Me again. Usual disclaimers, though the stuff about the town of Frankenmuth is real.

"Okay, so you got me lost. What's next?" Morgan groused as the three sat down to lunch.

--"Nothing much. I still have to win at shooting pool in a bar and Kyle's got to enter into a Star Trek Trivia contest."

Kyle made a face. –I hate Star Trek,-- he said, quickly sipping his coffee as soon as he said it.

"There's only one person I know who likes it," said Morgan, taking a bite of his turkey club. "Prefer Star Wars, myself…"

--Me too. Wonder if I could trade the two…?—

--"Call Oliver. Or Garcia. They're the ones running this show."—

Kyle pulled out his Blackberry and punched in Garcia's number.

"And then we have the group challenge," Chase said, picking up where she'd left off. "I'm really not looking forward to that, so let's take our time on the other two."

"Not looking forward to it? Just like I wasn't thrilled about dressing up like a garden gnome in public?"

"Hey, you got a date next weekend and I got new business out of it. It was a sacrifice that worked."

Kyle looked up from his Blackberry, beaming. –She said it was okay to switch them,-- he said. –She figured that they were pretty close to each other, and if someone complains, she'll take the hit.—

--"Great! Now all we have to do is find a gathering of Star Wars fans,"—Chase said, her chocolate cup nearly empty. She was working on a large bowl of vegetable soup and a chicken sandwich.

--As it turns out, I know just the place,-- Kyle said, his eyes beaming.

Chase took a few bites of her sandwich, then stopped. –"No. Not that. Anything but that…"—

--Only place I know of, and it's in town this weekend.—

"Damn it!"

"What?" Morgan asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Chase looked at the man like she was about to be executed. "Pack your bags, Morgan…we're going to a Star Wars convention."

----

"They have conventions for this stuff?" Stanley asked.

"You'd be surprised what they have conventions for," Anya said. "Oliver goes to a board-game convention in Indianapolis every spring."

"Sounds like fun," Connie said, keeping her eye firmly on Chase. "I mean, aren't those just like the ones we have every April up here?"

"Yeah, but our conventions are about getting together and comparing notes and eating really good food. Stephen and the Big Guy go all out. These kinds of conventions, it's about hundreds, even thousands of people who are obsessed with whatever's being shown at said convention. While back I used to watch a guy who was crazy about Superman comic books. Went to every comic-book convention they had. And he even dressed up."

"Like suit and tie?" Stanley asked.

"Like tights and a red cape, and a big red "S" across his chest. I mean, this guy went all out."

"Wow," Stanley said. "Dr, Reid's been to Comic-Con a couple of times, but I've not seen anyone like that in the parts he goes to…"

"I've heard about these 'Star Wars' conventions," Anya said. "I think we're in for a time of it."

----

Garcia was laying on the giant double bed, drinking in the ornateness of the Plaza's best suite. For a moment, she felt like Sleeping Beauty or one of those other princesses that was waking up to all their dreams coming true.

"Pinch me," she murmured, her consciousness halfway between asleep and awake.

Her only reply was the phone, ringing as though the world was on fire.

"Nnnngh," the tech groaned, fumbling her hand toward the glass table she'd tossed the device on after answering Kyle's brief question. "What?"

"Garcia?"

"Yeah? What?"

"You were looking for me…my name is Michael Westen…"

Bright eyes suddenly flew open and she clutched the phone. "Oh, thank God!" she cried. "I figured you wouldn't get back with me."

"Yeah, well, seems we have mutual friends," the man on the other line replied. "Now, there was something about assistance…"

"Oh, Chase isn't here right now," Garcia said. "In fact, she and her crew are out."

"So, what? You're the secretary or something?"

"I'm a technical analyst for the FBI. I was just supposed to find you."

Garcia could feel the wheels in the man's head turning. "FBI analyst, huh?"

"Yeah. The finding you, not official, by the way."

"Thanks for that. Didn't really need the hassle of more babysitters."

Garcia laughed. "Well, now for the question I have to ask—where are you?"

"In between houses, South Beach, Miami."

"That's all I needed. I'll make sure Chase and the guys know you called."

"Hey, uh, Garcia?"

"Yeah?"

"Could I ask a favor?"

The tech stood mute a minute. Should she really trust this man?

"Sure," she said hesitantly. "What do you need?"

----

"Oh oh," Wilhelm said. "Miss Garcia, do not do thees."

"Settle down, Willy," Jorge said. "Mike's okay. He got screwed by some black ops group, shoved him on the blacklist. That man would no sooner betray his country than George Washington would."

"Says you. I vill not haf any incidents vile I am vorking thees eendividual," Wilhelm said flatly. "I could just see Peter's face eef she ends up een jail, or vorse."

"What about that time they all ended up in jail?" Jorge gently reminded the straight-laced man. "How'd that work out for you?"

"Silence."

"Just sayin'."

----

After nine excruciating hours—five of which involved Reid profiling some of Oliver's favorite classic rock songs—the rented SUV pulled into what looked to Hotch like a little rendition of a Bavarian town.

"Welcome to Frankenmuth," Oliver said. "Home of a thriving German community, the best chicken dinner in the world and the World's Largest Christmas Store."

Reid picked his head up from the giant book of Sudoku puzzles that he'd nearly finished. "I feel like I'm in Europe somewhere."

"It's the architecture," Oliver said. "City ordinance—all businesses have to have the Bavarian-style look to them."

"And we can find this ice cream here?"

"You bet," Oliver said. "But I promised someone a visit from Santa, so that's first."

"Santa?" Jack asked. Hotch was rather proud of his son—he'd kept to himself and hadn't put up much fuss over driving so long. Oliver had helped greatly in the department, as he'd made sure to stop every three hours for a chance to stretch their legs and look after a few things.

"Yeah, Jack, Santa," Oliver said. "He's visiting right in this building."

"Yay!" the three-year old cried, trying to wriggle out of his car seat.

"Look at that," Reid pointed out. "Merry Christmas."

"In every known language," Oliver said. "They're posted on all the entrances."

Once inside the store, Jack's little eyes grew to the size of saucers. There were rows of brightly lit Christmas trees in every color off to one side, and rows and rows of Christmas ornaments on the other. Several inflatable Santa Clauses stood near the doorway, and up above the group rang a small electric train that made noise and pulled—among other things—a flatbed full of little Christmas trees.

"This place is something else," Hotch said, his own sense of wonder starting to creep out of that tough exterior.

"All the brainchild of Wally Bronner," Oliver said as they made their way through the rows and rows of ornaments. "He loved everything about Christmas, and was one of the nicest people you could meet. His family runs the business now—he himself passed away at Eastertime last year."

"Look, Daddy!" Jack said, pointing at a display of ornaments. "Fish!"

To Hotch's surprise, there were over one hundred different kinds of fish ornaments—angelfish, carp, rainbow trout, people in fishing boats, everything he could think of. "Can we have fish?" his son asked, picking up a rather bright clownfish ornament.

Looking over at his colleagues, he saw Reid engrossed in a large book on the origins of the store, and Oliver was looking at a display of animated Santa Clauses, these ones climbing ladders and singing and dancing in some form. "Okay. Just the fish. We'll have it wrapped up and you can take it home with you."

"Yay!" Jack said, clinging tightly to his fish. He then walked over to where Oliver was standing and took in the sight of Santa dressed in leather and sunglasses singing "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas."

"Not a bad representation of me, is it?" a cheerful voice boomed, and Oliver and Jack turned around to see none other than Santa Claus himself, all dressed in his red suit and long white beard.

"Santa!" the little boy cried, shaking with excitement yet standing close to Oliver. "You're here! Oliver was right!"

The giant man gave a booming laugh. "Yes, I come here a lot. Helps us to know what boys and girls would like for the next year. Were you good this Christmas?"

"Yes," Jack said, trying to be very serious.

"And you've got a fish there."

"Yes, my fish," Jack replied. Soon he saw his father walking over and he cried, "Look, Daddy, Oliver was right! He is here!"

"So he was," Hotch said, sizing up the Santa with a careful eye. He was glad to notice that the man had remained standing, and that Jack was still standing close to Oliver.

"Well, time for me to continue on," 'Santa' said. "You have a Merry Christmas, okay?"

"Okay," Jack said, waving slightly. Once 'Santa' had gone, Jack rushed towards his dad and clung tightly to his legs.

"You weren't kidding," Hotch said.

"No, I wasn't," Oliver said. "My folks brought my sister and me here all the time."

"Hey, did you see that?" Reid said, picking his head up from his book.

"See what?"

"Santa," the young doctor replied. "This place really is amazing."

----

"I'll be. Oliver wasn't joking, for once," Gina remarked. "That was awfully nice of him."

"That little one is having a ball," Charlene said, looking down at Jack with a smile on her face. "Makes me wish I'd have had children."

"You didn't?"

"Not in my mortal life. I was married, but children just weren't destined for me. Harry was a little sad at that, but then we were together nearly fifty-four years."

"Wow," Gina said. "You don't look that old…"

"I got married at sixteen. Harry was eighteen."

"Is Harry here?"

"Yes. He works over in the kitchens as the head chef. Loved to cook, that man. Still does. He looks over a chef in Bismarck who's going to make a name for himself, of that I'm sure."

"So no kids?"

"Fraid not. But we both had huge families, and lots of nieces and nephews."

Gina smiled at that.

"Plus, I was one good cook myself," Charlene added. "We used to do Christmas dinners at our restaurant—place would be closed for business, and Harry and I'd go all out. Our families would get together and eat until we thought we'd burst, then sing carols and play cards or board games."

"Sounds like you had a lot of fun," the younger angel smiled. "We didn't have much family at my house—just me and my uncle. I didn't meet my parents until I came here."

"Accident, honey?"

"Yeah. Crazy driver. My uncle was great, though—we lived on a little river, and he taught me to fish and find stuff in the woods. Mushrooms were my favorite things to go looking for; that and wild strawberries."

"Your JJ won't starve if they get stranded in the woods," Charlene chuckled.

"Nope. She'll wonder how she learned it, but I don't think anyone will question it too much." Gina took a sip of her cocoa, now cooled to perfection. "Where's Reg?" she asked. "Not like him to miss out on a good story…"

"He's, ah, 'fixing his wings' right now," Charlene said. "He was racing out of here like his clothes were on fire."

"Gotta be the nachos," Gina said. "The one thing he loves and still can't eat."

"Some guys have all the luck," Charlene chortled, taking a sip of her iced tea.