Santa

An overdone song about letting something go was playing in the background radio of the precinct. He'd heard that song fifteen times this week. Three of those times were on the radio as he drove into work this morning.

Someone had seen fit to decorate the duty room. Dusty tinsel and old cut-out's of Santa and his reindeer - complete with yellowing tape to patch the torn, frayed edges - littered the walls. The Drunk Tank's patron was wearing a Santa hat that was about two minutes away from becoming a receptacle for puke.

It had only just become December, temperatures had plummeted to below freezing. It was too cold to snow, too cold to do much more than shiver and already, Detective Harvey Bullock wanted to shoot himself, or maybe just the radio if they played that damn song one more time.

Ah, the holidays.

'I hate Christmas,' Bullock groaned as Gordon flipped open several files that lay across his desk.

'Yeah well, A group of Carolers got mugged last night. Wallets, watches, phones - even the donation bucket. A couple of homeless people ended up in accident and emergency last night over a scuffle involving blankets and squat spots, they're all claiming assault-'

'Ho ho ho.' Bullock brooded. Maybe the idiots who stuck their heads in ovens had a point. There did seem to be a little something bleak about Gotham in the holidays.

'Come on Bullock, it's Christmas!'

'Yeah? Let me give you some Yuletide cheer, shall I?' Bullock grunted. 'Shoplifting rises, muggings, assaults, murders - they don't disappear like most people think, they get worse. People freeze to death in their own homes because they can't afford to eat and keep warm at the same time, people get desperate at this time of the frigging year - don't you ever tell me to cheer up because it's fucking Christmas.' He slumped back down into his chair as Gordon stared at him. 'What?!"' Bullock growled.

'I never thought you'd be a Grinch at Christmas,' Gordon returned. 'I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised.'

'Hey! This city, it eats you alive man. You think I'd be happy as Larry that our workload just quadrupled?' He demanded and flung a hand across the desk, as if exhibiting the evidence of a heinous crime. Files and paperwork littered the surface, completely covering the chipped wood. Paperwork should carry the death sentence.

'No, I guess you're right.' Gordon sighed.

'What was that?' He cupped his hand to an ear theatrically which caused Gordon to glare at him. But he and his stare weren't particularly frightening to kittens. To Bullock, he just looked like an idiot who hadn't understood the question.

'I said you were right, Bullock. Don't be an ass.' Gordon flatly replied. 'Do you think you could manage a little Christmas cheer?' He asked.

'Maybe, if they actually give us Christmas bonuses this year.' He grunted. Now there was a Christmas Miracle. They hadn't paid bonuses for the precinct since Aubrey James came into office. There was a coincidence a mile long.

His brooding was interrupted by a familiar shout he'd become accustomed to honing in on.

'Bullock, you're up on the wheel!' The duty sergeant called from the desk. 'Over on 12th.'

'Give me a break Charlie!' Bullock pleaded across the room. He was not planning on heading out into the driving, icy wind and rain. He'd been planning on faking overdue paperwork to avoid it. Hell, maybe if he bothered looking, he'd find some on the clutter that was his desk.

Below them, the drunk finally palmed his hat off his head and retched.

'You got yourself a ho ho ho-micide detective!' Came the cheery reply, which just put him in an even fouler mood.

'Fuck you!' Bullock roared from his desk as patrol cops tittered and chuckled around him. 'That's not even funny!'

Charlie muttered something that sounded like 'Scrooge.'

'So much for Christmas cheer,' Gordon replied.

'Listen, I don't pry into your life, you stay out of mine.' He picked up and pointed his hat at him as he made his point and then shoved it onto his head. 'Let's get this overwith.'

They stared at the corpse that was hanging from the tree. Feathers spewed from a rip in his fake belly when the wind caught him and fell to the wet grass below.

The white fur on his cuffs was covered in dirt and heavy with water from the freezing shower last night. Greasy white hair clung to his forehead and face as the wind and rain tousled it. The boots were shiny for their cold wash and sparkled after the rains had polished them. It was still trying to rain on them now, icy little drops of cold that fell from the sky.

'Well, I guess this means I'm not on the naughty list anymore,' Bullock quipped.

Gordon tore his eyes away from the bloated features of the man in the red suit and towards Bullock incredulously. 'You're actually pleased that Santa's dead, aren't you?'

'Why would I be pleased? It means I've got to investigate his death,' Bullock returned.

'That's not the point-' Gordon was almost blinded by the flash of the camera. 'Ed, do you mind?!' He grunted and lifted an arm to shield his face from the harsh light.

'Sorry detective, but isn't this just fascinating?' Edward gushed and took the opportunity to take another photograph.

A breeze caught the stiff stiff and blew more feathers out of the jagged cut to his padding. They fell like big fat snowflakes as the city around them froze half to death. It was too cold to snow, but plenty cold to make him wish it would. The rainfall -when it did fall - felt like little bullets. Bullock was never going to be warm again, he was sure of it.

'In mythology, Santa Clause, or Saint Nicholas used to be pictured in green to match the forest. He also has a counterpart named Krampus that steals away naughty children.' Ed snickered, as though he'd found a particularly amusing joke.

'As long as he stays the hell away from Gotham,' Bullock grumbled and tried to hunker down in his jacket a little more.

Edward threw a look to Gordon who mouthed 'Bad mood. Grinch,' and pointed at Bullock behind his back.

'You know, I can see you doing that,' He growled lowly.

Gordon hurried to cover up his actions and coughed. 'Thanks Ed,' He smiled at the tech sheepishly and then turned back to the corpse. 'What kind of nutjob targets Santa?'

'Maybe he didn't like his presents?' Bullock replied shrewdly.

'Yeah,' Gordon grunted hopelessly. 'Maybe.'

They approached the swaying corpse. You had to get really up close and personal to notice the smell. He was ripe, of stale sweat but only a hint of decay. He must have been up for at least the last few days, judging by how sodden the poor guy was. With the snowfall and early nights - not many people bothered visiting the parks which was probably why a man in a bright red and white Santa suit had gone unnoticed for so long.

'He stepped forward but paused as something squished below him.

So help him God, if that was dog shit on his shoe-

It was a stained, muddy mass of synthetic fibers on wire. Maybe once it had been arranged into a flowing beard and mustache, now it stuck up at odd angles.

'Found his beard,' He grunted.

Gordon sniffed around the tree and bushes until he reappeared with the half-moon glasses one would normally associate with Santa. 'Got his glasses. They're plastic...' He muttered and gave the "lenses" a flick.

'Yeah well, he mustn't have been a very good one.' Bullock considered. 'Shitty fake beard and all.'

Something seemed to occur to Gordon and a shrewd look came over his features. 'You hate Christmas because Santa disappointed you, don't you?'

'You caught me, i'm so emotionally wounded.' Bullock scoffed. 'Check his jacket, see if it's got a makers ID.'

Gordon dutifully pulled a pen and peeled open a section of the belted jacket, mindful of the stuffing. On the bottom of the jacket, near the belly, something was pinned to the material.

'What is this?' Gordon plucked free a soiled piece of paper in curiosity, only to have Bullock snatch it from him in sudden froth. It was heavily stained but the marker December 24th - Christmas Eve could be made out despite the wet runoff.

'Sonovafuckingbitch!' He seethed.

'Bullock?!' Gordon demanded alarmed. Even Ed paused in snapping some beauty shots of the victim to stare at him, but all sense of where he was seemed to fade as he stared down at the innocent flap of paper. It was exactly like the sort designed to sit on a desk and be tore off day after day to mark the monotony. It looked like something the captain had on her desk, but he stared at it as though it were an unexploded bomb. Hell, it could have been.

The last time he'd seen one of these...

'Do you know what this is?!' He waved the flimsy, browned paper in Gordon's face.

'Uh, no.'

'He's back.' Bullock snarled. 'Julian Day's back.'

'Who is Julian Day?' Gordon frowned.

Bullock seemed to gain some composure on himself and shoved the paper at Ed who caught it sheepishly. He then approached his partner and squared up to him. 'You seriously don't know who that is?'

'When you're fighting a war, it's hard to keep up with current events,' Gordon replied diplomatically.

'He's a terrorist who goes by the name of The Calendar Man.'

A/N:

Hello again kiddies! Shhh. I know, I know. I have an overactive imagination with nothing else to spend it on. Personally, I'm blaming my friends for not stopping me. I'm also blaming my absolute love of Harvey Bullock. Now, that being said, I'm not going to be silly and promise an update every week. Lord knows, I've already got one weekly gig going. Another may kill me. But I will promise some semi-regular updates to come.

I should also be ashamed of the "Ho-ho-ho-micide" line. I am not.

Now this started - note that word, it's important - it started as just an excuse to write Bullock being a lovable Scrooge and it morphed into this. So welcome to Grinch! Hold on tight!