Scott always knew there was something special about his father. Right from an early age, he knew. Of course, many people knew of Jeff Tracy, they saw something special in him, too. What with him being an astronaut, famed for his work not only on the lunar base, but also in taking the first steps on Mars.

But what Scott saw even went beyond the natural hero worship and adoration a son often saw in their father, he just never quite understood what it was. All he knew was that there was something else, some other factor that he hadn't yet worked out that made his father so special.

He finally realised what it was when he was around nine years old. It was Christmas Eve and Jeff had had to work late, yet again. So, there he was, trying to settle his three younger brothers who were all way too hyped to consider sleeping. Even seven-year-old John, normally so quiet, was bouncing around a little.

"Scott, I don't wanna go bed!" Virgil whined.

Scott huffed an exasperated sigh. "Virgil, you gotta." He felt a little frustrated to be dealing with them all, but he'd offered to help out. His mother, at about six months pregnant with his fourth sibling, was struggling with fatigue and Scott, being ever the helpful big brother, had offered to get them ready for bed while she had a rest. Boy, was he beginning to regret that offer considering they'd had chocolate cake after dinner.

Virgil crossed his arms, stubbornly. "Don't wanna," the five-year-old moaned. "I wanna stay up and see Santa."

"Santa!" almost-two-year-old Gordon chimed in excitedly, wriggling around on Scott's hip. "See Santa!"

"No, bed time," Scott insisted, trying to refrain from rolling his eyes in irritation. "He won't come if you're awake."

"No Santa?" Gordon asked, his big brown eyes sad as they looked up at Scott.

He hesitated. "No. No Santa unless you go to bed," Scott repeated, sighing again. "You want Santa to come?"

"Yeah!" Gordon said, clapping his small hands and bouncing in Scott's arms.

"Alright, alright," Scott replied, laughing a little at the enthusiasm. "You gonna go to bed then?"

"Uh huh!" Gordon nodded, cuddling against his side.

The eldest smiled and kissed the top of his head. "Good boy," he whispered, then looked at the other two. "You going to bed, too?"

Virgil frowned and looked at John as if seeking backup.

Scott sighed again then turned and walked out without another word, taking Gordon up to his room. "You're being a good boy," he said as he left, smiling at him.

Gordon's smile in return was bright but disturbed by a wide yawn, his small nose scrunching up as his eyes screwed shut.

Scott chuckled. "See, you are tired. So, you go to sleep like the good boy you are, and Santa will definitely come tonight." He laid Gordon down in his little bed, tucking his blankets round him and sitting on the edge. "Mama will be up later to kiss you goodnight, I'm sure, but she won't mind if you're already asleep."

Gordon nodded sleepily, already beginning to doze off.

Scott smiled again, pushing his blond curls from his face. "Night, Squid," he whispered, getting up and heading back out.

He walked into the kitchen where Virgil and John were still stood together and went straight past them, getting himself a drink of milk.

The younger boys exchanged a look as he sat down at the table, his back to them.

John elbowed Virgil, frowning at him as he nudged him towards Scott.

Virgil bit his lip and went over, standing next to Scott, trying not to look awkward. "Sorry, Scott," he muttered.

Scott finished the last of his milk, glad his gamble had paid off. If ever he refused to back down in an argument with his father, Jeff would simply sigh and walk away, making it quite clear with his body language how disappointed he was. It always worked on Scott, because he hated to disappoint his father. That was always far worse than being yelled at. In trying to mimic his father, he'd hoped that his brothers might back down as he always did.

Putting his glass down, he looked up at Virgil stood next to him, shuffling his feet and avoiding his gaze. "I'm not trying to spoil your fun, Virge," he said softly. "But you know how much the baby makes Mom tired."

He nodded quietly. "I just wanted to stay up for Santa," he whispered.

Scott smiled at him a little sadly. "I know. And that would be really cool, but you gotta go to bed or you'll be too tired to play with your new stuff tomorrow."

He nodded again, wiping his eyes.

"Com'ere," he said gently, taking his arms and pulling him closer.

Virgil hugged against him. "I didn't mean to make you cross, Scott," he said. "Will Mommy be mad at me?"

"Not if you go to bed and let her get some rest. You guys ran her ragged today."

"We were having fun," Virgil murmured.

"And she'll never tell you off for that, you know that," Scott insisted. "But you do need to let her have some time to herself now."

"Alright," he said.

"Even if you don't go straight to sleep, you do have to go to bed now," Scott said. "But you need to try, 'cause like I said, you don't wanna be tired on Christmas Day, do you?"

"No."

Scott nodded. "Alright. Now come on, give me a smile?"

Virgil looked up at him, those brown eyes so similar to Gordon's shining with a few unshed tears which Scott used his thumb to brush away as they spilled onto his cheeks. "You lost your smile? Do I need to investigate where it might be with tickles?"

Virgil laughed a little, his smile forming. "No, Scotty," he said, cuddling against him again.

"Oh, good," he said. "Now go on, up to bed. Like I told Gordon, I expect Mom will be up later to kiss you goodnight."

He nodded. "Alright, Scotty," he whispered, squeezing him a little closer then standing up. "Night night."

"Good night, Virge," he replied, watching him leave before turning to John. "You should go up too, John. You share a room now they got Gordon's ready for when the baby goes in with him."

"But Dad said the baby isn't gonna come for months yet, why did they have to do the rooms now?" he asked.

"You know what he's like, he has to do these things while he has the time," Scott said, shrugging. Their father was building up his own company and it was growing more and more successful which meant more and more work for him.

"But I liked sharing with you," John complained. "Virgil is messy and noisy."

Scott sighed, nodding. "I know. But we gotta do as we're told."

"You don't mind 'cause you get to have your own room," John grumbled, turning his gaze away as he folded his arms.

Scott frowned, a little hurt. "Johnny, I liked sharing with you," he replied. "Yeah, I guess it's quiet and stuff having my own room, but it's a bit lonely."

John glanced up and noticed his expression so looked away again.

"John?" He looked back hesitantly. "You know you can always come to my room if you need me, right? It's just that Virgil's never had a room on his own before. You gotta help Mom and Dad look after him."

"Why couldn't we all share the room though?"

"D'you really think all our beds would fit in that room?"

"They did when it was just us three, before Gordon came along."

Scott smiled gently. "But that was when Virgil was still in a little tiny bed and you were in a toddler bed, Johnny. Me and you are too big for kiddie beds now."

"I guess," he muttered.

"It'll be alright, John," Scott said. "If you teach him the right stuff while he's still little, you might be able to stop Virgil being so messy and noisy."

"You think so?"

"Of course," Scott replied, trying to stifle a yawn.

John smiled at him. "Sorry, Scott, I didn't know you're tired too."

Scott nodded. "Yeah. I'm gonna go to bed soon, too, but you going up?"

"Yeah, I'll go up."

"Good. Just don't disturb Virgil if he's already asleep, alright?"

"Not gonna make that mistake. Not again," John replied. "Night, Scott."

"Night, John." He watched him head upstairs then went back through to the living room where his mother was lying on the sofa, a hand resting over her swollen stomach as she dozed lightly.

He smiled at her and looked around, spotting the blanket folded over the back of his father's chair. He pulled it down, unfolding it and carefully draping it over her. "Night, Mommy," he whispered. "Merry Christmas."

As Scott left the room and began his ascent of the stairs, Lucy Tracy slowly woke from her slumber, smiling to herself. She noticed the blanket that had been draped over her, mostly over her front rather than behind her, suggesting one of her sons had given it to her, rather than her husband. Then she remembered he was out and smiled again.

Sitting up carefully, she lowered her feet to the floor, shifting the blanket round her shoulders as she checked her watch. "Your daddy is just about to leave Europe," she muttered softly, her hand brushing over her abdomen as her baby kicked her, causing her to laugh. "Easy, Little One," she said. "I'm sure he'll fly safe. That old plane of his hasn't let him down yet."

She sat there a while longer, humming to herself as she rubbed her belly before eventually she sighed softly. Easing herself off the sofa, she made her way out of the room and upstairs to check on her children. She looked into what was once again the nursery and saw her toddler lying on his back, sound asleep with his limbs splayed out akimbo, his blankets discarded at the foot of the bed. She smiled at him, going over and retrieving the covers, laying them over him and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Sweet dreams, my little Starfish."

Closing the door behind her quietly, she made her way to the next room, that of her middle boys. Virgil was lying on his front, an arm dangling over the edge of the bed as he snored softly, while on the opposite side of the room, John had a book lying open across his chest, one hand over the spine. Clearly, her young stargazer had been reading when he fell asleep. She plucked the book from under his hand and placed it down on the unit next to his bed before gently kissing each of their heads and leaving.

She entered Scott's room quietly, aware that he might still be awake as he often was, but was surprised to find him already asleep. She was even more surprised to see him curled up tightly in his bed, a frown creasing his brow. She sighed softly and approached him, lowering into a crouch beside his bed to brush his fringe from his face. "Oh, Scotty, sweetie. You look like you're having bad dreams," she whispered. "Mama's here, sweetie. Mama's here." She kissed his forehead gently. "I might not have all of your daddy's magic, but I can at least soothe your dreams." She watched as he relaxed slightly, sighing in his sleep as his posture eased. "Sweet dreams, Scott," she murmured, getting up and heading to the door. She looked back in as she reached the threshold, smiling, before heading back downstairs.

It was a sudden noise that woke Scott. He felt groggy and confused at first. He remembered he'd been dreaming about those mean kids at school and it had been horrible. But then his mom had appeared and made everything better, the dream changing to him flying around with his father in his plane.

But now he was awake, snatched from the dream by that loud sound. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, looking around to see if John had been disturbed as well, only to remember he was alone in his room now.

He was about to lie back down when he realised there was something on the floor. Frowning, he got out of bed and went to pick it up. It was the book his father had given him about the history of flight. How had this gotten on the floor? It had been on his table. He put it back on the side then froze, realising he'd seen something else out the corner of his eye. A figure crouched down, hiding at the foot of his bed. He turned slowly, feeling a little nervous.

The figure before him was wearing a bright red suit, trimmed with white fur, and had white hair and beard. "S-Santa?" he asked, incredulously, a smile beginning to form on his face. "I knew it! I knew those kids at school were wrong! I knew you were real!"

Santa lifted his head to look at him, a wide smile on his face which slipped as he saw that look of recognition in Scott's eyes, the young boy's own smile dropping instantly. "Dad?"

Tears filled his eyes as he backed away from him. "They were right," he muttered, his tone full of devastation. "They were right. There is no Santa. They told me it was moms and dads who give the presents but I didn't believe them." He lowered his head, beginning to sob. "They were right."

Jeff felt like his heart was breaking. "Scott?" he asked quietly.

Scott shook his head, going back over to sit on his bed, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his head on them, crying. "I should have known it was true," he whimpered. "The boys were so excited to stay up to see Santa but I got them to bed. Virgil even argued with me to stay up. I nearly yelled at him what they'd told me at school, but I didn't want to upset them."

Jeff got up and went over, sitting on the end of Scott's bed. "Scott?" he asked again.

He looked up at him, tears running down his cheeks.

"Look at me, Scott," he whispered. "Really look at me."

"You're dressed as Santa because it was all a lie," he replied, frowning at him.

Jeff shook his head. "No, Scott," he answered patiently, though he felt his boy's despair. "It's not a lie. I'm dressed as Santa because I am Santa."

Scott continued to glare at him like he'd been betrayed, which caused Jeff to sigh. He reached up, removing his hat, then held out his hands to him. "Come here," he said.

There was hesitation. He could see Scott really wanted to believe but the unkind words of his classmates still hung heavy on him and his presence now, in the middle of his yearly rounds, seemed to confirm every hateful word they'd told him.

"Please?"

Finally, he crawled across the bed towards him, sitting in front of him.

"Look at me, Scott," he asked again. "This isn't a costume, I promise. This is the real thing."

Scott looked up at him through watery eyes. His father had never broken a promise to him, so studied him closely. He reached up a hand to put his fingers through the shiny beard, expecting to see an elastic holding it round his face like the ones in the mall, but frowned when he realised it looked like a proper beard, like one of his teachers had. A different colour, of course, but still, there was no line where hair was attached to a seam.

"It's a real beard, Scotty," he said softly. "And my hair really is this long and this colour now."

As if to prove beyond a doubt, Scott wrapped his small fingers around some and gently pulled it. He didn't want to hurt his father, he just wanted to see if it would come away.

Jeff leaned forward with the motion, chuckling softly. "See?"

"But how?"

"Magic, Scotty," he whispered. "I have magic. Because I really am Santa."

Scott looked up into his eyes, a small smile beginning to form at last, before he leaned against him, hugging him.

Jeff sighed in relief, his own arms wrapping round him.

"Daddy?"

"Mmm?"

"Did your magic give you a big tummy, too?"

Jeff chuckled again. "Yes, it did," he replied. "Santa's supposed to have a little round belly, so that old poem says, so my magic makes me look just as Santa should look."

Scott giggled. "Your tummy is bigger than Mommy's," he said, prodding the shiny coat buttons over his stomach.

"I suppose it is," he retorted, patting his middle.

Scott smiled up at him before climbing fully onto his lap and resting his head against him. "I knew I shouldn't have believed those kids at school."

Jeff leaned down, kissing his son's hair gently. "My boy," he whispered fondly as he held him close.

Scott looked up at him, a proud light in his eyes. "I always knew you were special, Daddy," he said. "Now I know why."

Jeff smiled at him. "Just like your Grandpa Grant before me. I received the magic when he got too old to continue." He placed his red hat on Scott's head. "And one day so will you."

Scott smiled back at him, though he was beginning to look drowsy so Jeff wasn't sure how much he was taking in now. Lifting him carefully, he took him back to the top of his bed, laying him down and tucking him back in. "Sweet dreams, my boy," he whispered, taking back his hat. "I'll explain it all to you better when you're old enough to fully understand. But rest soundly in the knowledge that you were right."

Scott drifted off to sleep, that little smile still on his lips as Jeff stood up. He watched him a moment longer before he returned to the foot of the bed, hanging the stocking he'd been attempting to leave when he knocked the book down, before leaving the room.

He left gifts for his other boys, watching them sleep a moment before he made his way to his own room. Unsurprisingly, his wife was awake.

"Hey, Lucy," he said, going over to her. "You know you don't have to wait up for me, right?"

Lucy smiled. "I know, but you know I always know when you're here. I woke up when you arrived."

He smiled back, resting his forehead against hers. "I woke Scott," he mumbled after a moment, sitting back.

"Oh dear, is he alright?"

He nodded. "He knows now. Whether he remembers or believes he dreamed it, I don't know, but he was so upset because kids at school told him about parents leaving the Santa presents."

"Ah," she replied. "That would explain why he looked like he was having bad dreams when I checked in on him earlier."

Jeff nodded. "Quite likely. But I think he's alright now. He's sleeping soundly again."

"Good," she said.

Jeff smiled at her, leaning in to kiss her tenderly. "I love you, Lucy," he whispered.

"I love you, too, Jeff, but you've got to get going. You haven't finished your rounds. The West Coast is waiting."

Jeff grinned and kissed her once more. "Yes, ma'am, Mrs Claus."

Lucy chuckled. "See you in the morning, Santa."

"Sweet dreams, sweetheart."