Okay, I know this is late for the holiday but I can't help it when the idea came. Also, for those who don't care for such things, this is an unabashedly sentimental tale. But I figure, if you can't be sentimental on Christmas, when can you?

ON CHRISTMAS DAY IN THE MORNING

a tag to X-Mas Marks the Spot

by Sheila Paulson

Egon awoke with a stirring of excitement in the pit of his stomach and lay, warm and cozy, under his pile of blankets, trying to understand why. Christmas. It was Christmas morning in the firehall and, last night, the Ghostbusters had traveled back in time and nearly put an end to Christmas by trapping the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future. They had managed to undo what they had done and put Christmas back on track, but it had been a near thing. What mattered was that they had saved the holiday. Egon imagined children all across the country getting up, eyes wide with wonder when they saw what Santa had brought them, and couldn't hold back a relieved smile.

A quick check the night before had reassured them that the ghosts were powerful enough not only to return the guys to the firehall after they'd saved Christmas but to bring back Ecto-1 and Janine's car, in which Egon had followed the other three after retrieving the ghosts from the containment unit. Very tidy and organized of them. Egon had approved.

It had been too late, by the time they got home, to think about opening presents or even going out for a Christmas tree, but all four of them had been too relieved to have saved the holiday to have worried about minor details. Janine had shared a bowl of holiday punch with them and then headed for home, and the four men, exhausted after their excursions in the snow and in Victorian England, had collapsed into bed.

All four of them...

Suddenly, Egon realized why he was lying there smiling.

For the first time since Egon had known him, Peter had joined in the spirit of the holiday. He had managed to throw off his disappointment in Christmas and stop pretending it was simply another day and take an active part in the punchbowl celebration. He understood and appreciated what he had nearly lost. Maybe, this year, he'd actually be able to enjoy the holiday. He'd been the one to mix up the bowl of punch, non-alcoholic, since Janine had to drive to Brooklyn in the snow.

"But, next year, I'll make it the way it should be made," he'd promised. "Two degrees short of lethal."

When Egon had uttered a faint protest, Peter grinned at him. "Come on, Spengs, it's Christmas." Ray had stared at Peter, then his face had lit up with that sheer delight he usually wore for the entire holiday season. For Ray, Christmas wasn't just a day. It was a time of sheer magic. Seeing his enraptured smile, Peter had grinned in return.

That was when the shiver of excitement had begun to settle in the pit of Egon's stomach. Now, as he lay, warm and toasty in his bed, he could feel it all the stronger.

Egon had always liked Christmas. It had been a pleasant family time when he was growing up, a day when his father lost some of his stiffness, when his mother had glowed with joy. Although the Spengler Christmases had been far more formal than the eager celebrations Ray remembered of the days when his parents were still alive, or the big, warmhearted, convivial gathering of the Zeddemore clan, it had possessed its own warmth and charm. The gifts his father gave him had always been practical and scientific, and Egon had been raised to take more pleasure in them than the normal, small-boy toys his mother had given him. No visits from Santa at the Spengler household. His father had no patience with Christmas legends. But the sense of family had been very strong, and those early Christmases had been the only times in his life when Egon had remembered being hugged by his father.

Even now, he felt a quiet warmth at the memory of his childhood Yuletides, but he never had experienced the unrestrained excitement Ray, and even Winston, had felt for the holidays. After he met Peter at Columbia, Egon had tried to share his quiet seasonal pleasure with his new friend, but Peter had resisted stubbornly. Once Ray joined the team, he spread excitement the way the wind scatters snow, drifting over everyone impartially, but he'd been determined for years to ease Peter into a holiday appreciation that had never materialized. Of later years, Ray hadn't tried with the same exuberance, sensing Peter was uncomfortable with it, but he had always included Peter in everything they did...

Like last night, when he and Winston had dragged Peter off to get their tree. They never had gotten one, Egon realized, and he felt a quiver of disappointment to disturb the warmth that filled him. Discovering what had happened to Christmas, they had raced home instead to try to prevent Egon from incarcerating the three Christmas ghosts in the containment unit. After that, they'd been too busy popping in and out of the Nineteenth Century in an attempt to undo their actions to bother.

Ray would be disappointed. Egon slanted a quick glance over at the occultist's bed. He was still sleeping, curled up in a comfortable ball under the covers. It was very early, Egon realized. The morning light was not yet bright, but then it was still snowing. He could hear the soft kiss of snowflakes against the front window.

Was it too late to buy a tree? Egon lay pondering the fact. If he sneaked out of bed now and tiptoed out without waking the other three, he might be able to find one somewhere. They could decorate it together. Excitement filled him at the idea. He sat up cautiously, delighted with his plan.

Peter's bed was empty.

Egon frowned. Of all of the Ghostbusters, Peter was the one who liked to sleep in. He often did it on Christmas morning, delaying the inevitable gift exchange, probably in hopes his friends would do it without him. Peter had always bought them gifts, usually very thoughtful gifts, but he never bothered to wrap them, just set them out for the guys to find. He'd started doing that after the first Christmas with Ray, when Ray had realized Peter hadn't bought him anything, and had looked crushed for a moment before he caught himself and said, "It's okay, Peter, I know you don't celebrate Christmas." He'd looked so downhearted Peter must have felt like a heel. The next year, there had been presents for both Ray and Egon, gifts chosen very carefully, and Ray's face had shone with happiness, not so much because he'd gotten a present but because Peter had tried. Peter hadn't much money as an undergraduate, which meant he'd probably had to skip a few meals to get the money together. Egon, who hadn't expected anything, had been touched by the gift Peter had shoved at him in embarrassment. He'd been grateful when Egon only offered him a simple 'thank you' before proffering his own gift.

Ever since then, the gift exchange had been muted, and no one talked about it much. Winston, in his first Christmas with the team, had gone out one afternoon and come back with a stack of gifts for his teammates. He must have noticed Peter's bah-humbug attitude, but he hadn't pushed for an explanation until last night.

Where was Peter? Egon slid quietly from his bed, hoping his stubborn friend hadn't reverted to his old, Christmas-hating ways overnight. Pausing only long enough to stick his feet into his slippers--the floors at headquarters were always chilly--he ventured out of the bedroom. Winston and Ray didn't stir.

Peter wasn't on the third floor. Egon went down the spiral stairs only to pause halfway down, staring in disbelief.

There was Peter, working industriously to decorate a huge, beautiful Christmas tree, one of the nicest ones that Egon had ever seen, the tang of pine hanging in the air. Venkman must have crept out very early to find a tree lot that was actually still open. He hadn't seen Egon yet, so the physicist froze, slowly lowering himself to a seat on the steps as he watched Peter placing the ornaments, face alight with a huge, little-boy smile. He was even humming Jingle Bells under his breath. It had taken a long time but the Christmas Spirit had finally caught up with Peter Venkman.

Some of the stack of gifts that had been sitting on the coffee table were already under the tree, the rest waiting to be placed, and there were more of them than Egon had remembered. Peter must have decorated his own--yes, there were a couple of rolls of wrapping paper strewn across the top of the desk, the Scotch tape dispenser tossed casually atop them. Peter must have awakened at the crack of dawn and rushed out for the tree, pausing only long enough to wrap his gifts.

The excitement that had been budding in Egon's stomach flowered into a blossom of joy as he watched his friend. Finally, Peter was enjoying Christmas. In watching him, Egon found a joy he'd never experienced before. This must be the way Ray felt during the holidays, bubbling with a barely contained excitement, drinking in the magic of the season.

Then Peter reached up to put the star on top of the tree, and the movement brought Egon into his line of vision. For a second, his face flamed bright red. Peter, who never blushed. Then the color ebbed and, instead, a beatific smile spread across his face.

"Merry Christmas, Egon," he cried.

The words were heartfelt, words Egon had never heard him speak before. He jumped up from his perch on the steps and hurried down, stopping just in front of Peter and gripping his arms. "Merry Christmas, Peter."

Peter grabbed him in return, hugged him hard, and let go. He looked as excited as Egon felt.

"That's a great tree," Egon praised. "Usually the lots are picked over by this time. Where did you find it?"

"You're not gonna believe this, Spengs, but I found it sitting right here when I came downstairs," Peter admitted. "I think it was a present from a certain three spirits we all know. I even took a P.K.E. reading to be sure and, yep, there's a reading, fading residuals." He waved his hand at the meter that lay on the table with the remainder of the presents.

"You mean they not only brought back Ecto and Janine's Volkswagen, they got us a Christmas tree? It wasn't here when Janine went home, I'm sure of that."

"No, I think they did it when they finished up at Scrooge's place. After all, they can time travel whenever they want to." His eyes widened. "Hey, do you think all ghosts can?"

"I don't know, although it will merit some serious study--after the holidays," he added when Peter's eyebrow lifted in amusement.

"You bet, after the holidays," Peter said. "You're gonna be too busy before then."

"So, what brought you downstairs so early? I know you well, Peter, and I know how much you hate to get up."

"But it's Christmas, Egon," Peter insisted, as fervently as Ray might have claimed. "We never had time to get the tree last night, and I knew Ray's heart would be broken if we didn't have one. I was trying to figure out where I could get one at six a.m. on Christmas morning when I came downstairs and there it was. I wanted to get it ready before you guys came down." He ducked his head, abashed, but he grinned. "There's a lot of years to make up for, and I figured I'd start right here."

"You even wrapped your presents this year," Egon observed. "Of course, you didn't put the paper away."

"Heck no, Egon, and deprive you of the pleasure of complaining about it?" Peter's face shone. "Come on, let's get the tree finished and put the rest of the presents under it before Ray and Winston wake up. I want to see their faces when they come downstairs and find it ready. This is great, Egon!"

"You don't know how great," Egon replied, his smile matching Peter's. "I realize your father doesn't come through for the holidays like he should." He worried for a second that mentioning Peter's father would bring back the old, negative feelings, but Peter's eyes reflected only a momentary sadness, quickly banished. It was an old pain, one he might, some day, learn to live with. "But Ray and I would always have given you good Christmases, Peter."

"I know." Peter set a brightly colored ball in place on the only branch without one and stepped back to survey his handiwork. "Not would, Egon. Did. Only I was too much of an idiot to realize it. When we lost Christmas and I was telling Scrooge that he was only denying himself what he was mad about not having had before, it hit me that I had had it. You guys always gave me Christmas. I was just too stubborn to see it. It would have been great to have Pop show up for some of those Christmases, but the last years, I haven't been without my family. You and Ray were always there and, even if I couldn't admit it till now, that meant a lot to me."

"It meant a lot to us," Egon replied.

Peter turned away hastily to plug in the string of lights, probably embarrassed at his admission. But Egon continued. "I've just realized something myself, Peter."

The lights sprang into brightness, reds and greens and blues, blinking softly through the strands of tinsel. For a long moment, the two men stood in quiet harmony, staring at the tree, then Peter turned to Egon. "What did you realize, good buddy?"

"That, while I have always enjoyed Christmas, this year is a special one. Not only because we almost lost it, and not only because you're finally enjoying it the way you should--though that means more to me than I can say. But, because this year, I suddenly can understand Ray's unrestrained happiness in the season."

"And because you're dying to see what's in those packages with your name on it," Peter kidded, although Egon could tell from the look in his eyes that he understood exactly what Spengler meant.

Egon grinned involuntarily. "I am," he admitted. "I feel rather like a child again, Peter."

"No, Spengs. You probably feel like a child for the first time," Peter corrected knowingly. "You were always thirty years old, even when you were three and got that microscope for Christmas." He reached out to ruffle Egon's uncombed hair. "Well, this year I didn't get you a microscope, or anything practical, good buddy. And don't you go snooping around the presents before Ray and Winston get here." He hurried over to the packages on the table and grabbed a huge one, carrying it over to place it under the tree himself. Even from where he stood, Egon could see the scrawl of Peter's handwriting on the label. "To Egon from Peter." Suddenly, he was as excited as Ray, eager to tear away the paper and open it.

"I can't even shake it?" he teased as he set a collection of gifts beneath the tree and started back for more.

Peter deposited his second load beneath the pine branches. "If I catch you even touching it before we open our presents, I'm gonna hold you down and cut off that tail," he said, grabbing the lock of hair that hung at Egon's neck and tugging gently.

"No such luck," Egon replied and, childishly, reached out and touched the present with his fingertip, his eyes alight, his smile stretching wide.

They were still wrestling beneath the tree when Ray and Winston hurried downstairs to see what was the matter and stopped dead at the sight of the Christmas display in front of them.

Peter jumped up, straightened his sweats with mock dignity and cried, "Merry Christmas, guys. Tree courtesy of our three favorite Christmas ghosts."

"Decorations courtesy of Peter," Egon put in, catching Ray's eye.

"Really?" Stantz's eyes widened in sheer delight, then he lunged forward, grabbed Peter, and hugged him enthusiastically. "You like Christmas? Isn't it great, Peter? Gosh, this makes it all just perfect."

"Yeah, Ray, and Egon's discovered he's just a big kid at Christmas, too," Peter said knowingly, giving Ray an affectionate squeeze before letting go. He looked around, at the tree, at the snow that fluttered down outside the windows of the firehall, at Egon's face. He slung an arm around Egon's shoulders, gesturing the grinning Winston over to join them. "It doesn't get much better than this." Then he shook his finger at Ray, pretending great alarm. "No. Please, Ray, don't say it."

Ray struck an angelic pose, though he was trying hard not to giggle. In an imitation of Tiny Tim's squeaky little voice, he proclaimed, "God bless us, every one."

"I told him not to say it," Peter moaned, shaking his head sententiously. "Did I tell him not to say it, or what?" Then he couldn't hold back any longer. "Dibs on my presents," he said, and dove for them.

Egon astonished them all by diving in right after him.

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