'Oh no, why me?' was Teresa Lisbon's first thought when she received the memo, though she realized it was hardly in keeping with the spirit of the season. There was nothing like organized Holiday activities to suck the seasonal spirit right out of her.
Apparently, her unit had been selected to run the CBI regional "Toys for Tots" gift giveaway. It's not like Lisbon had anything against the program. Who could object to giving Christmas presents to needy children? Lisbon wasn't a Grinch ('really I'm not,' she said to herself). And she liked children. It was just that she preferred them in small groups – like one or two – rather than in shrieking over-sugared hordes.
Plus, it wasn't fair; her team had just done it two years ago. Cho had been the low man on the totem pole back then, and Lisbon could still recall the look of horror on his face when she informed him that he would have the honor of playing Santa Claus at the event. Actually, that was kind of funny, she thought, a smirk softening her scowl as she stalked into the work area.
Glancing further down the memo, she got her answer as to why they were chosen again so soon: one of the higher-ups had spoken with Agent Van Pelt about the CBI's participation in the program. Lisbon could just picture the younger woman's earnest expression – 'oh, those poor children, of course we would love to help.'
It would serve Grace right if Lisbon stuck her with the job of playing Santa. Let's see how overflowing she is with the milk of human kindness after a couple of hours in a hot plush suit with kids alternately screaming gift requests into her ear and bursting into tears. Yet Lisbon wouldn't feel right about doing that. Children were wonderfully flexible about Santa Claus. They blithely accepted Santas who were young, or black, or skinny – even, two years ago, an Asian one who was far from jolly. But every kid knows that Santa is a man. They'll take gifts from "Mrs. Claus" but it's not the same.
Her holding firm on the gender line was by no means an attempt to avoid finding herself in the role one day . . .
As Lisbon passed by Rigsby's desk, the agent stopped bickering with Cho long enough to report, "I sent you the file, boss."
She nodded approvingly at him, not only because of his prompt performance, but because she knew how easy it would be to rope him into the task at hand. Rigsby always deferred to her authority with minimal whining, and once he knew that Van Pelt was keen on the idea . . . well, he'd be practicing his 'Ho Ho Ho's in no time.
But as she passed the remaining desks, her plan changed. There was Jane, leaning against the wall, smiling at her enigmatically, as if waiting for her arrival.
"You consider yourself part of this team, don't you?" she queried.
Anyone else would go on red alert from a question like that. Jane just responded mildly, "But of course."
"Great." She shoved the memo at him, "It's your turn to be Santa at the kids' Christmas party."
Jane briefly scanned the paper, then looked up at her and beamed, "Sure. I'd love to."
The fact that he interpreted her order as an invitation, one he was delighted to accept, took some of the fun out of sticking him with the job. But seeing his eyes twinkle merrily and remembering his glee at giving the team outlandish presents, she mused, "Maybe he really is Santa Claus."
XXXXX
Though the worldviews of Patrick Jane and Grace Van Pelt didn't overlap much, they did have one pocket of agreement, and it was driving Lisbon nuts: they both approached the Christmas season with manic enthusiasm. Of course Jane scoffed at the religious aspect of the Holidays and didn't care whether they were celebrating Christmas or Hanukkah or Winter Solstice, while Van Pelt cherished the divine meaning behind the celebration. But they found plenty of common ground in Santa and Frosty and candy canes and holiday music and if they didn't stop soon she was going to strangle them both with a piece of Christmas holly. That's if Cho didn't get to them first.
Oddly, Lisbon didn't remember Jane being such a lunatic about it last year. Back then, the team was still warming up to the idea of having a consultant on board; he wasn't around as much as he was now. And, of course, he didn't have a buddy like Van Pelt to egg him on. To watch him this year, one would think he was the ringleader, but perhaps he was really following the junior agent's lead.
Thankfully the madness would soon come to an end. The party was at 11am tomorrow, Christmas Eve, giving the agents plenty of time to get home for family celebrations. They had just wrapped up a case, and hopefully wouldn't be handed another one for a few days. They – mostly Van Pelt – had also just wrapped a mountain of presents that had been funneled into the office from various Marine Corps donor stations. The party was to be held in the multipurpose room downstairs, and to avoid hearing yet another bizarro version of the Twelve Days of Christmas, she'd sent Jane, along with Van Pelt, down to decorate.
Rigsby apparently had gone too, because he returned a bit flustered.
"There's a problem with the costumes," he stammered.
"What costumes?" Lisbon replied, looking at him blankly.
"For tomorrow. Santa Claus and the elf. Well, the Santa Claus is OK, but Van Pelt said that the elf costume is too small for her. It would be too tight and would only go down to . . . uh, not very far . . ." He seemed to be struggling to wrap his brain around the image of Van Pelt in a too-small elf outfit. Lisbon stared at him pointedly, and he continued, "Anyway, Jane said he told the delivery guy it was OK, that you could wear it instead and . . ."
Lisbon was out of the room before Rigsby could finish his sentence. Moments later, she burst into the multipurpose room.
". . . seven sloths a-sleeping, six knights a-slaying, five . . ."
Van Pelt was balanced on a chair affixing streamers to the ceiling; Jane stood nearby, handing her tape. Lisbon glared at him until he stopped singing, then counted her points off on her fingers emphatically: "No. Way."
"Now, now, it's only for a few hours," he cajoled, "and you wouldn't want Santa to be elfless would you?"
While Jane was the picture of sincerity, his accomplice was not. Van Pelt had to look away, hand over her mouth, stifling laughter.
"There is no elf costume, is there?" Lisbon concluded, sighing.
Van Pelt cracked up completely, though, perhaps out of fear of her boss, she managed to make almost no sound. Jane grinned, "Nope."
He tossed her a Santa hat. Lisbon noticed that Van Pelt was already wearing hers. Just to be perverse, because clearly they expected her to reject the thing, she popped it on her head before turning on her heel and heading for the exit.
"Too bad. You'd make an adorable elf," she heard Jane purr teasingly.
Fortunately for him, she'd left her gun in her desk.
XXXXX
The next day, Lisbon found her desire to do Jane bodily harm evaporating. This was no doubt due to the fact that he was the best freakin' Santa Claus ever.
Honestly, Lisbon hadn't really thought of Santa as a skilled position. You sit there, you ask kids what they want for Christmas, you hand them a present. It requires patience and some degree of friendliness, but that's about it, right?
Wrong. Apparently it also helps to be psychic, or at least play one on TV. This became evident earlier, just before the party, in their crisis of the day:
Van Pelt, lifting the top present out of the cart: "Where's the tag for this one?"
Rigsby: "The tags are all in the bag."
Van Pelt: But the tags . . . the tags need to be on the gifts! That's how we know who to give them to."
Rigsby: "You said to string the red ribbon through the tags. I had to take them off the gifts to do that."
Van Pelt: "Yeah, and then you put them right back on, using the ribbon!"
Rigsby: "We, we have a list, don't we?"
Van Pelt: "Yes, that's how I made the tags. But I can't tell which gift is which now that they're wrapped! The kids are arriving. We don't have time to unwrap and rewrap them all!"
She wasn't quite shouting, but her voice had become shrill with panic. It had been kind of fascinating to watch a competent agent, cool under fire, fall apart over scraps of paper and bits of string. But then Jane bustled in, in full Santa attire, and assured her that everything would be all right:
"Not to worry. I'll give the right toys to the right children."
Van Pelt: "How?"
Cho: "You think the beard makes you omniscient?"
Jane: "Oh, ye of little faith. Come on, let's go. It'll be fine."
And so it was. Most of the children opted to open their presents at the party, rather than waiting until Christmas morning, and Lisbon didn't see a single one that was mismatched to the child who got it. The best she could figure was that Jane had seen many of the toys before they were wrapped and must recognize them by shape. Since there were a few more toys than children, there was a small margin of error for his guesswork. That didn't fully explain it, however, since some of the shapes seemed identical, at least to her. Of course, Jane wouldn't tell how he did it, no matter how much the guys pried.
Perhaps less impressive, but more endearing, was how he interacted with each of the children. That thing he does – looking at you with absolute attention like he can see into your very soul – it always made Lisbon want to hide under her desk to escape the scrutiny. But it was exactly what kids want out of Santa Claus. They all got to feel like the center of the universe for a little while. Even the toddlers who came up to him bawling in terror left with watery smiles on their faces.
Right now he had a little one on his lap, about three or four years old, with a mop of brown hair. Lisbon wouldn't have been sure whether she was a boy or a girl, except for her pink sneakers and nametag that said 'Ava'. The girl's articulation was pretty awful, yet she babbled on happily, repeating what sounded like "Dawa-sawah" eagerly.
Jane was no more bothered by the language difficulty than Ava was. "Oh, you want a dinosaur for Christmas?" he replied, "Are you sure about that? You know, dinosaurs get pretty big. And he's going to want to sleep on your bed at night. Is your bed big enough for a dinosaur?"
"No, Dawa eh-SAAAW-ah," Ava clarified, giggling.
"You don't mind sleeping on the floor? That's sweet. Well, if you're really set on a dinosaur . . .
"Na!" Ava squealed, the rest of her reply lost in her fit of giggles.
It was clear from his tone that Jane knew very well that Ava had not asked for a dinosaur. Moreover, Ava got it too, and was enjoying his silliness. Lisbon had a hunch as to what the girl was really asking for and wondered if Jane did too. She found herself trying to calculate whether the TV show she had in mind was on the air when his daughter was alive . . .
Then she realized what she was doing and it hit her like ice water running down her spine – 'Oh God. I made a man who lost his own child spend Christmas Eve entertaining other people's children.'
Her guilt at this was lessened by the fact that she hadn't twisted his arm; he practically volunteered. And he certainly seemed OK at the moment – more than OK, he was having a ball. After a little more back and forth with Ava about the care and feeding of her dinosaur, he made a candy cane appear out of her right ear, then let her talk him into doing it again with her left, and gave her her gift. Ava hopped off his lap and had hardly gone five feet before she was tearing open the wrapping, revealing a "Dora the Explorer" doll. She ran off, shrieking with glee, not looking back.
Jane caught Lisbon's eye, and he gave her that insufferably-pleased-with-himself grin. What else could she do? She shot back, "I knew what she wanted right away. I don't know what took you so long."
XXXXX
The party was finally over, or, at least, the children had left and it had drifted into a low-key staff celebration, with members of various units dropping in for a bit of Holiday cheer. Lisbon chatted with her supervisor, who was in an uncommonly good mood and full of praise for how well they had pulled off the gift giveaway. Lisbon declined to accept credit and pointed him in the direction of Van Pelt. Jane was nowhere to be seen.
Having had enough socializing for one day, Lisbon headed back up to her office to check that everything was in order for what she hoped would be a few days vacation. On a hunch, she peeked into the other room and saw Jane lounging on the old leather couch. He wasn't lying down, as he often did, but was slumped comfortably against the backrest with his head resting on the top and his eyes closed. He was still wearing the Santa pants and hat, but he had pulled off the beard and jacket, revealing a white T-shirt underneath. It said something about Jane's sartorial sense that what struck Lisbon as strangest about this ensemble was that he wasn't wearing a vest.
Lisbon knew better than to think he was asleep. No, he would let her think he was sleeping, then, when she was off guard, he would startle her by saying something that suggested he was observing her all along through closed eyes. Might as well cut to the chase. "Happy Holidays, Jane," she said softly (just in case he really was dozing).
Without changing his relaxed posture, he turned his head toward her, and said, "You too, Lisbon."
A smile warmed his features, but it wasn't the dazzling high-octane grin he used to charm people; it didn't fully obliterate the strain and fatigue in his eyes. One corner of his mouth quirked wryly, as he saw her seeing through him, but, uncharacteristically, he didn't throw up any distraction. This touched her, and she wanted to say something, but what could she say? Telling him she was sorry seemed rude, given how hard he'd been working at not being sorry.
After a long moment of companionable silence, Lisbon nodded and turned to leave.
"Thank you," he said quietly from behind her, "This was the best Christmas I've had . . . in a long time."
Reminding him that it wasn't even Christmas yet wouldn't be helpful. Instead, she turned back to him and teased, "Yeah, well, thanks to you and Van Pelt going above and beyond, I bet we get the honor of doing it again next year."
At that Jane rose to his feet, suddenly back to his usual sprightly self, "Oh, that reminds me . . . yes, now should be just about the right time."
He pulled on the Santa jacket, but left it open. Passing her, he headed for the elevator, beckoning her to follow, grinning mischievously, "Come on – you can help. I'm going to maneuver Rigsby and Van Pelt under the mistletoe. I was waiting until he'd had a chance to down some of Cho's eggnog."
"What part of 'we don't approve of fraternization' don't you understand?" Lisbon countered with mock exasperation.
"We? We who? I love fraternization."
"We, the California Bureau of Intelligence, their employer, that's who."
Jane made a dismissive gesture.
"I'm not helping," Lisbon asserted.
Yet, somehow, she was standing next to him as the elevator doors closed.
Author's note: I couldn't resist adding another entry to the sweet Holiday fics by authors LionQueen, Ellipsis, and some crazy girl who likes pie. Hope you enjoyed the story, and the season!