"Loving is to live, with the power to forgive ..."-Kajagoogoo. Recently, I've read the reviews GMD fans have given me on in the past. One that caught my eye was the one posted by MercurysPen for The Eve I Gained a Son about "being less inclined to believe Fidget being able to reform so much." Although I don't always have the time to response to all reviews, it does not mean that I don't take them into consideration. It's because of reviews like these, it helps me to see where I need improvement in my writing. And by improvement, I mean so that they can still get tear-jerk reactions, yet remain enjoyable even years from now. So for this story, I used the same formula as I did with The Eve I Gained a Son, but this time I focused more on the emotional aspect versus the logical one. Reviews are welcome, constructive criticism preferred. Fidget, Albert, and Anna are copyright to Disney. All other characters are copyright to Reyelene (me).

Chapter 1: Yuletide Woes

"Why do you just sit there!? Help me to set up the tree!"

Deniece and Fidget spent the past three weeks looking at trees in the old Toy Store Fidget once robbed. In reality, they weren't real trees as they would be too tall to fit in the homes of rodents and bats in mousedom society. They were instead fake trees, sold as pieces of decorations to village models and manger sets. They were only slightly taller than Deniece's height and she would've had no trouble carrying them herself. The reason she asked Fidget to help her carry them was because she became so horribly agitated by Fidget's recent apathetic behavior. There was no excuse for him to be lazy, or moody! She couldn't decide if that first night she met him was his worst display of etiquette or this newly sour disposition. But it didn't stop there.

While at Deniece's household, the two bats have been fighting with each other. While Deniece complained that Fidget left his things in a disorganized mess and that she always had to clean up after him, Fidget complained how Deniece forced him into going to place that brought back bad memories (the Toy Store) and that she was taking her troubled past out on him.

"I'm not a kid, Niecy! I don't know why you're givin' me a hard time over t'ings dat are not a big deal!"

"You're so lazy! You never help out when I ask for it, and I've caught you drinking! I thought you've changed!"

At times, the two bats got so carried away with their bickering that their voices rose to such an extent that Constable Smith knocked on Deniece's door because neighbors were complaining about the noise. Upon seeing Fidget in her house, Constable Smith insisted on helping Deniece throw the peg-legged bat out. But Deniece told the constable that it wasn't necessary and that Fidget was just leaving.

At the Collins' household, Fidget fared no better. Anna noticed the bat had become a completely nervous wreck at the house. He would write in the diary Father Richards gave him only to tear the pages out in frustration. He took his fists and punched his bed, much to Albert's disturbance. When he heard The Christmas Carolers singing outside, he covered his ears as if the music was torturing him. He would've thrown something at the carolers to scare them away, but hesitated only because their pleased Albert and Anna Collins. Surprisingly, Fidget did not take any of his frustration out on his foster parents. Perhaps it was for fear of being thrown out when he knew he had no where to go. Albert went to Fidget to ask what was wrong in hopes he would get some information out of him. The only information he managed to get was that Fidget hated the tree, he hated the box of decorations, and he hated the sound of the carolers.

"I thought you liked the sound of singing."

"I like Niecy's singin'."

But lately Fidget had broken out in a fuss whenever Deniece practiced Christmas psalms for Westminster Abbey. Albert knew this because it was Deniece who had told him. So he suggested that Fidget discuss the matter with Father Richards.

In between their history and science lessons, Father Richards noticed Fidget glancing at his conservatively decorated Christmas tree from time to time, and complained if they could go in another room where the tree wasn't present. Or when The Christmas Carolers knocked on Father Richards's door to entertain him, Fidget would run the other way covering his large ears. Curiously, Father Richards approached Fidget once the carolers were gone. Upon seeing the priest inches away from him, Fidget was overcome with a nervous meltdown.

"You t'ink I'm beyond savin', don't you!? I might as well go back to prison!"

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, look at me!" Fidget held out both this wings as if begging to be handcuffed. They were trembling beyond control, as with his whole body. "I'm a wreck, priest! I'm drivin' Niecy mad, I'm drivin' my foster parents mad, I'm drivin' you mad! You t'ink I'm possessed by some demon, don't you!?"

Father Richards lowered his spectacles, which was his way of saying that he was unconvinced. "And what makes you think I would come to that conclusion?"

Fidget's erratic behavior came to an abrupt halt. His yellow eyes darted left to right, as if trying to spot anyone else who was watching. "Because ... dhose mice. Dheir singin' scared me ..."

Father Richards chuckled. "Fidget, I highly doubt that any of the behavior you've displayed over the past three weeks is nearly enough to deem someone mad."

"Wait, how did you know?"

"Well, they don't call me a worldly mouse for nothing," Father Richards. "Everyone has told me all the things you've done."

"Everyone!? Who!?"

Fidget learned through Father Richards that everyone he knew around him all came by and told the priest what was going on and that they were all concerned. Fidget lowered his head, feeling very stupid for displaying such childish behavior. But what surprised him was the mention of Constable Smith in the equation.

"Why would da constable be concerned about me?" Fidget asked. "He hates me."

Father Richards shook his head. "You may not believe this, but even Constable Smith worries about your well being."

Fidget chuckled. "I t'ink he's more worried of da idea dat I'm out on da streets and not in jail where I belong."

Father Richards began to change the subject ... or rather, get back on the subject since the conversation turned away from it. "Didn't I once tell you in Pentonville that change meant pain, suffering, and a lot of hard work?"

Fidget did remember the priest telling him that in Pentonville. Everyday he is constantly reminded of the bad things he has done ... often to no end. And that was the problem. "Well I don't know why everyone else likes dis Christmas so much when I wish it wouldn't come-"

"Aha, so that's it!" Father Richards interrupted as he wagged a pointed finger in the air. "It's Christmas, isn't it? That is what has been bothering you."

Fidget heaved a sigh of surrender. "I just don't understand it. All da fuss about lookin' for trees, da decorations, setting up da table. I don't understand any of it."

It was true. Fidget did not understand anything about Christmas. He had memories of it in the past, and none of them were good. While other children got to spend Christmas with their families, Fidget's mother was always working and he was stuck under the care of that Taylor character. When he was a child on the streets during the Christmas season, he would gaze into the windows of other families members with envy. And while under the tutelage of Captain Lillian Bates, Fidget spent his Christmases in the pub, drinking himself to a stupor so as not to feel sad or enraged. When working for Professor Ratigan, it was no different. And now that everything he once knew was gone, he had been living a clean and sober life ... which made him feel more like a fraud than ever. Deniece witnessed him drinking her wine bottle one night at the table moments before she pulled the bottle away from his hands. Not to mention she dragged him into running errands for this holiday season everyone fussed over. All Fidget wanted was some quiet time to reflect on how to handle matters, but it seemed like every opportunitiy he had to do so he was pulled away from it. Everything was stressing him out. It just wasn't fair! Fidget expressed all this to Father Richards. The priest pensively rubbed his own chin.

"Would it help you best if I explain some of the history behind Christmas to you?"

Did Fidget really have to hear it? He was pretty sure he already knew some of the history, mainly the fact that it's a celebration of the birth of that person Christian refer to as Our Savior or Jesus Christ. But the priest knew how Fidget felt about anything church related. In spite of his strong dislike of the matter, Fidget couldn't think of any excuse for his behavior over the past weeks. So he nodded his head for Father Richards to proceed with the history lesson.

"You see, Fidget, it's like this. Mousedom celebrates this time of year the most because it reminds us of that very important value in life. This value is the one value that, if missing, a society would cease to exist."

"And what value is dat?" Fidget asked.

"Sharing, Fidget."

Sharing, the priest said. Why? No one ever shared anything with Fidget. Everyone around him was reaping all of the benefits of Christmas. "I ... don't like to share ..."

Father Richards crossed his arms. Didn't like to share, the bat said? He knew he would have to approach the matter from a different angle. "How has not sharing benefitted you?"

"Hmm?" Fidget's ears perked up. "What do you mean?"

"You mentioned a few seconds ago that you don't like to share," Father Richards pointed out. "When was the last time you tried it?"

Fidget placed his left webbed hand behind his head as he pondered on this question. When was the last time Fidget ever shared anything? What was sharing? The only thing that came to mind was his many years of servitude toward Captain Lillian Bates and the Nightwing Pirate crew. Then there were his years of servitude to Professor Ratigan and his gang. He often stole things for them. But Captain Lillian Bates and her pirates left him, and Professor Ratigan threw him out. Then there were those women. The voluptuously beautiful but easily irritable Marie Bonaguide who didn't like any of the gifts he stole for her because they weren't expensive enough or pretty enough. She either broke them by throwing them on the ground, or threw them in his face.

Fidget's attention shifted back to Father Richards. "When I used to work for Captain Lillian Bates."

Captain Lillian Bates, eh? Father Richards knew that name too well, but then again who didn't? Of course stealing did not count. Stealing harms mousedom society by taking away their freedom, sharing is to benefit mousedom society. But did Fidget really understand this concept well enough? Father Richards decided to entertain Fidget's thinking a little. After all, the point of all this was to get Fidget to share more. "What did you two share?"

"Food," the bat replied.

"How did you get the food?"

Somehow, that hit a nerve in Fidget. "Well ... no one gave it to me. I had to steal it."

"Oh?"

"Da Captain always told me dat I had to fight for it. Da crew members used to tease me by tossing it back and forth to each udher ... until I got faster and caught it from dhem."

"And how did they get the food?"

Fidget shrugged. "I hadn't t'ought about dat. I guess dhey stole it from somewhere else."

"Did you ever ask them?"

Fidget shook his head. "Dhey yelled at me when I did. I used to ask questions a lot, but I stopped because everyone kept yellin' at me."

Aha! Father Richards thought. Now he was getting somewhere. "Did Professor Ratigan yell at you too?"

Fidget nodded. "Everyone yelled at me. Even dat ... dat ... Taylor guy my mudher hired after Daddy died. He was always yellin' at me."

Somehow the topic of the conversation seemed to veer away from Christmas. But Father Richards wasn't disappointed. He recalled his conversation with Fidget in Pentonville. He remembered telling Fidget that what he saw in him was a young man with the eyes and heart of a child. Father Richards remembered how Fidget's trembling body loosened and how tears filled the bat's eyes upon hearing the words of wisdom spoken to him. Father Richards already knew why Fidget didn't like to share. Because Fidget equated sharing with being punished. It made Fidget feel weak and vulnerable and he hated feeling that way. Little did the bat realize that what he thought of as weakness was in fact his true character. Just as Deniece la Chauve-souris saw a gentle side to Fidget's gruff exterior, so did Father Richards. The priest's intent in bringing Fidget back into society was to nurture that side and help it grow. And Father Richards was a stubborn mouse by nature. He was a fighter in his own rights.

"Can we ... finish dis ... anudher night, priest?" Fidget uttered, his voice barely audible. The bat was on his knees, staring blankly at the ceiling. "I'm so ... tired ..."

"Then rest, Fidget," Father Richards informed him in a calm voice. The peg-legged bat's body fell onto Father Richard's lap and into a deep slumber. All the fear of Christmas trees, decorations, and the day-to-day pressures of his current family had exhausted Fidget. Father Richards carried the light-weighted bat to his bed and gently placed him there. The priest wrapped the blanket around Fidget's body and rested his hand on Fidget's forehead.

"You're doing well, my son," the priest whispered. "Believe in yourself. You will persevere."

"Mhmm ... what happened?"

Fidget was awake at last. How long had he been asleep. Father Richards sat on the stool next to the bed. But this time it was the priest was asleep.

"Have you been watchin' me da whole time, priest?" Fidget uttered in a whisper. The peg-legged bat pounded his fists on the pillow in frustration. "Why, priest!? Why!?"

Father Richards remained undisturbed in spite of the noise Fidget made. But the peg-legged bat's frustration was still unshaken. "You priests always have a way to me feel bad. It's not fair!"

But how could Fidget say that about Father Richards. The mouse priest always treated him gently. Father Richards never hit him or beat him, even when Fidget behaved badly. Had other rodents behaved worse than he did toward the old mouse? Is that why the priest looked so haggard and tired? Fidget lowered his head in shame.

"Nuthin' can change you, can it?" Fidget sniffled, feeling water well up in his eyes. "You're always so ... happy. Everyone likes you ... you're not scared dat someone could ..." The bat's voice trailed off. He meant to complete the sentence with "do you harm," but even the thought of it made Fidget shudder. "I'm so ... jealous of you. You're strong ... for an old mouse. I wish I were strong."

Fidget was deeply jealous of Father Richards, as he was jealous of the ones who were now his family. How could everyone be so strong to put up with Fidget? The bat gazed out the window. A blizzard had started, and the window pane was nearly covered with snow. Then Fidget looked at his hands. He felt a strong urge to put his hands to good use, but what could he use them for? He couldn't use them to steal, that was for certain. And he couldn't use them to do harm. Both would only result in going back to Pentonville, or worse, being sent to Newgate. The bat didn't have a job yet. But what skills did he have that didn't involve stealing or anything of the sort? He has used them to scrub floors in the past, but he has done this chore so many times that it drove him nuts. And as for any Christmas decorations, the brightness of the glitter hurt his eyes.

Fidget decided it was time for him to leave the house ... but not before waking Father Richards up. He couldn't just leave the priest alone.

"Priest? Priest" Fidget shook Father Richards's shoulders with his webbed hands. "I'm goin' home to da Collins's house. Is dhere anyt'ing you need of me?"

But Father Richards did not stir from his sleep. The priest was not dead, Fidget could tell by the rise and fall of Father Richards's chest. "I guess I really wore you out," Fidget heaved with a sigh of defeat. Fidget ripped out a blank piece of paper from his notebook, wrote a note, and placed it under Father Richards's hand (which rested on his lap).

"You don't have to worry where I've run off to, priest," Fidget whispered. "Dat's da least I could do for you."

Fidget wrapped a thick, hooded coat around him, which was made by Anna Collins. Not long after he walked outside the door, Father Richards slowly opened one eye ... and smiled.

The blizzard began to worsen. Fidget squinted his eyes and shielded them with his left wing, as if to see better, but the fog was too thick. Luckily, he came prepared and held a kerosene lantern in his other webbed hand. All hansoms had stopped coming due to the blizzard. Although the Collins household really wasn't that far, Fidget knew blizzards could make even the house next door seem like a road to drudgery. And to make matters worse, if the sidewalks were icy (and they were), the risk of slipping on his peg leg were greater. Fidget's mouth was covered with his purple scarf. He couldn't risk getting a bad cold in this kind of weather. And the usual soft shoe he wore on his sole foot was replaced with a black wool sock and boot.

"How am I gonna make it in dis weather!?" Fidget complained, after slipping once on the ice sidewalk. "It's scary enough just to walk!"

The peg-legged bat decided to crawl on all fours to prevent slipping. Fidget jolted his knees away quickly as the ice stung them. Luckily the coat Anna made was long enough for him to drape over them. But then their were his mittened hands. As warm as the woolen material kept them, they were no match for the wet snow. Fidget had to pull forward the cuffs of his coat sleeves for extra protection. Then his stomach began to growl. The bat couldn't recall when was the last time he ate something. He must've been too busy with stress over this Christmas stuff to realize that he hadn't eaten anything.

I could go back to dat priest's home for food, Fidget thought, since he didn't make it too far from the mouse hole on Piccadilly in the first place. But as he recalled, Father Richards was still asleep. The only way he would have to get food is to ... No! How could he? Fidget knew there was a reason Father Richards brought up that conversation about sharing. And Fidget really thought hard and deeply on the matter. He hasn't really shared anything, only stole. Even food he had stolen. It was the reason why Fidget threw a tantrum at a sleeping Father Richards for helping him to better himself. This feeling called guilt was eating him alive at the pit of his stomach. "Oohhh! Why is sharin' so damn hard!?"

Fidget's ears wiggled at the sound of children's laughter from a distance. He turned his head over his left shoulder and spotted a group of young boys playing in the snow. Were they ...? Yes, they were! They were those Christmas Carolers that go from door to door to entertain mice with their singing. This time, they were playing in the snow ... and eating it? Yes, the shortest one of the group picked up a ball of snow in his mittened hand and took a bite from it like an apple. Fidget had never seen or heard of such a thing. Eating snow!? The same stuff that mice step on with their boots and probably tracked dirt on it!? Fidget winced in repulsion to the idea of it ... until his stomach began to growl again. After a while, he could no longer ignore the hunger pains in his stomach. With his left mittened hand, he scooped up a small helping of snow (which looked pretty clean to him without footprints) and slowly placed it on his tongue. The cold white snowball against his tongue made Fidget wince only a little. But the feel of water quenching his thirst was so soothingly he completely forgot all inhibitions. Fidget knew a snowball wouldn't be enough to satisfy his hunger entirely, but it helped for the moment. And it felt so good in his stomach that he helped himself to another snowball. And another ... and another ...

"'Oy! Why don't you save some for us!?"

Fidget dropped the remains of the last snowball on the ground. When he turned his head upward, he noticed eight pairs of eyes staring at him in a laughable manner.

"Why so stingy, guvner? 'Avin' that snow all to ya self when you could split it with us."

Fidget's yellow eyes narrowed to slits. The Christmas Carolers he had come to despise for bringing back painful memories with their songs now surrounded him. And they were demanding him to share. He didn't like it one bit. "Share you say?" he replied. "Why, when you have a whole land of snow over dhere?"

Fidget motioned his wing in the direction of the wide terrain of snow the young mice octet stood on moments before pestering him. He was hoping they would simply follow the motion of his wing to get his point across. But it didn't faze the octet one bit, and they just giggled merrily.

"'Oy! You look a lil familiar to me," said the taller member of the group. "Where 'ave I seen you before?"

This made Fidget nervous enough to live up to his name. The Christmas Carolers knew him? How? He didn't know a single one of them at all!

The taller member (assuming he was the leader) reached his hand toward Fidget's hood. The peg-legged bat slapped his hand away in disgust.

"Get away from me!" Fidget retorted. "I don't know who you are and I don't care! All I want to do is to go home!"

Fidget hoped that the octet would get the point this time and leave him in peace. But the bat's hood slipped off his head, which was the intention of the taller mouse to begin with. Upon gazing at the pair of large ears and yellow eyes, the taller mouse's eyes narrowed to slits. "Wait a minute! Now I know 'oo you are!"

Uh oh! This didn't sound good.

"You're that scrawny lil geezer who murdered me parents!"

"What!?" Fidget gasped. "What are you talkin' about!?"

"Yeah, I remember you too," said the second caroler who stood behind his leader. "You were with that other bat! The one who was white as this snow!"

The other bat this mice mentioned of was Captain Lillian Bates. Who else would he be referring to? But why did these mice accuse Fidget of murdering their parents when he had no idea who these mice or their parents were!? Before Fidget could protest any further, he felt a pull on both his large ears. It was hard enough to make Fidget scream in pain. "What are you doin'!?"

While the leader of the carolers pulled the bat's ears from behind, the smallest of the group punched Fidget in the stomach. The second threw a snowball in his face. "Oohh! You little brats!" the bat yelled angrily. "I'll call your mudher!"

"What mother, stupid!?" said the leader of the carolers. "You murdered 'er! I wish I did 'ave a mother for someone to tell on me!"

Getting angry from all the rough-housing the Christmas Carolers caused, Fidget growled loudly and bared his fangs. This time, the octet backed away in fright. Good! They finally got the point this time.

"Why do you accuse me!?" Fidget demanded. "I don't know what your parents look like!"

The Christmas Carolers stared at each other confusingly. Then they laughed.

"'Oy! Can this creature play dumb!" The leader mocked. "Of course you knew what our parents looked like!"

Fidget shook his head. "No, I don't!"

The leader of the Christmas Carolers shook his head in disbelief. "You're lying! I saw you. And you were looking straight at me!"

A scare and confused Fidget stared at the leader of the carolers. Did he ... really know who this mouse was? He knew that whenever these Christmas Carolers sang, it made him crawl out of his skin. Fidget knew the songs brought back bad memories, but until now he concluded that they reminded him of Christmases past that he couldn't be a part of. But was there more? This mouse claimed to have seen the bat and that this bat stared right at him. If this were true, why didn't Fidget recognize this mouse?

"You really don't remember, do you?"

Fidget shook his head. Although he was honest in his response, the leader refused to believe him. But Fidget began to quiver as his yellow eyes watched the mouse pull something from his pocket. "If you don't remember me, then I'm sure you'll remember this!"

The bat's eyes widened. In cold silence, he stared at what appeared to be a torn blue dress that an old lady would wear. And this was no ordinary blue dress. As Fidget stared blankly at it, memories of the past became vivid. This was the same dress he wore the night he kidnapped Baron Hans von Freirherr in Berlin, Germany. The Baron was a rich, upper class mouse that Captain Lillian Bates despised (then again, the captain despised anyone who was rich or upper class). She had sent Fidget to kidnap him ... and in order to accomplish this, Fidget had disguised himself as an old, feeble woman. But this was in Germany. What did this leader of the carolers had to do with the Baron? And then Fidget remembered something else. As part of his bungling to not get caught by the international police, two young boy mice attempted to stop him. And so did a lovely young lady, the Baron's wife. Baron and Baroness von Freirherr had two sons, both gray-furred like their father, while their mother had a shimmering silver fur. In fear that the children might squeal on him to the international police, Fidget decided to kidnap them and bring them aboard The Bloody Rose. But he couldn't manage it all by himself. Luckily for him, Captain Lillian Bates and the crew came to his rescue and brought all prisoners on board. As for the fate of the Baron von Freirherr, Captain Bates decided he should be put to death for his extramarital affairs with other ladies by Spanish Inquisition. Baroness von Freirherr wasn't aware of this until moments before her husband's demise. Captain Bates claimed that the Baron tried to make advances on her, a sin that was unforgivable in her book. The Baroness's fate was to be put to death by tickle torture. Captain Bates thought her to be too frivolous with her fancy dresses and jewelry that she often condescended toward less fortunate girls. Fidget was chosen to be the executioner of the Baroness. Fidget back then was delighted at this, he thought the lady was quite cute and he was feeling a bit horny. The Baroness's fancy dress was removed, she was in her slip, her wrists and ankles were bound so tightly she couldn't move. As for her two sons, they were locked in a brig with a window which they were made to watch. The young Fidget pulled both feathers from his pocket, and just before applying the tips of these feathers upon the soles of her feet he gently pressed his mouth against hers in a passionate kiss. Of course, this didn't mean the feelings were mutual. The Baroness was obviously repulsed by it, but to Fidget it felt good. Slowly gliding the feathers upon her soles in a seductive matter, the poor Baroness resorted to laughing hysterics. The torture was long and painful and just before the Baroness drew her last breath, Fidget turned his head to meet the gaze of the Baroness's eldest son. The bat's eyes narrowed to slits and his smile was wry ... as if to say "Your mother got what she deserved."

That was so long ago. But Fidget had completely blocked it out of his mind. He had seduced women before the Baroness, the first being Marie Bonaguide. The first time, Fidget felt very queasy, he was only an adolescent boy back then. After his second affair with Velvet, Fidget was already desensitized by it and found every sexual opportunity enjoyable. The same went with the torture of innocent victims. Upon doing harm to his first victims, Fidget felt queasy and coped with it by drinking in pubs. Then the more killings and crimes he committed, the more he was used to them. But since his misfortune with Selena Lunarias and his unusual promotion to a more organized crime, his contact with the other gender and chances of torturing victims were very limited. Now he was staring at the face of his accuser ... who in reality was not really accusing, but merely stating the truth. A truth that Fidget had long blocked from his memories. And the von Freiherrs only had two sons. The other six he knew nothing about.

"H-how ... did you ... end up here!?" Fidget asked, obviously shivering from head to toe out of fear. Father Richards' warning at Pentonville began to echo in his mind ... You won't be able to walk the streets without someone pointing a finger at your back.

This time, the leader grabbed Fidget by his collar while the other mice held the bats hands behind his back. "Your Captain Bates decided to spare us," the leader answered, "by dropping us off 'ere in London. Me brother and I were forced to live off the streets."

"And ... dhese udher six?" Fidget implied.

"These six were a sextet of Christmas carolers," the eldest von Freirherr answered. "They sung for the orphanage. They took us in out of kindness and made me their leader."

Fidget freed himself from the mice's grasp. "So now you've become Christmas Carolers," the bat replied defiantly. "Now take your Christmas carols elsewhere and let me go home."

"Why should we?" The von Freiherr mouse insisted. "You did something bad, and we can't let you get away with it."

Fidget crossed his wings nonchalantly. "And what do you plan to do with me?" The peg-legged bat half-expected more threats from the carolers. Surprisingly, all eight of them were silent and whispered to each other as if to decide this bat's fate. Fidget took the opportunity to break the silence. "Go ahead! Do your worst! But how would you explain dis to da constable dat walks da streets?"

Fidget wasn't sure why he said that. Such a statement could entice them to do harm, if they had the stomach for it. And if they did their worst, why would Constable Smith care? But the octet of carolers just stood in awkward silence. As much as their caroling drove Fidget mad, the bat knew they were harmless and couldn't hurt anyone even if they wanted to. That's good, he thought. That alone made them stronger and Fidget thought it best to keep it that way.

"Now, if you boys will point me in the direction of 128 Regent Street, I will gladly get out of your sight."

By the time the chaos was over, the blizzard had calmed. A hansom finally arrived, there was no need for the Christmas carolers to do anything. Fidget slowly rose to his foot and peg and hopped aboard. Before the hansom took off, Fidget turned his gaze back at the dumbfounded carolers. "Go home to your new guardians, whoever dhey are. Don't stress dhem out!"

*All properties of Fidget and The Great Mouse Detective are copyright 1986 by Walt Disney Productions. All pastiches/fanfics are copyright 2002-2016 by Reyelene, unless stated otherwise.

The Fidget Library Copyrights & Disclaimer Back to the Palace