Police Navidad
Stille Nacht
“Chief, we ha’e a problem.”
Chief of Police Miranda Rights loved Hearth’s Warming. She just wished everypony else loved it as much so she could sit back and enjoy it. Just one year. Or at least a few hours during Hearth’s Warming Eve. About the length of a cup of hot cocoa, seven marshmallows, and a peppermint stick for stirring. But no. Somepony always messed things up. And as Chief of Police, the legal mess always flowed downhill to her.
She looked up from the paperwork-covered desk, regarded the thick brown residue in the bottom of her cocoa cup, and mustered up the courage to ask, “What is it this time, Deputy Nitpicky?”
“Misdemeanor trespassing. I was gonna to call it a 409-B-slash-17, but he wern’t bothering any of the Bearers and came along real peaceful like, so I dinna think the charges would stick.”
Nitpicky looked very proud of himself and his accent was coming to the front again. Something in Miranda’s gut gave a convoluted twist, because she was positive that her aging deputy had been a Crusader back when he was young in the Northlands, somewhere around the Pre-Discord era. The happier he looked, the more likely something had gone terribly wrong, somewhat on the scale of a firepony looking at a fireworks factory brewing up.
“No property damage? Injuries? Assault? Theft? Anypony in town signed a complaint?” Since Nitpicky kept shaking his head, she decided to err on the side of compassion. And less paperwork. “It’s Hearth’s Warming Eve. Give him one of Bon Bon’s peppermint sticks and release him. Anything else?”
Some of the exuberant joy had gone out of Nitpicky, which was perfectly fine with Miranda. His joy was her paperwork, after all.
“Well… There’s some sorta wagon parked on top of Derpy’s house,” he admitted. “That’s why I was headed there in the first place. She’s been having chimney problems, so it’s probably Clinkers just givin’ it a good cleaning.”
“At this time of night?” Miranda looked out the window at the moonglow reflecting from last night’s snowfall. “Go check on it. I’ll release the prisoner.”
“Are you sure?” He was already headed for the front door, but the way Nitpicky looked back over his shoulder gave her a twinge of guilt. He was the oldest member of the Ponyville police force, and it was cold out there. Then again, he had the most acute sense of trouble. If there was something wrong, he was first to see it and bring a report. Plus, she could at least get one more stratum of paperwork cleared off her desk if she stayed, which would make room for the paperwork Nitpicky could generate in one simple patrol around town.
“Take a quick look and come back,” she said in a compromise. “I’ll make you a cup of cocoa so you can get warmed back up, and you can stay inside while I take the next patrol.”
“Thanks, Chief.” Nitpicky gave a half-salute and trotted back out into the night, looking a little like a confused mauve sheep with all of his colorful winter coat still in, and a real coat on top of it. He liked to remind other officers that he was a Northlander and winter was his favorite time of year, but there were limits. Miranda had a snow-white parka and matching boots with enough wool between the set for two sheep, and she still felt the cold cut to the bone when the wind picked up. How he managed to tromp through the snow in bare hooves was beyond her comprehension.
“Good thing the Windigo aren’t out tonight,” she muttered without much conviction as she walked toward the interview rooms. The first one was empty, as was the second. The third had the door wide open and an immense red coat draped over a chair, but no sign of a prisoner. The rest of the rooms were likewise empty and Miranda was just beginning to think their bulky trespasser had dashed out into the snow without a source of warmth when she heard a noise coming from the break room.
She nudged open the door carefully and looked around, astonished at the change from an hour ago when she had gotten her post-patrol cup of counterfeit cocoa from the office machine. Garlands of festive flowers draped across the room, several bunches of mistletoe and holly grouped over each doorframe, and an entire row of lumpy stockings were spread out across the fireplace mantle. The dull tables had been spritzed up with red and green tablecloths, hung with bunting and glittering tinsel, and a huge decorated tree filled the back corner of the room with far more ornaments.
In the kitchenette, a young unicorn mare looked up when Miranda came into the room, a wisp of her blueish-white mane falling over one eye. She was decorated much like the room, glittering with tinsel from her mane to her ribboned tail, a spiral of bunting and holly leaves weaving up across her horn, and topped with a colorful white ball dangling from the point. Even her hooves were covered in shining black boots, done up with red wool tops and tiny jingling bells.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Miss Rights. I’m sorry, but the cocoa isn’t quite done yet. Have a seat and I’ll be right with you.”
“I’m really searching for a prisoner,” said Miranda, taking another look around the room for a place where a stallion large enough to wear the discarded coat might be lurking.
“That’s me,” chirped the mare, pouring the steaming kettle into one large mug, then another. “Although Deputy Nitpicky didn’t really arrest me. We just walked here and talked about his grandfoals.”
After a moment spent considering how the red coat she had seen would have fit over the petite young unicorn with enough left over for a whole family and a dog, Miranda decided to cast out an educated guess. After all, with the Bearers of the Elements of Harmony around, the unlikely was practically a certainty.
“Princess Celestia?” she asked, half afraid she was right. Miranda could not help but notice the mare was a bright white much like Celestia, although the snowflake cutie mark was a nice touch to her supposed disguise spell.
The young mare giggled as she dropped marshmallows into the mugs, stirring them both at the same time. “Oh, Heavens no. Haven’t even made it to Canterlot yet tonight. It’s a busy time for me. I’m Santa Hooves, but you can call me Nick.”
“Nick.” Miranda Rights looked to each side, thinking that the two other officers in the detention block might be playing a holiday prank, but no giggling miscreants could be seen other than the young mare. “Nick,” she repeated. “You can’t expect me to believe you’re Santa Hooves.”
“Of course not.” The young mare carried the steaming mugs over to a table and sat down, floating one to the other place setting. She picked up two peppermint sticks, placing one next to the other mug while stirring her own. “And I’m not Pinkie Pie either, before you ask. Part of the magic of the season lets everypony see me as they expect.”
There was always the possibility of changelings, but they took instead of bringing things, and besides, the approved method of testing a supposed changeling involved throwing water on them and looking in the splash pattern for gaps. In this weather, that practically invited frostbite, and changelings were probably hibernating for the winter anyway.
“Then Discord?” Miranda let herself down into the chair and looked at the steaming mug. Seven marshmallows floated in the dark chocolate, dissolving into fluff just the way her father used to make it.
“He’s a hard one to gift, I’ll admit.” The mare blew across her mug, took a brief sip, then blew some more. “Thankfully, he has his own friends to worry. I don’t visit everypony.”
“Really?” It was the only word that came to mind.
“Just those who are starting to lose their confidence in the season, no matter where they live. The ones who really need me to visit,” continued the mare between blowing across her cocoa. “That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re here because Deputy Nitpicky picked you up on a trespassing charge over by Derpy’s house,” said Miranda, feeling more confident as she returned to her proper role in an arrest, or not-arrest as the mare claimed.
“Had to leave by way of the window since the chimney was blocked.” The mare put her peppermint stick into the cocoa and stirred while talking. “Already left the gifts. Those girls almost caught me. Smart as they come and still on the nice list. You keep an eye on them for me, please.”
“I watch over all the children in town,” said Miranda, trying to get her metaphorical footing back by focusing on the apparent confession of the trespassing suspect. It did not help that she found herself stirring her cocoa with the peppermint stick much like she had as a foal. “And adults,” she added. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”
“Quis custodiet ipsos librariae I believe is the phrase Princess Celestia would use.” The mare took another longer sip from her cocoa. “There are none who we would trust more to look after her and her friends. Admittedly, she’s skirted the naughty list once or twice, but she always has the best in her heart, and I try to encourage that.”
“So you’re telling me you visit Twilight Sparkle every year?” asked Miranda. “Like this?”
“Oh, no.” The hint of a sly smile edged onto Nick’s face, making her brown eyes twinkle. “She would catch me if she could, and keep me. I have to cheat time enough to make all my visits every year in each of the worlds I cover. Only the ones who need me most, and only for a short while. That’s the rule.”
The only rule that Miranda Rights was thinking of right now was 706-stroke-C, Involuntary Commitment. Then again, there was dangerous-crazy and entertaining-crazy, a line that Twilight Sparkle and her friends hopped across frequently enough to think they were treating it like a game, but the town did have a mare who thought she was a dog and the embodiment of elemental chaos as the occasional guest, so…
“Shouldn’t you be getting home to your family?” she asked instead.
It was impossible for such a young mare to look so old in such a short time, but for just a heartbeat, Miranda could see… far more than she wanted. Then the young mare’s smile was back again, and she looked merely wistful over the top of her cocoa mug.
“Every young colt or filly who needs something to believe in this season is part of my family, for just one night. Young or old, no matter what species or demeanor, it can be a great burden to be needed by so many, and yet it is the greatest gift I have been given. I try my best to repay the favor, but there are always those who slip through the cracks or that I cannot help. You know what that is like, Miranda. We cannot dwell on those we cannot save or we will not have the will to help those who need us.”
It made the cocoa bitter in her mouth for a moment to think of the Ponyville citizens she had been unable to help, but as the mare said, there had been so many more she had helped over the last few years that she could not put names to all of the faces that blurred across her memories.
“I meant your real family,” said Miranda with substantial effort. “They’re probably getting worried that you aren’t back to your house this late at night.”
“You still don’t believe.” Nick gave a little smile. “That’s fine. You don’t have to believe to understand. Our actions speak far louder than mere words. Every year, you give a gift more precious than anything that can be wrapped in paper or tied up in a bow. You serve this town and its ponies.”
“It’s a difficult job—”
“But it’s not just a job for you,” said the young mare. “You give out of your heart. You are committed to the meaning behind the title, which is why you became the youngest Chief of Police in Ponyville’s history. You give your best, and above all, you give the gift of time. Time for the job, time for the other officers, time for others in town who need your help, but no time for yourself.”
“I’m very busy—” tried Miranda, only to be cut off again.
“Time is one of the greatest gifts. Mortals only have a small amount to spend or give as they see fit. On this special night, I try to make the best of the time I’ve been given by giving out of my time to ponies and their families.”
“I don’t have family in this town,” managed Miranda in the brief moment while Nick was breathing in.
“Quite the contrary.” Nick turned slightly away from her and faced the fireplace. “You’re fully committed to protecting this town and the ponies who call it home, even so far as to work extra shifts on this holiday. You consider them to be your family now, don’t you?”
“No, I…”
Miranda’s eye was caught by the lumpy stockings hanging from the break room fireplace mantle, each of them labeled with the name of an officer. She could see their faces, their families, knew who was having marriage problems, which ones were nursing sick foals, how many times they had come to her aid during the myriad of troubles the town had struggled through, and how many times she had helped them in one way or another, on or off work. And to one side of the fireplace was The Wall, marked with a series of plaques, one for each officer who had given their lives in service to the town. It was a small town, so there were only a scattering of golden stars on individual onyx plaques, but she had known each of the last few on the line, and it hurt just as much as losing a family member to think of them.
“More than a family,” said Nick quietly. “Brothers and sisters. To their memories, and all those who have gone before,” she added, raising her mug.
“To absent companions,” said Miranda before taking a sip of cocoa.
Silence reigned in the break room for a time, broken only by the crackling of the fireplace and the tick-tock of the old clock that had always run a few minutes slow. It did not seem to have moved a bit during her conversation with the daft but probably harmless young mare, but it still indicated a time far too late at night with far too many papers left on her desk.
“Well, I need to get back to work, and you should get home,” admitted Miranda reluctantly. She took a sip of her remaining cocoa, then blew on it and stirred some more. “Thank you for the cocoa, Nick. And for decorating the office break room.”
“Oh, I didn’t do that,” said the young mare. “The brownies did.”
“Brownies.” As much as Miranda wanted to see the young mare to the office front door and into the night for her trip home, 706-stroke-C was looking more probable with every word from the suspect.
“I can’t do everything by myself. They’re a great group of little helpers. Industrious, loyal, and clever. I mean most of the gifts I give are from the same world so ponies don’t get suspicious and stop believing, but there are certain cases where they’ll make something special. Like this.”
The young mare pushed a small package across the table. Where she had gotten it from was a mystery because Miranda prided herself on having acute senses, and it had not been there a few seconds ago. She picked up the package with her magic, giving it a gentle heft and feeling as much as possible.
There was something moving inside it.
“Normally, you should wait until Hearth’s Warming Day before opening your presents, but you scheduled double-shifts—again—so some of your subordinates could have that time with their families.” The mare fairly beamed with joy, smiling so much that Miranda could not help but look over her smooth white coat for signs of Pinkie Pie’s zippers or fasteners. “Go ahead. Open it.”
“I don’t think so.” Miranda tucked the box into her uniform pocket. “Ma’am, I’m afraid you need to return to the interview room. I need to send a few messages—”
“Because you think I’m crazy,” finished the mare. She shook her head slowly and the ornament on the end of her horn gave out a cheerful little jingle.
“You claim to be Santa Hooves,” said Miranda carefully, watching the mare for any rapid motions.
“And you think I’m not,” she finished. “That’s fine. We both know not everypony who claims to be Santa Hooves is. But the world is a better place if there’s a little bit of Santa in everypony. Right?”
“You mean being kind to others and giving gifts even to those who don’t deserve them?” said Miranda, still keeping a sharp eye on her holiday-decorated crazy prisoner, but not so sharp as to keep from taking a cautious sip of the cocoa, which had just cooled off enough for cautious drinking. The growing hint of peppermint lurking behind the chocolate brought back memories of her foalhood, good memories that she had nearly forgotten in the blizzard of paperwork and frequent Bearer disasters.
She lingered with the liquid chocolate on her tongue before swallowing, feeling the warmth as it hit her belly. The office chocolate maker produced watery sludge that could only vaguely resemble the real thing, no matter what they fed it for powder or the mix. This was far more like what her father made early in the morning before they opened their presents. Traditions were important and did not break down on species boundaries. Hers had been a mixed bag of traditions by any measure, and moving to Ponyville had dropped a few of them by the wayside, then more as the job took up her every waking moment. There were times she thought she was losing herself in her Mark, but…
She took another drink of cocoa, then looked over to the kitchenette. “When did we get the new cocoa maker?”
Nick shrugged and displayed her open hooves. “Brownies. They didn’t think it was proper to give you a gift without one for the rest of the officers. I think this one will do a far better job than the other since I looked it over before you arrived, and I’m starting to think Krampus is running a competitive business. Still, there’s nothing like the personal touch for a really fine cup.” She took a long drink out of her mug, all the way to the bottom, then placed it back onto the table.
“Brownies.” Miranda eyed the stainless steel and ceramic mechanism skeptically. “More like Filthy Rich snuck it in here this evening when I was out on patrol.”
“Another generous soul in a very special town.” The young mare stood up and stretched with the faint jingle of bells. “Well, I’d love to sit here all night and chat, Miranda, but my time here is short. Don’t forget to open your present tomorrow, and I left a little something for your deputy, also. We’re both getting a little old for stomping around in the snow, and a good set of snow boots is priceless.” She displayed her trim set of wool-lined black boots that extended almost to her knees with red wool cuffs and tiny bells at the tops. “Brownies,” she added as Miranda expected.
“As much as I appreciate the break—” and Miranda had enjoyed her brief time off immensely “—I’m going to have to ask you to stay in custody for a while. Just until we can get one of the doctors to visit and check you out.”
“Why?” The young mare cocked her head to one side, which made the ornament on her horn hang at an odd angle. “I’m perfectly fit, despite my age. I keep active, because flying once around the world every year would be a definite pain if I was out of shape. And my memory has never been sharper. There’s a lot of young ones out here on the nice list to keep track of, and a few naughty ones I have to pay particular attention to. Speaking of which, Doctor Stable is watching over a little filly who ate too many peppermints this evening, and I don’t think he’d have time to visit for a psych evaluation until tomorrow morning.”
“How do you know—” Miranda turned as the other unicorn headed for the break room door. She was caught off-guard and barely had enough time to put her empty mug back on the table by the time ‘Nick’ was out in the hall.
“Wait up,” she called as Nick’s tail vanished into the interview room, then the rest of her emerged with the massive coat hovering over her.
“You’re right, Miranda. I’ve enjoyed our time together, but it’s time to go— Wait!”
Almost unrecognizable under the huge coat, the mare stopped in the middle of the corridor as Miranda caught up, then she reversed course, vanishing into the break room they had just both left with her voice tossed over one shoulder.
“Forgot to put the mugs back in the sink and then I’m ready to go. Don’t forget Deputy Nitpicky’s present.”
“What present?” Miranda waited patiently since the break room had only one door, but there was no answer. She really did not want to put the young mare into custody, but she was obviously deluded to the point where it would be dangerous to let her go out into the cold. So she waited for a while as the sound of clinking ceramic died out, then for a while longer as no other noises emerged from the room except a faint hiss as if a gust of wind was blowing something up the chimney…
Miranda peeked into the room. The empty room.
“No,” she declared, looking behind the door, then giving the whole break room a thorough searching. There was no sign of the young mare anywhere, but the cocoa mugs were in the drainrack, washed and ready for use, while the table had been wiped clean to the point where Miranda could not even tell she had been sitting there. Even a reluctant examination of the fireplace showed no way that a unicorn could have vanished inside and scaled to the top without some serious spellwork. Or Santa magic…
“No,” she repeated, going out into the corridor and checking each of the interview rooms, which were similarly empty of either young mares named Nick or mythical reindeer in large red coats.
Then after suitable consideration, she took a look inside the detention wing and the two bored officers sitting there, neither of whom said they had seen anypony all evening.
Just to be certain, she checked the break room again, which was just as decorated as before. “No,” declared Miranda, heading down the corridor at a brisk trot.
“No,” she said again as she heard somepony at the stationhouse door. She galloped as fast as she could and threw open the door, just missing Deputy Nitpicky.
“Chief!” he said with a step backward on the cleanly swept stoop, which had been fairly snowpacked an hour ago when she had come back from patrol. “Glad to see you too. Thought you were going to be workin’ on your papers instead of tidying up out here.”
It was better not to tell one’s subordinate that one had been hallucinating, so Miranda merely nodded while looking in vain for booted hoofprints of the prisoner, or even tiny hoofprints of whoever she suspected had cleaned off the sidewalk.
“I… um… had some volunteers,” she explained weakly. “Come in. Did you get the matter of the parking violation resolved?”
“No, but if’n the wagon’s still on Derpy’s roof tomorrow morning, I’ll see that it’s ticketed.” Nitpicky stomped the snow out of his hooves on the mat before stepping inside. “Clinkers was just finishing up with the chimney when I left. And it sounds like Derpy’s children spotted our prowler, but they didn’t get a good look at him other than he had a red coat. They’re not going to sign a complaint, so no need to chase down the stallion I brought in.”
“Stallion,” said Miranda flatly before yielding slightly to the temptation of insanity. “Describe him.”
“Fairly handsome earth pony about my age,” started Nitpicky. “Red coat, black boots, brown eyes. Scruffy beard,” he added, scratching his own beard. “Said he had a strict schedule, but since the stationhouse was on his list, he was more than delighted to come along with me. Never did get his name, though. Odd.”
“Did he mention what kind of list it was?” asked Miranda while Nitpicky was hanging up his coat on the nearly empty coat rack.
“Just that he’d be glad to meet you. Knew you by name, as a matter of fact. Old friend of yours?”
Miranda was saved from having to answer by the sight of her nearby desk, clean for the first time since she had started at the police department. Not only clean, but organized, with each folder stacked neatly on top of each other, the loose bits of notes and photos tucked inside, and even the huge stack of the Crusaders’ file collected in neat array.
Although it looked suspiciously shorter than when she had seen it last.
Topping it all, directly on top of the layer of meticulous organization that would have sent Discord into a panic fit, was a large box decorated in red and white stripes, with a big bow on top. Of all the things she had not expected tonight, this was one of them.
“Looks like your volunteers left you a gift, Chief.” The old deputy ambled over to Miranda’s desk and turned his head to look at the card. “Or your secret admirer— Just a minute. This is my name. From Santa?”
Miranda peered over her subordinate’s shoulder and silently confirmed the observation, then touched a hoof to the smaller package she had tucked into her uniform pocket. One did not get to be a police officer without a certain degree of curiosity or skepticism, and both of those instincts were waging a fierce war inside Chief of Police Miranda Rights’ mind at the moment.
Curiosity won.
“A visitor seems to have left you a present,” said Miranda. “Why don’t we break with tradition just this once and open your gift today instead of tomorrow?”
“You really shouldn’t have, Chief.” Nitpicky blinked away a tear and shook his head. “I can’t accept it. Rules, you know.”
“It’s not from me,” said Miranda. “Honest. I have no idea who dropped it off while I was in the break room with the…” Prisoner was too harsh a word for a pony who had never been put under arrest. Detainee likewise. Suspect implied a crime of some sort, and right now the only crime seemed to be Standing Around When Deputy Nitpicky Came By, and quite possibly Giving Of Unsolicited Gifts To Public Officials Without Expectation Of Quid Pro Quo. “Guest,” she finished.
“Well…” Nitpicky eyed the box and the pristine wrappings. “I hate to tear into it. I’ve got a couple gifts for the grandfoals I haven’t mailed yet that would fit in there.”
“Allow me.” Since Nitpicky would have taken an hour to cut away every bow and seam so the paper could be reused, Miranda lit up her magic and accomplished the same task in a few seconds, although without the same neat pile of wrapping as a result. Giving the wad of paper a shove to fit into the trash can, she popped the lid off the box and placed it to one side.
Nitpicky had his nose into the box almost before she was done. “Boots!” he exclaimed, grabbing one with his teeth. He pulled out a large boot with mauve wool cuffs, turning it upside-down and looking at it from all angles. “Genuine Northern Stompers! And just my size,” he added after shoving one hoof into it. “Thank you, Chief! I mean whoever bought these for me.”
Three more boots came out of the box in rapid sequence, and Nitpicky was soon clomping around the room in happy bounds and jumps that a pony several decades younger would have never tried. “These are great! I have to show them to— I mean, Chief? Can I get a few days off to go visit my grandfoals? Not right away, of course. Their family is out visiting the in-laws, but they’ll be back shortly and I can get a train ticket and—”
“Take a week or two,” said Miranda impulsively. “You’ve got plenty of leave stored up.”
“Thank you, Chief!” After another lap around the central office area, Nitpicky sprinted for the front door. “Going on patrol,” he called over his shoulder. “Gotta try out my new boots.”
It was funny to see her oldest officer acting like a foal, and Miranda let out a brief chuckle after he galloped out the door, as not to detract from office discipline. She had to cut her laughter off fast because Nitpicky came right back in the door with the declaration of, “Hey, that wagon’s moving.”
It only took a few quick steps to reach the front door and look outside. True to Picky’s words, she could see a large airborne wagon with sled runners making a wide turn and seemingly pointed for Canterlot, gaining altitude as it went. And pulling the sled was—
Miranda Rights looked down at the ground, blinked several times, then looked back up into the sky, but by then the bright red sled with jingling bells had ascended enough that it was only a distant blur in the moonlight, and then it was gone. For just a moment, she could have sworn in court that it was being pulled by a huge fat reindeer in a massive red coat, the same coat she had seen in the interview room. And then there had been the tiny creatures sitting on the back of the sleigh, waving at her as they ascended into the night sky.
“Think it’s above weight limits for night time flying,” said Nitpicky. “Should we send word to Canterlot so they can ticket them?”
“No.” Miranda considered for a while, looking up into the star-strewn sky like she had so many years ago with her family. “No.”
Some time later when Miranda was sitting in front of her empty desk again, having carefully filed every folder where it belonged, she arranged her quill and inkpot, eyed the front door again to make sure Nitpicky had not returned early with another problem, and leaned back in her chair.
Then she sat up and pulled the small package out of her back pocket before sitting back down. Whatever it was still felt like something was moving inside, and since she had already set the precedent for opening unusual gifts before Hearth’s Warming Day, she placed it down on the cleared desk and began unwrapping. It only took a minute, even tucking the folded paper to one side in a fashion that Nitpicky would approve of, before she lifted the lid and looked inside.
The traditional gift for a retiring police officer was a golden pocketwatch, but this one was so silver it could have been made out of moonlight, and the hinged lid opened with only the slightest effort to reveal a sculpted marvel of gears and hands. Checking with the office clock showed the watch was perfectly adjusted, and the tiny alarm made a beautiful jingling tune when she turned it to the current time.
“Call to Evening” was a traditional Griffon melody, played to indicate the last Hour of Flight before Sun set, and she could feel her eyes begin to water with the phantom presence of her family all around her, looking up into the Night at her far-distant home. The engraving on the lid only brought the feelings to a head. Written in the loopy script of Old Griffonant was the same phrase that been on their house crest above the front doorframe, which she had walked underneath every day.
tempus fugit memento mori
In polite Equish, it was an encouragement to live life well because life was short. The literal translation was somewhat more direct, but the meaning remained the same. She sat there for a long, long time, reading the inscription over and over while old memories filled her mind.
“Yes,” she finally said under her breath. She tucked the gift away in the watchpocket of her uniform, then headed to the break room at a brisk trot. The police force was family of a different sort, and there were still two on-duty officers in the detention wing who had not experienced cocoa from the new machine, with the proper number of marshmallows and a peppermint stick for stirring.
After all, it was the season for sharing traditions with family.
