A/N: With gratitude to the Two Wise Women, who bear gifts of forbearance and patience.

HARK, THE HERALD ANGELS SING

by

Owlcroft

"Are you gonna be humming the whole time we're doing this?" asked the judge testily. He signed another card, folded it, and slid it across his desk to the man in charge of envelopes and stamps.

McCormick looked at him in surprise, then a sly expression crossed his face, and he cringed. "Oh, please, Mr. Scrooge," he begged. "Can't I put just one more coal on the fire?"

Hardcastle raised an eyebrow as he reached for another card. "You better knock off the smart remarks, ya know. Santa still hasn't got your present wrapped."

"What'd ya get me, Judge?" Mark thumped another stamp and added that envelope to the pile on the floor beside his chair. "C'mon, just one little hint?" he wheedled.

"Bagpipe," muttered the older man.

McCormick goggled at him. "You got me a bagpipe?"

"No, you sound like a bagpipe. All that droning and piping. God forbid you should ever get your hands on a bagpipe." Hardcastle shuddered in horror at the thought. "Besides, look what happened to the last Christmas present I gotcha. If you can't take better care of things, you don't deserve any presents." He snorted in righteous indignation and signed again -- "Milt and Mark" this time, since the card was for a poker buddy.

McCormick sighed and looked off into the distance. "I loved that bike," he said softly. "Oh, well. This year's present is gonna be even better, right? So, is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"Dammit!" The judge slapped a hand on the top of his desk. "How'd you guess? Yeah, okay," he shook his head disconsolately, "you figured it out. I got you a breadbox."

Mark made a noise that can only be spelled as 'hmmmp!' and went back to inserting, sealing, and stamping. Unconsciously, he began to hum again.

The judge closed his eyes briefly, then shook his head again, harder this time. "What is that song?" he asked in a plaintive tone.

Mark stopped abruptly, then had to think what he'd been humming. "Um, I think it's called 'Ding, Dong, Merrily on High'," he offered. "We learned a whole buncha carols in choir at Quentin."

"Here we go again." Hardcastle leaned back in his chair and gazed at McCormick soberly. "And next up we get the verse about stealing your own car. I think I know the words to that song too well."

"You think we've rehearsed that one enough, huh?" Mark grinned at him and folded another card. "Choir was pretty good, really. Hardly any fights broke out and some church group had donated a bunch of fake poinsettias, so it looked kinda Christmas-y." He paused, card in one hand, envelope in the other. "I useta sing in the choir at school every Christmas. I think I still know all four verses of 'Joy to the World'. Wanna hear?"

"No," said the judge definitively.

"Humbug!" McCormick scowled at him in mock ferocity, then grinned again. "Start signing again, Hardcase, or we'll still be doing this Christmas morning."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Hardcastle. He froze as Mark started softly humming 'Joy to the World'. "You just can't help yourself, can ya?" he asked in resignation.

"Huh?" Mark looked at him bewilderedly, then grimaced. "Was I doing it again? Sorry."

Silence, but for the rustle of paper and the thump of stamping, reigned for nearly four minutes. Then, the muted sounds of 'Deck the Halls' wafted across the desk.

"Oh, I give up!" The judge threw his hands in the air, scattering cards and startling McCormick. "Just tell me what you wanna sing, and I'll join in, okay? That'll be better than having you hum your tiny brains out."

A slow smile spread across Mark's face. "Really? You mean it?"

"That you'd end up humming your tiny brains out? Yeah, I mean that." Hardcastle shifted in his chair, looked at the painstakingly-decorated tree by the wall with the tiny manger scene beneath it, and sighed. "And I'll sing, too, okay? As long as I know the words."

"If you don't know the words," Mark told him triumphantly, "just hum!"

finis