A/N: This story is generally rated K+ but please be aware that there is a somewhat T rated scene in the middle of the story. I will mark it so that it is clear. It is not graphic but might cause some confusion for younger readers.

Christmas Day 1974

Station 51

Roy sighed. He had enjoyed his Thanksgiving off with his family. He scrubbed his hand through his hair as he waited at the stoplight just before making the turn into the station. The last three calls had been almost too ridiculous even to log, and he was hoping the rest of the shift would calm down at least a little bit. As he parked the squad he looked over at John. "Did those last few calls seem dumb to you?"

Johnny smirked as he reached for his door handle. "Yeah, I was thinkin' that. I mean, a guy electrocutes himself makin' waffles? A woman cuts her hand on a Christmas ornament because she crushed it tryin' to throw it at her husband? And on our way back from that one we get called to help a kid when his brother sprayed fake snow in his eyes?"

Roy nodded. "Yeah, judging by how much yelling those two kids were dong at each other, I would bet we'll be seeing more of them pretty soon."

"Yeah, probably. Won't be surprised if the parents don't end up in the middle of it, too.

Johnny nodded. "Yep. Merry Christmas, L. A." he said wryly. "An' our day is just beginning, partner."

Roy grimaced. "Don't remind me."

They headed into the dayroom. Mike handed the two of them cups of fresh coffee. Johnny sniffed appreciatively at the scent in the air. "What is that, Mike?

"I'm making jambalaya. My grandmother used to make it for Christmas every year, so I thought since we're all stuck at the station, I would do the same."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Sounds good, but that's got a lot of pretty pricey ingredients in it, made right, doesn't it? What's the ante?" It was customary for the shift to chip in to the shift cook for the groceries for the day.

Mike smiled and shook his head. "Nothing. This is my gift to you guys." He turned away from his place at the stove and an unmistakable heavy Cajun twang filled his normally flat unaccented tones. His eyes dancing, the engineer said something in a language neither of them had ever heard, though it had undertones of French, and then switched back to English... sort of. The Cajun accent made him a little hard to understand. "I said, I gon' feed ya boys bes' home eats ya eva be tastin'. Now gon let me be peace.!" He laughed and dropped back into his normal accent. "Dinner will be ready around five but I can keep it hot for as long as necessary." Without another word, he turned back to the stove.

The paramedics gazed at each other in amazement as they stared at their normally silent engineer. There was no way that Mike was going to get away with keeping quiet now. Not while John had any say in the matter!

As they watched Mike pull together the ingredients for some sort of bread, Johnny blurted out, "Mike, are you from New Orleans then?"

Mike was silent for so long John thought at first, he wasn't going to answer. Finally, he turned around and grabbed a dishtowel and flung it over his shoulder. He ran his hands under the water and dried them, poured his own cup of coffee and refilled theirs. The other men filtered in after completing their various tasks around the station, and Mike realized he now had an audience, whether he had wanted one or not.

To catch the others up, Roy told them that Mike was making jambalaya, and that they had asked him where he had gotten the recipe. He figured that way, Mike could share whatever he chose. If he was too uncomfortable sharing anything too personal with everyone, he wasn't too far on the hook.

Mike looked around at his brothers. He had always kept to himself and been very quiet, a habit formed from the time he was a kid, moving from base to base all over the world. It wasn't an easy for any military family, but it was doubly hard for a boy who had never set foot out of bayou country until he was twelve years old.

Mike had been a kid whose first language was not only not English but was not even French. His first language was Creole, which was a complicated mix of several languages... and varied depending on which country you were from. The dialect he was raised with mixed French, Spanish, English, Pidgin, and its own unique slang. Add to this the fact that he had been raised as an only child by his grandfather and two uncles on an island deep in the bayou, until his parents had finally found him, and gained custody of him, it was no wonder he had chosen silence as his best defense.

He explained all this the best he could and answered their questions, all the time not meeting their eyes. It was not that he was ashamed of his past. He just didn't like some of the memories involved. He had no doubt the island had made him strong and capable. But it had created a lot of confusion and isolation for him as well. And some of what he had experienced still haunted him to this day. Worst of all, it had created a rift within his family. Which meant there were no family reunions for the Stoker family. No holidays spent with anyone other than Beth and their boys, since Beth's family had disowned her when she married Mike.

The engineer explained it all in the best way he could, and then simply went back to baking the baguettes he was making. He purposely didn't look at the silent men gathered around the table. He felt like a wrung-out dishrag. He knew they wouldn't look at him any differently. He knew them better than that. It was just hard for him to share anything about himself. He was used to keeping everything bottled up. It had been safer that way on the island.

For their parts, the men of A shift realized they had all been handed an important piece of the enigmatic puzzle that was their engineer and friend. He had never talked so much before. And they realized too, that he had given them much more than jambalaya as a gift. He had given some of himself.

And for that, they were all truly grateful

~51~ (This is the start of the scene mentioned in the A/N)

Thankfully the next few calls the station was called out for were more "normal" and easier to log. An MVA, a cardiac case, and an annoying little blond kid who shot himself in the foot with a Red Ryder air rifle he had begging his parents to buy him. Deep in their hearts though neither would ever say it, the paramedics knew their luck was not going to hold. And they were right.

The station got called out for an unknown type rescue not long before dinner. They all groaned and prayed it would be a quick one, while knowing instinctively that was doubtful, simply because the aroma of the jambalaya and baguettes had been driving them all insane for the last hour. Stoker had even served them all virgin Mint Juleps, since they couldn't have the real thing. He grinned and told them, "You should be havin' summa Granpere's corn, but this'll do."

The tones dropped, and they rushed for their respective vehicles. Sam Lanier advised them along the way that nothing was known of the rescue because a neighbor had called them when she heard a man shouting for help in his driveway next door. Johnny acknowledged Sam and slanted his eyes towards his partner, who simply nodded grimly as he concentrated on the heavy traffic. This didn't sound good at all.

The first thing Roy noticed when he got there was that the young man seated in the pickup was apparently having trouble breathing. He was panting, and his face was bright red. Roy immediately pegged him at about 20. He started towards the truck with John just behind him, the others bringing their gear. The victim suddenly noticed him through his open window. He glanced down at his lap apprehensively and then looked pleadingly at them. His voice came out in a strangled whisper. "Don't come any closer! You'll scare her!"

The paramedics looked at each other in confusion. Roy stared at the boy, wondering if perhaps he was delusional or something. The pleading look, though, made him wonder what they were missing. "Okay, relax. I'll stay right here. We won't come any closer until you tell us it's okay. What's your name?"

"Cameron."

"Okay, Cameron, you're gonna be fine. We're here to help you. How old are you?"

"Nineteen. Look can you hurry up, I don't think she can breathe too good!"

Alarmed, Roy realized they had a second victim possibly injured. "Okay, calm down, Cameron. Who is 'she' and where is she? Is she hurt?"

"My girlfriend, Sarah. She's, um... well, she's stuck. Down there. And I don't really think she's hurt. Just stuck." The boy's face had now turned a shade resembling a steamed lobster."

Roy frowned. "Pardon?"

All of a sudden it dawned onto Chet, who had been standing just behind John what the problem was. He had navigated these particular shores one time himself, though he would be damned if he would ever admit it. The encounter had led him to one very strict dating rule that he had never broken since.

He leaned over to Roy and whispered in his ear. The look on the older paramedic's face was priceless. He scratched his head and took a moment to compose himself before he was able to ask the question. "Cameron, I don't mean to get personal here, but does Sarah wear braces?"

Reluctantly, never looking up from his lap, Cameron mumbled, "Yeah, she does. I had just finished installing the tape deck I bought her for Christmas, and uuuumm, well, she, she decided to surprise me with her Christmas present. Only, her braces got stuck on my zipper... and well, I had to yell for help, and I guess the neighbor heard me."

The crew all looked at each other in utter amazement. They had a very hard time not laughing, but knew they had to maintain their professionalism. They performed admirably, though it was not easy. When Johnny made the call, it took him a couple of tries before he could adequately describe the scenario, and it took Dixie a couple of tries to get what he meant. The worst part of the ordeal was that Sarah was so upset she would not let anyone touch her, including Cameron.

Finally, Brackett ordered her to be sedated. He really didn't like doing it, but there was simply no other way. Fortunately, she was 18, and indicated her permission when asked. Turned out she knew a little sign language and used the sign for "Yes," when Roy asked her if it was okay if he gave her some medicine to help her relax. Once the diazepam was on board, things went smoothly enough, and though the actual extrication took a while, eventually braces and zipper parted company. Although admittedly, the parting was on less that friendly terms, and the girl was transported to Rampart just to make sure she had no ill effects from her ordeal. The paramedics had no doubt she would be advised to see her orthodontist as soon as possible.

Cameron and his zipper survived amazingly intact, but perhaps a bit wiser. As he helped stow the rescue gear, Chet smirked. It kind of helped to know he was not the only member of a rather unique fraternity.

~51~

When they got back to the station, they wasted no time in setting out dinner. Marco set the table and helped Mike get everything ready. Chet had gone to take a quick shower. What he actually had to do was to get out his laughter over the last run, and five minutes under a steaming hot jet of water could mask his howls of mirth pretty easily. After he stepped out, he shook his head like a wet dog, and dressed quickly. He knew it was pushing his luck to clean up when there hadn't been a real need to... no big fire or major rescue, but it felt good anyway. He headed back to the dayroom to see if dinner was ready. He was starving.

The Big Firefighter was happy with them for the moment, apparently, because they managed to make it all the way through dinner, and dessert, which turned out to be beignets and honey served with chicory coffee. He set out cream and molasses to flavor the coffee.

The men sat back, mostly looking as if they had been poleaxed. Marco closed his eyes and seemed to just sort of drift off into postprandial bliss. The rest of the men looked as if moving might not even be on the agenda for a few hours at least.

~51~

Naturally, the evening and night were busy with a variety of calls, including, unfortunately a number of house and chimney fires, as well as several accidents caused by drunk drivers. They had watched the Bob Hope Christmas Special and actually managed to catch most of it before getting toned out. The exhausted engine crew finally managed to get to bed. The last call of a rather memorable shift called John and Roy out around three in the morning.

They raced to the address given to them to find all the lights ablaze and the living room in something of a shambles. Their patient was an unconscious man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He was sprawled awkwardly on the floor, and it didn't take an expert to see that someone had knocked him silly with something heavy. Judging by the behavior of his extremely agitated scantily clad female companion, who was staring angrily at them from the couch, it didn't take a genius to figure out who the culprit was.

Roy began checking the victim over as John set up the bio-phone and prepared to contact Rampart. The woman gawked at them, and for some reason, the sight of the man being tended to set her off and she began yelling hysterically. John looked sternly at her, as he couldn't hear Dr. Morton over the link. "Ma'am. Ma'am!" No response, other than she started yelling louder. Finally, John lost his cool. "MA'AM! Stop yelling!"

She blinked and quieted down. Johnny continued, pressing his advantage. "Now, look. is he your husband?"

She glowered. "Yeah. Carl Jenkins. The great Carl Jenkins. My husband."

Johnny ignored the venom. "Did you hit him?"

"Yes. I did." She immediately fell silent, apparently content to take the blame. Vince stood to the side, content to let Johnny talk to the woman. He had arrived a few minutes before and wanted to get a feel for the situation. He would make an arrest if it was warranted, and he had a feeling it just might be.

The two paramedics glanced at each other, a little surprised. Usually, in a domestic dispute, the parties would spend all their time trying to convince the authorities how horrible the other person was.

Roy had finished his exam and had readied the man for transport. He looked over at Johnny, who was gazing at a prominently displayed photo above the fireplace. It was obviously fairly new, and was of the couple, taken on their wedding day. Johnny would have bet money the photo was not more than six months old. Roy followed his partner's gaze. and then shook his head. In an undertone he told him, "This guy's in pretty bad shape. He'll be okay given time, I think, but she really hit him hard with something."

John looked at the wife. "Ma'am, what did you hit him with anyway? You might have given him a concussion."

She looked at them for a moment, and then walked over to a side table where sat a partially unwrapped Christmas present. She picked it up and returned to her seat. She looked down at her husband, and then back at the paramedics. "My husband works for an international company. He's young, but he is a technical wizard. They send him all over the world. He just got back tonight from Paris. His flight got delayed, so we were celebrating Christmas a little late. I opened a bottle of champagne and we opened our gifts. His is still under the tree. He brought mine back with him from Paris. He told me it was something really special that he knew I was just going to love. He gave it to me. I got it part way open and got so mad I guess I just sort of flipped out. I beaned him with it. "

She handed the box to Johnny at the same time Roy leaned over his shoulder to see what the apparently volatile gift was. And when they got a good look, even John, the confirmed bachelor understood perfectly. Just as the ambulance attendants hurried in with a gurney, Roy looked at the wife. "Ma'am, you're likely gonna face charges, but I have to tell you, my wife would have probably done the same exact thing."

And Johnny handed the young bride back her highly advanced technically superior...iron.

~The End~

A/N: I hope you all have a very enjoyable holiday... Merry Christmas, my friends! (Virtual cookies for anyone who can infer from this story which holiday movie character is my least favorite, lol! No fair telling, Xav!)