"How many renditions of `Little Drummer Boy' are there, anyway?" Blair Sandburg muttered under his breath. The song drifted through the closed door to Blair's storage space-turned-office. Kelly, the university's janitor, liked to listen to a popular 24/7 holiday station. Blair glanced at the clock on his office wall. Nimble fingers never missed a keystroke as he calculating the time remaining.

He might make it.

Focusing his attention like the beam of one of Jim Ellison's police flashlights, he ignored the tinsel and evergreen boughs around the door frame and the distracting twinkle from the white lights tangled in the bare trees visible out his window.

His stomach growled and he ignored that too.

Ring

Crap, the phone was hard to ignore, but he managed. He guiltily continued his work, waiting for the ringing to stop, keeping his eyes fixed on the handwritten notes lying on his desk. This paper was his last deadline, then he could set aside all that was his academic life and enjoy his mother's yearly Christmas visit.

Blair had been just a toddler when Naomi found special ways to celebrate the holiday, turning the commercialized season into his favorite time of year. The practice hadn't waned even when Blair had become an adult. No matter what the two of them were caught up in, the end of the year was a time to get together, reflect, laugh, cry and eat a lot of good food.

"So, Jim." Brown flicked off his desk lamp as he stood. "I wanted to get Hairboy something for Christmas. You know, nothing huge, a mere thanks for all his help this year. What sorta music does he like?"

The bullpen was quiet, lights dimmed in the mayor's latest plan to cut back on operating costs. Most of the day shift had headed home. "Pick anything loud and annoying. He'll love it."

Henry snickered. "I'll introduce him to the velvet beauty that is jazz. Night, babe."

Lifting a casual wave, Jim's hand diverted to the phone just as it rang. If Sandburg ever found out he could pick up the minuscule electrical charge of a ringing phone the split second before the sound arrived, he'd be looking at a pyramid of tests.

"Ellison."

"Jim?"

"Naomi?" Jim stiffened in his chair, alarmed by the upset voice of his best friend's mother. "What's wrong? You're upset."

"Well..." The tears waited just under the surface of her words. "Something's come up and I don't know what to do. I mean I do know, but I don't want to, but my choice is clear. I have to go with my heart and I know Blair would understand, but to me he's still my baby..." A smothered sob and she went on breathlessly. "God, he'd be horrified if he heard me talk like this. He's an adult, I know, but -"

Relaxing into his chair, relived this `emergency' sounded more like a woman-thing, Jim cut her off. "Naomi, just tell me what's wrong. I'll help if I can."

The front door closed quietly. Jim rose out of bed and slipped on his robe. Padding down the stairs, he caught Blair in the act of pillaging the ancient refrigerator. The younger man turned, a yogurt container in his hand, as Jim reached the main floor.

"Hey, man. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Wasn't asleep. Been waiting for you."

Blair stilled, his brow wrinkled with concern. "Waiting? Did I ..." He set the yogurt down, the foil top half pulled off and sticking up like a flag.

"Relax. I just wanted to talk. How about some tea?" Jim dropped into a kitchen chair. "You worked pretty late. Couldn't get you by phone."

"Let it ring. Had work to finish," Blair answered as he went through the tea preparations, lifting the kettle from the cold burner, filling it with fresh tap water and returning it to lit stove. He eyed Jim carefully, pulling a spoon out of the utensil drawer and picking up his yogurt. "I can see by your face ... it's bad news, what happened?"

Jim sighed. He had been covert ops, a damn specialist. The army brass had sent a full general to try and talk him into reenlisting. He had been the perfect soldier. Hide those feelings. Never let the enemy see your thoughts.

And a grad student reads him with ease.

Jim passed a hand over his shorn hair. "It's no big deal, Chief. Your mom called this afternoon. She was looking for you."

Blair had been in the act of lifting a spoonful of plain yogurt. He paused. "Oh, man. I didn't think one of those calls could be mom. Damn. She didn't bother you, did she? I know she's not supposed to call at the station."

"She's not a bother."

Hastily swallowing yogurt, Blair bobbed his head and talked with muffled insistence, "she just gets these ideas in her head. No matter what you tell her, she thinks she can call anyone. I have no idea how she even gets the phone numbers. She's always -"

"She's canceled her flight," Jim blurted out.

"What?" Blair nearly dropped his spoon.

"She's not coming out next week." Jim circled the island and reached up for two tea mugs. Faint popping sounds rose from the tea kettle. "A friend called her. Something about emergency surgery and needing someone to help with her kids. When she tried to call you."

"I had a paper to finish," Blair repeated weakly, on auto pilot, the look of disbelief still camped in his blue eyes. "Are you sure? What'd she say exactly?"

"That was pretty much word for word." Jim shrugged. "Sorry, Chief."

The hurt, almost lost look flashed so quickly across the younger man's face that Jim nearly missed it.

Blair squared his shoulders and shook his head. "Guess now I can finish some of those school projects. Needed some down time... to catch up," he said with a game face. But the tone was subdued, not the typical `Sandburg quality' that Jim was used to.

The kettle began a low whistle and Jim lifted it from the fire, twisting the stove's dial and cutting off the gas flow. He filled the mugs. The fragrant smell of mint and lemon met his nose. Returning the kettle, Jim reached into an overhead cupboard for the squeezable honey bear. He liked a full teaspoon of honey in his. He gave Blair half.

"We could do something if you want," Jim suggested casually.

"Aren't you working?"

"Simon said it was already covered this year, I asked."

Blair frowned and Jim remembered how Naomi had explained to him about their family tradition of getting together this time of year. In fact, Jim had already known from Blair's own account. A few nights ago Blair had filled in the long hours during an all night stake out with tales of their past holiday adventures; catching a play of the Nutcracker in Seattle, a quiet weekend at a bed and breakfast run by friends in Oregon, or last year's ski trip to Snoqualmie.

Blair shook his head. "I gotta talk to Naomi, man."

Jim tried not to let the disappointment show on his own face. After all, he was just a roommate. Blair had been looking forward to spending quality time with his mom. "She said there was no phone where she's going. The place sounds a bit rustic, like a new age commune."

"Probably that place in Kansas." Blair chewed his lip in thought. "This lady runs it with her sister and brother-in-law. Maybe I can get word to her." He dumped the empty yogurt container into the trash under the sink and rinsed off the spoon. "I'll check my book. One of the members has a produce stand in town. I think I can find the number for the farmer's market association." He picked up the cordless phone and the tea and headed toward his room, muttering softly under is breath.

Left alone, Jim stirred his tea. He had tried.

Still, he felt like he had let Naomi down.

Staring at the phone in disbelief, Blair sat on the edge of his futon. It had taken a ton of phone calls, but he reached his mother that following morning.

It was unthinkable.

Naomi wasn't coming out this year.

Coldness circled his ankles, drifting up from the hard wooden floor and cutting through his thin socks. Blair felt the chill settle deeply into his body, surfing the crest of his pulse until it flowed everywhere. His thoughts were dark, musing bleak.

No Naomi.

"Get a grip." Blair stood up, resolved.

He wasn't a kid. He was a man in his twenties for God's sake. So what, his mom wasn't getting out this year. So what, his winter break just became a string of empty days when everyone else had their family around, folks laughing and ...

Shit, no wonder folks got depressed this time of year.

Blair tapped in a phone number from memory. "Susan? Hi, is Charlene around? Oh... yeah, that's right, I forgot. No. I'll call her when she gets back. Yeah, yeah. Merry Christmas to you, too."

The phone landed on the futon with a bounce.

Jim listened to the heavy footfall approach. A minute later Blair entered the loft, his light jacket unbuttoned, his expression long as he hung the jacket up, transferring a bag from Wal-Mart from hand to hand so he didn't have to set it down.

"Can't believe this weather. It's like fifty degrees out there," Blair muttered despondently.

"Thought you didn't like cold," Jim asked as he stirred the thickening concoction in the pot. He checked the flame, making sure the sugar didn't burn. He wore his flowered apron over his jeans and T-shirt, socks on his feet. Dangerous footwear whenever Blair cooked, but Jim kept a neat kitchen.

"It's Christmas tomorrow," Blair answered. He headed for his room and returned a few seconds later without the bag. "Shouldn't be this warm, not natural."

Jim didn't comment. This was `stranger-Blair'. A new roommate that had emerged the night he'd told his friend Naomi wasn't visiting. Frankly, Jim was surprised at the transformation. Blair was the eternal `Happy Dwarf' in his life. This last year the kid had managed to pull Jim out of some pretty dark emotional places. Ever since he'd been cursed - or blessed - with his sentinel abilities, Blair had simply refused to let Jim dwell on anything but the positive.

Jim watched Blair fall into the yellow chair by the windows and sulk.

Shit, Blair sulked.

Who knew?

The first bubble rose in the golden brown, viscous liquid and popped. Jim's attention snapped back to the here and now. He wasn't ready. He'd forgotten to put out the ingredients he needed. Crap. Jim had a schedule to keep.

"Sandburg, help!"

"What?" Blair didn't move from his chair, choosing to stare, uninterested.

"It's gonna be ruined. I need you to measure out the nuts and chocolate. I can't stop stirring. Better yet, get over here and stir!"

Blair pushed out of the chair, his eyes wide. "You're making fudge?"

"If I'm lucky. Get the hell over here!"

Blair was instantly at his side. He took the wooden spoon's handle from Jim's hand. Not protesting as Jim took him by the shoulders and moved him into his position. "Don't stop till I tell you. And for God's sake, don't slop on the floor."

"Can't believe this," Blair muttered as he peered into the pot. "Wow, smells good."

Jim was head and shoulders into the cabinet under the counter. Where was his fudge pan? "Should be, damn ingredients cost a fortune. The dispatch center would have my hide if they didn't get the Ellison fudge this year. Ah, there it is."

Blair smiled.

The roomful of men and women crowded around Jim like a herd of winter-starved horses greeting a truck-load of hay. Jim chuckled as the personal sized plates were quickly lifted one at a time from his hands. When they were all gone, the pack fell on Blair's bounty.

"Whoa!" Blair now knew how a tree felt when the swarm of locus hit. Seconds later his hands were empty.

Amid parting shouts of thanks, the two men left. Another batch of fudge waited in Jim's Ford. Blair took a deep breath of the too warm night air and snickered. "We're lucky to get out alive. Those dispatchers must be in sugar shock or something."

"Wait till you see the firemen at the main station. God, they're brutal." Jim closed the door and started the engine. He reached for the seatbelt over his left shoulder as he looked at Blair. "Thanks for helping me with the fudge delivery, Chief. I know it's not what you wanted to do on Christmas Eve."

"Man, don't apologize." Blair felt his face warm with embarrassment. He'd been such a jerk the last few days. Jim had even gone so far as to try and get tickets to the Nutcracker, but the play had been sold out. He'd overheard his friend trying to unsuccessfully score a pair from a guy in Burglary. Yet Blair had just felt sorry for himself, because his `mommy' wasn't visiting. He was pathetic. "This is a rush. And it's so cool that you remember those working on Christmas Eve. I figured because you didn't have tree..."

Driving with ease, Jim shrugged. "Never really wanted one. Carolyn has all the ornaments, so I just didn't bother." Jim glanced over. "You want one? We still have time. Probably get a decent price."

Blair felt the grin split his face. "Really?"

Two hours later all the fudge deliveries were done and a big evergreen had a place of honor in the corner against the brick wall. Jim eyed it critically. "Still looks crooked."

"Fer crying out loud, Jim, it's fine," Blair admonished with a goofy grin as he reappeared from his room carrying a beat up box in his hands. "These are probably not as nice as the ones you're used to, but we can use them if you want."

"What? Ornaments?" Jim started winding the twine that had wrapped the tree. The dirty ball started to grow in his hands. "Sure, might as well. Otherwise it's paper cutouts and popcorn."

"Um... well, I've got a few cutouts in this mess." Blair set the box down on the coffee table and took off the lid. Packing foam protected the treasures within. Blair held up a crystal snowflake. "Naomi found this one in Germany." He handed it to Jim. "Go ahead; you'll only move it around anyway when I'm not looking."

Jim huffed, but proved himself guilty as he tried five different locations on the tree, then settled on a spot about eye level - for Blair, anyway. They continued in this fashion until the box was empty and the tree had a very nice display of odd looking ornaments.

Blair chewed on his lower lip. "Not the stuff you see in Nordstrom's, uh?"

Jim crossed his arms, trying to look judgmental and stern. "I like it. Says a lot about the owners."

"What? Mismatched?" Blair said with a grin.

"Unique, doofus."

"That too." Blair rose up on his toes. "So, really. It's okay?"

"Needs a few more things."

"Jim, it's after ten, man. We're not going to find a store open."

"Don't need to." Jim rubbed his hands together.

"You mean you do this every year? Why didn't I see it last year?" Blair finished tying the ends of the heavy thread.

"You didn't go down to the park, that's where I put it." Jim stood up, displaying his string of fresh cranberries and popcorn proudly. "We'll enjoy this for a day, then take them down to the park and the birds can have their snack."

"Wow, fireman, dispatchers and wild birds." Blair handed his string over and watched Jim add it to the tree. "You sure think of obscure ways to show you care." The look Jim gave him caused his face to warm. "Sorry, Jim. That didn't come out the way I meant."

Jim didn't comment. He looked back at the tree. "Okay, time for the candles."

"Real candles?"

"You have a string of lights?"

"Ah... nope."

"Then real candles."

Blair waited for Jim to find the clothespins and they fashioned some holders. Jim personally lit the candles and stepped back. "Get the lights, Chief."

The loft went dark. Only the small drop light in the kitchen glowed.

"Wow," Blair breathed in wonder.

The flickering flames caught the crinkled foil in the cardboard stars Blair made when he was ten. Light danced on the crystal snowflakes. The red and white of the popcorn and cranberry string added the traditional colors of the season. Blair felt the years of his childhood crowding his heart. Even without his mother present, it felt like Christmas.

"Now it's perfect," Jim said quietly.

"Yeah, it is," Blair agreed. He looked up at his friend.

His best friend.

God, his new family - all rolled up in one.

"Thanks, man."

"Welcome," Jim rubbed his hands together. "How about I get the beer and fudge. I have a gift for you to open. You get anything for me?"

Laughter bubbled up in Blair's chest. Jim so looked like a little kid. "Yeah, dude. I saw something that made me think of you. I'll get it. Hope it's okay if I wrapped it in the Sunday funnies."

"No sweat, yours is still in the store's bag." Jim bounded up the stairs, moving with ease in the darkness.

When Blair came out of his room, a `G I Joe Sporting Good Store' bag was under the tree and Jim was cutting fudge at the kitchen counter. A longneck waited on the table. Blair scooped it up and wandered back to the tree to add his gift from Wal-Mart to the bounty. He stepped back and admired their tree.

Awesome.

Blair sipped beer. It slid down like honey. He checked the bottle. Jim had picked up some expensive stuff.

"Here we go." Jim set the fudge down on the coffee table.

"Wait!" Blair snatched up the remote and turned on the stereo. Christmas music filled the loft. "Cool."

"Let's do it then," Jim said, hungrily eyeing the gift Blair had put under the tree. "I already know it's not something to eat."

"Hey," Blair protested, lightly smacking Jim's arm. "No fair. Turn it down, Cheater."

"I'm not a cheater, I'm gifted, remember?" Jim dropped to sit cross-legged on the rug. He eagerly reached for the gift.

Blair sat next to him and took his bag in hand. It felt heavy. The thrill of expectancy caused his stomach to flutter. Jim's hand on his arm stopped him from looking inside the bag. "What?"

Tilting his head as if listening, Jim grinned. "It just turned midnight, Chief." He smiled and nodded to the bag. "Merry Christmas."

Blair smiled back. "Merry Christmas, Jim."

End

Merry Christmas everyone!

God Bless.

I received a request for Jim's Fudge recipe. So, here it is.

6 ounces bittersweet (not unsweetened) or semisweet chocolate, chopped

1/4 cup marshmallow creme

1 ounce unsweetened chocolate, chopped

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/2 cup of water

2 tablespoons instant espresso powder (hard to find. Jim found his at QFC stores)

1 1/2 cups sugar

3/4 cup sweetened condensed milk

1/3 cup whipping cream

1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter

1 cup chopped nuts (optional)

2 ounces good-quality white chocolate

30 espresso beans

("what's with the coffee beans, Jim?"

"You put them on the finished fudge."

"You gotta be kidding me."

"Do you want to make fudge or not, Sandburg?"

"Sorry, man. Keep going.")

For easy clean up, line an 8-inch square glass baking dish with foil, overlapped the sides. Set aside the white chocolate and espresso beans - you'll use them last. Apprehend a medium-sized bowl and put in all the other chocolate bits, marshmallow creme, and vanilla extract. Keep your roommate's fingers out of the bowl.

Okay, your ready for the stove part.

Mix water and espresso powder in a heavy, large saucepan until espresso powder dissolved. Add sugar, sweetened condensed milk, whipping cream and unsalted butter and stir over medium heat until sugar dissolved, brushing down sides of pan occasionally with a wet pastry brush. Heat until you see the... well, maybe you non-sentinels should use a clip-on candy thermometer. Increase heat to high and bring mixture to boil.

Don't stop stirring!

Now, when the boil starts, reduce heat to medium-high and stir constantly but slowly with wooden spoon until the thermometer shows you're at 234 degrees F. Takes about 12 minutes, or the time Sandburg uses to tell a stupid joke.

("Hey! No fair.")

Immediately pour mixture over ingredients in bowl (resist the urge to scrape pan, you don't want that stuff in the fudge, seriously.) Stir mixture vigorously with wooden spoon until all chocolate melts and fudge thickens slightly, about 3 minutes. Not for wimps. Transfer the mixture to the lined baking dish. Smooth top of fudge with rubber spatula. Refrigerate fudge, uncovered, until firm. About 2 hours. Threaten roommate with bodily harm if he gets near it.

("Nice, Jim. I know how to stay out of the fudge.")

Ignore the guppy with fudge-breath. Okay, where were we? Right, almost done.

Now, the fudge is firm. Lift it out by the foil. Sweet how that works, huh? Trim edges of fudge. Yes, Sandburg. You can have the trimmings.

Cut into 30 pieces.

("He's so anal. Ouch!")

Now, melt your white chocolate in top of a double broiler over simmering water. I tried a microwave once, but burned it. Really pissed me off. You know how much white chocolate costs? Take a fork, plunge it into the melted white chocolate and drizzle over the fudge. I like to write 'Sandburg eats mold' on mine. Yeah, it's juvenile, but I have to get the stress relief where I can. Besides, as long as no one knows the order of the squares, they can't read it. Now press 1 espresso bean onto top of each piece and place in a stupid little candy cup that Blair brought home this year.

("Presentation, man, it's everything."

"Whatever, let me finish, Mold-boy."

"What?"

"Forget it.")

Refrigerate fudge until white chocolate sets up. About 20 minutes. You can store this stuff for a week in an airtight container in a refrigerator. Helps to bring the fudge to room temp before eating, but Sandburg never waits. So, I suppose you don't have to.

Oh, and Merry Christmas from the Ellison-Sandburg kitchen.

("Sandburg-Ellison kitchen."

"As if, dreamer. Hey! Stay out of the damn fudge!")

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

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