Christmas Eve, Cascade Community Center:

The party looked like it was going to be a rousing success. The twelve-foot Christmas tree in the corner was bedecked with lights and shiny glass ornaments, and filled to overflowing beneath with hundreds of toys for needy kids in the community. A buffet table was spread with turkey and ham, dressing, cranberries, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, pies, cookies and fudge. Everything imaginable for a perfect Christmas dinner.

Detectives and uniformed officers mingled beside their spouses and children with the less fortunate families of Cascade. As the line began to form at the buffet, Captain Banks positioned himself near the table, Bible in hand. Opening to Luke 2:1, he began to read the traditional Christmas story; his rich, deep voice carrying well over the general commotion.

When everyone was finally seated, a local minister offered up a prayer of praise and thanksgiving. The adults attacked their dinners with enthusiasm. The children, however, were edgy and anxious for dinner to be over so Santa would appear. Parents had their hands full trying to get a modicum of nourishment into excited mouths.

Finally, the anticipated time arrived. From behind a deep blue curtain stepped Santa Claus. Short and "chubby," with a riot of dark brown curls cascading from beneath his bright red cap, glasses perched precariously across the tip of his nose, and a long white beard, Santa seated himself in the large chair provided for him. Behind him stood his elf helper, a tall, grim vision in green tights--hat tipped jauntily over one ear, with bells on the tips of the curled toes of his green satin slippers.

The children looked with excitement at Santa before turning hesitant eyes on the elf behind him. Finally, a boy of about eight got up the courage to approach. He climbed into Santa's lap, and with a brief glance at the intimidating elf, turned his attention to the man in red.

"Ho, ho, ho!" laughed Santa. "Who have we here?"

"Jimmy," the boy answered in a small voice.

Santa chuckled and glanced over his shoulder to wink at his elf. "And what do you want for Christmas this year, Jimmy?"

"I'd like a new coat," the boy replied reasonably, "and maybe some Legos, if that's not asking too much."

While Santa bantered with the child on his lap, Jim whispered to a large black elf to fetch a boy's coat and a box of Legos from under the tree. Henri Brown obliged, eyeing the child for size and digging through the pile of warm winter coats donated by the police department's families and the community. Rafe handed over a large box of Legos which got passed on to Jim.

Approaching Santa's chair, the tall elf held out the gifts. Jimmy's eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, wow!! Just what I wanted!! Thanks, Santa!" He bounced down, the next eager child taking his place.

The gift giving went on for about a half an hour before a shy little girl of four toddled up. Taking one look at the dour elf standing behind Santa, she fled. Blair rocked back in his chair, turning to chide his partner. "Lighten up, Jim! You're scaring the kids," he stage whispered. Jim grunted, but plastered a smile on his face.

Before Blair could turn back around, an enthusiastic youngster bounded into his lap, tipping over the precariously balanced chair. Child and Santa tumbled backward, somersaulting off the low stage. "Oomph!" exclaimed Blair as the child landed on his chest.

Laughing so hard that he was barely of any use, Jim plucked the startled child from the tangle and set him on the floor. Going to the aid of his partner, he heard a soft moan. Looking the situation over, he noticed Blair's right leg had become entangled with the chair during the fall, his ankle bent at an unnatural angle.

"Hang on, Chief, I'll help you." He bent over to carefully dislodge Blair's leg from the chair. Blair sat up, reaching for his injured ankle and cursing sentinel-soft under his breath.

"Here, let me take a look." Jim's army medic training came in handy as he prepared to assess the damage to his friend's ankle. Removing the shiny black boot, he inspected the damage. "Probably just a sprain," he announced after a few minutes, "but a nasty one. You're going to want to get ice on that as soon as possible."

"But, Jim . . . there are still kids waiting to talk to Santa!" Blair protested.

"You need to take care of this, or you may not be walking tomorrow."

"They're just kids. Look at them, Jim! I can't disappoint them!" He argued. Grabbing the sleeve of his partner's costume, Blair tried to haul himself to his feet. Stumbling, he landed hard on his behind with a startled "Ooof!"

"Okay, Saint Nick," Jim sighed, giving the younger man a hand. "If you insist, I can't stop you, but *please* try and be more careful?" He slipped his hands under Blair's armpits, lifting him and balancing him on his one good foot.

"Are you all right, Sandburg?" Simon asked, having finally worked his way through the milling crowd of children and parents.

"I've been better," Blair grimaced, trying to put a little weight on the injured ankle, ". . . but I've been worse. Set the chair back up, would you, please?"

"You're not going to keep working like this, Sandburg!" Simon insisted. "We'll get Joel or Henri to take your place. They wouldn't even need the extra padding," he chuckled, patting Blair's waistline.

"Oh, come on, Simon!" Blair's face twisted with frustration at trying to convince the captain he was all right. "Just let me get back to the kids, okay?"

Simon righted the chair and helped Jim ease their injured Santa down onto it. "You sure, Blair?" he asked.

"Look at them, Simon. . . ." Blair gestured out at the crowd of milling children. "Without us, these kids aren't going to *have* a Christmas this year. I can do this. Please?"

Simon exchanged doubtful glances with his detective. "I'll watch him, Simon," Jim promised.

Shaking his head, Simon smiled gratefully. "Okay, kid, it's your show. Just be careful, all right?"

"Gotcha, Simon." Blair gave his superior a thumbs up before turning to the crowd and laughing merrily. "Who's next?"

Things finally settled down. The kids gave their wishes to Santa, while the Sentinel Elf listened in, making sure the helper elves brought out the appropriate gifts. By the end of the evening, Blair was looking a little pale and worn.

As Simon gathered the families around the tree for a reading of "The Night Before Christmas," Jim wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulders.

"Time to get you out of here," he said softly.

Blair pushed himself out of the chair, crying out with surprise and pain when he accidentally put some weight on his right foot. Jim immediately wrapped Blair's arm around his shoulder while wrapping his own around his partner's waist, taking most of the weight onto himself.

"Lean on me," he told the injured man. Elf and Santa limped from the room, leaving the crowd of contented children behind.

Without bothering to change out of the costumes, Jim led Blair out to the parking lot and the waiting truck. With some difficulty, he managed to get his partner into the passenger seat and safely buckled in. Climbing in the driver's side, Jim checked on his patient.

Blair had settled in, his head tipped back against the seat, eyes closed. The color had long since drained from his face, and his breath came in rapid pants.

"Hang on, Blair," Jim encouraged, patting a red knee. "We'll swing by the hospital and have that looked at."

"Just take me home, please?" Blair begged.

"That ankle should be x-rayed," Jim insisted. "Just to make sure you didn't break it."

"Jim, if I'd broken it, I wouldn't have been able to stay and play Santa," Blair argued reasonably. "Please, just take me home?"

Jim's guilt battled with his better sense and won. "Okay, but if we don't see some improvement by morning, you're going to the hospital."

"Deal." Blair sighed and fell silent for the rest of the trip back to 852 Prospect.

Jim helped his partner as he hopped into the loft and over to the couch. Collapsing on the cushions, Blair let his head fall back and released a groan.

"Let's get this costume off you, Chief," Jim suggested, beginning by removing the one remaining boot and tugging the red pants down, being careful not to bump the tender ankle. He proceeded to remove the top as well, leaving Blair sitting on the couch in his boxers and tee. Grabbing the afghan from the back of the couch, Jim wrapped it around the shaking shoulders of his cold friend. He took a moment to start a fire in the fireplace, adding extra warmth to the large, cold room.

"Give me a minute to get something for that ankle," Jim said, moving swiftly toward the kitchen and pulling a bag of peas from the freezer. Returning to the couch, he lifted Blair's leg, settling his foot on a pillow he placed on the coffee table. He draped the bag of peas over the badly swollen appendage before settling next to his friend. "Better?"

"Yeah, man. Thanks." Blair opened his eyes and turned his head to look at the Sentinel. "You did a good job tonight, Jim. You helped make a lot of kids' dreams come true."

A small smile crooked Jim's lips. "They *were* kind of cute," he admitted.

"What amazed me was how many asked for things for their brothers and sisters, or parents," Blair mused. "They have so little, but their thoughts were still for others."

"Makes you think about all we have to be thankful for," Jim said. "Like a roof over our heads. . . ."

"I'm grateful you gave me a home after mine blew up," Blair interrupted.

Jim flung an arm across the back of the couch, not quite touching Blair's shoulders. "We've got plenty of food. . . ."

"And we both know how to cook," Blair chuckled.

"More or less," Jim amended good-naturedly. "We're employed. . . ."

"Even though my grants barely give me enough to get by, and I *volunteer* for the PD," Blair clarified. "I'm grateful you're generous with your paycheck." He paused to turn serious blue eyes on his roommate. "But you know I intend to pay back those 'loans'."

"No rush," Jim assured him. Scooting a little closer to the young Anthropologist, Jim let his arm drop to Blair's shoulders. "You know what I'm *most* thankful for?" he asked.

Blair looked at him with wide eyes and gently shook his head, dark curls dancing around his face.

"I'm thankful for good friends, for geeky Anthropologists, for a partner that values my life over his own, even if his devotion *is* a bit misguided. . . . I'm thankful for *you*, Blair."

For once, the talkative grad student was struck dumb. With firelight warming his pale features, he blushed and smiled.