AN: Over 150 reviews! Thanks so much!

My Christmas chapter! (I haven't seen Dominoes, so consider this to be AU.)

This will be the last post in a while (hopefully not last chapter in this story...). I have a few ideas, but they're just not happening so far. I'm going to take a break and see if the inspiration comes back to me.

Happy holidays!

Like many people around the world on the 25th of December, Sylvester was bent over the open door of the oven, carefully examining a large fowl.

However, unlike 65% of people, he was concentrating on a special turkey thermometer that he'd purchased especially for this occasion, and unlike over 99% of those who actually used turkey thermometers, his primary objective was not taste and ensuring the turkey was not overcooked, but ensuring that it had reached an internal temperate of 165 degrees Fahrenheit and was thus safe to eat.

Checking the final portion of the turkey (left upper thigh), and finding that it had indeed reached 165 degrees (allowing for the margin of error of this thermometer, of course), he grinned and removed the turkey from the oven.

Perfect.

(It was going to be a perfect, safe, Christmas. He knew it.)

'Oh, come on, Happy-'

'No, Curtis! I am not putting that thing on!'

Toby was holding a rather skimpy Santa's Little Helper costume, looking imploringly at the mechanical prodigy.

'Please?'

She glared at him.

'I'm not wearing that! If you like it so much, you wear it!'

And she stormed off.

Toby pondered for a moment.

'Hey, Happy, if I wear it, will I get-'

An oily rag hit him in the stomach.

'Oh, not a wrench, which would cause me serious physical harm. Instead, you chose to throw an oil rag at me, which while it expresses irritation, does not cause any lasting or significant damage. Ergo, you like me! You really, really-'

A wrench flew past his head.

Toby decided to shut up.

(It was Christmas. He should probably at least try and not rile her up too much.)

'Okay, so now that we've added the silver nitrate to the nitric acid, we need to add 1.2 times the volume of 95% ethanol to the reaction vessel...'

Ralph smiled up at Walter.

Both geniuses were clad in lab coats and safety goggles.

(Walter was doing all the handling of the chemicals. Ralph was simply observing. As bright as he was, Ralph was too young to be handling potentially dangerous substances. He had, however, allowed Ralph to handle the silver nitrate while wearing gloves using a spatula. Brief exposure to small amounts was not dangerous.)

'...and then place it in a hot water bath until the mixture reaches 60 degrees Celsius, and keep it stable at that temperature until a white precipitate forms.'

Walter nodded, adding the ethanol as he did so.

'Then we'll have some silver fulminate, and we can make our crackers.'

Ralph cocked his head to one side.

'Including ourselves, there are 8 individuals who will be celebrating Christmas with us. If each individual pulls a cracker with every other individual, we will require 28 crackers. This will require more silver fulminate than can be produced without it self-detonating, so we shall have to repeat this process multiple times.'

'Exactly. While I am preparing additional silver fulminate, you could begin preparing and decorating the outer shells of the crackers.'

(Walter had a feeling that Ralph would enjoy that task. Genius or not, he was a 9 year old boy.)

(He had a nearly eidetic memory. Of course he remembered what it was like to be a 9 year old boy genius.)

Ralph grinned.

'That would maximise efficiency.'

Walter grinned back.

'Yes, yes it would. Oh, and between you and me, if we increase the amount of silver fulminate used in each cracker by 1/16th, and the grit size of the sandpaper used as the abrasive by one size, in comparison to average commercial crackers, we will increase the explosiveness of the crackers without increasing the risk of injury or damage.'

Ralph's grin grew even wider.

'That's cool. Really cool.'

He quickly removed his lab coat and goggles, straightening the tie he had borrowed from Walter ('Christmas celebrations require slightly more formal attire than I posses. Walter, may I umm...may I borrow one of your ties?'), and hurried downstairs to retrieve the paper they had purchased to use as the outer shells of the crackers.

Walter had a sudden (irrational) urge to play Christmas carols (and maybe even sing along to them).

He hadn't felt so cheerful, so carefree, for a long time.

He resisted the urge to delve into the why. (It was probably associated with his interaction with Ralph moments before. Thinking about his relationship with Ralph inevitably led to the Drew Incident and the associated complicated emotions...no, he was not going down that path.)

He shrugged.

He was just going to enjoy the carefree feeling.

(It was Christmas, after all.)

Happy smiled to herself, finally satisfied.

The garage was a veritable kaleidoscope of coloured lights and glowing baubles.

The Scorpion sign was no longer the only glowing object present, nor was it the only thing decorated with fairy lights. (Walter hadn't said anything about his sister's decorating of the sign while they were in Bosnia, so they'd just left it there, understanding that if he didn't say anything about removing it, he wanted it there. Just didn't want to express it.)

It'd taken her 16 hours, but she was done. (And just in time, too. It was already Christmas- their party would be starting in only a couple of hours.)

And it looked really good, if she said so herself.

(Add plenty of good food and her cyclone, and it would be just like she always imagined Christmas to look like.)

'Is it time to open presents yet?'

Ralph looked almost imploringly at the adults.

(Who had taken an illogically long time to eat dinner. Eating excessively quickly was bad for digestion; however, they had taken 54% longer than optimum.)

Because they were celebrating Christmas with the whole cyclone (a definite improvement on celebrating Christmas with just the two of them), his mother had insisted that he wait until their Christmas party to open his gifts.

Originally, it had been planned as a late lunch, however, owing to a case (Ralph wondered whether criminals celebrated Christmas, considering they seemed to engage in illegal activities on Christmas Eve), preparations had been delayed, so they'd ended up having a Christmas dinner instead.

(That meant he had to wait longer to open his presents. Which sucked.)

(Genius or not, he was a kid. He liked getting presents, and there was something illogically satisfying about tearing open wrapping paper.)

That morning, when he and his mother had Christmas breakfast with his father, he had been allowed to open a gift from him. (Which was labelled as being from Santa, but was obviously from him, since Santa Claus was a fabrication. He couldn't possibly be real- it was not possible for anyone to be inhabiting the North Pole without having been discovered to date, it was not possible to deliver that many gifts in one night, reindeer could not fly, and if anyone were to do so much stalking, they would have been arrested by the FBI by now. Or turned into an intelligence asset for the CIA or the NSA.)

But still, he wanted to open the rest of them!

His mother and Walter shared a glance.

'He has been very patient, Paige.'

She smiled at the curly-haired man, before turning to her son.

'Yes, it's time. Go ahead, Ralph.'

He beamed.

An almost-as-excited Toby immediately picked Ralph up.

'Come on, Ralph-man! The presents await!'

Approximately 20 minutes later, surrounded by wrapping paper, with his mother running her fingers through his hair and Walter's hand on his left shoulder, watching Happy and Toby have a wrapping-paper fight while Sylvester dodged the projectiles, Megan laughed and Cabe rolled his eyes, Ralph came to a solid conclusion.

This was the best Christmas ever.

Cabe took another gulp of his eggnog.

This had to be the weirdest Christmas he'd ever experienced.

Homemade crackers.(They were unusual enough here in the States, but Walter seemed to have kept something at least from his Irish roots, and then proceeded to put his own genius spin on it- he'd never seen such explosive ones in his life!)

Wrapping paper fights. (Honestly, Toby and Happy needed to be locked in an enclosed space for a few hours together. Either she'd kill him, or they'd get married, problem solved either way.)

A 9 year old boy who didn't believe in Santa but was excited to open presents anyway, with a mum and dad who weren't really his mum and dad in the traditional sense. (He did not miss all of those little glances. Even a blind man wouldn't, for goodness sakes.)

He swears that he heard Walter humming Christmas carols when he arrived in the early evening.

(He must be starting to go senile.)

Still, he thought, as he took another gulp of his eggnog: weird or not, this Christmas was growing on him.

(Just like this crazy group of kids.)

(And hey, that turkey was delicious and perfectly cooked.)

Megan helped herself to a third helping of everything.

She looked up to find seven people staring at her.

Walter spoke first.

'Are you sure it's wise to consume that much food?'

(It was probably testament to his emotional development, and their relationship, that he phrased his response as a question and not a statement.)

Megan took a bite of the simply delicious turkey, swallowed, and replied.

'It's not hospital food. I'm practically obliged to eat far too much of it.'

(And it was Christmas. If there was ever a time where there was an obligation to overindulge...)

Paige woke slowly.

Her neck was sore. Her left arm was numb.

As she gradually became more aware, she realized why.

She'd fallen asleep sitting on the couch, and Ralph was asleep on her left side, part of his weight resting on his arm.

(They'd all fallen asleep in the 'living room' of the garage last night, having stayed up late watching movies.)

She shifted slightly, carefully avoiding hitting Walter's head (he'd fallen asleep sitting on the floor, head resting on the edge of the couch in front of her and Ralph), and glancing over to make sure Megan was okay. (She'd resisted Walter's attempts to make her sleep in his bed, instead curling up on the other side of the couch.)

Carefully, Paige placed a cushion under Ralph's head and stood, avoiding stepping on Toby and Happy, who'd fallen asleep sort-of spooning on the floor, and ignoring Sylvester (who was slumped over the Proton Arnold machine) and Cabe (who was sound asleep at Walter's desk- from the light snoring, it seemed that special agents could sleep quite comfortably at desks).

Finally clear of the mess of sleeping bodies, she glanced back over at them all.

They looked so peaceful, so comfortable and at ease with one another.

Their dysfunctional little family of misfits.

Their cyclone.

She smiled.

What a wonderful Christmas it had been.

DISCLAIMER: PLEASE DO NOT PREPARE CHRISTMAS CRACKERS OR SILVER FULMINATE BASED ON THE INSTRUCTIONS CONTAINED WITHIN THIS STORY. I HAVE NEVER MADE EITHER AND THE INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE SILVER FULMINATE ARE OFF THE INTERNET. DO NOT MAKE EXPLOSIVES AT HOME. Also, turkey-cooking instructions are also from the internet; please double-check your own turkey before consumption to avoid food poisoning.