Things were relatively quiet in the office that morning, and it was that lack of something to do that made the two people sitting in the office that much more restless. It appeared to the two US Marshals that were sitting in the near empty building that even criminals liked to celebrate the holidays, as the office was deader than Dillinger. One of those Marshals was trying to clear some paper work to help her pass the time, while the other had his feet on his desk and was using a baseball cap to cover his eyes so he could nap. If anyone were to ask he was just resting his eyes, but he was bored to tears. While the lady on the other side of the room wasn't pleased with her partner, she had no one else to blame as she did volunteer to be there that day. So did her partner. Neither of them had family they wanted to spend the holidays with, so it made sense for them to volunteer. All their hours were being clocked as overtime, the greatest motivator any single person could need to show up.

     "Don't you have paper work to do?" the woman called out, frustrated by the laziness of her counterpart on the other side of the room.

     "All done," he shouted back, "I thought it would be nice to get it all out of the way before today."

     "So you could be lazy all day?" she implied.

     "Not exactly," he tried to explain, "Well rested means well prepared."

     "Uh huh," the lady grunted back at him. "Are you expecting a call today?"

     "No," he answered, "But you never know... we might get one."

     "Fat chance," she called back, "We're not getting any calls today, Jones."

     "Probably not," Marshal Jones replied, "But my paper work is done none the less. You can bust my chops if I'm ignoring my duties Lindsey, but not when I have my homework finished before yours."

     "I prefer Ms. Fletcher or Marshal Fletcher," Lindsey said, slapping down the papers she was working on for added emphasis of her disapproval.

     "Understood Marshal Fletcher," Jones said, cracking a smile before putting his baseball cap back over his face.

     Just as Jones was getting back into a very relaxed state, the phone on his desk began to ring. Jones looked across at the desks at Fletcher with a look in his eyes that were just as disapproving.

     "See what you've done," he called out, "You jinxed us!"

     "I did not," Fletcher called back.

     "Marshal Service, how can I help you?" Jones said into the receiver. He sat there and listened intently, "Slow down there, I can't help you when you're talking so fast. Take a deep breath and slow down."

     "What is it?" Fletcher asked, "Does someone need to be pulled out of their witness protection? Are they in danger?"

     Jones held up a finger as he continued to listen to the phone. "Uh huh, I got it. Tell me more... okay. You're doing all right. Don't worry about that, just lower the temperature to three twenty five, and baste every forty five minutes until the internal temperature is one hundred and ninety. Don't worry about how long it's in the oven; you do not stop cooking till the internal temperature is met. Don't worry about the stuffing, its precooked and will be fine. Yes, no problem. Is everything else okay? Good to hear, happy holidays."

     As Jones put the phone down, he looked up at his partner and could see the look on her face, which was one of complete shock.

     "What the hell was that?" She asked.

     "That was Malcolm," Jones said as he put his feet back up. "He always panics when cooking a big bird and calls in to for advice."

     "Why would he call us?" Fletcher demanded.

     "He's our witness," Jones replied, "We ordered him not to call anyone else for his own protection. So by default we sometimes have to take the calls for the shit they normally would call family for, like how to properly cook a turkey."

     "Son of a bitch," Fletcher said, sighing. "You've worked this shift before, couldn't give me a heads up about that?"

     "And spoil the look on your face right now?" Jones said, laughing. "That would suck all the fun right out of it."

     Fletcher was tempted to toss something at Jones, but everything within reach had value so she thought better of it. As the temptation started to wane, the phone started to ring again. She looked over at Jones with a look that could have killed. "I'm not helping him cook his damn bird."

     "No wonder you have no plans this year," Jones said, "You have no holiday spirit."

     "Kiss my ass," Fletcher said as she stood up and left the room to get herself a cup of coffee.

     "I don't do requests," Jones called out before picking up the phone. "Marshal Service, how can I help you?"

     "David, it's Gail." The voice on the other end replied.

     Jones paused for a second, "I'm sorry, who is this?"

     "This is Gail," the lady repeated, "I'm your sister in law!"

     "Oh... Gail!" Jones said, sighing at his own stupidity. "Sorry about that, it's been a long day at the office. This paperwork is driving me nuts."

     "Sure," Gail said, well aware of his worth ethic or lack there of, "I'm calling because something's happened to your brother."

     "Ricky?" Jones replied, "Is he alright?"

     "He's not," Gail answered, as he could tell her voice was cracking, "He's in pretty bad shape, David."

     Jones sat there at his desk, taking notes and writing down everything that his sister in law was telling him. Fletcher was walking back in with two cups of coffee, and could tell by the way Jones was writing stuff down that something serious was happening. She stood there and waited for him to finish before interrupting.

     "I got it," Jones said, an air of frustration in his voice. "You hold on and try to remain calm. Yes, I'm leaving right now."

     As Jones put down the receiver, he stood up and started to put his coat on and get ready to leave.

     "What the hell is going on?" Fletcher asked.

     "Personal emergency," Jones answered, "You need to call in an alternate to take my place, immediately."

     "That was a personal call?" Fletcher replied, shocked it wasn't something pertaining to their job. "Who was it?"

     "That was Gail, my sister in law." Jones informed her, "I should have suspected something was wrong when she made the call. She hates my guts, so she would only call when something's hitting the fan."

     "What is going on?" Fletcher demanded.

     "It's my brother," Jones replied, "He's been shot."

     "Oh Shit," Fletcher said, "I'm sorry to hear that."

     "Call in an alternate," Jones repeated, "I'll try to get back to the office as soon as I can, but I can't make any promises right now. Not until I find out how bad the situation is."

     "Alright," Fletcher said, as she understood. "Should I contact the director?"

     "No," Jones replied, "Don't risk ruining his holiday. He'll get worried and leave the house to check in. Trust me; the last person you want to piss off is the director's wife. Don't bring him in for something personal."

     "Affirmative," Fletcher said, "Which alternate should I call?"

     "If there isn't an order in place," Jones instructed, "Call the one you think will bother you the least. Maybe someone who can help with that mountain of paper work you've been neglecting for a while."

     "Call me when you learn something," Fletcher said, "Don't leave me hanging here. Update me when you can."

     "Will do," Jones said, giving her a soft hug, "Hold up the fort till I return."

     Jones immediately vacated the government building where their office was located, walked out to the big pickup truck he had waiting in the parking lot. He pulled out gingerly, not wanting to cause any accidents or incidents that would delay him from getting to his brother. As he drove to the hospital, Jones' mind was a complete blank to what could have happened. His brother was a history professor, so there was no reason why someone would want to shoot him. Jones sighed as he realized it must have been a mugging for money; some junkie looking for cash to get their next hit. He was just a little more agitated thinking about it because Ricky isn't the kind of guy to put up a fight, so why would the mugger shoot him anyway? Regardless of what happened, Gail wasn't there when it happened. She would have been a lot more traumatized if she had witnessed the event herself. It took him less than a half hour to drive out to the city's general hospital. His brother lived just outside of town, but he was brought in because to care for his gunshot wound. Jones still had a hard time believing that his brother took a bullet, but hoped he would recover. As he pulled in to park, he quickly strolled in through the main doors, and looked for information. He walked up and flashed his Marshal's badge at the nurse stationed there.

     "Looking for Richard Jones," he told the nurse, nearly putting the badge right into her face. "Where is he?"

     She paused for a moment, just a bit nervous. "He's in the ICU; he just got out of surgery."

     "Thank you," Jones said, walking through the doors beside her as if he owned the place. As he strode down the hallway, he followed the signs that carefully directed him to the ICU.

     When he arrived there, he looked around for Gail but couldn't see her. What he did see was two men talking in the general area of the ICU. One of them was a uniformed officer, and the other one was wearing a suit, which was likely a detective. Jones strolled up to them both, pretty much stepping in on their conversation.

     "Can I help you?" the man in the suit asked, which was his polite way to say what the hell do you want, buddy?

     "I just wanted to know if you're here about the shooting," Jones asked, "The one that involved Richard Jones."

     "And who wants to know?" The uniformed officer asked.

     Jones didn't hesitate to flash his badge, which happened to be the coolest one in the country. Not only because it looks like a badass star, but also because it was a badge that had jurisdiction in every state.

     "US Marshal?" the suit asked, confused. "Is Ricky one of yours?"

     "You could say that," Jones said, putting the badge away. "Ricky is my brother."

     "David Jones," the suit said, as he read something about Ricky's brother being in law enforcement. "I'm detective Garrison. I'm investigating your brother's shooting."

     "What the hell happened?" David asked, as he was eager to get answers.

     "We think it was a mugging," the detective said, "The shooter took everything that was on your brother; his wallet, keys, everything."

     "And he still shot him?" Jones said, thinking about it. "Why?"

     "Maybe he resisted." The officer suggested.

     "Maybe," David agreed, "We'll find out when he wakes up."

     "He just got out of surgery." The detective said, "He's lucky to be alive, but the damage is pretty bad."

     "How bad?" David asked.

     "If he lives, he might never walk." The detective answered.

     "Damn it," David cursed. It was at this point where he saw Gail on the other side of the ICU. "Excuse me; I've got to speak to the wife."

     "Alright," the detective said, "We'll get back to you later."

     Jones didn't pay attention to the comment and walked over to Gail, which made David sure meant Ricky was there too. When Gail saw him walking over, she walked to him and hugged her brother in law.

     "Thank you for coming," she started.

     "Of course," David replied, "He's my brother. We might not get along all the time, but I'm here whenever you need me. I was just speaking to the police, they're pretty sure it was a mugging."

     "That's what they told me," Gail said, "That the bastard fished through his pockets after shooting him."

     "That's weird," David said, thinking about it. "Doesn't sound like your standard mugging, does it?"

     "What does that mean?" Gail asked.

     "It means if these fools don't figure out what happened, I will." David said to her, serious as a heart attack. "That's a promise."

     "Thank you," Gail said, wiping a tear from her face.

     "Is he awake?" Jones asked her.

     "Not yet," Gail replied, "I wanted to go home and get some things for him but I didn't want him to wake up alone."

     "Go ahead," Jones told her, "I'll stay here until you get back. Do whatever you need to do and we'll be here when you return. If there are any updates, I'll call your cell."

     "Oh thank you, David." Gail said, smiling.

     "It's no trouble," David said, "I called in someone to cover for me. I'm here for the long haul if I have to be. Considering the circumstances, I doubt my director will give me any flack."

     It was at this point where David's cell phone began to ring, and based on the specific ringtone that was wailing, he knew exactly who it was: his boss.

     "I've got to take this," David said, stepping away as he opened the line. "Hey boss, happy holidays!"

     "Where the fuck are you?" the director replied.

     "Is there something wrong?" Jones asked.

     "Sanchez said you called him in." the director replied, "Said you left for something that was non-Marshal business. You better not be at a bar."

     "I'm not," Jones replied, "This is a personal matter, and based on your tone I don't think Fletcher filled you in on the situation."

     "What's going on?" the director asked.

     "It's my brother Ricky," Jones answered, "He's been shot. I'm at the hospital with his wife."

     "Oh my gaud," the director replied, "Is he alright?"

     "For now," Jones said, sighing. "He's in the ICU; he just got out of surgery. It was real messy in there, they're not even sure he'll walk again."

     "Son of a bitch," the director cussed, "What do they think happened?"

     "The suspect a mugging," Jones told him, "The perp took everything he had on him after shooting him."

     "He shot him first?" his boss asked, "That doesn't pass the smell test."

     "Glad to hear I'm not alone on that," Jones replied, in full agreement. "I'm going to lean on them a bit and get to the bottom of this. I might need some personal time."

     "You got it," the director replied without hesitation. "What hospital are you at right now?"

     "The General," Jones answered, "I'll make an effort to update you when I get more Intel."

     "I'd appreciate that," his boss said, "And you call me if you need help with anything. I mean it; anything."

     "Thanks boss," Jones said, relieved his boss was no longer angry. "I should have told you first, I'm sorry about that."

     "It was your brother," the director replied, "You were worried, I get it. Good luck."

     "Thanks," Jones said just as the line went dead.

     "Is everything alright?" Gail asked, walking over.

     "Just the boss, he wasn't up to speed on the situation." Jones answered, "Now that he is, I have all the time and support I need."

     "That's nice to hear," Gail said, "I'm going to head back and get some stuff for Ricky and clean up. Can I bring in anything for you?"

     "I'm okay," Jones said, "Take your time, I'm not going anywhere. If something happens, I'll call you."

     "Okay, thank you David." Gail said, hugging him one more time before walking away down the hall to exit the hospital.

     David watched her strut away and couldn't remember the last time she hugged him at all, let alone a few times in the same day. He figured she must be in shock from the shooting, because it was the only thing to explain why she was so nice to him. They never got along, and that caused Jones to put more time into his work, looking for any excuse to not be in her company, which regrettably left little time for David and his brother. For whatever reason, Ricky was also busy with his own work which left little time for either of them to meet and catch up. As Marshal Jones walked into his brother's room, he took a seat that was ten feet from the head of his bed as he didn't want to bother Ricky while he slept. Jones crossed his legs and used the same ball cap to cover his eyes. Ricky wasn't the only one catching up on some beauty rest tonight.