They reached their next destination in the Lower East Side in record time. Hesam called it "the only night that the Christmas trees outnumber the people". There was hardly anything around but cabs at this hour, probably still more cabs than Christmas trees, but the tendency was there. It had started to snow again, but any Christmassy feelings were completely driven from Peter's mind as they got on scene.

The dispatch had reported a hold-up at a liquor store in Stanton Street, and the police was already there by the time the ambulance arrived. Several NYPD cars were parked outside the store, and an officer told them to stay put as soon as they arrived. Hesam threw Peter a glance that plainly said, See, Christmas Eve doesn't stop these things from happening either. Peter pretended not to notice. A second ambulance arrived a few minutes later.

For an agonizing ten minutes, they sat there in the truck, looking out at the front of the liquor store, saw some movement in there, but without much of an idea what was going on. At one point, Peter jumped out to get hold of a policeman, but was quickly ushered back in the ambulance, with a minimum of information.

"There's two guys in there who were surprised by the owner," he told Hesam as he sat down, his voice tight. "Said they'll shoot him if the cops don't leave. The usual." He was drumming on the console with his fingers, trying to tell himself that there was nothing he could do. And moreover, trying not to blame himself for that.

After another five minutes, both Peter and Hesam jerked upright at the sound of gunshots from inside the building. Seconds later, a window broke, and a figure jumped out, hit the ground running as cops wheeled around, and continued to run down the street. He broke down as the cops fired, and Peter jumped out of the truck immediately.

"Be careful, dammit!" Hesam shouted at him, although he, too, had got out of the car. "There was two in there, remember?"

Peter hesitated for an instant, but only until he heard one of the cops shouting, "One officer down! Medic! Medic!"

"Situation's clear," another shouted from inside the building. "Get your f—ing asses in here!"

Peter knew better than to be offended; he could only guess how tense the situation must have been in there. Seeing your own go down was never business as usual.

The other ambulance's team, which stood closer to the shop entrance, was already in motion. Peter glanced back down the street to where the fugitive robber lay on the pavement, some twenty feet away, and exchanged a glance with Hesam. He didn't know where the man had been hit, or whether he was still alive. Two of the cops advanced on him, their weapons drawn. They reached the man at the same time as Peter and Hesam.

The robber was lying facedown, bleeding heavily from his left thigh, and from several cuts he'd sustained when he'd broken through the window. He wasn't moving. There were no other injuries Peter could discern.

The police officers relaxed slightly when the man still didn't stir after several seconds, and one of them grabbed the man's shoulder to turn him around. Then things happened very fast.

As soon as the cop touched him, the robber spun around, and wildly pointed the gun he'd been holding while lying flat on his stomach. Peter found himself staring back into a wild-eyed face which looked no older than seventeen, with a 10 mm semi-automatic pistol trained on him.

For the first second, he thought this was it. There wasn't any Jeremy Grier around this time.

On the other hand, Jeremy Grier had been a lot quicker on the trigger.

When two seconds had passed and nothing had happened, Peter realised that he stood a chance. The cops were both aiming at the kid on the ground, shouting at him, both of them glancing back and forth between him and Peter, both holding fire.

Peter raised his hands very slowly. "Put that down," he said in a voice that sounded far calmer than he felt. "You do not want to shoot me." The last time he had said this, breaking into Building 26, also staring down a gun pointed at him, he had been backed by Matt's ability. Now, he had nothing of the sort, but he found that the memory helped. His tone was one of utter conviction. The kid on the ground – Hispanic, by his looks – was still staring at him with his eyes wide, not lowering the gun, but if he hadn't shot so far, Peter knew that there was a good chance he wouldn't. The cops were silent now, and Peter prayed that they would keep out of this. The more people would talk at the guy, the more nervous he was going to get.

"Put it down," he said again, with a soothing movement with his left hand in the direction of the cops but not taking his eyes of the kid. "Don't throw your life away like that. I'm here to help you. Treat you. You're losing a lot of blood there. You can end this. Put down the gun."

He held his breath for several seconds, until, finally, he saw the kid lowering his weapon.

Within two seconds, the cops had overwhelmed and disarmed him, pinning him to the ground. Peter wanted to walk towards him, to do what he'd bloody well come for, namely, to treat his injuries, and suddenly found he was kneeling in the snow. He couldn't remember how he'd got there. There was a tingling sensation in his arms and legs. He should have been cold, but he wasn't. He wasn't warm either. He wasn't anything.

Hesam appeared in his field of vision, and Peter became aware that his partner was shaking him slightly.

"I'm fine," he said, in response to the question he realised Hesam was asking. "I'm all right. Have a look at that kid, OK?" All of a sudden, the cold was back, the loud voices and sirens were back.

Hesam gave him another searching look, then he moved a few steps to crouch down at the robber's side, who was still being held down by one of the cops.

"Let me have a look at him," the Iranian told the officer pinning the kid down.

The cop glared at the man on the ground and didn't move aside at once.

"Look, I'm letting you do your job, you let me do mine. That guy's no threat anymore, and he's injured. Let me treat him."

The cop reluctantly moved aside. Hesam turned the kid on his back and immediately started to work on stopping the bleeding. After a few seconds, Peter shook himself, beat snow off his knees, and got up to help.

In addition to the injured officer back in the building, there were several other people in need of treatment. Two cops had light injuries from the broken window. The shopkeeper was in shock, and the other robber, a man in his late twenties or thirties, had been shot twice in the chest. A third unit pulled up on scene soon after the cops had overwhelmed the young robber, so that three medical crews were now taking care of the situation.

It was a few minutes past 1 AM when the paramedics gave up the first robber, and Peter and Hesam headed back to the hospital with their patient, accompanied by a cop.

Somewhere in the vicinity, the bells of Our Lady of Sorrows began to toll, announcing the end of Christmas Mass.

.

At 3 AM, they were back in the truck after rushing their patient into the ER and completing the paperwork. Their falafel had patiently waited for them on the console, and when they hadn't eaten it during the wait in front of the liquor store, it had taken revenge by going stone-cold, helped along by the fact that the auxiliary heating system had failed. The knees of Peter's pants were soaked through from sitting in the snow, and he regretted not having thought of getting himself a pair of dry pants from his locker while he had the chance.

"Whatever happened to your clam chowder guy?" Hesam asked ruefully.

Peter stopped poking at his cold food and looked up. "Huh?"

"Couple of months back, you got us clam chowder once or twice, and said you knew a guy who got it down from Boston for you."

"Ah." Peter carefully weighed his next words. "I'm… afraid I don't know that guy anymore."

"Wasn't that around the time this William Hooper was gonna sue you?"

"Uh, yeah, it was."

Peter was aware of Hesam watching him intently, and pretended to be very busy with his cold falafel, blowing on his hands to warm them.

"One day I'm gonna find out what exactly it is with you," Hesam murmured, then he stamped his feet. "Shit! This park heating is really the last straw tonight."

Peter, glad of the change of topic, pushed his plastic bowl back on the dashboard. "Let's get rolling. That's warmer. If anyone gives us a hard time for the mileage, he can go repair the heating."

Hesam nodded his consent. "Hey… you can get a shuteye in the back if you need to."

Peter shrugged. "No, it's OK. I'm fine. Really," he added, as Hesam looked completely unconvinced.

His partner shook his head. "You'd think you've got guns pointed at you on a regular basis," Hesam said. "You cooled that kid down like a pro. I don't know if I could have done it. That sounded like right from a police psychologist's manual."

Peter gave another shrug. "I'm good with people. Usually."

Hesam continued to scrutinize him, and then he suddenly burst out laughing. "As long as they don't go and hump your leg."

Peter laughed in spite of himself. "Sure you don't need a lie-down?" he asked.

"All I need right now is to get the temperature in here to climb over 20 degrees," Hesam replied as he started the engine. After a few minutes, with the engine warmed up, the regular heating came to life, at least.

They drove around for half an hour, neither of them talking. The City that never slept was having the closest approximation of sleep it probably ever got. Even the cabs were getting fewer; there were almost no people about by now.

Peter felt as if this shift had gone for far longer than eight or nine hours. He was gradually starting to warm up again, and he felt drowsy and exhausted after the night's events. He almost found himself wishing for an emergency, anything to keep him occupied.

Hesam suddenly pulled over.

Peter started, looking at him. "What's up?"

Hesam jerked his head to the right, and Peter followed his glance. They were on East 51st Street, just past 5th Avenue. Above them rose Saint Patrick's Cathedral. Peter didn't say anything.

"You told me this was a special place for you. Get in there. If an urgent call comes, I'll give ya a buzz."

"I can't just go in there now," Peter protested.

"Yes, you can. Just a few minutes. Get in there, good Catholic that you are. Go on; it'll make you feel better."

Peter still hesitated. "I really told you this place was special?" he asked.

"Yep."

Peter looked up at the huge neo-gothic towers for a few seconds, then he wordlessly opened the passenger door and walked out onto the cold and empty street.

The cathedral was almost empty, but not completely. Even at this hour, Christmas night had brought out a few worshippers losing themselves in the pews of the vast nave. Peter sat in one of them, hands folded but not actually praying, resting his head on his forearms. He didn't even need to look around in order to see the place. Sitting here alone brought so many and so varied memories that it was almost dizzying. Nathan's funeral service, only weeks previously. Hiding from Danko's agents in this church, a couple of months ago.

And not so recent times, when life had seemed so much simpler.

.

(December 25, 1986)

.

"Deliver us, Lord, from every evil, and grant us peace in our day. In your mercy keep us free from sin and protect us from all anxiety as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ."

The congregation responded, "For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours…"

Peter jerked up sharply as Nathan elbowed him in the shoulder, and joined in dutifully: "Now and forever." He rubbed his arm and glared up at his brother.

"You gotta learn this stuff before next year," Nathan told him out of the corner of his mouth.

"I know this stuff!" Peter shot back. "Just not in the middle of the night."

"Who was going to stay up all night to get a glimpse of Santa?" Nathan teased.

"I'm going to!" Peter said in an indignant whisper.

"Whatcha wanna bet you'll be asleep before the 'Agnus Dei' is over?"

"Stop arguing, both of you!" Angela hissed before Peter could retort, leaning around Arthur, her expression furious.

As if on cue, the priest said from the altar: "Now give each other a sign of peace."

Peter was still scowling as he hugged his brother, mother, and father. Arthur shot him a disapproving look. "What's the matter with you?"

"Leave him," Nathan said mildly. "I guess he still thinks I cheated him of that World Series game."

Arthur looked truly angry now. "For Christ's sake, Peter, don't tell me you're still on about that."

Peter didn't answer. He was still on about that, as a matter of fact. And since Nathan had been at college for the last two months, he hadn't had much of a chance yet to be angry at him.

Angela gave all her men a disapproving glance. "Could we please make it through Christmas just this once without arguing about baseball in a church?" she said pointedly.

Arthur gave his younger son a glance that clearly said 'this is not over yet', and returned his attention to the service as the organ began to play the "Agnus Dei" and the priest broke the host.

Peter hid several yawns during the litany, and remembered just in time to recite the response, "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word, and I shall be healed." He didn't have a clue what it meant.

He stayed in his seat as the adults stood up and processed to the altar in order to receive the Eucharist, blinking as he looked around himself. There were very few children in the midnight mass. Nathan had been right; he'd barely made it through the Scripture readings without nodding off. At least the Eucharist meant that it would soon be over.

The congregation slowly filed back into their seats while the organ continued playing, and the priest purified the sacred vessels.

When, a few minutes later, mass resumed and all the people rose again for prayer, Nathan found that he couldn't – Peter had fallen asleep in his lap.

.

Tiredly, Peter rubbed his eyes and got to his feet, dutifully crossing himself. A glance at his watch told him that it had been twenty minutes. Before he left, he slowly walked over to the side altar with the statue of Christ, dropped a couple of quarters in the donation box, and lit a candle.

.

A heroin overdose and a myocardial infarction later, Peter and Hesam were sitting in the EMT room with a cup of coffee before heading home. No matter how long, frantic, or exhausting a shift had been, it was a ritual of closure.

"What you doin' today?" Peter finally asked Hesam.

The Iranian smiled tiredly. "Spending Christmas with my family, like it's supposed to be," he said. "Dinner with my parents, and my brother and sister." He sipped some coffee. "You?"

"I'm going to see my mother and niece. After some sleep. And a shower. Probably not in that order."

"Sounds good," Hesam said.

Peter nodded.

"Hey," Hesam said after a pause, "did you sign up for extra shifts again next week, or are you actually free on New Year's Eve?"

Peter gave a weak smile. "No, I actually have the day off."

"Care to join us? We're going out with a couple of friends. You know a few. Karen, Nicholas, Bernard. The others are fun too. We've got a table booked, are gonna have dinner, watch the fireworks and pity the guys on duty that night."

Peter contemplated this for a minute, turning his paper cup in his hands, then he looked at Hesam, his smile widening a fraction. "Sounds great," he finally replied.

Hesam grinned. "Cool," he said. "Don't cave in when somebody asks you to work on the 31st, OK?"

"I'll try." Peter stood and stretched. "Catch ya on Friday." He slapped Hesam's hand, and left.

.

December 25

.

It was half past three PM on Christmas Day when Peter finally arrived at his mother's house. He'd slept a couple of hours, and had showered for what had felt nearly as long. He was still tired, but it was a peaceful sort of tiredness, like a layer of cotton wool around his core, which numbed any unwelcome feelings enough to be bearable.

He opened the front door, and was greeted by the familiar smells of roast turkey and spruce, and by his mother's old Frank Sinatra CD.

"Through the years

We all will be together

If the Fates allow

Hang a star upon the highest bough

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now."

It was strange how anything could be so gut wrenching, and, at the same time, so comforting.