T'was The Night Before Gitchmas

They say bad things come in threes and if this day was only number two of bad days to come in the same month, then Johnny Gage didn't have a snowball's chance in Los Angeles of being anything more than friends with Nurse Eleanor Donaldson. And speaking of number two…

"Station fifty-one, unknown type rescue at Smith's Sanitation, Twenty-Nine Peregrine way, time out eleven hundred hours," came Sam Lanier's voice from L.A. County Fire Department Dispatch.

Johnny, who'd been cleaning out his locker in an early New-Year's-resolution-frenzy, quickly tapped his Smokey-The-Bear poster for good luck, slammed the still untidy locker door closed, and ran for the squad.

Cap handed John a slip of paper with the address on it and together the squad and engine pulled out of Station fifty-one in well choreographed synchronicity. Traffic was atrocious as L.A. County's last minute Christmas shoppers packed the freeways in search of stores owned by people who didn't care if their employees had to work late on Christmas Eve. And speaking of last-minute shoppers…

There was no sense buying trouble before they even got to their unknown-type rescue and having to slow down for frenzied Christmas shoppers who refused to give the right- of-way to the oncoming emergency vehicles gave John and Roy a chance to talk between politely stifled cusses.

"So why the rush to start you new year's resolutions before Christmas is even here?" Roy asked his partner who was quickly working up a rant about crazy people not understanding that actually being alive come Christmas morning was more important than some stupid plastic toy their kid wanted that would break before New Year's Day.

"I dunno, just maybe there's a few things I need to leave behind in this year rather than take into next…" John said mysteriously.

Roy smiled in a way that made John mad, but he couldn't deny that his married partner was right about something even though he hadn't said a word.

"You really like this girl?" Roy said as a question that came out as more of a statement.

"I do," John said, clamping his jaw when he heard how dreamy the answer came out. It escaped no one's attention that John had been training himself in table manners, had been picking up after himself in the locker room without Cap having to raise an eyebrow and had been more conscious of what he was wearing when he left the station at the end of shift.

"Our boy's growing up," Roy chuckled before becoming professionally serious as they finally reached Peregrine Way, which announced its location more by smell than by the huge sign above the entrance to Smith's Sanitation.

"Ohhh man," Gage cringed. Thousands of porta johns stood, row after row in front of a dusty road and down that road a sewage truck lay on its side oozing the contents of apparently all of those porta johns on the left which had a green sticker of sanitation on them. The ones on the right didn't bear the sticker of completion of cleaning so were probably still full and teetering from having been struck by said sewage truck.

The men donned heavy gloves as a small, balding man in hip waders trudged up to them with a disturbingly visual effort, his boots making a thwuck! thwuck! sound as he strained against the sucking ground.

"One of my men is trapped in the rig. He was cutting corners and didn't change the hose from the sewer extraction one to the smaller porta john emptier and he was speeding around that corner there before anyone could get after him because he wanted to make it home early on Christmas Eve. Well, he ain't gonna make it now is he? The idjit," the man fumed. And speaking of fumes...

How long has the engine been running on that rig?" Cap interrupted the man while unconsciously batting away the smell of gasoline and feces.

"About half an hour. He's not hurt, just can't get out because the rig's dented all around 'im and no one's got a ladder that will stay up long enough to get 'im out with all the shi- um - sewage on the ground. Hasn't helped that it rained the last two days neither," the man added unhelpfully and sure enough by squinting, Cap saw no less than seven abandoned ladders laying in the waste, having slipped and sunk like ancient Venetian buildings piled on top of each other like a crazy game of Jenga that no one could win.

And none of the twits thought to turn off the engine, Cap thought in irritation.

As Roy and John unloaded equipment, Cap ordered Chet and Marco to jog ahead to pull spark plugs and see if there was any danger of fire but before they could reach the rig, an explosion boomed out causing everyone to duck out of pure instinct as if that would do them any good.

There seemed to be one big boom and then silence. No one wanted to think about what had rained down upon them in the meantime. Porta Potties behind the truck melted from the heat like aromatic sulpher scented candles that Santa might bring someone on the naughty list, the green plastic dripping and forming a gooey base. Small fires coming from the back of the rig seemed to be fed by an invisible but pungent source. The cab had been spared and the situation had turned from what would have been a victim assessment and extraction to a grab and go.

Seeing as how seven ladders had failed, it seemed almost pointless to grab the ladder from the engine but there was really no choice. With the fire, a snorkel truck would be too late, especially with the holiday traffic. Marco and Chet donned their SCBA's and grabbed a two-and-half-inch hose as per Cap's instructions and kept their heads down as they approached the overturned tanker.

"It's like cross-country-skiing at low tide," grumbled Chet as he picked up his booted feet higher and higher the closer they came to the rig. Marco didn't hear his fellow linesman but nodded at the sentiment just the same.

John and Roy hurried to the passenger side of the truck. They could hear the driver inside shouting for help but couldn't see through the thoroughly coated windshield and side windows.

Just mud, just mud, John lied to himself - until the driver inside hit the windshield wipers.

NOT MUD!

John and Roy both reached up to wipe their gloved hands over their now just mud! coated face masks.

Just mud, just mud, Roy told himself as he flung a handful of waste away from his mask and ducked before the wiper blade could take aim at them again. A sodden length of toilet tissue waved back and forth across the huge, rounded windshield like a soiled flag of surrender before the idiot inside decided that now would be a good time to try some windshield wiper fluid.

Gage banged on the hood of the truck. "Turn off the wipers!" The wiper fluid had done nothing to help clear his mask and in all the years of running into burning buildings, getting yelled at by the public, and exhausting drills, he'd never thought of quitting his job more than right now.

"If you can hear me, roll down the window on the upper side!" Roy shouted, suddenly dreaming of a vacation which seemed further away than it ever had in his life. For a minute, he even thought a visit from his mother-in-law might be better than this situation.

A sound like fingernails on a blackboard could be heard even above the hiss of the flame and the toxic steam from the well … literally tens of thousands of steamers was heard as the window slowly squeaked and squelched open and through the tiny, clear ribbon of windshield that had actually been cleared by the wipers, the paramedics could see the victim cringe as the fruits of his unwise actions rained in on his previously pristine prison.

Wordlessly, John and Roy formed a grid using the failed ladders on the ground and placed their ladder on top of those. There was no time for rock, paper, scissors and John boosted himself up onto the side of the rig. The man was moving and fully coherent and there was no time to check for injury.

"Listen, I'm going to cut your belt and help you outta here," John called down over the pouring water.

"Thanks, man!" the young man called back gratefully as his lap belt was freed and he locked arms with the fireman.

"Okay, I'm gonna hold up the ladder and you climb down towards my partner there, we need to get outta here," John instructed.

"You don't have to tell me twice!" the man said with a gag, scrambling down the ladder so fast that when he jumped from the bottom rung, it slipped in the dung and pushed its foundation of other ladders away with it joining them in the sludge. Just then a new fire erupted somewhere behind them like a dragon belched after digesting a garlic pastrami log, cabbage and boiled eggs with curie stew. John dangled from the window.

"Go!" shouted John, "get 'im outta here, I'll jump!"

But the best laid plans of mice and firemen don't always pan out. As John bent his legs to get the hell out of there, he was helped along by a belch of heated, putrid wind like said dragon had farted him right off the top of the tank.

As he lay panting into his thankfully still intact mask trying to pry himself from the just mud! that seemed intent on sucking him back down, he could only be grateful for the softer landing and try not to think of what it was, for landing on one's air tank was usually at best, a trip to Rampart for a very sore and damaged back or even death. As it was, except for the EW! factor, Gage was okay and very ready not to explode in a ball of sh - "Shit!" Gage shouted in frustration as every time he tried to get up, the very mucky ground seemed intent to keep him where he was and the more he struggled, the more his back insisted that it had not in fact escaped a thumping from his air tank.

Roy looked toward the flaming back of the truck. His usually nimble partner had been blown off the truck but he'd had to keep going to get his victim out of harm's way. Cap guided the victim from Roy's outstretched hands and gave immediate permission for Roy to go in search of his partner as Chet and Marco valiantly put the fire down again as more engines were called.

The smoke was thick as John struggled, getting more exhausted and frustrated by the minute. In the past few weeks, he'd been falsely arrested, nearly shot, accused of peeing on a freeway offramp, been stuck by a cactus thorn that became infected and now this. Visions of his obituary danced in his head but not those of sugar plums. Here lies John Roderick Gage, he had a shitty month. Literally. Then Roy's face loomed before him like he was looking at some alien species he'd just found on the moon. With one mighty tug and a lot of slipping and sliding, Gage was on his feet. One small step for man, one giant leap the hell out of the way for any nurse who had to deal with him at Rampart if Roy insisted he get checked out, John thought miserably.

Roy dragged his partner along toward Cap and Gage plunked down on the plastic tarp that Cap had spread on the ground a safe distance from the now under control fire. The man they had rescued from the truck was insisting on signing a medical waiver and going home to shower and see his fiancé, the announcement of which caused Gage's shoulders to droop impossibly further as he shrugged out of his gear. Not that he wasn't happy that the guy had escaped harm and seemingly only had waste on his boots and hardhat, not his entire self like he had or anything because that would just be wrong – even though the whole thing was entirely the guy's fault for rushing to get home early on Christmas Eve without thinking of consequences.

"Hold up, Roy," John pleaded through his SCBA mask. "I'm not takin' this thing off until I'm hosed down."

Roy was anxious to check his partner for injuries but really couldn't disagree with his demands, after all, this was biological hazards.

Desoto pulled out soap and disinfectant while Johnny held his mask firmly around his face. Thankfully, his head had been spared by his helmet but as a precaution Roy poured a generous amount of both liquids as Stoker set the hose to a gentler spray. Roy pulled John's helmet off and flung it away and gingerly helped him remove the disgusting air tank, turnout jacket and pants. Thankfully, the underclothing had not been fouled. Cap spread a new tarp down and Gage sat while Roy helped him off with his boots which were given the same treatment as the turnouts and lay in a pile far, far away. Now relatively clean Gage pried the mask from his face which made a sucking sound. As he did so, he realized that he must've bit his lip and tongue in the fall and it now swelled profusely.

Making sure that none of the victims or company personnel were within earshot, he began answering Roy's questions between rants, his swollen lip and tongue not helping the process. Now that the smoke had cleared, he could read the company's logo on the overturned truck.

"Thsmith's Thsewer thsucking and thseptic thservithes Thsince Nineteen Thsixty three,' he lisped as Roy pressed an antiseptic gauze to his partner's lips trying not to laugh despite his concerns.

"You'd think that in ten yearths they'd have their thshit together," John groused, earning him a glare from Cap that did not match the smiling face.

"They do seem to have their – thit together, see, it's all right here," Cap smiled as he pulled out his report pad. Normally, Cap tried to remain serious, but it was Christmas Eve and if being indignant kept Gage from the pain Cap knew he would have later if the bruises on his back were any indication then so be it.

John tensed as Roy checked his ribs and vitals and called his findings in to Rampart. Thankfully, they didn't get Morton on the Bio-phone who would have ordered IV's and an ambulance. Bracket ordered Roy to bring his partner to Rampart in the squad to be checked out. Engine fifty-one would be staying around to ensure that there were no hot spots, especially given all the biological fuel about the place. Cap helped John up and Roy spread a tarp on the squad's seats.

"Good idea, partner," Gage lisped. No thsense having to thsanitize the entire thsquad on Christhsmas Eve."

Only because his partner was most likely going to be checked and released to go home did Roy allow himself a small chuckle as he rounded the driver's side to get in. His partner now sounded like his daughter Jennifer's record of the Chipmunks singing All I want for Chrithsmasth isth my two front teeth.

Roy was about to step into the squad but thought better of it and gingerly removed his boots with a shudder at the smell that wafted up despite the air being full of – thit already. He threw them onto the pile of his partner's abandoned items.

The soaking wet Gage shivered. Roy turned the heat on.

"How's the pain?" Roy asked again.

"How am I thsuppothsed to go to the yacht club tonight for the Donaldthson's annual Christhsmas Eve Gala for Rampart? Eleanor'ths gonna be there and thshe promithsed me a dansth."

I don't mean how do you feel existentially, I mean how's the pain?"" Roy said. He was rewarded with a one-word grunt that was unintelligible, but Roy felt content to take that as a sign that at least his partner was still coherent.

And just then Roy's partner went from a Chipmunk to Cinderfella. As the fan kicked on to distribute the heat both men reached for the off switch at once, quickly rolling down the windows and gagging.

I'd rather freezeth to death then breath hot thi - thsewer thstuff," Gage chattered.

Roy couldn't argue with his friend. It was doubtful that even if Gage checked out fit to go home that he would be in any shape to dance or have any time to get ready. As it was, Dr. Donaldson Senior had graciously gifted fifty one's men tickets to the Gala event in thanks for the ride along they had given his son in order to improve his bedside manner. The men would not be relieved until seven in the evening to rush home to wives or dates who'd been no doubt wrapping presents, baking and getting ready to receive family the following day and who were probably gorgeous despite a rushed frenzy of standing in front of a closet lamenting having nothing to wear. It wasn't every day one was gifted a two-hundred-dollar a plate dinner dance.

As predicted, Rampart's emergency ward was a zoo. Dixie took a minute to question Roy on his partner's vitals while said partner rolled his eyes. She took pity on them and indeed anyone waiting in the waiting room and told them to go to the staff lounge to wait. Despite having taken off the actual waste covered clothing; the men stunk. As if in second thought and because Gage seemed very stable, she tossed the two men a set of scrubs each and instructed them to enjoy the staff showers - please.

As Roy led his partner down the hall by his elbow much to Gage's chagrin, none other than his once intended but cancelled date, nurse Melanie walked toward them.

"Gage,' Melanie sneered.

"Melanie," John returned.

Melanie's nose was upturned as it always was, whether from his smell or the bedpan she was carrying under a towel draped over her delicate arm, Gage was heartened to see that apparently Dixie had kept the rude nurse on her toes to improve her appalling bedside manner and general rudeness. Just seeing her with the bedpan made the corners of Gage's mouth turn up in a smile. Melanie's nurse's cap had slid forward on her usually perfectly coiffed hair and a sharp call from Ms. McCall had her scurrying away, slowing once she realized that the contents of the very full bedpan were in danger of splashing down her less than wrinkle-free uniform.

"So that's the famous Melanie," Roy whistled. "You dodged a bullet there, Junior."

"Yeah, Eleanor'sth thso much better," Gage said before he stopped himself. "I mean, uh – um. N-not that she'sth mine or anything, I mean, you know not that she'sth my girlfriend. We're not even dating. She justht said she'd dancthe – with me." He said the last two words like he couldn't believe it. And even if he could believe it, it was five o'clock. In this mess, it would be a miracle if he was out of Rampart in time for shift change and clothes change, hell, everything change. He felt like he could almost shave his hair off and start new after being doused in waste even though it hadn't touched his head.

Roy's calls to check his partner's status from the other shower stall were disconcerting to say the least and John was never going to admit that the almost scalding water he was using was making him feel wobbly, but he didn't care. Right now, he felt like that person in the Shakespearian play, who was it again? Anyway, Out damned spot! There was not enough soap and water in this world to wash away that rescue, especially if he was going to wear his very first penguin suit to his very first ball.

In the changerooms just outside the shower stall an exclamation of EW! emanated from two paramedics simultaneously as two pairs of underwear flew through the air into the trash bins on the other side of the room and missed like wayward basketballs. The underclothing may not have gotten actual waste on them, but the stench had permeated everything. There was no way either man would put them back on.

"You know what, Jo does the laundry all year round. I'm not doing this to her. This uniform was on its last legs anyway," Roy said wrinkling his nose and in lieu of a trusty thirty-nine-and-a-half-inch-pole, he used a paper towel to throw them into the trash along with the underwear. He took a questioning glance at his partner who gestured that yeah, his pants were also going to the trash. In fairness to the Rampart staff, Roy tied up the garbage bag as the dragon fart odor started to waft from the bin.

Roy and John opened the plastic packages of brand new, white scrubs which were so starched one hardly needed a skeletal system to make them stand upright upon pulling them on. The garments itched and had an oddly new car smell, but anything was better than what was in that bin across the room probably plotting an escape to star in one of Chet's Halloween movies the following year.

John walked awkwardly toward the coffee pot, not so much from the pain in his back but from the fact the scrubs rubbed the wrong way with no underwear on. Roy didn't stop him. Usually, waiting patients were told not to have any food or drink but Roy had cleared with Dixie that his partner was fine to have something, and he definitely deserved it.

"Ouch!" Gage gasped as he sipped the hot liquid over his split lip. Roy stood up fighting the urge to adjust what his underwear usually supported just fine thank you very much and got his partner a straw and he fished some ice cubes from the fridge and wrapped them in a clean towel. Gage sipped and dabbed the ice alternately.

"It won't help the tongue any, but it might save your lip," he offered. "How're ya feeling?"

"Thshitty," Gage smiled and he and his partner shared a laugh.

Dixie had checked on her boys as she called them several times over the next hour and half and finally announced that Dr. Early would see them in treatment three. John followed her to treatment three and almost collided into her as he backed out of the door upon seeing Melanie in the room. Dixie pointed her index finger and shooed Gage back inside as she went to attend to the very busy Christmas Eve E.R..

Melanie glared at Roy who stood steadfastly in the treatment room.

"Are you family?" the nasty nurse asked pointing to a sign that read that visitors must wait elsewhere.

"Next of kin,' Roy answered glaring right back.

"Have you eaten or drank anything in the last –" Melanie asked before being cut off.

"Coffee," Gage replied.

"You of all people should know that is strictly prohibited before a thorough examination," she said sharply, filling out a form as if was a report card on a misbehaved child.

Dixie returned with Dr. Early.

"Ms. McNicol, you're wanted in treatment one. Dr. Morton's overdose patient has vomited again." The narcissistic nurse was going to learn how to treat patients with compassion or be dismissed.

Despite the waste, mud and water absorbing most of the impact before Gage landed on his air tank, colorful bruises stood out harshly down each of his vertebrae and faded off to each side where the impact had been less severe. Early listened to his chest and deemed it thankfully clear but ordered some X-Rays to be sure nothing was broken. He patted John's shoulder and left, promising to return. It was six forty-five.

"Listen, Roy, you go on back to the thstathsion for thshift changthe and then pick up Jo and have a wonderful night at the gala. She'sth really looking forward to it," John said. "I'm gonna be thstuck here for at leastht another hour. The placthe is a madhousthe on Christhmas Eve."

"I bought Jo some new earrings and I was gonna give 'em to her tonight instead of tomorrow so she could wear them to the gala. I saw her looking at them before last Valentine's Day but I couldn't afford them, so I went back to the store and put them on hold and made payments. She really deserves them. All her friends have husbands that are home most nights, are able to do more around the house and she never complains."

"What do you mean, wasth gonna give 'em to her, Roy? Go home. I'm fine, I promisth I'm fine," John said, placing his hand on his chest in sincerity.

Just then Bellingham and Brice from B shift walked into the room unannounced.

"Hey, Bob, how ya doing, Brice?" Roy greeted.

"You guysth can't just waltzth in here without knocking. I mighta been naked!" John said, placing his hand awkwardly on his bare chest.

"It's okay, Gage, we've already seen your prick," Bob-the-Animal-Bellingham laughed in relief upon seeing the paramedic sitting up at least on the examination table.

Brice wrinkled his nose and promptly gave Gage permission to address him as Craig. Briceth just sounded – wrong.

"But you don't like people addressthing you by given namesth," John said, enjoying the discomfort this offered the walking rule book.

"Yes, well, in this case, it's not a crisis situation as such so you may address me as Craig," Brice said. 'How are you feeling, Gage? – I mean – John."

"Im gonna be fine," John said again, addressing his answer to Roy. "And thsincthe you guys are here, I'm guessthing Cap called you in you a bit early? Which means that Roy can go home."

"They're only here for a supply run, Junior, they're not staying," Roy said.

"We can stay until we're called out," Brice said. "It'll give the squad time to air out," he added wrinkling his nose. "Your boots and turnouts now live on the lawn outside of fifty-one. I think the spruces are growing in the manure already. Cap's having Kelly bag them for garbage pickup on Friday."

"Ha Ha, Craig. There, now pleasthe go home, Roy. Jo'ths probably already dressthed and if you want to thsee the kids before you leave for the gala you need to get going." Turning to the two paramedics from B shift, he said, "honest, guyths, I'm fine."

Roy finally left at seven O'clock. He still had to swing by the station to pick up Jo's earrings from his locker. The traffic had calmed considerably. The shops had finally thrown out the last-minute shoppers and people were settling into their frenzies and festivities. By just before midnight, the E.R. would fill up with drunk driving victims but this year it would be the B shift left to pick up those pieces. Roy decided not to tell Jo about Johnny's injury until after he'd given her the earrings. She deserved a night to be spared and John had specifically asked him not to worry her.

Roy got home at seven thirty. Joanne took his breath away as she opened the door to greet him in a blue satin gown with a matching ribbon around her head framing her short, dark hair.

"You look beautiful, Jo," Roy almost whispered in awe.

"Oh this old thing," Joanne blushed but Roy knew that his wife had started selling Tupperware in order to afford the gown that made him want to skip the ball and get the babysitter to take the kids to her place instead of his house.

"Let me just go freshen up," Roy joked a line from the movies that ladies usually said before cringing about how much freshening up he'd had to do back at Rampart and hoping it had worked.

Noticing the scrubs and funny way her husband was walking, Joanne first feared that he'd been injured but she laughed when he assured her that it was because his chestnuts felt like were roasting on an open fire in the scratchy new starched scrubs. He longed to give her the earrings but wanted to be dressed properly for the presentation. She was a princess tonight and she deserved at least an attempt at him not being a toad that she had to kiss, especially if he couldn't avoid telling her just why he was wearing said chafing scrubs

"Um, Mr. Desoto," Joanne giggled appreciatively as Roy climbed the stairs to say goodnight to Chris and Jennifer and get dressed. "I hope you weren't wearing those scrubs in the very unflattering, fluorescent light of the hospital because um – I see London, I see France, but I don't see my husband's underpants."

Jo continued to giggle as Roy rushed to the bathroom mirror. Sure enough, the scrubs were see-through and without underwear, left nothing to the imagination.

"Gah!" Roy gasped kicking off the offending, practically sheer garments.

"Not even gonna ask," Joanne giggled as she gathered a few items from her "mommy purse" to transfer to her matching, rhinestone clutch. It wasn't every day she and Roy were invited to the yacht club and she doubted very much that she'd need a juice box, half cookie or crumpled tissues.

Roy got dressed in record time and walked down the stairs holding the small, velvet box. He took Joanne's hand and lead her to the Christmas tree which panged him with guilt as he'd been kept on overtime the night it had been decorated. He opened the box, and the lights caught the small diamonds in the earrings perfectly. He wished he could afford bigger diamonds. He looked into her eyes, just then noticing that the Christmas tree topper hadn't been put up yet. They'd waited for him. It would be odd putting it up on Christmas morning, but Roy cleared his throat unable to fathom how he'd managed to marry his soul mate.

"Oh, Roy, they're perfect!" Joanne's eyes teared up as she put the earrings on, fishing out her compact to look in the mirror. "You shouldn't have, you know we're so close to buying a house and-"

"No, we're close to buying a home. Without you, it would be just a house. Believe me, we're on track. I look at other guys, from the other departments; a lot of them are divorced. Their wives didn't realize they came with sleepless nights, long shifts, sometimes bad moods from shifts gone wrong…" Questionable smells…

"Well sure, but Mrs. Clark and Mrs. Parker don't complain," Jo said simply.

"Who? I don't know any Clark or Parker in the department… Oh!" Roy said, his own eyes tearing up.

"When one is married to a superhero, they have to make sacrifices," Jo said, standing on tip toes even in her high heels to kiss her superhero. "Though you couldn't have put that sexy tux on in a porta john so I'm glad you're here with me."

"Mommy, Superman and Spider Man are bachelors like me," Chris called out.

Joanne shook her head and called back, "Well, it's only a matter a time before Lois and Mary Jane get wise like I did when I married your daddy."

The Desotos gave their babysitter the phone number of the yacht club and made their way outside and Roy placed Jo's wrap around her shoulders and opened the car door for her.

"Now, in between slow songs where you belong exclusively to me, I want you to be a good wingman to Johnny. He likes that nurse, Eleanor from Rampart an awful lot. Couldn't stop talking about her when he was over here last. Come to think of it, how's his prick?" she giggled, recalling how It made him blush when Roy teased him about his ordeal under the freeway.

"Um, yeah, about that, Johnny's gonna be late. He's fine but Dr. Early wants some X-Rays to confirm. He had a fall today and he's a bit banged up."

"I trust that if you're here, he's fine," Joanne said slowly. "Are you sure we shouldn't swing by and check on him?"

"He will be a pain in my London or France - which one is the … one you referred to when I was wearing the scrubs? - for a month if we do," Roy said truthfully, but he was glad that Jo understood the bond that he shared with his partner.

"Well, you as next-of-kin can at least call Rampart and find out his status, right?" Jo said more as an order than a request. "I won't be able to have a good time if I think he's not definitely okay."

XXXXXXX

The yacht club was decked out in twinkling lights and soft music played in the foyer while livelier music emanated from the ballroom. When Roy and Joanne walked in, they were greeted by Mike and his wife, Beth and Cap and his wife, Emily. Chet and Marco introduced their dates before asking the burning question everyone had. How was John?

Roy fished for a dime in his pocket but as this was a rented penguin suit it didn't have dad pockets of the usual restaurant mints, lint, various small toys, gum or dimes. Joanne handed him a dime from her clutch bag and without realizing it, the group followed him to the payphones.

Dixie answered the phone, meaning that things were indeed slowing in the E.R.. Roy breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing that Brice and Bellingham had just driven Gage back to fifty-one to pick up his Rover. He'd been cleared to go home and was signed off for the next three shifts. The mood was lightened upon the news and as trays of Champaign were passed around, they raised a glass to Gage.

"Pigeons are supposed to poop on things, not be pooped upon," Chet said with a wicked grin. "May my pigeon have a less crappy new year. To Gage."

"Here, here," said Cap, shaking his head. Gage had been through enough.

There were a lot of people at the yacht club, but it wasn't long before Dr Kent Donaldson Jr. made his way over to the men who'd taught him humility and made him a better doctor.

"Where's Johnny?" Kent enquired. Roy filled the young doctor in on Johnny's mishaps du jour before asking him where his sister, Eleanor was.

"Elle's filling in for someone in pediatrics until eight O'clock. Dad of course wanted her here for seven, but you know Elle. One of the nurses in pediatrics grandmother's turning a hundred and she wanted to be there for the celebration in San Diego, so Elle stepped up."

Roy did know how special Eleanor Donaldson was. He'd seen her through his partner's eyes and for himself, giving lonely patients flowers, taking double shifts and making his partner positively crazy about her.

XXXXXX – a bit earlier

"Well, John, I think I can let you go on home," Dr. Early said after tying the third stitch just under John's lower lip. "I'm signing you off for the next three shifts after these few days off and then I'd like to see you before signing you back for duty. I wrote you a prescription for some pain medication and some antibiotic cream for that lip. Not much we can do for your tongue other than to wait for it to heal on its own. You should coat the lip a few times a day and avoid spicy foods. Try and get some rest," Dr. Early told the paramedic. John grimaced as he put the uncharacteristically scratchy scrub shirt back on.

"Thankths, doc," he said and told the doc nothing of his plans to go the gala.

"We'll get you back to the station," Brice said as he and Bellingham walked on either side of their A shift co worker.

"Mr. Gage, I will thank you kindly not to expose yourself in front of our waiting women and children!" shouted a horrified Melanie as she dramatically covered her mouth and pointed to Gage's not-so-private- privates as her hands left the wheelchair she'd been pushing upon which sat an old lady who likewise gasped at his appearance.

None of the three men knew what the nasty nurse was on about until Brice, following her disapproving scowl-squinted eyes, looked down. The perfect paramedic cleared his throat, quickly whipping off his blue jacket and throwing it around John's waste as if he was on fire.

"Brice, what the hell are you doing?" Gage yelped wondering if he should stop, drop and roll as Brice's hands made accidental contact with the bruises on his lower back.

"Sorry, Gage, we have … that is to say – we have a full moon situation here," Brice stammered as Bellingham practically fell over laughing.

The minor commotion caused several doors filled with curious onlookers to open, one of whom made Gage weak in the knees and this time, not in a good way if what Brice had just revealed – well, what he had revealed actually.

"Oh for goodness sakes, Melanie, it's not like we haven't got patients strolling the halls in backless gowns all day and night, it's like you've never seen a butt before," Nurse Eleanor Donaldson said to Melanie in hushed tones before adding, "Well, you've never seen one like that."

Dixie was about to intervene but as it seemed Miss Donaldson had things well under control, she ignored the situation as an interested bystander, not as a head nurse who would have to fill out yet more paperwork after an exhausting Christmas Eve Day. And besides, she had to fill out a complaint form for the hospital CEO. Seems the cheap idiot had ordered the see-through, over-starched scrubs again. Not that she'd complained the first time - Kelly Brackett looked mighty fine in those scrubs the time he had donned them after a rather unpleasant incident with a hunter who'd been sprayed by a skunk and hugged the good doctor for flushing his eyes out.

Melanie gaped like a fish and stood with her hands on her hips unable to come up with any more spiteful words. She watched Eleanor, who had changed at work into an emerald green empire waist gown and a small rhinestone hairband walk up to Johnny.

"Ah, the see-through scrubs again. My brother, Kent knows them well. After he got spat on by a punk gang member when he was an intern, he changed into a pair and got whistled at all day by the nurses. He thought it was because he had nice hair. One of the student nurses told him he had nice hair – on his butt. From then on, he's kept four pairs of his own scrubs in his locker," she laughed. This juicy information would have been gold back when Kent had been a superior jerk to them before he'd gained humility through experience going out on rescues with them.

Eleanor's efforts to make Johnny feel more at ease would have worked if …

…Of all the E.R.'s in all the world why did it have to be that lady?

"I can't believe it! Have you no decency? Didn't you learn your lesson from trying to pee on the freeway and getting caught young man? What is the world coming to? Oh, my poor old heart!" crowed the old lady from the flower/tube sock stand under the underpass. "Well at least these officers are taking you away at last!" She shook her fist from her wheelchair as a thoroughly disgusted Melanie prepared to push her away.

"Ma'am," Eleanor started with an air of patience in her voice for the old, wrinkled apple-faced woman.

"No," whispered Johnny. "Thshe thinkths you're copths. Let her have thisth one. Ith's Christmas Eve. I doubt thshe hasth anyone, justhst let her have it." Turning to Brice and Bellingham, John put on his best pleading tone. "Oh pleasthe, officthers, just let me go, and I promisthe I'll never pee on another freeway or thstreak at another football game ever again."

Brice and Bellingham were about to march Gage straight back into treatment three thinking he'd lost his mind when Brice finally recognized the old crow from when he'd been called to treat Gage for his injuries under the underpass and caught a bit of the Christmas spirit.

"Yes, young man, that'll teach you to show your twig and berries to a bleacher full of nuns trying to enjoy a well-earned day off with their twelve-inch ballpark franks and beer," Brice said sternly, stifling a laugh.

The old lady gloated like she was watching the best football game ever as the officers lead their prisoner away.

John paused at the doors long enough to hear Dixie address Melanie. "Ms. Scringe needs her corns soaked and scrubbed so we can assess the fungus and start treatment," the head nurse said sweetly as Melanie was clearly holding back a retort that would surely get her fired. The wheelchair moved a little faster than strictly safe as the old bat in its seat addressed her assigned nurse.

"You, you're a student nurse? Don't you think you're a bit old to be a student? Did you flunk out the first time through nursing school or somethin'?" the old bat began and John just knew that Melanie would get her comeuppance as the old woman droned on asking why there was no ring on Melanie's finger as there were plenty of young, eligible doctors here. "And as I was saying, I think I need an enema, I haven't pooped in three weeks."

XXXXXXX

John wanted to tell Eleanor how beautiful she looked in the parking lot but instead stood awkwardly, wishing that she would get into her car and drive away before she watched him climb into the cab of the squad. With the chafing, see-through scrubs and sore back and Brice's jacket tied around his waist like an ugly skirt, his posture more resembled an ape than the image he'd hoped to convey at the dance.

"Thso, I'll uh, maybe thsee you later," John shrugged mostly looking at the ground. Even her feet looked nice in those matching, satin shoes, he thought wistfully, which I would most likely step on anyway if I did get to dance with you.

"Oh, okay," Eleanor said, and Gage told himself that the regret in her voice was his wishful thinking. "I really do hope you feel better soon. I can't wait to give my mom those plants. Thanks a lot for showing me that great flower shop. Get some rest." She waited one awkward moment before opening her own car door because John had leaned across like he'd intended to do so before Brice's jacket fell from his waist and he grunted in pain bending quickly to pick it up hitting his head on the large squad mirror.

John refrained from putting his hand to head. Any sign of weakness would earn him a trip right back through those doors from which he'd just exited. Eleanor looked like she didn't know whether to get back out of her car to check him over or drive away to save his dignity, well, what dignity he had left anyway. Brice nodded to her that they'd take care of the luckless paramedic.

Brice helped John up into the cab and they were back at Station fifty-one in no time. It was eight thirty.

John squinted out the window to where sure enough, two sets of boots and his turnouts were – nourishing the ground.

"I know uniforms are expensive when you go past your allowance and with the luck you've had, well, the guys and I are going see about collecting up some gear for you at least until your captain requests special reimbursement but we all know how long that takes," Brice said.

"Thanksth Bricthe, I mean, Craig," John said sincerely. "Well, we can't have you going around naked, now can we? And speaking of which, is that your tux in the office?"

"Yeah, but how can I go to the ball now?" Just saying the word ball made him cringe, Eleanor had seen his! How was he supposed to face her at a formal dance? At the hospital was bad enough.

"Well, you've gotten the awkward stage of dating over with then, haven't you?" Bellingham supplied unhelpfully wiggling his eyebrows.

Brice had disappeared and returned with the tux. "Where's the shoes, Gage?"

'"Urgh!" I left them at home. Even if I wanted to go to the dance, I won't have time to get 'em." This seemed to make up the paramedic's mind. "I'm gonna just shower here, then at home ten or twenty times and go to bed."

Gage dropped the scrubs into the trash bin and stepped into the shower intending to use every ounce of hot water station fifty-one had before going home to drain his own water tank. As he stood under the hot spray, he heard shuffling outside the shower curtain. A little too close for comfort. He popped his head around the curtain coming face to face with Brice's steamed glasses.

"Geezth Craig you thscared the crap outta me, haven't you ever thseen Thpsyco?"

"Great shower scene. Did you know that the blood going down the drain in that scene was actually chocolate?" Brice asked..

"No – What in the hell are you doing out there?"

"The steam from the shower will take the wrinkles from your tux," Brice explained "Bellingham's polishing some dress boots up for you. You're a ten, right? And I don't mean your rating with the nurses at Rampart."

"Yesth – wait, how did you know my thshoe thsize?"

"I heard you tell Roy that almost two years ago, November 12, it was hot, and you were complaining about how hot the leather was on your work boots."

"Listhen, I really apprecthiate what you're trying to do but with the way the lathst month hasth been, I think maybe I thshould hibernate until nextht year."

"That girl, Eleanor likes you Gage," Brice said bluntly.

This coming from a man that Gage had thought had extraordinarily little feelings.

"Got the boots shined up!" Bellingham called as the B shift was called out for the inevitable Christmas motor vehicle accidents with multiple injuries. 'Feel better, man." And just like that, John was alone.

Brice was right. The tux looked perfect even thought it had hung all day in a plastic garment bag. Polished dress uniform boots that looked fairly new were polished to a high shine and stood on the bench opposite his locker. His unlikely god mothers had gone to work.

John's stomach rumbled. There would be good, awfully expensive food at the gala, or he could go home to frozen leftovers or pick up a burger if he could find a stand that was open at this hour on Christmas Eve. Telling himself that he'd eat then excuse himself to leave on the grounds of being tired, which was not a lie, John slowly got dressed.

John drove with the heat on. It was an unseasonably cold evening, and he hadn't eaten since morning. He'd never admit the chill also came from the jitters he felt every time he thought about going to the gala after what had happened over the past month, particularly today. He turned on the radio to try to get in a better frame of mind.

"And next up is David Bartholomew with My Ding-a-Ling on KPMJ, all hits, all the time." The radio announcer announced cheerfully.

My ding-a-ling, oh my ding-a-ling, I want you to play with my ding-a-ling! Blared from the speakers.

"Nope!" John said aloud, pressing the off button to his stereo much more forcefully than was needed. He had enough of hearing about ding-a-lings to last a lifetime this evening already.

A valet took John's Rover to be parked after giving it a questionable glance. Usually, the vehicles parked at the yacht club were Mercedes or Cadillacs at least. John was too tired to care. He made his way inside, straightening his tie and was just about to back out upon seeing that the food service had already started.

"Johnny, over here!" came Chet's robust voice over a speech by the organizer of the event, Dr. Kent Donaldson Sr. There was appreciative laughter at Chet's enthusiasm as John tried to shrink as he walked toward the table and Chet stood to grab an unoccupied chair to slide in between he and Marco who were flanked by dates on either side. John sat awkwardly down and tried to disappear.

"Ladies and gentlemen before we eat this delicious meal our incredibly talented chefs and hard working waitstaff are about to bring us, I'd like to raise a toast to the fine people of the Los Angeles Fire Department. Donaldson raised his glass and winked at a very embarrassed Gage who could only be grateful that he'd not been singled out further.

As everyone began eating the delicious first course of cranberry, candied pecan, romaine salad, there were whispered queries at the table around which sat fifty one's family.

Roy looked at John who silently pleaded for a bit of time to collect himself.

"Uh, how long did Doc Early tell you to refrain from speaking much in order to let your lip and tongue heal, Johnny" Roy asked.

"Thsixth daysth," John said, wanting to kick himself. Why couldn't he have just said five!"

Johnny ate slowly but could feel the concerned glances directed at him from nearly every corner. Eleanor Donaldson sat at the head table with her family chatting with her brother and his date as the second course arrived. There were three more courses of which Gage ate only a quarter because of being too slow and not wanting hold up the waitstaff who were taking away empty plates from everyone else. Through all of these courses, he kept stealing glances toward the head table but had given all of his attention to mango, coconut ice cream that had arrived served in real coconut shells and felt so wonderful on his tongue. He nodded gratefully to Joanne who pushed her own orange sorbet that was served in an orange peel toward him with a smile. "You deserve two," she said before taking Roy by the hand and leading him onto the dance floor.

"Don't look at me," Chet smiled, finishing his pineapple raspberry ice cream served in a pineapple peel. "You don't deserve three. Two, maybe." His date slapped him playfully on the shoulder before they too were gone to dance.

"Johnny, I'm so glad you could make it," came the voice he'd dreaded and longed for all night. He swallowed the ice cream and wiped his lip on the linen napkin which felt like sandpaper on his cut lip before looking up with a pained wince he couldn't stifle.

When John didn't say anything, Marco stepped up.

"He wouldn't miss it. It was all he could talk about last week, isn't that right, Johnny?" Marco asked.

"Um, yeah, yesth. I mean your family doesth great work…" John stopped talking. He just sounded ridiculous. Marco gave him an encouraging look before he and his date went to walk the beautifully lit grounds of the yacht club.

"Really rough couple of weeks, huh?" said Eleanor, scooping a serving of the fancy ice creams, sorbets and gelatos from a wheeled cart that zipped by. She placed two more in front of her favorite paramedic and placed one in front of herself as she sat in Marco's vacated chair.

John looked at her quizzically.

"What? I didn't get any. For two hundred bucks I better get desert. I still have student loans, this girl doesn't take charity," Eleanor explained with an indulgent smile. "I was too busy trying to explain to Mrs. So-and -so and Mr. whositswhatsits that no, despite what my mother tells them at every gathering, I am not planning on attending medical school to become a doctor any time soon. Turning in her seat, she pointed out her second, lawyer brother who looked distinctly on the spot sitting beside his mother as she was clearly introducing him to people who passed by the head table.

"No, I haven't been asked to the Supreme Court. No, no prospects at being a judge yet either…" Eleanor laughed, pretending to lip read her mother and brother and translating it for Gage in as deep a male voice as she could muster. "Honestly, mom's not too bad. She just has mom goggles on and thinks the sky's the limit. She never got a chance to go to college when she was young, so it was really important for her that we got every opportunity and she just keeps us on our toes making sure we're not settling. She doesn't understand why I took out student loans rather than letting them pay for school."

It was just so good to not be talking about poop or answering awkward questions, but it wasn't just the injury that had Gage tongue-tied. Eleanor had just simply sat down and started chatting, putting him more at ease than he'd ever thought possible. He'd wanted to walk into the ballroom and not sweep her off her feet exactly, but at least make a good impression and here he was sitting next to her as the dance livened up by the minute featuring both D.J.'s and a live band intermittently.

"How's the coconut one?" Eleanor asked before Gage's brain could catch up to the conversation and before he could stop himself, he'd offered her a taste of his gelato.

Oh for the love of god, Gage, she doesn't want your germs! Johnny cringed inwardly holding out his spoon awkwardly.

When Eleanor leaned over to taste his coconut gelato, John could smell her perfume and he breathed in appreciatively before he could stop himself. He cringed, he'd forgotten to put cologne on, yet he'd smelled some on his way to the yacht club. Brice, the perfect paramedic must have sprayed a bit of cologne on his lapels. John wondered when the Grinch had grown a heart because when they'd first met, it was dislike at first sight.

Well, if Brice could grow a heart, then John figured, he could grow some … um, balls.

"My Aunt Rose went to college when she was fifty," John said, way behind in the topic which was now ice cream, but Eleanor seemed able to switch topics easily. All the cold desert had lessened the swelling in his lisp considerably for which he was grateful.

"That's incredible! Was she unable to attend when she was younger?" Eleanor asked.

"Well, she already had four kids and I moved in with her when I was fifteen when my parents … Uh-" John gulped. He'd never even told Roy this, but the subject was on the table now. John left his sentence dangling and Eleanor didn't pry but he went on in the direction he was comfortable with. 'Yeah, she'd always wanted to be a teacher so after work as a seamstress she upgraded and got accepted to teacher's college and she just retired last year. She loved kids and it was her dream job after making sure we were all out on our own and happy. My uncle joked that she had hundreds of kids by the time she retired."

"Wow, I don't think my mom's even considered that it's not too late. I feel kinda bad. I think she lives through us a bit," Eleanor mused. "She's mentioned a few things that she'd have liked to do like botany which like I said, she had all of us study before each and every garden party."

"Well, maybe you could leave some brochures lying around and see what happens," John suggested.

"I think I will. Good idea. Like I said, I don't want you getting the impression that she's not proud of us or that she's stuck up, she just wants the best for us."

She cares what impression I have of her family! John thought, trying to look neutral. There was a bit of comfortable silence as Chet danced by with his date to a disco song. A slow song started, and John couldn't stop himself.

"Do you want to dance?" he asked.

"Are you allowed to?" was not the answer he'd wanted but her concern touched him and in fairness was very valid. Especially since having sat down, every muscle in his back had stiffened.

"Um, Dr. Early never said I couldn't dance."

Eleanor stood, Gage sort of stood, leaning on the chair. "Give me a minute?"

"I'm okay taking a rain check, honest," Eleanor said. She still hadn't heard the details of what had happened to him but deduced that his back had been injured.

John straightened up, took a deep breath and lead Eleanor to the dance floor. Eleanor stood awkwardly not knowing where to place her hands but as John's arms seemed okay, the traditional placement on the shoulder and bicep would work. The couple slowly swayed. She looked up to his face. His jaw was set in a firm clamp, his breaths measured and deliberate.

"Johnny, do you mind if we stop, I'm not used to wearing heels and I've been on my feet all day. I'd much rather sit and eat ice cream with you if that's okay."

This girl was incredible even if she lied through her teeth, Johnny thought as he let out his breath and let her lead him back to the seats. She spoke quietly with a member of the staff and in minutes, more ice cream was brought to them and they sat comfortably until…

"And this song goes out to Johnny Gage from his crewmates at Station fifty-one, who loves ya baby?" announced the D.J. as ACDC blared from the speakers.

Some balls are held for charity and some for fancy dress, But when they're held for pleasure they're the balls I like the best. And my balls are always bouncing to the left and to the right. It's my belief that my big balls should be held every night.

"Chet," Johnny said flatly. "I'm gonna kill 'im." But as he looked up, his brothers all held up their glasses to give him the toast he'd missed before he arrived. Okay, so it was pretty funny after everything that had happened, and Eleanor was laughing with him, not at him, so that had to be a good thing, right?

John about died when his stomach growled. "Ice cream makes me hungry," he confessed.

"Come with me if you want to live," Eleanor said so Gage followed her to the kitchens. He'd temporarily forgotten that her family was putting on the entire event for Rampart. Eleanor tipped a waiter who was only too happy to provide John some food that he could actually eat now that most of the swelling on his lip and tongue had gone down.

When John was finished eating, he thanked the wait staff for their kindness at his intrusion into the kitchen which earned him a few boxed up meals to take home.

"You should maybe go on home and get some shut eye; you've had a long day. I mean, I assume you've had a long day," Eleanor said.

"I'll tell ya about it sometime," John said.

"I'd like that," Eleanor smiled. "I think I'll head out soon too. Ms. McCall was kind enough to give me the afternoon shift tomorrow so I could get some sleep after the gala but I'm bushed and Kent's like a kid still on Christmas morning, he'll have the whole house up by seven."

Aunt Rose and Uncle George live in a senior's condo now. They love it. My cousins and I are going there for brunch in the afternoon then I'll swing by my partner's house to give his kids their gifts, they're my god children." John revealed.

"I figured you two were close. I was on shift when you guys had to fight off rogue hard hats if I'm remembering correctly and you both got injured. Don't take this the wrong way but I'd much rather eat ice cream with you than prep you for stitches so please be careful, okay? Goodnight, Johnny. I'm just going to let my parents know I'm on my way. Feel better."

John stood and faced her. "Goodnight Eleanor, thanks for …" he gestured around at the food and the kitchen in general. "Sorry about the dance."

"Best date I've had in a long time," Eleanor said before she winked at him and vanished from the kitchen just as Gage was calling himself an idiot for not asking her out for another date after she'd acknowledged that tonight had in fact been a date. Did the woman have to do everything!

John dashed from the kitchen out into the banquet hall and saw Eleanor hug her mother before heading for the ornate, polished oak doors. He pressed his nose to the mock portholes in the doors as she fished for her keys in her purse which John noticed was distinctly not a dress purse but was rather large and white, probably her work, everyday purse. He smiled. There was no way he'd normally notice what a woman's purse looked like, but he'd seen Eleanor's mother discreetly shove the large, unmatched bag under her table with a crinkled nose of distaste but at the same time a resigned fondness for her daughter's practicality. Eleanor, keys in hand between the doors to the foyer, leaned against the outer doors to remove her high heels and just as some very practical flats emerged from the very practical bag, someone flung open the door. Eleanor's arms wind-milled, her mouth forming a perfect O but before he could even register that, John leapt through the doors and caught her just before Newton's Law decided that human arms flapping had no sway like a bird's graceful wings against gravity.

John quickly stood Eleanor up. He stooped to pick up her dropped high heels and as he tried to hand them back to her and she didn't reach for them, his eyes followed her up-tilted face. A sprig of mistletoe hung between the two sets of doors.

"Awfully sorry, miss," the man who'd opened the doors said to Eleanor.

"Oh, my fault entirely," Eleanor smiled not taking her eyes from the ceiling. "No harm done."

The man lead his date into the ballroom.

"Dung-on-a-stick," Eleanor said thoughtfully.

I will kill Chet thought John. He must've told Eleanor what a sh*tty day I've had. Who's gonna wanna to kiss a guy who was knee deep in … and Chet must've recruited her for a bit of potty humor.

Eleanor looked into John's face. "Don't worry, Chet filled me in on what happened to you today just as he was introduced to my mother. When I said dung-on-a-stick I wasn't talking about your crappy day or making fun. See, the word mistletoe comes from the Anglo-Saxon words mistel, meaning dung and tan, which translates to stick or twig. So … mistletoe actually means dung-on-a-stick. Yeah, botonny can be a doubled-edged sword. Not very romantic, is it?"

John wanted to disagree but in fairness, the sprig of the plant looked rather sad, missing all the red berries one usually saw with it. The only nice thing about the arrangement was the little bell that dangled from it that looked very familiar to John as he squinted up at it…

"I mean, I guess most people don't know that – about mistletoe - so they just kiss," John said reasonably.

"I suppose so. The kissing tradition started in an English church. People would pluck a berry on the mistletoe and then they'd be allowed to kiss. When the berries were all picked, no more kissing, back to business."

And now John thought that he just might not like Eleanor's mother for having passed her knowledge of botonny on to her daughter. Of all the naked mistletoe in all the world…

"Which is why I grabbed the last berry that fell when that guy opened the door and you caught me," Eleanor smiled, opening her palm to reveal a bright red holly berry while trying to hide her unpolished fingernails.

John stood stalk-still. Eleanor rose up on to her tip toes, much shorter without her heels and brushed a kiss across John's partly opened-in-surprise mouth.

Tradition was awesome!

John's silly grin amused Eleanor as he offered to walk her to her car. He opened the outer doors, looking back as they closed and through the portholes of the yacht club doors, he saw fresh berries blossom from the sprig and the bell chimed before disappearing as a couple walked into the foyer between the doors, the sound achingly familiar.

Mistletoe, a rose by any other name! Literally…

John shook his head and didn't look back again, chalking the new berries and disappearing bell up to a tired imagination after a very long, dung-on-a-stick-day.

XXXXX

As John drove to his Aunt Rose's house for Christmas brunch, he passed the little flower shop that held a special place in his heart. To his amazement, it was open. But then maybe it wasn't that amazing, after all, fresh flowers wouldn't be fresh if bought too far in advance and hostess gifts were a must on Christmas Day. John pulled over and parked. Poinsettia plants bloomed vibrant red on a stand outside the shop. John opened the door. The bell chimed, exactly, without a doubt in his heart, the same notes from the mistletoe sprig at the yacht club.

The shop was bustling with customers mostly looking for hostess gifts but there was a familiar air of panic about the place as a young man practically ran past John through the doors, covered head to toe in dust, with a long, crimped, plastic hose around his torso.

"Ah, I see, got the misses a vacuum cleaner for Christmas?" came a familiar voice from the back of the shop.

The young man's shoulders slumped impossibly further as he skidded to a halt beside the glass case of candy.

"You see, Josie just had our baby daughter last week and I thought the vacuum would save her from sweeping the whole house now that she's so much busier and I'm only junior partner in my firm so I'm not around as much as Id like to help her with the house and the baby and I …"

…"Should get that hose repaired at Al's hardware first thing Monday morning. Vacuum good, timing bad, capuche?" the florist told the clueless husband, handing him a business card that had Al's phone number scrawled neatly across it. "Mention I sent you and you'll get fifteen percent off, and in the meantime, you need some I'm sorry flowers." The florist who looked very much like the old man who'd helped John pick flowers out on numerous occasions proceeded to fill a vase with pink roses and greenery. "Now, chocolate. Chocolate is definitely I'm sorry candy. You meant well son; you just need to think. I assume the mother-in-law is staying to help out with the baby?" Again the man nodded. The florist proceeded to pluck another vase from the floor and flip it expertly upright, filling it with water and a variety of fussy hyacinths. He then picked up a pair of tongs and reached into a large glass jar filled with confectioner's sugar coated lemon drops which he placed in a white box with a shiny white bow. "Mothers-in-law … some no-nonsense good old-fashioned confections, hard, sweet and sour at the same time, just like them. Shows respect."

The young man left the shop with his huge, I'm sorry bundle and a helplessly hopeful expression.

"Buy three poinsettias, fourth is free," the florist told John whose jaw dropped open as he hadn't said a word yet. That was exactly what he'd decided upon, one for Aunt Rose, one for Joanne, one for Eleanor and one for Mrs. Donaldson, who hopefully would be able to forget the Phantom's regaling her with the tales of what Gage was now calling his mistletoe day for more reasons than one.

John paid for the plants and before he could leave the shop, the florist told him to wait as he dashed to the back of the store. He returned with a rather large pot with a plant that had sword shaped leaves with jagged edges.

"Aloe Vera, heals and helps prevent scars, break off a small bit and squeeze the liquid onto your cut once your stitches are removed," the florist instructed. "On the house."

Before John could thank the man, he'd walked toward the back of the shop, disappearing into the refrigerated room. There was no time to contemplate how he knew there were stitches under the bandage on John's face, how he wanted four poinsettias or for that matter, how he knew anything about the young, clueless but well-meaning husband other than Sherlock-like deduction about the vacuum hose necklace. As the door closed behind him, the familiar bell rang. John didn't turn around. Something told him not to. Some things, like magic and miracles were best left to blind faith.

XXXXXXX

John returned to work on New Year's Eve having lost a bit of weight as his tongue healed slowly. He sniffed the air appreciatively. The A and B shifts were going to try to have a dinner together if time permitted and there were plenty of soft foods as well as the usual fare that was available such as hot tamales sent with love from Marco's mom. Gage was touched by the dishes that were clearly meant for him such as rice pudding and herbed mashed potatoes. The smells of cinnamon and spices wafted into the locker room, enticing him out, despite his sour mood that he was still having to beg and borrow turnout gear and other uniform items due to everything that had happened to him in the last month.

As of tonight, this year would officially end and good riddance to it but as the guys called him to come eat with them, he couldn't help but be grateful. He sighed and pushed himself up from the bench and joined his crewmates in the kitchen.

Chet stood next to Brice and Bellingham and Roy stood by a small Christmas tree that nobody had time to take down since Christmas. Each man had a paper in their hands as Chet shoved a rolling chair under his favorite pigeon and pushed him over to the tree was decorated with socks and new underwear with his name on them.

"We can't have you running around scaring nurses with no gitch on, Chet said in mock disgust. So there's seven pairs of gitch, one for every day of the week."

Johnny grinned at Roy who held up underwear he'd been given which peaked out from ripped open gift wrap and a card which dangled from the package that read, no one needs to see that!

Cap and Mike stood, and Gage saw that they too had sheets of paper in their hands. The men cleared their throats and John laughed as in barber shop style; they began to recite.

T'was the night before Christmas when all through the (fire) house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse

The booby traps were hung by the Phantom with care, in the hopes that his Pigeon would soon be there

The crew were all nestled, snug in their beds while a Klaxon-less evening danced in their heads

And Chet in his mustache and me in my cap

Had just settled our brains for an epic Oh Snap!

When out of the dorm there arose such a clatter

I sprang from the lockers to see what was the matter

Away to the window I flew like a flash

Tore open the window, Gage's boots smell like trash

The boots on the lawn, with poo on the toe

Gave the air texture of chunks I could blow

When to my watering eyes should appear

Squad thirty-six standing there with new gear

With Bellingham driving so lively and quick

I knew in a minute they'd ruin our schtick

More rapid than Santa the new gear came

And Brice whistled and shouted and called Gage by name

Now boots, now gloves, helmets and things mixed in

On puddings, on cookies on Jellies and blintzes.

To the top of the tables to the top of the lockers, now put away, put away, put away all

As scared Pigeons before the wild pranks fly

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,

So up to the hose tower the Pigeon he flew

Followed by Captain Stanley and Roy Desoto too

And then a twinkling I heard atop of the tower

The reasoning of Cap which had great power

As I drew up my head and was turning around

Down the tower came Gage without a sound

He was dressed in long johns from his head to his foot

'Cause his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot

A bundle of equipment was flung from Brice's back

And Gage looked like a peddler just opening his pack

His eyes how they twinkled, his dimples how merry

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry

His surprised mouth was drawn up like a bow

How grateful he was because he had little dough

He was scrawny but tough a right confused young self

And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

I disarmed the traps, he had nothing to dread

He spoke not a word but went straight to the kitchen

He filled all the cups no intentions of bitchin

And laying his finger aside of his nose

And giving a sniff to the showers he rose

The Klaxons they went off and away they all flew

But I heard Gage exclaim as the squad drove out of sight

Merry Gitchmas to all and to all a safe night

There was a shuffling of paper as the men turned over their scripts after Chet placed a large box full of new turnout gear onto his pigeon's lap and began another song

We wish you a Merry Gitchmas,

We wish you a Merry Gitchmas,

We wish you a Merry Gitchmas,

And some new Turnout Gear!

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A/N So I'm guessing most of us have had a very dung-on-a stick year and not in a mistletoe kind of way. I really didn't want to add a chapter to Road Flowers but I couldn't muster up a new story this year of crap and I was hoping to share a laugh. The mistletoe facts in this story are true! LOL! I hope things are brighter in the new year for all of you, your friends, pets and family. Be excellent to each other. PS, the last time I posted a chapter to this once complete story was 2011. I am happy to report that Molly, our Shepherd/hound cross that we got from the SPCA is now 14 years old and doing well. At the beginning of this awful year we thought we were going to lose her as she had a stroke and could barely walk, wouldn't eat or drink for days and was not doing well but she bounced back and she even swam all summer and is enjoying life and eating snow now every time we get some. That is the one good thing that we've had this year, that we didn't lose her.