of the world he had always looked at with such enthusiasm and wonder. It just seemed too dark at times to hold him.

All Jim could do when these times came was be there for him. He never knew what to say- hell, what could he say? What could anyone say? The world wasn't as light and gentle as Blair Sandburg's ideals wished it to be. But it also wasn't as dark and rotten as it seemed working in this department. There was a middle ground, and Blair would find it, find his way out of this funk. Then he would get comfortable enough to open his eyes to the world again, hoping to see light and peace. And Jim's world would once again deal him another blow.

It was a ruthless cycle, but Jim saw no way to stop it. Blair's ideals wouldn't ever go away- he knew that after all this time. And he didn't want them to. God, no. Sometimes it took Blair's naive joy and natural enthusiasm to get Jim through the darkness he used to feel at home in. No, Blair's only chance would be to leave, to get himself away from Jim's world.

But somewhere along the line, that had become impossible for either of them to contemplate. Jim was Sentinel, he was the Protector. He would never be anything but what he was. And Blair was his Guide, his place was at Jim's side. They were yin and yang, maybe, but when they came together, the circle they made was better than anything Jim had even thought could exist in his life. And neither of them were willing to give it up.

So Jim did what he could. He put a hand on the tense shoulder in front of him. "Chief?"

Blair's head dipped into his chest. "I hate the holidays," he whispered weakly.

Jim almost smiled at that, remembering how Sandburg seemed to know an endless supply of carols for any holiday they could stuff on a calander, and would never hesitate to bellow them out as he happily did whatever the season called for- cut out valentines (yes, he actually did that. Jim had laughed when he got the big red heart last year, but it was still safely tucked away in his closet, not that he'd ever tell Blair that), putting up Christmas decorations, lighting candles for Hannakuh or Kwanzaa. Religious meanings be damned, he would do it all. It was ridiculous the number of holidays he celebrated. Jim could remember a specific President's Day when Blair had shown up at the station in a stove-pipe hat, spouting out the Gettysburg Address at the drop of a hat, risking life and limb as he went up to unfortunate uniformed officers and told them in all seriousness about the great Union they were fighting to protect. Of course Jim hadn't been beyond sneaking up behind him and faking a gunshot, yelling out a Latin motto....

"No, you don't," he admonished his friend now with a tightening of his hand.

Blair sniffed slightly. "I wish I did,"

Jim cuffed him on the arm lightly. "Give me a break, Sandburg. You'd go crazy if you couldn't stuff a turkey in November....or blow up half the city in July."

"That was an accident, man." The protest came out automatically. Blair shook his head and returned Jim's smile. "I had to do something to get your attention. As I recall you were watching some game and dozing on the couch. Severe waste of a July 4th, Jim."

"Are you two finished yet?" Simon was sitting relatively patiently, drumming his fingers on his desk.

Jim met his friend's eye, and relaxed only when he could see Sandburg's smile was sincere. They would talk about that outburst later, of course. But for now... "What's up, Simon?"

"Sit down, both of you,"

But before Simon could start talking, there was a knock on his door. Joel Taggart, bomb expert, captain, and pseudo-secretary for Banks, stuck his head in apologetically. "Sandburg, you've got a phone call. Simon, she didn't say it was important, you want me to tell her to call back?"

Simon glanced over at Blair, then gestured tiredly. "Go on, but don't take too long," After the outburst the kid had just come out with, it was obvious he could use something to brighten his spirits, and a few minutes flirting with one of his many female admirers would do for now.

But Blair didn't seem eager. "Who is it, Joel?"

"Uh...Angela something."

Just like that, Blair shot out of his seat, a grin on his face. "Back in a minute, Simon," He practically jumped to the door and past Joel, rushing to get to a phone.

Simon turned a look to the man left sitting in his office. "What's going on with him, Jim?"

Ellison shrugged. "I dunno. That surprised me as much as you. I had no idea the kid was feeling so strung out." He glanced out the window to make sure Blair wasn't coming- no, he was talking animatedly to the girl on the phone. "He doesn't talk about it much, but I get the feeling holidays were never that great for Blair. You know Naomi, you think she ever gave him a tree or presents or anything else?"

Simon blinked. "Jim. Naomi and Blair are Jewish."

Jim snorted. "They are whatever they want to be. But even so, you think she ever lit a candle for Hannukah?"

"So, what? Now he doesn't like celebrating at all?"

"No, just the opposite. He wants things to be perfect, now that he's making his own decisions." Jim looked over at Simon, uncomfortable, but he forged on regardless. "The loft is a home for him now, more than he ever had before. I think...well, me and Sandburg are like family. And now that he has his own family, he wants to do everything he never got a chance to do when he was younger. He wants a Brady Bunch perfect Christmas."

Simon shook his head faintly. "Well, shit. Why don't you give it to him? You two go home. I don't have anything that won't wait for tomorrow. Go open your presents tomorrow morning, have a nice Christmas lunch, then get your asses back here. Got it?"

Jim grinned. "Roger, boss."

Blair burst back into the office. "Oh, man, Jim, are we getting out of here sometime soon? I told Angie we'd do dinner, and she's, like, ready to go."

Jim shot his partner a wounded look. "I thought we were having a nice Christmas dinner together,"

Blair was immediately mollified. "No, that's not what I meant. I told her she could join us. That's cool, isn't it, Jim? I know you're like total strangers, but she's a really great person, and her sister's out of town and she's got no one else to be with."

"Chief, relax. It's alright."

Blair relaxed immediately, shooting Simon a smile. "Great! Oh, Simon. I've got a present for Daryl. Remind me to drop it off here tomorrow."

Simon returned the smile. "Speaking of Daryl. If you guys want to get the hell out of my office, I can finish up my work and get home."

Blair practically leaped out of his chair. "Alright! Let's go, Jim. We might be early enough to go to a nice restaurant for dinner."

"Are you kidding? It's after eleven on Christmas Eve. Who do you think's gonna be open?"

"No problem, man," Blair assured him as they strolled out the doors. "I know a really authentic Chinese place, owned by Buddhists. I doubt they'd close for the holidays."

"That isn't exactly traditional Christmas dining, Sandburg."

The kid's response was lost as they traveled out of Simon's earshot. The captain shook his head with a grin, and got back to his paperwork.

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