Chapter Text
Dan had scored Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve off in the annual police department holiday lottery, but the cost was working Thanksgiving Day and Christmas Eve. Thanksgiving Day was always a quiet shift, so Dan didn’t mind, and he'd volunteered for Christmas Eve.
Since Trixie had gotten back from the National Investigative Bureau and convinced Moms to distribute a lot of the prep work amongst the Bob-White clan, there wasn’t so much to do the day of, and Dan had taken to offering himself to the NYPD for the morning to help with crowd control for the Macy’s Parade. This was going to be a much quieter Thanksgiving for him, hanging around the station and making a few cursory patrols with Spider and whatever other pair of officers drew the shift. He did regret missing the Open House, though.
Dan and Spider’s mid-afternoon patrol took them down Glen Road. Everything was quiet, until they reached Crabapple Farm, whose driveway was full of neatly parked cars. A few had spilled out onto the shoulder.
“I missed this when I worked in White Plains,” Spider reminisced as they continued past.
“What, Mrs. Belden’s Open House? You could have stopped by any year; you were always welcome.”
“No. Well, yes, but that’s not what I meant. I meant holiday parties that don’t obstruct traffic, violate noise ordinance, or require officers, paramedics, or firefighters to resolve. Just neatly parked cars and a happy and safe party. Didn’t matter what holiday, it was not possible to get through a holiday shift with WPPD without catching a call.”
Dan chuckled. “We haven’t made it through this one.”
🔍
Dan looked up from the paperwork he’d been completing at the sound of boisterous voices entering the precinct. “Bobby,” he greeted. “Larry, Terry, what are you three doing now?”
The three young men set the bags they were carrying on the open corner of Spider’s desk. “We wanted to call dispatch and report a leftover emergency but Jim, buzzkill that he is, reminded us that calling 911 for a not-serious-enough emergency is a little bit illegal. But really, it’s an emergency. You and Spider, and whoever else is here, have to help with the leftovers! They aren’t all going to fit in the fridge any other way. So, we brought your share. If you hurry, it might still be warm.”
Dan hurried to unpack the bags, finding containers of turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, a couple vegetables, at least two casseroles, a gallon Ziploc full of rolls, and a whole can of cranberry sauce, as well as plates, utensils, napkins, and drinkware. In the third bag, he found a half gallon of apple cider from the local orchard and a pie container with slices of apple, pumpkin, and pecan pie.
“I think this is more than dinner for the four of us,” Spider observed.
Dan snorted. “You say that like tomorrow’s shift is going to be so upset to find Helen Belden leftovers in the breakroom fridge.”
🔍
Dan woke up slowly, taking advantage of the knowledge that he had a free day. He stretched lazily, starting with wiggling his toes. He rolled his ankles, then flexed his knees and hips. He arched his back, like an inverted cat, glad no one was around to see him or make fun of him. He let his stretching routine roll through his shoulders and neck and travel down his arms all the way to his fingers. That done, he finally blinked his eyes open lazily. The light was diffuse, which meant the sky was probably overcast. It wasn’t dark though, so they were probably light, white clouds, rather than low, dark, heavy storm clouds.
He sat up, his eyes immediately going the small window tucked under the eaves of his attic bedroom. The second he’d gotten comfortable enough in his post-Cowhands life to take interest in his room as his, he’d moved the bed until it was perfectly positioned so that his eyes went to that window first. He could see all the way to the point of Mr. Maypenny’s pie-shaped parcel of land.
Today the view was covered in what Dan guessed was six inches of snow that hadn’t been there the night before. It was hard to judge the depth of the snow from above it, but Dan had enough experience to be as good as anyone at it. Should patrol the northern loop, he thought to himself as he shimmied into fleece-lined jeans and a flannel shirt. The trees in the northern most part of the Preserve had rougher bark, and snow tended to stick to them, sometimes obscuring the trail signs. There were also lots of areas where rocky outcroppings created wind tunnels that could blow snow into the feed station until the deer couldn’t get at the feed that had been left for them.
But that could wait, because right now, Dan could smell pressed apple and hot cinnamon, which meant Mr. Maypenny had made cider donuts. The smell alone was enough to get Dan moving much faster than he had been since he’d woken up.
“Good morning, Daniel,” Mr. Maypenny greeted him, without turning from the cookstove. “Happy Leftovers Day.”
No one but the two of them knew about this holiday. At first, when Dan was just starting out and intent on proving to the world – and mostly himself – that he was an adult, he’d been embarrassed about the horribly uncreative name he’d given this tradition. He could imagine the cooing and “aw”s he’d get out of the women of the Bob-White clan if they knew about it.
Over the years he’d lived in Sleepyside, Dan had built a number of holiday traditions, from the Belden’s Open House to the Bob-White gift exchange, to New Year’s Eve at the Country Club, if he wasn’t working. He loved them all, but they were almost all large, boisterous affairs. Exactly the sort of thing Mr. Maypenny avoided, if at all possible, and left as quickly as he could. Even the time carved out for family Christmas was shared with Uncle Bill. Dan and his uncle had grown closer over the years, and Dan was glad of it, but the busier his life got, the more he realized he was missing time with his surrogate father.
So, he’d started carving out a day, in the week after Thanksgiving. It wasn’t the same day every year – he couldn’t control his work schedule that well – but he made a point of having a day. Just him, Mr. Maypenny, and leftovers for dinner, hence the terrible name of their personal holiday.
Dan eyed the donuts. “I’m not sure those qualify as leftovers,” he observed.
“Well, I can put them up until tomorrow, if you’d prefer,” Mr. Maypenny joked. “I think Helen sent cheese casseroles home with you yesterday. That’s practically quiche, in terms of breakfast leftovers.”
Dan snorted. “First of all, I think Honey’s boarding school classmates would be mortified that you think cheese casserole has any relationship with quiche. Second, there is no way you are making the whole cabin smell like this and then we’re not eating them.”
Mr. Maypenny was already carrying the platter of donuts over to the table, just as Dan filled two mugs of coffee and set them out on the table. “What’s on the radar for today, between our not leftover breakfast and our leftovers for dinner?”
“Saw it snowed pretty good last night. Figure I oughta get out to the northern sector, make sure the signs and stations are clear. Other than that, I’ve got nothing planned. It’s Leftovers Day, after all.”
“Alright,” Mr. Maypenny said. “Maybe take Opie, though. It’s heavy snow. I think you will get bogged down.”
Dan nodded. He was getting used to riding Opie, the new patrol horse at Manor House, but he still missed Spartan some days.
Several hours later, Dan returned to the rosy warmth of the cabin, to find Mr. Maypenny whittling a turkey out of a block of wood by the fire. “We have enough split?” Dan asked. He didn’t really want to go back out and split wood, but he was already dressed for the weather, and he wasn’t so cold yet that another hour would hurt him.
“Yeah, we’ve got enough for the night. Have to split some tomorrow. When is your next shift?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. There’ll be enough time to split another week’s worth in the morning.”
“I appreciate that, Daniel. I will still remind you I’m perfectly capable of splitting wood for the cookstove.”
Dan smiled. “No one would dare doubt your spryness, old man, but splitting wood is why you agreed to have a young punk in your home, wasn’t it? Least I can do to earn my keep.”
“You know good and well the wood splitting was not the only reason I agreed to take you into my home, and it’s certainly not the reason you’re still here.”
“I know, Pops,” Dan assured him.
🔍
“Merry Christmas, Apollo,” Dan murmured when the horse neighed at him as he stepped inside the stable on Christmas morning, still in uniform after having agreed to pull the Christmas Eve night shift so that officers with a family didn’t have to. “Uncle Bill awake yet?”
Apollo neighed again but Dan also heard a snort from the storage room before his uncle came out with a pail of grain. “You think Apollo would only be neighing at you if he hadn’t had his breakfast yet?”
Dan shrugged. “Aw, he’s still a growing boy, just like me. We gotta eat.”
“One of the many reasons I’m grateful the feed bill for both of you isn’t my responsibility. Merry Christmas, Dan. I trust the night shift was quiet.”
“Relatively. Got called out to Crimper’s to discourage a couple of last-minute-dads from doing something they’d regret today over the last in-stock gift-of-the-year. They magically sorted it out as soon as they saw two officers in uniform walking down the aisle toward them.”
“The desired outcome for all involved, I imagine.”
“Absolutely. No one wants to arrest a parent on Christmas Eve for trying to buy Christmas presents for their kid. Especially because there won’t be arraignments until the 26th, which means someone has to stay on duty at lock up, where department policy is that they can clock out when the night shift ends, if there’s no one in lock up.”
“You left a change of clothes in the apartment, right? And then the Bob-Whites are doing gifts up here, and then you’re taking a nap after working all night, and then you, Mr. Maypenny, and I are having dinner and stockings at the cabin. Do I have that all correct?”
“Exactly right, Uncle Bill.”
🔍
By the time Dan had changed, made his way into the Manor House kitchen to pour himself a large mug of coffee, and located Honey, the Beldens and Fraynes had also arrived from breakfast at the Farm.
As they all found seats around the living room, Honey looked at her watch. “Let’s call Di! It’s late enough now that they should be up and about.”
The idea was greeted with as much enthusiasm by the Bob-Whites’ families as by the BWGs themselves. They’d all really become one big family, and having the Lynch contingent in Arizona this Christmas had been harder than any of them quite expected, especially with Brian also not home for the holidays.
Honey was already dialing and then putting the phone on speaker before Di had even answered.
“Merry Christmas!” Di greeted cheerfully.
“Merry Christmas!” Everyone in the room responded at once.
“Everyone’s there?” Di asked.
“Except the Lynches,” Honey confirmed. “And Brian, of course. I’ve put you on speaker. How’s the ranch in Arizona treating you this time?”
“It’s treating me great. Mart’s up to something mysterious and I’m a little worried about it. Any one there know what’s going on, and what it might have to do with a present wrapped in newsprint and duct tape?”
Dan didn’t dare look at Trixie, certain she’d find the whole thing mysterious and knowing she could always read him like an open book.
Sure enough, Trixie replied, “I don’t know anything about anything like that, but it looks like Dan has an idea.”
“I know nothing about any present,” Dan defended, and sounded sincere. It probably had something to do with Tilney Britten, but the man wasn’t breaking any laws by travelling to Arizona, by staying at the ranch, by talking to Mart, or even by giving Mart a poorly wrapped present, and Dan had no proof that said present had anything to do with Britten, so really he didn’t know anything about why Mart was acting mysterious about a present. He might know why Mart was acting mysterious in general, but there was no need to dampen Christmas cheer by letting people worry about what Britten might be up to.
🔍
Christmas day had been enjoyable, but Dan was exhausted. A two-hour nap in the middle of the festivities had not been enough after pulling the Christmas Eve night shift. He’d do it again, in a heartbeat, of course. As one of the few officers on the Sleepyside police force that didn’t have children or grandchildren, he could schedule his Christmas festivities around his job and everyone who mattered to him would understand. That didn’t mean he didn’t need more than two hours’ sleep to feel human. He was absolutely ready to collapse into bed for closer to twelve hours than two.
So, of course, his phone rang. It wasn’t dispatch or Captain Molinson, so that was a plus, but it was still bedtime.
“M’ry Chris’s,” Dan mumbled, trying to be festive, and mostly just being sleepy.
“Merry Christmas,” Di replied automatically.
Dan blinked. He’d already talked to Di today. She wouldn’t call back unless she needed something. “Merry Christmas,” he tried again, shaking his head to wake himself up, and trying to guess what she needed. “Is Mart still being mysterious?”
“No, he’s come clean.”
“But he’s still very much in the dog house,” Mart chimed in. Dan blinked again. He hadn’t realized he was on speaker. Mart continued, “and there’s been a development.”
“With Britten?” Okay, that warranted keeping him from his bed.
“I assume?” Mart said, and explained how he’d come to be in possession of a poorly wrapped gift from an unknown source that Mart and Di had unwrapped before they panic-spiraled and convinced themselves it was actually a bomb. “So… what do we do?” Mart asked nervously.
Dan considered. Di and Mart were overreacting. It was just a tape recorder. But Mart had been part of the reason Britten ended up in jail, and no matter how on the up-and-up he seemed, revenge was a possibility. Being paranoid didn’t always mean there was no threat. “Try the eject button,” he suggested at last. “Should be manual, not electrical, so it should work even without power. See if there’s a tape inside.”
“Are you sure that’s not going to trigger it?”
Dan shrugged, even though Mart couldn’t see it. “I’m not sure of anything. But it’s a hell of a risk if it is the trigger. Rough handling, someone accidentally dropping it, could set it off. And that assumes you aren’t jumping at shadows and there is a bomb.”
A few seconds later, Mart’s voice, cautiously relieved, admitted, “So, yeah, there’s a tape in here.”
“Anything under or around the tape?”
“Not that I can see?” It was definitely a question, even if it was phrased like a statement.
“Okay,” Dan said, slowly convincing himself this really was a tape recorder and not a bomb. “Does the tape or the recorder weigh significantly more or less than it should?”
“No.”
“Well, good.” I’m not going to get my best friend and his wife blown up over the phone. #LifeGoals. “Then it’s probably not a bomb. Plug it in and see what Tilney went to all the trouble to tell you.”
“Are you sure it’s not a bomb?”
Dan sighed. He was too tired for Mart’s dramatics. “Plug it in or don’t or call the bomb squad. Totally your choice at this point. The bomb squad might take offense if they get called away from their families for a Christmas greeting.”
“What are we supposed to do with it if we don’t plug it in?”
“Whatever you want. Throw it out.”
“And have it blow up some poor sanitation workers when the garbage truck tries to compact it?”
Dan sighed. “It’s not a bomb, Mart. You’re spiraling and freaking yourself out. Plug it in.”
He didn’t hear Mart move, and prepared himself to argue the point further when Mart squealed. “Di! What if that had been the trigger?!”
“Then we’d be dead,” Di replied matter-of-factly, reminding Dan once again why he loved that woman. “But we’re not, because it wasn’t. We called Dan for advice. The least we could do is follow it. Now press play. I want to know what all this fuss is about.”
“Di’s right,” Dan echoed. “Press play; let’s hear it.”
“If we blow up Uncle Monty’s ranch, send flowers.”
“I can do that,” Dan agreed drily. “If you press play in the next thirty seconds, Mr. Melodramatic.”
A third voice came across the speaker, older, and not one Dan recognized. Britten, he assumed. His hunch was soon confirmed by the contents: Christmas greetings, a very sincere and touching apology especially for Di, and a shiny new job Tilney Britten was on his way to Hollywood to accept. Dan couldn’t really begrudge him a second chance, when Sleepyside had given him one of his own.
When the tape clicked off, for a moment, no one said anything. To break the silence, Dan said, “Well, that… wasn’t a bomb, anyway.”
Di giggled a little raggedly. “Are you sure? It kind of feels like one.”
“Are you okay?” Mart asked gently.
Di confirmed she was, just that the apology and its focus on her was so unexpected.
“I don’t think anyone could have expected all of that,” Dan assured her, before telling them he was going to bed, now that the crisis was averted.