Archive of Our Own ^beta

Author's disclaimer: Disclaimers: UPN and Pet Fly own the guys and The Sentinel, but they never would have put Jim in this position (No pun intended). No money being made I have a real job, although it's nowhere near as much fun as writing this stuff.

I Saw Sandburg Kissing Santa Claus

A Sentinel Christmas Story by Corbeau

As soon as Jim and Blair entered the Major Crimes bullpen, the two were mobbed as every other employee, from detectives to the girl who brought the food cart, descended on them and began to talk at once.

"What happened?"

"Is Joel OK?"

"Did he have a heart attack?"

"Was he a hostage?"

"Is Joel in the hospital?"

"We heard there was a hazmat situation at the scene."

"Anybody else hurt?"

Blair noticed Jim's wince at the ever-louder cacophony of voices, although his partner just managed to avoid clapping his hands to his ears. Waving one arm to draw everyone's attention, Blair put a finger to his lips for silence. As the various interrogators quieted down, Blair turned to Jim. "Do you want to take this or shall I?"

Jim gripped Blair's shoulder and squeezed gratefully. "Go ahead, Chief. I designate you the official spokespartner."

Blair nodded and turned to his expectant colleagues. "First of all, Joel is in the hospital but he'll be OK. He did collapse at the scene, but it turned out to be that really virulent flu that's going around. They're going to keep him overnight for observation, and to get some extra fluids into him, but he should be home after that. He won't feel too great, and he'll probably end up with chicken soup for Christmas dinner instead of turkey, but he'll survive."

One of the uniforms from Burglary piped up from the back of the room. "There was something on the radio about a possible toxic spill--some kind of white powder. They made it sound pretty serious."

Jim rolled his eyes to heaven as Blair continued. "Yeah, well, that's what we originally heard from dispatch, too. It turns out that the seriousness of the situation was a bit exaggerated by the people who first called it in."

"A bit?" Jim snorted. "It was a what Megan called a bloody farce."

"What was it?" Rhonda asked. "The radio report made it sound like a terrorist attack on a factory."

Jim rolled his eyes to the heavens, but kept his mouth shut. "Well," explained Blair, "That report was a bit premature. It was a factory, sort of. But there wasn't a terrorist in sight."

Jim couldn't hold it in any more, and after a patented curl of the Ellison lip, he exploded. "It was a minor labor dispute in a damn bakery."

A grizzled veteran from Traffic snickered in the doorway. "A bakery?"

"It was a big bakery," Blair conceded. "No little apple-cheeked mom and pop in aprons--more like big machines extruding cookies by the carload."

"And the possibly toxic white substance?" Rhonda asked.

Blair sighed. "Powdered sugar."

"Powdered sugar."

"'Fraid so. Man, that stuff gets on everything. I think I've still got some in my hair."

"We're gonna have to wash the floor mats in the truck," Jim grumbled.

Between relief and a typical cop's reaction to the absurdity of life, it took awhile for the bullpen to calm down, only to erupt again in laughter and rude remarks all over again as Brown got back from the scene.

"So, Brown, did you read the Keebler elves their rights and haul 'em off to the slammer?" someone yelled out.

Henri gave his questioner the finger. "Very funny. It was a big waste of a lot of people's time."

"How the heck did things get so screwed up?" asked the food cart girl.

"You mean Sandburg didn't tell you? He's the one who figured out what was going on or we'd all be there yet." Henri gave Blair a wink. "Score one more for the rookie."

"No he didn't tell us that part," Rhonda said accusingly. "Come on, Blair, give."

Blair laughed, shaking his head. "It was no big deal--I was just the first one there fluent enough in Spanish to figure it out. It was mostly a language problem. The line workers are mostly Hispanic, but the company was just bought out by a bunch in the Midwest who think Taco Bell is too exotically ethnic. Typical case of group conflict arising from repeated failures in cross-cultural communication."

Smiles and chuckles broke out at the descent into Sandburg-speak. Blair raised his hands in apology. "Sorry--old habits. Anyway, management freaked out when there was a bit of a revolt on the line, and they were none too coherent when they called in the initial report. They overreacted big time."

"So," Henri continued, "Sandburg gets there and starts doing what he does best--talk. And listen, too. Took awhile, but he got things pretty well straightened out, and suggested some places they could find bilingual labor arbitration. The Midwest corporate types were ready to kiss his badge by that time."

Jim smiled indulgently at his partner. "I'm not sure, but I think Major Crimes is getting a lifetime's supply of free cookies. Sandburg mentioned Frosted Chocolate Brownie Delight was his favorite."

Jim and Blair finally escaped to their desks to a chorus of "All right--chocolate!" and variations thereof. Ignoring his own desk, Jim leaned on the corner of Blair's as they began working on their report of the fiasco. They were embroiled in a deep discussion over which adjective to use when a familiar bellow brought them to attention.

"Ellison, Sandburg--my office. Now."

Blair looked at Jim. Jim looked at Blair. "Chief, have you been up to something I don't know about?"

"There's not much I do that you don't know about any more," Blair replied. "Besides, why assume it's me? Could be something you've done."

Jim shook his head and lowered his voice. "The only thing I can think of that either one of is doing that would get us in trouble with Simon is something we're doing together--and I thought we were pretty good at hiding it around here."

Blair frowned. "I thought so too. Maybe it's a new assignment."

"Maybe," Jim agreed without much conviction. "We're about to find out."

"You might want to close the door for this one," Simon mumbled through his cigar. Blair tried to look nonchalant as Jim closed the door. It was hard for him but he was getting better at it. He hoped so, anyway.

Simon leaned back and blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling. "Joel's illness has left us in a bit of a bind. He has an important assignment coming up that you'll have to take over, Jim."

Jim looked puzzled. "What assignment would that be, sir? I didn't think Joel had anything significant going on right now, at least nothing someone who isn't an explosives expert could handle."

Simon placed his elbows on the desk and leaned toward Jim. "The assignment doesn't require any special expertise, Ellison--just a lot of courage."

Blair saw Jim's face pale slightly as that muscle in his jaw began its familiar twitch. [Shit--how dangerous was this? Watching Jim risk his life had always been hard, but now--]

Jim swallowed hard. "Simon, you don't mean--"

Simon nodded. "The Sojourner Truth Community Center. You've got to take over."

Simon stared at Jim. Jim stared back at Simon like a stunned cow in a slaughterhouse. Blair stared at both of them in turn. Finally he couldn't stand the suspense another second. "What's this all about? What could be so dangerous at a community center? What was Joel going to do?"

Jim shut his eyes. His shoulders slumped. "Play Santa Claus at the annual children's holiday party."

Silence reigned for a moment until Blair exploded. "Santa Claus? You want Jim to play Santa Claus? That's crazy!"

Simon glared. "Excuse me, detective?"

"Uh, I mean, that's crazy Sir."

"And just what is so crazy about it, Sandburg?"

"Captain, we're talking about Santa Claus here. Round face, round belly...bowl full of jelly? It just doesn't seem like a good idea to pick the guy with the lowest body fat percentage in the Cascade PD to play Santa Claus. The kids won't believe it." Blair turned on his puppy-dog-in-the-shelter-window look. "Think of the children..."

"The suit comes with plenty of padding," Simon replied. "Joel didn't need it but Jim can use it. It's a high quality costume donated by the Cascade Playhouse. It'll look very realistic."

Blair was thinking fast, trying to get Jim out of this one. "What about the multicultural aspect, then? How often to African-American kids, or any kids get to see anything but a white Santa? You owe it to them to give them the opportunity--what about Brown? He'd be a better choice on two counts."

"Multicultural doesn't just mean non-white, Sandburg." Simon flicked off his cigar ash with a predatory smile. "The kids at that center really are multicultural, and a lot are biracial. I don't think having another white Santa will mar them for life. Besides, the party is the day after tomorrow and Brown is due to testify then on the Olsen homicide."

Jim was about to open his mouth and give in when Blair jumped up and stood on the other side of his Captain's desk. "What about the Sentinel problem, then?"

"What 'Sentinel problem?'" Simon growled.

"Chief--"

"No, Jim, it could be a problem," Blair insisted. "I've volunteered at places like that before--do you have any idea how loud a group of kids can get? And at frequencies that could shatter glass? How many are we talking about? Thirty? Forty?"

"More like fifty or sixty," Jim admitted.

"Fifty or sixty?" Blair began waving his arms around for emphasis. "Simon, that kind of chaos could be more than Jim could handle. He could even zone out."

"Chief, don't--"

"You can't let him go in there alone, Simon--Sir." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Blair began to get a bad feeling. The last time he'd seen that look on Simon's face, he'd just hooked a particularly elusive fish.

"Who said he was going in there alone, Sandburg?"

Blair backed away from the desk to stand next to Jim. "Why don't I like the sound of that? Jim, do you know what he means?"

"'Fraid so Chief. He means you're screwed too."

"Don't you know," Simon explained gleefully, "That Santa always has a little helper?"

"A little--" Blair's eyes got even wider than usual. "Oh, no, Simon. You don't mean--"

Simon grinned evilly. "Wait until you see the elf costume, Detective Sandburg. It's got tights."

"But I can't be an elf!" Blair exploded.

"Why not?"

"Well--I'm Jewish."

Simon chuckled. "I've met your mother. You can't be that Orthodox."

"OK, maybe not. But there's a big difference between not keeping kosher and dressing up as an elf. Isn't this a violation of my religious freedom?"

Jim touched Blair lightly on the back. "Give it up, partner. You're not going to win this one."

"Listen to the voice of experience, Detective." Simon gestured toward the door. "And get out of here so I can get some real work done."

Dinner was over at 852 Prospect, the kitchen cleaned up, and dishes done. Blair hadn't mentioned their impending trial by fire since they'd left Simon's office, but Jim knew he was still thinking about it. Jim walked over to where his partner was sitting on the sofa, staring at the television without seeing it. Jim knew he wasn't paying attention because the screen was showing The Learning Channel--looked like _Trauma: Life in the ER_--lots of blood and carnage. Not Blair's usual choice of viewing.

Sitting next to his partner, Jim slipped an arm around the hunched shoulders and pulled the smaller man close. "Hey, it won't be so bad. It'll make the kids happy."

"I hope so. It'll be nice to know that there's some positive outcome to my total humiliation."

Jim squirmed. "Don't you think that's a little strong?"

"Jim, I spent three years around Major Crimes as 'the kid,' even though I was thirty by the end of that time. Granted, I was just an observer, and not trained--but sometimes it got a little irksome to go through some life-threatening experience out in the field, then come back and be treated like a mascot...just because I'm not thrilled about dead bodies. So, I finally go to the Academy, get my training, become a real detective--and I'm the rookie."

"Everybody had to be a rookie in the beginning."

"I know, and I was willing to put up with all the little rites of passage. I understand how important they are in a situation where group cohesiveness is essential, like the police or the military--"

Jim began to nibble on Blair's ear. "God, I love it when you talk like an anthropologist."

"Hey, I'm being serious here...oh, yeah, do that again. What was I saying?"

"You were being serious." Jim released his lover's ear and tried to pay attention.

"Right. Anyway, here I'm finally starting to get taken seriously as a real member of the department, and boom--all my hard-won credibility destroyed by an elf suit. I'll never live it down."

Jim took Blair's chin in his hand and turned the younger man to face him. "I don't think you realize how important you are to Major Crimes, and always were. And not just for keeping that potential loose cannon Ellison in line. You were a breath of fresh air, a new perspective, a shoulder to cry on for people afraid to show vulnerability. Sometimes I think you're the glue that holds the place together. Simon didn't pull strings to get you on the Force because he felt guilty about what you gave up for us--for me."

Jim bent his head to kiss Blair softly. "He may not be aware of all your reasons for doing that--but he offered you the job because he knows how important you are to his division, and always have been. Everybody else knows that too. They wouldn't kid you so much if they didn't like and admire you. They'd be polite as hell and freeze you out."

Blair looked hard at Jim's face, finally recognizing the truth there. "OK, maybe I serve a necessary function after all--kind of like the Fool in a medieval court. But I wish you didn't have to go through it. Jim, it is so not your thing."

"I can't say I'm looking forward to it, but I'll survive. Thanks for trying to get me out of it, though. I thought I was supposed to be the Blessed Protector around here."

"You are, love--but I'm the world-class bullshit artist. At least I thought I was. Didn't work on Simon this afternoon, did it? I played the race card, the religion card, even the Sentinel card--and bupkis."

"Maybe you were just tired out. You did a great job at the bakery earlier. That beautiful mouth of yours got quite a workout."

"You think I did a great job? Really?"

"Damn straight--if you'll excuse the expression. I never thought anyone could get those people to shut up, let alone calm down and communicate."

"You think I have a beautiful mouth?"

"Don't I keep telling you that?"

"Yeah. Just like to hear it. Want me to show you what else I can do with it besides talk?"

"Oh, yeah. Maybe Santa and his little helper could adjourn to the workshop upstairs and discuss it."

Blair almost leaped from the sofa in eagerness, pulling Jim up with him. "Santa, you're a dirty old man...but watch who you're calling little. Short, maybe but not little."

Jim grinned down at Blair as they headed up the stairs. "Why don't you explain that to me too. It's lonely up here at the North Pole."

Blair swatted Jim on his delicious rear as it ascended the stairs ahead of him. "You want a pole, I'll show you a pole."

"I'm counting on it."

Both men managed not to think about Santa or elves at work the following day, at least not more than once or twice an hour. The following morning, however, there was a palpable fog of gloom inside the truck as they drove to the Community Center.

"Blair--look at it this way--a few hours from now it'll be over."

Blair slumped even farther down in the passenger seat. "That's probably what the Chaplain says to the guys on Death Row just before they do their 'Dead Man Walking' bit."

"Think of the kids, then. Most of them have it kinda tough--low income, lots of single parents. This is a big deal for them, you know. You're great with kids, sweetheart, and they'll love you. It'll mean a lot to them, believe me."

Blair reached over to give his partner's thigh a gentle squeeze. "Thanks. I'll try to keep that in mind. So, distract me. How did the Cascade PD get involved with this place and why haven't I gotten roped in before? Sounds like the kind of thing somebody would've volunteered me for before this."

"Cascade PD 'adopted' the center years ago, before my time," Jim replied. "Different precincts or divisions picked various places like it all over the city--part of a community policing initiative some bureaucrat came up with. For once, it worked out, though. Regular contact with police in a more casual setting has helped keep a lot of those kids out of trouble. Remember Malcolm Washington? And Lupe Guzman?"

"From my Academy class? Sure--good people. Lupe used to practice throwing me over her shoulder." Blair laughed. "She got way too good at it, man."

Jim smiled. "Yeah, I remember asking you where all those bruises were coming from--it took some effort maneuvering around them sometimes. Bet Lupe never realized she was providing me a challenge in my sex life." Waiting for Blair to finish his undignified snorting in the corner, Jim continued. "Anyway, Lupe and Malcolm are just the latest in a long line of kids who went into police work because of their contacts with cops at Sojourner Truth."

"Hey, that's pretty cool," Blair admitted, sitting up straighter. "I'm surprised I never got involved before. Where was I?"

Jim was silent for a few seconds. "You were usually pretty busy with other things at this time of year." [Like making up and correcting finals, and finishing up your own work for the semester, and those other things you tossed into the dumpster for me.]

"Oh yeah." Blair tried to keep his tone light, despite the painful wince of memory. He was trying hard to stop missing his old life--he didn't want Jim to go all broody on him--but every once in a while it would hit him without warning. "Still, I'm surprised everybody resisted the temptation to get Hairboy and the elf costume together before this."

"Even Major Crimes had a clue once in a while that you had to sleep sometime. Besides, Joel really got off on the Santa thing, and nobody else was exactly eager for the job."

"Gee, I'm surprised. Well, at least there won't be too many people we know there, right? The criminals of Cascade never took Christmas off before."

Jim cheered up a little. "Yeah--Joel's sick, Henri's in court, somebody has to mind the store. Besides, I didn't tell anybody about this, did you?"

Blair shook his head vehemently. "Are you kidding? Do I look like a masochist? You get to hide behind a beard at least, I'm out there in my tights with my bare face hanging out. Thank God the only people who'll see us are a bunch of kids and parents and workers at the Center, right?"

"Right," Jim agreed. "This won't be so bad."

Marjorie Benton, the somewhat frazzled Director of the Sojourner Truth Community Center, dodged her way through a mass of overexcited children like a hapless pinball--trying to intercept her visitor before Billy Wilson threw up on his shoes. "Captain Banks--I didn't expect to see you here today. I thought you'd be much too busy."

Simon Banks did an intricate little dance to avoid the small boy bending over his feet as a Center volunteer scooped the little tyke up in the nick of time. "The crime rate in Cascade seems to have taken an unexpected dip lately," he explained, shaking the Director's hand. "And the Chief of Police thought this would be a good time to re-emphasize the close relations between the Cascade PD and the community." At least he thought so after Simon had skillfully insinuated the idea into his bureaucratic little head.

"Well that's just wonderful," Ms. Benton replied, pasting an official smile on her face. "The children are a bit more frisky than usual because of the party, and we're understaffed because of the flu--it's not usually this chaotic around here."

"Glad to hear it," Simon replied, dodging a small plastic ball that went flying past his head. "I wish I'd known about your staffing problem before, maybe we could have..."

"Need any help?" asked a voice behind Simon's shoulder. A voice with an Australian accent. Simon turned around.

"Conner, what are you doing here?" He spotted the young man coming in the door a little behind her. "What are both of you doing here?"

"We took an early lunch, Sir," Rafe explained blandly. "We ran into Lupe Guzman on patrol and she happened to mention the Center was having some staffing problems, so we came by in case we could help."

Simon gave his two detectives a "you're not fooling me" look. "How unselfish of you to give up your lunch hour. You two are a credit to the Department."

"It's Christmas, Sir," Megan said solemnly.

"Right." Simon turned to Ms. Benton. "Is there a way my officers can make themselves useful?"

"We're trained in crowd control and riot suppression," Megan volunteered as she got a good look and the swarm of peripatetic children. "Looks it might come in handy."

The Director smiled weakly, hoping it was a joke. "It would help if you could keep them from wandering off or hitting each other. Keep an eye on that little six-year-old in the purple dress, the one with the pigtails. She's a real escape artist. The boy in the Rudolph the Reindeer t-shirt will put Oreos in the punch if you give him half a chance. The ones who tend to hit are the tall blond boy with the buzz cut, and that red-haired girl in the green overalls, and--"

Megan and Rafe began to look a little pale. Was the chance to see Ellison and Sandburg humiliated really worth this?

Jim and Blair parked the truck and headed toward the front door of the Community Center with the spring back in their steps. They'd spent the rest of the ride over convincing each other and themselves that this was going to be a walk in the park, an amusing interlude in their complex lives that they'd chuckle over in their twilight years. No problem.

Jim nonchalantly opened the door, then staggered back against Blair. Guide reflex took over as Blair braced himself against the onslaught of over six feet of pole-axed Sentinel. The noise was deafening. Sixty high-frequency voices were in full cry, yelling, crying, shrieking, singing--and for variety, making raspberries and belching. One in particular rose above the rest in a wail that could have given a police siren lessons.

Blair grabbed his partner's elbow and squeezed. "Jim, dial it down, quick! Dial it way down."

"Dialing," Jim gasped. "I've got things dialed down to normal, I think, and it's still painful."

Blair moved around to face Jim, noticing evident distress on the familiar face. "Dial it down below normal, then. It should be safe to do that here. It's just a Community Center, and besides, the place is crawling with cops. Couldn't be safer."

Blair and Jim realized what he'd just said at the same moment. "Crawling with cops?"

Turning as one to survey the room, they came within a hairsbreadth of turning around and fleeing the scene. Maybe running a fishing camp in the woods would be a good career change right about now. Or going someplace warm--Blair would like that. A foreign country sounded good...charter boats in Baja. Beachcombing in Fiji. Join the Chopec again and eat roasted tree slugs.

Blair clutched his partner's arm. "Jim, tell me I'm hallucinating. Tell me that's not Megan over there, and Rafe."

"God, babe, I wish you were seeing things. Then that wouldn't be three guys I used to work with in Vice over there, and four of the uniforms assigned to Major Crimes." Jim pointed. "Isn't that..."

"God," Blair moaned. "Even Meter Maids."

"Oh, good," piped up a voice behind them. "I was afraid I'd be late!"

Jim turned his, hoping for at least an auditory hallucination. No luck. "Cassie."

"Hi guys," the Forensics Chief said brightly. "Oh, I see Simon could make it. Great."

"Shouldn't you be at a crime scene somewhere?" growled Jim.

"Just taking your advice, Jim," Cassie replied brightly. "I'm really making an effort to delegate more. You should be pleased."

"Oh yeah," said Blair sarcastically. "He's thrilled. We both are."

"Detective Ellison? Detective Sandburg? I'm Marjorie Benton, Center Director. Thank you so much for filling in on such short notice. We really appreciate it."

Pasting a polite smile on his face--it looked more like advanced rigor mortis--Jim shook the woman's hand. "Our pleasure."

"Let me show you where the costumes are and where you can change. I'm sorry it's a bit cramped..."

Blair leaned over to whisper into Jim's ear. "Dead Men Walking."

Cramped was a generous term for their "dressing room." It was a corner of a storage room, full to the brim with broken furniture and summer play equipment. Jim and Blair were able to carve out a space big enough to work in, just barely.

"Hey, Jim, this really is a good costume," Blair admitted. "Not one of those cheesy ones you usually see."

Jim was resignedly stripping down, telling himself if he survived a helicopter crash in the jungle, abductions by stone killers, Russian assassins, and sex with Blair, he could survive this. "Great. As long as I'm going to make an ass of myself, it's good to know I'll be a well-dressed ass."

"Don't say 'ass' when you're standing in front of me in nothing but your shorts," Blair admonished. "I need to keep my mind on the job. Now put on this fat suit."

"What the hell is that? Can't I just stick a pillow in my gut?"

"Not if you want to look realistic. We've got our work cut out for us here, lover, making you look roly-poly." Blair looked longingly at the chiseled body in front of him. When he tore his eyes from the sight to look at Jim's face, he added an amendment. "Although making you look jolly is going to be the real challenge."

With Blair's help, Jim hoisted the padding onto his shoulders and groaned. "Good grief, this is like the Rangers--carrying seventy-five pounds of gear hiking through the woods."

Blair grunted as he shifted the unwieldy contraption into place. "At least you won't have to hike in this, only walk out there to 'ho-ho-ho' at those dear little children."

"Give me the Rangers anytime."

"This thing is heavy, and pretty scratchy. Have you got your sense of touch dialed way down?"

"I've got 'em all dialed so far down I'm practically comatose," Jim admitted.

After donning the pants, Jim found a reasonably intact stool to sit on and Blair began helping him tug on the patent leather boots. "When you get out there you'll need to dial up your hearing a little so you can talk to the kids, but keep everything dialed down just short of unconscious until then if you want to. You'll go nuts otherwise."

Jim buttoned up and adjusted the fur-trimmed jacket as Blair undressed down to t-shirt and shorts. Then Blair extracted the wig, beard, and spirit gum from another box.

"Oh, no--don't tell me you're gonna glue that thing on me!"

"Jim, I have to. Did you get a look at those kids? Did any of them look like the type who'd try to pull Santa's beard off?"

The Sentinel groaned. "At least half of them."

"Right. And if they succeeded that would probably traumatize the littler ones. Do you want to have that on your conscience?"

Jim sat back down on the stool with a defeated thud. "No, I want to have killing Simon on my conscience right about now. Do you know how to use that stuff?"

"Piece of cake. I learned how to do this when I was in a revival of Hair as an undergrad."

"Doing makeup, right?"

Blair ducked his head. "Not exactly. The Theatre Arts major I was dating was doing makeup. I was in the show."

Jim almost fell off the stool. He thought the only people who'd gotten a good look at Blair naked were himself and half the women on earth and a few guys here and there, and a lot of emergency room personnel--but a whole damn audience--and for how many performances? He gulped.

Blair looked up at his partner and grinned. "Nudity was optional, lover. I kept my jeans on."

"Oh, no you don't," Megan shouted. "Drop those Oreos!" Rafe threw his body in front of the punch bowl as they cut the offender out of the herd and plunked him down next to a harassed-looking volunteer. For the third time. Sweeping the room for any other diminutive proto-felons, the two detectives took a deep breath.

"I wonder if there's a plane leaving for Australia this afternoon," Megan panted.

Rafe leaned against the wall next to her. "I hope they have two seats. Just how hard is sheep ranching?"

"Easier than this." Idly sweeping the room, Megan suddenly came to full alert. "Uh-oh."

Rafe tensed. "What is it?"

"The pigtailed escape artist in the purple dress--do you see her?"

Groaning, Rafe dragged himself away from the wall and back into action. "Shit."

"Damn, this thing itches."

"Jim, leave the beard alone--dial down your touch some more." Blair was busily struggling into a pair of tights obviously made for someone smaller--like Calista Flockhart.

Jim forgot his itchy beard, distracted by his lover's fascinating contortions. "Boy, when they called those tights they weren't kidding."

Blair grunted as he gave them one final tug. "That stinking elf tunic better be pretty long or everybody in the building is gonna know for sure I'm circumcised."

Santa gave his elf an appreciative and lascivious once-over. "You know, you look great in tights. You've got nice legs--and that ass..."

"For Pete's sake," Blair groaned. "Cut that out! Don't you dare get me turned in here. You've got enough room in that suit to hide fifteen erections, but I couldn't hide a pimple on my butt in these things. Do you want to explain to the kiddies why Santa's little helper has a raging hard-on?"

Jim threw up his hands in surrender, laughing. "OK, I concede the point. I'll be nice, not naughty. Here's your tunic, I'll find your shoes."

Donna Louise Jackson, aged six, ambled along a corridor that led into the rear of the Community Center. She knew if she just sat quietly that lady who talked funny and the nice man in the suit would forget about her, especially after Bobbie McCarthy started whacking Mario Gonzales over the head with the Lego blocks. Grownups were easy to figure out most of the time.

With no particular destination in mind, only the soul of an explorer, Donna Louise poked her nose into a series of empty rooms. Nothing interesting here. This is where the grownups worked, and none of the computers had any games on them or anything fun. Teddy bear dragging on the floor, she turned down a corridor she'd never seen before. Someone had usually managed to find her before she got this far, but everybody was very busy today. Neat.

Rafe and Megan frantically but surreptitiously searched for the little girl in the party room, hoping she'd just decided to hide under the food table or behind the tree. No luck. They reconnoitered at the doorway leading to the back of the building.

"OK," Megan said, "we'll have to search the back. You don't think she could have gotten outside, do you?"

"I hope not," Rafe replied. "These doors have panic bars that open from the inside, but I don't think a kid her size could open one by herself."

As they slipped through the back door as casually as possible, Megan let herself relax a little. "The trouble is, someone of her size could hide just about anywhere. This could get ugly."

"Do you think," Rafe wondered, "God is punishing us for coming here just to give Jim and Blair a hard time?"

"No," replied Megan as they started down the corridor, trying each door. "I think he's punishing us for telling everybody in the precinct about it after you heard Simon talking to the Chief."

Blair sighed in relief as he adjusted the tunic. It fit better than the tights, and was long enough to keep him from scandalizing a room full of children. Absently accepting an elf shoe from Jim, he began to tug it on. "Shit!"

"Too tight, babe?" Jim asked solicitously.

"Jim, look at these things. They have long pointy toes. Long, curly pointy toes. Haven't I suffered enough?" Blair stood up in his tights and tunic and pointy-toed shoes, clutching his elf hat in his hand. "Haven't these people read Tolkien? An elf wouldn't be caught dead in this getup. I'm gonna just kill myself now."

Jim laid a palm against Blair's cheek. "Sweetheart, we've survived plenty of horrors together in our time. We can survive this one." Blair didn't look convinced. "Tell you what--after it's all over, we'll go out to dinner tonight, someplace really nice. Then we'll go home and spend the night making love until we pass out."

Blair looked up at Jim and began to smile. "I think you just gave me something to live for." The smile got wider as he took in the totality of James Ellison in his white beard and uncharacteristic mop of hair. "You know--I always wondered what it would be like to kiss a man with a beard."

Jim slipped his arms around Blair. "And I always wanted to kiss you until your toes curled. Those shoes give me a head start."

The elf wrapped his arms around Santa's neck. "We don't have to be out there for five more minutes. And you know, we really should have red cheeks for the full effect."

"Let's see if we can get each other a little flushed," Jim suggested. Capturing Blair's lips without giving him a mouthful of beard was a challenge, but the Sentinel managed. Leaving his other senses suppressed, he dialed up touch just to normal. Blair was obviously enjoying the unusual sensation--it was a very realistic beard. He pulled his lover even closer as their kiss deepened.

Donna Louise had discovered the Holy Grail of six-year-old explorers. The storage room was full of great stuff. She wandered in, gazing wide-eyed at the beach balls, battered toys, decorations for holidays past and yet to come. She was quiet as a mouse, looking but not touching. In the far corner, a flash of color caught her attention. It looked like a man in a red suit...oh, wow! Could it be--she quietly peeked around a box of art supplies, giving her an unobstructed view. Big brown eyes and a little mouth opened wide at the sight before her. She stood transfixed.

Rafe looked right and left as they encountered an intersecting corridor. "Now what? Which way do you think she went?"

"Oh, God, I don't know," wailed an increasingly distraught Megan, running a hand one more time through her already disarranged hair. "Wait--look at that--doesn't that door at the end of the right-hand corridor look like it's not quite closed?"

Rafe craned his neck. "You know, I think you're right. Let's go!"

Megan grabbed his arm. "Quietly," she whispered. "I don't want to spook the kid and lose her again."

"Good idea," Rafe agreed in a whisper. Slowly, silently, they crept up to the storage room door and slipped in. There seemed to be only one navigable path through the mess, and soon they both gave a quiet sigh of relief as they spotted their purple-clad quarry. Quiet as they were, they weren't quiet enough to escape six-year-old ears. Donna Marie seemed to have no more interest in escape, however. She turned to the two detectives and raised a finger to her lips. At their look of confusion, she soundlessly mouthed two words, obviously enough for even a grownup to catch on. (Santa Claus.)

Megan and Rafe gave each other an "isn't that cute?" look as they crept closer to their charge, not about to take any chances with a known flight risk. As they crouched beside the child and followed the direction of her gaze, their mouths dropped open and both pairs of eyes got wider than hers. [Holy shit] they thought in unison.

Finally, reluctantly, Jim and Blair broke their kiss. "Well, that worked, Jim said softly. "You looked nicely flushed now."

"You look good, too Santa. Nice red cheeks."

"Shall we go face the music, little helper?"

Blair lifted his chin. "Dead Elf Walking."

As their two detective colleagues left the room by a door on the opposite side, Rafe and Megan stood staring at the spot they had vacated, unable to move.

"Hey," Donna Louise complained as she tugged on Megan's jacket. "C'mon, we gotta go back. Santa's gonna hand out presents."

Megan seemed to come to. "What...oh, yeah...sure."

Rafe and Megan escorted the little girl back to the party in a daze. Just before they reached the door it opened and Cassie burst through. "There you are! Come on, guys, the fun's about to start. Where were you?"

"Watching Santa Claus," Donna Louise piped up eagerly. "He was kissing his elf."

Cassie stared at the girl. Rafe and Megan were struck dumb in horror.

Cassie was the first to recover, squatting down to the little girl's level. "Uh...and what do you think that means?"

Donna Louise looked at Cassie in astonishment. Grown-ups were so stupid. "It means they love each other. Like Uncle Dave and Uncle Jake."

"Oh, really?" Cassie continued. "Who are they?"

"Uncle Dave's my uncle 'cause he's my mommy's brother, and Uncle Jake's my uncle 'cause he lives with Uncle Dave. Can we go see Santa now?"

"Did your Mommy tell you that when people love each other they sometimes want to keep it private? Maybe you should keep what you saw a secret."

"That's what Uncle Dave said once, but I forgot. I'll remember now."

Cassie straightened up and bundled the little girl into the room. "Good. Now go get your present."

Silence reigned in the doorway as the three co-workers watched an unexpectedly jolly Ellison hand out presents. Blair had added his glasses to his ensemble, giving him an even more elflike air. The two worked as smoothly as Santa and Helper as they did as partners.

"Are you sure," Cassie asked quietly, "She really saw what she thinks she did?"

"We saw it too," Megan admitted. "It was a kiss all right. Quite a kiss."

"It wasn't a kiss," Rafe added in awe. "It was a friggin' work of art."

"We have to keep quiet about this." Cassie turned to the detectives. "You know the brass will never allow them to stay partners if they find out they're--"

"Fraternizing?" Meg suggested.

"My lips are sealed," Rafe promised. "They're too good a team to break up. With their arrest and conviction record, they make the whole division look good. Besides, they're my friends."

"And we like to see our friends happy," Megan agreed.

"No argument here," Cassie added. "You know, I suspected this. Nice to have my conclusions confirmed."

"Oh, c'mon," Rafe admonished. "How could you? Big tough cop Ellison? Blair, who tried to date anything in skirts? In fact, didn't they both try to date you?"

"That should have been your first clue. Two men after the same woman is often sublimated homoeroticism. Sure, they both dated women, but never more than once or twice. And how often do you see two straight guys of that age living together? Give me a break. I had it figured out ages ago."

"Since when did you become an expert on homoeroticism?" Megan demanded.

"Where did I work before I came to Cascade?"

"San Francisco--oh."

Cassie smiled smugly. "I rest my case."

The three were quiet for a moment, astonished at the sight of James Ellison actually bouncing a child on his knee. Blair moved around ceaselessly, herding and distracting excited children, keeping them from overwhelming his partner.

"You know," Megan mused, "Blair really does have nice legs."

Cassie nodded. "And they are so cute together. It's really sweet."

Rafe rolled his eyes. Women.

Jim Ellison lay back in bed, a deeply contented man. He had survived his theatrical debut, and he was going to make damn sure Joel got a flu shot next year. He was now full of one very delicious Italian dinner, and of Blair--who was curled against his side, sleeping off round one. Or maybe not. The warm dead weight next to him was starting to squirm.

"Glad to see you're among the living, Chief. I was afraid I wore you out."

"Wore me out? I was the one doing all the work that time, buster, you just had to lie there. The only reason you're awake is that you're still on a post-performance high. Referring to your performance as Santa, I mean, not your more recent supporting role."

"In your dreams, guppy. I never just lie there--not with you. It's impossible."

Blair grinned. "OK. Can't deny that. How about a wake-up kiss?"

"I think that's the only reason you went to sleep. But I'm not complaining." Their kiss was long and deep and very satisfying. What a shame to have to breathe--

"Oh, very nice." Blair gently stoked is fingers over Jim's chin. "How does it feel now that you're dialed up? Still sticky?"

"No, you did a great job getting all the spirit gum off. I can still smell the stuff, though, even after the shower."

Blair frowned. "Does it bother you?"

Jim pulled his Guide close, rubbing his face against Blair's chest, then nuzzling his way under the long, wild hair, burying his face against his partner's neck. "I'm working on replacing it with Blairsmell," he finally said. Jim raised his head to meet a look of infinite tenderness on his lover's face.

Blair traced Jim's lips with his finger, then trailed it along the strong jaw and sculpted cheek, tracing the length of an eyebrow, his hand finally coming to rest in the short, soft hair. "I love you so much. It's a shame we have to keep it quiet."

"I know, sweetheart. But I'm not giving you up as a partner for anything. I don't trust anyone else at my back but you."

"And I don't trust anyone else to be there but me," Blair agreed. "I wonder--do you think anybody suspects?"

Jim began kissing his way down Blair's torso. It was time for round two. "Not a chance," he said confidently. "We've got them all snowed."

Megan and Rafe were just settling down to a junk food transfusion in the Break Room when Cassie popped her head in the door. "Hi, Rafe, they told me you were here. Did you get results of the fiber analysis from the Schmidt homicide yet?"

"Yeah, the report came up an hour ago. Why?"

"Just checking up on a new tech, that's all."

Megan waved a bag of Doritos at Cassie. "I can't eat all of these, or at least I shouldn't. Want some?"

"I shouldn't either," Cassie replied. "Are they nacho cheese or ranch?"

"Ranch."

"Rats. I'm doomed. Let me get something to drink." Getting a diet cola from the machine, the forensic specialist returned to the table and began an in-depth analysis of corn chips.

Rafe looked around the table. "Well, look at this. The Sojourner Truth Three meet again."

Cassie raised her cola can. "I call the first Meeting of the Blair and Jim Protection Society and Don't Ask, Don't Tell Support Group to order."

Megan shushed her quickly. "You don't see Jim or Blair around, do you?"

"They're out tracking down witnesses," Rafe volunteered. "Besides, it not like they could hear us in here, right?"

"Sure. Right." The three conspirators looked uneasily at each other. More stuff they weren't supposed to have noticed. Don't go there...

Cassie gave a huge sigh. "Boy, it's great to have somebody to talk to about this. I've been wondering about those two for quite a while."

"So how long have you been wondering?" Rafe broke in. "How long to you think this has been going on?"

"Well, let me tell you..."

The End