A/N: I actually wrote the first part of this story and outlined the rest around Christmas last year while I was bouncing on a bus around Mexico. I pulled it out this year to see if I could get it done on time for the holiday and if it was even worth finishing.

Well, "on time'" is a relative thing, but I suppose that for those of you who celebrate Epiphany it's fairly timely. "Worth finishing" was a harder problem and I demurred more or less every step of the way, for any number of reasons. But a good and generous friend, who faithfully reads every silly word my keyboard produces, told me that it should be finished and then posted for others to enjoy. So here it is. And I hope you do. But if you don't then, hey, blame her.

Consequently, this is dedicated to her, with many, many thanks for everything, and to all those folks who, like me, spend far too much of the holidays in airports.

A Merry Little Christmas

Hark the…bring…ald Angels…bring…glory to our newborn…bring…! Peace on Earth…

Steve pressed a hand tightly over his ear and tried to block out the Christmas carol blasting from the speaker overhead and focus on the rings. How many had that been?

And mercy mild…bring…

What was it about muzak anyway? Did they play it so loud because they figured that sheer volume compensated for quality? Had that been three or four rings…? Voicemail clicked on, answering his question, and with a resigned sigh, he cleared his throat.

"Hello, Dad? It's me, Steve." Like he suddenly wouldn't know who he was. Making a face, he continued, "Listen, this is running a little later than I hoped - you know how criminals are - no respect for the holidays." He chuckled unconvincingly. "So I may not make it in time to help set up for the party in Pediatrics. Sorry about that. I should make it for the end, though. Tell Jesse not to hog all the punch before I can get there. Oh, and Dad? There should be a package - delivered Federal Express. Could you just put it in the study, out of the way, for me? And don't shake it, okay? And don't peek. Sorry I'm late, Dad. I'll talk to you later." With another sigh, he depressed the button and broke the connection.

"Yeah, I know. I just made the same call."

Steve glanced over to see Sergeant Biddle smiling sympathetically in his direction. Steve smiled wanly back.

"Makes you think about a nine to five job, huh, Biddle? You got family?"

Biddle shrugged. "My wife and little girl. My baby's only a month old so she'll never even notice if I don't make it, but it's her first Christmas and - " he shrugged. "You know."

"Yeah." Steve tucked his phone away. "My Dad'll understand, of course, but he's all alone and…well. He just loves Christmas."

Biddle nodded. "You too, huh?"

Steve smiled reluctantly. "Yeah. Me too."

Biddle slapped him on the back. "Well, look on the bright side." Steve raised his brows and Biddle's grin broadened. "We could be working retail."

Steve gave a short gust of laughter, readjusting his headphones and settling his shoulders back against the wall, his eyes on the screen in front of the surveillance officer. In the speaker over his head, Hark the Herald Angels Sing was replaced by a Las Vegas lounge version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. He sighed again before he could stop himself.

Yeah. I'm sure gonna try.

0000

Steve pressed speed dial and waited. One ring. Two. Yikes. Was that…? Three. Yup, that was Santa Claus is Coming to Town. More or less. Four. In Reggae. Yikes. Definitely less. and…Darn. Voicemail.

He cleared his throat again, unconsciously rubbing at his eyes. "Hi, Dad. Me. Look, I don't think I'm going to make the party in Pediatrics at all. I'm sorry, I know you were counting on me…but I should be there in time to set up for the party at Bob's. This guy can't stall forever. Say, look, you're sure there was no package…? Because they guaranteed me - never mind, Christmas mail, I guess. Stupid to expect…" He rubbed at his forehead this time.

What the heck was he going to do about that now? He'd been counting on that package. Well, he'd think of something. There were places open all night on Christmas Eve, weren't there? "So anyhow, I'll see you at Bob's. Tell Jesse not to blow the budget on desserts and tell Amanda I'm sorry I missed CJ's caroling. I know I promised - "

"Lieutenant?"

He broke off and lowered the phone at Sergeant Cahill's soft interjection.

"He's on the move."

Steve nodded briskly. "Gotta go, Dad." He hit the button and folded the phone in one smooth motion, lowering the mouthpiece on his headset. "All right, everybody on alert! He's headed toward baggage. And remember - do NOT get him before he has his hand on that suitcase! We need it actually in his possession to make this stick! And be careful!" He rested his hand lightly on his gun for a second, a habitual gesture of comfort. "Okay, everybody - you know your positions. Move out and keep in touch. And for God's sake, don't forget that this place is crawling with holiday travelers!" He glanced over the surveillance officer's shoulder at the monitor. "If we do this right, we're all home in time for eggnog."

The speaker exploded with a syncopated version of Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.

Steve grimaced. "Hey, I'm doing the best I can," he muttered.

0000

"Hey, Dad? It's me again." Steve's eyes never left the monitor. Lowering the phone for a second, he hissed, "What the heck is he doing?"

The surveillance officer, Cahill, shrugged. "Maybe he's got time to kill before his flight."

Steve swore, remembered the phone too late. "Sorry about that," he mumbled into the mouthpiece. "Look, Dad, I may not be there in time to help set up at Bob's after all. This guy just doesn't seem to want to play ball. Tell Jesse I'm sorry, huh? I should be there in time to help serve, though…" And he still had to stop someplace to pick up a holdover gift for his Dad, too. Without that package…"Anyway, I hope your Christmas Eve is going better than mine, and I'll see you soon."

Wonder how Dad would feel about a couple of pounds of ribs for Christmas? Never mind that he was one third owner in a barbeque joint himself… "Tell everybody at the hospital Merry Christmas and - damn!" He leaned toward the monitor as the perp suddenly slowed his walk, then turned and took off at a run. "Dad! Gotta go!" He broke the connection abruptly. "What happened?"

Cahill shook his head. "Must've made somebody or something. Looks like he's headed for Concourse C - "

"Great," Steve grumbled as he tried to follow his quarry's progress through the crowds. "And nobody'll even notice him because he looks like another traveler running late for a flight connection - get me security on the wire - "

He waited while the audio surveillance officer's quick fingers switched channels and until he nodded to him to go ahead.

He nodded back his thanks and spoke into his small mike. "Our man is on the loose. I need this airport locked down now - nobody leaves, no planes, no people - I don't care who they are." He paused, listening. "I don't care how you do it, but nobody has better communication than an airport and I know for a fact that once you shut those gate doors…thank you." He rolled his eyes expressively at Cahill who grinned in response. His gaze swerved back at the monitor and he frowned. "He still on C - ? Biddle?" he snapped into the mike. "He's coming your way, look alert - "

He saw Biddle emerge gracefully from a telephone alcove, cheered silently as he put himself neatly in their suspect's path. They went down in a heap together, Biddle on top and reaching smoothly behind him for his cuffs.

Steve puffed out his breath in approval. All right - he'd be home in time for a Christmas toast yet.

The cheer turned to a curse as the perp swung his free arm, a flash of something clutched in his fist. The image was too small to give him a good look at what had happened, but he could see Biddle recoil, and the red stain that blossomed on his sleeve.

"God d- Biddle's down." It was stating the obvious, really. "I'm going out there. Keep an eye on our guy and keep this channel open. See if you can rouse some kind of medical help." Steve switched his headset for a portable mike and earpiece and touched his gun one more time for luck, pushing his way through the door and into the maze of airport corridors. He heard the click of the surveillance room door behind him just as the speaker joyfully burst forth with an energetic version of Here We Go a Wassailing.

He shook his head. Somebody up there sure had a sick sense of humor.

0000

Steve strode toward Concourse C, deftly dodging the thick passenger traffic, blending in. He muttered into his mike, "I'm headed toward Biddle and Concourse C - Stiles and Harper, keep alert at the baggage carousel - he might be doubling back. Everybody sound off, please?"

He carefully counted his officers in his mind as they sounded off one by one, turned left onto D Concourse, eyes scanning for Biddle. Everybody in place - good.

He spotted Biddle half-propped against the wall, clutching his arm, and hurried toward him. Nobody seemed to have even paused to help and he swallowed a resigned sigh - Merry Christmas, 'tis the season, I guess - and dodged across the steady stream of foot traffic, neatly leaping over a passing wheeled suitcase to crouch at Biddle's side.

Biddle opened his eyes at the touch on his arm and blinked up at him. "Hey, Lieutenant," he said blearily. "Looks like I lost him. Sorry about that."

Steve shrugged, tearing Biddle's sleeve away to get a better look at the wound. "We'll get 'im - don't worry about it. What did he get you with?"

Biddle shook his head, closing his eyes again. "Beats me. A shiv, maybe? Never even saw it. Wonder how he got it past the gate security…?"

Steve shook his head mutely, wrapping the remains of the sleeve around the wound and pulling it tight. "Looks like you'll be home for Christmas Eve though - hey!" He raised a hand to flag down the driver of an electronic cart. He flashed his badge and the driver pulled over . "This man needs medical attention. Can you bring him to the courtesy desk - see that he's taken care of?" He helped Biddle into the passenger seat of the car, giving his good arm a final pat. "Kiss your daughter for me. And tell your wife there's no need to thank me for this."

Biddle snickered. "Yeah. Funny what some guys will do to get home for Christmas. Sorry I won't see it out. You guys be careful, huh?"

"Always." Steve signaled the driver to go. "Merry Christmas, Biddle." He watched the car pull away, just as his earpiece crackled again.

"Lieutenant?"

Steve wiped his bloody hands mindlessly on his shirt. "Here, Cahill. Have you got a fix on him?"

"Yeah - we found him on Concourse F - one level up from where you are right now. I'm sorry, sir, but it looks like you're the closest."

Steve groaned. Well, what was a little exercise. "Which way am I headed?"

"Go to Concourse B - straight ahead - there's an escalator there that will take you to F. I think he's just trying to lose us now - from there he can easily double back to baggage."

Steve nodded. "What's the matter with these guys? Does he think we wouldn't have anybody stationed in baggage? Anyway, I'm on my way. Tell everybody to stay alert."

He glanced around for signs directing to Concourse B, the burgeoning chords of Hark, Hear the Bells pushing him onward. He hopped on the left side of the down escalator, jumping up the moving steps two at a time against the traffic, clicking his tongue impatiently at the luggage-bearing travelers blocking his progress.

Come on, come on folks - it's standing traffic on the right, moving traffic on the left - airport etiquette…

On the other hand, going up on a crowded down escalator isn't considered the best etiquette either…

He broke through a couple leaning against each other a few steps from the top of the escalator just as his prey set a foot on the upper step behind them, heading down. Steve grinned wolfishly.

All right. Serendipity. About time.

He'd be dipping into pumpkin pie and listening to Christmas carols before he knew it.

The muzak continued to hammer from the speakers overhead and he made a face. On second thought, forget the carols. His father would consider him a heretic, but he'd had enough of those to last about a lifetime. But pie sounded good - he'd settle for the pie.

He grabbed the wrist hovering in sudden doubt over the escalator railing before his perp could identify him as a cop. The perp yanked his hand reflexively in his grasp, but between Steve's iron grip and the impatient,oblivious crowd pushing from behind, he was stalled in place at the head of the escalator.

Steve got one foot next to him on the stationery metal plate at the top of the moving stairs and twisted the arm expertly up behind the man's back, bracing him stomach-first against the escalator railing.

He reached for the cuffs on the back of his belt, trying to catch his breath. Hm. Going the wrong way up an escalator was tougher than he'd expected. Maybe he needed to start lengthening his daily runs on the beach…

"You're under arrest," he panted.

Not, he mused regretfully, as good as catching him with the goods, but at least this way they could hold him for a while and they couldn't play hide and seek with him among all these civilians much longer. Too risky. If they got the suitcase, maybe they could create an evidence trail yet.

"You have the right to remain silent. Any - " A warning flickered way back in his mind as he reached for the other hand - a faint memory of a similar moment with Biddle - just about a second too late.

He felt the sudden light release of fabric giving way and the faint whisper of cool air across his thigh, followed by a thin, barely discernable sliver of pain. At the same second, an impatient traveler pushed past him, jostling his grip. The perp's shoulder bucked, catching Steve in the chest with the force of a well-aimed boxing glove.

Steve clawed at his prisoner's sleeve, made a grab for the railing, but the rolling stairs melted away from under him as if they had never been, throwing him backward into space. His skull bounced off of something sharp with a metallic twang, and the downward momentum threw his knees over his shoulders, his shins meeting forcefully with the sharp edges of the steps, his weight and gravity tossing him into another skewed somersault, carrying him inexorably downward, head and knees and elbows caroming painfully off of the moving stairs topsy-turvy, until they finally flipped him against the chill linoleum-covered concrete with and audible splat.

He lay for a moment, just thankful to be still, and watched with vague interest as the fluorescent lights above blossomed into a hazy nimbus that swallowed the ceiling, the hushed tomes of Silent Night humming everywhere.

His last conscious thought before the lights went dark was that he wished that somebody would turn off that damned PA system.

TBC…

A/N: Heck, you knew that was coming, right?