Authors' note: You may have read a previous fic by the Crazy Peas called "Its Beginning to look a lot like Christmas"; this is kind of the alternative version. It isn't a sequel; it just draws on the same (made up) principle in order for us to indulge in crazy festive Spookery and RHness!

Set (roughly) in a fictional S5.

Also, as with all pea fics, we tend to get carried away so this will probably last well into the New Year!

That's Not Fayre!

Harry's face as they walked into the briefing said it all; this morning, as so often was the case, there was bad news to share. Adam took his seat first, followed soon after by Zaf and Malcolm, and a bickering Jo and Ros. Ruth, unusually, was last to join them, slipping in quietly just as Harry was clearing his throat to begin.

There was a collective pause in their breathing as they waited for what he would say. It was a familiar routine, played out several times a week: pause, breathe, think, digest, speak.

"As you know," he began, seriously, yet with a weariness that puzzled the assembled team around him, "there are certain duties that the service has to perform which we would prefer not to have within our remit."

"Christ, who are we babysitting now?" Zaf mumbled, non-too-quietly.

"Nobody," he sighed. "That would be comparatively enjoyable."

"Well?" asked Ros, pointedly.

"Christmas Fayre."

There was a series of confused looks shared out from one person to the next, until Malcolm finally broke the bewilderment with an explanation.

"The council, councils, actually. Every year London Borough Councils attempt to organise something approaching a collective event, incorporating the best each of the boroughs has to offer for the Christmas festivities – I say attempt as more often that not the whole thing is a farcical round of bickering and one-upmanship between different authorities and…"

"Malcolm," Adam interrupted, in order to refocus him.

"Sorry, yes…anyway, given that your standard occupation, i.e. the one you state when not operating under a specific legend, is a council related job, we have to have people at the council who will vouch for all of you should someone ask. They have to have false employment records, wages, disciplinary files, targets and minutes of meetings all with your details included, just in case. They don't ask for much in return – they don't have much choice – but every year, they ask for some input into the local festivities, and so each year, one section is drawn from a hat to help out."

"I needn't ask who got drawn out then," Ros practically snarled. "What do they want, a round of Merry Christmas Everyone?"

"Actually, they want us to provide some stalls. They're aiming to run an entire fayre; games, choirs, mini plays, craft and food."

Ros winced, visibly. "If you're going to ask me to sell Christmas doilies and gold candles…" Her sentence seemed to truncate itself at the surprise feel of Malcolm's calming hand against her arm. Slowly, she relaxed the death grip on her biro and let out a slow breath, although her grimace remained fixed in place.

"Well, I'm sure there are other stalls you could do. They've provided quite a list." At this, Harry slid a garishly green sheet of paper across the table, only for Zaf to snatch at it first.

"Oooooo, me and you on Splat the Rat, mate," he declared, scribbling Zaf and Adam next to the bullet point before his friend could argue against the idea.

"Gimmie," beckoned Jo, leaning across the table and flailing her arm in the direction of the sheet. "I wanna see what else is on there."

The page fluttered towards her after a shove from Zaf.

"Oh, Hook a Duck! I used to love that game! Oh, and a kissing booth!"

Ros felt herself all but ready to explode.

"Kissing Booth?" asked Zaf, interest piqued. "I missed that…" He got up and walked around behind Jo as if to verify the information.

"Yup."

"Pen," he commanded, quietly, and was presented with a glittery pink biro. "Adam, you're doing Splat the Rat with Wes, now. I've got a much better job; look out London!"

"Dear God," Harry muttered wiping a weary hand over his face as he realised that his highly trained officers had suddenly reverted to being adolescents.

"Someone's obviously grumpy I nicked the top job first," Zaf announced, laughing.

"I don't care what stalls any of you do," Harry ground out as he stood to leave, "what I do care about, Mr Younis, is that this passes as painlessly as possible. One complaint of anything untoward and you're for it, understand?"

"Understood," Zaf said, happily, refusing to be threatened into submission. He was definitely going to enjoy this gig and, if he played his cards right, he might even get a date or two out of it.

"Malcolm, Ros, Ruth, pick your stalls out and return the list to me," he ordered and walked out of the door.

---

"What have you picked?" Harry asked, later, as Ruth hovered in his office with the completed list in her hand.

"Jams and Preserves," she answered with little enthusiasm. "Malcolm wanted to do it but said he needed a hand and Ros refused point blank so that left me," she added at his inquisitive look.

"You didn't want to be on that stall?"

"Not really. It all has to be home made! I've never made jam and now I have three days to learn how to do it."

"So buy some from somewhere and change the labels to make it look homemade."

"I can't do that! That'd be cheating!" she said, indignantly, "What would Malcolm say if he knew?"

He smiled at her and tried to control his urge to tell her that she was being completely adorable. "Then I'd say it's a good thing you're a fast learner."

"You're no help," she grumbled, affectionately, earning herself a warm chuckle. "What are you doing then?"

"Supervising." Her laugh was unexpected but it warmed him to his soul to see her so unguarded and happy in his presence.

"Problem?" he asked, amused.

"No, no. Not at all," she spluttered, "just that for supervising I expect I should read avoiding having a stall of your own. No?"

"The mere insinuation is appalling, Ruth," he smiled, raising his eyebrows.

"Then what should I read?"

"Well, in fairness, Zaf let loose on a kissing booth probably does require some supervision."

Ruth laughed, loudly. "Now that I'll let you off for. They might never ask us back again if you leave him to run wild."

Harry grinned, cheekily, "Well, on second thoughts…"

If you'd like the madness to continue then please let us know you enjoyed it!