Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.
Note: Once again, I wrote this quickly and it ends abruptly.
Warning: It's PG13 and, y'know, there just might be a Part 3. Sorry. 

Leaving Peter Venkman's tormented screams behind them, Janine fled upstairs and Ray bolted downstairs to his basement lab.

For the first time since he'd moved into the firehouse Ray locked the door. As if that would actually keep out a ghost with too much Christmas spirit or the Wrath of Venkman or even his own mortal embarrassment. Leaning against the door he covered his face with his hands. What to do now, laugh or scream? Hmmm...he started to laugh. Oh, god. He'd ripped Janine's shirt! Oh, god. A terrible case of underestimating the strength of a holly pin and overestimating the strength of an antique lace blouse. Well, he didn't MEAN to! He had to yank the pin or Slimer would've just RUINED her clothes...oh, GOD! He scrubbed his burning face and laughed some more.

He could smell Janine's perfume on his hands.

He stopped laughing.

*Meanwhile, Up In The Third Floor Bunkroom*

Scanning her surroundings for any sign of her employers or Slimer the Friendly Christmas Menace with his 'mitheltoe' Janine crept into the bunkroom. Her lacy blouse was beyond repair and she let it fall to the floor. One of these guys had to have a shirt she could borrow. She felt like a rather vulnerable trespasser sneaking around but, really, she always got a charge out of venturing into the sanctum sanctorum where four of the best men she'd ever known slept. All was quiet. Oh, look, Winston had a goldfish on his bedside table. Peter's domineering four-poster was a mess, as usual, Ray, she fought back a blush, had a new, sunny patchwork quilt on his bed and Egon...ah...Egon's bed...Janine repressed a sudden urge to roll on it in her bare skin, mussing those military corners beyond all redemption.

Bare skin...Uh oh, where was a shirt? She began to search in various armoires, trunks, and shelves. Where was a shirt?! Was it laundry day?

*Meanwhile, In The Third Floor Bathroom*

It WAS laundry day and there were no towels so Winston had to stand in the tub to quietly drip-dry for a few minutes. He didn't want to leave puddles on the floor. Damn Slimer. Bleah! Egon had captured and thrown away Slimer's makeshift mistletoe wreath but not before both he and Winston had become covered in gooey ectoplasmic kisses. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.

Hoping he had, at least, one change of clothes or a spare jumpsuit in his Marine footlocker he stepped out of the tub and walked, naked, slightly dripping, towards the bunkroom.

*Meanwhile, In the Second Floor Bathroom*

Egon, the ever-resourceful, had the last towel. It was the last towel anyone ever used, the white threadbare one with more holes than there was towel. Stepping out of the tub he tied the small thing around his waist and tried to position it for maximum modesty. He failed. Cursing slime, laundry day and mistletoe in idiomatic Sumerian he shook his curling platinum hair out of his eyes and, crossing the rec room, began to ascend the stairs to the 3rd floor.

*Meanwhile, On The Floor Behind Janine's Desk*

Peter Venkman lay in a slimy, grotesque heap, too angry to get off the floor. He had a holly pin clenched in one fist and he stared at the ceiling, frustrated by his inability to think up an appropriately horrific revenge on Janine and Ray. Every disturbing, sick and painful scenario was simply too good for them. Slimer was nowhere in sight. Unable to get the pin back he'd darted out the door in search of anything leafy and green to replace his 'mitheltoe.' Nothing was getting in the way of Slimer's good time. He was like the Unsinkable Molly Brown in that respect.

"To quote John Belushi," Peter snarled to no one "I'm going to feed their fingertips to the wolverines."

Then he smiled, remembering. Oh, the looks on their faces when he turned the corner and caught them. Janine and Ray had resembled a couple of kids trapped at the top of a roller coaster, helpless to stop a very interesting situation. Peter realized, with great satisfaction, that his original plan of teasing them for the rest of their natural lives was the best revenge possible.

What could be better?

A blast of cold, winter air swept along the floor as the front door opened, admitting an unexpected, but always welcome, visitor. Oozing upright Peter opened his slimy arms wide. "Big Mama Spengler! Give us a kiss!"

Egon's immaculately groomed and stylish mother stayed well out of arm's reach and smiled. "Oh, Peter. I'm not even going to ask what happened."

"Too bad, I'm gonna tell you anyway." He rubbed his hands together in his best Evil Mantis impersonation. "I'm telling Egon, too. C'mon. He's upstairs somewhere."

Mrs. Spengler very wisely kept Peter ahead of her as they mounted the stairs in search of her son.

*A Moment Later-In the Bunkroom - The Convergence*

"Janine?!"

"Winston?!"

Janine's jaw dropped in horror. She gaped at Winston as he grabbed up the nearest thing, Ray's Dopey Dawg doll, and covered himself with it. (Putting poor Dopey in a very compromising position.) A tall, lithe blond appeared at the door and stopped dead.

"Janine?!"

"EGON!"

"Spookums?!"

"MOTHER!!"

"Rocky!" Peter shouted and collapsed to the floor in a graceless salaam of joy. Yes, Virginia, there IS a Santa Claus.

"Good God, Spookums, WHAT is going on?"

"I don't know! Janine?"

"I don't know! I just wanted to borrow a shirt!"

Winston wanted to reach over and grab a blanket off someone's bed but that would require taking his back away from the wall and mooning Mrs. Spengler. He remained very still and tried to be as inconspicuous as a large, naked black man could be.

Peter remained on the floor, beyond laughter, practically in the Lotus Position. He was very, very happy and perfectly content to just Be In The Moment, beaming up at his friends. To think he didn't cause ANY of this! Something caught his eye and he surreptiously picked it up.

Janine chose that moment to make a break for it. "Excuse me!" She jumped over Peter and escaped out the door. The laundry room. She had to get to the laundry room. Why didn't she put on her coat to begin with? Moron! Egon and his MOTHER. No. No. Nononononono....Janine had seen Egon's flesh tones through the cobweb of his towel. The memory of it increased her speed.

Mrs. Spengler stood in the doorway, in shock, a moment more. Then she noticed Winston. Great God Almighty. "Excuse me, too!" Out the door she went. What was going ON in this place?

Relieved, Winston threw down Dopey Dawg and grabbed a blanket. "Borrow a shirt? What happened to her own?!"

Egon gazed wordlessly, and somewhat accusingly, down at Peter. Peter made a great show of scratching his head. Think, think, think. He casually switched a small ball of lacy fabric from his right to his left hand and stood up.

"I don't know Winston." He aimed an innocent grin at them both. "Maybe Ray still has it."

He went out singing. "Merry Christmas to me! Merry Christmas to me! Merry Christmas, dear Peter, Merry Christmas to me!"

End 

Back to:

• Mistletoe Challenge
• Titles
• Date
• Index