"So, whose turn is it to tame the Beast?" Peter asked lazily as he zipped up his jumpsuit and reached for his parka. "Mine?" He grimaced, then brightened. "I just love the muscles it gives me. I'll be a hit at the beach next summer."

"No, mine," Egon replied ruefully. The bruise on his forehead had started to fade, leaving him with a splotchy orange and purple decoration that was the wrong color for the season. If it had been Halloween, he would have looked right at home. Bruises didn't usually come in Christmas colors. "Although acquiring muscles has never been one of my prime considerations. You drove last night when we had the bust at Macy's. The ghost Santa." He glanced sideways at Ray as he slid his sleeves into his coat.

"The nightmare before Christmas," Peter agreed with a grin. "You can have it. I think I wrenched my shoulder turning into Herald Square. Would've popped my stitches if I still had them. Never heard of power steering." He flexed his shoulders carefully. Nope, they felt pretty good, and the cut on his left arm was nearly healed. He'd had the stitches out two days ago. Janine had suggested rubbing the scar with vitamin E cream to help it fade. If the cut had belonged to Egon, she would have volunteered to rub it in for him. Egon had murmured to Peter only last night that he'd been lucky to have no worse than bruises and the dislocated little finger. He had to wear that brace on his hand on busts for the rest of the week, but he could leave it off the rest of the time with no harm. Peter wondered if it was more than his life was worth to suggest Janine could kiss it and make it better. "Egon's turn, right, Ray?" he prodded gently.

"Egon's," Ray agreed, but his voice was too level. Coat trailing from his hand, he started for the faded vehicle that crouched sullenly in place of Ecto-1. Peter watched him with a twinge of worry. Poor old Ray just wasn't in the mood for a bust these days. Not that Peter could really blame him for the way he was feeling. He didn't blame him for anything else, either. Too bad he and Egon couldn't manage to make that point to Stantz.

"Anyway, Winston gets home tomorrow," Peter reminded them with deliberate good cheer. "After Christmas he can ride along with us on busts even if he can't wear his pack for awhile. He can tell just by listening to it how bad this old engine is. We can get him to whump it with his cast or something."

"It doesn't sound right to me," Egon said hastily when Ray flinched.

"No, it sounds like it's going to open the hood and gobble us up. The spud won't go near it." Peter paused to consider that. "Only good thing I can say about the Beast. Beast...Slimer. Easy choice when you think about it. Good deal."

"There's nothing good about it," Ray snapped as he poked his arms into his coat sleeves. "Why would anybody have ever painted a car that color?"

"I thought you liked pea soup green, Ray," Peter teased. "You said you did when we were out in Detroit that time."

"Well, I don't any more." Ray climbed into the back seat of the replacement vehicle, a rental while Ecto was in the body shop, and slammed the door. To Peter, it resembled the Squad from the old Emergency TV show, only modified to seat four instead of just the show's two paramedics, and non-professionally painted a nauseating shade of green. It was probably newer than Ecto-1 but it had been driven harder than the converted hearse and Ray had ventured a comment that the mileage gauge must have been set back about five times. 'Driven to the moon and back', was how he'd put it. The only good thing about it was that the many compartments in the back held their equipment quite nicely--and the rental company hadn't objected to them painting the Ghostbusters logo on the doors of the vehicle. Probably would charge more to the next person who rented it because of that. Since it was nearly Christmas, Peter had conspired with the painter to give their ghost a rakishly tilted Santa hat. He'd hoped the sight of it would make Ray smile.

It hadn't. Unfortunately, Ray had a tendency to avert his eyes from the festive logo. A week of the Beast had not endeared the battered vehicle to him. Venkman rubbed his chin and wondered if he couldn't get Ray to feel a little sorry for it.

Peter slid into the 'shotgun' position beside Egon. Best seat in the house. "This should be an easy one. We can stop by St. Vincent's on the way home and see Winston. Poor guy is soooo bored. And his nurses aren't even flirtable."

"Flirtable?" Egon queried as he cranked the key and the Beast grumbled to life with an explosive backfire that made Janine jump at her desk. She raised a hand to wave them off and blew Egon a kiss. "There's no such word," the physicist insisted. "Unless you're taking to inventing them now."

"Thank you, Doctor Webster. What are you, the dictionary police? Perfectly good word, I guarantee it. The night nurse is sixty and built like a caveman, and that gorgeous brunette is so very married that she shows Winston pictures of her kids before she gives him his bath. The only good nurse comes in at eleven, and poor old Zed is sacked out then and he only gets to see her for a few minutes when he wakes up. He doesn't have the Venkman touch when it comes to nurses."

"Maybe he doesn't feel like flirting," Ray offered quietly.

"'Course he does. Getting all those nursing students to sign his cast was a stroke of genius, if you ask me, even if he forgot to have them add their phone numbers. I'm gonna have to go that route next time I break my arm. Not that I have any plans in that direction."

Egon backed up slowly and cautiously, as if he thought the Beast would jump sideways at the huge Christmas tree it shared the garage with. The customer tree, Ray had always called it, big and splashy and bright, designed to create a reassuring atmosphere for those folks who ventured down to Ghostbuster Central to hire New York's team of paranormal eliminators. Ray averted his eyes from it just like he had the door logo.

Bad. That was bad. Peter put it on his list of things to handle once the bust was over. No, it had been on his list all week. He just hadn't progressed very far with it yet. Quickly he changed the subject. "So, tell us about the ghost, Tex. What are we up against this time?"

"I don't know. Janine gave Egon the order sheet," Ray replied. Never mind that he usually jumped around eagerly at the thought of a new bust, snatched the order to check it out, or pestered Janine with a million questions. He braced his elbow on the window frame and tucked his chin into his hand. Snowflakes almost as big as the lace doilies Peter's mom had used to crochet drifted silently down to brush the glass. Peter held his breath, waiting hopefully for Ray to exult over the snow, but he didn't. He didn't even seem to see it. This was very bad.

"I saw it," Peter said hastily. "Class 5, I think. Going after the skaters at Rockefeller Center. I bet it's the Grinch. What do you think, Ray?"

"The Grinch is fictional," Ray said flatly.

"I think the Grinch is sitting in the back seat," Peter challenged him. Weird to think that he would be defending the holiday to Ray instead of the other way around. 'Course, these days, Peter liked Christmas, and liked it more every year. This year was a little strange, with Winston stuck in the hospital, but he'd be home tomorrow, the day before Christmas Eve. Perfect timing. Crummy if they'd kept him in over Christmas. It wasn't as if his injuries had ever been life-threatening, after all, just severe enough to scare the rest of them.

"We better think about the bust," Ray said.

"Yeah. We're used to having all four of us," Peter said. He craned his neck--only a little stiff--to see how Ray took that.

Ray's face held no expression at all. Stantz the Vulcan was not a pretty sight. Egon said sharply under his breath, "Peter!"

He flicked a quick glance at the physicist, who glanced at Peter as he stopped for a light. The windshield wipers traced a weird pattern, meeting in the middle then flinging the snow away crookedly. A widening strip of ice on Peter's side proved the Beast needed a new wiper blade.

Egon shook his head fractionally. Peter nodded. Ignoring the problem wouldn't make it go away.

"He's right, Egon," Ray said dispiritedly from the back seat.

"It wasn't your fault, Ray," Egon insisted.

"That's nice of you, but it was." He gazed unseeingly out at the snow as Egon started forward again. "I'm not doing that guilt thing you guys don't like me to do. It's a fact."

"It may be a fact, Ray," Egon replied, "but it's a fact that is past. It was never your intention to crash Ecto. It was an accident. Winston's not that badly hurt. Peter and I were only bruised and scraped a bit."

Peter would have liked to remind Egon that seventeen stitches and a night in the hospital after he keeled over from blood loss was more than just a bit, but he knew that would be unnecessarily cruel. He'd been a little annoyed with Ray when the accident happened, but mostly because Winston was badly hurt. In the crash, one of the proton packs had broken loose from its mounting, bounced around the spiraling vehicle, and slammed into Zeddemore. Besides his broken arm, he'd suffered a ruptured spleen and needed surgery, and he'd been mildly concussed. The packs had all been locked down properly; a strut had buckled in the impact and freed one. That it was Ray's pack only added to his sense of responsibility.

"Nobody could have avoided that maniac cabby," Peter offered.

"I was speeding," Ray reminded him. "I was determined to get to Forbidden Planet before it closed. Winston's hurt because I wanted the new Captain Steel comic book." He took a deep breath. "I got a ticket, and our insurance has to cover the cabby's broken leg, too." He took a deep breath. "You guys have been right all along. I'm a reckless driver."

"Give me a break," Peter exploded. "You drive like every single other driver in this town, Ray. If you're reckless, they're all reckless. You know the rest of you won't let me behind the wheel when I'm late for a date, and I've known Winston to take out a newsstand, and Egon to stop dead in the middle of traffic because the meter goes off."

"I know, Peter." Although there was gratitude in the small voice, there was no yielding. "But Winston could have died."

"The pack breaking loose was a fluke, Raymond," Egon put in. "The cabby was speeding, too. His passenger said so--and he wasn't hurt, as you'll recall. You did not lose your license and the cabby got a ticket, as well."

"But Winston had to have surgery."

Peter tried to smile. That had scared them all. "True. Which means when he gets home, you are his official servant. You wait on him hand and foot. You do all his chores. That'll make you feel better in no time."

"Penance?" Ray ventured.

"You bet, penance, if that's what you want. Beats five Hail Marys," offered Peter, who had been raised Catholic and whose penance after confession had usually been more stringent than that. No way would he admit that to his buddies, though.

Egon chuckled under his breath. Maybe he could guess what Peter was thinking. "Not punishment, Ray," he said. "Just helping out. Winston isn't mad at you."

"Well, he can't be very happy with me," Ray said. "He had to have surgery. He could have died."

"He didn't die. He didn't come close to dying." Peter made his voice as stern as possible. He wasn't prepared to indulge Ray in this. "Don't do a 'guilt is power' thing, Ray. 'Gee, I feel so bad, and I'm a terrible person, but at least I've got the power to control destinies.'"

Ray sucked in a shocked breath. "I don't do that." He hesitated. "Do I?"

Peter gave an inaudible sigh. "Not consciously, Ray. And not usually. Don't do it now. Come on, we're your buddies. We're not mad at you. You're not a terrible person. You goofed up. Wouldn't be the first. I'm sure Egon can give you a long, long list of my screw-ups."

"I can," murmured Egon, his face full of repressed amusement.

Peter poked him in the ribs. "Thanks, Spengs. If your good buddy can't tell you...." He craned his neck and studied the penitent Ray. "And this is what your good buddies are telling you, Ray. It's okay to be sorry. It's not okay to revel in it. Got it?" When Ray didn't respond, he persisted. "Got it?"

"Got it," Ray agreed. Peter exchanged a worried glance with Egon. He didn't act like he got it.

The snow was thicker now, the giant flakes much closer together. The Beast skidded slightly on a turn, and Egon's knuckles whitened on the wheel. He reduced his speed. "It will take people longer to get out of the way in this weather."

"Yeah, easy, Spengs. The Beast would probably plow through a city bus without more than a few scratches. Let's not plow through pedestrians. Bad for the image--and that doesn't mean you, Stantz," he called sternly over his shoulder. "I think the Beast would come back and haunt us if we scraped the paint."

"You think the Beast is haunted?" Egon asked, more to distract Ray and keep the conversation going than because he took Peter's flippant remark seriously.

Peter cocked an ear to the unhappy presence in the back seat. Ordinarily, Ray would have jumped on such a suggestion with glee. This time, he said nothing at all. Peter let out his breath and flicked another glance over at Egon, who was concentrating on handling the Beast with all his attention and didn't see it. But the corner of his mouth tightened.

"Sure, could be," Peter elaborated on his fantasy. "Slimer won't go near it, remember? Proof. And I swear we'll leave it and come back and it's moved a foot or two."

"Bad emergency brakes?" offered Spengler.

Peter winced as an old Pontiac cut sharply in front of them, missed a cross-town bus by inches, and made an intimate acquaintance with the opposite curb. The bus driver swore at length. Peter could see his mouth moving even if he couldn't hear the actual words. Ray didn't appear to notice. Just as well. "Maybe," Venkman conceded. "But why would we have a haunted emergency vehicle anyway?"

"We don't know that this was actually an emergency vehicle, Peter," Egon reminded him. "Winston said that these extended cabs weren't made at the time the Beast rolled off the assembly line. He said somebody must have put a lot of time and energy into redoing it."

"Yeah, he says that's why it's so tough to handle because they'd probably had to take it apart and put it together again. Guy who rented it to us said it was used on a construction site or something. But he thinks it started out as an emergency vehicle. Just think, Ray. Like the one on that old Emergency show."

"I guess. I was in high school when it came on. I don't remember it that well."

"You know about building cars, though," Peter persisted, mostly to keep the discussion going.

"Yeah. It would have been hard. They'd have had to adjust everything unless they just cut out some of the rear storage space." He wasn't very interested, and Peter hated that. Their own Ray was interested in everything under the sun. He hadn't been guilty like this over something for years, not since college, really. Sometimes he'd automatically say, "That's my fault," but a quick "That's okay," would talk him out of it. But those things didn't matter and this did.

"We're here," Egon said and pulled the Beast over to the curb in front of Rockefeller Center.

"Then let's do it." Peter stuffed on his knit cap and jumped out of the Beast. "Never fear, the Ghostbusters are here," he caroled to the crowd.

"Well, three of 'em, anyway," Ray breathed as he slithered out of the back seat.

Peter took a deep breath. It was going to be a long bust.

"And then Egon went running across the Channel Gardens and hit a patch of ice, and you should have seen him, Winston. Yelling at the top of his lungs, arms waving like a windmill. He skidded about six feet and landed in a drift. It was great."

"It was not great, Peter," Egon disagreed. "However, it was great when you tripped over the curb and fell into another snowdrift. Face down, Winston. He came out spitting snow. We renamed him 'Frosty Venkman' on the spot."

Winston chuckled. "Sorry I missed it, guys. A lot more of a laugh riot than getting a bath from Nurse Frankenstein, anyway."

Ray's mouth opened, and Peter nudged him before the 'I'm sorry' that trembled on his lips could spill out. "Power trip," the psychologist muttered in a quick aside. Winston couldn't help wondering what that was all about. He hoped Ray wasn't doing one of his guilt numbers, the kind the others said he used to do when they first met him. It wasn't worth that. He'd have to get Ray off to himself and read him a lecture. Sure it was crummy to be laid up at Christmas, but it happened. He'd known the job was dangerous when he took it.

Ray subsided. "They were both caked with snow," he offered. As an attempt to sound normal, it was as successful as the Titanic's attempt to steer around the iceberg, but at least he was trying. "We had to go home first and let them have hot baths before we could get up here."

"At least it stopped snowing," Peter said in tones of heavy relief. "Ray might like it to snow, but it always goes right down my neck or into my boots. And then, Slimer thought it would be a hoot to share my bath. I've gotta say, slime in the bathwater is not the ideal way to get clean. I knew there was a good reason why I preferred showers."

"So you got the ghost, right?" Winston asked. Ever since he'd been admitted, well, ever since he got out of recovery after his surgery, the guys had made a point of stopping by after every bust to offer him an instant replay. He knew it was because when one of them was stuck in the hospital, he always worried about the other three doing a job designed for four, but it was also because the team stuck together so well. They'd been out flinging themselves in harm's way, but they worried about him. Gave him a nice, warm feeling that helped to compensate for the fun of surgery and the way his feet faltered if he was out of bed too long. At least he got to go home tomorrow. He was sick of hospital food and about ready for home cooking--as long as Egon wasn't fixing sweat sandwiches or Ray producing one of his family recipes. On the other hand, Winston had an idea Ray would want to do penance. Which meant he'd have to eat whatever ungodly concoction Ray set before him. He sighed.

"You okay, Winston?" Ray misinterpreted the sigh. "Do you need a painkiller?"

"Nah, I'm cool with it. Feels better every day. You should know, Pete. You had this yourself once."

"Yeah, good for milking for a whole week after you get home," Peter said promptly. He sneaked a glance at his friends. "Longer, probably."

"Simply because you are shamefully self-indulgent, Peter, doesn't mean that Winston is."

Peter stuck out his tongue at Egon. Winston had to say that when his buddies were all together, it was sometimes hard to tell them apart from kids on the playground. He wouldn't have it any other way, of course.

"The Beast is haunted," Peter flung into the conversation. Typical Peter, offering a distraction when the guys were tempted to call him for his unabashed behavior.

Ray shook his head. "No, it isn't." He was still standing way over there by the door and he hadn't taken his coat off.

Winston waved him toward the free chair. "Ray, take a load off. Come on, sit down. Don't make me crane my neck to look at you. Why isn't it haunted?" he asked. "Sounds like a good candidate, if you ask me."

Ray dropped obediently into the chair. "Well, it's not," he said.

"Slimer's afraid of it," Peter insisted.

"You're afraid of it," Egon teased him.

"Am not."

"Are so."

Peter sputtered into joyous laughter. The guy loved provoking Egon. He reached over and poked Ray. "You gonna jump in here and shoot me down, too, Stantz?"

"Well, we'd've got readings if it was haunted," Ray said reasonably.

Out in the hall, voices were raised melodically. "We three kings of Orient are..." Egon and Peter smiled at the sound. Ray didn't.

"Carolers," Winston said. "They've come around about this time every day.

Venkman jumped to his feet. "Hey, great. I could go sing with them."

"Peter, please," Egon objected strenuously. "There are sick people here. You would make it worse."

Peter subsided dramatically into his chair. "Cut to the quick, and at Christmas, too. Guess I was right about Christmas all those years." He pasted on a poor, pathetic, pity-me expression and ogled them expectantly.

"Gosh, Peter, Egon didn't mean it," Ray said with utter sincerity.

"Maybe not, but Pete couldn't sing his way out of a paper bag," Winston jumped in. "Guy's no Perry Como."

"Perry who?" Peter asked. "Are you kidding? I'm ahead of my time. No one appreciates me, but years from now, down the road, people will look back on me--"

"And express their utter disbelief in your colossal ego," Egon said dryly.

Peter must have known he wasn't going to win this one, because he turned his back on Egon with mock hauteur and poked Ray. "What do you say, Ray? Wanna go caroling with me?" He arched his eyebrows like Groucho Marx.

"We're here to visit Winston," Ray reminded him. His voice was reproachful.

Not at all good. Ray Stantz was crazy about Christmas. He was like a five-year-old crouched in front of the fireplace waiting for Santa to slide down the chimney. But not now. Come to think of it, he'd been remarkably devoid of the Christmas spirit since the accident. Winston didn't hold it against Ray. He'd done nothing more than any of the others had done when behind the wheel of Ecto. Put a guy in control of a big, powerful vehicle with a siren and he went on a power trip. It was, as one of Winston's dates had insisted, a guy thing. 'Boys and their toys,' she had said. 'It's a wonder you don't have to repaint Ecto and get the dents banged out every few weeks.' Tough if Ray was feeling so bad he'd lost the holiday spirit.

"Yeah, and believe me, I'm glad to see you. Brightening up my day after a bout with six hundred pictures of Jeannie's kids and Nurse Battleaxe. Boy, Ray, you just light up my whole day."

Ray wasn't stupid. He picked up on Winston's irony right away. The normal Ray would have risen to the challenge like a shot. This Ray didn't. Instead, he looked utterly stricken. "Sorry," he mumbled without raising his eyes.

The carolers stopped outside Winston's door and plunged into 'God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen'. Peter bounced up, charged over, and started to sing along with them. Winston had to give it to him that he didn't sing very loud and wreck the group's harmony. He waved his hands like a conductor for the New York Philharmonic to urge his buddies to sing along. The carolers' director nodded encouragingly at them. Winston took a careful deep breath and plunged in, and even Egon joined the singing with his rather monotone bass rumble.

Ray sat there like a block of winter ice and mouthed the words with determined obedience. His face didn't light up at all.

Peter's face fell. Still singing, he jumped at Ray, hauled him to his feet, and broke off singing to say something sharply in his ear. Ray looked startled and he tried, but you could tell it took an effort.

When the song was finished, Peter gave the carolers a hammy bow, and a round of applause. They clapped back and went on to the next room where Winston heard them start singing 'O Little Town of Bethlehem'. That was his Mama's favorite carol. Wish she could hear how well they were doing it.

Once they'd moved on, Peter turned to Ray, who looked curiously at bay and exploded, "Boy, Stantz, you sure must hate Christmas."

Harsh words, but maybe only harsh words would get through to him. Ray flinched. "I don't hate Christmas, Peter. I love it. I just...don't deserve it."

That was too much. Winston climbed carefully out of bed. Got easier every day. He stalked over to Ray and grabbed him by the shoulders, even if it meant some fancy manipulation with his cast. "Ray, listen to me. I was cool with what happened because it was an accident, but I am not cool with this. The more you act like this, the more you punish me for daring to get hurt when you were driving. Snap out of it. I mean it. I'm not taking the responsibility for wrecking our Christmas." Over Ray's shoulder, he could see Peter clasping his hands over his head like a boxer in approval.

Ray's mouth fell open. "I'm not punishing you," he blurted.

"Feels like it to me. You haven't come to see me once on your own since the accident. Pete and Egon are always popping in. Pete knows the name of every pretty nurse on the floor. But you only come after busts or for regular evening visiting hours when they're with you. Guess I know how to take that."

Ray's eyes glittered, stricken. "Oh, gosh, no, Winston. I'm not mad at you. I just didn't think you'd want me to...."

Peter nodded encouragingly at Winston and mouthed, 'Go for it.'

"Listen up, Stantz," Winston said. "It's not like this place is fun city. One of the things that makes it work is when friends and family show up to visit. Guess you count as both, so I'd tell you to get your act together in a hurry, but I'm coming home in the morning. Hope that doesn't mean you'll do a disappearing act at the firehall. Tomorrow's the twenty-third. There's gonna be Christmas music and my mama is sending over a big bunch of her special Christmas cookies. Janine called and said you were on a bust, so I had her wrap the rest of my presents for you guys. I'm gonna want Christmas with all the trimmings, and that means you getting up at the crack of dawn to watch some godawful Christmas cartoon like Nestor the Donkey or that Frosty thing we've all seen forty-seven times. If I'm not gonna get the traditional Ghostbusters Christmas, I'll head out to my folks instead, and that's not fair to Peter and Egon. Deprive them of my shining presence?"

"Winston is correct, Raymond," Egon stepped in. "It has felt rather unlike Christmas this year."

"Because Winston's in the hospital," Ray ventured.

Peter jumped in. "Winston's fine, Ray. Look at him. He won't even expect you to turn into his personal servant, the way I would. He just wants to come home and have Christmas. I didn't used to like Christmas, not till we lost it that time. I don't want to lose it again, now that I'm used to it. Now that all those goodies under the tree have my name on them."

"Not all the goodies," Ray said involuntarily.

"Well, okay, so somebody made a mistake somewhere," said Peter loftily. "After all, I deserve 'em."

But Ray wasn't quite ready to respond to that, and it was left for Egon and Winston to hoot Peter down.

Winston lowered his casted arm and tightened his grip on Ray's shoulder with his other hand. "Think about it," he said and backed off.

"I will," agreed Ray. "I'm sorry I didn't come to visit you, Winston. I didn't think you'd want...." He let that go. "I'll do better," he promised. "I really will. I'm glad you're coming home tomorrow."

"Well, I should hope so. My folks still coming for Christmas dinner?"

"And Ray's Aunt Lois," Egon added. "We tried to track down Peter's father, but he's out in Sun City."

"Running a scam and says he doesn't want to even see snow," Peter said brightly. "He did ask me to fly out." Quite a concession for the old con man. Actually in touch with Peter at Christmas, and trying to make plans. "I said we had things going here and he was always welcome."

Ray stared at Peter, stirred momentarily out of his penitence in sympathy. Peter could have rubbed it in and pointed out how he needed a typical Ray Christmas to make up for Charlie's absence, but he didn't. Ray would probably consider it said.

"Who's cooking Christmas dinner?" Winston asked.

Egon gave a tragic sigh. "Peter," he admitted. "Well, Ray's Aunt Lois and your mother are going to help. Thank goodness. That should make it edible."

"Wanna supervise, Zed?" Peter asked shamelessly. "After all, you're a lot better cook than these two clowns."

"And better than you. I hate to think what you three have been eating while I've been in here."

"Better than hospital food," Peter kidded. "Besides, Egon got around Janine and she made us a couple of casseroles."

"Now that I'd have liked to see."

"We're gonna play on the sympathy vote and have her make us another after Christmas," Peter said. "Tired of turkey leftovers, and our buddy Winston laid up. Here's what you've gotta do...." He leaned in conspiratorially.

Egon sighed. "I really should tell her how reprehensibly you're behaving, Peter."

"But you won't." Peter batted his eyes at him. "Not when it means you have to eat Ray's cooking."

"I'm a good cook," said Ray. Not quite convincing yet, but at least he was trying. Winston chuckled. When he got home, it should be better. He hoped.

They didn't bring Winston home in the Beast. It didn't provide an easy ride, and, in the end, it seemed better not to use it. Winston's parents picked him up instead and dropped him off at the firehall. They stayed long enough to see him settled comfortably on the couch on the second floor, and Mrs. Zeddemore put a couple of things for Christmas dinner in the refrigerator while Winston's father spread out a few presents under the tree: the Zeddemores' gifts for the other three Ghostbusters. Winston would go back with them for the evening on Christmas night for his family's gift exchange.

Once they were gone, Ray felt that the atmosphere was a little tense. Winston looked good; he was able to get around and the stairs didn't bother him if he took them slowly. He said his strength would keep coming back, faster now that he was home. Peter, pretending high dudgeon, brought him a soda and put the plate of cookies well within his reach, and even sacrificed control of the remote. He took it upon himself to warn Slimer not to touch the cookies under pain of entrapment and denial of his Christmas gift, and Slimer, who had been worried about Winston whenever it penetrated his little ghost brain that Winston was hurt, nodded solemnly and promised. He'd forget, of course. He always did.

Winston turned on the TV and found one of the movies made of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. He grinned in delight. "Hey, this is your favorite version, Ray. Want to watch it with me?"

"I really need to work on the Beast," Ray muttered. "After all, we get Ecto back next week, and we have to return the Beast in as good condition as we got it."

"It's in better condition than it was when we got it," Peter said. "It's got our logo on it. Adds to the value in a second."

"It's not idling smoothly," Ray argued. "I want to tune the engine, and we'll be too busy tomorrow. I can't work on it on Christmas Eve." He added hastily, "They'll show this again on one of the other channels. I'll watch it with you then, Winston. I promise."

"I'm gonna hold you to that."

Ray knew the guys were probably talking about him when he went downstairs, but he just felt like he had to do it. He knew it was okay, that none of the guys blamed him, and he was starting not to feel as bad about it. He really did want to watch the movie with Winston, but he wasn't quite ready. Next time, he'd make himself do it. Something had just grabbed him after the accident and made everything different. It was like a weight had settled on his shoulders, like Atlas carrying the whole world. He knew what Peter had tried to do on the way to the bust yesterday and he was glad that Winston still considered him a brother. But something dark and unfinished pulled him down the stairs, away from the holiday atmosphere.

Into still more. Not only was the tree lit up but Janine was playing Mannheim Steamroller Christmas music on a tape deck. There was a sprig of mistletoe hung directly over her desk in hopes that Egon would venture by and see it. When Ray came trailing down the stairs, she looked momentarily disappointed, but then she jerked her thumb at it and beckoned him over.

"After all, it's tradition," she pointed out.

"Yeah, well, you better take it down before Peter sees it," Ray teased. "You know he'll take advantage. He always does."

Janine grimaced. "Not if he knows what's good for him. Come on, Ray, pay up."

Ray leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. He had a pretty good idea she was trying to raise his spirits. It helped. Janine had been great this past week. She put her arms around him now and gave him a brisk hug before she pulled back and cast him a knowing look. "So what are you doing down here, Ray?"

"I'm gonna tune the Beast. Last chance before we take it back. We'll be too busy tomorrow."

She eyed him searchingly. Ray was firmly convinced that Janine could read their minds. She sure always knew what Peter was thinking, sometimes before he thought it, especially if he was planning mischief. Then she nodded. "Okay. And let me tell you, it won't be too soon for me. It sits over there like it's gonna pounce on me. I don't like it."

"Peter says it's haunted," Ray ventured.

"I'd hate to admit Dr. V might be right about anything," said Janine with a wry grin. "But he might have something there. I think it is haunted."

"Well, I brought this." Ray held up the P.K.E. meter he carried. "Let's see. Did Egon ever take readings?"

"Not when I was here. I think Peter was probably kidding about it. It's just a battered old van, after all. If it was haunted, the guy who rented it to you would have tried to make a deal with you to dehaunt it for a rent break."

She was probably right, and Peter had been kidding anyway, but Ray never came away from the Beast without feeling glum. He'd blamed it on his concern for Winston, but now that Winston had reamed him at the hospital so reassuringly, he didn't think that was the deal. So he fine-tuned the meter and approached the Beast.

The antennae quivered.

Janine edged up beside him, her mouth a little ajar. "Did you see that, Ray?"

"I sure did. Wow, this is great!" He edged closer and his excitement died, just like that. Suddenly, he felt terrible. What good was it to find out about the Beast, after all? He'd nearly killed Winston. The guys were afraid to ride with him. He couldn't do anything right.

Wait a minute. He took a step backward, and the guilt receded fractionally. It was still there, but not as strong as it had been. He concentrated on it with all his strength and stepped closer. I didn't mean to hurt Winston. He doesn't hate me for it. None of the guys do. It was an accident. I KNOW that. It's okay. I'm sorry about it, but I'm not a bad guy because I made a mistake. I'm not.

The feeling pressed at him but it pressed on him from the outside, like wind trying to find gaps in the side of a building and cast drafts inside. Ray's eyes were huge. "Oh, gosh," he said aloud.

"What?" Janine grasped his arm. "Ray, you should have seen your face. You looked absolutely awful for a minute, then it faded and then it tried to come back, but now you just look stubborn. What's going on?"

"Janine, I think it is haunted," Ray said. "Not with a complete ghost, but more than residuals. It's making me feel like I'm pond scum, but it's the Beast that's doing it. It's not because I hurt Winston."

"The accident hurt Winston," Janine insisted hotly. "The key word is 'accident'. I thought the guys made that clear to you."

"They did," Ray admitted, and warmth touched his insides at the effort they'd all made. He should have known that all along. Why hadn't he? "I think the Beast is making me feel guilty." Once he had spoken the words aloud, he felt miles better, as if saying them had purged him. He was sorry Winston was hurt, sorry he'd been driving too fast, and he should have been more careful, but that meant he would be, next time. He'd learn from it. It didn't mean he was lower than pond scum, not for a second. He should have known this wasn't right. Maybe it was like the time he'd gone to Morrisville and screwed up in front of the whole town. Anywhere else and he'd have tried to find out what had gone wrong, but back there, he'd fallen into old patterns from his childhood. Maybe whatever was going on with the Beast had made him fall back, too.

Well, it wasn't going to wreck the guys' Christmas, not if he could help it. "I'm gonna check it out." He went up to the Beast and laid his hand on the hood. It was warm beneath his touch and he felt a vague thrumming against his fingers, even though the engine wasn't turned on.

The guilt and misery hit him in a solid wave, so hard that it nearly rocked him off his feet, but he gasped and held on because now that he was concentrating, he could tell it was external. It wasn't him. It hadn't been him all along. But it had influenced him because he couldn't help feeling a little guilty about the accident. No one could.

"I want to help," he said aloud, thrusting the words into the depth of the pain. "Let me help."

Behind him, Janine clapped her hands over her mouth to keep from interrupting and waited, ready to run for help if necessary. He knew that if the situation got out of control, she'd slam her hand down on the alarm button and summon the guys, but he hoped she'd wait and let him try first.

Suddenly something made him run around to the side of the vehicle and open up one of the compartments. He felt himself miming taking out something from there, equipment. He could almost see it. Medical equipment. Defibrillator equipment. Well, they'd thought the van had been used by paramedics. Maybe this was about something that had happened on a medical call. Ray let himself go with it. Holding the invisible equipment, he ran halfway across the garage and flung himself down to his knees. They'd be sore later, but that didn't matter. When Janine gasped and opened her mouth to speak, he said, "It's okay, Janine, let me do it...." It almost felt like someone else was speaking.

A ghostly image of a downed man appeared before him, but it was like a picture or a recording; there was no spirit of the dying man in the paramedic uniform to stir the meter Ray still held in his hand. The ghost was an ectoplasmic movie playing out before Ray's fascinated eyes, activating Ray's hands to prepare to defibrillate. He set aside the meter so he could let the ghost show him what had happened. A voice chanted in his head, "Come on, Joe. Come on, Joe," as Ray/the ghost applied the paddles to the downed man's chest. "Come on, Joe," Ray breathed aloud, half conscious of Janine standing at his back, a hand on his shoulder. Her gasp as she touched him suggested she could see what he could see, or at least feel what he felt, the frantic desperation the ghost felt for his dying partner who lay, chalky white and inanimate, although his body jerked when the charge passed through the paddles.

"Again." Ray heard the tearing desperation in the voice that spoke through him. "Again."

He tried five times to start Joe's heart, and someone in the background kept saying, "Flatline," each time.

"Shut up, Cap, he's not dead," Ray/the ghost cried desperately. "He's not dead. I'm gonna get him next time. Clear!"

A final attempt, then someone Ray couldn't see through the tears that blurred his eyes took the paddles out of his hand and pulled him back. "He's gone, Randy."

"No! No! He can't be gone. I would've gone back for him. I didn't see him fall. I didn't see him. Let me try again."

"You had the victim to bring out, Randy," Cap said. His voice ached with grief and sympathy. "You saved the victim. That's what this is all about. That's what Joe would have wanted you to do."

"No!" Randy struggled wildly. Ray writhed in time with his struggles, conscious of Janine's hand maintaining her grip through the whole thing. "No." Then he was up again and running, and Ray found himself racing back toward Peter's office, only to jerk to a halt, flung from the image so abruptly he had to catch the gate to maintain his balance. He couldn't see what was happening any longer, but he could feel it, someone yelling that there was another victim in the building, Randy jerking around, running, Cap yelling at him to stop, that the building was too involved, that he couldn't get in. Then something huge and heavy and churning with heat crashed down and engulfed all reality with blazing force--and through it all, Randy thinking nothing but, "I couldn't save Joe. I couldn't save him. I couldn't...."

"But you tried," Ray ventured. "You really tried. You did everything right. You did your job. You saved that man you carried out of the building. Don't you see? If you'd let him go and saved Joe instead, you'd have put the guilt on him. My buddies told me I shouldn't do that. And you shouldn't either."

Suddenly the ghost of the young paramedic materialized directly in front of Ray. The meter he'd left near the Beast screeched into recognition so loudly that it was echoed by a startled yelp from upstairs and a second later, Peter flung himself down the firepole. He spotted the ghost that Ray faced and lunged for the nearest proton pack.

"No, Doctor V," Janine said quickly. "Let him do it. He has to do it."

Peter caught himself in mid-lunge. His eyes met Ray's for a second, then he nodded and whirled to grab Egon by the arm as he stepped away from the firepole.

"Joe died. I didn't save him." Randy's thin face twisted with pain and his hollow eyes seemed too big for his face.

Ray reached out his hand to the spirit. "I know," said "I was luckier than you. My buddy didn't die. But I know how it felt to think I could have stopped what happened. It's not a nice feeling. But there really wasn't anything you could have done. Joe knows that. I know how it feels to have buddies like that, and they don't blame me. Joe wouldn't have blamed you. He'd have felt so bad to think you did. He'd have known you'd tried."

In the background, Janine gabbled out an incoherent explanation. Winston made his way down the stairs, gripping the railing with his good hand for support, but the grim determination on his face made up for his weakness. His eyes fell on the ghost in astonishment.

"Everybody knows how much you tried," Ray said softly. "Joe knows, too. It all just happened so fast you didn't have time to come to terms with it. But it's okay. I know it is." He pointed at Winston. "He got hurt because of me. But he forgives me."

"Nothing to forgive," Winston said instantly. "It was an accident. No harm, no foul."

"See," Ray cried, delighted. "Joe would have been just the same. If he was worth your loving him that much, then you know he would have been the same. Come on, Randy. You know that. Don't you?"

The ghost hesitated. He stared at Ray's earnest face, then turned to study Winston, who stood on the landing gripping the stair rail, and he had to see the friendship Winston felt for Ray on his face. He looked past Ray to Egon and Peter, who lined up as rear guard, support shining from their eyes. Then he looked inside himself at the image that he'd shown Ray, at other images that Ray couldn't see now that Randy had stopped acting out his guilt through him. And then his face crumpled and he let out one choked sob, ghostly hands coming up to cover his face.

Peter took an involuntary step closer, then he stopped himself and left it to Ray. He couldn't have said, "Your show," more clearly if he'd yelled them to the rafters.

Ray clasped the ghostly shoulders with both hands. His fingers sank in a little, but he ignored the eerie sensation and the coldness of ectoplasm and squeezed. "I'm sorry for what happened to you and Joe, Randy, but you had him as a friend and he had you. He'd have tried his best for you, too. In the end, isn't that what matters most?"

The transparent face came up out of the hands and Randy met Ray's eyes. "Thank you," he said. "And I'm sorry. I could live it out through you. I didn't have the right, but it was too hard not to stop."

"You can stop now, though," Ray said gently. "Because you know it's all right."

Randy closed his eyes. Then he opened them again and looked at Ray. "It's not fair," he insisted.

"No. But it's real."

Somehow, that was the right thing to say. Two ghostly hands dropped onto Ray's shoulders and the two men, living and dead, nodded at each other with total understanding. Like brothers.

Then Randy smiled before he vanished, completely, all in an instant, and Ray felt a hundred feet high.

"Oh, gosh," he cried jubilantly. "I think he just dispersed peacefully."

Egon snatched up Ray's abandoned meter and made several adjustments. It had stopped reacting the second Randy vanished. Now, Egon aimed it at Ray. "Hmmm."

"Haunted?" Peter asked brightly. He must have known that Ray was now nicely de-haunted.

"Not anymore," Egon replied. "I wish I had thought to check your biorhythms all along, Ray. I don't think you were possessed, simply influenced."

"Boy, was he influenced," Peter agreed.

"Yeah," admitted Ray. "Because, now that I think of it, I didn't feel quite that bad about Winston until I got the Beast. It was not till the next afternoon. Up until then we were all just normally worried. But then I started to think I'd done something really awful--but I didn't think that until we were driving back in the Beast. Egon was driving, but I was still there. I did feel a little guilty, Winston," Ray admitted. "And I was really sorry. But I didn't feel like that."

"Over the top?" Egon asked.

"Packed ten trunks for a guilt trip." Peter was always more extravagant. "You had us worried, Tex, and, all the time, you had that hanging over you. Maybe we should be the ones feeling guilty because we didn't realize."

Ray shook his head vehemently. "No way, Peter. No guilt. Winston's right; no harm, no foul. I think you guys didn't guess about the Beast and Randy's ghost because I used to act that way when I was a lot younger. You'd just think I'd regressed or something."

Peter charged up and clapped Ray on the shoulders. He jerked his hands away immediately and tried to shake off the clinging ectoplasm, then settled for wiping his hands on the front of Ray's shirt. "Well, he hasta change anyway," he defended himself when Janine gave a snort of disgust. He grasped Ray's wrists instead. "No more regressing. Just so long as this is the one, the only unpossessed Ray Stantz."

Ray nodded, then his mouth fell open. "Oh, gosh," he blurted. "I'm missing A Christmas Carol. Is it over yet, Winston? I love that movie."

Peter squeezed his wrists and let go. "Our little Santa is himself again," he cried with great delight. "Tell you what, Ray, I'll even watch it with you."

"Every time it's on?" Ray wheedled hopefully while Winston chuckled in amusement and Egon arched a knowing eyebrow.

"Bah humbug," Peter said with only mild regret, then his eyes fell on the mistletoe that hung over Janine's desk. She had moved to stand directly below it. "Oh, Egon," he caroled out in pure delight. "I think there's a special Christmas treat just waiting for you." He whirled away from Ray, put his hands on Egon's back, and force-marched him over to the waiting secretary. "Come on, it's the rules. You gotta. So be a man about it."

Egon turned and smiled at Peter over his shoulder. Then he took Janine into his arms and kissed her. Thoroughly. Expertly. When he had finished, he cast a smug glance in Peter's direction and started for the stairs without another word. The effect was only mildly ruined by his rapid breathing.

Janine watched him go, her heart in her eyes.

"Next," said Peter cheekily, and swept her into her arms a la Clark Gable as Rhett Butler. Janine was too bemused from Egon's kiss to object.

"Hurry up, Peter," Ray teased him. "You're missing the movie."

Peter emerged from the kiss with a wicked grin. "Okay, Ray, lead me to it," he insisted, but instead of waiting, he raced up the stairs after Egon. "Boy, Spengs, gotta say you know a good thing when you see it," he called.

"I'm gonna murder that boy," said Janine, but with much less malice than Ray had expected.

"Come on, Ray," Winston encouraged. "You haven't had any of my mama's cookies. They're the best she's ever done. I love Christmas."

Ray fell into step with him and took Winston's uncasted arm to help him up the steps. Winston probably didn't need it, and Ray didn't feel the urge to do penance any more. He was just glad Winston was home. "Christmas is the greatest," he said and threw himself into the holiday with a whole heart.

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