Rating - G
Spoilers - Oh dear!  Let's just say there are references to *many* eps from every season.

This story-of-sorts was the result of Angie's post on CT regarding what a TS Christmas/Hanukkah ep would be like.  The phrase that started it all was:

Angie:  Personally, I wanna see Naomi serving some of the weird stuff she cooks to William Ellison. <g>  Talk about divergent personalities!!!!!!

I replied, then she replied, then I replied, then she...well, you get the picture.  Eventually, a story was born.

Our apologies to Monty Python and the Holy Grail.  Angie and I were both tired and I was on lots of medication.

Many, many thanks to Becky for betaing this joint insanit...er, effort!
Dedicated to the Spirit of Friendship.


Angelyn Harrison and Iris Wilde

"William," Naomi smiled sweetly, "would you like some tongue?"

"Naomi, I would *love* some tongue."

"Jim," Blair muttered for Sentinel ears alone, "make your dad stop."

"Stop what, Chief?"

"That's my mom."

Jim smiled slyly.  "Chief, I think we've had this conversation before."

"Yeah, and I should've figured where you inherited it from."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from Mr. Table Leg himself!"

Blair flushed a peculiar shade of purple.  "Oh yeah, that's good.  This coming from the man who's dating record looks like his driving record?  Remember the F150, Jim?  And the Expedition that YOU SHOT??  You killed a mommy car, Jim."

Jim stuck his finger under Blair's nose.  "Oh, hold the bus, Mr. I-Attract-Psychos!  Remember Iris?"

"Remember Lila?"




"Yeah," Blair sneered, batting the finger away from his face, "well, at least I can have more than one consecutive date with the same person."

"Chief, Sam tried to blow you up for forgetting a date with her."

"Naomi," William interjected loudly, pushing his chair back from the table and rising quickly, "would you like to take a walk and get some fresh air?

Naomi shot a disapproving glare toward the combatants then turned to William.  "Why, I'd love to, William.  Boys, don't wait up for us!"

"Whoa, Mom!"  Blair's eyes ping-ponged back and forth between the two parents as he desperately searched for a reason to keep his mother in the loft.  "You can't go for a walk now.  It's late...it's cold...it's dark."

"It's only 8:30, and there's plenty of light coming from the street lamps."  Naomi winked as William helped her with her coat.  "Oh, and don't worry.  I'll stay warm."

The door slammed shut.  Jim and Blair stared at it for a long moment.

"This is all your fault, you know."

"And how is it my fault, Chief?  It's your mother who was making googly eyes at my dad."

"Googly eyes, Jim?  GOOGLY EYES?  How ancient are you, exactly?  Mr. Magoo had googly eyes."

"Probably because he'd spent ten minutes with your mother."

With a primal scream, Blair launched himself at Jim and began pummeling him with his fists!  Blood began gushing from the Sentinel's nose and mou---


Whoa..Hold it hold it hold it.  We interrupt our story to tell you that our editor has been replaced.  The former editor was full of all sorts of rubbish and kept changing what we wrote.  We apologize for any inconvenience and now return you to our story.

The correct story path is below:


"Googly eyes, Jim?  GOOGLY EYES?  How ancient are you, exactly?  Mr. Magoo had googly eyes."

"Probably because he'd spent ten minutes with your mother."

"Okay, Mr. My-Skin-Is-So-Sensitive-I-Have-To-Use-Ivory-Snow.  You do remember whose turn it is to do the laundry next time, right?  Remember Jim, the hand that holds the laundry detergent is the hand that rules the sentinel's world."

"Is that a threat, Junior?  Are you threatening me?  Let's get one thing straight.  If my skin gets the least bit irritated after you do the laundry, you'll find yourself eating the detergent."

Huge, limpid blue eyes turned into two liquid pools and one bottom lip quivered ever so slightly.....



On with the story...


"...you'll find yourself eating the detergent."

"Ooooh, a counter threat from the scary tall guy.  I'm so afraid.  See me trembling with fear?  I'm quaking here, man."

"Scary tall guy, huh?  Who's calling who scary?  I seem to remember it was you who believed in the ghosties, and then they came and found us.  Remember Molly?  'Oh Jim, we just have to open up this realm of your senses.'  THEN I find out you've given me peyote instead of cold medicine!"

"Yeah, well, the last time you took SenQuil, where did that leave you, Mr. I-Have-A-Cold-And-I'll-Sneeze- On-You-If-I-Want-To?  Left you hanging under a train, didn't it?  Huh?"

"Well, at least the criminals were real people and not some free-floating vapor!"

"Expert say, Jim, that heightened senses are a sign of mental instability."

"Yeah?  Well, I'd have to be crazy to hang around with you!"





"Anal retentive--"



<<Later that same evening......>>

"Look, Mom," Blair tried to step away from his mother, "I do not need you to button up my shirt."

"Blair, darling," Naomi worried the buttons as Blair tried to squirm away, "you can't fasten it properly with that cast on your arm."

"Naomi...MOM!"  Blair grabbed his mother's fingers, preventing her from straightening his collar as well.  "Stop.  I'm all right.  It was just a little accident."

"Just a little accident, eh, Sandburg?"  Simon grinned around his unlit cigar.

"Simon, we didn't ask anyone to call the cops."

"Well, that's what usually happens when you also get a call for a fire truck and an ambulance."

Blair gave a long-suffering sigh.  "Mom...overreacted.  We didn't really need a fire truck."

"Blair, dear, the room was filled with smoke, and flames were shooting from the Christmas tree.  It was definitely a job for the fire department.  Don't you agree, William?"

William Ellison placed an arm around Naomi's shoulder.  "Your mother's right, Blair.  We could smell the smoke before we entered the building, and when we looked up and saw it billowing out of the loft....well, calling 911 was a logical move."

"Dad...never mind.  Just never mind."  Jim descended the stairs from his room.

"Jim!"  Simon called heartily.  "Glad to see you're up and about!  How's the head?"

Jim winced at his captain's booming voice.  "The head is just fine, Simon.  What isn't fine is all this noise, all this mess, and all these people in the loft at this time of night with the headache I've got right now."

Simon chuckled.  "Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I can take a hint.  Ms. Sandburg, Mr. Ellison, Happy Hanukkah and Merry Christmas.  Jim, Blair...try to keep things down to a low roar, okay?  Things like this look bad for the department's image."

"Thank you, Captain Banks," Naomi cooed.  "You arrived at the hospital so quickly and seemed to know your way around....almost like it was second nature for you."

"So I did.  Well, goodnight, Ms. Sandburg, Mr. Ellison."

"Such a nice man for a pi---um, police captain.  Well, it's late, and I suppose I should head back to the hotel.  Or perhaps I should just sleep here on the sofa so I can keep an eye on you boys?"

"No!  No, Mom, that's, um, quite all right."

"Yeah, Naomi, we'll be fine."

"Well, if you're sure...William, would it be much trouble for you to drop me at the hotel?"  Naomi peered up at him through long lashes, a hint of a smile gracing her lips.

William returned the smile.  "Why, not at all, Naomi.  In fact, it would be my pleasure."

"Oh, God..."

"What was that, Blair?"

"Nothing.  'Night, Mom.  See you tomorrow."

The door slammed shut.  Jim and Blair stared at it for a long moment.

"Ahhh...Chief.  You know, I didn't really mean that stuff about you jumping a table leg."

"Yeah?  Well, I didn't really mean that you were so dating challenged either."

"What about the driving?"

"That I meant."


"Jim, what was your last insurance payment...total amount here?"

"Point taken, Chief."

"You know, when I planned a combination Christmas-Hanukkah celebration, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

Jim walked into the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine.  "Don't take it so hard, Sandburg.  You couldn't have foreseen all of this."

"Nope," Blair agreed, " I couldn't have foreseen this.  I couldn't have foreseen the bird flying through the balcony door...landing on the Christmas tree...tipping it over so that it crashed into the menorah...couldn't have foreseen any of that, man.  Guess we should have considered an artificial, fire-retardant tree."

Jim handed Blair a glass of wine.  "Well, we did get it all under control."

"Yep, we sure did.  You've got a lump on your head, I've got a hairline fracture in my arm, and the tree looks like a scorched tumbleweed.  The bird got out alive, though."

"Could've been a lot worse."

"That it could, my friend."

Jim raised his glass.  "To Christmas."

Blair raised his as well.  "To Hanukkah."

"To peace."

"To friendship."

"To brotherhood."

"Ah, that's nice."

"Especially considering the look on my dad's face as he walked out with your mom."

"Don't even go there, Jim."


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