A/N: Some of you clearly know me far too well.

#7 There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays

Despite the rain, he took a second to admire the house and how festive and Christmasy it looked. It warmed him much better than the weak coffee had.

He noted with relief that both Jesse's sports car and Amanda's SUV were still parked in the driveway as he trudged his rigid-legged way up the steps to the front door and pushed his key into the lock. A rush of warm air hit him as he entered the foyer and he stood for a minute, enjoying it, before calling out, "It's me! Sorry I'm so late…"

He dropped his shopping bag in the corner. He could bring that downstairs later for wrapping. The wrapping table had been closed by the time he got to it, so Dad would have to be satisfied with his clumsy efforts. He straightened carefully, making a futile effort at adjusting his tattered jacket before starting up the flight to the second floor.

Funny, but it seemed really quiet. He had expected talking and laughter and - well, Christmas carols. His Dad was crazy about Christmas carols. Where the heck was everybody?

"Dad?" He waited before continuing, "Jess? Amanda?"

He was more than halfway up the flight when his father appeared at the top of the stairs, Amanda right behind him and Jesse peering over the banister.

Steve let out his breath in a rush. "There you are - I was getting worried."

Mark stayed where he was at the head of the stairs but reached over to rest his hands on Steve's shoulders, searching his face intently.

The grip on his shoulders was almost painful and Steve was at a loss as to what to make of his father's expression, so he kept talking, a little nervously. "Sorry I missed everything. How was the party at Bob's…?"

Mark lifted one hand to finger Steve's hair, squeezing out a rivulet of water. His expression crumbled. "You're soaked," he said abruptly. "Let me get you something warm to drink." Without another word, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen.

Steve stared after him, speechless.

"I'll help him," Amanda offered hastily, and followed.

Steve stood flatfooted, feeling obscurely disappointed and vaguely hurt. He noticed Jesse, who was shuffling anxiously at the top of the stairs, and caught his eye. "What's going on?"

Jesse gave him a tight smile, then touched his shoulder to turn him around. "Come on - let's go down to your place. I'll help you change into something dry."

Any other time, Steve might have asked what made him think he needed help, but this time he was too filled with more important questions. Had he ruined everything? Ruined everybody's Christmas Eve?

He let Jesse shepherd him into his bedroom and didn't resist as he pushed him down onto the edge of the bed. He felt him tug at the remains of the jacket, then stop.

"What's all this blood about here? Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay." Physically, anyway. He tried to think back to any reason for blood on his jacket, remembered Biddle. "Oh, yeah - it's not mine."

"Good." Jesse pulled the jacket off of one arm and Steve roused himself enough to help.

"I can get that." He slid out of the jacket and dropped it on the floor, then started to pull his t-shirt off over his head. It was transparent from being wet through and he heard Jesse give a low whistle from behind him.

"Okay, you've stumped the doctor. How the heck did you get those marks on your back?"

"Went down an escalator the wrong way. When I say the wrong way, I mean without the use of my feet."

"Yeah, that would account for it." Jesse watched him throw the t-shirt next to the jacket on the floor and scooped them both up. "Your laundry basket is full of clean clothes - where do you want these? They're really wet."

Steve tried to get his mind off of the peculiar reception he had received and onto the present task. "Um - the tub, I guess. I can do it, Jess."

"You work on getting out of those sweatpants - which look like they were made for me, by the way. Who the heck dressed you this morning? Here - " He tossed a towel that caught the unsuspecting Steve in the face.

Steve lowered it without comment and rubbed mindlessly at his hair. The vigorous movement cleared his head a little. "I did not look like this when I left the house." He unbuckled his Sam Browne and set it carefully aside, unfastening the gun and the badge and cuffs and stowing them in the drawer of his bedside table. "Believe me when I tell you that it was a long journey from there to here."

"I believe you." He could hear Jesse behind him again, jumped when he felt his probing fingers on one of the bruised scrapes. "Did anybody palpate your ribs?"

"I think so…" Steve looked around for his jacket, remembered that it was now in the tub. "I have some medication in my pocket and some notes…how was the party at Bob's? I'm sorry I wasn't there to help."

"Hey, don't worry about it - " He could hear Jesse in the bathroom now, rooting through the tub. "I figured you were just getting even with me for that time I made you miss the Christmas Party to serve dinner to those indigents. Who's Karen Petrillo, NP?"

"Your soul mate."

"Yeah?" Jesse poked his head out of the bathroom. "She pretty?"

"No. But you'd like her. You might even get to meet her if you were coming to dinner. Too bad you're going to your Mom's tomorrow."

"No thanks." Jesse's head disappeared back into the bathroom, but his voice trailed after him. "Whenever somebody tells you that you should meet somebody they always turn out to be the most obnoxious, irritating person on the planet."

"That's what I said - your soul mate."

Jesse's head reappeared. "That's not funny. You're just taking advantage of the fact that I can't hit you right now without betraying my Hippocratic Oath."

Steve lifted a skeptical brow. "You were going to take a swing at me?"

Jesse ducked back into the bathroom, his voice trickling through the doorway. "No, but I was going to hit you with a really cutting reply." There was a pause, punctuated by shuffling sounds. "Okay, I've got the medication - what were the notes?"

Steve picked at the knot at the waist of the sweatpants. Water made it tough and unyielding. "I didn't look at them - aren't they there? I think there's a prescription too."

"You mean these?" Jesse emerged with two soggy scraps of what might have once been paper in his hand, their surfaces blotted with blurry, illegible ink blobs under the heading Karen Petrillo, NP. "Your cell phone looks like it could use a doctor, too."

"Yeah, I have to remember to write that up for Newman. Oh, well. The prescription was for an antibiotic. The rest wasn't important."

Jesse gave him a look. "Of course not," he agreed sardonically. He stopped and stared. "What the heck is that?"

"Oh, that." Steve, having freed himself from his sweatpants, peered resignedly at the open slash across his thigh, still bleeding sluggishly, a few butterfly bandages half-clinging valiantly to it. "That's how I ended up going down the escalator without the use of my feet. I think it's about stopped bleeding."

Jesse turned on his heel. "I'm getting my bag."

"You bring your bag to a Christmas celebration?" Steve called after him.

"I knew you'd be there," Jesse shot back. He reappeared, hefting his faithful doctor's bag. "I've got some samples of a new adhesive skin closure a pharmaceutical salesman gave me to try - you can be my guinea pig."

"Oh, thanks." Steve watched him pull out a package and a bottle of disinfectant. "Salesman, huh?"

"They don't like to be called saleswomen," Jesse explained virtuously. "It's sexist."

Steve snorted. "I'll bet you collect more samples than any doctor at CG, just to see a pretty face smile."

Jesse's grin broadened and he waggled his brows. "I like to stay cutting edge." He lifted the bottle of disinfectant and Steve jerked his leg back.

"She already did that!"

"Before or after you rolled in the mud?"

Steve hesitated. "Before…" he admitted reluctantly.

"Then I guess it needs it again. How long did this bleed?"

"I don't know." Steve watched him with uneasy fascination. "I think it started again when I went over the side of the escalator."

Jesse paused. "I thought you said this was the reason you fell down the escalator…?"

"This was a different escalator. I went over the side of this one on purpose."

"Never mind - " Jesse waved the explanation away. "I don't think I really want to know the gory details. Geez, Steve."

Steve shuddered a little as he watched him ready the antiseptic. "Are you really going to use something experimental? How do you know it won't make my leg fall off or something?"

"Just think of yourself as a pioneer for medicine." Jesse gave him his most angelic smile. "I'm almost sure that these will work."

Steve wrinkled his forehead. "Almost?"

"Pretty nearly." Jesse generously applied the antiseptic. "Look on the bright side - one more set of stitches and I'd be entering you in a crazy quilt contest. Bet I'd win, too." He tore open the sterile paper packaging. "These are supposed to be nice and flexible and help prevent infection."

Steve closed his eyes against the bite of the antiseptic. "Pretty nearly," he echoed dubiously.

Jesse patted his leg. "I guess we're going to find out. Want your clothes basket? Your dad and Amanda will be thinking that we ditched them."

Steve's mood dipped. "Yeah, thanks." He accepted the clothes basket and dug through it until he found a pair of sweatpants that fit and a flannel shirt. "He mad?" he asked abruptly.

Jesse was tsk-tsking at the sight of Steve's knees, but looked up at that. "Mad? Who?"

"My dad. He seemed mad."

Jesse rocked back on his heels in surprise. "No, he's not mad."

Steve gave his hair a final wring with the towel and slid his bare feet into the clean sweatpants. "I know I messed everything up, but this guy just seemed to stay one jump ahead of us. I called whenever I got the chance. I know it's not much - "

"Steve." Jesse helped him to his feet so he could pull up the sweatpants. "He knows that. He's not mad. He just - needed a couple of minutes. He'll be okay."

"I don't know." Steve finished with the sweatpants and eased his uncooperative arms into the flannel shirt. "Even genuine excuses only go so far after a while."

Jesse looked at him for a minute, then tugged on his sleeve. "Come on."

Steve followed him to the staircase, buttoning his shirt as he went. "Where are we going?"

"Just come on," Jesse called back over his shoulder.

Steve trailed him up the stairs, his knees complaining with every step.

An indistinct murmur of voices could be heard from the kitchen. Jesse went the desk and hit the button on the answering machine.

"What are you doing?"

Jesse held up his hand. The machine tape began, and Steve was startled to hear his own voice.

"Hey, Dad - " the tape crackled. "I know I missed everything, but it looks like we're about done here. I'm sorry about clean up, but tell Jesse that I'll make it up to him. I'm - " There were some bumping, scuffling noises, then his voice again, calling for Stiles to secure the scene.

Steve winced. He wondered if there was anything stupider or more embarrassing than having to listen to yourself on tape. If Jesse was trying to yank his chain, he was doing a good job.

"Harper's down again, perp's trying to escape through baggage loading, all you folks standing by outside get ready, get any remaining airline personnel OUT of the area - we're coming through! Aim but hold your fire - I'm still counting on making it home for Christmas alive myself."

Steve squirmed. "Jess, what - ?"

Jesse held up an imperious hand again. "Just listen."

More scrabbling noises, the jingling harmonies of Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow playing faintly in the background, a bump and a peculiar flapping sound, followed by a static-y rustle that must be the rain… "You're surrounded. Drop your weapons and put your hands up where we can see them." The bullhorn sounded muffled and far away. There was a crash and a splash, the connection seemed to cut out, then flicker back in, a crunching sound, and then the staccato stutter of gunfire. The phone cut out again and a buzzing noise died away to silence.

Steve reached over and turned off the machine. "So, you know how I spent my evening. They really got carried away with the gunfire, huh? Guess they wanted to get home for Christmas too."

Jesse rolled his eyes in affectionate exasperation. "Listen again," he commanded. "And this time do it like you don't know what's going on."

Steve stared at him and shrugged, wondering briefly if maybe Jesse had swallowed a little too much spiked eggnog before he got there. But he figured he owed him after leaving him with all the work at Bob's, so he sank into the desk chair and listened obediently.

This time, the sound of gunfire made Steve wince. When the tape ended, he reached over more slowly and hit the off button. He was silent for a long moment, then forced out painfully, "What did he think?"

Jesse leaned against the desk next to him and shrugged. "He insists that he didn't think anything - that he knew you were all right. But he played that about ten times and called the station - Newman wasn't there and there was nobody who was able to tell him anything. Then when you just walked in like that - anyway, I think he was pretty glad to see you."

Steve glanced at him, his brow furrowed, then looked away.

Jesse gave his arm a playful nudge. "To tell the truth, I was kind of happy to see your ugly mug myself."

Steve smiled reluctantly, then frowned again. So he had ruined everybody's evening. I should have called from the station. Why didn't I think to call?

"I've got to talk to him." He started to rise.

Jesse put out a hand to stop him. "Look, Steve - you know him best, but - I really think Amanda's got it covered. Maybe it's better to put it aside, you know? Just for tonight. Christmas Eve." He smiled tentatively.

Steve looked at him, a sudden rush of warmth in the middle of his chest. Jesse was right, of course - his father would hate to get into this in front of company - even company as important to them as Amanda and Jesse.

He cleared his throat and looked around the room at the soft lights and tinsel.

"So," he said instead, indicating the tree. "You shook your gift, didn't you?"

Jesse looked relieved at the change of subject, then indignant at the accusation. "I did not!"

"Yeah, you did." Steve strutted his odd gait over to the gifts under the tree. "I know you. Serve you right if you broke it." He bent carefully to pick up the present labeled, To Jesse from Steve. He pointed to the lopsided bow. "See that? Evidence, my friend."

Jesse looked cornered but dogged. "Circumstantial," he insisted.

"Ha." Steve waved it under his nose. "You going to try and convince me that Amanda did this? I'll bet if I dusted I'd find your fingerprints all over it."

Jesse snatched the gift away. "That doesn't prove anything. It's my gift - why shouldn't I handle it? Especially if you're going to keep us waiting all night? Here - " He tossed him one of the other gifts from under the tree. "Examine yours, if you have to play cop about everything."

Steve held up a finger. "You play cop. I am a cop."

"Yeah? Funny, because when you walked in here what you looked like was a victim. Fashion victim, that is."

"Are you two fighting even on Christmas Eve?" But there was a smile in Amanda's voice as she entered, bearing a large tray of frosted Christmas cookies.

Steve and Jesse exchanged an astonished look.

"We're not fighting," Jesse protested. "We're talking."

Amanda shook her head, setting down the tray. "Call it what you want. Or better still, fill your mouths so that we don't have to listen to it."

"Sorry, Amanda, but I've never known a full mouth to stop either one of them from talking." Mark smiled over a large punch bowl surrounded by glasses. "Sorry to take so long, kids, but I needed to make more eggnog. I don't know how we went through it so fast."

"I do." Steve looked meaningfully at Jesse.

Jesse selected a Christmas tree-shaped cookie and stuffed it in his mouth. "What did you want me to do while you were off chasing the bad guys? I get hungry. I'm a growing boy."

Steve cocked a questioning brow at him. "…growing?" he temporized meaningfully.

Jesse flicked a Russian tea cookie in his direction and Steve snatched it deftly out of the air and bit it in two. "I'm starved," he remarked as an afterthought.

"All right - eat, but don't play with the food." Mark ladled eggnog into glasses and topped each with some whipped cream and nutmeg.

Steve accepted his, trying to disguise that he was covertly studying his father's face. "I don't know why you go to all the trouble to make it from scratch anyway when you could just open a carton like everybody else," he remarked. "It tastes the same."

Mark looked shocked and Amanda and Jesse howled a protest.

"My son, the Philistine," Mark sighed. "They don't taste anything alike!"

Jesse shook his head. "Steve, this is really wasted on you. Want me to take your share?"

"Gosh, thanks, Jess, but it seems to me that you already did with the first bowl!"

"No arguing."

Jesse and Steve exchanged an exasperated glance. "We're just talking," they insisted in unison.

"Then do it at a lower volume, please." Mark indicated a small decanter on the side of the tray. "You'll have to add your own bourbon. I left it out in case - " he broke off abruptly, cleared his throat self consciously. "Well, in case anybody didn't want it," he finished feebly.

Steve stared at him in amazement, his hand going automatically to the bump on the back of his head. How the heck had he known about that? He'd barely gotten a look at him! "None for me, thanks," he mumbled evasively.

"Me either," agreed Amanda. "I have to drive, and I have a little boy who will no doubt be rousing me at some ungodly hour of the morning."

Steve stretched his legs out carefully in front of him. "Thanks for waiting for me, Amanda. I was afraid you might have to hurry home to CJ."

"Oh, no - " Amanda daintily selected a star-shaped cookie. "CJ's with Colin's family for the evening, then Colin will bring him back to my place to sleep and stay through the morning. Things may not have worked out for Colin and me, but he's a wonderful daddy to CJ - I'd hate for him to not be able to see his son on Christmas morning."

Steve felt eyes upon him and looked up to see his father watching him quietly. When he saw that Steve had caught him at it, he gave a quick smile and bent his head to reach for a gift.

"Shall we open these before Jesse and Amanda have to go?"

"I think we'd better," remarked Steve dryly. "Before Jesse finds himself opening a package of broken glass."

"Broken glass." Jesse brightened. "That's a clue, right?"

"Red herring." Steve grinned.

Jesse frowned. "Is it really a red herring, or is the red herring you telling me that it's a red herring…?"

Amanda threw up her hands. "Would you just open it?"

Steve slid his father another surreptitious glance and couldn't hold himself back any longer. "What's wrong, Dad?" he blurted.

"Wrong?" Mark looked startled. "Why, nothing's wrong." His eyes roved the room, lingering on the fire glowing in the fireplace and the small gathering in front of the tree, and he smiled, a true smile this time, and some of the subtle shadows of strain that had been lingering in his face fell away. "In fact, I'd say that things are really very right."

Steve caught his eyes and held them, half questioning, half apologetic. This time Mark returned the gaze, his own ruefully tender.

After a minute, Steve pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I know what's missing."

"Missing?" Mark's brows shot up. He drank in the room again. "What could be missing? I'd say everything we need is right here."

Steve started the laborious process of rising. Both Jesse and Amanda leaned forward automatically to help him, but he waved them away, creaking to his feet unaided. "Not so. We need just one thing to make this celebration complete. Really, Dad, I'm surprised at you for overlooking it."

"Oh, well," Mark sputtered. "I - had a lot on my mind. What with the - you know - the eggnog."

Steve nodded in solemn agreement, stumping his way behind the desk and fiddling with something. "That would explain it. Because no Christmas celebration is complete without…" he hit a button and sound flooded the room.

…a thrill of hope, a weary world rejoices…

Placido Domingo. Perfect.

"Christmas carols," he finished. He met his father's eyes and smiled.

…for yonder breaks…a new and glorious morn…fall…on your knees…

Mark's throat bobbed and this time he wordlessly held his son's gaze.

…oh hear…the angel voices…

"You're right," he agreed huskily at last. "That is what we were missing. It just wasn't Christmas without the carols."

TBC

A/N: So now you probably know one of the reasons I hesitated to post. Despite the fact that I conceived the two stories nearly a year apart, I wasn't sure I liked the techno-similarity, though I suppose they are still very different stories. Don't like to repeat myself. Well, except for the hitting Steve on the head thing, which I really need to get over - maybe join a support group or something.

PS Lisa, I REALLY need to know who won the tug-of-war with the scarf. My money's on you.