Air. That's what he needed. This stuff he was breathing: stale and circulated…stagnant…contaminated. Reno'd never been a fan of visiting medical for anything, because between the white walls and the silent, tense atmosphere he always felt like he was surrounded. Maybe like he was suffocating. Maybe both. Either way, medical made him feel the need to fight his way out of it's uncertain, plastic tubed clutches and generally, that's just what he did.

Today though the doc seemed distracted by other patients-probably because the Turk wasn't dying and for once wasn't giving him hell. Not to say he hadn't been doing so earlier after a long, hard day and a four hour wait with a split eyebrow and a dislocated shoulder. But now his arm was where it should be and his cut would be stitched as soon as the good physician saw to a screaming woman in another corner. No, Reno wouldn't complain this time. It was the perfect chance to get that air he so desperately wanted and get the heck outta medical.

Reno waited for a nurse to rush past him to assist the doctor and acted. Out of the ward, down a hall, to the left and-bingo-out those damn heavy glass doors that kept him trapped in so often. He thought about kicking them open but decided against it and used his good hand to slip out.

A warmer wave of cold circulated air hit him as he walked to the elevators heading to Turk HQ. Somehow, this air was so much better than what he had just been forced to breathe. Sure, it was probably the same but it wasn't. This was the real stuff. Reno inhaled deeply like a hiker in the middle of the richest of pine forests and entered the elevator. He happened to glance at the time on an overhead screen on the opposite wall as the doors shut.

"Almost three…damn." He leaned against the back of the contraption, crossing his good arm over his injured one in one, letting his head loll and looking at his reflection in the mirrored wall to his right. He looked as tired as he felt. "And I gotta be back here at six…paperwork's gotta be done tonight too." Sighing in exhaustion, he closed his eyes, blinking the dried blood from his left eye and trying to catch a literal five second day had been…well, pretty ordinary, and had gone something like this:

Wake up.

Get 'object retrieval' duty near the train sector.

Obtain suspect's file.

Leave after finding misplaced file and returning it.

Make deal or retribution.

Fight.

Obtain object and drop itoff at designated department.

Report to Tseng, get reprimanded for carelessness and sent to medical.

Reno snapped to his senses as the elevator jolted to a stop and the doors signaled 'Open'. Growling a little to himself, he leaned his neck to the left, then right, attempting to shake off some of the sleepiness. The walk to the office felt hazily dreamy and every step echoed loudly in his ears. "This is gonna be a fun," he told the hall as he ran into the door of his workspace in an over-exaggerated display of exhaustion. He took a deep breath, resigned himself to another hour, opened the door and flipped on the light.

Reno stood there for a long moment, not sure whether or not he was asleep. He swiped a hand over his eyes and winced at his forgotten injured eyebrow. There, on the desk, was a stack of paperwork…in order. Signed. Filled.

In other words, finished.

He rushed forward; he had to see this for himself. Sure enough, it was all done. The signature even looked like his handwriting. Well, maybe a little less sloppy, but all the same, it was good. Really good…

The red-head froze, straightened slowly, glancing about with trained eyes. "There's gotta be a catch," he whispered to himself. He looked around for anything: movement, shadows, things out of place, tripwires, anything. Tripwires were a bit of a stretch but he was too tired to care and looked for them anyway.

It was then he noticed the page number.

"It ain't all here…" He filtered through them to be sure but he was right. Several of the final pages were missing. Not sure what to do, he looked over his shoulder half expecting somebody to be leering there. But there wasn't anybody, and he had to turn in his paperwork before he left. Scooping up the stack he headed towards the filing room and froze again. There was a light on in the office directly opposite him. That light was usually the last to go out but something was odd about it…there was no noise, no pen scribbling or keys striking. Uncertain about the situation, Reno slipped into the office but his worry died instantly.

Tseng sat in at his desk, his forehead resting in the palm of his hand. Anyone peeking in would have thought that he was working out some problem in his mind but Reno knew better and had to grin, chuckling softly to himself. The Director's other hand held a pen and rested on a small bunch of papers…obviously what he was working on before succumbing to the embarrassing effects of slumber. His eyes, from the front, were hidden behind his hand, but between the soft breaths and the lack of response Reno knew. The Director was sound asleep.

Sidling over to his desk as quietly as possible Reno's suspicions were confirmed. With a satisfied snort he tossed the papers on the desk and turned to go so he could fall into the loving folds of his bed…and noticed the page numbers of Tseng's current project…and the date.

December 24…

Guilt settled instantly, and he frowned, attempting to swallow some of it. Scrawled at the signature line was an 'R'…followed by a slurred 'e' and a long accidental line. The contents of the pages were exactly what Reno needed to complete his own pile, and above these was a complete list of the file names in alphabetical and numeric order. Tseng coughed quietly and shifted ever so slightly in his sleep, all the while retaining exactly the same semi-professional position.

Reno watched his unconscious Director in silence. Finally, he shook his head and went behind Tseng's chair to get a better angle with his left hand. He knew if he were to try and take the pages the well-seasoned Turk leader would jerk awake faster than Reno could pull them free. So, ever so gently, he took a pen and reached over Tseng's arm.

It took him at least an hour to get them all signed. His bad arm gave some him trouble and he had to pause every few minutes for Tseng to settle back down from mid-slumber suspicion. But finally he got it done. Gathering his own stack of paperwork under his arm Reno took a second to make sure The Director really was asleep.

"Ah, Tseng," he whispered, half sighing as he said it. "What the hell'd you do that for."

More affection leaked into Reno's voice than he had meant, and he left abruptly, clearing his throat as he shut the door behind him.

Another hour found the Turk finishing the last of his filing.

Sitting at his desk, watching the minutes slowly pass by on his computer, Reno weighed his options. There was no point in going to bed by now, and Turks didn't get civilian holidays off, so Elena and Rude would arrive soon…and Tseng would be up and about any time now. Until the new day started, there really wasn't anything work related he could do, and there wasn't enough time to start catching up on old reports and files he'd neglected. But he had to find something to keep him busy or he knew he'd be dozing.

~8~8~8~8~

Tseng snapped awake.

Instantly he was listening, looking, sensing…something had woken him.

It was then he realized where he was. Entire nights in the office were not a new idea to Tseng, and even light naps happened on occasion so that he could continue working on whatever project had him up. But rarely did he ever actually sleep.

The Director straightened and glanced around, wondering whether or not he had been seen. A sudden scent and heat directed his attention to the desk top in front of him.

Steaming warmly in his hand where the pen had been the night before was a mug of freshly brewed to himself, he pushed the welcoming drink to the side and examined the paperwork under his arm. He went through each one individually, slowly; the penmanship of each of the signatures was atrocious but exactly what he expected to find. Inwardly he cringed as he thought of the many ways in which the signing could have taken place and scolded himself for being so careless.

On the final page, a note had been hastily scribbled. Judging by the fact that the ink smudged at his touch it had been written in the last ten minutes. Skimming the words, Tseng sighed, rubbing the crease in his nose.

"He would write it on the paperwork itself…"

'You like your coffee black, right? Merry Christmas. Oh, and thanks.'