Disclaimer: I don't own The Bill, Christmas or any of the cast – as awesome and all-powerful I would be if I did!
A/N: Enough Christmas tearjerkers… time for something fun…
I apologize for the shortness, but let's just say I'm more of a crime and drama gal than a… well, you can just read this and find out what this is…
Merry Freakin' (Ma)X-Mas…
There was a reason why he was dressed like this…
-
It was officially the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. Not that he was a Grinch, no, in fact he liked Christmas. He liked the little things like snow on windowsills and Christmas tree lights – not that he'd admit any of this to anyone, it would spoil the impression he liked to give of being immune to his own humanity. But this, well, this was too far.
"Not going to happen."
The Superintendent gave him a cold look over a stack of papers. "I don't think I need to remind you sergeant that you're already skating on thin ice in the 'first impressions' department. I had the Super of Barton Street on to me the other day wondering why I was hiring detectives with the appealing traits of… now, what were his exact words? Oh yes, dog's droppings." The detective sergeant sneered. "DS Carter, you're doing it if I have to drag you there myself."
"Sir, I…"
But the protest fell deaf on Jack Meadow's ears. "No, nothing you say will get you out of this sergeant, so now, back to work, I'll expect you in my office at 1900, fully dressed and ready."
Grumbling and kicking the carpet like a punished toddler, Max left the Super's office with a soft 'merry freakin' Christmas to you too sir'. He made his way back to his desk where a very amused Jo Masters and Jacob Banks were surveying the hangar of clothes left dumped on the back of his chair. Thankfully the clothes were zipped up in a black dry-cleaning bag, but it didn't stop Jo and Banksy guessing what was inside. "So, how did you peeve the Super this time?"
Max frowned at Jo. "Apparently Barton Street's Super thinks I have enough personality to fill an M&M." Jo looked about ready to say something, most likely in the form of agreeing with the Barton Street boss, but Max spoke over her. "I assume you know what I have to do."
Jo just smiled. "It will be a good thing for you Max. Might help you relate to disadvantaged children, for future cases."
Max grumbled. "I don't need to relate, I just need to solve the damn crime."
Banksy nodded. "Mhm, see, it's that attitude that has got you lumped with this task." Max glowered. "Just saying sarge that maybe… I just… no, don't worry about it." Banksy left, failing under the increasingly cold look Max was giving him.
Jo just shook her head. "Just, you know, don't pull that face tonight. Might scare the children." She touched the bag, feeling around inside. "Hopefully they included the beard this year." Max heaved a loud sigh and Jo fought back a snort. "Sorry, just thought you might need the beard, to cover your face so no one recognises you as Sun Hill's brashest DS."
"Oh yeah, not that it will help me when you're done telling everyone I got lumped with the job this year."
Jo just snickered. "Oh Max, what are friends for?" Then, going back to her work, Jo just smiled. Max glared at the bag, cast his watch one look (half an hour before all his credibility slipped from existence and into a pile of red and white trimmed fluff) then tried to settle back into the last of his paperwork.
-
And that was how it came to be that Max Carter was dressed in full Santa outfit pretending to care when a kid from St Hugh's children's ward told him she wanted a pony for Christmas.
Jack just smiled as the last child hopped off Max's lap and he was allowed to take his leave, Jack stating to the children he had to escort 'Santa' back to the North Pole. "Very well done Max. Now, I hope you learned something from tonight."
Max nodded. "Yeah, don't piss off Barton Street's Super." Then, scratching at the itchy beard, Max made a hasty break for home.