My Gift To You : One Shot

"Is the truck unlocked?" I asked, throwing him a glance as I debated whether to take out the large package or the medium package first.

"I don't know. Maybe. Why?" he asked as he shuffled about, gathering the letters littering the place.

"Because I want to take out the big package and come back for the medium one," I said, having decided the order to carry them in, "The small one is already in there from last time when we forgot it."

"You don't have to do that. I was going to get the big package in just a minute," he said, still scurrying about and snatching up letters laying all about.

"You have to carry the letters and your drink. Anyways, I've got a minute now, so I was going to run the big one out and come back for the medium one," I said with an annoyed sigh and an eye roll, "Now is it unlocked or not?"

"It's unlocked," he said, even as he held up the car beeper and aimed it out the door to unlock the truck.

"Thank you," I grunted as I grabbed up the big package and headed out the door, "Finally," I added under my breath only once outside. I gave another roll of my eyes, thinking somewhat dark thoughts about old people and how forgetful they were. As the wind shifted, though, my dark thoughts shifted to how much I hated the cold and the wind and the snow. Why the Hell did we have to do this mail run today? It was windy and cold as Hell frozen over. Why couldn't we have done it tomorrow?

I halted my dark thoughts long enough to shift the package in my arms, pull open the door of the truck, and set the package carefully and safely inside. Upon closing the door again-not wanting to give the snow and cold air a chance to get in-my dark thoughts resumed as I went back inside for the final package and my partner. "Got all the letters?" I asked as I yanked the door open against the wind, swiftly ducking in.

"All that's ready to go," he said, holding the letters up for me to see as proof, "We'll have to come back for the rest tomorrow, though. Then that's it."

"Ugh. Why aren't they all ready to go? What's the problem?" I asked as I stalked over to the counter and snatched up the medium package.

"Don't know. Didn't ask. Doesn't matter. Either way, we've got to go now and come back tomorrow," he said with a shrug.

"Somebody somewhere hates me," I grumbled to myself. I headed to the door, lovingly kicking it open for lack of a free hand. I was, however, kind enough to stand there once I had stepped out, holding the door open for my partner by putting my foot and leg at an awkward and almost painful angle. And he was kind enough to thank me by taking an extra sixty seconds to say goodbyes over his shoulder to the workers inside, standing halfway inside and halfway outside, making it impossible for me to remove my foot to relieve my pain. Somebody somewhere definitely hated me. That was for damn sure.

By the time the old fart-I mean, after my partner finally came out of the doorway, allowing me to allow the door to fall closed, I headed again to put the package I was holding in the back of the truck. Despite my foul mood, I was careful as ever with putting the package in carefully and safely, going so far as to set it in one of the seats and buckle it in for good measure. Then I much less carefully slammed the door, going to my own door and ripping it open before climbing it. "You're gonna hurt the truck one of these times," my partner commented lightly, sliding me a look as I slammed my door and buckled my seatbelt.

"I thought I slammed it particularly hard. Guess I was right," I said, not feeling in the mood to apologize.

"Gonna give me a heart attack, too," he mumbled to himself as he turned on the truck, probably thinking the engine starting up would cover his mumblings.

"Buckle up and turn the heat up," I grunted, deciding to let it go even though I had heard him. He did as I not-exactly-suggested and not-entirely-requested without a word. As he had obviously decided not to speak, I took it upon myself to fill the void. "I really hate this. Not the mail runs themselves, but the conditions we do them in. It's always so cold when we go out," I grumbled as I held my hands up to the vents to heat them up quicker.

"It's always cold, even when we don't go out," he said lightly.

"I know that, Vernene, but it's different when we're doing mail runs. It's always so much damn worse. It's colder, it's windier, it's either blowing snow or freezing rain," I said, gesturing out the window for a physical example of what I was talking about.

The older man chuckled warmly to himself, just grinning at me. "It's not always snowing or freezing rain when we go out. It's just that you only remember those times, because they're the worst times," he said.

"Humph. Fine. But just because I only remember the worst times doesn't mean all the times aren't worse than when we're not out doing runs," I grumbled, returning my hands to in front of the vents to keep them warm.

"It's only natural you'd think the times we're out are worse, since they're an extended time outdoors; whereas, when we're not out doing runs, we mostly just go from one building to the next, if we go outdoors at all," he said, still chuckling and smiling at my grumbling.

I really didn't like him acting like this. He was treating me like I was no more than a pouting child. "It's not just my opinion! I am telling you for a fact that it is actually colder and windier and just generally worser when we're doing mail runs!" I exclaimed.

"You mean "worse". "Worser" isn't a word," Vernene said, basically ignoring me.

"Oh, blow it out your dictionary," I mumbled, crossing my arms across my chest as I slunk down in my seat.

"You wouldn't be so cold if you wore the regulation uniform, rather than your personal clothes," he said lightly. And still he was chuckling and smiling over how I was acting.

"I hate that thing. All that red annoys me. You do know that it's a proven fact that red is the most annoying colour, don't you? There have been studies on this. Numerous and thorough studies. Red is annoying, especially when over-used-which, in our line of work, it most definitely is," I said matter-of-factly.

"That's true. But green is said to be one of the most relaxing colours, and that is also used very much in our line of work, too," he countered calmly, "And we use much white, too. It's a reflection and representation of innocence and purity, they say."

"That's not the point. The point is that the regulation uniforms suck, and that I'll drop dead of heatstroke before I put on one of those things," I snapped.

"Hmmm… Guess that'll never happen…" he mumbled thoughtfully. I had no idea if he was talking about the dying of heatstroke, me wearing the uniform, or both. Nonetheless, I decided to agree with a curt nod of my head as I ended my sulking and returning to warming my fingers by the vents. "…Still, you could at least wear the hat. In the cold you lose more heat through your head than any other equally-sized area of skin elsewhere on your body, you know. Admittedly, only slightly more, but still. It's especially important for people of our particular persuasion to keep out heads nice and warm-especially our ears," he said.

"No way. I hate that hat the most. And it hates me. It likes to hurt me," I stated flatly.

"Hurt you? How?" he asked, sliding me a curious glance now.

"That stupid puffball on the end. With the short hat, where it just sits on top, it is made only in sizes so small it squeezes my head. With the regular hat, where it hands down about shoulder length, it constantly hits me in the back and face. With the long hat, where it hangs down to about the waist, it's always smacking me in the butt. I just can't win with that stupid hat. So I refuse to wear it," I stated still flatly.

"You could just ask Santa for one of the short hats in your size…" Vernene suggested, returning to grinning now.

Was he completely mad? "Yeah. Sure. I'll do that, right after I die of heatstroke and put on the regulation uniform," I said sarcastically. He said nothing, resuming his chuckling now. There were no words to express how much I hated people who were always jolly. Just my luck that I was born into the one race in the one place in the world where everyone was always jolly all the time, no matter what was going on with the rest of the races in the rest of the world.



"I can't tell if it's just my life that sucks, or if it's the whole world that sucks," I muttered darkly to myself, stripping off layers swiftly now that I was seated and settled comfortably in front of the fire.

"Is that so?" came a curious voice, causing me to about jump out of my skin.

My head whipped around as the rest of my body jolted with shock, my eyes going wide and a flush coming to my face only upon seeing who it was. "S-Santa! Ah, um, wha…what are you doing here, in my home?" I asked uncertainly and weakly. Oh, man, why did he have to hear me saying that, of all the people?

"Everyone goes freely about rooms and buildings here, Xenote; often without explanation or reason. That's the kind of atmosphere we live in, you know. You should be used to it by now," he said lightly as he strolled over, taking up a seat on the couch just a few feet from me.

"Uh, yeah, I know that and I am used to it, just not…" I said, looking away from him only as I trailed off. I was used to other elves like myself randomly going in and out of my house. However, I was not used to Santa himself coming into my house out of the blue, as he never had set foot in here after I was born.

It wasn't like I didn't ever see him, of course. I saw him plenty enough-more than enough to know he wasn't the fat, old man that other races made him out to be-but we rarely interacted face-to-face and never had we interacted one-on-one. "I'm sorry if I surprised you. Would you like for me to leave?" he asked. His words drew me from my thoughts, and I saw he was already partially standing up, waiting to hear my reply.

Again my head swiftly whipped around in his direction. "N-No!" I exclaimed. He looked quite very surprised at my sudden outburst. Swiftly I looked away again, my flush becoming something more like a blush. "I…I mean, your presence doesn't bother me, so you can stay if you want," I quickly corrected myself.

"Hmmm…. "Doesn't bother"…" he mumbled thoughtfully as he sat back down. I couldn't help but slid him a curious glance from the corner of my eye, wondering what he was pondering. "…That my presence doesn't bother you…isn't to say that my presence does please you…" he mumbled on.

I couldn't tell if he was just thinking aloud or actually speaking to me. "Um….correct?" I guessed more than anything, looking at him curiously more openly now.

"So my presence doesn't please you," he said flatly, suddenly frowning now, though only slightly.

"But-…What?" I asked. I was thoroughly confused, obviously. Was he asking me a question, asking for my opinion, or stating a fact? "Uh, that… Your presence pleases everyone, everywhere you go, sir. That's just…part of who you are," I said, having decided that he was asking for my opinion on the matter. Probably he was worried about how jolly and merry his presence truly was. I actually doubted that he cared at all about my personal opinion, figuring that he just wanted to see how his presence affected a person in a foul mood.

As foul moods were all but forbidden around here, I was probably the only person within a million miles for him to test his presence on. That would explain why he had come into this house for the first time in some nearly two hundred years. There was just nowhere else he could go to get swift results. Well, Hell's bells, there went any jolliness or merriment I might have gotten from his surprise visit. Leave it to me to think too deeply on the subject and murder my slightly improved mood.

"I'm not asking if my presence pleases people in general," Santa said, suddenly cutting into my thoughts. If only he had cut my thinking short before I thought far too long. "What I am asking you," he said very seriously, "is if my presence pleases you in particular." I stared at him like the idiot I was, not wondering what the honest response was, but wondering what answer would please him. "Does it?" he asked after a few silent moments, once again cutting into my thoughts. I didn't have an answer yet!

I looked around now, as though the proper and most pleasing answer would be located around the room somewhere. "Ummm….hmmm….I would have to say….that your presence…" I said, drawing out my reply as I searched for the answer, "…most likely and certainly must…please me…since your presence is pleasing to everyone in the world…" Okay, it wasn't the most brilliant answer I could give, but it was one that would please him, right?

Wrong. He stood up swiftly, his eyes wide but holding righteous fury as he stared intently at me, stalking over to me one slow step at a time. "I am asking you, Xenote, if my presence pleases you personally and particularly. And I do not want a roundabout generalization that is a guess. I expect an honest, direct answer from you," he stated. He spoke very…..well, the only way to describe how he was speaking would be "forcibly"; as though speaking in a demanding enough way would force me to give him the kind of answer he wanted, even if the answer itself wasn't what he wanted to hear.

And, boy, did that tactic ever work. "I don't know!" I blurted out, "I mean, this is the first time in my lifetime that I alone have been in your presence and you have been addressing me in particular both at the same time!" Damnit. I hadn't meant to say that. How humiliating. My first time ever being both alone with Santa himself, and I had just told him I didn't know how this situation made me feel. Why couldn't I just have given a more believable guess at an answer before? Better yet, why couldn't I just have said "Yes"? Why the Hell did I have to stop and think about it?

Again my thoughts were cut off by Santa. This time, though, it wasn't his words that interrupted my thoughts-that was actually impossible, as he had yet to say anything to my idiotically blurted out admission of idiocy. He had actually been seemingly frozen stiff by my words, until he had suddenly stepped back from me just now. My thoughts were brought to a swift halt as I now just stared at him, waiting to see what he would do or say.

He, in return, just stared at me, seeming to be waiting on me to say or do something. There was no longer any notable emotion in his eyes, expression, or posture that would betray to me his current thoughts or next move, though, unfortunately. So, as I had no idea what he wanted for me to do or say, I continued to just stare at him. Finally, when neither of us did anything-not even thinking or blinking or breathing-for several minutes, he looked away from me and spoke. "Would you like to spend Christmas with me this year?" he asked.

….What? Where had that come from? From out of the blue, that's where it had come from. What in the world had made Santa come to my house, ask me if his presence pleased me, and then ask me if I wanted to spend Christmas with him? Had he gone crazy? Senile, maybe? I responded in the only logical way. "Does this have something to do with why you shaved your beard this year?" I blurted out. So much for a logical response. I didn't need my two front teeth for Christmas-I needed my two frontal lobes.

Rubbing his freshly shaven face thoughtfully, he slid his gaze back to me, a twinkle of something I couldn't place being held in those rich, warm evergreen eyes. "Indeed, it does. I decided that I'm going to go ahead and let my brother do the Christmas run this year. So there's no reason for me to have that beard anymore. It'll grow back by next year, after all," he said, smiling very softly.

My jaw dropped. "What?! But you haven't let Saint Nicholas deliver the presents in…in….since the year I was born! This year would have been almost your two-hundredth straight delivery run! Why, after all this time, would you suddenly let him take the reins again?!" I blurted out quite possibly at the top of my lungs. Logic, obviously, had kissed me goodbye the second I had walked under the mistletoe hanging above my front door.

"You seem displeased. You don't like the idea of my brother running the show again? He did start this whole thing, you know," he said, "The gift-giver was Saint Nicholas long before I, Santa Nicholas, came along and took over-even being so arrogant as to used the pseudonym last name of "Claus" just to be sure everyone knew that I was something all new. Do you really prefer such a pompous, arrogant man to that generous, gentle soul?"

I could only blush darkly-though I wasn't sure if it was with embarrassment or shame-and look away. "…I…Well, like I said, you've been in control every year since the year I was born…so I do not know what a Saint Nicholas Christmas is like…so I can't compare and say which I prefer… I just don't…. It's really unexpected that less than a week before Christmas you would suddenly denounce your role in Christmas this year and announce that your brother would be running the show again…" I mumbled, speaking almost entirely under my breath as I watched him from the corner of my eyes.

"So you're nervous about whether or not he'll do well with this, then?" he asked. Still there was no emotion betrayed by any part of his being, save for the twinkle in his eyes that I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"N-No!" I blurted out, my head whipping around as I swiftly looked at him directly again, "I'm sure he'll do a fine job! I mean, he's done this kind of thing countless times before, even if it's been a while…so it should be good even if he isn't exactly up-to-date… I mean, you know, he is Saint Nicholas and all…" Great. Now my thinking too long and too deeply was being done aloud, so we both could recognize the kind of idiotic, pessimistic person I was.

"So you're not displeased that he is going to run Christmas this year or worried about how he will run this year's Christmas," Santa stated, "Which only leaves one option: you don't want to spend Christmas with me, but you're afraid to say that to your boss." WHAT? How the Hell did he come to that conclusion?! Well, actually, I had just seen how he had come to that conclusion-but I didn't see how he had come to that conclusion.

"That's not it!" I exclaimed.

"Then what is it?" he asked. He wasn't really demanding this time, but I still felt compelled to tell him the honest truth, whether either of us liked it or not.

"I hate December 25th!" I blurted out, swiftly looking away before any emotion could suddenly come to his face and betray his thoughts to me.

"….You hate Christmas…?" he asked after the longest second-long-eternity.

I was fairly positive now that the burning blush on my face was nothing more than complete and utter shame. "No. I don't mind Christmas at all. Christmas is great. Christmas is the best thing in the world. It's that date itself that I hate," I stated softly and weakly. On second thought, I didn't want my two frontal lobes for Christmas. I wanted them now, so that I would have enough common sense and good enough sense to shut my damn mouth.

"Why?" he asked the inevitable question.

"…My birthday. I hate that day because it's my birthday. I don't hate that I was born, just that it was on that damnable day," I whispered. Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck. Why was I still talking?! What was I thinking?! Was I even thinking?! Obviously not, if my mouth was still moving! This was not thinking aloud, it was committing verbal suicide! Somebody stop me before it's too late! …Or was it already too late?

"…Why do you hate that fact? Being born on such a wonderful day, shouldn't you be happy?" he asked.

Just as I couldn't stop myself from talking, I couldn't stop myself from laughing out loud. "Ha! Happy? Wonderful day? Yeah, right. Maybe if I were somewhere else-anywhere else in the world…just maybe I might be a little happy about that," I said, still not looking at him, "Do you have any idea what it's like to be born on Christmas when you're an elf, when you're a fucking Santa's Helper, when you live at the North Pole itself?"

"Everybody's goddamn life is all about one day of the year, every day of the year. That part isn't so bad, because everyone is happy to celebrate any day of the year that they're given an excuse to. Birthday parties are welcome excuses to have a ball and give presents throughout the year. Elves have whole huge parties made up of just the elves that were born on that day. And everyone knows when it's an elf's birthday and always goes out of their way to wish that elf a Happy Birthday," I said, "…But…there's one day a year…when no elf cares about any other cause for celebration."

"On December 25th, it's all about and only about Christmas. Which is fine enough for pretty much every elf, since there has almost never been an elf born on that day anyway. As a matter of fact, because all elves go out of their way to make sure that nothing will interrupt their Christmas celebrations, there has only been one elf in all of history born on that day," I said, smiling sadly to myself.

"…It was an accident, too. I was almost a month early. I wasn't supposed to be born on that day, but for some reason my mother suddenly went into labor, just as Saint Nicholas took off in his sleigh," I said, "…But, then again, you should know that very well, since you had to help deliver the unexpectedly early baby me."

"…I'll bet you don't know, though, that not even once in one hundred and ninety-nine years has a single person ever wished me a Happy Birthday nor given me a birthday present nor baked me a birthday cake. Even my own parents always, always do the same thing every year: "Merry Christmas, son. Here is your Christmas present for this year. If you'd like, you can help yourself to the fruit cake." And then they go off to some Christmas party, while I stay home alone, thinking about how I'm probably not going to get my Christmas wish to have a birthday wish next year, either," I said, finally finishing spilling out the long, deep, dark thoughts that had been simmering in the back of my mind for not quite two hundred years now.

Swiftly now I turned my gaze back to Santa. He was, expectedly, looking utterly speechless. Now I was the one who had no emotion anywhere that could be seen to betray my thoughts. That didn't matter, though, since I had just told him basically every thought that had ever been in my head. "Sorry, Santa. It's not that your presence does not please me or that the idea of spending Christmas with you does displease me. I just…don't know. I don't really know what would make me pleased. I just know it's nothing that I'll ever get the pleasure of knowing," I said softly.

Slowly now the speechlessness faded from his face, leaving nothing in its place to betray to me what he was thinking now. "…Why didn't you ever say anything to anyone-to me?" he asked finally.

"Gee, that's so obvious, why didn't I think of that? Oh, wait, I did-and then I thought that it was better not to voice the fact that I'm a selfish enough bastard that I want at least one person in this world to say "Screw Christmas-Have a Happy Birthday!". No, seriously, just think about that for a second. Not a very good idea, now is it?" I said with obvious and venomous sarcasm.

"You think that would be selfish?" he asked.

Only now did I look away again, doing so rather quickly. "Duh. Come on, what kind of selfish bastard demands you neglect the world and focus on only them-and on Christmas day, of all the days!?" I muttered darkly.

"Hmm… I may be wrong, but that rather sounds like the same kind of "selfish bastard" that is in love," he said thoughtfully. And my head snapped right back around, wordlessly demanding that he explain that line of thinking to me. "Well, I mean, when you love a person truly and deeply and with all of your being, you would gladly neglect and ignore all the world for only them any and every day of the year if they wanted you to-and deep down, you would really wish for them to do the same for you," he explained lightly. I continued to stare at him for a moment or two as I thought on that.

Finally, though, I looked quickly away again. "Yeah, okay, that kind of makes sense. But I don't have anyone to love. I mean, I don't have anyone in particular who I want to do that for me. Anyone will do-my parents, my partner, nobody in particular has to. It doesn't matter who. Just any one person who would do that would please me," I said. I was obviously thinking aloud now, but I didn't really know what I was thinking here.

"So you'll entirely and endlessly love the first person that out of the blue wishes you a Happy Birthday," he stated more than asked. He had a habit of doing that, it seemed. And it was a habit that confused me entirely and endlessly.

"….What?" I asked, being as brilliant as ever. I went to swiftly look at him yet again. This was the first time that I cringed when I did, though. It hurt to look at him. Or, rather, my neck hurt from looking back and forth so fast and so much. Great. I'd given myself something like whiplash. Have I mentioned yet that I'm an idiot with no sense at all? Well, I've mentioned it now.

"Let me give you a neck rub," Santa said. Sudden changes of the topic at hand-another habit he apparently had that confused me to no end. I said and did nothing as he swiftly moved over and kneeled on the floor behind me. However, when he actually put his large, warm hands on the crooks between my neck and shoulders and began rubbing, I proceeded to groan and melt into a puddle of goo.

Okay, so I didn't melt into goo; but I did suddenly and unexpectedly slump back against him and slump my shoulder as all of the tension magically left my body and flood of warm tingles magically came into my body. It was actually a bit of a shame that he wasn't fat like he was often depicted to be, because then he would've been very comfy to slump back into. Not that he wasn't quite comfy even with a slightly leaner physique than one would expect of Santa.

Oh, yes, I also really did groan. Loudly, too. "Well, whether or not my presence pleases you, this most certainly does seem to please you," Santa purred, having leaning down just to breath this warmly into my ear. I shivered from the hot breath tickling that sensitive part of me, but the shivers didn't manage to go down my spine, as they were rubbed right out of me in their short journey down my neck.

Was it just me, or were my eyes growing heavy? I really wanted to just curl up into Santa and go to sleep. Again, if only he were fat, I might've done just that. "…You know, it's okay to go to sleep," he said suddenly, seeming to know what I was thinking, "After all, I always see you when you're sleeping anyways," he added with a soft chuckle.

"Mmm… I'm not a child, Santa… I know you don't have the time of day to spend it watching everyone in the world. There's divisions of elves around the world that monitor anyone and everyone at any and all times, keeping records of good and bad behavior that they then report to the monitoring division up here, who sum up a person's overall behavior so that you can judge if they've been good or bad," I mumbled. I had no idea how much of that was me speaking to him and how much was just me thinking aloud.

He chuckled a little more, now shifting his rubbing, slowly sliding his hands down my back as they continued to very warmly massage me. "You know the system as well as any elf should, I see," he praised, "…That doesn't make you an adult, though. By the standards of elves, you're still a child for another few days. Only on your two hundredth birthday will you finally and officially be considered an adult amongst elves. But, then again, you should know that very well also."

"…What you don't know, though, is that not even once in one hundred and ninety-nine years has a single other elf ever monitored you. From the moment you were born, I forbade anyone else from doing so, taking up that duty myself. I alone have watched you for every waking and even every slumbering moment of your life," he said very softly, "…Except for on December 25th, because I'm too busy all day on that day to monitor you, even as much as I would like to be able to."

Only at this last statement did I finally relocate my skeletal structure and nervous system, swiftly sitting up, pulling away from, and then turning to look at Santa. Before I could think about his words for too long, he cut off my thoughts by continuing on. "…There was nobody to monitor you on that one day of every year when I could not, and so not a single person in this world ever knew that your Christmases-no, that your birthdays were so horrible and so lonely," he said.

"…All because I was so very selfish that, rather than making you my world, I instead took over your world-the entire world of all elves, really….so that you would have no choice but to think of only me-of only Christmas as I make it," he said, "…And still my selfishness grew so that after one hundred and ninety-nine years and three hundred and fifty-five days…I couldn't wait five more days to approach you as an adult and like an adult."

"Wh….What are you saying?" I barely breathed the question. I hadn't spared a single second to try to think about it. I didn't want to think about it. I wanted to hear it straight from the horse's mouth.

Without a single word or warning, Santa all at once grabbed me by the front of my shirt, dragging me into a kiss that I could not resist-partially because his other hand slid around my neck to keep me from breaking the kiss, partially because I was too stunned to resist, and partially just because the thought of resisting wouldn't have crossed my mind one way or another. After giving me some tongue and taking away my breath, he finally ended the kiss himself, though only so that he could speak.

"I am saying that I am the most selfish bastard to ever exist. And also that, even though I have the love of everyone else in the world, it's not enough if I don't have your love. So I've decided to say "Screw you all-the only person I ever actually cared about is Xenote. Screw Christmas this year and every year after-the only thing I'm celebrating on December 25th from now on is his birthday. If you don't like it, you can all drop dead, because I'm no longer Santa Claus-I'm Santa Nicholas, and I don't give a damn." Meaning, I'm saying that I have loved you from the very instant I laid eyes on you, I have always had my eyes on you since then, and the only thing I'm ever going to have my eyes on is you," he explained quite thoroughly and calmly, "In short, I'm saying I love you."

I stared at him. I said nothing. I did nothing. I thought nothing. I just stared at him, absolutely, positively, completely, and entirely unable to process any of that, let alone all of that. Finally, after uncounted minutes of silence and staring, I closed my eyes, lowered my head, and rested my forehead on his chest, leaning on him very lightly.

Only then did I finally speak, the words going directly from my brain out through my mouth, as pausing long enough to think over my words would truly take an eternity. "…You know, it's a good thing you quit being Santa Claus, because you really suck at it. It took you almost two hundred damn years to grant my Christmas wish. Your brother definitely has to be better than that," I said.

All at once he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me flush against him before making my face flush as he tilted my head up and back enough that his lips could run over mine as he spoke. "I apologize for taking so long. It's your fault, though, for not making a Christmas list for me to read. Santa can't read minds, you know. That's why I invented the wish list so that I could know what people want, whereas my brother used to just guess what people needed," he murmured in reply, each syllable causing his lips to rub warmly against mine.

"I couldn't have written a list anyways. I couldn't exactly just write "You" as what I want for Christmas. Seriously, think about it, could you imagine me mailing my Christmas list letter in? Those things get read over by dozens of different elves throughout the mailing process, you know. It might get taken the wrong way," I returned. I still wasn't really thinking before I spoke, allowing my speaking to be me thinking aloud just as much as it was me talking to him.

He smiled and chuckled now, having to pause before responding since it was too hard to smile at, laugh at, speak to and kiss me all at the same time. "Okay. Fine. So I suck as Santa Claus and it's all my fault it took this long to grant your wish. However, consider the fact that I only took so long because I had to wait until you were an adult and because it took just this long to properly prepare my gift to you," he said finally.

"Your gift to me? And what is that?" I asked curiously, obviously not stopping to think about it before asking.

"I can't tell you. You have to wait," he said.

"Until when?" I asked, pouting slightly.

"Until your birthday," he said, smirking, "And you better not pout, otherwise I'll make you wait until your next birthday."

"No fair! I thought you were done being Santa Claus! I should be allowed to pout now!" I exclaimed.

"I am done being Santa Claus. That's why I said wait until your birthday, not until Christmas. Santa Nicholas still doesn't like pouting, though, even as cute as you are when you do pout," he said, smirking even more.

"Humph. Fine. I won't pout and I will wait," I said, "Only because I don't doubt it will be worth the wait, though. After all, you are the best gift-giver in the world."

"Didn't you just say I sucked at gift-giving a second ago?" he asked, switching his smirk for an arched eyebrow now, "And I already said I'm done being Santa Claus and done giving gifts to all the world."

"I did, and it's true, and I know. You sucked as Santa Claus," I said, "As Santa Nicholas, though, you're the best gift-giver in my world-which just so happens to begin and end with you."

"Hmmm… Well, then, I guess I can't dispute that. I am pretty damn good," he said, showing no small amount of modesty, "…But, as far as being the best gift-giver, you're the best as far as my world goes-which, coincidentally, begins and ends with you. But, regardless, you're the best."

"…But I haven't ever given you anything…?" I said, half asking, half guessing, and all thinking aloud.

"Well, not yet, but I know for a fact that when I give you your birthday present, you're going to give me the best thing in the world and something you never have and never will give to anyone else," he said, smiling brightly now.

"….My love?" I said, still guessing, asking, and thinking aloud all at the same time.

"I can't tell you, otherwise it will spoil the surprise. I guarantee, though, that you'll give it to me in exchange for what I give to you, just as I can guarantee that you will love both me giving you my present and you giving me your present in return," he said, still smiling brightly. He honestly knew no modesty.

And I really wanted to know what he was going to give me now, and what he was expecting me to give him in return. I couldn't ask, though, and I couldn't pout about it, so I just tried not to think about it. Besides, I really didn't mind what present he gave me, as long as it was a birthday present and not a Christmas present. That was all I had ever wanted. Well, that and Santa himself all to myself, apparently.