A Manhattan Christmas Carol
By Sheila Paulson

"Leave it to Ray," Peter muttered in fond exasperation. "Nobody but Ray could have a run-in with a runaway horse in Midtown, for Pete's sake."

Egon smiled as he pulled the fleecy blanket over the sleeping Stantz. Ray hadn't wanted to go to bed. "I'm fine, guys, just a little black and blue, that's all. Let me curl up here in the lab and catch a nap, while you guys work on the proton pack charging. Then I'll be all ready for the celebration tonight."

Peter grinned. "Okay, then, Ray, you take the couch. Come on, Winston, help me drag it over by the fireplace." He still hadn't gotten over the shock of seeing the mounted policeman's horse panic when the ghost dove at it. It reared up unexpectedly, tossing the poor cop onto the hood of a passing taxi, then charged.

There was no one between the horse and the woman with the infant twins in a stroller but Ray, and he never once hesitated. While Egon and Winston snared the ghost and Peter tossed out a trap, Ray jumped in the path of the horse, yelling and waving his arms, and Peter saw him vanish beneath its hooves.

"Ray!" the three of them yelled frantically, unable to go to him until they wrestled the ghost down toward the trap that awaited it. There were too many last-minute Christmas shoppers crowding Herald Square to risk letting it go to run to Ray's side. Peter's heart squeezed itself into a worried knot in his chest as he manipulated the stream lower to guide the ghost in. "Come on, Ray," he muttered under his breath.

But Ray must have the luck his brave heart deserved because he bounced up clutching the reins even before the ghost trap's doors sealed the nasty spirit in. "I'm okay, guys," he called. "I stopped him."

From out of nowhere, a guy in a Santa suit joined Ray, and the two of them soothed the horse until the cop limped over to take control. Then the twins' mother planted a huge kiss on Ray's cheek that turned his face bright red at being thrown. The guys converged on Ray then to check him out and fuss over him, and he kept insisting, "I'm all right, I'm all right." At least he was up and moving, and there didn't seem to be any blood or jutting fractures.

The hospital confirmed that. No broken bones. No sign of internal injuries. Just a lot of nasty bruises shaped like hooves. They sent him home with the other Ghostbusters, and he was all in one piece but starting to ache.

"Gee, I'm fine," Ray insisted. "Anyway, it's Christmas Eve. We don't have to go out again today. I'll just curl up and nap until we're ready to do our gift exchange. I'll be fine. I couldn't let the horse trample those little kids."

Winston busied himself stacking logs in the fireplace. They didn't have many fires in the lab fireplace, mostly because it was such a nuisance to clean up afterwards, but Christmas Eve was the perfect time for a good fire. "Man, this'll feel good," Winston said as he set the fire alight. "Look at the snow. It's sure coming down hard. Just like a Christmas card."

Peter turned away from the already-sleeping Ray to stare out the lab window. There had been a few flurries when they left the ER, but since the team had returned to the firehall, they had multipled. Giant flakes drifted gently to the earth, covering the soots and dirts of Lower Manhattan. Peter liked to gripe about snow, but that was when he had to go out in it or shovel it, and he didn't have to go anywhere tonight. Just had to stay here and enjoy the cozy warmth of a Ghostbusters Christmas with his three closest friends, one of whom had come too close to not making it to another Christmas. When Ray woke up, he'd be thrilled to see the gently falling snow. He loved things like that.

Peter leaned in and helped Egon straighten the soft blanket over the sleeping occultist, then let his hand rumple the auburn hair. Ray made a contented sound under the touch, but he didn't awaken.

"Janine should be up here soon," Egon said in an undertone to keep from disturbing Ray. "One of us should go down and make sure she's got the food ready for the party. And we need to light the Christmas tree. Maybe we should have let Ray sleep on the couch in front of the TV."

"No biggie, Spengs. We'll just bring the party up to him. Leave it to me." Mentally he pushed back his sleeves to prepare for the task ahead. "If there's anybody who knows how to throw a good party, it's the one, the only Venkman."

Egon's blue eyes warmed as he fell on his oldest friend. "There was a time I wouldn't have expected you to enjoy a Christmas party, Peter."

Peter squirmed. "Aw, come on, Egon, I've liked Christmas for years now, ever since we started busting. How could I not, when I've got you guys, making up for Pop never showing?" He didn't usually let it all hang out like that, but Egon knew him better than he knew himself. Peter's words were nothing new to him. "Anyway, we've got a special reason to enjoy it this year." He reached down and touched Ray's foot through the blanket. "Our buddy didn't get turned into street pizza."

"Yeah, makes it special, all right," Winston agreed. He stepped back from the fire. "Time for me to go whip up my Mama's special mulled cider."

Peter's eyes lit up. "This the stuff that Egon spaced out on last Christmas?" he asked with unholy glee.

"I did not 'space out', Peter. I merely became...mellow."

"Mellow indeed." Peter grinned. "I specially liked that wreath around your neck with all those red, green, and gold bows all over it. A new look for you. I've got the photos...."

"I know for a fact there were no photos." But Egon said it doubtfully.

Peter squashed down a wicked grin. He planned to spring those photos on Egon before the end of the party, preferably after he had a few mugs of cider in him. Egon had posed for them happily last year, his arm around a very compliant Janine. The next morning, he had found a great many unkind things to say to Winston over the potency of the cider.

"Wait and learn," Peter kidded. "Come on, Winston, we've got a party to organize. Egon, you stay here and keep an eye on our rodeo hero." He wouldn't have felt quite comfortable leaving Ray up here alone, not after coming so close to losing him altogether.

Egon stomped down his suspicion and nodded. "Of course, Peter." Instead of heading for his equipment and research, he drew up one of the lab chairs and sat down near the fire, where he could watch Ray. "I'll make certain he's all right," he reassured the other two. "Go ahead."

Peter hesitated in the doorway, making sure himself. Ray was sleeping deeply; he looked at peace with the universe and at least he wasn't aching while he was asleep. Egon had put his feet up, and he looked both protective and reassured. His glasses had slid down his nose, and he didn't even bother to push them into place.

Peter slung his arm around Winston's shoulders. "Come on, Zed, we've got a party to organize."

*****

Ray was awake when Peter led the way into the lab with his third armload of goodies. Winston and Peter had hauled up the presents while the cider was warming, and Janine had brought up platters of cookies, bowls of fruit, and platters of fudge. By the end of the holidays, all Peter's pants would be too tight. He'd have to live in his sweats until he worked himself back into shape.

They couldn't move the tree up the spiral stairs to the third floor; it was too big. But decorations adorned the lab when Peter returned with a tray of mugs for the cider, Ray's battered old copy of A Christmas Carol tucked under his arm. Ray had inherited the book from his mother; it had great illustrations by Arthur Rackham. Ever since Peter had met Ray, Ray had hauled the book out at Christmas and read aloud from it. At first, Peter, who had hated Christmas in those days, had gritted his teeth and endured it for Ray's sake, but over the past few years, when he'd come to love Christmas, he cherished the tradition. Made up for not having any of his own. He didn't say so, but he was sure the others knew. This year, he didn't want Ray to hunt around for it, so he'd dug it out while Janine was putting the finishing touches on the goodies.

Winston followed him in with the cider, with Janine behind them. She glanced around, spotted Egon, and smiled. Egon, who was helping Ray straighten up, didn't notice, but Peter did.

He grinned. "Ray! You're alive."

"Yeah, I feel pretty good," Ray admitted. He shifted carefully. "I sure didn't expect to get trampled by a horse on Christmas Eve."

"Only you, Ray," Winston grinned as he set the cider on the lab table.

Janine eyed Ray carefully. "At least you don't have hoofmarks all over your face, Ray. You'd scare your Aunt Lois when you go over there for dinner tomorrow if you did."

"I'm fine, guys. Just a little tender here and there. Peter! You've got my book. Great. Thanks."

"Yep, you can have it in a few minutes. Let's get some of this cider into you first. If you're more careful than Egon last year, you won't have to have a hangover on top of bruises."

Egon made a face at Peter.

"So, what about the music?" Peter asked hopefully. "After all, I have a great singing voice."

"For somebody who's tone-deaf," Winston muttered under his breath.

"Now, Winston, it's a known fact that everybody sounds good when they sing Christmas carols," Peter pointed out cheerfully. He couldn't help it the guys had no taste.

Janine gave a snort of amusement and started singing. "On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, A partridge in a pear tree." She cast a rather wistful glance at Egon, who just as carefully pretended not to notice. One of these days Janine was sure to realize that Egon knew Peter would tease him and tended to be as laid-back as possible about his as-yet-unvocalized feelings for Janine when Venkman was in the room.

"Wouldn't it be great if we could get all those gifts?" Ray said suddenly. "You know, the gifts for the twelve days of Christmas?"

"Yeah, right, Ray," Peter kidded. "Do you know how much it would cost to fly ten lords over from England? All those fancy titles, they'd be sure to want to fly first class. Our budget wouldn't run to it. And then there's all those birds. Partridge and calling birds, whatever they are, and all those swans. Do you know what a mess birds make? Not to mention cows for the maids to milk. We've had enough animals for one day already."

Egon managed not to let the laugh escape that Peter's words had provoked. "Perhaps some of the simpler items, Peter. I'm sure you could find enough dancing ladies to suit the carol."

Peter buffed his fingernails against his shirt. "You bet I could.  Janine can even be one of them--course only if you consider her a lady."

The secretary poked him hard in the ribs. "Nice going, Venkman. If we can't have all the gifts, we can fake it. No partridges, no pear trees, but here's a couple of peaches." She snatched them up from the bowl of fruit and weighed them in her hand while she measured the distance between them. Peter took a step uneasily closer to Egon, feeling as if she had just painted a large target on his chest. She wouldn't--would she?

"On the other hand," he said hastily, "maybe somebody could do something about the gold rings part," and he cast a very meaningful glance at Egon.

The temptation to snatch the peaches from Janine and grind them into Peter's hair was written largely on Egon's face, but he controlled himself. "Perhaps we better have the reading instead," he said quickly. "Then the presents. Or even eat before Slimer shows up."

That's right, the team's resident ghost hadn't made his appearance. That explained why all the food was still there. Hastily, Peter retrieved the peaches from Janine and passed her the platter of cookies appeasingly. "Look, Janine, have a cookie. Aunt Lois made them to look like the four of us. You better have an Egon cookie."

She snatched it before he could take the platter back. Egon craned his neck to see if Peter were kidding or not, and grimaced as Janine took a nibble at the cookie's feet.

Peter left him to his fate and went over to Ray. "Here's your book, Tex," he said, dropping down beside him. "Want me to hold it for you while you read?"

"No, I'm okay, really, Peter. Besides, anybody would feel better at Christmas, with the fire in the fireplace, and that gorgeous snow out there. Isn't it great?" He huddled into the soft blanket that Egon had draped around his shoulders. "Gosh, I love Christmas, Peter. I'm sure glad you like it now, too."

Peter looked around the room at his three closest friends, and Janine, who was his pet sibling, although neither one of them would ever admit it. Maybe he didn't have his father at the holidays, but he had this family, and nothing could ever top it. Ray had come through his mishap in pretty good shape, and even if he was achier in the morning, the spirit of the day would carry him through.

"Yeah, Ray," he admitted fondly. "I like it now, too."

Egon turned from his apprehensive observation of Janine's cookie devouring, and caught Peter's eye, the warmth of a blessing in the gaze he turned on his oldest friend. Winston paused in the filling of the cider mugs and grinned at Peter. And Ray beamed so brightly he could make up for the lighting on the tree they'd had to leave downstairs.

"Then this one is for you, Peter," he said with a smile and flipped the book to the very end.

"'Scrooge was better than his word. He did all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did NOT die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old City knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough in the good old world.'" Ray's face was alight. "Of course it says that Scrooge 'had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total-Abstinence Principle ever afterwards,' and I don't think you're going to avoid ghosts in the future, or the rest of us, either. But gosh, Peter, just look at this party. You sure figured out how to keep Christmas." He went back to his reading. "'May that be truly said of us and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!'"