Christmas Embers

[Dreamfire]

Christmas Embers

Jim stood at the window of the locker room, checking the parcels in front of him. Karen had helped him compile the list of people he had to find gifts for. Unlike any other precinct where he’d worked, in this precinct you gave gifts to everyone in your squad and to any people who had been especially helpful during the year. So, over and above the Lieutenant and the squad, Jim had gifts for Officer Phillips, a rookie who had provided backup for Jim and Karen on several arrests, and several admin staff in files and such. The female officer from 1PP HR who had been instrumental in smoothing his entry to the 8th had already received a delivery of flowers and chocolates. Jim felt like Santa. He’d never had a year with so many gifts to buy. And today he had needed to wrap the last gifts for his squad. Wrapping presents was a female activity as far as he was concerned. Jim had never needed to wrap his own gifts before. He had no Christie at home to do it for him, Karen just laughed in his face when he went fishing for an offer from her to wrap the gifts and Jim had had to suck it up and get the job done himself.

He stuck a ribbon on a smooth patch of the paper and placed the book he’d just done on his left with the rest of the wrapped gifts and stretched his neck to relieve the strain. This has been harder than he imagined, even though he’d bought embossed paper to be sure he knew which side to show, pre-tied ribbons and tape that was supposed to be removable and reusable. Jim checked his watch and then scoped the paper and scotch tape ahead of him and the last of the unwrapped gifts on his right - Ah Karen’s, he smiled, hoping she’d be happy with his well thought through gift. It had already been covered with tissue paper and he considered just sticking a bow on it and leaving it at that but after imagining handing a plain white parcel to Karen after everyone else got shiny red ones, he chided himself for giving up so easily. He drew off enough paper for the package and cut along the edge of the roll, so far so good. But the moment he pulled off a tab of scotch tape things went down hill. The tissue covered package refused to sit steadily in the centre of the sheet and when Jim went to fold the paper over, he found it wasn’t long enough now. The bit of tape he held had already adhered to the tissue and when he lifted his hand to straighten the package, the tape ripped open the delicate tissue and soft fabric began to spill out. He caught it just before it hit the floor, his frown deepening. Now there was no choice, it was the red wrapper or nothing. But under the Xmas wrap the gift shimmied around again and as Jim lifted the gift to situate the paper the supposedly idiot proof paper slid off the window sill into oblivion. In scoping for it, Jim passed by the tape dispenser which shot out a length of extra sticky, definitely non-removable tape, which now wound around Jim’s fingers, and he swore to himself as he fought off the sticky evil. He should have bought Karen a book or something that at least came in a box.

Jim squared his shoulders, gritted his teeth and drew off more paper from the roll. He took a deep breath and attacked the package again. So what if there was torn tissue underneath? Xmas paper was for ripping anyhow, right? Jim hated to be bested by anything, let alone the task of wrapping a stupid present. He did what he normally would do when confronted with obstruction and got angry. Shortly Jim was gripping the parcel in one hand, trying to subdue it, while he fought the scotch tape that refused to come out of its dispenser properly but wrapped around itself like a snake on pcp. Brute force didn’t work much better and when he finally got some tape away he used it to cover one of several tears that he had made in the paper. Satisfied he was finally making headway, Jim began inspecting the parcel for more tears.

“So this is where you’re hiding.”

With all his attention on the antagonistic parcel in his custody, Jim jumped at Tom’s unexpected interruption. He shifted on his feet and turned around, hoping to hide the mess behind him.

“Jim! That present looks terrible! What’d you do, get Hank to wrap it for you?” Tom laughed.

Exasperated, Jim turned back to the window and fingered the mess. “Maybe I should. At least then I would have an excuse I could give Karen.”

“Ooh, it’s for Karen? She’s fussy.” Tom whistled under his breath. “Who did the other ones? They look alright.”

“I did, but they were all easy. This one ... I’m sure the store assistant put something live in the package, ‘cause it keeps moving.”

“I can give you a hand if you want.”

“You’re a lifesaver!” Jim stepped back, his hands up in defeat, leaving the package, the torn tissue and rampant scotch tape in a pile.

“Take this.” Tom handed Jim an egg nogg. “Sit back and let the master work.” He looked at the would-be Christmas package with the eye of a snake wrangler dealing with a particularly annoyed specimen. “Got any more paper?”

Jim checked his locker, where he had stashed the other wrappings. He brought out what he had.

“This will do nicely. Mmm, gold embossed and red ribbon. Someone’s got taste.”

The sound of scissors scoring, folded edges, a moment of “Put your finger here,” and the gift was wrapped. “That looks pretty good, even if I do say so myself.” Tom sounded smug and relaxed.

“Thanks, Tom. I owe you one.”

“No, Jim, we’re a team. We all do what we’re best at and it’ll work out fine. Come on, I was sent to find you anyhow.”

~

They stood beside a large Christmas tree, the fragrance fresh and tart in the air. An odd tinkling of bells played carol tunes quietly in the background and everyone who was not on duty had fresh glasses of champagne, egg nogg. Officially Jim and Karen were still on duty and were making do with soda until their tour finished in an hour or so.

Karen quietly listed the people hanging around and the new ones as they arrived. Then the Lieutenant took centre stage. “It’s Christmas again, and although for some of us it feels like we were here, standing around the tree, only yesterday, (this brought up a round of ‘here here’s’) for some of us, the journey has been long and hard just to get here. So first I would like to welcome our newcomers for the year and congratulate them on making it through, “John Phillips, Martin Rodriguez, and Annie Lepowitz.” The Lieutenant raised his glass and all took a sip.

“Toast,” Karen whispered and Jim sipped his soft drink.

“And warn them that making it through the first year is no guarantee that they will continue, so no slacking off!” That earned a hearty laugh.

“To fallen comrades…” The Lieutenant named several men and a woman who had been lost in the line of duty.” There was a moment of silence before the toast and Jim found himself remembering the bank and his own fallen comrades. He took a deep breath, thankful that he was not only alive, but had been given a chance to prove himself and continue to serve.

Karen noticed Jim’s hands clench, and his somber expression, held for a long moment before he finally shifted with a sigh. She reached over in a particularly sentimental gesture and squeezed his hand. He turned and gave her a smile.

“Lastly, I’d like to take a moment to thank you from the citizens of New York, for providing service and protection for another year. From your seniors and your juniors, for looking after their families while they work, and from your squad mates and partners for having their backs, tour after tour, even when they’re a pain in the ass!”

Fisk pushed his heartfelt speech from the sentimental to the comic with professional timing, allowing the gathered officers to spend the moments considering what they had and why they did what they did, before returning them in a no nonsense manner to the cheer of the season.

A round of “here here…” turned into “here, no here” as presents started flying across the room.

“Rodriguez, watch where you’re throwing that or you’ll move from Santa’s Christmas list to the transfer list,” someone else called out.

A gift whizzed past at head height a couple of feet in front of Jim,

“Hey, watch it, Rodriguez,” Karen snapped.

Jim stepped back, bumping the heavily laden tree behind him which now wobbled precariously. A rush of people crowded around him to get the tree back into balance and an uncomfortable silence en-clouded them. Jim’s face burned red. “Can we move somewhere else?” he asked Karen, his mouth a tight line as he grasped her arm tightly.

Karen guided him away, sending glaring looks to anyone who looked like they might blame Jim for the tree wobble. “Don’t worry. They’re just freaking out because two years ago, Joshua Dunleavy knocked the tree over during speeches; then when he was doing Santa for the kids, he had a heart attack and died, right there in front of the kids – and you know how superstitious cops can be.”

Jim gasped, “He died in the Santa suit with all the kids there?”

“Yep,” Karen refreshed her drink and Jim’s from a tray that was making the rounds. “Apparently they had to tell the kids Santa needed a nap. Hellishly funny though, in one way.”

“Was he one of the ones Fisk listed as KIA?”

“No, I guess he didn’t want to remind us.”

“Like I just did now?”

“Yep, and yep he is scowling at you.”

“Way to go, Dunbar.” Marty came over. “You trying to jinx me or something?”

“You? How’d this become about you?”

“Well, I’m doing Santa, remember?”

“So? As far as I can tell you’re not a candidate for a heart attack. Right?”

“True,” Marty admitted.

“And this Dunleavy, he was?” Jim asked pointedly.

“True, a fatter donut eating desk jockey cop I never did see,” Tom interjected, his voice dropping as the Lieutenant made his way over, his phone plastered to his ear and a grim look on his face.

“Karen, Jim, fatal shooting at a Christmas party. Suspect confessed to the patrol that followed up the 911 call.” Fisk gave them an address and they were off. Crime didn’t stop for Christmas in New York City.

[Dreamfire]

Chapter Two

Karen briefed Jim as they took the stairs up to the crime scene. “Nice block, well maintained, lots of Christmas lights. The cars along the street are all up-market.”

A uniformed officer opened the door and pointed to the room on the right.

Karen gave him a nod and touched her partner’s arm. “This way, Jim.”

Hank led Jim behind Karen into the dinning room. “Tables all set for dinner. I’d say they’d done first course and mains. About half the settings have desserts on them.”

“And the DOA?” Jim asked, controlling his grin. Karen always described food at a crime scene, especially if she was hungry.

“Ah, right, he’s slouched over his plate at the head of the table. Blood all over his head, dripping into the pudding.”

“Name of Jonathan Getty. The murder weapon’s on the plate here.” The uniformed patrolman who had been first on the scene pointed to the setting at the other end. “I’ve separated the guy who shot the DOA. He’s in a bedroom upstairs with my partner. The other guests are in there.”

Jim raised an eyebrow.

“Ah, in the living room, behind the glass doors.”

Jim nodded. “He confessed?”

“Yes, he’s a wreck. He says he didn’t mean to shoot the guy. It was all a big mistake.”

“Let’s go talk to the perp,” Karen said. She indicated the officer should show them up to the room where the perp was waiting.

As Jim passed the DOA he slowed, then stopped. His brow wrinkled and he nudged Hank toward the table. He pulled on latex gloves and reached out gingerly, locating the DOA. Jim waited again, head cocked.

Karen was surprised to find Jim hadn’t followed her out of the room and turned back at the bottom of the stairs. She pushed open to the door to find Jim hovering over the DOA.

“What’s up? You find something?”

Jim held up a finger and waited some more. Karen watched as he reached out. Nimble fingers ran up the DOA’s arm and the lifted the man’s head. “Call a bus! This man’s breathing!”

The bus had left, with a now conscious not so DOA. Jim and Karen had interviewed the man who fired the gun and the witnesses. A “Murder Mystery” party gone wrong, but not so wrong that they had a case. The vic was not going to press charges. That left Jim and Karen free to return to the house.

“Officer Hallam?” Karen raised the question of how they should handle the patrolman who had reported Gettys DOA.

Jim sighed. They’d have to talk to the officer who had checked Jonathan’s vitals and decided he was dead. In another situation a seriously injured man could have died in the confusion, and in fact Jonathan had been in jeopardy of drowning in his dessert.

~

Karen cruised Pitt Street looking for a free spot. Jim shook his head in disbelief.

“So they really won’t give you a parking space until you’ve done three years as a detective?” Jim was shocked.

“That’s right. You thought I just liked parking on the street all this time?” Karen smiled.

“That’s stupid. We never had rules like that at my last precinct.”

“I bet you had more parking spaces, though.”

“I guess. I never thought about it. I mean ... I always had one.”

“Well, you’ve been a gold shield, what ... ten years?”

“Almost twelve.” Jim looked rueful. “That makes me feel so old.”

“Come on, Granpa. I got one.”

They exited the car and Jim took Hank from the back.

“He need a walk?” Karen asked.

Jim checked his watch. “Yeah, may as well. Otherwise I’ll be ducking out in half an hour. I’ll see you in there.”

Karen looked around. Nothing made the neighborhood look nicer than a layer of snow. “No, let me come with you. It’s kinda nice out here.”

“You gotta be kidding. It’s snowing!” Jim was incredulous.

“I like it. Come on.” She hooked her arm though Jim’s free one and they strolled to the closest park ... well, if you can call a forty square foot of grass and shrubs a park. But it was Hank’s little piece of heaven in the city. His feet picked up as they neared it. “Hank’s grinning ear to ear, Jim.”

“Nice.” Jim found the image a little grotesque. “You wanna sit a minute?” he said to Karen.

“Sure.”

Jim slipped off the harness and patted Hank on the rump. “Go take five, Hankie.” Hank ran off, nose to the ground, tail wagging. “There’s a seat there.” Jim waved his hand to the left.

The snow had pretty much stopped, but it was cold enough that their breath made little clouds and the odd flake zig-zagged playfully from the sky. Karen tucked her hands into her pockets. “So what are your Christmas plans, Jim?”

Jim’s face seemed to close in, the expression melting off, replaced by what Karen thought of as his mask. He usually did that when she got too close to the bone on some personal issue, or when Marty was really giving him a hard time. “Oh, you know, a quiet time in.”

“You don’t see your folks?”

“No. We used to, with Christie’s family, but not anymore. Everyone kind of grows up, I guess.”

“I gotta do Christmas day, big lunch, lots of family, yuk.” Karen began with the Christmas woes, making the stories funny and getting some chuckles from Jim.

Soon Hank arrived back and Jim changed the subject while he buckled up the harness. “So, tell me about Marty as Santa.”

“Well, apparently he’s done it the last year two years, and now I guess he’s become the unofficial Santa for the 8th.”

Jim shook his head. He could not imagine Marty as Santa.

“In fact, I think he likes it a lot.” Karen blew cloud rings in between talking. “It’s a pretty big thing here. There’s a charity collection all year and someone is assigned to get a list of kids in the neighborhood ... the ones who were victims of a crime, that sort of thing ... and a proper present is bought.”

“Proper?” Jim had very little experience with children outside of crime scenes. A present was a present, right? It must have shown on his face because she explained further.

“No, like the person who is in charge of buying actually does a little homework to find out what the kid likes and they spend between fifty and hundred dollars per child, so they get something really good.”

“That must be a change for them.”

“Absolutely.” She used his favorite word.

“And so Marty dresses up in red and white and they sit on his knee?” For some reason Jim remembered the pair who sat next to him in the train this morning: an old man and a young child. The man had read a Christmas book, a story Jim remembered from his own childhood, one he could recite just about off by heart. The child must have been young because he kept asking questions about the pictures in the book. So Jim was treated to a reading of the story plus a detailed description of every illustration in the book, expect for the last page. The train pulled up at his station and he had to leave before the old man had finished.

“… and since then, they’ve had a professional dresser come out with a proper Santa costume and everything.”

“And we have to stick around?”

“Well, I do because I get dressed up as the helper and organize the gifts and the kids.”

Jim slowed at the curb, the image of Karen in a Santa’s helper costume causing him some consternation. “Like little red skirt and fluffy hat?”

“Yep, just like that.” She’d moved on ahead, “Recently the cops have started to bring their kids, too, and we all have a drink, so it’s fun. Then after the kids go home, we adults do our thing.”

Jim nodded as he climbed the snow covered stairs, and decided he would catch up on some reading while the kid thing happened. One kid, or even two in interviews was just fine, but a bunch of them running haywire, juiced up on sugar and gifts? Just the thought made him shudder. “And they do all this where?”

“Downstairs. Don’t worry - you won’t get infected with Christmas Cheer.” Karen stopped him before he walked in through the glass doors. “Here, Jim, let me brush you off. You’re piled high with snow.”

He stood still for her ministrations. She brushed the snow off his shoulders and hair. “Blink a bit. It’s even on your eyelashes.”

He blinked several times and felt tiny flakes of cold land softly on his cheek. He took one and ate it. “Mmm, nice.” He grinned down at her.

She grabbed his arm and she, her partner and Hank went into the precinct. “I feel like hugging you.”

Jim gave her a horrified look, “What Xmas goblins overcoming you or something? You’re not in that helpers outfit now are you?” The image in his head was a little more risque than he had bargained for and he felt a blush rise to his cheeks.

“Actually, with your cheeks all red and the snow on you, you look like Santa Claus.”

“Ah? Except I don’t have a beard, I’m not that fat, I hope, and my suit’s not red.”

“Well, apart from those details,” she admitted laughing. “Come on, let’s get a drink. See if we can get a little Christmas cheer into that expression of yours?” The image of Karen in a little red suit tried to emerge again but Jim pushed it down, hard.

Jim opened the door for Karen and waved her in, but it was Marty who used the opportunity to pass through.

“Hey, where’re you going? Haven’t you got the kids to do?” Karen called after him as he took the stairs two by two.

“Yeah, Simone’s not here yet and Elise called. She forgot to pick up Nathan’s bike. I gotta run to the store before they close. I’ll be back in plenty of time.” And he was gone.

“Can you do the report on Gettys? I’ve still got gifts to wrap,” Karen asked as they continued up to the squad. “I’m off to wrap presents” Their tour was done. The paperwork wouldn’t take Jim much time, and she was looking forward to the evening.

~

A short while later, Jim was baled up behind his desk; the desk sergeant and three uniforms in front of him. Jim crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“But Detective Dunbar, Detective Russo can’t make it back on time. And we can’t disappoint the children.”

“It’s ludicrous. I won’t do it.” Jim sat down and picked up his earpiece.

“Detective, I understand this is a surprise, but…” Officer Singe began and trailed off. Jim frowned, what was going on, why on earth would they ask him?

“No.” He repeated, listening for Karen’s steps in the corridor but there were none. The Lieutenant had taken his verbal report and headed off so there would be no help from that corner. He just needed to hold out until Karen returned. She’d have his back on this.

“Detective,” it was Sergeant Wong, “the fact is, you’re the only white guy left. And Detective Russo said you’d be great.” Sergeant Wong pushed harder. “We just can’t have a black Santa or a Chinese Santa.”

Tom returned to the squad, and began to grin as he realized what the possy was after.
“She’s right Jim, it might be wrong but Santa is a blue eyed white man. The kids just wouldn’t believe me, Seargent Wong or any of the other guys left.”

Jim ignored Tom and shook his head. “Nope, not possible. Can’t see – remember?”

“We don’t care about that. All you need to do is sit in a chair and give out presents.”

“These presents all the same or different for each kid?” Jim asked, knowing the answer already.

“Different ones, labeled with their names and all.” Hope ringing in her voice, Sergeant Wong crossed her fingers.

“Then I can’t do it – to read, you gotta see -unless of course you’ve written then in Braille.” Jim felt he could afford the sarcasm. No one was going to push him into this one. Marty could just find his way back or the kids could wait.

“I’ll read the labels for you, Jim,” Karen said, coming around the corner. Wong flashed her a grateful smile while Jim’s mouth dropped open at the betrayal.

“Thank you, Detective!” Wong hugged him in her enthusiasm. “You two will make a great Satan and helper.” Before Jim had a chance to repeat his refusal she had skipped the squad.

“Karen, I can’t be Santa. This is ridiculous. You know I can’t do this!” Finally Jim turned to Tom. “Tom, back me up here.”

Karen sent Tom a glare of warning, he held up his hands to indicate he was out of the equation and she turned back to Jim. “Sorry Jim. I’m not crossing her.”

“Sure you can do this! I’ll hand you the present and tell you the name, then you invite the kid onto your lap, hohoho a bit give them the pressie and hope they don’t pee on you.”

Jim pushed his grimace and annoyance away. “Karen I’m serious. I cannot do this.”

“Jim, you have said it yourself. I know what you can and can’t do. You can do this.”

“I don’t have a costume.”

“Yes, you do.” An unknown woman’s voice came from several yards in front of him, and a moment later a weight slapped the desk next to him.

He put his hand out - a suit with fur lapels. His space felt invaded, he glowered at the arrival.

“And you are?”

“Simone, I’m your dresser and you are the most Santa looking Santa Clause I have ever seen, so let’s get going.” Stiletto footfalls departed as if there was going to be no further argument. “I’m in the second clerk’s office behind the foyer.”

Karen enjoyed the consternation on Jim's face. “Jim, I’ll have your back. It won’t be a problem.”

Jim stood, mouth open to refuse again but stopped when he felt her finger across his lips. “Shh, no more arguing. I’m calling in my favor.”

Silenced by the intimacy of the gesture, Jim closed his mouth tight. “You sure know how to call them in,” he murmured, stepping out from behind his desk in defeat, hoping that the act of moving would allow the burning imprint of where her finger touched his lips to fade quickly.

[Dreamfire]

Chapter Three

Karen was impressed with Simone’s setup. A large mirror, surrounded with lights stood behind behind a table full of make up, brushes and hair setting implements. A rack held two sumptuous costumes in red velvet and white fur. Simone was humming as she brushed a beautiful white wig that looked to be made of real hair.

Hank and Jim followed Karen into the room. Simone did a double take on seeing Hank and looked enquiringly at Karen who nodded, “I’ll be doing Santa’s helper again this year Simone. Who do you want to dress first?”

“Ah, you I guess. Take a seat.”

“Jim, you wait here and we’ll go over how this works again while Simone does my make up.” Karen patted the seat of a chair and Jim motioned Hank to the sound. Simone kept one eye on the two. This guy did have the right coloring for Santa, but she speculated this was the first time a blind man had ever played the role. Oh, well, she was here to do the make up and dressing, and hopefully see that Officer Phillips again. Mm, the dog, that wouldn’t work, he’d have to lose the dog if he was going to pull this off.

“Here’s your costume, Karen. You want to go change?”

“No, I’ll change here.” She grinned, “No peeking, Jim.”

Jim made a face at the poor quality of her joke.

Her boots thumped to the floor one after the other and soon she was wiggling into the red velvet dress.

“Stockings,” Simone said, pulling out a new pair. “This year we are going for nude, the white ones from last year made every one look anemic and the photographer spent ages giving everyone fake tans.”

“Sounds fine to me. I thought they looked like nurse stockings anyway, like mixing metaphors, only with a costume,” Karen answered, amid a very particular noise. Jim racked his memory until he identified it - the pulling on of pantyhose. Images of legs, Christie’s fair ones and others he had known well, began to assail him. He cleared his throat. Karen had said she had Peurto Rican blood, and his mind was working hard on giving him an authentic picture from the words and sounds he was hearing. He shifted a little uncomfortably on his chair and reached down to pat Hank.

“Oh, hell, I hate these panty hose with suspenders. I’m sure Santa’s helpers never had these!” Karen grumbled.

“No, well, don’t forget we do all sorts of parties and some of the corporates. They like the helpers to be extra sexy.

Jim stood abruptly. The images would be too much if he stayed. “Karen, Hank needs a walk. I’ll be back when you’re done.” And he hurried off, fumbling at bit at the door and then escaping to the corridor. “Come on, Hank. You’re my excuse. Let’s get out of there.”

Jim’s escape timed perfectly with Detective Xu exiting his small office, from which he investigated GTAs . “Jimmy! Glad you made it, I wasn't sure you’d get he note I left for you.”

Xu took Jim by the arm and hurried him down the corridor, “Some of us old foggies are having a nip or two of something to get us through the festivities, and I knew you’d be up for it. The Captain’s given me a bottle of the smoothest bourbon this side of heaven.”

Jim's smile widened, he liked his bourbon and Xu had very good taste and this would be a treat.

“You’re off duty right?”

Jim checked his watch as he was ushered to a seat in the circle behind the sergeant’s desk, “Yep. I’ve still got a report to write but there won’t be any charges so I guess it can wait.”

Xu named the men sitting in the circle and placed a glass in Jim’s hand. “Rocks?”

“No, neat’s good.” He lifted the glass and enjoyed the warm, smoky aroma. “Corn whiskey?”

“You got it, Platte Valley.” Xu boasted.

Jim relaxed a notch as he took a sip and let the fiery liquid rumble down his throat. Perhaps Karen wouldn’t find him tucked away in here, perhaps Marty would return in time and Jim could avoid what he could see only as a major opportunity for embarrassment.

Two shots later, Jim was telling them about the plan to dress him up as Santa and the men laughed along with him. Each one volunteered to be dressed by Simone, whom they described in great detail. They agreed he could hide out with them until the danger had passed. He laughed out loud as one of the crew expanded on the whole idea of Jim as Santa, describing how he could use the opportunity to get some of the more attractive female officers onto his lap. His cell phone rang with its distinctive tone and answered it, still chuckling, “Dunbar.”

“Jim? Where are you?” Karen sounded frantic.

Shit. Jim regretted the automatic pilot that had allowed him to answer his phone. “Is Marty back?”

“No, he’s still stuck in that accident. Where are you, you haven’t got time for messing around.”

The door behind them opened. Karen had heard Jim’s cell phone ring and followed the sound to the door.

With in moments he was on his feet and on his way back to the dreaded red suit.
“Oh you found him! Thank goodness. But we’ve lost a lot of time, Karen, I’ll need you to help me.”

“What are you talking about? I can dress myself.” Jim was horrified at the thought.

“Now Santa, just relax. I’ve got to get you into a fat suit, fully dressed, your beard, hair and make up done and really you haven’t left me much time. So please, don’t make this harder for me than it already is.” As she spoke, Simone drew Jim into the make shift dressing room, she tugged at his jacket, which he removed for her and indicating she should hang it on the rack that held Karen’s clothes and the Santa suit.

She tugged at his tie and he pulled that off, handing it over with some trepidation. “Where are you putting my clothes?”

“Here, I’ve a clothes rack on wheels and Karen’s hanging it quite carefully. Both your suit and I will be here ready for you when you finish.”

Jim calmed down, nodded and tried to accept the inevitable. Maybe Marty would show up in a minute.

Standing in his boxer trunks and undershirt Jim waited while Karen and Simone lifted a lightweight fat suit over his head and settled it on his shoulders.

“Here, see, it will hold your suit out so you are fat like a real Santa,” Simone’s cool hand guided his over the framework, “and also provide some air current through the suit so you don’t end up sweating like those Bloomingdale Santa’s always do.” Simone’s voice held an edge of pride. She had made the fat frame herself and was considering patenting it.

Jim moved a little and the frame swung easily with him. “It won’t feel strange if a kid sits on my knee?”

“No, the way I’ve woven the strands, it gives like a real tummy will see.” Again she took his hand in his and showed him, pressing his palm into the stomach of the suit. He nodded, impressed.

When Simone zipped him into the heavy velvet and fur jacket Jim was glad for the frame, it held the suit away from his body and as he moved, he felt soft stirring of air under it.

The boots were sized for Marty and Jim's feet were bigger but with some huffing and puffing and both Simone and Karen pulling their backs into it they got Jim into the boots amid much laughter and many allusions about relative anatomy. Jim had downed another drink by them and decided to enjoy the opportunity to be fussed over by two beautiful women.

Now quite content to follow Simone’s lead, Jim sat at the counter while she prepared his face for the Santa beard. Simone chattered while she did make up and held the beard tightly to his cheeks and chin, ensuring the spirit gum stuck in just the right place. When she was done she turned Jima round in the swivel chair.

Karen gasped. “Jim, you look fantastic. The beard looks so real, can I …” Simone swatted her hand away. “Not yet, it needs five minutes to set before you can go touching it. But when it does Jim, you need have no worries if the children touch it. It won’t come off until I apply the gum remover.”

Sudden concerns about being bearded for the next week must have showed in his eyes because Simone laughed and handed him a big glass jar with a metal lid. “This is the jar. But don’t worry I’ll be here when you come back from your Santa-ing.” Jim turned the lid and look a sniff of the distinctive fragrance.

A wig, a hat and a bell for him to ring and Karen pronounced Jim St Nick reborn.

Simone stepped back and surveyed her work. He looked great! What was left? Ah! “Gloves.” Simone held them out and when Jim made no move to take them she went to put them on him. He pulled back.

“No. If I have to wear these, the deal is off.” Jim set his mouth in a determined line.
Karen caught Simone’s eye and shook her head. She knew her partner and that was one thing he would never budge on. Simone looked at his hands, ran her fingers over his palm and down his fingers, they were beautifully manicured. It would do. Jim swallowed, and steadied himself, clearly the girls didn’t realize the effect they were having on him.

“Okay, your hands are nice enough. Oh, I forgot. Hold still.” Simone slid a pair of round clear gold rimmed glasses onto Jim's face.

Jim reached up, “What are these for?”

“Santa always wears glasses to read the list.”

Jim shook his head and pulled the heavy specs from his face. He held them out. “Well, put them on Karen, then. She’s in charge of lists today.”

“Jim, come on. They look great,” Karen argued, but he flat out refused to wear the heavy frames.

“You wear specs every day!”

Jim pulled his own from a pocket where he’d stashed them and popped them on.

“No!” His hand was slapped and his glasses stolen. “Santa does NOT wear sunglasses.”

“He does in Australia,” Jim grumbled in his defense.

The women ignored him. Karen tried on Jim’s sunglasses. “Ooh, these are light. I like ‘em. No wonder you can wear them all day.”

Jim held out his hand. “Gimme!”

“No, you can’t have them, Santa! I’ll put them in your jacket pocket.” Karen stepped over to where Jim’s suit hung on the rack. He gave up.

“Let me get that belt, Detective. It’ll help hold the tummy in.” Simone passed the big leather belt around Jim's waist and buckled it at the front, grabbing a cuddle while she was at it. He just looked so cuddly with the extra layer of padding, the warm red velvet and soft white fur. Then she patted him down from his soft hat, past his new beard, which didn’t feel as itchy as he’d feared, past his new oversized gut and smacked him on the ass. “Best looking Santa I’ve ever done,” she whispered in his ear, then louder, “Oh, Karen, can I have a photo with the two of you, please?’

Karen arranged herself seductively over Jim's new form. The camera whirred. The girls were having fun, making different poses. Jim let it go on, hoping Marty would show up and he could get out of the costume without having to any more than pose with a lightly inebriated partner.

“You two look perfect. I’ll go check that everything is ready for you,” And with that Simone was away.

“Here, Santa.” Karen pressed a bell into Jim's right hand. He rang it experimentally. A nice deep tone rang out. “Ho, ho, ho!” Jim couldn’t help grinning as images of an old world Santa filled his head.

“Ready, reddy?” Karen asked. When Jim looked confused she said, “You know, ready reddy, like the red suit?”

“Oh.” Jim gave her a patronizing smile and patted her on the head. She gave him her arm.

He really felt quite vulnerable in this get up, without his glasses and without Hank. He could imagine a hundred small children clinging around him. Would he be able to get through? Would they be able to tell he couldn’t see? As he thought this, the weight of it hit him. “Karen, my phone. I need it.”

Without thinking she got him his phone and watched as he dialed. “Marty? How long will you be?” Jim's face fell. “Couldn’t you catch a cab?... no…” He closed the phone and dropped his head. “He can’t get back. There’s a traffic jam.”

Karen could see Jim was getting nervous. He kept licking his lips and checking his watch. His head moved slightly back and forth and his hands were clenching inside his sleeves. “It’ll be fine. You look great,” she reassured him.

“I was thinking, maybe we could dress Hank up as a reindeer.” At least with Hank he wouldn’t be tripping over kids.

“No, Jim. Trust me. This will be fine.”

[Dreamfire]

Chapter Four

Karen placed the wrapped box into Jim's waiting hand and he passed it to the little boy sitting on his knee. The paper was ripped quickly and Jim smiled as the kid gasped in surprise. “My very own X-box? How did you know?”

“Didn’t you send me a letter this year?”

“No, but it was on my last year’s letter.”

“Well, that’s how I knew.”

“Thank you.” The voice was almost a whisper and accompanied a small hug with arms that had no hope of stretching around Jim’s expanded waist.

“You’re welcome, Jeremy.”

“Santa?”

“Yes, Jeremy,” Jim bobbed his head down low to listen to the child.

But the child, having started to ask for something, clammed up. The mother stepped forward. “Here, Santa, I’ll take him. You got other kids to see.”

“No, no it’s fine, ma’am.” Jim kept his arm around the child, who trembled and sucked in a long breath. “You can ask anything, Jeremy, take your time.”

Jeremy looked from his mother’s face, to the pretty lady who waited by Santa’s side with a present, ready for the next child. He’d tried to ask his Mom this question so many times, but whenever he got close she got that look and he got scared again. But Santa had been very nice, and he’d given Jeremy a really cool present, and if anyone would know, he would. He chewed his lip for a moment and reached up. He cupped his hand around Santa’s ear and whispered, “No one will tell me. Will Ronald be home for Christmas? That’s what Mom really wants. Me too.”

Jim held the child tight. He put his cheek on the soft silky hair of the five year old who had lost his brother to random violent crime. “No, Jeremy. He won’t be home for Christmas and he won’t come home after that either.”

Jeremy sighed and slumped, sliding off Santa’s knee. His voice was so small that only Jim heard him. “I miss him. I wish I hadn’t made him go away.”

Jim turned toward Karen, “Give us a few minutes will you? Ask his Mom to help you do that Santa quiz thing again.” As Karen and the mother began a quiz game with the waiting children Jim lifted the small boy to back onto his lap and turned away from the crowd. “Now tell me, Jeremy, what makes you think you made him go away?”

The boy related a story of how he had fought with his older brother and told him he wasn't wanted. The child cried and sniffed, “And so I wished he would be gone and … and… he was.”

Jim rocked the upset child for a while. Then he took a breath. “Jeremy, was this the first time you said that to your brother?”

Jeremy shook his head.

“And the other times, did he go away?”

“Mmm, no.” Jeremy’s voice got a little stronger.

“And did your brother ever say anything like that to you?”

“Yeah, he said it all the time.”

“But you’re still here, right?”

Jeremy nodded again.

Jim waited a moment for the understanding to sink in. “You didn’t send your brother away, Jeremy. Ronald was playing in an area where it wasn't safe and one man, who was angry and stupid, he hurt Ronald. That’s why Ronald is gone. It has nothing to do with what you and your brother said to each other. Can you see that?” Jim spoke slowly, carefully, making sure the child understood.

“And Mom’s not mad at me for Ronald going away?”

“No, your Mom’s not mad at you. She’s probably feeling hurt and scared and missing your brother just like you are. So you need to be more loving with your Mom over this Christmas, because she’s missing Ronald too.”

Jeremy nodded. “I drew her a picture of Ronnie for her Christmas present.”

“Well, I am sure she will love it.” Jim felt the small body on his knee liven up. “You ready to go back to Mom now?”

Jeremy nodded, hugged Jim once more and slid off his knee. Karen came over. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, we just need to do a follow up with the Mom. The kid thought it was his fault his brother was killed.”

Karen noted the pair. Jeremy was showing his Mom his gift. “You ready for the last one?”

“Sure, who is it?” But Jim hardly got the words out when he was almost thrown back by a hurtling seven year old.

“I won’t tell.” The child whispered in conspiratorial tones.

“Michael?” Jim was surprised. Michael was the brother of Bradley Wilson who had been beaten and left for dead by his father six months ago. Michael had been taciturn and silent, nursing a grudge against almost everyone from the day Jim had met him on the case. Although the child had warmed to Jim somewhat when he had continued to help the family, Jim would have put money on him being one to blow his cover, not help conceal it.

~

“Ho, Ho, Ho, Ho.” Jim rang the bell as Karen led him through the big double doors at the back of the foyer into the corridor where he was met by a tail wagging Hank. Calls of “Bye, Santa!” rang through and even Jim couldn’t help chuckling. “Ho, Ho, Ho,” he rang the bell more softly.

The journey to the chair had been the only nerve wracking part, when, as expected, the smaller children all clamored around, hoping to get to touch Santa. But Karen had shown true bouncer form and kept them at bay. Jim just smiled benignly around and kept moving forward until they made the chair by the sweet smelling tree. Once he was seated, it was a matter of one child at a time, and Jim actually began to enjoy himself.

Karen assured him the kids hadn’t made him at all. She read him the name on each gift, Jim called out for the child “Come on Micky, I’ve been waiting to see you all year.” In orderly fashion, the child made it up to the big chair where Jim sat and in varying stages of excitement and trepidation, climbed on to his knee. After Santa spoke with the child for a bit Karen handed over the present, a photo followed and voila! The kid had been Santa’d.

As the two partners walked the corridor back Karen’s joy was clear in her voice. It had been a hoot! “I’ll find Simone and we can help you out of that Santa suit.” Karen led Jim down the corridor, “second on the left.”

Jim stepped inside the small office and scratched at the soft beard Simone had glued to his face a couple of hours ago. He found the chair he’d sat in to have his make up done and pulled off the velvet hat and the long white wig. The heat from along side the mirrors told him the lights were still on and he shook his head and chuckled. It really had been quite okay after all. He would never have thought he could pull it off but Karen had proved herself right. The kids were happy and Jim had to admit, even to himself that he felt more touched by holiday cheer than he had for along time.

Jim waited, tapping along with the Christmas music. Ten minutes later he was getting bored. The lights from the mirror were hot; he found the switch and turned them off. He scoped the table in front of him and found tissues and cold cream. He hesitated but longed to get the make up off his face. The beard was getting a little itchy but he didn’t want to ruin it by pulling it off. He stood, stretched and went back to the door, opening it a crack he listened down the corridor, there was still music coming from the foyer and the murmur of voices, but no sign of either Karen or Simone. His cell phone was in his suit jacket, perhaps he could call Karen. The rack where Karen had hung his things should be right behind him. The rack proved elusive. From the door he explored the wall to the left, cabinets, boxes on top, no clothes. Then a desk, Jim went around the back, perhaps his clothes were hanging on the back, but no, the chair had been removed and there was no suit or shirt. Beyond the desk found a Christmas tree. Ah, that was the source of the fresh conifer smell he’d be getting. He moved a little closer, it reminded him of Christmas with Christie. She always insisted on a fresh tree. They’d go to a tree farm and spend hours walking around to find just the right tree. The guy would cut it down and get it to the car. After the first year they used a tarpaulin to protect the roof. Jim had spent hours removing the sap from the roof the first time. Jim wasn't particularly car proud, but a black roof should be black, not black with paler splotches. Once home, he’d haul it into the apartment and set it in that super duper tree holder that never worked. Every year he’d be down on his knees under the prickly thing with bricks and sand trying to get it to stand upright. Christie would stand back: ten degrees more honey. He’d move it and the tree would fall.

But he didn’t mind, because once he had it stable she would decorate it. Watching her decorate it was a treat. He’d lie on the couch with a drink. Christie would insist the lights were low so that the tree would look good in the dark, and she’d spend hours putting up baubles, gold and silver, red and blue, and she always wore lingerie while she did it. Her eyes would sparkle and she’d get excited as she pulled out little carved figures, glass angels and things from her childhood. She looked beautiful.

Jim wondered what this tree looked like. It was hard to think he’d seen his last Christmas tree. Although this was his second Christmas since losing his sight, he still felt the loss sharp in his stomach.

Karen looked everywhere for the Santa dresser, Simone. But she was no where to be found. Finally, Karen gave up. Perhaps Jim would let her help.

The door to the clerk’s office where Simone had set up her dressing room had a glass panel. The lights were off but a soft glow came through to the corridor. With her hand on the knob, about to walk in, Karen stopped. Through the panel she could see Jim standing in front of the Christmas tree. The lights were on, running some gentle sequence. Even with the hat and wig off , with the soft lights on him and in his Santa suit, he looked just amazing. Then she noticed his hands. Lightly he ran them over the edge of the tree, around the outside of the branches, touching the prickly needles, exploring. He pulled back slightly as his found a small light, presumably it was hot. The next thing he encountered was a large red ball, with a pattern in artificial snow on it. She watched as his fingers traced the pattern and he smiled. She smiled ruefully with him, looking straight into his face as his hands went higher, tracing the edge of the tree, investigating an angel hanging here, a bow tied to a branch there and then the star at the top. He traced it, brought his hands down and she saw his eyes close tightly before he bowed his head and turned away from the tree.

Karen felt embarrassed to have been privy to what was essentially such a private moment. She knew, if she’d been in the room or he knew she’d been watching, he would have feigned indifference to the tree. But she had caught a glimpse of his loss, in a personal and private moment. She waited a few moments before entering.

As she pushed the door in, Hank padded up to Jim and rested his knee on Jim's leg, clearly feeling the sadness in the air.

[Dreamfire]

Chapter Five

Karen searched the room too, but the rack with their clothes wasn’t to be found. Karen was happy to wear the Santa helper clothes, they made her feel sexy and glamorous. Jim was another matter, she could see him getting annoyed. She shrugged, he really did look cute dressed up like that. Maybe if she could get some Christmas drinks into him he’d relax and go with it.

“I’m leaving her a big note. But unless you want to go around in your boxers and T-shirt, you’ll have to keep the Santa suit on.” She glanced at her watch, “We gotta go. It’s present time upstairs,” Karen concluded. “I am sure Simone will show up soon and you can come right back and get changed.”

“You go ahead, I’ll wait here.”

Karen spied the jar of spirit gum remover, “What if we got the beard off? I really want you to come up for present time.”

Jim nodded and sat still while she used the crème in the jar to loosen the spirit gum and slowly peel the beard from his face. She laid the beard carefully on the counter and then pointed out the bits of make up he had missed. He scrubbed away with baby wipes and cold crème. Soon he looked like Jim, albeit Jim in a red suit with white fur lapels.

“What about the fat frame, you want that off?”

Reluctantly Jim shook his head, without it he would heat up in the velvet suit within minutes.

“Come on Santa –man, you look fine now.”

Jim groaned and reluctantly headed upstairs, ignoring catcalls and wolf whistles from the girls on the way.

“OH! You liked it so much you won’t get out of the suit now?” Tom asked as Jim turned into the squad room.

“Be good, Tommy Boy, or you won’t get anything for Christmas,” Jim fired back at him. The big belly on his costume meant he had to turn sideways to make it through the small space behind Marty’s desk, and everyone laughed. They were gathered around the nest of desks between the observation room and interview one.

“Well, get your red covered ass and your bag of goodies over here,” Marty called out.

“Now you turn up? Where were you when the kids needed you, Marty?” Jim took up his box of presents and found a seat.

A great deal of alcohol, cologne, perfume and lingerie was passed around. The opening of gifts was followed by lots of laughs and 'thank you's, even a few kisses and hugs.

“Not a lot of imagination,” Jim commented as Karen described the gifts. He was sure she’d be impressed with how much thought he put into his gift to her.

Jim received gifts and passed around what he had for the others. Rookie Phillips, especially, thanked him profusely.

“Marty, here.” Jim held out a package, when there seemed to be a lull in the calling of names.

Marty opened it. “Oh, the new Jeffery Deaver. I like reading him! Thanks, Dunbar.”

“How’d you know?” Karen asked.

“Elise.”

“Ooh, that’s smart.”

He gave Tom a tie Karen had picked out. Tom made appreciative enough sounds.

Lieutenant Fisk was pleased with his bottle of Single Malted Scotch. “That’s a very nice drop, Dunbar. Thank you.” The Lieutenant sounded pleased.

“Hit the mark with that one, Dunbar. You’re good at this!” Karen was surprised. “How’d you know what to buy him?”

“Called my old Lieutenant. He knows the boss pretty well.”

“Here, Jim.” Fisk pushed a small parcel into Jim’s hand. Jim tore the wrapping and his boss explained. “It’s a CD reading of a novel. Actually, the same one you gave Russo.”

“Thanks, Boss.” Jim couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

“What you smirking about, Dunbar?” Marty asked. “Here, take this. Hold out your hands.”

Jim did and a long awkward package landed in it.

“Don’t wreck the paper. I want to reuse it,” Marty warned.

Jim deliberately tore the wrapping, his fingers burrowing through paper, tissue and hitting a plastic wrap. Sounds of “Ooh, that’s good. Wow, where’s Hank?” told him everyone knew what he was holding but him. He found the end of the plastic and pulled out something very hard to identify.

Fabric on one side, slick on the other, and with a buckle. “Oh, a coat for Hank?” he said, a big smile coming to his face.

“Yeah, Elise even altered it. She said it will fit over his harness and everything.”

“Wow, guys! I don’t know what to say.” Jim was surprised. What a thoughtful present.

“Remember that day when we kept you busy in the Lieutenant’s office?” Tom asked.

Jim shook his head.

“Yeah, you remember: on that case to do with the DOA in the empire state building?” Marty insisted.

“Yeah?”

“Well, it was all bullshit. We just needed a reason to keep you away so Elise could try it on Hank!”

“No, way! You mean there is no Empire killer?” The others laughed. “Oh man, I’ve spent hours on that one,” Jim joked. Now that he thought about it, it was a very strange case that came and went in under an hour and then reappeared once again a week later.

“Try it on him. We wanna see it.”

Jim fitted the coat on and Hank sat looking proud.

“He looks great. It’s bright yellow so it can be seen in the snow and everything.”

“Hey that’s great guys. Thank you.” Jim was touched and it showed.

“Here.” He held a package out toward Karen who took it and settled back to open the beautiful parcel. A couple of the girls gathered around her to see what she had gotten from her partner. A cool silence followed the sound of the paper being discarded and Jim was startled when a soft missile landed in his lap.

“You got me thermal underwear?” Karen’s voice rose by the end to a loud, angry whisper directly in his ear.

“You’re always cold. I thought you’d like it. You know, warm you up a bit.”
Jim couldn’t understand the fuss she was making.

“You-are-an-asshole,” Karen hissed, threw down the package and stormed away.

“What was that all about?” Tom landed heavily in the chair Karen had just vacated.

Jim shrugged, “I guess she didn’t like the present I got her.” Jim sipped his drink. “What’d you get from Tom, Marty?”

“Me? I got him a video game. You know, one of those shoot ‘em up things,” Tom chuckled. “Marty’s just a kid really.

A video game. Jim realized he didn’t even know if Karen played video games. Probably not. She was a girl. Mind you, she was a cop first. That’s what she always pointed out to him. “Maybe I should have got Karen a video game,” Jim stretched his neck.

“How long will she torture you over this one?”

“Oh, shit. I don’t know.” Jim rolled his head back. There had to be a way around this.
“What should a detective give his female partner?” he asked Tom.

Marty arrived with perfect timing. “What on earth did you do to Bettancourt, Jim? She looks like she could take out the whole precinct and go home to toddies by the fire.”

“She didn’t like his present.”

“Her time of the month?” Marty asked.

“How would I know?” Jim went to take another drink but the glass was empty.

“You should know. She’s your partner,” Marty started in with his usual partners lecture. Sometimes Jim wondered just how Marty ever got any work done around Karen. He thought she should be wrapped in cotton and kept on the mantle shelf to be admired. Any chance he had to tell Jim he was doing it wrong was like an open goal post for him.

“Yeah, well I guess it might be her time.” Thinking about it Jim did know, but it wasn't something he liked to think about. If he thought about it, after the time they’d been together he could tell by her vibe, and, yeah, actually, she was warmer. Karen had a thing about the cold. She was often freezing but seemed to take it as normal. As for Jim, his internal heat adjustment was good. He’d always been able to manage heat and cold just as well, never sweated too much, never really got cold at his core. But not much of that translated through a hand on the arm.

“…perfume or lingerie, depending on whether she has a boyfriend or not.”

“What?”

“Jim, here I am lecturing you on women and you’re off with the fairies.”

“Ah, yeah, Jim, I hate to say this, but Marty has a point. He’s more successful than you, when it comes to keeping women happy. Well, one woman anyhow.”

“Perfume?”

“Or lingerie. I’d say Karen would be a size 4, “c” cup.”

Jim couldn’t help grinning at that one. He had a fair idea, from the inevitable fumbles and bumps that came with working with someone day in day out. But this made a much clearer image in his head. “You don’t say, Marty.”

“Yeah, and she’s a lot better looking than my partner, or anyone else in the squad, so you’d better keep her happy, for all our sakes.”

“Don’t let Karen hear you say that. If she knew you thought of her as eye candy, she’d be really pleased.” The silence around Jim spread like oil on water. Oh no.

“What you grinning about, Dunbar?” Karen asked, her tone even colder than before. “Just ‘cause you can’t enjoy the candy you don’t want any of the other guys to?”

Jim had to do something quick. This was going south faster than he could have imagined.

Karen stomped off. He heard her laughing with some of the girls.

“You are up shit creek, my man. If I had known what was in that package I wrapped, I wouldn’t have done it.” Tom eyed Karen, who had returned to the circle and joined a group of female officers and was tipping the bottle she was drinking out of almost vertical.

Jim tried to stretch the kink in his neck while he listened to Karen playing some drinking game. Well, he’d been right. He’d made an ass of himself, and if it wasn't in the way he’d expected it was worse.

[Dreamfire]

Chapter Six

Jim made his way carefully to his desk. Wrapping paper, boxes and whoa, yep, a toy car, littered the short path to his desk, but he negotiated the distance successfully. Hank snored under his desk; someone had slipped Hank a dose of eggnog and the poor hound hadn’t been able to resist. The alcohol had made him a dangerous guide. Before he realized what had happened, Jim had been walked into a door and two chairs by the usually competent Hank. Karen swore the dog had been laughing when Jim told him off and sent him to sleep it off behind Jim's desk.

Reaching into the second drawer, Jim pulled out an immaculately wrapped package that had been there for a long time. He had paid extra to have it wrapped at the wrapping desk, choosing the most expensive and fancy ribbon they had. Christie was always fussy. The first time he had given her a present that he had wrapped blind, she had tried to cover her disappointment but failed.

Jim balanced it behind his back in one hand and grabbed his cane. No way was he going to risk dropping this expensive package.

He returned to the huddle of chairs around the eggnog and snacks outside interview one. “My chair still free?”

“Yes, Jim, coast is clear,” Tom helped out. “You want more eggnog?

“Yeah, why not? I’ll have to cab it anyhow. Hank’s paralytic.” Karen was laughing across the table from him. He held out the gift, hoping it looked nice. “Here’s your real present, Karen. I hope there’s no hard feelings about the other thing.”

“Ooh, that’s beautiful. You wrap that yourself?” Marty asked.

Jim smiled. “Only the best for the best partner.”

Karen eyed him and the gift suspiciously. He got like this sometimes: poetic and shmoozy; usually when he was trying to apologize. But, there was another gift in his hand, about fifteen inches long, ten inches wide and perhaps four inches deep, gold embossed paper, deep red silk bow, with gold shot through it. She hesitated. This looked like it was too much.

“Merry Christmas, Karen. Thanks for all the extra miles this year.” Jim held the gift out a little further. It felt right, that Karen should get this. Many months ago he’d gone to several perfumes stores, breathing in endless fragrances, looking for one that was beautiful and not overwhelming. He had bought it for Christie’s birthday, trying to show how much he appreciated her, trying to say with it, ‘I put time in, I thought of you, I made the effort.’ But he’d forgotten to take it home on her birthday. She’d gone silent when he said her present was in his desk. Sitting here now, he knew Christie wouldn’t have appreciated it. Oh, she’d like the perfume, and the wrapping, but she’d probably never realize the effort he put in. Or appreciate that he brought something he could tell was beautiful, so that he wasn't relying on someone else’s opinion. But, funny, he was going to give it to the woman who actually knew how many shops he had been to, how many offers he had rejected to find just the right one. And the woman who, more than anyone else, had helped him get his life back, do his job and prove his competence. He smiled when he realized he was very happy to be able to give this to Karen instead of Christie. She deserved it.

Karen looked at her partner’s face. His smile seemed earnest, but under it was some other thinking. Perhaps he was worried that she wouldn’t take it. He blinked slowly. His blue eyes seemed to float around her face and she watched as he turned his head a little; he was beginning to wonder if she was there.

“Thanks.” The word caught in her throat a little. She took it into her lap.

“You going to open that?” Tom asked.

“Come on, we all want to see what the shop assistant managed to foist off on the gimp.” Marty’s last drink was showing.

“Marty,” Karen gave her usual warning. “Your mouth is misbehaving.”

Marty laughed and put his drink down. “You’re right. Open it, so I can go home to Elsie and the kids.”

“It really is beautiful, Jim.”

Jim nodded. He had no idea what the box looked like.

She pulled the edge of the ribbon; it slid smoothly, like on a television commercial. The paper came off easily. The tape was quality and peeled back willingly. Inside was a matte black box. French writing engraved on black glass gave no clue as to what was inside.

“Come on, this is like teasing. Why’d you wrap it so much, Jim?” Marty hassled.

Karen lifted the lid. Nestled in their own smaller boxes were a bottle of perfume, a jar of body crème and a spritzer.

Jim lifted his nose as Karen opened the box and the fragrance brought back the memory of the perfumier explaining how by layering the scent it could last all day and remain unaffected by changes in temperature, body oils and the like.

Nestled in the lid of the box was a small book, bound in red leather. Karen pulled it out: “Perfume.” It was a novel about a murder done with perfume.

“Nice.” Marty stood. “Well, now the mystery is over, I know what Santa gave Karen, I can go home. Good choice, Santa.”

“Night, Marty. Merry Christmas to Elise and the kids.” Jim stood and held out his hand to shake. “Thanks for the tip off,” he whispered in Marty’s ear as the younger detective stood to shake his hand and go.

“How’d you do that?” Tom marveled. How could Jim have come up with that within the last ten minutes? “Maybe you really are Santa?”

“That’s it, Tom. Don’t tell the kids.”

Marty clapped him on the back and stepped off.

“Karen, are you going to open it? I want a smell.” Tom prodded behind Jim.

There was the sound of cellophane and then a slight pop. Without turning around, Jim could already detect the gentle fragrance. Floral, but with a fresh hint of fruit.

“Ooh, that’s nice. I’ve bought a lot of perfume in my time, but I’ve never smelled that one.” Jim could hear the appreciation in Tom’s voice. “Jim, you buy this so you can tell where’s she’s at all the time?”

“Something like that, Tom.”

“I’m off, too. Merry Christmas, Jim.” Tom enveloped Jim in a hug, leaned over to plant a kiss on Karen’s cheek. “You right to get home, Jim?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

~

Back at their desks, Jim packed away his computer and called a cab.

“You’re awful quiet there, Karen. You still mad at me for those thermals?” Jim wasn't sure what was going on. She’d given him a peck on the cheek and a quiet thank you, then stepped ahead of him and cleared a path back to the desks, but essentially was very, very quiet.

“No, I… Look, why’d you give me the underwear? When you had this all the time? You wanted to make me look stupid or something?”

Jim sighed. He turned to face her, wished he could take her hand but…

“No, not at all. I guess I never thought about how it would look. Really, I didn’t imagine there would be people looking and it would mean so much.” Jim hung his head. “I’m very sorry if I offended you or made you look silly. I’ll have to think more about how things look to others. I guess, I’m forgetting that.” As he spoke he realized it was true. He had thought the gift thing was between him and Karen. Paradoxically, sometimes he was overly aware, almost to the point of paranoia, that people were looking at him and judging him. But sometimes he forgot that people were looking and judging all the time.

“And I didn’t want to give you a gift that said I didn’t think about it. I know so very little about you. Tom gave Marty a video game. I don’t even know if you like video games. But what I do know is that you get cold. I feel you tremble in my hand and I would hate to be cold like that so... And it’s winter, and the woman in the shop said they’d be hidden under the sort of clothes you wear.”

Karen was silent, watching Jim as he opened up to her. She berated him constantly about being closed, and from what he said that was a way of life for him. This was good. She didn’t want to interrupt.

“I wanted a real gift, not some showy thing that you’d smile at and toss or re-gift,” Jim grinned. “You’re not going to re-gift them are you?”

Karen chuckled, “No, I’m not going to re-gift them. And I’m sorry for being so touchy.”

“Can you tell me why it upset you so much?” Jim was curious. Maybe people had made faces at her, attacked her in a way he couldn’t see and couldn’t defend.

She swallowed and looked away. “You ever had a female partner before?”

“No.”

“Well, the tradition goes, - the girls filled me in last night at our girl party we had in the tombs –

“You had a girl party – here?”

“Yep, there are all sorts of cultures and sub cultures here and the girls, we have our own. I’m the only female detective at the moment, but there is apparently a long tradition that the girls from files and such filled me in on.”

“Go on.” He prompted.

“Well, if you are a guy and you have a female partner, if she is single you give her perfume. If she has a boyfriend you give her sexy lingerie.”

Jim’s face dropped. “Oh, no! I gave you the least sexy kind of lingerie I could have. And you are single.”

Karen’s smile was sad. “That’s right.”

“But, Karen, why didn’t anyone tell me? How am I supposed to know this? We never had traditions like that at any other precinct where I’ve worked.”

“You sure about that?”

“I’d have to think about it. I only had male partners and we always gave either alcohol or something for their car, depending on how good a partner they were.” He nodded, realizing as he said it, even that was a tradition of sorts. The guys knew you were either pleased or pissed with them depending on the gift they got.

“Shit. I really am sorry, again. And I can’t even blame this one on my sight.” Jim's shoulders slumped. “Were they all watching?”

“Oh yeah, and you should have seen the rolled eyes, the faces. Fiona, from files, she even blushed for me.” Karen patted him on the arm. “You now have a reputation as a real scumbag.”

Jim raised his hands in defeat.

“You want a ride?”

“I already called a cab.”

“You wanna ride New York City dressed like that?” When Jim ran his hands over his white fur trim she realized he’d forgotten he was wearing it.

“Shit.” Jim hung his head, Simone still hadn’t shown up. And it wasn't like he could easily go search the building for her.

“Cancel your cab. You can invite me up for a drink at your place to make up for the fiasco.” Karen wanted to see Jim safely home. Hank wasn’t the only one who had been into the egg nog and Jim, after alcohol, without Hank to make sure he got to the right door – didn’t bear thinking about.

“The perfume didn’t do that?”

“Well, actually, when I show this around to the girls, it’ll probably put you on top of the heap. And the fact that you did that privately, they’re going to read all sorts of things into it.”

“Come on Hank, we gotta go.” Jim squatted next to the desk, after Hank didn’t respond to his usual slap on the thigh.

Finally Hank staggered out, looked blearily at Karen and leaned heavily on Jim’s leg.

“Jim. You’re going to have to take me up on that offer. He’s blotto.”

Jim nodded wearily and picked reached for the phone to cancel his cab. It took him longer than usual to find the phone and dial. His head was fuzzy with fatigue and eggnog.

After following a staggering Hank to the elevator where Hank settled into a pool of dog fur and snoring on the floor, Jim finally gave in and picked his dog up. “Karen, can you…?”

“Sure, Jim.” Karen grabbed his sleeve and guided him out of the elevator to the car. She was pretty giggly herself and by the time they got to the apartment she and Jim were laughing out loud. Hank couldn’t get what they were laughing at. His head hung over the back of Jim's shoulder and he wondered if this was the way they’d be working together from now on. He licked his lips, wondering if there was any of that yummy drink at home.

[Dreamfire]

Chapter Seven

They repeated the procedure going up to the apartment, and when Jim straightened from depositing the bleary eyed German Shepherd into his bed he turned to find Karen had followed him into the bedroom. She had put on some of the scent he had given her for Xmas.

“Hm, it suits you.” He tried to exit the bedroom without making contact with his giggling partner.

“Thanks. How did you know to pick this one? You know, not every scent works on every woman.”

Jim shrugged. “I just looked for the one that suggested strength, kindness, a touch of vulnerability and an above average dose of determination.” He smiled inside; that was actually what he had been looking for. And the fact that it had been meant for Christie and not Karen seemed way in the distance now.

The mingling of Karen’s own scent and the new perfume tortured him. It was warm and sexy, fresh and inviting. He cleared his throat, hoping she would move from the doorway. He didn’t want to brush past her. She did and he stepped forward with relief. That was not a door he wanted to open, but the fragrance of her in this room, after the evening they had ... two years ago he would have seen it as inevitable. Now he knew it was choice. She was his partner and the best he had ever had. Not to mention the fact that now he needed his partner like never before. He would do nothing to jeopardize that.

“Come on, you wanted that drink?” He could do this, be hospitable without crossing the line. Love Karen like a partner, without thinking of her as a woman.

“Not sure I should, Detective Dunbar.”

Jim gave her a questioning look.

“When I asked, I had forgotten Christie was gone. I assumed I’d be safe, you know. But now, I feel like I’m in a bachelor pad. Without even Hank to chaperone.”

“You need a chaperone?” Jim smiled. He had never put the moves on her, despite the inevitable moments when her proximity filled his senses and he had to fight the responses of his body. She had never given the slightest indication that she saw him as anything but another detective. In fact he had wondered if it was because he was older or because he was blind, but she seemed to be immune to his charm.

“Oh, a few drinks, you’re an attractive man, I’m going home to a quiet cold apartment. And you have a reputation, don’t forget.”

“Karen, I was a different man,” he began to reassure her.

She put her hand on his mouth and the softness of her skin, the aroma of her scent assaulted his nose directly. “You don’t have to explain to me. I know it takes two to do what you did and Ann is not blameless.”

He removed her hand, held it. “Karen, my partnership with you means too much to me to jeopardize it. And I think you would be very, very sorry if you woke up here tomorrow.”

She hung her head, dropping it to his chest. “You’re right. I just… I feel so comfortable with you now, like you’re my brother or something. And safe, I feel safe. And maybe I have also had more to drink than I realize. I probably shouldn’t have driven here, you know.”

Jim hadn’t realized. When he could see, Jim had never gotten into a car with another driver. As soon as he burned his rookie stripes he had always been the one to drive. Since he couldn’t do that anymore, he had just had to accept that others drove differently. Sometimes he was glad he couldn’t see what mayhem they missed when they drove.

“Well, then, how am I going to feel safe with you driving from now on?” he joked.
“Let’s get you that drink.” He took her hand and led her to the kitchen, sat her on a bar stool. “More hot toddy or something else?”

“More hot toddy. I’m cold.”

He got busy mixing rum and brandy, eggnog and crème. Karen wandered around the apartment. It was so neat, like looking at a display home. Except…”What’s this?” she called out to Jim in the kitchen. She stood in front of an easel with a large board resting on it. It was covered in crème colored cards, stapled on in uneven rows with bits of string
tied to push pins intersecting it. The string was red, the push pins black and the whole thing was quite beautiful. Did Jim have an artistic hobby she didn’t know about?

“I don’t know Karen. What’re you looking at?” She certainly had had a few drinks if she was asking questions like that.

“I don’t know. Here, in the lounge room, on the easel. With all the blank cards.”

“Ah,” Jim nodded, “It is a murder board, to help me keep track on that Harris case. And they’re not blank.” Jim joined her at the board and stood behind her. He reached over her shoulder and starting at the top left hand side he ran his hand over the crème cards to the centre. “Look.”

She lifted her hand up and touched the card he indicated. He lifted her hand and took her index finger and ran it over the card. “James Harris… 52 of 42 West Second Avenue…” he read out loud.

Karen turned to watch Jim’s face while he read her the Braille card. His slight smile warmed her. She knew he took his work home, but this was dedicated! “Not great security, Jim.”

“No, I had photos taken from every window that looks in on this one. No one could read it,” he joked back.

“And this?” She ran their hands down the red string from one pin to another.

“Ah, that’s connections. See, James was once married to …” he fingered the card next to the second push pin, “Kathy, who also died in questionable circumstances. Her case was never closed.”

Karen sighed, “Beautiful.”

Suddenly aware of their close proximity, Jim stepped back quickly. “I’ll get those drinks.”

“May I use your bathroom?”

“Sure.”

She came back, padding in on stockinged feet. “Wanna check out the thermals you bought me?” She took the drinks from his hand and put them on the bench. At his horrified face she chided him, “I am not putting the moves on you. I just want you see your pressie?”

Jim held his breath. Didn’t she realize what this was doing to him? He smiled sadly.

“What you smiling at?” Karen asked and then ordered him. “Come here and check this out.”

He walked over and stood there, unsure of what to do next. She took his hand, and put it on her arm, “It’s pretty soft, see? He felt up and down her arm, it went all the way to her wrist but not over her hand.

“Not too long?”

“Nope, just right, and here,” she took his hand the lower edge of the top, “it’s long here though, I guess I can tuck it into my pants.” She giggled, “It’s going to make me look fat.”

He ran his hand along the edge and he gasped a little as he felt flesh where the top ended, he raised his hand up in a hurry, brushed past something soft and pulled his hand back quickly. He turned away. “So, you need um, food with your drink?”

“You don’t wanna check out the leggings?”

Oh, no, that wasn’t a good idea. Jim moved quickly to the fridge and opened it. “See anything you like?” He felt her breath over his shoulder.

“Mm, what’s this?” She pulled something from the top shelf.

“You tell me. Christmas ham?”

“You feel like sandwiches?” Sandwiches were Jim's favorite. Since losing his sight it was the easiest way to pack in a dozen flavors and still make a neat meal.

“Oh yeah, what else you got?”

She pushed him, “You go find more stuff. I’ll start carving.”

Jim pulled mustards and mayo, lettuce and cheeses out of the fridge. Soon the pile in front of Karen was huge and she stopped him. “Now bread.”

Jim showed her the airtight bin where they kept their bread. “This will have to be toasted, Jim. Can you take care of that?”

Jim nodded and set himself up with a bread board, knife and the loaf.

Soon the smell of toast joined the room and Jim started stacking them on a plate.

“No, no you have to butter them as soon as they pop, Jim. Didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

Jim blushed a little. “You probably need to take care of that…”

He felt the butter dish and smooth knife pushed into his hands.

“No time, I’m being creative with the insides.” Karen explained.

He bit his lip and pulled the lid off. He scraped the knife across the butter and then located one side of the toast. It had cooled a little so it wasn't too hot which was good. He had to hold it in place. He scraped butter across to the edge and onto his fingers on the other side. Shit, he hated this. He started to work on the second one but the butter was hard from the fridge, the toast was a bit hotter and within a moment the toast had fled the plate and landed somewhere on the floor. Jim stood there, butter on his hand, jaw clenched tight.

“Oh shit. Um, I’m sorry, I guess I should have listened to you.” She grabbed the butter knife and the butter. Jim searched the floor and found the toast. It had, of course landed butter side down. He cleaned the mess and stood up again.

“Okay, where we at?” What can I do?”

“I need another drink and then we can start constructing.”

“Constructing?”

“Yeah, you know, high rise, single story… sandwiches. Hello, anyone home?”

Jim busied himself getting more drinks. She really was acting like a bossy sister.
Finally they sat at the bench. She put his hand on several plates in a row. “Ham, chicken, and roast beef sliced really thin. And before you ask: no, I don’t care if you put finger prints all over it finding the bits you like.”

“Here we have mushed egg with mayo.” That was a bowl. “There’s a spoon in it.”

“Here, green stuff, lettuce and so on.”

She went through each condiment and side.

“Wow, smorgasboard.”

“Well, it is Christmas.”

“No, this is great.”

They built and demolished several sandwiches each. By this time they were back in the kitchen side where they had formed a toast and butter team that worked better than Jim alone. “I am so full I might burst,” Karen said. “How about you?”

“Another slice of that ham and you can stick a fork in me, too.” Jim reached for the carver at the same time as Karen. A few too many drinks, his expectation that he was reaching alone, and they knocked the glinting carving knife off the bench. She watched as it sped toward Jim’s unprotected foot. Faster than she could have believed possible she reached out and grabbed the sharp edge in her hand.

“Ow. Oh shit, oh hell.” Instinctively she dropped the knife again. Luckily Jim stepped back a moment before it slammed into the timber floor. She watched in horror as her blood dripped from her hand onto the quivering knife.

[Dreamfire]

Chapter Eight

“Karen, what happened?” Jim reached out and found her hand. “Is this blood?”

“Ah, yeah. I tried to catch it. It was going to hit your foot.”

“Okay, okay. How bad is this? Do we need to go to emergency?” He held her hand feeling her warm blood pooling in his own.

“No, no, it’s not so bad, but I think I might need to go lay down on the couch. I’m seeing black spots.”

“That sounds bad. I’m calling EMT.

“No, Jim, just bandage me up and get me another drink.”

Jim took her hand and washed it under a running tap. Then gently he assured himself it wasn't so bad. A thin wound ran along her thumb from half way from the small pad on her thumb tip for three inches down her hand. He covered it in antiseptic and wrapped a bandage over it. “Damn,” he said.

“What?”

“Now you can’t finish the buttering.”

She watched his face. Hadn’t he said he’d finished? It dawned on her that this was his version of a joke. “Well, you can do it and I can enjoy another good laugh at your expense,” she said and was rewarded with a nice grin. He helped her to the couch, holding her bandaged hand in a way that was completely unnecessary but she was glad for the steady arm, the room was spinning a bit and her hand throbbed. As she sat, she pulled him down next to her. “Sit with me?”

“In a minute, you wanted a drink and I think we could use some atmosphere.”

“Atmosphere?”

He brought her a drink, took matches and lit the candles Christie always had around the place and which he had never cleared away. Strange, but candles still made him feel…. festive. “The smell, you know, it still works for me.” He explained, somewhat embarrassed.

“That’s nice. It’d be awful to lose candles, on top of everything else.”

“Music or TV?”

“TV. They might have carols or one of those soppy Christmas movies.”

Jim turned the TV on and handed her a remote. “What’s that for?”

“Light controls, you can dim or brighten them as you want.”

“Cool.” Karen played with them for a while. Then turned them all off. He was in the dark. She had the candles. That’d be enough.

“You said you’d sit with me.” Karen knew she was being difficult but somehow, between the drinks, not wanting to be alone at Christmas, and now her throbbing hand, she felt she had a right to be sooky and demanding. Besides, she had promised it wouldn’t get intimate and she’d meant it. She had enjoyed the evening. It had been like hanging out with a brother.

Jim took a seat on the couch next to her. She pulled up her legs and laid her head on his chest. She reached out and got him his drink. “Here. You want me to describe the movie?”

“Sure.” Jim sat uneasily. This might be easy for her but for him it was raising all sorts of issues. The fragrance he had bought her wafted up to his nose. Her soft warmth as she snuggled against him felt good, too good. But he couldn’t move her, force her out. Before he realized it, his hand was stroking her hair. It was soft, silky. He liked the way it ended all at once, like a paint brush. Christie’s had tapered in long curls, this was different, stronger.

The descriptions of sleigh scenes, elfs and Santa couldn’t hold his attention. She did it like she was describing a crime scene.

The smell and feel of her were intoxicating, and he felt himself becoming aroused. No! This was his partner. He couldn’t allow this. He took a deep breath and began running case information through his head. The sounds of the TV drifted off and he started to doze. Filled with the scene of her body, the light weight of her, trying vainly to list physical evidence from the latest case, he relaxed and closed his eyes.

~

A wet nose, pushed into his hand, woke Jim suddenly. Slightly disoriented, he wondered where he was for a moment. But then he felt the weight of Karen on his chest, and the smell of her hair, and he knew. He moved his arm from under her, and found his watch: 5am. Hank’s time table was out of whack, he probably needed to go urgently. Jim gently moved Karen off him and laid her head on the cushion. He found the rug and pulled it over her sleeping body.

Jim pulled on a sweater and some shoes. He grabbed Hank’s harness from by the door. “Okay, boy, we’re going.”

The morning air invigorated him. At the park Jim wondered if it was still dark. No one seemed to be walking. Hank was taking a long time. Jim sat on his bench to wait.

Shuffling steps. “Mind if I join you?” an old voice rasped.

“Sure.” Jim brushed snow from the bench beside him and felt the man sit heavily. “Isn’t it pretty cold to be out right now?” he enquired.

“Couldn’t sleep. I got one of those beds for the night, you know, at the shelter, but I guess I’m not used to sleeping indoors anymore. Even on Christmas night.”

Jim nodded.

“What you doing out so early?”

Jim grinned. “My dog had a hangover.”

The old man looked at Jim. “He’s looking like he can’t make up his mind where to piss. Someone slip him a Micky?”

Jim nodded. “Basically. I guess he couldn’t say no to eggnog. But this is his first and his last hangover. I’ll keep tighter reign next year.”

“He’s spewing, too.”

“Damn, I was hoping I wouldn’t need to take him to the vet.”

“Nah, he looks like any kid that’s been on the piss. Dogs are supposed to be tougher than people, right?”

“I guess.”

“Oh, he’s done. Coming back. But, ah, I hope you don’t have too far to go. He’s not all that steady on his feet. Will you be alright?”

“Yeah, we don’t have too far to go. And Hank’s a professional.” Jim rubbed Hank’s head as he plonked it on Jim’s knee and sighed. “You think you learned your lesson, boy?”

“He’s about the sorriest looking dawg I ever saw,” the old man laughed. “Reminds me of me, when I first started drinking. Mind you, I never had no responsible job like he does.” The old man started laughing and couldn’t stop.

“Merry Christmas.” Jim stood.

“Merry Christmas,” the old man said between laughs.

Jim and Hank walked back slowly. On the way Jim smelled bread baking. He turned Hank toward the baker’s door and knocked tentatively.

“We’re not open yet,” a voice called through the open doorway.

“Oh, okay, I just smelled your bread and it was good.”

“Oh, what the hell, come in. I got croissants and date loaf ready. You want some of that?”

Jim hesitated. Hank could go anywhere, but a bakery?

The baker saw his hesitation, “No, no he’s okay. This part’s just a shop, Detective.”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“No. Well, I serve your pretty wife when she comes, and sometimes I see you when you wait outside. Where is she, by the way? Haven’t seen her in a long time. Here you go. That’s twelve seventy,” the baker rambled on requiring no answers from his early bird customer.

Jim paid the money and thanked the baker.

As he stepped out, he had an idea. “Come on, Hank, you need some more exercise.”

The old man was very happy with his present, then Jim had hurried back. Hank had picked up by the time they got in the door and went to his bowl for water.

The apartment was quiet. Unsure if Karen was still asleep, he walked as quietly as possible to the couch and stood listening. Yes, her breath was quiet, but it was there. He put coffee on and slipped into the shower.
~
He walked into his bedroom, one towel around his waist and rubbing another over his hair to dry it.

“You got a spare towel?” Karen asked, and Jim jerked back in surprise.

“Jesus, Karen, don’t do that! You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry, I… I forgot.”

“Towels are on the glass shelves next to the sink,” he pointed back toward the bathroom. “And walk heavier or something, will you?”

She laughed and squeezed past him.

The moment she passed, her hands on his hips, her chest brushing his, all the tension of last night came back to him. Then she was past and in the shower. He turned, half wishing he could see her shape behind the misty glass, half glad he couldn’t. He knew, if this had been a couple of years ago, married or not, he wouldn’t have even tried to keep things platonic. He’d be working his way to infidelity yet again.

~

She was about to leave. A breakfast of fresh croissants and coffee and date loaf sat well in their stomachs and both found themselves in a jovial mood. Hank had retired back to his bed where he dreamed doggy dreams, his paws twitching and little woofs escaping his lips.

At the door she hung back. “So, you're visiting relatives today?”

Jim was tempted to lie. “No, we don’t go in for that kind of thing. But I brought my laptop home. I’ve got reports to catch up on.”

Karen nodded. She knew Jim spent hours outside of work, listening to his computer reading back to him all the reports the squad wrote, which most of them glanced over and tossed. But Jim went through every one, in painstaking detail. She didn’t resent it on his behalf any more. More than once, he had picked up something from their reports which had led them to a breakthrough in a case. It was just a bummer that it took him so long.

“If I can help…”

“No, thanks. You said you had family things today?”

“Yeah, I do, she sighed. Her family would give her gifts that she would store until next year and re-gift. Her mother and father would lament that she wasn’t married and that she was still a cop. Her sister would go on and on about how hard it was to be a mother. But with three children, the last one only 12 months old, she was pregnant again. When Karen had pointed out she could always wait, she’d change her story, telling Karen of the joys of motherhood. Her bothers might or might not show up. They skirted the law dangerously, and frankly, it was probably better Karen didn’t see them.

Last night, Christmas Eve, had been a better Christmas celebration than she could ever expect with her family.

She reached up and kissed Jim’s cheek. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it meant to me to stay the night last night.”

Then she turned and went.

Jim shut the apartment door and leaned on it. Phew. That last kiss, he’d nearly turned his head. As she stood up, he’d felt the change in her position and instinct had pushed him hard to turn and meet her lips. And he could have pretended it was a mistake but he hadn’t. He slouched, exhausted.

Oh, this was dangerous. And he couldn’t believe Karen couldn’t see it. For a short while he toyed with the idea that she could and she was just playing him. But no, he knew her better than that. Brother! She saw him as a brother figure. Oh, thank God for small, painful mercies.

The End