Leland could see his breath against the black asphalt of the San Francisco street, white steam curling and dissipating into the dim glow of a nearby restaurant sign with every rough exhale. This was the last thing he wanted to be doing at 4 a.m. on Christmas morning. The offending crime scene lay two feet to his left--the unfortunate reason for his presence.

He heard your car pull up before he saw it. You'd only been his lieutenant for a week, but Leland already knew the telltale sound of your patrol car's engine by heart. A slight squeak this time. He made a mental note to check it out for you.

"Morning, Lieutenant."

Displeasure furrowed his blond brows when he saw your breath join his in the cold air. That wouldn't do. He shrugged off his coat and pulled it around your shoulders without asking, pushing his warm cup of coffee into your hands.

"You should wear a jacket to these things," he scolded, trying and failing to sound indifferent. "I'll buy you one if I need to. Call it a Christmas present."