AN: Calling it a Christmas risk is stretching it a bit. Not much adventure or a plot, just some funnies that SWWoman made me write.

AN2: Thanks to SassyJ for quick beta.

A Christmas Risk

Chapter 1:

"He's a professional what?"

"Santa. He dresses up every December to usher in the season, spreading cheer and appearing in family photos. They inspire magical thinking, offer hope and keep innocence alive . . ."

"Well who would want to kill Santa?"

"He's a 'seasonal Santa', during the off months, he's an accountant. Jerry Daniels is fifty-four, runs his own accounting firm, married to his wife Linda for nearly thirty years. Two boys, aged twenty-four and twenty. It looks like he may have been getting ready to blow the whistle on one of his clients; we just don't know which one."

John trudged along the snow covered streets of New York shadowing one part-time Santa. Every corner, department store, hell, everywhere he looked there was a man in a red suit belly out, proud to represent the storied tradition of jolly old St. Nick. As ho-ho-ho's, jingle bells, and Christmas carols echoed around him, he remembered that as a child, he loved the holidays. What child wouldn't? This time of year, people actually smiled as they went about their lives.

Reaching his destination, John slipped off his gloves, cringed and walked into the department store right after Jerry. This close to the holidays, there were hoards of people milling about, some frantic, others not so much.

Flicking his ear bud he asked; "Finch, a Santa in women's lingerie?"

How am I going to blend in here? John thought to himself, as he noticed that although the other departments were bustling with customers; the women's lingerie department was, as far as the eye could see filled with racks and racks of lace, leather, silk, and cotton women's unmentionables but no customers.

Unmentionables? What am I eighty?

"Apparently, Mr. Reese, there are some women who have Santa fetishes. Store management believes it will encourage the women purchasing lingerie to give to the needy."

As if caught peeping through the hole in the girls locker room, John started and stopped to a halt, "A Santa what?"

"Fetish, Mr. Reese, some women have fantasies about Santa Claus." John was still dumbfounded at Finch's comment that he never noticed the woman who walked up to him.

Speaking of eighty, "Hi, I'm Nora, can I help you find something?" The sales woman gave him her undoubtedly best smile. All John could think was, Mrs. Claus is in the Lingerie Department.

John, looking like a deer caught in headlights just stared at the woman. "Uh . . ."

Nodding her head as if she knew why he wasn't speaking, she asked. "Is this your first time?"

"Wh-what?" John felt the heat rising up his neck.

"Buying lingerie . . . "

John blinked. "I . . ." Speak Reese, before you make a bigger ass of yourself. John thought to himself as his heart pounded pitilessly in his chest. "Ah . . . no, not – not my first time."

"Great! Let's get started then! Are you looking for bras? Teddies? Baby Dolls?" Mrs. Claus - Nora asked.

Not knowing who Teddy was and that he was pretty sure Zoe didn't need a doll, she already had Milo, John replied, "Bras."

Nora led John towards the bra drawers and display and asked. "Size?"

John decided to put his hands in his pockets so as not to touch anything on their way to the bras. "Excuse me?"

"Her cup size?" At John's still confused look, Nora prompted. "Is she a lemon, an apple, an orange, a grapefruit, or is she bigger?"

John's mind was already a jumbled mess and this woman who made him think of someone's eighty year old grandmother wanted to talk about fruit? "Uh . . ."

Nora patiently smiled. "Are her breasts the size of a lemon, an apple, an orange . . . "

"Oh, uh . . ." John found himself raising his hands up thinking about Zoe's . . .

"Oh, she's a B-cup, apples dear . . . " Feeling like a naughty schoolboy, John dropped his hands to his sides, crossed and uncrossed his arms, then finally settled his hands into his pockets again.

His eyes scanned the floor for any potential risk; eyes darting between Santa and Mrs. Claus; his multitasking brain couldn't quite keep up and evidently missed her next question.

Nora was apparently used to uncomfortable and often distracted males purchasing women's undergarments. She sighed patiently. "Young man, I realize that it is difficult to put your libido away when you're surrounded by scanties, but remember you're buying the bra for her, not for yourself. So the question is . . . comfortable or sexy?"

"S-s-sexy". John stuttered for the first time in his life, palms sweaty.

Nora continued on to interrogate him for the next several minutes.

"What about coverage? And son, I don't mean a zone or man-to-man. I'm asking if your wife prefers to have her breasts fully covered or partially." John's mind wandered to his happy place and Zoe's . . .

"She's not my . . . uh . . . partially?" John was pretty sure his face was a bewildered mass the color of Santa's suit.

The torture continued as John's mind tried to barricade itself in his panic room.

Push up or not? According to Nora, that was a dangerous choice. You run the risk of insulting your woman by insinuating that she needed support when she doesn't think she does. And to John's utter mortification, Nora said something that he wished she hadn't. "And hon, when you're my size, you don't need a push up bra. You need a pull up bra." John seriously contemplated eating his gun.

Wireless? It's a comfort thing. Some women don't like the discomfort of having a wire digging into their skin. Digging his eyeball out with said wire sounded more like his style than this.

Strapless? Nora advised him that he shouldn't worry about that unless the wife needed it for a special outfit. Having my back ripped to shreds with a leather strap was much more enjoyable than fondling women's undergarments with Grandma Moses.

Front Closure? Color? That all depended on the woman you were buying for. Zoe would get what she got and damn it, she was not going to pitch a fit.

Matching Panty? Who the hell cared? He didn't bother to match his socks to his boxers. Why would he care if her panties matched her bra? They always ended up on the floor anyway.

"Finch, are you hearing this?"

"Every word Mr. Reese. I personally would match the panties to the bra."

Relieved that Jerry looked as if he were packing up, John wasn't exactly sure what he told Nora but he ended up with a bag of women's undergarments, trailing after the busy part-time Santa. As much as he tried to push thought away, Nora's parting words rang in his ears.

"Remember, we have several styles of the vibrating panties if you think your wife would like them."

Detective Fusco knew he should have turned his phone off or threw the battery away. Damn it. It never ceased to amaze him that Wonder Boy had the uncanny knack of interrupting his private life. He had agreed to accompany Rhonda to the Children's Oncology Ward at New York General. She went to it every year to help the kids with cancer celebrate Holidays. She promised him falafel again as an incentive.

"This better be good." Lionel said as he answered his cell.

"Lionel. What size shoe do you wear?" John asked.

"What? Size ten, why?"

"Meet me in the alley behind the hospital," John commanded.

With a quick word to Rhonda, Lionel followed the stairs to the main floor and out the back. He took note that John was standing next to Santa Claus with a lump that looked like an elf. Lionel felt a sense of foreboding as he approached and saw that John was holding a green elf shoe in his hand.

As Lionel approached John looked at the shoe then at Lionel's feet. "Perfect."