"All right, let's give it a try."

Michael stood eagerly by his mother's side as she reached just beneath the colourful lamp shade for the protruding switch. Indeed, at the turn of the switch, the newly-replaced light bulb began to radiate serene rays of light throughout the surrounding area of the already daylit bedroom.

Mr. Ryan brushed his hands off. "And as He said 'let there be light', there was light."

"Do you like it, Michael?" Mrs. Ryan asked.

Michael nodded, shifting the lamp slightly by its glass grass-coated base.

"It was so nice of Andy and Molly to let you take it."

"Now, Donna, call me on it if I'm wrong, but I believe the Davises are spoiling our son."

Mrs. Ryan nodded and turned to her four-year-old son. "Is that true, young man?"

"No," Michael proclaimed, grinning. His mother pulled him in closer and tickled him some. "No," he laughed through his resistance.

Mr. Ryan bent down to pick up the toy shark lying on the floor next to his feet. "Well, it looks as though we have a spoiled child, my dear. What are we gonna do with him?"

"We could give all of his Christmas presents to Salvation Army."

Michael was too busy enjoying his parents' show to verbally react to the horrifying plan.

"A good plan, but somewhat cruel." Mr. Ryan slowly began to approach Michael, who watched him in an attempt to hide his giggles behind his hands. "How about we send the shark after him!" He whipped out the toy shark from behind his back. "Rawr!"

Michael screamed and broke free out of his mother's arms before bolting out of the room, his father not far behind him, adding his personalized soundtrack of the Jaws theme as he held it out in front of him. Mrs. Ryan laughed quietly as she switched off the lamp and followed them out, partly closing the door behind her.

In the darkness of the bedroom, with no light to brighten it but the afternoon daylight shining from the exterior, the lamp's prime accessory stood tall next to her porcelain sheep. She shifted only at the sight of an all-too recognizable figure scampering from the bed, across the floor, to where the lamp was prompted upon the dresser. She watched with a smile as, with a great deal of effort – more so than he would have required the last time she saw him several years ago, he pulled himself up onto the surface of the dresser to where she stood.

Her sheep bleated and scurried over to Woody, nearly jumping at him. Woody chortled silently and patted each of their heads. "Easy, girls."

With a firm hold on Woody's courteous, extended hand as well as her staff, Bo stepped off the lamp base and onto the dresser surface. "Why, thank you, Sheriff."

"'My pleasure, fair maiden."

Always the gentlemen.

"You know," Woody began, rubbing the back of his head, "I got so wrapped up, I almost forgot to give you your New-Room Orientation."

She had faintly heard it, but between now and after Michael and his parents had left the room, the sound of hustling and mumbles anticipation came through from downstairs. The front door slamming shut distracted Bo from the cowboy as he continued on about beginning an official tour separate from one he would later give to the others.

Woody watched her as she neared the ledge of the dresser adjacent to the window and peered through the foggy glass. He joined her, following her gaze down below at the young boy dressed in his winter getup carefully step down the slippery steps, holding his father's hand for support.

"I've missed you."

The sheriff's bewilderment came not from the words themselves, but from the familiarity of them. Still, he went along as though the last time he'd heard those words from her were after his return from Andy's last trip to Cowboy Camp. "I've missed you, too."

"I've been worried about you," she declared, keeping her eyes on Michael as he was beginning to pile up the snow on the ground and rolling it into a large snowball.

"About me?"

She nodded. "With all that Andy meant to you, I didn't know how you were coping."

After letting out a breath, Woody shrugged it off. "I'm all right, Bo," he assured her.

Bo nodded, smiling when Mr. Ryan arrived by Michael's side with an even larger snowball. Michael laughed when his toque was pulled down over his eyes and attempted to reach for his father, who merely dodged him in a fit of mirth of his own, for a counterattack of some sort despite his sudden loss of sight.

She pulled her staff in closer. "He's not too different from Andy."

Woody lowered his gaze to his boots and adjusted his hat so it sat more firmly atop his head. He cleared his throat, but the emotional response to Bo's reminder showed. Eventually, he spoke: "His name's Michael Ryan," he declared, as though already beginning the New-Room Orientation. "He has an older sister and two parents who love him. His favourite things include cars, rocket ships, soccer, and playing with his toys at every chance he gets."

Although at first she was taken aback, a smile quickly formed on her lips. She pulled him in closer. "Point taken."

He smiled and leaned in willingly.

~ O ~

"Front row seats, baby!"

The toys scooted in closer together atop the balcony, adjusting themselves in order to see the large television the Ryans were watching in the family room. It was a near perfect view other than the chandelier they had to gaze around. Only a select few of them had chosen to join the fun since it was not a traditional Christmas special the family was enjoying, but a live performance in a concert hall in Nevada featuring a renowned group of women singing Christmas carols.

"Oh, darling," Mrs. Potato Head swooned, hugging her husband's arm and snuggling up close, "isn't this just perfect?"

"Almost, dear," Mr. Potato Head remarked, brushing the monkey tail out of his face. But Moco, who sat behind them, wouldn't let up as he instead removed the plastic potato's hat for an inspection.

Jessie swung her legs over the edge of the balcony. "Check it out, Woody," she proclaimed. "All the men are wearing cowboy hats."

Woody nodded from his place next to Bo. "'Surprised all the women aren't."

She nudged him for his sarcasm as he chuckled lightly before she returned to her own spot beside Buzz, who welcomed her by placing an arm over her shoulders as she laid herself against him. Just as they got comfortable, another song began.

"Oh, this one is just wonderful," Mrs. Potato Head, who was rather familiar with the group's work after finding many opportunities to listen to Andy's mother's CDs. "Listen."

But the others found more fascination in the stage presence of a couple quickly coming out from the darkness of the farther end of the stage, their steps synchronized to the fast pace of the musical choir's rendition of Carol of the Bells. Their attire almost made Jessie giggle in excitement.

"Oh, well," she giggled, "isn't that somethin'."

Similar to the other backup male singers, the man, tall and lanky, wore a black cowboy hat and matching boots along with his charcoal black collar shirt and pants. The woman, blonde and beautiful, wore a silk, flowing light-blue dress which reached down past her knees.

"Out of courtesy to the lady, I'll keep the jokes to a minimum," Mr. Potato Head assured the cowboy.

Woody furrowed his brow. "It's appreciated, Potato Head."

Oh how they pound, raising the sound,
O'er hill and dale, telling their tale,

Gaily they ring, while people sing
Songs of good cheer, Christmas is here.

Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas,
Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas.

The couple, hand in hand, turned to each other as the sound of the beautifully-played violin grew in intensity. Once it reached its peak, when the melody began, so did the couple's feet to its rhythm. The dance was focused on at many different camera angles, each one more exquisite than the one before. Throughout the dance, their eyes remained locked on each other's, after each spin, after every bound.

"You only wish you could dance like that, Woody."

Woody rolled his eyes as Bo picked up her staff threateningly. He had practically been waiting for it. He watched as the dance ended on a high note with the man sweeping the woman off her feet and catching her close to the ground just before she hit. He would have had a mild heart attack if he ever tried that with Bo. Mind you, trying any of those steps with Bo would have likely ended in either disaster or embarrassment.

But who knew? One day, perhaps, he could prove Mr. Potato Head wrong. He looked towards Bo, who rested her head comfortably against his shoulder as she stared at the screen in the distance.

Just not tonight.

Heh, I know: Very over-sentimental. It's something I'll often try to avoid, but hey, it's Christmas.

I wrote this final chapter because of this song by Garth Brooks called 'The Dance', which is an amazing song with lyrics that can very much relate to Woody and Bo, but I'm not too big on song-fics (unless the song is meant to be heard, but even so, I have a limit), so I had no place for it. Thus this chapter's title was created. 'Little fun fact for your reading not-so-much pleasure.

That said, Merry Christmas, everybody. Thank you so much to everybody who reviewed; you'd be surprised at how much those reviews really do help writers. To everyone reading this, God bless you all, and have a wonderful Christmas day.