Me again. Hope you enjoy. Usual disclaimers.

"It's ten hours to Michigan," Reid said. "Possibly eight if you drive like Morgan does."

"Was that a statistic, Dr. Reid?" Oliver chided playfully.

"Not at all. Merely a fact. Being as you're from Michigan, I'd have assumed you knew that."

"I didn't," Hotch said, his no-nonsense voice firmly intact.

"Okay, it slides. Hotch, I promise, we're gonna get my ice cream and we're gonna take Jack to see Santa Claus."

"Santa?" Jack asked. "Santa's home now."

"Yeah, buddy, he did go home…but he makes a special visit every year to the place where I grew up."

"Like 'cation?"

"Yeah. Like a vacation."

Reid rolled his eyes as Hotch climbed in the backseat and strapped Jack into his car seat. "We're driving there. How did we get into this?"

"'Cause someone is making me get hard-to-find ice cream, that's why. If I had a plane, we'd take it." Oliver hopped in the driver's seat of the hybrid he'd rented for the purpose of the trip and set the stereo. "Hang on to your hats and prepare to be amazed!"

----

"Brilliant. He gets a road trip and another shot at Father Christmas," Reginald said. "But where's he going?"

"Honey, you think we know?" Charlene said, pouring herself a soda. "I mean, Saint Nick has been taking up residence here for the last few centuries…goes down to visit every year, but still, lives here."

"Search me," Gina said. "I know Oliver's from Michigan, and that it's shaped like a boot…"

"No, no, it's shaped like a mitten, sweetie. You're thinking of Italy."

"Oh, right," Gina said, snapping her fingers. "Geography was not my thing."

"Kind of ironic, seeing as you watch after a woman who makes routine travel plans," Reginald snickered.

"Shut up," Gina said, her eyes sparkling. "Least Emily's got more sense than you do, Mr. I-think-I'm-Pierce Brosnan-in-a-tux."

"That woman is rather clever, I must say," Reginald conceded. "I wonder what she's up to now…"

----

"No. Absolutely not," Emily said. "Don't I get the option to pass or something?"

"Sorry, Emily," Will said, looking as though he meant it. "I mean, you do, but you have to count it as a strike against your team."

"Emily, think," JJ said, a little too urgently. "$1200. Stolen boxers. Josh having to eat grease."

"You didn't eat the pepper," she countered.

"No, but I made the attempt."

"Come, Miss Emily, you must try," Josh said. "Besides, what good ees eet to play in a challenge eef you air to balk at the fairst sign of trouble?"

"Josh, you're not being asked to dance."

"I hear you air an excellent dancair."

"Not…that kind of dancing…" Emily's face blushed a little as she shook the paper in her hands. "This thing wants me to hop out of the proverbial 'cake.'"

"Pardon?"

"Josh, she's gotta strip. In public."

"Ah ha. Eet makes sense now," the older man said. "Een my country, the women, they dance een silk…pairple, usually, the color of royals and beauty…"

"Off to the naughty dress shop we go," JJ said, dragging a reluctant Emily along behind her.

----

"Man, just look at her take charge," Terrence said. "Gina must have an easy time of this, given her demeanor…"

"Well, there was this one time, in a barn," Peter said as he settled into the couch again. "Had to do with rabid dogs…I dunno, Gina didn't go into detail with it, but it wasn't pretty."

"And Josh—he's all for this one, even giving pointers…"

"Well, he is European, after all. Americans are rather prudish about these sorts of things." Malcolm sipped his pint and continued to watch as the two convinced Emily to try on different types of silky dresses and undergarments. "Besides, there's much to the man that one might find…interesting, to say the least."

"Is that a story I hear coming on?"

"Mind your charge, Peter," Malcolm said, but not without a hint of a smile. "All in good time."