Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was late afternoon on the day before Christmas Eve, when fine flecks of winter snow came down at Idlewild Airport. In a rare turn of events, John Blacksad found himself crossing the concourse in a thick gray longcoat with a festive green scarf, and matching flannel trousers, carrying his suitcase along with thousands of people wanting to leave town for the holidays.

It was a rare occasion: He was going to meet his family and enjoy Christmas together with them. For once, work wasn’t on his mind.

Instead, he thought about the nice toy he’d bought for Ray at the Rockefeller Center, magically gift-wrapped and stowed away carefully in between his folded clothes along with Donna’s gift: a nice, elegant perfume that she wouldn’t be able to get anywhere else outside New York. Since they lived so far away, these kinds of trips are rather special for him, despite how much they cost.

And special trips require special gifts.

Little did he know of the misfortune that would befall him, the moment he reached his terminal.

“Everyone, listen up! There’s a blizzard closing into town! All flights are canceled until further notice!” a male attendant shouted through a megaphone on the counter, and he was met with a thousand angry groans, John included.

Crestfallen, he found himself along with thousands more people waiting in line for a shot at the phone booth, his gut wrenching as he tried to figure out what to tell Donna.

“Hello, Blacksad residence. This is Donna speaking.”

“Hey, it’s John.”

“John? I thought you left New York already.”

“About that…” the cat put a hand on the back of his neck, his eyes shifting towards an angry lineup of people just outside the phone booth he’s in, the tinted glass door his only refuge against the impatient stares and tired scowls on their faces.

“Ugh, don’t tell me…”

“There’s a blizzard coming in, and they’ve grounded all the planes. Nobody’s leaving in the next few days.”

“Jesus…” Donna’s voice was a mixture of frustrated and disappointed. It made John’s heart sink with guilt. “All of them?”

“You heard me.”

There was a pause on the line.

“You know Ray’s going to be very disappointed.”

“I know. I miss the little guy already.”

“Why didn’t you book your tickets sooner? You’ve lived in New York for oh, I don’t know, forever? I figured you’d know the weather there like the back of your hand by now.”

John sighed. He did book his tickets early, but was asked to swap flights with a family who was expecting soon. Being a hopeless romantic, he didn't want to feel guilty about ruining what amounted to a modern-day nativity story, so he went and did it. 

He wasn't about to tell her that though.

“Guess it’s just one of those moments when the universe decides to jinx me at the worst possible time.”

“Right. I know luck’s never run in the family, but it still doesn’t mean I’ll feel any less lousy about it.”

Having delivered the bad news, John said his goodbyes to Donna, and to send his nephew his regards.

"Oh, before you go, I wanted to let you know that I finally received a check from the FBI. The car's more or less written off."

John was taken aback by the news, but snorts, smirking at the receiver. 

"Good. You deserved at least that much from them."

He hung up and stepped out, knowing that another minute in that booth would be torture for the rest of the people in the line with the same idea.

Without a family to turn to for the holidays, the only thing waiting for him at home now is a stiff, hard drink.

“John, is that you?”

He put a pause on that thought when he turned to see a familiar face behind him at the concourse, his smile always a sight for sore eyes through that shiny brown coat of his. 

“Smirnov? Didn’t expect to run into you at a place like this.”

“I have a family too, John. Remember?”

“Huh. Thought you lived in a box in the police station boiler room.” the cat smirked again.

Smirnov chuckles.

“What made you assume that I did?”

“Well, you dress like one of those hoboes I see during my commute to and from work. Only you smell nice, and the hoboes don’t.”

"Gosh, I'm flattered." the dog says dryly, rolling his eyes.

"You've been a stranger these past few months." John said as they matched each other's pace, gripping at his leather suitcase all the while.

"It's been a busy year." Smirnov's eyes drift to the side, his tone apologetic. "I hoped to call after the New Year, but it's not like you've bothered on your end as well." 

John bit his lip. Yeah, I haven't.

"I had a case that took me to New Orleans. Ended about as well as you expected."

"That was last March." 

"I took my time getting back, so I took on the job of escorting someone's Cadillac back to Texas."

"Let me guess, you bombed that one too?" 

"Yep." John made a pronounced pop with his lips. It was one way to distract himself from bringing up the rest of the dirty details of that trip. The image of Neal's crumpled body on the pavement of that Greyhound terminal still haunts him to this day. 

Smirnov caught on, and didn't ask further. This probably wasn't the time for that. 

"Your reporter friend, Weekly. He got you that New Orleans job, right?" he asked instead, the mouth leading out to the pickup-dropoff loops just a few feet away, white with snow but shoveled regularly enough to be functional. 

"Yeah, I figured he needed company. And who'd pass on a trip to the birthplace of jazz?" 

Smirnov chuckles again, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. 

"Always the fanatic. Even I, for one, am not that crazy about who I listen to."

"Hey, speak of the devil…" they encounter a row of taxis before them in the frigid, snowy air. In one taxi to their right, a familiar orange half-pint figure shook its fist at the driver. 

"How the hell was that a forty dollar trip?!" the weasel argued. 

"That's what the meter says!" the driver protested back. 

"No, fuck the meter! I demand a recount! Brooklyn isn't that far!" 

"Doing alright there, Week?" John piped in, causing him to jump.

"John?! What are you doing here?" The weasel eyed the cat momentarily, then turned to see the dog as well. "And the commissioner too?" 

His face flushes, mortified at his earlier behavior. He shuffles his feet, leaving the driver hanging for his payment.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Going to visit family. What else does it look like?"

John turns to look at Smirnov, frowning a little. He shrugs back. 

"Huh? Why the long faces?" Weekly asked, but he had a feeling he knew the answer, and butterflies started to flutter in his stomach.

Smirnov scratches his head fur. 

"The planes are grounded for the next few days." he delivers the bad news. "You're not going anywhere."

The words took a solid minute for Weekly to register. When it finally did, his knees buckled and fell on the hard-packed snow.

He groans, tears of frustration welling in his eyes.

"Oh, for crying out loud! " he yells at the sky with clawed hands.

The taxi driver drums his fingers on his steering wheel, nonchalant. He’s clearly seen this play out a million times before. 

"So, you payin' or what?"

The waitress sets down her tray, and three cold pints of strong ale were set down before the three men, dejected looks hanging on their faces.

Weekly rests his right elbow on the table, putting his head in his hand, a heavy sigh escaping from his muzzle.

After the weasel reluctantly paid the driver his due, Smirnov offered to take the two men’s luggage to his car and drive back to Brooklyn for the time being, to rest at a local pub he usually goes to, way out of his precinct where he can avoid work if he needed to.

It was a quiet and classy pub befitting any upstanding citizen, lit with a warm, orange glow, the light of the chandelier reflecting on the polished wooden veneer of the ornate walls, ceiling and tables. It was nicely accented with the green of the wreaths streamed across the room, and the red of the ribbons decorating the sconces. With the snow outside, one would swear they were in a winter wonderland, like in one of those Coca-Cola ads.

If they’d been in a better mood, this would be the perfect place to relax and get some Christmas cheer going, but sadly it wasn’t one of those days.

John noticed nobody else was touching their beer, so he sighed, having to be the one to start yet another conversation.

“So, what were your Christmas plans?” he asked.

Weekly was the first to speak.

“I got folks in Boston. It’s not every year I get a chance to see them on-time, so I thought this would finally be the year I don’t disappoint them.”

He forces a smile.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love my job, but I’ve barely been able to see all of them since I started this gig. I miss ‘em too, y’know.”

Weekly sighs again, but with relief this time, having let it out.

“What about you two? Ya got folks to meet for the holidays as well?” he asked, that natural curiosity of his piping up.

“My parents in Buffalo.” Smirnov said. He eyes his mug, and he seemed interested enough to cup it with both hands, getting a feel for its satisfying coldness. “Dorothy and the kids have gone ahead, as is usually the case, and I was supposed to meet up with them after I got my affairs sorted out at the station.”

“I’ve usually been pretty lucky at catching a flight.” the dog says, giving John a sidelong glance. The cat blinks in response.

“You can’t possibly think this is my fault?” John cocks an eyebrow as he plays along.

Smirnov retreats the glance with a chuckle.

“I’m kidding, but you know what I mean.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” John finally grabs ahold of his mug. “Gotta admit, that bit of yours is getting old.”

“Nah, it never does, John.” the dog takes a swig. “You’ve got a sister in New Mexico, right?”

“Mhmm.” John nods. “Ran into her during the Cadillac job. We were gonna meet up for the holidays this year as well.”

“Wait, you have a sister?” Weekly’s ears stand at attention. “How come you never told me?”

“Because you were heading back to New York at the time, and it never really came up.”

“Well, hot damn! I sure would’ve loved to see her.”

“I’m sure you would.” he gave the weasel a half-lidded smile, pleased that he was finally able to bring his old pal into some semblance of good spirits.

“Your nephew would be around the same age as my son, is that right?” Smirnov asked.

“Yeah, just about.” John takes a swig. “I’m sure they’ll get along if they meet.”

“I’m sure as well.” the dog smiles. “It sounds like a future plan, if your sister ever makes the trip here.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“Hey, y’know, happy families aside.” Weekly started, his face twisted into one of frustration. “It still doesn’t change the fact that none of us will be able to see them this year. I don’t feel good about this at all.”

“None of us do, Week.” Suddenly, a lightbulb of an idea flashes inside John’s head, and the two men notice immediately. “Unless, and I know this is silly, how does a Friend-Christmas sound like to you both.”

Weekly gapes at him. Smirnov does the same, but seems to take a liking to the idea.

“That’s college-age stuff, but you know… that’s actually not a bad idea.” the dog puts a finger on his chin as if recollecting a memory.

“You’ve done it before?” John asked, astonished at Smirnov’s agreement.

“During my academy years, yes.” he says with his usual chuckle. “We go on benders like you wouldn’t imagine. I know it’s hard to believe on account of my reputation, but it’s true.”

This was news to John, and he was struck a little dumb by the revelation. Weekly felt the same, but his lips eventually curled into a smirk.

“The police commissioner, a former bad boy? Is this dirt I spy?” Weekly quipped with a sly grin.

“Huh. Well, you could’ve fooled me, Smirnov. You having an outlaw phase seems… a little hard to believe.” Blacksad responded playfully.

“Heh. It’s how I got Dorothy.” Smirnov flashes a grin, leaning into his chair. “But yeah, I’m in. How about you, Mr. Mythical Reporter?”

The dog shot a glance at the weasel, and his smirk was especially mischievous, wanting the weasel to get in on the fun as well.

The weasel loses his smirk immediately and squirms in his chair. Even at his most relaxed, the dog gives off a consistent air of authority around him.

There was no way he was getting out of this one. Even John was staring as well.

“B-Boy, you two sure love twisting my arm!” Weekly stammers. “Fine! I’m in too.”

“Great! Let’s toast on it, for old time’s sake.” John raises his mug.

Smirnov was all too eager to raise his glass mug as well.

Weekly reluctantly gripped his mug, raising it gingerly given his short height.

Before they were able to move the motion forward, a draft of cold air passed them by as the pub door opened. With it, the faces of a scowling cougar and a shifty-eyed coyote came into view, wearing thick brown longcoats over their gray suits and paisley ties.

Their eyes scan the room until their gaze locks onto the black cat with the white muzzle sitting on the table in the middle of the floor.

John’s eyes meet halfway, and after a moment’s delay, a spark shoots between them, and they all twitch in unison.

“Goddammit, is that…”

“Yeah, it’s that meddling private dick!” the cougar snarls.

The trio drop their mugs back on the table. Smirnov's eyes darted towards the two men, then back at John, clearly unhappy to see them.

“You know them, John?”

“I wish I didn’t.” the cat grunts, shaking his head with a heavy sigh.

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t the cat that got away!” the coyote saunters in, with the cougar sullenly following behind him. He all too eagerly slams his hands down on their table, drawing dubious looks from Weekly and Smirnov.

“So tell us, what brings you to our local watering hole?”

Smirnov raised an eyebrow. As a regular in this pub, these two are anything but. In fact, this is the first time he’s seen either of them.

“Minding our own business.” John said curtly with a frown, his brows furrowing in annoyance. “So I suggest you mind yours.”

“Now, now, that’s no way to treat an acquaintance.” the coyote tuts. “Aren’t you gonna invite us for a drink?”

Smirnov could feel the tension growing between the two. He knows that whenever John is in a bad mood, there’s a good chance that his sulking and brooding will end up ruining the rest of their day. There was no way he was about to let that happen, not when they’ve got a good thing going as it is.

So his lips curl into a smile, and an idea forms in his head. He glances at Weekly, and the weasel glances back.

“Where are our manners?” he starts, gesturing at the chairs on the opposite side of the table. “Come, take a seat!”

John shoots a glare at him.

“What are you doing?” he whispers at the dog.

“Don’t worry, John. We got this!” the cat whips his head to see Weekly give him an uncertain smile, flashing a thumbs-up under the table.

The cat backs off, grumbling.

“Thank you! At least your friends have the right idea…” the coyote takes the chair facing the weasel, and with some coaxing on his part, he gets the cougar to sit across John.

The cat and the cougar glare at each other, arms crossed with big scowls on their faces. It was almost comical to watch.

The coyote snaps his fingers with a confident smirk, and the waitress arrives almost immediately.

“We’ll have two of what they’re having, sweetheart.” he remarks with a hint of sweetness to his voice, the likes John hasn’t seen before.

“Of course.” a requisite smile was plastered on her young face. “Any food to go with that?”

“Some sliders would be nice.” Smirnov added, matching his tone to fit the situation. “How about you, John? Weekly?”

“Oh, uh… how about some onion rings?” Weekly said nervously, trying his best to play along.

“I’m not hungry.” John said, a bit too quickly.

You’re not making this easy, John. Smirnov shook his head slightly, feeling a little betrayed.

“Can you add fries with that?” the cougar finally says.

“C’mon, John, there’s gotta be something you wanna eat.” Smirnov almost pleads. “We’ll probably be here all night.”

John stared down at the table. He knew that when push comes to shove, Smirnov can be a stubborn old dog. He probably had a good reason to prod.

“Fine. I’ll have the fish and chips, but without the chips, if possible. Sub in some scrambled eggs instead. I’ve had my fill of potatoes this week.” John blurts out his order, reigniting a half-lidded stare at the cougar.

Odd choice, but at least he’s cooperating. Smirnov looks at the waitress as she scribbles all that down without a complaint, and heads off.

“I don’t think I’ve met you two fine gentlemen before. What are your names?” Smirnov inquired.

“Ah, pardon me.” the coyote flashes a grin, putting a hand towards himself. “You can call me McLeod.”

He moves his hand towards his partner.

“And this sourpuss is Klein.”

The cougar shoots him a dirty look.

“You’re Commissioner Smirnov, is that right?” McLeod continued. “You’re practically the face of the NYPD. See, my memory’s fuzzy, but I vaguely recall that you’ve been involved with a certain case regarding the murder of a certain yellow frog?”

He flashes an assertive, knowing grin, and the dog’s pupils narrow in surprise.

If he had to wager a guess with how much this guy knew, these two men were agents, probably belonging to some kind of three-letter agency. They certainly dressed the part well.

Smoothly, he crosses his arms, trying not to let his discomfort show.

“It seems you know a thing or two about me.” Smirnov says, nonchalantly. “That’s to be expected, if you are who I think you are. That being said, it’s apparent the two of you and Blacksad have gone off on the wrong foot.”

“Hmph. That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Klein grunts, saying nothing more as he averts his gaze, his ears folded slightly.

That bad, huh? Smirnov eyed John again, whose ears were also folded, sulking.

“Look, I don’t expect a clean resolution to whatever conflicts you two might be having at the moment, but it’s the holidays, and we’re all trying to take a load off.” Smirnov sighs. “Can I suggest for now, that we bury the hatchets for the time being?”

“A Christmas truce, if you will.”

He completes the statement with the warmest smile he could muster.

John was left speechless by Smirnov’s proposal, while Weekly, who was unnerved by the two men, tried to quickly process the unexpected turn of events that were unfolding so quickly.

The cougar’s expression hardened, and he couldn’t make out if this dog was playing some sort of cruel joke.

“That damn cat has caused us a lot of trouble like you wouldn’t imagine, on account of his chicanery. The only way you can take this hatchet from me is from my cold, dead hands!” Klein simmered and seethed, setting his trembling paws on the table.

McLeod, however, seemed intrigued at the idea.

“Don’t write ‘em off just yet, Klein. Seems this old dog’s got a good trick up his sleeve.” he said, maintaining the wolf-like smirk on his wily face.

“Trick is such a harsh word, fellas.” Smirnov puts up his palms before him in reassurance. “I can assure you that there are no strings attached to this. This is a special occasion, and on behalf of these two, I’m extending an olive branch. So let’s get friendly, eat to our heart’s content and drink until we’re merry.”

“Pretty simple concept, don’t you think?” Weekly added enthusiastically.

Klein only wanted to come into this pub with his partner to drink, nothing more. He wasn’t expecting to run into the meddling detective, but he was there, and his presence is ruining his day. The idea of trying to get friendly with the very cat that caused them their demotion to the middle of nowhere in New Mexico was nothing short of humiliating. Why would he ever try to be friends with someone who caused this misfortune to befall them?

But, there’s a lot he doesn’t know about this Blacksad character. In some odd way, he admires the cat’s ability to think quickly, and work his way out of any situation. It made him think about his weaknesses, as well as of his partner’s, and if he’s learned a thing or two at the academy, it’s that to know one’s enemy is to know oneself.

Suddenly, getting friendly didn’t seem like such a bad idea. He can drink his fill and get to know a thing or two about his worst enemy. He could almost feel himself grinning devilishly at the thought.

The cougar felt a few pounds lighter, knowing that he had nothing left to lose if he took up Smirnov on his offer.

“Fine. We’ll go along with this truce of yours, commissioner. On one condition.”

Smirnov’s ears perked at attention. Klein grins like he’s the Cheshire Cat.

“We get to pick the drinks. Sounds fair?” Klein proposed.

McLeod’s smirk leaves his face all of a sudden, his eyes on the cougar. He’s seen his partner grin like this before, and it’s never a good sign when he does.

Smirnov chuckles, and McLeod’s gut churns.

"Certainly, friend." Smirnov agreed, his expression brightening. It’s only fair to allow them to set some terms, if it had ultimately meant that they’ll agree to the truce.

"Now that’s what I like to hear!” Klein exclaims with an audible clasp of his hands. It was like a switch got flipped, and he became a completely different person, the sullenness melting away to reveal a more gregarious, toothy, and party-loving cougar.

“How about a round of old fashioned, for starters?" Any hint of malice the cougar previously had was gone, as far as John could tell. Now he feels silly wearing his own scowl, so he opted to just roll with the punches and lighten up as well.

“A wise choice.” John said, finally smiling at the cougar.

"How about you, little weasel?" Klein asked, shooting a domineering glance at Weekly.

He gulps nervously, but returns with a determined look.

“You’re on!” Weekly says, pointing a defiant finger at the cougar. “Wanna bet I can drink you two under the table?”

This is getting interesting. John snorts.

The least McLeod can do is support his partner, if he’s going to insist on going down this route.

“He’s challenging us, Klein.” the coyote puts on his grin again. “You gonna take this lying down?”

“Hell, no! Let’s do this!” The cougar cheerfully smacks his partner hard on the back, almost knocking the wind out of him.

Smirnov chuckles, assured he made the right decision. The day is saved, more or less.

After some minutes passed, the waitress finally brought over the food, along with the requested drinks. Each person on the table now had one pint of beer, and a cocktail each.

Klein raised his beer mug.

“Well then, here’s to having some good old-fashioned fun, hmm?”

John challenged him, raising his beer mug as well.

“You don’t need to tell me twice, pussycat.” he says with a wink, and shortly after, the group’s mugs were fully raised.

“Merry fucking Christmas, everyone!” Klein shouts at the top of his lungs.

“Cheers!” The mugs clink audibly within the quiet pub. 

Now they’re in business.

A couple hours pass when the two nicely-suited men downed their tenth pint of beer down. At this point, their heads were lolling, and their smiles dopey, and their inhibitions practically out the window. Within their glassy eyes, everything looked and seemed funny. 

Weekly’s face was a mess, his cheeks a deep shade of pink through the short fur of his muzzle. His tail wagged as he giggled drunkenly, his head spinning as he nearly fell off his chair.

“Heeheehee… And, and then I said.” Weekly paused, for what seemed like the longest beat, the roll of film in his mind unwinding. “Ugh, dammit! I can’t remember!” he laughs sheepishly, placing a hand at the back of his head.

The other patrons of the bar stared as the group exploded into a revelry of good cheer, cackling and giggling like nobody’s business. In the corner, the bartender shrugged. He watched the earlier events unfold from a distance, and as long as they weren’t wrecking the pub, he was willing to let this pass. It’s the holidays, and Smirnov’s a good friend of his, after all.

“Good Lord, Week. Didn’t expect you to double-over after two beers.” he remarked, reducing himself with a snort.

Smirnov and McLeod kept themselves down to snickers, practically red-faced at this point, but barely managing to keep themselves together.

“God, no! I ain’t even started yet!” Weekly squeaked, slurring all over his bluff, drunkenly glaring at the two men across the table. “Do I look like a lightweight to you?” he punctuated that with an adorable, high-pitched hiccup.

The table falls into another fit of giggles at the sorry sight. In fact, it might just be the cutest thing to watch.

A big smile forms on the weasel’s blushing face, and he couldn't help but laugh along.

“Hey, cat!” the cougar roared, giggling stupidly. John winced a little at the volume of his voice.

“The name’s John Blacksad.” he corrects him.

“Whatever! That stunt you pulled…” he paused, stifling a burp. “Back when we were chasing you in Colorado? That was real fucking clever of you.” Klein plasters a goofy grin on his face.

“Yeah! Like reaaaaal…” McLeod drunkenly elongated his words, in a comically high-pitched voice. “...fucking clever of you…” he paused, sitting up straight, wiggling the end of his nose as the gears turned in his drunken mind. “It was almost, heh, gut-bustingly funny.” he hiccuped, the tip of his tongue sliding along the edge of his glass, licking at some of the ale.

“Well, that’s John for you! Preach!” Weekly piped in, having no context to this conversation, but knowing his friend, he wouldn’t put it past him to do something insane enough to impress these two.

“Granted, we got chewed out real bad for trashing that car, on account of this imbecile whipping his gun out, but I gotta say, I look back on that time and it’s a total riot now!” the cougar laughs, wiping a tear off his eye.

“Well, if it means anything, I do apologize for putting you two through that mess.” John looks to the side. Reflecting on that previous turn of events, it did seem rather extreme. “Still, I’m glad I left you two with some… wonderful memories.”

Klein waves a hand in dismissal. “Pfft, it’s over and done with, cat. You were just doing your job, the same as us. So, in a way, you did us a favor.”

“That’s reassuring to hear, Klein. Although, I gotta ask, what’s Mr. Lowell been doing these days?”

It was McLeod’s turn to snort.

“The hell do we know? We just get ordered around to manhandle.” the coyote sneers. “Whatever happens afterwards is out of our hands.”

“For all we know, he’s probably rotting in jail somewhere.” Klein added. “What? Is he a friend of yours?”

“No, but it’d be a shame if that were the case.” a million possibilities flood John’s mind, but the numbness of the alcohol had allowed him to brush them aside easily, and a hopeful smile forms on his lips.

“Let’s hope he’s doing alright out there, wherever he is.”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night.” Klein shrugs. “For what it’s worth, that mess between us, it’s water under the bridge from here on out. It’s just your mug that annoys me now.” his tone lacked any bite to it, and it warmed John’s heart.

“You’re adorable.” the cat teased playfully, with his head in one hand, while tracing the rim of his cocktail glass in the other.

“Shut it.” The cougar downs the rest of his mug, blushing a bright shade of red.

John realized that in a span of a few hours, he’d just gone from being sworn enemies with the cougar before him, into a bonafide drinking buddy. For an old, stubborn dog, he just had to admire Smirnov’s uncanny ability to be persuasive.

That, or it was the magic of that old Christmas miracle. With this, anything was possible. He certainly had no reason to complain. They were all having the time of their lives, after all.

But still, a thought came up: Could it be that the two agents were running a little low on the companionship department this holiday season? Were they just that lonely?

Being an FBI agent must seem like a rootless job, going from place to place hunting miscreants, communists, and the like, the course of their lives essentially in the vice grip of the federal government. It must be difficult trying to find a sense of normalcy in that line of work.

He couldn’t help but pity the two.

He eyed the table. Over the course of their drinking, the food was almost picked clean, and most of their mugs were almost empty. It got him thinking.

Then, he got an idea, a wonderful idea. Something that will make this night before Christmas Eve, a night to remember.

"After this round, what do you guys say we head out and have some real fun?” John called out to the group, his cheeks flushed in a deep red as he cleaned out the rest of his cocktail.

"Hell yeah! Let’s go!" The group was in agreement, finishing off their respective drinks, plastered, but otherwise happy.

“W-whoa...” Weekly fumbled off his chair, getting to his feet, his breath reeking of booze. His legs wobbled, forcing him to grab the edge of the table to keep him steady.

“Is.. Wwohh.. Is the entire pub... supposed to wobble like that?” the weasel murmured curiously, as he shook his head and swayed side to side slightly, while looking confused & cross-eyed, trying to keep his balance.

They paid their respective tabs and stumbled out of the pub in a drunken haze, hiccuping all the while. The cold night was all but happy to receive this group of fools as they got ready to make their merriment.

A fresh layer of snow had fallen in the neighborhood as the drinking party strolled the streetside, their furs bristling from the late evening cold. Even with the drinks in their stomachs warming them up considerably, their bodies all but wanted to shiver at the newfound sensation, even with their coats on.

The world spun and wobbled around them like a carnival ride, so walking, while swaying back and forth in this state was gonna take some getting used to. It had been ages since any of these men had a bender like this, and they were loving every single minute of it so far. It was like reliving college life all over again.

“You know this neighborhood better than me, so where to?” John asked Smirnov, who was fumbling with his scarf, trying to bring it a little higher onto his neck.

“Hmm… The boardwalk south of here looks pretty at this time of night.” the dog puts a hand on his mouth, stifling a burp. “We can get to Coney Island from there if we walk far enough, and see all the amusement parks in the area.” 

“Hold on, aren’t they closed at this time of year?” Weekly managed to slur out, but almost tripped over his own feet and also leaned into a nearby lamp post.

Smirnov flashes a childish grin.

“Who’s gonna stop us?”

Klein brayed a one-note laugh, putting an arm over the dog’s shoulder.

“So the good old commissioner’s actually suggesting that we break into an amusement park at night, huh?” Klein said, giggling mischievously. “You’re a bad, bad boy.”

“Guilty as charged.” the dog nods, taking in the compliment.

They managed to stumble their way into the boardwalk in about half an hour, and Smirnov was right, it was a sight to behold. A layer of snow covered where the sand used to be, and the bay was practically frozen for a good five miles, maybe even more.

It was almost like Jack Frost paid a visit, and turned the beach into his personal playground.

“Goddamn, you were right about this place being pretty at this time of year.” McLeod said, staring out in wonder with his hands in his coat pockets.

“I told you.” the dog said with a smug grin. “We’re not much longer now. You coming or what?”

The party skirted the beachfront, making idle chatter and finally getting the hang of their motor functions, managing to walk while still wobbly in their drunken stupor state.

After taking a quick leak at a restroom stall halfway across, they finally see the large, flat structures of midways that consisted part of the Coney Island amusement park complex.

“Hard to believe some of these are actually still standing.” John said.

“It hasn’t been any better in the last couple years.” Smirnov shook his head. “They get plagued with a lot of fires, but they never make enough to fix the damages, so they end up closing.”

“You sure know a lot about this place.” Weekly said, looking a little woozy, since he’s still hammered, but not completely close to being shit-faced. “You take your kids here a lot?”

“I used to.” Smirnov sheepishly scratches the back of his head. “I love carnivals. I think if I ended up not becoming a cop, I’d be a carny instead.”

“Now that’s a scary thought.” John smirked. “Smirnov in clown makeup.”

“Hey, you’re one to talk!” the dog jabbed back. “Don’t think I don’t know about that hidden stash of Elvis albums you got in your vinyl shelf.”

John sputters.

“How the hell did you know about that?!” pure shock painted the cat’s face.

“You’re not as good at hiding things as you might think.” the dog gloated, his hands on his waist, leaning towards the cat. “That jazz-loving persona of yours ain’t fooling me.”

“Fuck, this is embarrassing.” John scratches his head, the other on his waist. The cat was red in the face, and it definitely wasn’t because of the alcohol.

“Huh. Never pegged you to be an Elvis guy.” McLeod snickers. “You sure have good taste for an old man.”

“Can we just drop this subject, please?” John squirms, triggering a triumphant laugh from Smirnov at his expense. 

Klein and Weekly snicker as well, seeing a side to the cat they haven’t experienced before.

It didn’t take them much longer until they reached a small gate leading towards one of the parks, the courtyard and castle in full view just past the boundary. The snow inside looked practically untouched. 

It was strange. Given the total lack of security, someone would’ve broken in by now. It’s as if the owners were daring for it to happen.

Enamored by the view, McLeod walked up to it and climbed over without breaking a sweat, strolling ahead of the party. Klein followed closely behind, then the trio.

At the courtyard, McLeod and Weekly promptly dropped on their backs and started flailing their arms and legs, making snow angels.

Klein shook his head incredulously. Even in his drunken state, he thought they looked childishly silly.

The cat’s ears twitched slightly as his attention was taken elsewhere, and he scanned his surroundings until his eyes were drawn to a most interesting attraction on the right edge of the park: a house of mirrors.

Damn, now that takes me back. During his days as a kitten, he’d often look forward to the carnival coming to town every summer, dragging his sister along to experience the food and the rides, along with the main show at the big top. One attraction that always stuck with him was the one with the weird mirrors that stretched or shrunk his body, or made him smaller or bigger. His young mind couldn’t get enough of its simple wonder.

“Hey fellas!” he called out to the group, gathering their attention. “I found something you all might get a kick out of.” he says, pointing his muzzle towards the house.

“A house of mirrors, huh?” The dog was the first to make a remark. “Well, that certainly brings back memories.”

Behind the dog and the cat, Klein took one look at the attraction, and an idea formed in his drunken head, causing him to grin deviously.

It would be the perfect way to get back at the detective for everything he’s done to them.

The house of mirrors was surprisingly intact for a place that’s been abandoned for a long span of time. Given the dated graphics on the panels and ceiling, Smirnov could only wager a guess that the last time this attraction saw any guests was probably about twenty years ago.

They were met at the entrance by a large, faded white sign on top, painted with cartoon-like images of visitors looking into mirrors, pointing and laughing at their distorted reflections.

It didn’t take long for them to see the same distorted figures staring back at them after a few steps inside.

“Wow… this place is *hic* incredible!” Weekly stared around him in childlike wonder, as he was attacked with fits of hiccups, adding an interesting effect to it all when his reflections all did the exact same thing. One in particular, an inverted weasel, was staring back at him, looking like the inner curve of a spoon.

There was something about the cartoonish nature of being in a house of mirrors that safely brought out the child in each of them. Even with the desolate cold outside, the warm nostalgia and the lack of any inhibitions to worry about was the perfect combination to allow them to goof off, out of prying, judging eyes.

“You’ve never been to a house of mirrors before, Week?” John asked, staring at one bug-eyed reflection of himself. He even giggled at the humorous sight of it.

“I never really *hic* got to try!”

“Man, you really missed out, then. It’s a good thing I picked this place.” there was a goofily mischievous grin on his face as he said that. “Come here, I think you might like this one.”

“Yeah?” The weasel stood next to the cat, then jumped. “Goodness! What big eyes you have!”

“Heh! I’ll say. You looked like you got a good look at Marilyn Monroe’s thighs.”

Smirnov came from behind them, and when he saw his reflection as well, his eyes widened.

“I look like I just saw Vampira.”

“Not a fan of horror movies, Smirnov?”

“No, but Vampira…” he shook his head suggestively, growling randily. 

John snickers at the implication.

“Down, boy. Be glad Dorothy’s not around to see this, or hear you say that.”

Weekly doubled-over and shook into a violent fit of laughter. He’d never imagined the commissioner being this… open about this kind of excitement in the state he was in. It was a refreshing take on someone he once considered frumpy and authoritative.

They moved onto another set of mirrors, and their eyes widened at their rippled reflections. They looked jagged from head to toe, like they were cut into sections. It was a little morbid to look at. In yet another, they were split apart into spheroids like newly-minted coins.

The revolving distortions, shapes, and sizes as they moved across the hall was so surreal, like a painting, yet so funny, like a good stand-up routine. The trio hadn’t laughed this hard in a long time. Whoever said that laughter was the best medicine, they were definitely speaking from experience.

It brought into perspective how stifling their lives have been up to this point, that it had become simply impossible to just be… silly. To let loose, and laugh at a dumb joke, or get into goofy antics with a buddy. It was unbecoming for an adult, and the only time things of this nature were ever acceptable were during specific times of the year, while being drunk out of one’s mind.

It made John wonder why things were the way they were. The world wouldn’t seem so bleak if people took themselves just a little bit less seriously every once in a while.

“Oh man! John, this place is the best!” Weekly was hit with another hiccup, as he laughed at his own distorted reflection, peering closely into the mirror.

But then behind the trio, two deformed, monstrous creatures jumped out, casting a grotesque reflection around them, followed by a loud “Boo!”, causing them to jump, the weasel quite literally popping a foot off the floor.

They turn to see the two agents, clutching at their bellies and laughing at the great scare they just pulled off.

“Goddamn, we got you *hic* guys, good!” McLeod was also attacked with a fit of hiccups, but he didn’t seem to care as he gloated. “Best *hic* payback ever!”

“Yeah, you guys *hic* should’ve seen the looks on your faces.” Klein added, also catching the fits. “Hard to believe how much this *hic* takes me back. I used to do this exact trick to *hic* scare a lot of kids back in the day.” he says with a guffaw.

“You’re pretty good at it, alright.” John giggles sheepishly, mortified at how easily the cougar scared him.

“Hey, these mirrors are kinda funny, eh?” McLeod said, punctuating with another hiccup. “Gotta admit, they give me a lot of ideas!”

“Funnier than those stupid comics you read?” Klein grinned.

“Let’s test it out and see!” The coyote pumps his fists, all too giddy, and they eagerly went further into the hall, while the trio took the time to collect themselves.

“They sure are enjoying this a lot.” It was Weekly’s turn to giggle sheepishly.

“That much is obvious.” John said. “Let’s leave them to it. Gotta admit, it’s actually fun to watch.”

“Heh. Same old cat.” Smirnov grins, dusting himself off.

“Admit it, you’re enjoying this too.” John shot back, and the dog raised his arms in surrender, laughing.

John had no doubt that the beers and cocktails previously consumed might be adding to the overall enjoyment. He’s not about to complain, if this is ultimately what it takes to let loose.

The two agents turned the corner, making their way to another set of mirrors, slanted and positioned differently from the others. The coyote’s reflection looked upside-down.

“Huh *hic* , would you look at that?” McLeod remarked curiously. “I’m defying gravity!”

“What?” Klein turned to look at his partner’s mirror and gasped, his hackles raising. “What the hell?! UAAAGH!”

He kept darting from the mirror to his feet, hyperventilating.

“OH GOD! OH GOD! HOW DO I GET DOWN FROM THERE?!”

The trio turned the corner, wondering what the fuss was about, only to see the cougar standing in place, freaking out over nothing.

“I got this one.” Smirnov walks over, and yanks the poor agent out of the mirror’s line of sight.

“Ohh, oh my God.” Klein braces himself with his hands on his knees, catching his breath. “Thank you, commissioner. I owe you one.”

He turns to see his partner, slapping his knee, pointing and laughing.

“And you say I’m a fuckin’ idiot!” the coyote says gleefully. “You actually fell for that trick mirror, didn’t you?!”

“Asshole! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” the cougar growls, stomping his feet impotently, prompting a bout of laughter from everyone at his expense.

“Hey, Blacksad! Come over here!” McLeod gestures to the cat. “We’re just getting started!”

John sighs with a smile, and plays along.

“You’re a strong guy. Why don’t you carry me?” he requested, with a hiccup.

“What did you have in mind?”

“I wanna fly over the next set of mirrors over there, pretty please?” he childishly pleaded, his arms clasped like a schoolgirl, batting his eyelids. John snorted at how silly it looked.

“Okay, hop aboard.” 

The cat lifts the coyote’s fairly wiry body above his head, and his passenger spreads his arms apart, straightening his legs. He breaks into a run, and McLeod gets a nice gust of cold air as he looks at the mirrors passing by beside him, their sizes shifting from big to small in rapid succession: from an ant carrying an elephant, to an elephant carrying an ant.

They stop at a set of three mirrors, and John sets down his passenger, who brushes at his coat. The rest of the group took their time.

McLeod eyed his reflection, and was taken by how tall he was… almost like he was being stretched apart.

Next to him, John looked as small as a kitten at the mirror before him.

“Hey, watch this!” The coyote makes a karate-chopping motion at John’s head, and on their reflections, it looked like a stretchy coyote was squishing a tiny kitten flat.

“Huh. Pretty hilarious.” John remarked, snickering.

“I know, right? Man, this really is better than the comics!”

“Let me guess. Mad Magazine?”

“You read it too?!” McLeod’s ears perked, panting a little too enthusiastically.

“Whenever the mood strikes, I guess.” If he was sober, John wouldn’t be caught admitting that.

“He’s a freaking riot, I can tell you that much! Boy, if that thing was around during my high school days, my pranks would’ve been a thousand times more inventive.”

“I figured you were the class clown in your day.”

“And proud of it!” McLeod flashes a grin, his hands on his waist. 

The rest of the group finally catch up, and the coyote motions for Smirnov to come before the third mirror.

Before him, his reflection was elongated, but a quarter of his original size. He raises his hands, and they form long sticks positioned in cardinal angles. When he spread his feet apart, they did the same thing. He alternates them, and the reflection before him does a dance.

“Heh. Look John, I’m walking like an Egyptian.” the dog said.

“It suits you well.” John looks at Weekly and Klein, now having taken their respective places in the first two mirrors. The cougar held his hands out towards the weasel, and it looked like a tiny cat holding a baguette-shaped weasel.

“Here, let me try!” McLeod pushed Klein aside gently, turning himself into a little pup once again.

Weekly smirked triumphantly.

“From way up here, the four of you look like ants I can crush.” he makes a show of gloating like a villain, clawed hands outstretched.

McLeod, intimidated, hides behind his cougar partner with a whine.

Klein turns and his attention is drawn to the mirrors on the opposite side. He walks up to it and sees a head twice his size affixed to his trim body.

He snorts, grinning at how good he looked.

“Oh, good, looks like you’ve still got a lot of hot air in that pretty head of yours.” the coyote said.

“Oh yeah?!” Klein growls, but his big head fails to make him look intimidating. His expression looked too comical for it to work.

“Yeah! Let’s see who can growl the hardest!” McLeod takes the adjacent mirror, enlarging his head, and bares his teeth, giving his partner the fiercest growl he could muster, folding his ears back for effect.

Klein does the same, but hunches his body over to look even scarier, overexposing his eyeteeth. They face each other, the mirrors taking in each of their big heads until the entire hall was nothing but the continuous sound of their growling.

Smirnov found it very amusing.

“Are you trying to scare each other, or trying to start the lawnmower?” he quips, shaking his head. “Because I can’t tell.”

“Think you can do better?” the cougar dared to ask the dog.

“Wanna bet? Stand aside.” Smirnov puts a hand on the cougar's shoulder, gently pushing him aside, and makes a show of warming up, stretching his chest, shoulders, and back. He hunches over, bringing his head down.

Then in one quick burst, he lifts his head, his eyes bulging, his fangs bared, belting out a monstrous, menacing, lion-like growl that caught everyone’s attention, and caused McLeod to jump a foot in the air with a yelp.

“Motherfucker!” The coyote slumped on the ground, mortified.

The dog’s monster-like face melted back into a soft and docile state, in the midst of a gleefully triumphant belly-laugh.

“I still got it!” he said.

“How the hell did you do that?” McLeod asked, genuinely curious.

“You pick up a thing or two in the force.” Smirnov winks. “The lions make it look easy.”

“Jesus… Well, grandma, you certainly had big teeth.”

“All the better to eat you with, my dear.” he holds out his arm, and the coyote takes it, bracing himself up.

“What are you three doing over there with all that racket? I… Whoa!” John’s attention was taken by his reflection in another mirror adjacent to them, showcasing his giant head. 

"Wow, John! Your head blew up like a *hic* balloon! How in the world are you *hic* still standing?" Weekly remarked goofily, smirking as he grabbed one of the detective's shoulders, putting himself in the mirror’s line of sight. 

The weasel’s enlarged head came into view. He ran his small hands all over his face, bewildered and enamored. A weird thought came to him, whether or not his head could pop by its sheer size, and wondered if that was a good way to go. The morbid thought passed as quickly as it came through his drunken haze.

The rest of the group came across John and Weekly’s big heads, and it caused them to giggle drunkenly at the sight.

“Well, Week, I see that mirror’s shown your ego for what it is!” John slaps a hand on his thigh. “Though I’m not one to talk, myself.” 

“*hic* I’d say it’s pretty damn accurate!” the weasel gave a toothy smile, pointing at himself. “It’s a head of *hic* mythical proportions! Hell, maybe it’ll get even bigger when I’m *hic* older. I’m still a growing boy, after all!”

“Good. Maybe you can finally reach a top shelf or two when that happens.” The cat jabbed playfully, then he had the idea to open his mouth, showing a full set of teeth, slightly discolored, but oddly intact for someone who smokes and drinks on the regular.

“Damn, even your chompers are huge!” Weekly opens his to compare, turning and cocking his head to get a feel for them against the mirror.

“You’re not half bad yourself.” John snickers. “Those bourbon milkshakes aren’t going to stand a chance.”

“Aww, ya think?” he flashes himself the same toothy smile, and it was the biggest smile he’s seen himself make so far.

“Hey, Klein? Remember that hot sauce prank I did for April Fools?” McLeod asked his partner, elbowing his shoulder.

A tempting grin formed in the cougar’s face.

“Yeah? Do tell us.”

“See, I had this bottle of Louisiana hot called Pure Crystal that I got from New Orleans, and the guy said it was probably their hottest in the market: four-thousand Scoville units with a hint of cayenne for flavor. I spiked this guy’s coffee, and I waited.”

“And waited.”

The group listened intently.

“I ended up drinking it.” he grins sheepishly.

The entire hall roared with laughter, the punchline successfully delivered.

“And you wanna know why he did it?” Klein piped in. “I swapped our mugs. It was on your face the whole time, and I was there when you bought that sauce.”

“That must’ve been one hot coffee.” John said with a smug smile. “How many jugs of milk did you have to drink to get rid of the aftertaste?”

“I lost count at three!” McLeod giggled. “But until that day, I never pegged ol’ sourpuss here to be a practical jokester of his own merit.”

Klein grinned. John couldn’t help but notice how… villainous the cougar looks when he grins like that, head leaned in, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, and eyeteeth a bit too overexposed. It probably explains why he doesn’t smile too often.

“I can pull tricks of my own too, so you’ll have to do better than something as textbook as hot coffee.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard.” McLeod makes a show of dismissively checking his claws. “You thought you were stuck on the ceiling earlier.”

Klein snarls, but it doesn’t faze the coyote.

“Not letting me live this down, are you, smart guy?”

“Aww, you know you love me.” McLeod does the schoolgirl act again, batting his eyelids at the cougar.

“Y’know John, they say that a few dashes of Pure Crystal can actually make your head pop right off, and it wouldn’t hurt a bit.” Smirnov came up, his big head bobbing within the group.

McLeod and Klein laugh hysterically at the notion.

“Like that’s ever gonna happen.” John snorted. “Isn’t that one of those urban myths that’s all the rage with kids these days?”

“Well, maybe, but it seemed believable to me.” Smirnov says, crossing his arms, unsure of himself.

“Did your kids tell you that one? That’s actually quite adorable.” Weekly said, snickering.

The group does a collective aww at the old commissioner, and he blushes in a childlike manner, scratching the back of his head.

“I, uh… Thanks.” he said. “I do love my kids to death, heh.”

The group proceeds onward, around the corner, to a set of wider mirrors. John and Weekly were the first to notice that these mirrors widened their arms and chests. In John’s case, his mirror even enlarged the spot around his nether regions, causing the group to giggle like schoolboys.

"Heh. I actually used to look like this, believe it or not." Blacksad said, reminded of a time when he used to box on a regular basis, until he dropped out.

“That’s really hard to believe, John, but nice try!” Weekly guffawed. “Hey Smirnov, check this one out! I can tell you get a kick outta this, since this one's got your name written all over it!" he calls out playfully to the old dog.

When Smirnov heard Weekly's call, he answered and headed over to the mirror where John and Weekly were currently standing. 

He was struck at how impressively bulky his arms and body looked.

“If only Dorothy and the kids could see me now.” Smirnov remarks, flexing and posing at his burly reflection. It reminded him of his prime years, when he was a lot more active.

“Don’t you think it’d be fun to bring them over again, before this place closes for good?” John asked.

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea, actually.” the dog smiled, but slightly loopy from the alcohol still. “I’ll think about it.”

“I can tag along and babysit for you!” Weekly drunkenly suggested, giggling like a child.

“I think they’d like that.” Smirnov laughed at the suggestion.

Hearing that upon catching up, Klein absent-mindedly asked, "Like what, guys?"

“We’re talking about the commissioner bringing his family here sometime.” the weasel filled him in, stifling another hiccup.

Klein didn’t feel like he had anything to add to that conversation, so he took a look at his reflection instead, liking what he saw.

“With muscles like these, maybe I could take up wrestling again.” he grins.

His partner follows right next to him, his arms down to his waist as he flexes his triceps.

“How about the navy? I’d make a good anchor cranker, don’t you think?”

The cougar pauses, wondering if he should tell him something embarrassing about himself.

“I’m not a fan of water.”

“Really now?” The coyote eats it up with a smug grin. “I’m glad you got to share that with me!”

“Ahh, forget about him.” John walks up to the cougar, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not a fan of water either.”

The cougar lights up, tempted to bask in the camaraderie, but snorts, looking away with his arms crossed.

“Don’t patronize me.” he fumed in a comically obvious way.

“Gotta say, the two of you could make for decent beefcakes.” the cat grins suggestively, putting a hand on the coyote’s shoulder as well. “Maybe you could book a photoshoot with one of those quarterly physique magazines.”

“Don’t give them any funny ideas, John.” Smirnov scoffed.

“How about–”

“Absolutely not.” the dog interrupts.

“Killjoy.” John sticks his tongue out at him.

“I’m liking this one, out of *hic* everything we’ve seen so far!” Weekly remarks, flexing one bicep.

“You and me both, Week.” John adds.

Once they were done, the group continued on with their drunken journey through the house of mirrors, as they drunkenly giggled and chuckled along the way.
As the group progressed through the next room, they noticed that the mirrors were spaced further apart than in the previous room. It still didn’t change the fact that the hall was a well-designed maze, and it was still hard to follow along. Soon, they found themselves where it seemed to be the center of the attraction.

Weekly stopped to look at this next set of mirrors, his curiosity getting the better of him. His face twists into abject horror.

“Who the hell is that?!” he points at his reflection with a trembling orange finger. It was fat, with two, maybe three chins bulging from its face, wearing his outfit, looking rather stretched out from its intended size. The belt on its waist looked ready to burst.

“Ate too many pies there, little weasel?” Klein said, putting his hands on the weasel’s shoulders, making him jump. Hilariously, the rotund reflection jumped just as high.

McLeod doubled over in a fit of giggles over that stunt.

"Yeah, well, I could *hic* say the same about you two fatsos!" Weekly jested, as he also pointed at their fat reflections beside him.

The agents turn and look, and their eyes bulge in disbelief. Weekly could almost hear the sound of their eyes popping out of their sockets, like in one of those slapstick cartoons he’d see on the TVs in the television store window.

Compared to being stretched, shrunk, and enlarged by their body parts, this was probably the funniest they’ve seen themselves to date.

Klein’s figure was fat alright, but his pants were hiked so far up to his neck, that he looked like a Malteser. McLeod on the other hand, swelled like a balloon, his gut the most prominent part of his figure, with his legs being literal stubs just below it.

“How many beers did we down again?” the coyote asked. “Feels like I’m gonna have a baby soon.”

“Can’t remember, but Jesus… I look like my old man.” the cougar jeered at his reflection. “I need to go for a run.”

“You fellas sound like you could use new wardrobes.” Smirnov approached from behind. It was his turn to put his arms on their shoulders. “I’d have to suggest the maternity department, however.”

They giggle sheepishly.

“Must be from all that fried stuff from earlier.” John added.

“When have I ever seen you eat anything else besides burgers, fries, or a pretzel?” the dog wags his finger at his pal. “Glass houses, John.”

“Hah! You got him good there, commissioner.” Klein brayed while John shrugged.

“Oh, look here, you guys! I think I might have a solution to our problems!” Weekly piped in, grabbing the group’s attention.

Behind him was the figure of an orange stick. It piques the agents’ interest, and they jump into that mirror.

The bloat was gone, but it took more than just that.

“No way, I’m a fucking twig!” Klein exclaims.

“Now I can snap you in half for all the grief you put me through on a daily basis.” McLeod giggles again. It was difficult to tell if he was serious or not.

“Not if I break you first!” The cougar bites back.

The coyote responds dismissively with a loud burp, and the cougar recoils.

“You two need to kiss already.” the weasel smirks.

“Shut up, you!” the agents shout in unison.

The antics continued in yet another room, until McLeod saw a pair of big, long shoes at the corner of his eyes. His head turns to see his reflection wearing it, and his mind seems to turn upside down, causing him to lose his balance and fall flat on the seat of his pants.

He spent the next brief moment half-laughing, and half-wincing in pain.

"Ugh! Ow! Yeah! Ow! Ow! Ow! Heh, heh heh heh *hic* !”

“You doddering jackass…” Klein said, almost endearingly, as he lifted his partner up on his feet. “Broke any bones?”

“Nah, I’m okay. Felt like I was *hic* walking on stilts! Heh…” the coyote said, nodding.

“Where would you get that kind of idea?” the cougar sees his own shoes in the mirror, and jumps a little.

“Heh. I guess that is pretty funny.” he giggles. “Looks like clown shoes.”

Weekly watches, and gets an idea.

“Try going down on your knees!” he suggests to the cougar.

Klein took one look at the weasel, shrugs, and does what he says. His height shrinks, but his shoes become three times as large. He looks like a midget.

If he had the wig, the red nose and the white gloves, it would be a dead ringer.

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” Klein asks, laughing as he tries to walk on his knees.

“A little something called Mad Magazine.” the weasel points and grins.

McLeod gasps.

“You and the cat?!” the coyote bounces giddily, his clown shoes going up and down with him. “Oh boy, this is my lucky day!”

“What? John reads it too?” he turned to where the cat was, but he was distracted with his own antics with Smirnov, bending their knees and giggling drunkenly at each other.

He notes to ask him about it later.

They fool around the elongating mirror for a couple minutes more before they hit one last set of mirrors in the maze, feeling the cold draft of the night ever closer. They were almost to the exit.

John and Klein approach it, to see that they’ve become short, almost like their respective heights as children.

“Were you always this short as a kid?” the cougar made the jab first.

“I could ask the same of you.” the cat raised an eyebrow. “You certainly were an adorable little kitten.”

“I… did get doted on a lot.” Klein admits, blushing, crossing his arms and looking to the side. “You’re, uh, not half-bad looking yourself.”

“Stop, or I might just fall in love.” John playfully shoves the cougar with his elbow. He shoots back with a look that was neither threatening, nor friendly.

In that brief moment, John sensed what seemed like sadness. The kind of sadness that comes and goes when something good is about to end. As he expected, the look vanishes, and his expression is neutral again.

John didn’t want to pass up on this moment of vulnerability, and just vaguely recalled his call with Donna earlier.

“Hey, for what it’s worth, I should thank you for paying back my sister’s car.” he said.

Klein rubs the back of his neck, looking away.

“Ah, it’s nothing. Let’s just say convincing my boss wasn’t easy.”

The cougar immediately changes the subject.

“Now if you really did have short legs…” Klein cups his chin in thought. “I wonder if you’d be much easier to catch?”

“Wanna bet on it?” John gives him a daring look.

“Hey guys! Check out what McLeod and the commissioner’s doing over there!” Weekly came, interrupting the two.

Klein follows the weasel as he heads back, without taking another glance at John.

Hmm, wonder if I’ll ever get a proper answer from him? John crosses his arms, smiling to himself as he follows.

As he watched the rest of the group horse around on this last set of mirrors, he reflected on everything that’s happened so far. It was almost a blur, the amount of fun they had while completely uninhibited, drunk off their rockers.

It was weird, but to some extent, he didn’t really want this to end so soon. The moment they step out of this house of mirrors, they’ll have to go back to their real lives, and back to their adult fears and worries. No amount of drink will ever change the sheer fact that the cards life has each dealt them with will always be on the table, and that to make something meaningful of the lives they’re given, they must play.

That’s just how it is, doubly so when one has a wife and children, just like Smirnov.

But, John finds himself thankful that fate cared enough to smile upon the five of them to meet, and make this happen somehow. He doesn’t often find himself with this kind of luck, but he’ll take it, without complaint.

The group have their fill, and eventually come across the dim light of the night sky past the opening, exiting the house of mirrors. They were once again outside, the chilly night air greeting them again like an old friend. The five of them take in the scene of the abandoned amusement park, still untouched but only to them: an almost secret place where they got to act like absolute fools for a single night.

The morning light soon peeked into the overcast sky, washing away the night. And with it, the feelings of wanton drunken revelry.

A fresh layer of snow started falling when the group finally returned to Smirnov's car, their inhibitions all but returning, along with pounding hangovers. After some half-hearted negotiations inside, they all ultimately agreed to be dropped off at Grand Central Station.

The Main Concourse was warmly-lit, but hollow, with only a handful of people trickling in and out as the early morning crowd had barely woken up.

Soon, this hall was going to burst with thousands upon thousands of people doing their last-minute Christmas shopping, or traveling home to loved ones, without the misfortune of having to catch a flight due to the oncoming blizzard.

On the far end, the American flag was ever-present, a symbol of many interpretations to the millions of people that call the Big Apple home, or simply just passing through.

It was here that the Christmas truce was finally coming to an end.

McLeod and Klein were the first to break off from the group, the cougar nonchalantly adjusting his glove, and the coyote looking aside, sullenly crossing his arms, trying to regain some shred of dignity from the previous night's silliness.

"Well, gentlemen," Klein started. "It was... a pleasure."

He produced a small smile.

"Let's just make it clear that whatever happened last night, stays between us."

"Agreed." Smirnov said, adjusting his glasses and crossing his arms.

"And you, cat." The cougar narrows his eyes at John. "The next time our paths cross, don't expect me to get friendly."

"Likewise." John sneered back, but it melted into a small smile of his own. "But I had fun."

"It beats sitting on a desk all day, that's for sure." he said with a grin, before turning his back, heading off.

"Let's go." he puts a hand on the coyote's shoulder, who took one last look at the trio, looking a little wistful.

Weekly walked up to the agent, holding out his hand.

"I had fun, McLeod." the weasel said with a smile. "We should keep in touch."

"Heh. You sure?" McLeod chuckled sheepishly. "We travel a lot. I’d make for a terrible friend."

"I’m sure you’ll figure out where to find me." Weekly said with a wink.

The coyote took his hand and shook firmly.

"Alright. See you around, Weekly." he looks at the other two. "Gentlemen."

"Merry Christmas!" Klein shouted in one last display of gregariousness, waving a hand at the group as he walked away.

"Merry Christmas, everyone." McLeod said at half the volume, with a sincere smile before he followed his partner out the hall.

"Well, there they go." John took out a cigarette and lighter from his trenchcoat pocket, putting the stick on his mouth and lighting it with a puff.

He offers the dog a light, but he shakes his head and holds out his hand to pass.

"Gotta nurse this hangover first."

"Heh. Alright." The cat grins, putting the lighter away. He puts a hand on his suitcase to lift it, and starts his walk through the concourse.

"You coming, Week?" he asked his weasel pal.

"Oh, sure." he puts a hand on his trolley suitcase and follows along, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a moment as he suffers his own hangover.

As they walk, the weasel opens his mouth.

“Hey, John.” he said. “My memory’s kinda fuzzy, but did I hear you say that you like reading Mad Magazine to pass the time?”

John’s eyes bulged, stunned by how the weasel knew this. He blushes, dying a little inside as he chuckled, cupping a fist to his mouth as he feigned clearing his throat.

"Hey, John? Weekly?" the commissioner called out.

"Yeah?" they responded in unison. 

Smirnov gives them a warm smile.

"Thanks for indulging this old dog," he said. "I'll hold this night close 'till the day I die."

"Gonna shed a tear now?" John snorts. "Always the sentimental one, you."

"Right back at ya, you hopeless romantic."

They exchange a round of laughter.

Smirnov waves his hand, his eye twinkling through his glasses.

"Merry Christmas, you two."

John and Weekly wave back. The smoke from John’s cigarette trails through the air above him as they walk away.

"Merry Christmas!"

END OF EPISODE

"I'm Right Here"