"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we get a tree?"

Jim looked up from his newspaper, distracted from his reading. A series of robberies in Cascade had the public in outrage. The perps were young and bold, overpowering shoppers as they headed for their cars and stealing the gifts they had just purchased. In their own twisted style, they wore Santa masks.

Blair fidgeted in his seat, his eyes darting from Jim to his bowl of shredded wheat - no sugar - and back to Jim again. "Well? Can we?"

"Sandburg, Christmas is for kids," Jim said bluntly, hoping the subject was closed. The loft had never seen a Christmas tree in all the Decembers he'd lived here. His ex-wife had shown no interest in decorating for the season. They're celebration had consisted of dinner reservations at a fine restaurant and exchanging presents between the main course and dessert.

"Uh huh." Blair nodded in agreement. "So, can we get one? This place is perfect for a tree, man. The bricks, the windows, all the open space, we could even invited the gang from the bullpen over."

Jim returned to his reading, deciding it was best not to encourage his roommate when he got like this. It was prudent to give in early, before it became a grand production. The mere thought of his co-workers in the loft gave him an urgent desire to nail all the doors and windows shut. It had been hard enough for Jim to get used to a roommate after his ex-wife moved out, although the last six months had not been that bad. So, maybe a tree would be okay.

"A small one," he said without looking up. "No parties."

"Cool," Blair said, turning to study the living room while he ate.

`He's picturing the place decked out in tinsel and garland', Jim thought with remorse. He dropped the paper and pinned his partner with his best Ranger glare. "Listen, Martha Stewart. I'm not putting up with a bunch of crap in here. One tree....green... a pine or noble... nothing more - got it?"

"Right, right," Blair agreed happily, oblivious of the lethal Ranger tactics

"Okay, girls! Listen up!" Simon Banks called out to the bullpen, quieting down the detectives and one police observer immediately. "Brown just told me his house isn't available for the party and my new apartment wouldn't hold a gathering for seven tiny reindeer, let alone you're ugly mugs. So, who's gonna volunteer to host our little get-together this year?"

Simon waited a moment, standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips. The room had become eerily silent, except for the whispering coming from Detective Ellison's desk.

"...comeonjim..."

"...sandburgshutup..."

"Jim? It there something you'd like to share with the group?" Simon asked with a saccharine-sweet smile, knowing he had his victim.

Jim walked into his loft later that week, a mild headache building behind his eyes. His senses had been giving him fits during the day and he was ill prepared for the staggering scent of pine as he closed the door. With a soft groan he eyed the ten-foot noble in his living room.

Blair walked out of his bedroom carrying a cardboard box. "Hey, Jim."

"What is this?"

"Well," Blair started, setting the box down on the floor by the tree. "We call it a tree. Ancient customs dictate that a tree in December---"

"Listen, Professor Sarcasm, I said a small tree. Now, in your case, that's any tree that's reaches your eyebrows. Besides, nobles are expensive, take it back," Jim ordered, heading for his icebox. He needed a beer in the worst way.

"Jim, you can't return a Christmas tree! Just think of the lines on the twenty-sixth," Blair said with a cheeky grin. "Besides, I didn't spend a dime. Simon gave me a budget for the party, and I'll have you know, I got an awesome deal on this baby, man." Blair was rummaging around in his box, happily setting out ornaments in a straight line on the coffee table. "I had to wait for you to get home so you could help with the lights, though. Do we have an extension cord somewhere?"

"Oh, no you don't. Our agreement was very clear." Jim twisted the cap off his beer and took a pull before continuing. "I agreed to the loft... you do all the work. I remember your words clearly: all the work."

Blair gave Jim his best `you just ran over my puppy, mister' look. "Jim, I can't do this by myself, man. Please?"

Thirty minutes later, the tree had lights.

Jim finished his report, using his mouse to save and send a copy to the printer. Picking up his last file from his inbox, he flipped it open and started reading the preliminary notes. A nine-one-one call from a citizen had alerted the police to a possible Meth lab operation in the blue collar neighborhood at the south end of town.

Wow, the fun never stops.

"Straight from burglary, Jim," Simon said, tossing a new file in Jim's inbox.

"How do you always seem to know when I've just emptied that out, sir?" Jim moaned.

"It's a skill you have to acquire before you make Captain," Simon admitted as Jim picked up the new file. "Give this one priority. The Santa Bandits struck again. This time the victim resisted and got his skull fractured for his troubles."

"Ho, ho, ho," Jim muttered. "I'll get right on this. Where's the victim now?"

"Still in the hospital."

"Hey, Jim... hi, Simon," Blair greeted cheerfully as he walked into the bullpen wearing his usual jeans, two flannel shirts and a navy wool coat - at least three sizes to large for his frame. "Found your white elephant gift yet, Simon?"

"Explain that part to me again, Sandburg," Simon said with a frown, crossing his arms. "I'm supposed to bring a used item... that I don't want anymore...wrapped up like a present?"

"Exactly, trust me, Simon, it will be a blast," Blair assured the taller man.

"Come on, Chief. We have a victim to interview," Jim said, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and turning Blair around by his shoulders to face the exit again.

Later that night, Jim turned down the heat under the skillet and lifted another lid to check the rice. It looked done.

"Dinner's done."

Blair strolled out of his room, his red marking pen tucked behind his ear. "I can't stop thinking about that guy at the hospital, Jim. How could these jerks beat someone up and steal all his Christmas presents? These Santa Bandits make Ebenezer look like the tooth fairy."

"They're getting bolder, too. The last one was in broad daylight with lots of witnesses," Jim commented as he sampled his cooking. He reached for the small soy sauce bottle on the table. "I brought all the files home. I want to go over the past robberies tonight. Maybe find a connection that got overlooked."

"I'll help. I want to get these bozos," Blair said fiercely.

"Speaking of presents... you got a list or something?" Jim asked casually.

Blair's fork paused en route to his mouth, his face showing bewilderment. "A list?"

"Yeah, you know... things you want for Christmas," Jim shrugged. "I'm not very good at picking out gifts. I'd rather just ask."

Blair leaned back in his chair, giving the idea some thought. "Cool, I've never been asked for a list before."

"Just give me some ideas, I'll look it over and decide which one to get, that way, you'll still be surprised."

"Okay...can you make a list too?" Blair asked pointing at Jim with his fork. "Fair is fair, man."

Jim shrugged. "I can always use a tall stack of `get out of tests free' cards..."

"Okay, everyone comfortable?" Blair asked the group sprawled around the living room of the loft. The Major Crimes Christmas party was in full swing. The generous spread of homemade cookies, fudge, veggie dips and cheeses had been ravaged by a hungry mob of off duty cops. Earlier in the evening, Blair had made an announcement that only twenty percent of the money budgeted for the party was spent, the rest was donated to the fund being collected for the victim's of the Santa Bandits.

Simon cleared his throat. "By the way, where did all this food come from?"

"I called in a few favors from the cooking department at Rainier," Blair said.

"Sandburg, I'm impressed," Simon said after a pause. "Great job, now tell us how to play the white elephant game."

"Okay, this is what we do," Blair started. "H! Put that down!"

Jim laughed out loud as H dropped the wrapped present he'd been shaking, managing to look like a guilty ten year old, an indignant cop and a person who'd had one drink too many - all at the same time. Everyone appeared to be having a good time. Jim settled back in his chair and waited for Blair to start explaining the rules to the game. Somewhere the kid had gotten hold of a stupid looking red and green elf hat, complete with Vulcan-like ears. It was hilarious. Jim snorted with laughter, earning another exasperated look from his roommate.

"Sheeze, you guys can't hold your eggnog worth crap!" the younger man moaned. "Okay. We already drew numbers, so the idea is this; number one gets to open a present and lets everyone see it. Then number two---"

"I thought you said this was fun, Hairboy" H interrupted. "What's so fun about opening used presents?"

"I'm getting to that, give me a break," Blair explained, rolling his eyes. "Number two has a choice; either steal the open gift or choose a new one. If you steal, your victim gets to pick another wrapped gift to open. Now, listen up, my fine, sloshed friends. After all the presents are opened, number one gets to have the final steal or keep what ever he's holding at the end. Everyone got it?"

The group looked at Blair... at each other... and back at Blair. Jim snorted again. This was going to be so much fun.

Simon opened the first present: A Tasmanian Devil necktie.

"Hey, I gave you that tie for your birthday!" H said, looking at Rafe.

"Exactly," Rafe answered with a smug look. "Enjoy it with my blessings, sir."

Rodriguez stole the tie. Simon opened a set of chili bowls. Jim opened a red toy fire truck.

"Wow, that's old! I'll bet its worth some bucks," H said and stole it. Jim growled at his fellow detective and opened a used CD of the Rolling Stones Greatest Hits.

Rafe stole the fire truck from H. Laughter filled the loft and probably half the building. H looked ready to weep as he watched his partner examine the fire truck. Miller stole the Taz tie and Rodriguez opened a German beer stein. Blair's turn was next; only one wrapped present was left. With an evil grin, Blair rose from his seated position on the floor and made a great production of examining each gift carefully. Jim tried hiding the CD's behind his back; after all, it was a double set. But Blair made him bring it out for examination, reading the song titles to the group. Finally, after a suspenseful five minutes of torture.

He stole the fire truck.

H hooted and jeered as Rafe opened the last present. It was a duplicate of Blair's hat. Jim snorted beer out his nose. The men laughed, some holding their middles and leaning over in pain. Rafe tried to retain a shred of dignity, but gave up when H snatched it from his hand and quickly pulled it over his partner's stylish hair. After the ruckus died down, Blair held up his hand.

"Okay, wait now. We're not done. Simon gets one more steal; he gives the chili bowls to whoever loses his gift. Then it's over."

Simon must have decided that Blair's example was worth following, for he seemed to take great pleasure in examining each gift. It was pathetic, Jim thought to himself, the way Rafe tried to encourage Simon to steal the hat.

"Jim, let's see the CD's."

Some how, the jewel case had ended up behind his back again, go figure.

Finally, Simon zeroed in on Miller. "I believe you have my tie, detective," the captain said gravely.

And the party was over.

After the last designate driver left with his charges for he evening, Jim locked the door with a sigh. What a night! The food was great. He eyed the loft critically, it didn't look too damaged. At least Simon had gone out to the balcony to smoke his cigar. Blair was clearing the dishes from the table. Forgetting the agreement that Blair was supposed to do all the work, Jim began to help.

"That was fun, Sandburg."

"Yeah, too bad Rhonda was out of town visiting her folks. Hey, who knew Simon was a Taz fan."

"You did a great job. Last year wasn't even half this fun." Jim grabbed the bleach and water solution under the sink and started cleaning the table while Blair ran the water. It was almost one in the morning.

"Leave the dishes for tomorrow. It's late."

"Wow, I've got to get you drunk more often, Jim," Blair said, looking more like a real elf in that hat as he teased.

"This is a once-a-year waiver," Jim answered with a yawn. "I'm going to call it a night, Chief."

"Night, Jim," Blair said, drying his hands on a dishtowel. "Don't forget your Buddy L," he added, nodding to the fire truck on the coffee table.

"Really?" Jim said. "It's mine?"

"Yeah, I didn't steal it for me. But you have to give me the CD."

"Deal!" Jim said, picking up the old toy. "I'll bet this is at least fifty years old, I wonder who brought it?"

"No clue. I brought the hat," Blair said, heading for his room. "What did you wrap?"

"Chili bowls," Jim admitted. "I told you I was no good at gifts!"

"No kidding! I'm gonna start my list tomorrow, man."

Jim shifted, seeking a more comfortable position, and let his eyes sweep the parking lot once more. It was late afternoon. The overcast sky starting to lose the light as the hidden sun sank to the west. The shopping mall had expanded its hours, the stakeout was expected to last until after nine.

Blair sat in the passenger seat, typing on his laptop.

"Explain to me again, why did you think they'd hit this mall next?"

Blair pushed his glasses up on his nose with his finger. "Well, according to the files, their first robbery was here, and it went off without a hitch. Now the last robbery was kinda messy, so I'm thinking they'd want to return to a sure thing - at least in their minds, anyway."

Jim nodded, it sounded reasonable. "What are you working on?"

"A Paper on the White Deerskin Dance of the Hupa. They're a tribe that lived in northern California," Blair replied, already returning to his computer.

"Uh huh." Jim watched an exhausted-looking woman with three small children, all under the age of four, walked out of the mall entrance. She was loaded down with shopping bags, a prime target for the Santa Bandits. "You have your list ready for me yet? It's less then a week till Christmas."

"You don't want to hear about the importance of the albino deer to the Hupa culture?" Blair teased as he continued to tap away on his keyboard.

"I'll pass."

The woman made it safely to her car, a forest green mini van. Jim continued to survey the huge parking lot. Maybe it was time for them to move. The lot was enormous. The super mall was new, built last summer and specialized in outlet stores. So far, they have been reporting mediocre sales, but the store owners were hoping the Christmas season would pull them out of the red.

"Okay, I'll get you the list tonight...before I go to bed. Remind me, okay?"

"Right."

Half a dozen cars down from the green mini van, a man suddenly appeared, heading towards the woman as she began loading her kids into their car seats. The back tailgate of the van was open, sticking up like a flag from a mailbox. The shopping bags sat on the floor of the van, behind the seat.

"I think we've got something, Chief," Jim muttered as he reached for his door handle. Even though the cop had no problems watching the possible robbery in progress, the actual events were several aisles away. The robber, a white man in his early twenties, slipped a rubber Santa mask over his head. "Call it in, it's going down!"

Jim ran, weaving between the parked cars, keeping his eye on the Santa Bandit, who was nearing the van now. The woman continued to load her children, totally unaware of the approaching danger. Jim was still two aisles away. The man reached for the sacks.

"Mommy!" a three year old girl with long blond hair cried out in alarm, pointing to theft in progress.

The woman turned from buckling her infant into the car seat. "What?" she asked, turning to look down to her daughter and seeing the robber for the first time "Hey!"

"Cascade Police! Freeze!" Jim shouted as he watched the woman move to boldly confront the robber, only to be pushed roughly away.

She fell back, her head bouncing hard off an adjacent truck before she fell to the ground. The robber had sacks in each hand and ran, never looking back.

"Stay put, miss! My partner is calling for backup," Jim shouted as he ran past. The woman was on the ground, dazed but conscious.

The robber ran straight down the aisle. Jim chased, only fifty feet behind and gaining. As he closed the distance between them, the robber dropped the bags and ran with earnest. An old, white sedan careened around the corner ahead of them just as Jim reached the robber and brought him to the ground with a flying tackle. The white sedan paused as it neared, then gunned the engine and sped past them, back towards the direction of the woman and her minivan.

Jim had his cuffs out and on the robber in an instant. Using a convenient railing from a shopping cart collection area, Jim was able to cuff him in a manner to prevent the robber from running away. Maybe he could get back to his Ford in time to follow the sedan. Jim was convinced the robber's accomplice was the driver. Jim glanced back towards the minivan to see the three year old child standing directly in the path of the sedan. Where was the mother?

"Get back!" Jim screamed, breaking into a run. The sedan wasn't slowing. Jim zoomed in on the side mirror and saw the eyes of the driver fixed on him, not on the path ahead. With a sickening knowledge that he was about to witness a horrible tragedy, Jim tried pointing desperately at the child. The driver's reaction was to increase his speed, his eyes still on the mirror, watching the cop.

Just when Jim thought it was going to happen, Blair leaped from between two parked cars, his long hair streaming out behind him as he ran with the determination of an Olympic runner. At the last possible moment, the observer scooped up the child and tossed her back, less then a second before the sedan struck him. The right corner of the grill hit his lower body, spinning him over the hood and off the side as the car sped away.

No! Jim felt as if his heart had stopped beating. An icy ball of fear formed in his gut as he ran.

Blair looked like a rag doll as he dropped to the ground and skidded painfully on the asphalt before coming to a stop on his side. He managed to lift his head, his eyes searching for and finding the child. She was safe. Crying as she lay on her side on the asphalt. Nearby, the mother was beginning to stir from her daze.

Jim reached Blair's side, his hands reaching out to hold Blair's shoulders still. "Don't move, Chief," Jim urged as he scanned down the younger man's body.

"Jim...oh, god... my leg." Blair's closed his eyes tightly, his face contorted from the pain.

Jim patted his own coat, located his cell phone and pulled it out. "I know, kiddo. Just stay real still, okay? We'll get you fixed up. You did an amazing thing here, Junior. You're a real hero," Jim crooned as he punched the numbers for dispatch with a trembling finger. God, what if there were internal injuries? Jim knew it was possible to dump your entire blood supply into your abdomen and pelvic area, Blair could die without losing a drop of blood on the pavement.

"Emma," the mother called out softly, crawling to her daughter's side and lifting her carefully into her lap as she sat down on the ground. "Honey...stop crying. You're okay."

"Momma...he hurt me," the little girl sniffed as she pointed an accusing finger at Blair.

"No, baby. He saved your life," she replied, breaking down completely and crying into her daughters soft blond curls.

An annoying buzzing sound flitted around Blair's head. With a soft snort, he tried to shift under the warm blanket and felt an unpleasant pull between his legs. Opening his eyes in surprise, he looked directly into the face of his roommate.

"'Bout time you woke up," Jim told him with a stern face. "I was getting bored."

Blair examined his memory, searching for an explanation for his current position. He felt like someone had taken a bunch of cotton and stuffed it between his ears, totally filling his head. He couldn't think. He couldn't remember anything. Jim looked okay, that was a relief. The tall cop was leaning over a metal railing that Blair instantly connected with the type you find on the sides of hospital beds.

He was in a hospital bed.

This is `so' not a good thing.

"Waz'... whaaa..." Blair paused to run a dry tongue over Vaseline coated lips. Yuck.

"Here."

A plastic spoon with a few ice chips appeared between his lips and Blair felt the cool chips slide in his mouth. Opting to suck on the ice instead of ask Jim what the heck was going on, he let his gaze roam. Yep, definitely a hospital room: light blue walls, a TV hanging from the ceiling in the corner, a small sink under a mirror against the wall, a curtain that could be pulled around to circle the bed for a little more privacy.

The ice chips were nearly gone. Blair looked back at Jim's face, finding the cop staring back at him, making Blair feel self-conscious. Jim had `that' look on his face, the one he wore whenever he was exasperated. But at the same time, Jim looked relieved and almost happy. It was a very un-Jim expression.

"Why..." Blair whispered, his voice was rough, his throat raw and painful, like when he woke up after eating the Golden tainted pizza.

"You've been in surgery," Jim explained. "We've been waiting for you to wake up, Junior."

"Oh... why..."

God, it was so hard to talk. Thankfully, Jim filled in the blanks for him.

"You got hit by a car. You're going to be okay, though. I'll let the doctor explain it to you."

The door opened and Simon stuck his head into the room. Spying a conscience Blair, he entered with a large smile on his face. "Well, well. The hero is awake at last."

"He's awake, but not all here yet, sir."

"Oh? How you feeling, Sandburg?" Simon asked.

"Fuzzy," Blair said, surprised to see Simon giving him a warm smile. He looked like he'd just gotten some great news. "Was I... driving?"

"No, we were on a stakeout," Jim explained as he adjusted the blanked on Blair's chest, pulling it up high, almost to his chin. "We were waiting for the Santa Bandits. You got in the way of one of the bad guys making a getaway, only he was about to run down a little girl. You saved her life, but you were too slow and managed to get clipped."

Blair frowned. What was Jim saying? A little girl? He yawned and let his eyes drift above Jim's head. A thin plastic tube connected his arm to a machine holding an IV bag. No wonder it was so hard to think, they must be feeding him a drug. It would explain why he wasn't feeling any pain. Jim said surgery and that always means pain. This was too confusing and he was tired. Since Jim and Simon both looked okay and Jim said the little girl was okay, Blair decided to worry about the rest of it later. He wanted to go back to sleep. Closing his eyes, he suddenly realized why he felt the pull between his legs.

Great, just great.

"Stay awake, Blair. The doctor's on his way to check you out," Jim said.

Blair obediently opened his eyes, not really interested in waiting for some doctor to start poking at him.

"How about you tell me what you want for Christmas? You never did give me that list," Jim said.

"Don't wanna..." Blair mumbled lazily, an intense desire to sleep washing over him. His felt his eyes slide closed again.

"Come on, Chief. What do you want?"

In the darkness between awake and asleep, Blair thought about Jim's question. What he really wanted was to be back in the loft, to be home for Christmas. It was their first Christmas together and Blair had been looking forward to it, the first home he ever felt like he belonged in. Not some stupid hospital.

Sometimes, life just sucked.

"He'll need twenty-four hour assistance, Detective," the doctor said firmly.

"Okay."

"Jim, what are you saying?" Simon said with surprise.

"I guess I'm asking for two weeks off, Simon," Jim answered evenly.

They were in the waiting room. Blair had been in the hospital for three days and was doing as good as could be expected. He was off the morphine drip but still needed pain killers. It was Christmas Eve day and Jim wanted the doctor to release his roommate.

"Two weeks? For crying out loud, Jim! It's not like I'm getting a lot of warning here."

"Look, Sir," Jim said, not willing to back down. "Blair and I caught the Santa Bandit, the perp gave us the name of his accomplice, we even recovered the stolen merchandise, and the mayor is thrilled his granddaughter is alive and well. All I want to do is give my partner what he wants for Christmas, and that was to be home for Christmas."

"Jim, he was high on morphine when he said that," Simon pointed out.

"So? That doesn't make his wish any less important," Jim responded. He turned to level a glare at the doctor. "Now I've equipped the loft with all the things Blair needs, a nurse is coming by once a day to check on him, he'll have constant assistance, what's preventing you from signing the release?"

"Nothing," the doctor said with a nod. "Just making sure you realize what you're in for. I'll start the paperwork. Just make sure he follows the post treatment orders to the letter."

"I'll see he does," Jim promised.

After Simon left to file the paperwork for Jim's last minute vacation request, Jim headed for Blair's room. Blair's memory of the accident had returned. When the identity of the final victim's of the Santa Bandits became public knowledge, Jim had to beat the media back from Blair's room with a stick, firmly denying all access to his roommate. Citing his friend's need for rest, Jim promised an interview as soon as Blair was up to it. The mayor had called the Police Chief and praised the observer, which secured Blair's position in Major Crimes.

"Hey," Blair said tonelessly as Jim entered. He was flat on his back in bed, both legs cast in plaster, keeping the broken bones from flexing. The more serious injuries were internal, a lacerated liver being at the top of the list. But Blair had come through surgery with flying colors and just needed time to allow his body to start healing. The room was filled with flowers and cards. Bright `get well' balloons floated in the corners, tethered to earth by ribbons attached to plastic weights shaped like daisies.

"You don't look very happy for a guy about to get his Christmas present one day early," Jim said.

"Jim, I told you man. I don't need anything, okay?" Blair said grumpily. The pain killers were doing a number on his stomach and the doctors had finally found a medicine to prevent the nausea. Blair's ability to keep his breakfast down that morning had been the final deciding factor in obtaining Blair's release.

Jim dropped into a chair next to his friend's bed. "I just came from talking with Santa and he told me that you wanted something special for Christmas."

Blair eyed Jim in disbelief. "Are you on sneaking doses of some of my drugs, man? You said it yourself, Christmas is for kids."

"True," Jim said. "I just had to find the kid inside me again."

Blair's face softened a bit. "Yeah? Okay, so what did Santa say I wanted?"

Jim pursed his lips in thought and gazed up at the ceiling. "Oh, he said something about a song."

Blair huffed, a look of disappointment clouding his face. "A song?"

"You know, the sappy one every radio station plays this time of year. `I'll be home for Christmas... you can count on me..."

Blair's jaw dropped. He swallowed hard before speaking. "What? Are you playing with me? I'm getting out of here?"

Jim nodded. "The doctor's signing your release as we speak. The loft is ready, I had to install a few things to make the next month easier for you to get around, but, yeah, you get to come home for Christmas."

Blair's eyes shined, he blinked a few times before dazzling Jim with a brilliant smile. "How'd you know, Jim? I never even wrote that list you kept asking me for."

"Let's just say you talk under the influence of morphine, Sandburg," Jim joked as he stood. "Now, you ready to blow this Popsicle stand? I've pulled a few strings and got Cascade Fire to transport you home in their ambulance. I gotta warn you though; you don't get to take all this crap home to the loft. So just pick out two or three arrangements and I'll have the rest of it dispersed to other patients. It's obscene the way this town's been lavishing you with praise."

Blair snorted, the smile still on his face. "Oh, yeah? Well I'll have you know I'm a hero. And we heroes have certain standards, ya know? In fact, I expect a few changes when I get home..."

"Don't push it, Junior. I can still take back the other presents waiting for you under the tree. Obnoxious heroes that start demanding things get coal in their sock," Jim warned.

Blair suddenly got a serious look on his face. "Oh, wait. I never got a chance to shop for you, Jim. Tomorrow's Christmas and you didn't get a present from me."

Jim shook his head. "That's where you're wrong, Chief," he answered seriously. "I got my present about three days ago, when you woke up after surgery."

The End

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