"So, who's for more eggnog?" Miles called out from the kitchen.
"I can't say no to more alcohol." chuckled Mansell, brandishing an empty glass, as Joe rose from the large leather sofa, his own glass in hand, and began to make the rounds for used crockery.
"I'll have another, Skip," piped Kent, handing his glass to Chandler.
"Ooh, I suppose I'll be cheeky and have one more," giggled Riley, allowing Joe to take her glass also.
"None for me thanks, Joe," said Ed with a half-smile as Chandler approached, "I'd rather be awake for the Secret Santa."
"I'll have yours then, Ed." Quipped Mansell, much to the amusement of the team. Their laughter was just dying away, as a few chuckled accusations of 'lightweight' were strewn towards Ed, as Joe rounded the corner into the spotless kitchen. It was Joe's favourite room: the gleaming marble worktops and stainless steel appliances were easy to keep clean, and they gave off a soft satisfying sheen under the lights. In one corner stood a sleek black fridge freezer, from which Miles emerged with a fresh carton of eggnog.
"I'll have one too, please, Ray." Joe said as he set the glasses down on the nearest surface. "Everyone looks to be getting on much better. You were right; a get-together seems to be just what everyone needed."
"Just wait until the Secret Santa starts," joked Miles, as he began to fill the empty glasses. There was a short pause; the muffled sounds of chatter and Riley laughing could be heard from the living room.
"You know, you could have brought Judy and the kids," said Joe, "I wouldn't have minded, really-"
"No, Boss, it's alright: today's about the team, anyway." Another paused followed, filled only by the clink of glasses as Miles put them on a tray, and the distant murmur of voices in the next room. "Besides," he continued, "wouldn't want Liam making a mess of your nice clean carpet."
Joe laughed. "I already took that risk with Finley," he said. Miles chuckled at that before carefully taking the eggnog back, followed by Joe. Mansell must have cracked another one of his crude jokes, because as the two men returned, the room was filled with groans as Mansell cackled, and Riley slapped his harm with a look of mirth-ridden disgust.
"Behave," mocked Miles as he dished out the drinks, "or no more alcohol for you."
Mansell dismissed the remark with a snort as Ray finally handed him the last glass. Joe seated himself next to Kent as Miles squeezed in between Riley and Ed on the sofa opposite. There was a lull as everyone took a gulp of their drinks.
"Right then," Miles said, rubbing his hands together, "Who's for a board game? I brought Trivial Pursuit, Monopoly, and that Ripper one Sanders got me the other year..."
There was a collective groan. Miles held up his hands in surrender.
"Alright, alright! Secret Santa it is. You wanna pass out the bag then, Emerson?"
Kent seemed to jolt a little, like he was surprised Miles had asked, but when he realised it was he who was closest to the large plastic bag on the sideboard filled with presents, he was quick to oblige. Being careful not to disturb any of the precisely placed baubles on the neatly decorated Christmas tree as he lifted the bag from its resting place, Kent quickly distributed the presents among the team. He handed a messily wrapped package – Mansell's handiwork, he suspected – to Ed; a pristinely wrapped box – Joe's, no doubt - went to Riley; the present after that, bearing signs of what Kent suspected was marker pen, he gave to Finley. He found his present next, wrapped in a vintage styled paper that was just beginning to fox at one corner, and carefully placed it on the couch next to Joe as he handed the Inspector the last package, with slightly trembling fingers, that he had wrapped himself.
"Doesn't the purpose of a Secret Santa sort of... defeat itself?" Ed asked as he watched everyone inspect their presents. "We are detectives."
"Yeah," agreed Mansell with a laugh. He gestured to Miles with his gift, "I hope you've got me something good, Skip."
"Well, that will depend on what you've bought for me, Detective," Ed teased, with a big toothy grin, "Why don't you go first, Joe. You are the host, after all."
"Alright, then." Joe took up the parcel into his hands and made a charade of scrutinising the wrapping, trying to discern what was inside. In the end he gave up, and carefully peeled off the sellotape, parting the paper to reveal a small, folded cloth.
"It's bright yellow." Joe said, trying not to sound too disdainful. He drew the gift out of the wrappings and into the air, allowing it to unravel. It was then that Joe could see it was a tie, with the words 'POLICE LINE: DO NOT CROSS' printed along its length. The absurdity of it made him laugh: "What on earth..?"
"Novelty tie," Kent sheepishly explained, wringing his hands in his lap. "I thought since you sort of missed out the first time everyone got together and wore one... plus it's McCormack's memorial service soon, and since it was his idea in the first place... I thought we could all..."
"It's very thoughtful – and very fetching. Thank you, Emerson." Joe reassured him with a big smile as he proceeded to fasten the newly acquired tie neatly around his neck.
It was at that moment there came precise knock at the door. Everyone threw a confused glance at Joe.
"Did anyone invite a plus one?" asked Miles. Without answering, Joe got up from the sofa, followed by his sergeant, as the knocking began again more persistently.
"Yes, alright." Joe snapped as he fumbled with the latch, spurred on by yet more knocking. When he finally, gingerly, opened the door he was greeted by two complete strangers.
The first was a man. Joe would have described him as tall, dark and handsome had it not been for the frankly alarming shade of his hair - an extreme bleached blonde, which only seemed to succeed in making him appear paler and more sallow than he was. Dressed in shabby combat trousers, boots and a faded purple t-shirt, he carried himself with the arrogant lilt that Joe was used to seeing in teenagers and gang leaders, and his 'bad boy' status was only elevated by the floor length black leather coat he wore. Next to him was a woman, shorter by at least a head. At first she looked to be fairly normal, apart from her perhaps overly festive clothing choice – a deep sage green turtleneck, jeans and a bright red calf-length overcoat, trimmed at the cuffs, collar and hem with white fur – but then Joe noticed how her ears ended in points, and her eyes were an unmistakable bright acid yellow.
"Who the hell are you?" Miles demanded.
"Which of you is Joseph Chandler?" asked the woman, seemingly ignoring Miles' outburst.
"That would be me. You are?"
"My name is Talia. This is Spike." She flashed a grin, revealing rows of pointed teeth. "Can we come in?"