DISCLAIMER: Law & Order: Trial By Jury and all characters are property of NBC and Dick Wolf. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Follows the Thanksgiving tale, A Culinary Experiment. Sally and Joan belong solely to me and so does the 'newly-reconstructed' and spacious floor of the law offices. Special thanks to two very special women: Kim, for her support and encouragement, and FlyingPeanuts, for her amazing beta.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Miracle at 1 Hogan Place
By Ann


"ADA Kibre's office, how may I help you?" Sally Porter said into the receiver, her usually chipper tone sounding even more spirited. Christmas was her favorite holiday of all and it showed not only in her voice, but also in her choice of apparel – a red and green dress, patterned with tiny Christmas trees and wreaths everywhere – and, like the other recent holidays, in her garishly overdone decorations. She and her friend and fellow administrative assistant, Joan Wright, took great pleasure in assuring that their floor outshone the rest of the building when it came to expressing their joy of the season and, during the week leading up to Christmas, the other assistants pitched in to help in any way they possibly could.

"Ebenezer has entered the building," a deep voice on the other end of the line reported in a clandestine-like whisper. On the ground floor, Joe, the doorman, watched interestedly as a dark haired woman strolled confidently across a shiny terrazzo floor, her high heels clicking loudly on the hard surface as she made her way to the elevators.

Sally's eyes grew as wide as her Spode Christmas saucers and she fumbled for her keyboard, almost dropping it to the floor in her haste to sound out an alarm. She hurriedly punched in a series of keystrokes and then sent the urgent command with a click of her mouse. Monitors all across the seventh floor immediately lit up with a full-size image of the Grinch, his brooding, deep-set, yellow ovoid eyes staring menacingly at whoever happened to have had the misfortune of sitting behind his or her computer screen. Red irises suddenly started to glow and the scurrying began.

From underneath desks, strings were grasped and pulled, tugging blowup and plastic decorations away from the center aisle, and empty boxes that had once held reams of Xerox paper appeared from seemingly out of nowhere as the more tawdry of the desk decorations were swept inside the cardboard containers to be tucked safely out of sight, until the coast was once again clear for them to reappear. The entire seventh floor turned into a perpetual flourish of motion, the scene appearing as if it had been staged by an award winning choreographer. All motion came to a screeching halt, however, when an obscenely loud ding, somehow made louder than usual by the building's lead custodian, sounded the final alarm that the Grinch had arrived.

Men and women alike flew into their respective chairs and readied for the performance of a lifetime as some pretended to search through stacks of files as if looking for one in particular while a few others snatched up their phones and carried on make believe conversations with the annoying dial tone that buzzed in their ears. The majority chose the quickest and simplest method of appearing to look busy: they poised their hands above their keyboards and purposely beat down on the keys as fast and as loudly as they possibly could, believing that the busiest-looking worker was the one who was usually ignored.

Amidst a cacophony of clacking keys, rustling papers, and meaningless chatter, stainless steel doors slowly slid open and a black high heeled shoe crossed the threshold first, a stocking-clad, well-defined calf appearing next, followed in natural succession by the rest of the infamous Ebenezer Grinch of 1 Hogan Place as an impeccably and completely non-festively dressed Tracey Kibre stepped fully from the car.

Keeping her focus forward, Tracey folded her wool coat over her forearm and shifted her briefcase to her other hand. She continued her sure, confident steps and schooled her expression to hide her amusement at the obvious attempts by the various assistants to appear engrossed in their tasks. Quite a feat, she thought, especially while they were surrounded with enough strung up tinsel to wrap around the whole of Manhattan, annoying blowup and plastic decorations littered throughout the entire floor, and artificial tabletop trees and matching wreaths on practically every desk. It looked like Christmas had thrown up on the seventh floor.

Tracey had almost made it to her office when the unthinkable happened: a blowup Rudolph escaped its tether from in front of Joan's desk and landed helplessly on its side in the center of the aisle, his cute little face and bright red nose mere inches away from a sharp, pointy, black high heel shoe. Sally swallowed hard and Joan held her hands over her ears as they waited for Tracey to stomp on Rudolph's head and permanently end his career as leader of Santa's sleigh, but the inevitable was avoided when Tracey deftly stepped over the decoration without missing a stride.

All around the large open room, jaws dropped and mouths went agape, but none so much as Sally who'd even risen to her feet, her shocked expression at seeing Rudolph spared so closely resembling a guppy out of water that had she snapped on a fin and a tail and jumped into the nearest aquarium none would be the wiser, neither fish nor human.

Tracey walked right past Sally without giving her administrative assistant so much as a glance. "I need the Grimble file, please," was all she said as she turned the corner and disappeared into her office.

Snapping her mouth shut, Sally slowly sank back into her chair and stared down at a smiling Rudolph.

"Um, Tracey?" Kelly said in concern as she glanced over her shoulder at the blowup Rudolph that seemed much taller than he had earlier that morning when Joan had placed him near her desk. She tentatively stepped into her boss's office and stared at a dark head that was hunched over a file. "You feeling okay?"

"I thought Chris said he had a lead on where Jamison might have stashed the murder weapon in the Grimble case. I need that weapon… yesterday," Tracey growled unhappily. She slammed the file closed so hard the resulting vibration knocked a small stack of papers from the edge of her desk and onto the floor.

"Shit!" she cursed loudly and braced her hands on the arms of her chair, readying to push to her feet and retrieve the errant papers.

"It's okay; I've got it," Kelly said as she hurried over to kneel beside Tracey's desk, a small smile edging onto her face at seeing and hearing her lover's obvious displeasure. She'd actually been a little worried when she'd overheard a few whispered conversations concerning Tracey's welfare. Several of the administrative assistants had surmised that Tracey had developed some kind of incurable illness, while others were certain that the ADA had been abducted by aliens.

Tracey re-crossed her legs and leaned to her right, tilting her head to the side to watch her lover pick up the papers that had fallen. Kelly's silk shirt gaped open just enough to show a lacy bra and the top of a creamy breast. Tracey grinned wolfishly.

"Now tell me what has the office all atwitter about you," Kelly said, scooping the last of the papers into her hand and readying to stand. Looking up at the last second, she caught the horn-dog expression on Tracey's face and quickly glanced down, immediately spotting the reason for her lover's sudden change in demeanor. She shook her head and stood. "You're incorrigible."

"But you love me anyway," Tracey replied in a teasing voice, accompanied by a confident smirk.

Kelly spared a quick glance over her shoulder at the office door – the open office door. Her lover's smug look could easily be explained away as a typical end to one of Tracey's snarkier comments, but it would be a little more difficult to put a different slant to her words. Put the two together and it would be virtually impossible to misinterpret Tracey's meaning should anyone have walked in and witnessed both.

"What's gotten into you today?" Kelly asked softly.

Tracey looked offended by the question. "What? Can't I be in a good mood?"

"Yes, of course, you can," Kelly was quick to respond. "But…" she started but stopped herself from pointing out how her lover's words and actions might be construed. Just because Tracey rarely allowed their personal lives to cross over into their professional ones – at work anyway – there wasn't any reason why this couldn't be one of those rare occasions, although Kelly would be hard pressed to remember the last time Tracey had intimated, even in a teasing remark, to one of them loving the other while they were in an office setting. Besides, only mere moments ago, Tracey had been cursing Chris for his failure to come up with the murder weapon she so desperately needed.

"But?" Tracey remained, as usual, focused on the possible bone of contention. She simply wouldn't be Tracey if she hadn't.

"Nothing, I'm sorry that I implied differently," Kelly apologized and turned her focus to the desk and the file that had started all the trouble. "So, I take it you haven't heard from Chris today?"

Tracey allowed the change in subject, especially since it was one that had occupied most of her attention ever since a shell-shocked Sally had delivered the Grimble file to her earlier. She'd chuckled to herself when Sally had left the office; she hadn't realized how amusing it would be to simply ignore all the tacky Christmas decorations instead of kicking and stomping them into oblivion like she usually did. Her delight, however, had turned gloomy when she'd opened the file and realized they were still missing a vital piece of evidence.

Kelly rested her hip against Tracey's desk. "He tried to get through to you earlier but wasn't able; he called me instead." She smiled broadly. "He found a bloodied knife on Jamison's boat. It was hidden underneath a false bottom of one of the storage compartments."

"He did?" Tracey's face lit up at the prospect of having drawn the winning card. If the knife did indeed turn out to be the murder weapon, which Tracey had no doubts that it would be, Jamison didn't have a prayer of being acquitted. "C'mon, let's go celebrate over lunch." She jumped to her feet, startling Kelly with her sudden move, and crossed the room to the sofa where she'd tossed her coat and purse when she'd first arrived.

"Lunch?" Kelly asked in surprise as she laid the papers back on Tracey's desk and turned to face her lover. She looked up at the clock above the door and frowned. "It's only 10:30."

Tracey grinned. "Okay, brunch then. Get your things and I'll meet you in the lobby." Slipping into her coat, she shouldered her purse and left the room, her voice drawing Kelly to the door.

"Sally, Ms. Gaffney and I are off for brunch. If Chris calls, take a message, we'll be back in a couple of hours." With a smile, Tracey lifted her hand and wiggled a few fingers good-bye as she turned toward the bank of elevators.

Sally leaned forward as far as she possibly could, her upper body almost lying prone on her desk, to follow Tracey's departure. She watched in complete and utter shock as Tracey patted Donner and then Blitzen on their heads in quick succession as she passed the last row of desks before disappearing into an open elevator. Sally wasn't nearly as surprised to see a couple of administrative assistants tripping over objects that weren't there.

Kelly stood just outside Tracey's office and stared at the closed silver doors of the elevator. She figured she must've been sleeping soundly the night before when the aliens had taken Tracey.

"I don't know, Joan, that sounds really complicated," Tracey said with more than just a hint of doubt in her voice. "I think I better stick to the easier recipes." The recent memory of her Thanksgiving fiasco was still very fresh in her mind and Tracey had no desire to re-enact any part of the cooking disaster.

"It's really not, Ms. Kibre, it just sounds hard," Joan tried to reassure her boss. She scooted her chair closer to Tracey's desk and pointed down at the crucial part of the recipe's instructions. "You just have to unroll the cake carefully and then make sure you don't layer the filling too thickly. Then you gently and loosely roll the cake back. Just don't squeeze it, though, or the filling will come out."

Tracey stared down at the last of the instructions. She hadn't actually been referring to the filling aspect of the recipe as she figured she wouldn't be able to roll the cake successfully the first time. Hell, she had doubts about the very first step of properly separating the whites of the eggs from their yolks.

Sally, who'd been silently standing beside Tracey, shook her head. "There's nothing about that recipe that looks easy." She paused in thought. "You know, there's a little bakery over on 34th Street that makes wonderful Yule logs, if that's what you've got your heart set on serving this Christmas, Ms. Kibre."

Tracey kept her focus on the very difficult recipe Joan had offered to share. Kelly had mentioned on more than one occasion that one of the things she'd miss most this Christmas would be her mother's Yule log. She had hurried to reassure Tracey that she really was looking forward to spending Christmas with her lover and couldn't wait for the two of them to prepare their feast together; it was just that the Yule log was a family tradition. When Tracey had mentioned that they try to make the dessert together, Kelly's response had been, 'Oh no, it's way too hard.' Tracey, of course, had taken the words as a direct challenge. Buying the damn thing would be a cop out.

"When do you need it, Ms. Kibre?" Joan asked, having watched the play of emotions run across her boss's face. She had some free time this evening but, with Christmas just two days away, she'd have to devote the rest of her spare time to preparing her own feast.

Tracey hedged momentarily. Would it be cheating if she accepted Joan's offer? It would still be considered as homemade and wouldn't be the same thing as buying a Yule log, after all.

Sally immediately recognized the problem. "You want to make it yourself," she stated knowingly and looked over at Joan, an unspoken communication passing across the small divide of Tracey's desk.

"Um, Ms. Kibre? Would you like to come over to my place tonight? I could oversee the operation and offer assistance when it's needed," Joan offered dubiously. She sure hoped Sally knew what she was doing. They'd only spent time with their boss outside the office once before at a bar on Halloween night and there had been drinks involved then.

"I'll help, too," Sally happily piped up. "I'll even go to the store and buy the ingredients, if you'd like."

Tracey glanced back and forth between her well-meaning assistants and made a decision.

"How about if you two come to my place instead?"

"I thought this day would never end," Kelly groaned tiredly as she plopped down on the apartment's sofa. "I just want to crawl into the tub and soak for a couple of hours." Pushing off her heels, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the couch, but a knocking at the door had her rotating her head toward the offending sound and cracking open an eye. "Tell them we don't want anything," she said to Tracey and closed her eyes once more.

"Too late for that," Tracey mumbled under her breath as she crossed the room and headed for the door. "Um, Kelly, you might want to go slip into something a little more comfortable," she said as she threw back the locks and opened the door.

"What's more comfortable than being completely naked under a layer of bubbles?" Kelly asked, intending the query to be purely rhetorical in nature and making the resulting reply even more surprising, especially when the speaker wasn't Tracey.

"Ain't that the truth," Sally said laughingly as she stepped into the room, carrying a load of groceries. "Where's the kitchen, Ms. Kibre?"

"Straight ahead and to the left," Tracey replied, taking a step back to allow Joan to enter. "And we're not at the office, Sally. It's Tracey, not Ms. Kibre," she informed and closed the door behind her. She turned just in time to see Kelly leap to her feet and stare at their two assistants as they greeted her cheerily before disappearing into the kitchen.

"Hey, Sally," Tracey called out. "Kelly and I are going to change and then we'll be right there."

"No problem," Sally volleyed back. "We'll get everything set up in the meantime."

Kelly looked from Tracey to the kitchen and then back again. "Wasn't that…" she stopped and gestured toward the kitchen doorway, her large blue eyes not quite able to fully register what they'd seen.

"Sally and Joan?" Tracey filled in the rest of her lover's question. "Yes, it was. Now, let's hurry and change before they find the liquor cabinet," she teased, remembering how nervous Joan had been when the four of them had shared a booth at a local bar on Halloween. The woman had tossed back two whiskey sours before she'd finally quit fidgeting.

"But…" Kelly sputtered in confusion. Tracey hated it when people came over and here she'd just readily opened the door to their assistants and had allowed the two women to sweep inside. And from the short exchange of conversation, it appeared that Tracey had actually extended the invitation to Sally and Joan. What kind of experiment had the aliens conducted anyway?

"C'mon, we need to get a move on. Time's a wastin'," Tracey said as she bent over and scooped up Kelly's shoes from the floor and, looping an arm around a slender waist, she steered her lover toward their bedroom. Kelly allowed herself to be led away, but she swiveled her head back toward the kitchen, wondering if perhaps she was stuck in some weird dream.

"So," Sally whispered as she pulled her head away from the narrow slit between the door and its facing, "they've finally gone to change. I don't think Kelly knew we were coming." She kept her voice low and her eyes focused on the door.

"This is all very strange, if you ask me," Joan said softly as she began to search the lower kitchen cabinets for a mixer. "First, Ms. Kibre…"

"Tracey," Sally interrupted with a grin. Joan would never call their boss Tracey to her face and, apparently, in Tracey's apartment at least, not even behind her back.

"… didn't scowl or anything at our office decorations," Joan continued as if Sally had never chimed in. "I thought Rudolph was a goner for sure, though," she shivered slightly in memory. That spiked heel had missed the reindeer by the narrowest of margins. "And when she called us both into her office, I'd thought 'this is it; she's going to fire one of us for forgetting to tell her right away that Detective Ravell had called and verified that the weapon he found was indeed the murder weapon," she said hurriedly, stopping only long enough to take a breath. "I couldn't believe it when she wanted to know if either one of us had an easy Yule log recipe."

"Yeah, you could've blown me over with a feather," Sally replied and unloaded the last of the groceries onto the counter. She folded the paper bags into a neat stack and placed them on the kitchen table. "Weirder things have happened, I guess."

"Name one," Joan challenged, having successfully located a Kitchen Aid mixer that looked like it had been used less than a half a dozen times. "It's like that story with the ghosts."

"Ghostbusters?" Sally frowned at her friend's choice of analogies. "Think some spirit has inhabited Tracey and has taken over?" She removed five eggs from their carton and gently laid them on the counter. "Guess that would explain why she straightened the crooked wreath on Jan's desk and hung that sprig of mistletoe over her office door."

"I thought poor Jan was going flip over in her chair," Joan said of their colleague. "And I suspect the mistletoe was put there purely as a strategic move by Ms. Kibre." She locked the beaters in place and plugged the mixer into a wall socket. "But I was actually referring to the story about the three ghosts that visit Mr. Scrooge."

Sally laughed and reached for the parchment paper. Joan hadn't referred to Tracey as just Ebeenzer either. The proper assistant to the end.

In the bedroom, Kelly was a bit more direct than her two assistants in getting to the bottom of Tracey's drastic change in behavior. She'd actually seen her lover drop $20 in the bell ringer's black pot when they'd left the building, the same pot Tracey had grudgingly tossed $5 in the Christmas before and had grumbled all the way back to the apartment about how it was all probably a scam of some kind perpetuated by thieves to relieve unsuspecting people of their money. Today, however, Tracey had even smiled and offered a Merry Christmas to the stunned man and, just moments ago, Kelly discovered that Tracey had invited Sally and Joan over to help them make a Christmas Yule log.

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with my lover?"

Tracey smoothed her cream-colored knit top over a pair of light gray lounge pants and looked over at Kelly's bright red top and black knit pants. "You might want to rethink your outfit," she said, knowing firsthand what flour would look like on those particular colors and on greens and dark blues, too. She walked over to their shared closet and began her search for more neutral shades.

"Tracey," Kelly followed her lover into the closet and stood just inside the doorway, blocking the entrance and, more importantly, Tracey's exit. "Is something wrong?" Kelly asked softly, a sudden fear bubbling up inside her that perhaps there truly was a problem. Was Tracey really sick or had her lover grown tired of their relationship and wanted to wait until after Christmas to end it, perhaps even subconsciously being overly nice in the process?

"What?" Tracey answered distractedly as she slipped a white sweatshirt from a hanger. It would probably be too warm for Kelly, but if the sleeves were pushed up…

"Is there something you're not telling me?" Kelly stepped closer and eased the shirt from Tracey's hands. "Are you planning on leaving me?"

"What? Of course, I'm not leaving you." Tracey tilted her head in confusion. She'd heard Kelly loudly and clearly that time. "What are you talking about?"

"You, Tracey," Kelly whispered around the almost suffocating lump that had formed in her throat. She swallowed hard and forced herself to continue instead of bursting into tears of joy at hearing that Tracey wasn't planning on going anywhere. "You've gone out of your way this week to be so nice at the office. I know you hate all those decorations and everyone being so cheery and humming Christmas songs all the time."

"Yeah, well," Tracey shrugged nonchalantly. "It's good to keep people on their toes every once in awhile."

"On their toes, yes, but you've got them thinking that you're dying or something," Kelly said, keeping the bit about the aliens to herself.

"Really?" Tracey laughed. "Well, won't they be surprised when I keep coming back day after day after day."

Kelly wasn't amused. "It's not funny, Tracey."

"The hell it's not," Tracey chuckled. "They'll think it'll be a miracle when I survive but, when they realize I'm back for good, they'll start wishing that I'd died."

"That's not funny, either. Don't even joke about dying." Kelly was clearly upset, but her reference to joking planted another seed in her mind. "Is that what this has been about? You've been playing some kind of game with everyone?"

"No," Tracey replied, slightly agitated that Kelly would even think such a thing; although, it was precisely the sort of thing Tracey would do, had she thought of it. "I was doing it for you," she admitted softly, suddenly turning very unTracey-like shy at the confession and attempting to cover it by fiddling with different pants possibilities for Kelly's white sweatshirt. She immediately discarded two pair of black pants and a pair of navy ones.

"For me? Why?" Kelly asked and closed the small distance between them. She was touched that Tracey had made such a magnanimous gesture – several of them, in fact – to be more pleasant around the office. She'd figured Tracey would've destroyed over half the seventh floor's decorations by now, but so far, not a single one had been harmed or so much as nudged from its place. Well, except for Frosty, the Snowman, who'd developed a leak the very first day and had melted into a vinyl heap on the tiled floor.

Tracey tried to shrug it off. "It's Christmas," she explained, as if the simple reason would clarify everything, and unhooked a pair of jeans from a hanger. She might have gotten away with her vague answer, too, had she shown even an infinitesimal amount of cheer during the previous Christmases, but 'bah' and 'humbug' were usually her more tame responses during the holiday season. "Here, it shouldn't be too hard to brush flour off of denim."

Kelly took the offered clothing and looped her jeans over one shoulder and her white sweatshirt over the other. She needed both hands so that she could place her fists firmly on her hips to get her full point across to her lover. Plus, there was no way Tracey could possibly maneuver around the 'winged' extensions Kelly had sprouted.

"Tracey, you've never missed an opportunity to grumble or complain about how the courthouse wasn't the place for Christmas and that the employees needed to park their decorations and holiday-wear outside its doors and concentrate on their jobs instead." That last statement had been the one to gain Tracey her Scrooge nickname. She'd earned her Grinch one shortly afterward when she'd kicked a Santa decoration as hard as she could in the vicinity of its nuts and, had the plastic ol' Saint Nick actually owned a pair, he'd have been the star soprano should his little group of decorations had decided to form a choir . Kelly relaxed her stance and softened her tone. "What makes this one so special?"

"You're not going to your parents this year, so we won't have those couple of days apart like we usually do. There won't be time for you to miss me enough to forgive anything I may have done to upset you and the others," Tracey said with a casual shrug that she hoped made her appear more nonchalant than she actually felt.

Reading between the lines, Kelly transferred her hands from her own hips to Tracey's and pulled her lover close. "So, you spared all the decorations, acted as pleasantly as you possibly could to everyone, graciously gave money to the bell ringer, edged around Joan's massive Christmas tree every day without so much of a grumble, refrained from ripping the plug from Sally's old-timey boom box when she kept playing the Chipmunk's song, tasted that horrible eggnog Barry Johnson makes every year and even complimented him on it, smiled when you told Candace Tyler that you'd never seen a more unique hair decoration, and asked Joan and Sally over to help us make a Yule log because of me? Because you wanted to make this a special Christmas for me?"

Tracey could only nod, more so because she was partially stunned to hear the number of sacrifices she'd actually made spoken aloud rather than because she was speechless that Kelly seemed grateful for everything she'd done. Tracey hadn't realized just how bighearted she'd been until Kelly had detailed her long list of concessions. Johnson's eggnog had almost killed her and she had no idea how Candace could fit through a door with that horrid tree ornament on her head. The woman had looked like something straight out of a JRR Tolkien novel.

Kelly slid her hands to the small of Tracey's back and smiled. "No one has the slightest inkling of how sweet you can be when you put your mind to it."

"And they better not ever find out, either," Tracey threatened with a tilt of her head and a slight rise of a dark eyebrow. Her warning, however, lost all of its credibility when she wrapped her arms around Kelly and hugged her lover so tightly that nothing, not even a ray of light, could possibly slip between them. "You got me?" she asked in a low, husky voice.

"I got you," Kelly whispered back and then pressed her lips against Tracey's to further prove her point. Tracey deepened the kiss and tested a well-known Christmas theory, but she honestly couldn't decide if it really was better to give than to receive. Both felt pretty damned good to her.

"Um, Tracey?" Kelly mumbled against her lover's lips.

Tracey moaned in protest of having to respond. "Yes?" she managed to answer, despite an almost overpowering need to silence Kelly for a while longer.

"Joan and Sally are in our kitchen," Kelly said as she eased her lips away from Tracey's and rested her forehead against her lover's.

"What fool is responsible for that?" Tracey growled unhappily.

Kelly chuckled. "A very sweet and loving fool," she answered and gave Tracey a squeeze before she stepped out of the other woman's arms. "Why don't you go join them and I'll hurry and change. I'll be there in a minute."

Tracey growled again. "Alright, but that damned Yule log better not take all night to make." She had better plans for their evening, plans that, unlike the Yule log, included not so gentle rolling and purposely given squeezes. And as for the filling…

"That's my Tracey," Kelly laughed and gave her lover a quick peck on the lips. She shooed Tracey away with a flick of her wrist. "Go on."

Tracey sighed pitifully and finally turned to leave, but she stopped just outside the closet doorway when Kelly called her name.

"Tracey," she said and waited until her lover looked back. "This is turning out to be the best Christmas ever." Her face lit up as brightly as the star on Joan's ginormous tree.

Smiling, Tracey winked and headed for the kitchen, the smuggest of smug grins plastered on her face. Just wait until Kelly found out what she had planned for the two of them on Christmas Eve. With visions of Kelly dressed only in ribbons and bows and a Santa hat dancing in her head, she hurried to 'play' with Sally and Joan. This Christmas was turning out to be the best ever for Tracey, too.

The End

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