He heard it as he stepped off the elevator. Sandburg was singing. Not the frenetic "Rockin' Jingle Bells" or the goofy "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer" stuff he used deliberately to drive Ellison nuts, but John Lennon's "Happy Christmas." So this is Christmas, and what have we done? Another year over... It was a soft, melancholy sound, so unlike Sandburg's usual frenetic chatter that Ellison stopped short to listen for a moment before he continued down the hallway to enter the apartment.

Sandburg looked up from his culinary endeavors to flash his roommate a delighted grin. "Jim! You're home early! That's great, man. Dinner's just about ready. I found this new high protein pasta. You're gonna love it. It has a really nice flavor. Almost like walnuts."

"Smells great," Ellison said.

"So how was work? Sorry I couldn't get free this afternoon, but I had to turn grades in and the stakeout last night meant I hadn't even gotten the finals graded. And on top of that I had to meet with my committee..."

"Relax," Ellison said. "It wasn't a big deal. I spent most of the day catching up on paperwork anyhow. So you're done for the semester now?"

"Yep." Sandburg speared a rotini and stuck it in his mouth to test it, only to yelp when it burned his tongue. "And not before time, either. I couldn't have handled another week."

"You've been burning the candle at both ends and the middle too," Ellison said, automatically beginning to set the table. "I know that's partly my fault. I forget sometimes, that you already had a full plate before you started working with me."

"You kidding, man? My diss was going nowhere until I found you!"

My life was going nowhere until I found you, Ellison thought, but it would never do to say such a thing to the kid's face. What he said instead was, "Yeah. I know. Bam. Holy Grail and all that. So, no regrets?"

"Regrets? No way. You O.K., Jim? You seem a little..." Sandburg shrugged.

"Couldn't be better. Why?"

"I don't know." Sandburg pulled the pasta off the stove to drain it. "Just wondering why all the doubts, suddenly?"

Ellison toyed with the glass he was setting out, unwilling to start something he knew he wouldn't want to finish. After all, sometimes a song was just a song. "No reason really. You looked a little tired. I was just... I don't know. Wondering if maybe I put too much on you, sometimes."

"Nah." Sandburg scattered a handful of pine nuts over the pasta and tossed the lot of it with olive oil. "You don't make me do anything I don't volunteer for. Well, except for that jumping off the cliff thing. I could have skipped that." He paused. "Then of course, I'd be dead now, and I'm not really down with that option, so we're good on that one, I guess." He gave an expressive shrug, and carried the pasta to the table.

Ellison couldn't help but laugh. Sandburg had been known to have an annoying habit or two, but his ability to make Ellison laugh at the oddest things had to be counted with his better traits. They ate in the usual fashion, with Ellison maintaining a companionable silence, while Sandburg bounced from one topic to another, chattering around hastily chewed mouthfuls as if the meal were a necessary evil obstructing his ability to express his quicksilver thoughts.

When they'd finished and were relaxing over cups of coffee, Sandburg said casually, "So you're working Christmas again this year?"

Ellison nodded. "It just makes sense. A lot of the guys have families. Kids."

"Totally, man. Overtime and great Karma to boot, eh?"

Ellison sipped his coffee in silence for a moment. "What about you? You got plans?"

"Oh yeah. After this last week, man, I got a heavy date with a sofa, a pot of coffee and the Journal of Anthropology. Heaven with or without ice cream. And go quietly when you go, because I am sleeping in, big time."

Ellison chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind."

For all his protestations of exhaustion, Sandburg was up early the following morning, dressed in his usual layers, bolting a bagel and a cup of coffee when Ellison emerged from the shower.

Ellison raised an eyebrow. "Thought you'd be sleeping in today, first day of vacation and all."

"Thought I'd make up for yesterday," Sandburg said.

"Nothing to make up for," Ellison said, "But I won't turn down free help when it's offered. There any more of that coffee?"

"Better take it to go. We're ten minutes late already, and you know who Simon will bellow at for it."

"Yeah." Ellison grinned. "See how much easier you make my life?"

Blair's answering suggestion, although physically impossible, did Ellison's heart good. There was just something immeasurably satisfying about reducing the articulate anthropologist to grunted obscenities. It was all part of the game, though, and they were both laughing as they shoulder-wrestled their way through the door.

Outside, the streets were decked out for Christmas and Ellison's senses were assaulted by lights and random snatches of Christmas carols as they passed through commercial areas, but once they reached the haven of the bullpen, it was business as usual. Almost as usual, anyhow. There were a few less-familiar faces, evidence of the shift trading that always marked the Christmas holidays. Ellison settled at his desk, but not without keeping an amused eye on his partner, who, true to form, had to bop around the place first checking in on the familiar crew and making himself known to the ones he hadn't met yet. By the time he wandered back to Ellison's desk, Simon Banks was already bellowing for Ellison from the door of his office. Ellison headed that way with Sandburg trailing reluctantly behind him, still focused on the retreating backside of a clerk up from Vice to give Rhonda a break.

"Gentlemen," Banks said, resorting to physically capturing Blair's arm in an effort to get him turned around and inside so he could close the door.

"Hey Simon," Sandburg said, "You seen that girl filling in for Rhonda? What do you think? Suppose she goes for the intellectual type?"

"Hell, Sandburg," Banks growled, "You're asking me to tell you who to date? Do I look like your father?"

"I wouldn't know," Sandburg tossed back, causing Banks to throw up his hands in defeat.

It was typical brazen Sandburg, but a hint of something else flickered in his eyes, so briefly that Banks missed it entirely and Ellison was left wondering if he'd imagined it. He parked a hand on his partner's shoulder and steered him to a chair.

"Sit, Sandburg, before you get us both fired. You needed something, Sir?"

"Yeah. You're not going to like it, so you might as well sit down."

Ellison cast a quick, concerned glance at his partner, and pulled up a chair."

"Coffee?" Banks offered.

O.K., now that didn't bode well. "Thanks," Ellison said warily.

Banks filled a mug and handed it over. "Sandburg?"

"No, thanks." Sandburg looked as suspicious as Ellison was feeling.

Banks parked a hip on his desk. "I guess you've heard about the rash of attacks on Santas. Four last week and two so far this week."

Ellison nodded.

"There was another one last night," Banks said. "This one didn't make it."

Sandburg leapt up so fast that his chair rocked and nearly fell over. "That's insane. What kind of a bastard has it in for Santa Claus for God's sake? Simon..."

"Easy Chief," Ellison murmured automatically, hoping to spare Sandburg a blast from Simon, but Banks only cast a brief sympathetic look at the young man before turning his attention back to Ellison. "O.K.," Ellison continued, "But that's Homicide's bailiwick. What's our involvement in it?" Beside him, Sandburg had pulled himself together and returned to his seat.

"There was a message with this one," Banks said.

Ellison raised an eyebrow. "What kind of a message?"

"The word `Jihad,' cut from a newspaper and stuck on an index card."

"Jesus." The smooth chocolate hazelnut coffee suddenly tasted bitter. "So what is it you're wanting me to do?"

"Us," Sandburg put in.

"The attacks all seem to fall around the West End. It's a high-income, high-profile area, which means the Mayor's breathing down our necks on it."

Ellison leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him and regarding Banks with a raised eyebrow. "Go ahead. Just say it. I'm going to be staking out malls for the next week."

"Not exactly. There aren't a lot of places scheduled for Santa appearances in that area in the next few days. Most of the ones that had been scheduled have cancelled. We've convinced the managers at the remaining two locations to go ahead as planned, with one slight change."

"No," Ellison said.

"No way!" Sandburg burst out at the same moment. "Do you know what it would do to him to sit in a mall for four hours? The noise, the smells, the lights... Sensory spike city, man! You can't ask him to do that!"

"I'm not asking," Simon said. "The mayor is. For that matter, he's not asking either, if you get my drift."

Ellison's sigh sounded more like a low growl, but Banks had long since ceased to be intimidated by the man he still considered his best friend.

Sandburg was on his feet again, and even without looking at him, Ellison could feel the explosion building. He reached out and laid a restraining hand on Sandburg's arm. Sandburg got the message and sat back down, but the tension still vibrating through him told Ellison the bomb was armed and ticking, and he'd better get the kid out of there if he didn't want to deal with the collateral damage. "When and where?"

Banks relaxed a little, clearly relieved not to be getting more a fight. "You'll take Evergreen Mall. You're scheduled to go on at six, but you'll need to meet with their security at four. They'll get you set up with the... appropriate attire." He tried to say it with a straight face, and failed miserably, ending in a guffaw that drew an icy stare from Ellison. "Sorry, Jim!" Banks gasped, his barely controlled laughter entirely ruining any pretense of sincerity. "I can't help it! Ho Ho... hahahaha... HO!"

"You will pay for this, Simon," Ellison promised, then glanced sharply at his partner. "Blair. No. Come on." He rose and planted a hand between Sandburg's shoulder blades, steering him firmly out of the office and -- since he knew him so well -- out of the bullpen and into an empty break room.

"This is bullshit!" Sandburg spun angrily away from Ellison's guiding hand. "He knows what it's like for you! I can't believe he's even asking you to consider this!"

"It won't be that bad, Chief," Ellison said, knowing it would indeed be that bad and worse.

"I'm going with you." Sandburg jabbed a finger into Ellison's chest. "And don't even say it's too dangerous! No one's going to go after you in a crowded mall. The others were all attacked when they were leaving. Not while they were actually playing Santa. So there's no reason I can't be there while you're..." His eyes narrowed and then he relaxed suddenly, the tension draining from him as if he'd suddenly had his prayers answered. "Look man, I'm sorry. Sometimes I feel like he's taking advantage of you, without thinking about the consequences." He held his hands out in acquiescence. "But it's your job. I get that, man. I shouldn't have sounded off like that. So, we good here?"

"I'm good if you're good," Ellison said, shaking his head at Sandburg's ability to have an argument with him, apologize and make up afterward, all without Ellison managing to get in a single word. He supposed it saved time at least, but somehow it was every bit as exhausting as if they'd both been shouting.

"Right," Sandburg said. "Good. That's good. Look, man, I left something in the truck. I gotta run back down for a sec. Oh... and I'm thinking, given what tonight's going to be like, you probably ought to really dial back for the rest of the day. You know how cumulative things can be. Might as well at least start fresh, ya know?" The anxiety in his expressive eyes faded when Ellison nodded.

"Good call, Chief." He reached out and caught the back of Sandburg's shirt as the grad student darted away. "Keys, Einstein."

"Oh. Right. Thanks."

Ellison tossed the keys. Sandburg caught them expertly, flashed Ellison one of his quicksilver grins and was gone before Ellison could warn him to lock the truck securely when he finished. Ah well. Sometimes a guy just had to take a leap of faith.

Still, Ellison was beginning to get concerned when twenty minutes passed with no sign of Sandburg returning. He was just getting up to go down and see what was keeping the kid when Simon Banks bellowed from his office doorway.

"Ellison! My office.

"I was just about to go and look for..." Ellison began.

"Now." Banks said.

Ellison cast a quick glance toward the door of the bullpen and then sighed and rose to follow Banks back into his office. Banks shut the door firmly behind them.

"So," Banks said with a studied casualness that Ellison just knew couldn't mean good news. "I've just been having a word with your sidekick."

"What?" Ellison looked back toward the bullpen. How had Sandburg slipped back in without him noticing?

"On the phone," Banks said.

"On the phone? Where the hell is he? He just stepped out to get something from the truck. Is he O.K.?"

"Frankly, Jim, the kid's terrified."

"Jesus, Simon, why didn't you say so? What are we sitting here...?"

"Relax." Banks chuckled. "He's fine. He's sitting down in Homicide, waiting for you to cool off before he comes back up."

Ellison stared at him. "Cool off? What's the deal here? I told him I wasn't upset with him."

"Mm-hmm. But you're about to be."

"Did I miss something, Simon? Because I thought you were usually relatively lucid."

"Sit," Banks said, "And hear me out before you blow up."

Ellison parked the car in front of their building and got out without a word. He knew he slammed the door a little harder than was strictly necessary -- or good for the latch -- but he didn't care. He was also aware that Sandburg sat in the truck for a moment longer, resting his head in his hands and looking more lost than angry. Ellison didn't care about that either. He headed upstairs without a backward glance, barely registering the fact that Sandburg eventually got out of the truck and headed for the stairs, taking the long way around, to avoid sharing the elevator with roommate. Ellison thought about locking the apartment door behind him, recognized the thought as petty and chose instead to head straight for the shower, letting the hiss of hot water serve as white noise, creating a barrier to give him time to cool off. When he kicked Sandburg's ass, he wanted to be cool enough to enjoy it.

The hot water and the enforced isolation took the edge off, leaving him feeling slightly more human. Sandburg was waiting for him on the sofa looking pale but determined. He rose as soon as Ellison emerged from the bathroom.

"Come on, man. We gotta talk about this."

"Later," Ellison growled. "Not now."

"There is no later," Sandburg insisted. "We leave in four hours. I don't want to go into this thing feeling like you're not... like..."

"Like what?" Ellison demanded. "Like you can't trust your partner? Like he might be sneaking around behind your back, rearranging your life without asking your opinion?"

Sandburg met his furious gaze without flinching. "I guess I deserved that."

"You bet your ass you deserved it. What the hell were you thinking?"

"You know damn well what I was thinking. I was thinking about what all that crap would do to you. The noise, the smells, the kids crawling all over you."

"So who died and made you my mother?"

"Not your mother," Sandburg said quietly. "Your guide. Your partner. It's my job to think about that stuff."

"Yeah," Ellison said, "Think about it. Talk to me about it. Not go running to Simon behind my back and telling him I'm not capable of doing my god damned job. A job I was doing for years before you showed up, I might add."

"I know that. I do. I just... Jim, you know this makes more sense. If you'd just get past your damned ego for a minute..."

"Ego? Ellison slammed both palms down on the breakfast bar. "You think this is about ego?"

"Isn't it?"

"What it's about, Sandburg -- what it's about, is me not being willing to bury another partner!" He stopped short. That was not at all what he'd intended to come out of his mouth. "That's not what I meant. Not what I meant to say, anyway. Aw hell!"

Sandburg was looking at him with wide, shocked eyes, for once at a total loss for words. Still, he recovered before Ellison did. "Fear based responses, man."

"You should have talked to me," Ellison said. Somehow the moment of truth had purged most of his anger.

"You wouldn't have listened," Sandburg said. "And you sure as hell wouldn't have talked to Simon."

"Damn right I wouldn't." He sighed. "Well it's done. But I don't like it. You shouldn't even be there, let alone..." He shook his head.

"Well when the shit hits the fan," Sandburg said, "You gotta admit I make better bait and you sure as hell make a better Cavalry."

"I don't have to admit anything. But if anything happens to you tonight, I swear I'll kick your ass to Portland and back. You got that?"

Sandburg grinned. "Tell you what. If anything happens to me tonight, I'll admit I was wrong and you were right."

Ellison crossed the room to put him in a playful headlock. "I don't know that the deal's worth something so rare and valuable as that, but I'm not proud. I'll take it."

"Leggo the hair, man."

The night turned out to be a bit of an anticlimax. Sandburg made a surprisingly good Santa, patient with the younger children and having a flair for making the older ones laugh. When he finished, he changed clothes under the watchful eye of a security guard. Ellison tailed him back to the Volvo and made sure he was safely locked in, then headed for his own truck. They reached the station about the same time and went inside to brief Simon.

"What about the ones who survived," Ellison asked. "Anything new on that front?"

Simon shook his head. "I'm afraid not. One of the things they have in common is having been hit from behind with a blunt object. None of them has any memory of the attacks."

"That's a little convenient, don't you think?"

"Not uncommon, though," Sandburg put in. "They were probably out cold after that first blow and never felt a thing until they woke up in the hospital. Been there, done that."

"Yeah," Ellison admitted. "I guess you're right. It was just a thought."

"Worth considering," Banks said. "We're grasping at straws as it is. We're going to go with Sandburg's thought tomorrow night on Team two as well, and switch Joel out for Rafe. Joel's a big guy. Maybe he looks too intimidating."

Ellison nodded. "Can't hurt. On the other hand, I'd consider the same objection I had the first time around. The likelihood of it going bad is higher when you're dealing with a smaller victim."

"And I'll give you the same answer I gave you the first time. There's no real danger until after the gig's finished, and we'll have teams right there every second when he comes out, to pick up anyone who even tries to get near him. He'll be O.K. Why don't you go on home? And you might as well not come in tomorrow morning. If you come in around three, that'll be time enough for us to discuss any changes of plan that might come up in the meantime. He cast a brief glance at Sandburg, who was draped over a chair as if he'd flowed into it rather than sitting on it. "And what have you been doing to your partner, by the way? He looks like he hasn't slept in days. I don't want him asleep on his feet tomorrow night, so make sure he gets some rest in the meantime."

"Geez, Simon," Sandburg muttered from his chair, "You gonna order him to tuck me in and tell me a bedtime story too? Just because you're a pair of old geezers doesn't mean I'm still in diapers, you know. I'm fully capable of putting myself to bed, thanks ever so much."

"Good. Then I don't have to tell you again to quit lounging in my office and go get some sleep."

Back at the loft, sharing a late snack of ham sandwiches on rye, Ellison was still unsure whether to be more disappointed or relieved by the evening's lack of results. They could have used a break in the case, but watching his partner rocking out to Chilean drum solos on his Walkman and shuffling through a few ritual dance steps on the way to the fridge, Ellison found the balance tipping heavily toward relieved.

After polishing off the sandwiches, they dumped the dishes in the sink to deal with in the morning and Ellison went up to bed. Sandburg said he'd be turning in early as well, but an hour later, Ellison could still hear him moving around below. Extending his hearing he focused on Sandburg's heartbeat. It was strong and steady. Nothing to suggest Sandburg was anything but relaxed and maybe a little tired. Ellison got up and pulled his robe on.

He found Sandburg at the window, looking out over the city, with a cup of something hot steaming in his hands. Somehow, silhouetted against the window, he looked smaller and more vulnerable than usual. Ellison went to stand beside him.

"I hope that's not coffee you're drinking. That's the last thing you need right now."

Sandburg looked up at him and smiled. "Naw, man. It's just an herbal tea. Mint and chamomile mostly. What are you doing up? I thought you went to bed."

"Heard you down here. No, don't apologize. You weren't keeping me up. Not like you're thinking anyhow. Just wondered if everything's O.K. with you. You worried about tomorrow night? Because it would be no problem to pull you off it. The only reason you're there to begin with is because the Department has no say over who the mall hires to play Santa. The whole thing's pretty iffy on liability grounds, so even the mayor couldn't complain if you wanted out."

"I'm the one who wanted in to begin with, remember? I'm not worried about it. You'll be there with a whole team of backup. What could go wrong?"

"What then? Something's on your mind. Talk to me."

Sandburg went back to looking out over the city. "Nothing, man. I'm just standing here looking at the lights. The city looks so different this time of year. Did you know that Christmas isn't really a Christian holiday at all? When the Romans were taking over various parts of the world, they had the good sense to realize that if you wipe out the local culture forcibly, you're only going to breed uprisings. So they didn't get rid of the native holidays, like the winter solstice. They just assigned Christian significance to them, and let them go on. Even the concept of the Christmas tree -- it's Celtic. The various Celtic cultures had rituals involving trees, and the whole mess was just mashed together culturally into what we call Christmas today."

"I thought it was about the birth of Christ."

"No way, man. Shows what you know about country living. All those shepherds watching their flocks by night? What kind of idiot sits in the barn staring at the sheep all night in the dead of winter? If they were watching their sheep at night, it was in the spring, in lambing season."

"Ah."

Sandburg said nothing more. Ellison glanced down at him, realizing he'd just been smoothly sidetracked. Well, there was always the direct approach.

"So... Naomi's not going to be able to come in for Christmas?"

Sandburg sipped his tea. "She's on some retreat in Acapulco. Retreating from cold weather if you ask me. Not a bad idea."

"Disappointed?"

Sandburg shrugged. "Not really. It's not like we're usually together for Christmas anyway. You know Naomi. We celebrated Christmas, after a fashion, when I was a kid. We also celebrated Winter and Summer Solstice, Samhain, Hanukkah, Saint Patrick's Day and Ghandi's birthday. Christmas just wasn't a big deal. Anyway, Christmas is kind of a family thing, ya know?"

"Yeah, I guess it is," Ellison said. "Well, why don't you finish that tea and get some sleep. Simon's right about needing you awake and alert tomorrow, and you look like you're half asleep on your feet anyway."

Sandburg sighed, as if he'd been comfortably rooted to the spot he was standing in and had to gear himself up to move. "Yeah. I guess I should. We're O.K. with this whole Santa thing aren't we?"

"I'm not O.K. with it," Ellison said. "I don't like it one bit. But we're O.K. Just be careful."

"Always," Sandburg said, turning away from the window to set his cup in the sink. "G'night, Big Guy."

"Night, Chief."

The following night didn't look much more promising than the first. With Christmas two days away, the mall was packed. The line to sit on Sandburg's knee stretched halfway down the mall. To get as many in as possible, Sandburg skipped the midpoint break and made do with sipping an Orange Julius to keep him from losing his voice. Even from a distance he looked tired and he'd long since ceased flirting with the young mothers who stood a little too close and bent over a little too far when they set their children on Blair's lap. The crowds made Ellison nervous. Though he knew he wasn't the only one keeping an eye on the situation, it was maddening to keep losing sight of his partner in the milling crowd. He was ready to call the whole thing off himself, and couldn't help being relieved when Sandburg cut things short a little early. In keeping with the plan, Ellison trailed Sandburg at a slight distance as the young man made his way out into the parking lot.

They'd nearly made it to Sandburg's car when a dark clad figure suddenly stepped between Sandburg and his partner.

"Sandburg!" Ellison shouted. "Get down!"

Sandburg spun just in time to duck the tire iron coming at his head. Almost in the same instant, Ellison was on top of the assailant, taking him to the ground with surprising ease. "Chief? You O.K.?" He wrested the tire iron away and flung it aside with a force born of fury.

"Yeah," Sandburg called back. "I'm fine."

Ellison yanked the prisoner's arms back and slapped the cuffs on, then flipped the black-clad body over roughly. To his astonishment, he found himself straddling a slender blonde woman, who promptly spat at him. It took all he had not to backhand her across the face, but she'd threatened his partner and there was no way he was going to do anything to compromise this arrest. She was going down, and going down hard.

As soon as he could, he handed her over to the uniforms, and turned his attention to his partner. Sandburg looked a little green around the gills. Not surprising considering the close call.

"Is the kid OK?" Simon Banks demanded, coming up beside them.

"The kid is fine," Sandburg said pointedly.

"I think so," Ellison said, "But he probably should be checked out anyhow."

"Jim, for God's sake," Sandburg said, "She never even touched me. I got a killer headache and I'm tired. I just want to go home, OK?"

Banks raised an eyebrow. "Sounds OK to me, Jim."

"I know," Ellison said, "But something's wrong. He doesn't..." He paused to cast an embarrassed glance at his partner. "He doesn't smell right."

Banks choked and spat out the cigar he was chewing on. "Jesus! Don't do that when I'm smoking! Anyway, this is Sandburg we're talking about. He never did smell right."

Sandburg stopped massaging his temples and looked up at Ellison. "Whoa! That's amazing. You're right. I have a migraine. I know. They're not common in men. I'm one of the lucky ones. Haven't had one in forever, but the noise in there... That's why I knocked off a little early. I can't believe you can smell the difference! It's gotta be some kind of hormonal thing, right? This is incredible! We gotta find a way to test this, man!"

Ellison put a hand on his shoulder. "Breathe, Einstein. What exactly do you want to do - find a way to induce migraines to see if I can tell when you have one? Come on. Let's get you home. Why don't you ride with me and I'll run you back here to pick up your car tomorrow. Simon, you don't need statements this instant do you? First thing in the morning do?"

Banks glanced at Sandburg, who was yawning and massaging the back of his neck. "Yeah, that's fine. Sandburg, listen up because I'm only saying this once and if you tell anyone I said it I'll deny it. I really appreciate your help on this one. You put yourself at risk for us but I think it was a good call, and this is going to make a hell of a Christmas present for the mayor. Now get out of here, both of you."

Ellison slung arm over his partner's shoulders. "You heard him. Let's go before he changes his mind." Sandburg leaned into the casual embrace and let Ellison steer him across the parking lot. "Sure you're OK?" Ellison asked.

Sandburg pulled away and straightened up a little. "Yeah. Fine. Just... I'm wiped, man. I feel like I could sleep for a week."

Ellison gave him a subtle boost into the truck. "Last two weeks catching up with you at last, huh? And you had a close call tonight. You're probably coming down off the adrenaline high."

Sandburg yawned. "Aw man. Yeah. You hit it on the head, I think. That and the migraine. Show me to a bed and I'm history."

Ellison closed the truck door and went around to the driver's side. "Seatbelt," he ordered as he started the truck.

"What? Oh. Right." Sandburg flashed him a tired grin and buckled up. "By the way, thanks for not letting that bitch take my head off tonight."

"Anytime, Chief." He pulled out of the lot and eased into the oncoming traffic. By the time he could spare a glance at his passenger, Sandburg was already dozing in the corner. Ellison frowned, wondering again about the wisdom of having allowed him to take part in the sting. The kid really was exhausted. He hadn't been getting more than a couple of hours sleep a night for the last couple of weeks, between classes and grading finals, and dealing with his committee and heading straight to the station any time he got a spare moment. It was no wonder he was getting migraines. Caro had suffered with migraines and Ellison remembered that she tended to get them when she was short on sleep. On top of it all, Ellison still suspected that Sandburg had something more on his mind. No one who knew him casually would notice anything out of the ordinary, but Ellison's relationship with him was far from casual. When he didn't know he was being watched, Sandburg definitely seemed subdued. Maybe even a little lost. Ellison suspected that Sandburg's offhand comment about Christmas being a family holiday had meant more than Sandburg wanted him to believe.

He pulled into his usual parking space. Sandburg didn't stir when he turned the truck off. Ellison almost hated to wake him. He was breathing in the slow rhythm of sleep and his heartbeat had slowed from a panicked racing during the attack to a slow, relaxed cadence. Sleep had smoothed out the lines of pain that had marked his face earlier, but Ellison was sure the migraine would be waiting in full force when he woke. Still, sentiment and reality were entirely separate things. As much as Ellison would have liked to let the kid sleep, the truck would be damned cold ten minutes from now and Ellison sure as hell wasn't going to carry him up to bed. Sandburg might lack Ellison's height but he was sturdy and muscular and way more than Ellison felt like lugging up to the third floor. In any case, it wasn't the first time Blair had fallen asleep in the truck. If past experience was any indication, he'd stumble into the apartment, fall face down on his bed and never even remember getting out of the truck. No harm, no foul. Ellison reached across the seat and gave him a nudge.

"Hey. Sleeping Beauty. We're home." Sandburg didn't budge. Yep, he was officially down for the count. Ellison unbuckled his seat belt and nudged him again. "Hey, come on. Unless you want the whole neighborhood to see me wrap you in a blanket and carry you to bed like a two-year old." He got out and shut the door, then frowned when he realized Sandburg hadn't made a move to follow him. "Sandburg! Hey! Come on. Wake up."

He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. Sandburg slumped toward him and he had to move quickly to stop him from falling out of the truck altogether. "Damn it! Blair! Wake up! Come on." He shook him sharply, but there was no response. Ellison focused his hearing. Sandburg's breathing was slow and deep, and his heartbeat was normal. He just seemed to be deeply asleep. But he still wasn't waking up and that was anything but normal. Ellison hefted Sandburg back into the seat and readjusted the seatbelt around him, then raced around to get back into the truck. He flipped his cell phone out as he pulled back into the street. "Damn it, Simon, answer your phone! All right, listen, something's wrong with Blair. She did something to him. Drugged him, maybe. Beat it out of her if you have to, but we gotta know what she did. They won't let me keep my cell on in the ER so you'll have to meet me there."

Despite Sandburg's unquenchable enthusiasm, Ellison rarely considered his enhanced senses a "gift," but he thanked God now for the ability to keep both hands on the wheel and both eyes on the road while his sensitive ears monitored the unconscious man's heartbeat and respiration. Both were a little slow, but no slower than was normal when Sandburg was sleeping deeply. Ellison took that as a good sign. Maybe he was just sedated, and nothing more. He clung to that hope until the convulsions started.

Ellison paused in his pacing when Simon Banks rushed in through the ER doors with his coattails flying and his scarf hanging loosely from the collar of his coat. "What have you got?"

"Nothing useful," Banks said. "How's the kid?"

"I don't know. They wouldn't let me stay with him. I'm waiting for word."

Banks ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. "What the hell happened? He seemed fine when we finished tonight."

"He fell asleep... Or I thought he fell asleep in the truck on the way home. You know how tired he's been. So I just let him sleep until we got home. Only, when we got there, I couldn't wake him."

Banks looked away. "I'm sorry, Jim. You said at the scene that something seemed off. I should have listened to you."

"I should have listened to me too. It's not your fault. Sandburg wouldn't want you..." He broke off as the doctor who'd been treating Blair approached.

"Detective Ellison," The doctor said, and than hesitated with a glance in Banks' direction.

"Captain Simon Banks," Ellison said. "Cascade PD. My commanding officer."

"Captain." The doctor nodded briefly. "Mr. Sandburg's condition is stable. All indications at this point are that he's had an overdose of GHB."

"GHB?" Ellison interrupted.

"Gamma Hydroxybutyrate. It's cheap and easily available on the streets. Popular with the rave crowd. It's usually taken as a solution. The concentration of any given solution varies, as does individual sensitivity. That's what makes it dangerous. Even an experienced user can take an overdose without realizing it. It has no color, and what little taste it has is easily masked. It turns up occasionally in date rape cases. Detective, you mentioned that Mr. Sandburg had been drinking an Orange Julius. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say that's your culprit."

"What is this stuff going to do to him? Will he be O.K.?"

The doctor nodded. "Honestly, the most likely scenario is that he'll get the best night's sleep he's had in weeks and wake up wondering what everyone's fussing about. GHB can cause some short-term amnesia, so he probably won't even remember it. In fact, if it was given to him without his knowledge, I don't think it was intended to kill him. It may have been intended as a practical joke or someone may have wanted him sedated but alive."

"I want to see him."

"Of course," The doctor said. "But he'll be out for three or four hours at least. You'd probably serve him better by going home and getting a shower and some sleep yourself."

"He's right, Jim," Banks put in.

Ellison shook his head. "I'm staying with him. Simon, maybe it's not too late to recover that cup for evidence."

"I'll get on it. The woman isn't talking. They were running her prints when I left. If she's got a record we'll know shortly, but Jim... We may have to call in a psych consult on this one."

Ellison turned on him. "No! She is not getting off on some damn new age psychobabble excuse. Damn it, Simon, she tried to kill Blair. Twice." Before Banks could respond, Ellison held his hands up. "I don't have time for this now. I'm going to see my partner, and wait for him to come out of the damn coma she put him in." He turned his back on Banks and strode off without bothering to ask the doctor where they'd taken Sandburg. He didn't need to. He'd never stopped listening to Blair's heartbeat.

It was Sandburg's voice that woke Ellison.

"Jim?"

Ellison raised his head. He'd fallen asleep with his head resting on his folded arms on the edge of Sandburg's bed.

"You O.K., man?" Sandburg peered at him in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"Blair!" Ellison reached over and squeezed his hand lightly. "How you feeling, buddy?"

"Fine. Jim, man, you're creeping me out here. What's wrong?"

"Have a look around you, Darwin."

Sandburg blinked once, stared at him for a moment and then focused on the rest of the room. His eyes widened in shock. "Jim? Uhhhhmmm... This isn't... This is isn't the loft."

"Score ten for the kid from Cascade."

"You wanna tell me what we're doing here? I assume one of us got hurt, and I feel fine, so I know it wasn't me." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "So how come I'm the one in the ventilated miniskirt?"

"Someone slipped you a mickey last night. That's where your migraine came from."

"Damn." Sandburg said, looking at Ellison with disappointment in his blue eyes. "That's what you smelled on me? A drug? Not the migraine?"

"Sorry Chief." Ellison gave his shoulder a comforting pat. "Looks like the tests are off. I wouldn't worry too much if I were you. I'm sure you'll think of some other way to torment me."

Sandburg wasn't consoled. "I guess." He sighed, then looked up at Ellison again. "At the risk of sounding like Scrooge, what day is it?"

"Day, sir? Why it's Christmas Day, sir!" Ellison chirped in his best cockney accent, then burst out laughing at the look on Blair's face. "Sorry. Couldn't resist. It's the twenty-fourth. You slept through the night is all. The doc says you can probably go home with me this afternoon. He just wanted to make sure you woke up O.K. and weren't having any neurological side effects. I need to run home and get you some clothes and then run by the station for a minute. You O.K. for a little bit?"

"Sure, if you'll do me a favor," Sandburg said.

"What's that?"

"Get a nap and some food. If I know you, you've been sitting here all night, and I know how cranky you get when you're overtired and hungry."

"Ungrateful bastard," Ellison muttered affectionately. "All right. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

Sandburg yawned and waved him off. "Get outta here already."

Ellison left him and drove back to the loft for a quick shower and shave. While he dressed, he called the precinct to let Simon know Sandburg was awake and apparently all right. Then he packed a duffel with fresh clothing for Sandburg, grabbed a raisin bagel from the fridge and hit the road again. A quick detour through the mall took care of his final errand and he returned to the station in a much better frame of mind.

Making his way into the bullpen, he was immediately mobbed with congratulatory backslaps and bombarded with questions about how Sandburg was doing and messages to take back to the kid when he went to pick him up. Finally, ten minutes after he arrived and still only halfway to Banks' office, he gave up and raised his voice. "All right, listen up people! I have an announcement. Sandburg woke up this morning, with no apparent long-term effects from the overdose. He's expected to be released sometime this afternoon. He appreciates your concern and he sends his best to everyone. That will be all. Thank you for your attention, and now if you don't mind, I have a job to do." Shaking his head, he turned to resume his trek, only to find Simon Banks standing in his office doorway, grinning broadly at Ellison's plight.

"I don't want to hear it, sir," Ellison growled. "So what's the word on the woman?" He followed Simon back into the office and perched on the edge of Banks' desk.

"Her name is Marlene Stafford," Banks said. "She's a junkie. Crack mostly, but whatever she can scrape up money for, she'll do. A year ago Christmas, her four kids were removed from the home when a social worker found them home alone with no food in the place and no heat."

"Thus the Santa Claus connection, I guess. Are we sure she's responsible for all of them? What about the Jihad thing?"

"Seems after the kids were taken, she had a religious conversion. Apparently, God told her that he'd taken her kids from her as a message to the world. Something about Christmas turning commercial. According to God, the only way she'd get her kids back was to prove her faith by eliminating Santa Claus to make room to bring Jesus back into Christmas. I guess she'd come across the term "Jihad" on TV and decided that a "holy war" was exactly what she was waging."

"That's nuts!"

Banks nodded. "I'm afraid that's what the psych consult thinks too."

Ellison nodded, and looked away for a moment, but said nothing.

Banks raised an eyebrow. "I confess I thought you'd throw six types of tantrum when I told you."

"So did I," Ellison said, helping himself to a cup of Simon's coffee. "But right now, all I care about is that Blair's O.K., and we've got her off the streets. I'll worry about the rest of it later.

The doc said it looked like she didn't intend the dose to kill Blair. The OD may even have been accidental. He says GHB's a tricky one to dose accurately. You figure the drugs were just to make them easier to take down?"

"That's the theory."

Ellison nodded. "Makes sense. Hey, I need to ask a favor."

Banks glared at him. "Don't even think about asking me to let you take vacation time tomorrow. It's Christmas and we're shorthanded already. There's no way I can approve any more vacation time before the first of the year."

Ellison sighed. "Understood, Sir." He drained his coffee cup and turned for the door.

"Detective Ellison," Banks said.

Ellison turned. "Sir?"

"Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"No, I don't think so," Banks said. "You look a little feverish to me. In fact, you look like you might be coming down with the flu. You know the rules about coming in to work when you're sick with a contagious illness. You weren't intending to come to work tomorrow with a contagious illness, were you, Detective Ellison?"

Ellison grinned. "Oh no, Sir. I wouldn't dream of it."

"I certainly hope not."

"Well, Sir," Ellison said, "Under the circumstances, if you found it necessary to drop by, say around two, to verify that I'm home sick, and not off vacationing, I'd certainly understand."

"I'll take that under advisement, Detective. Go get your partner."

Ellison paused, never good with words, but feeling the need to say... something. Their eyes met for a moment.

"Go," Banks said, making exaggerated shooing gestures with both hands.

Ellison loved that about Simon. The man always knew exactly the right thing to say.

Returning to the hospital, he was surprised to find Sandburg fully dressed and waiting impatiently for him. "Thank God," Sandburg said, bouncing off the edge of the bed with more energy than Ellison had seen from him in weeks. "Get me outta here, man. The nurses are gonna eat me alive."

Ellison raised an eyebrow. "And the problem is?"

"They're all over fifty and looking for a grandkid."

"Terrible," Ellison said, without a hint of sympathy. "I brought your clothes but..."

"I'll shower and change when I get home. Just get me outta here before Genevieve comes back to invite me home for Christmas dinner."

"Turkey, oyster stuffing, cranberry sauce, homemade pies. Yeah. I can see how that would be a problem."

"I'm not kidding, man! Get me outta here before she finds me."

Ellison laughed and planted a hand in the middle of Sandburg's back, steering him toward the door. "All right. Never let it be said that Jim Ellison failed to live up to the call of duty in a crisis. Let's go."

Once they cleared the exit, Sandburg relaxed and looked up at his partner. "You talk to Simon yet?"

"Yeah." Ellison nudged him toward the passenger side of the truck. "I'll tell you about it on the way. You hungry? We could stop and get something if you want. Or would you rather just get home and lie down?"

"Food sounds good," Sandburg said, buckling himself in. "I'm starving. And you can stop worrying, because I feel fine. Maybe I oughta get sedated at the end of every semester. I think the sleep did me good."

"Yeah, well," Ellison said, easing the truck out of the parking lot. "You got lucky, that's all. It wouldn't have taken much more of that stuff to kill you. What you need is time off. Not street drugs."

Sandburg pulled the tie from his hair and ran his fingers through his unruly curls. "Chill, man. I was joking. You know I wouldn't mess with that shit. Hey, you got the rest of the day off, or you gotta go back to the station?"

"You kidding? No way I'm going back there. They just about tore me apart the last time. Jim! Is Blair O.K.? Jim! How's Sandburg! Hey Jim! When's Hairboy coming home? Hey Ellison, tell the kid this and hey Jim! Tell Sandburg that. You want to wade into the middle of that, you go right ahead. I'll drop you off."

Sandburg didn't respond and after a moment, Ellison glanced across the truck. Sandburg was looking troubled, chewing on his lower lip. When he saw that Ellison was watching him he shook his head and flashed a two-hundred proof Sandburg grin. "It's all in the moves, man. I'll give you a few pointers if you like. What are we eating? Hey, since you got the rest of the day off, how about we just pick up the makings? I'll cook."

"No need for that," Ellison said. "In case you're forgetting, I picked you up from the hospital not ten minutes ago." The hint of disappointment in Blair's eyes didn't last more than a second, but Ellison didn't miss it. "I was thinking," he added quickly, "There's that Italian place over on Terrace and 135th. They run a full menu, but they'll pack it to go. How about we pick up a couple of orders of fettuccini Alfredo, and a couple of house salads? Then we can run by Safeway on the way home and pick up a loaf of Italian bread and a decent red wine. It's Christmas Eve, after all. I think we're entitled to splurge a little, don't you?"

It was the right thing to say. "Yeah," Sandburg said softly, and this time the smile reached all the way to his eyes.

They still hadn't talked about the case. Sandburg broached the subject again when they'd collected their order and were headed home.

"So what was her deal anyway? Have you guys got anything out of her?"

"Some." He filled Blair in quickly on what they'd learned. There was no explosion from Blair's corner. Just a slow silence.

Finally Sandburg sighed. "Christmas. Hell of a time to lose your family, huh?"

"Don't go all soft on her, Chief. Those kids are a lot better off where they are now. She's the killer here, not the victim."

"No argument from here, man. Step on it, will you? I can smell that Alfredo sauce and it's driving me insane."

"Got news for ya kid. You were already there."

"I know," Sandburg said. "I followed you in."

While Sandburg showered and changed, Ellison set out their dinner, cut four thick slices of Italian bread and poured the wine. On a whim, he raided Sandburg's candle supply and found a pair of unscented ones to put on the table. Sandburg would probably razz him about it, but he didn't care. It just felt right.

Christmas had never meant much to Ellison. For that matter, it wasn't really even Christmas yet. But now, listening to Sandburg's off-key rendition of "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer" drifting from the shower, it was hard to believe Blair had been so unnaturally still less than twenty-four hours ago. Although Ellison wasn't the sort to call it a miracle, he couldn't help thinking that something out there in the universe had given this jaded detective the only thing he'd asked for this Christmas. It had all happened and been over so quickly that he didn't feel the need for a big celebration. He just wanted to take a little time to be quietly grateful for a gift he knew he took for granted all too often. The hiss of the shower ceased, reminding him that he still had one more task to take care of before Sandburg joined him. He finished it just in time.

Sandburg emerged from the bathroom dressed in clean jeans, with a red chamois shirt over a grey thermal Henley. He stopped short in the process of tying his damp curls back and stared at the carefully set table, the softly flickering candles and the tissue-wrapped package set out beside his plate. For a long moment he was absolutely still. Then his fingers moved, automatically finishing the task they'd begun. Finally he raised his eyes to meet Ellison's. It took another long moment before said, "You lit candles."

"I raided your room. You mind?"

" Are you kidding? This is great, man! I got something for you too. Let me go get it."

"No," Ellison said.

Sandburg looked at him in confusion.

"Save it for tomorrow," Ellison said. "This one isn't a Christmas present. It's just something I wanted you to have. Sit."

Sandburg looked a little mystified but he sat.

Ellison nodded toward the package. "Go ahead. Open it."

Sandburg removed the wrapping carefully. His eyes lit up when the paper fell away to reveal a book. "*Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah*. I haven't read this one."

"I know. I, uh..." Ellison paused, suddenly shy. "I marked it for you."

Sandburg raised an eyebrow and opened the book at the spot Ellison had marked with a beaded bookmark and highlighted carefully with a bright green highlighter.

The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.

Sandburg looked up from the text, his eyes wide and shining. "Jim... This... I don't know what to say, man."

"Don't say anything, Chief. It's just something I should have said a long time ago. I've just never been very good at that kind of thing, ya know?"

Sandburg read the passage again, then laid the book down reverently, and took up his wine glass. "Merry Christmas, Jim." For the first time in weeks, there was no sadness haunting his smile.

"Back atcha, buddy." Ellison said. Their glasses came together with a bright chime. "By the way, I hope you won't mind me intruding on your journal reading plans tomorrow. I have the day off after all."

"Really? I can't believe Simon went for that."

"He didn't at first. Ellison picked up his fork and started on the fettuccini. "But once I explained, he understood."

Sandburg looked puzzled. "Explained what?"

"That you were right, Chief," Ellison said. "Christmas is kind of a family thing."

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