A FESTIVE FICLET
A small fic in which an even smaller John Tracy interrupts Santa to ask him a very important question.
"Excuse me, sir?"
Jeff Tracy gave an undignified yelp of surprise at the small voice coming from behind him. Recovering quickly, he adjusted his beard and hat before clearing his throat and adopting (what he hoped was) the jolliest and least Jefflike voice he could manage.
"Ho! You must be Master John Tracy. Shouldn't you be in bed at this hour, young man?"
There was a short pause while the little boy considered the question. Finally, he concluded "I guess. Mommy doesn't like it when I get out of bed when I'm not 'usposed to – but I've got a really important question Mr Claus, sir."
"An important question?" Jeff winced. He had hoped the accusation would make little John turn around and run straight back up to bed. Not only were the chances of discovery by his shrewdest of sons extremely high but – well, this particular Santa costume was a little on the itchy side.
"Yes, Mr Claus." John's blue eyes were boring into Jeff's back. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir. I know you have all the kids in the whole entire world to visit tonight, but it's really important…"
Jeff sighed internally and readjusted his beard again to stop the cheap woolly material flying into his mouth. Slowly, he turned around to face the little boy. Clutching his red-coated pillow belly, he let loose a 'Ho Ho Ho' for good measure. "And what can Santa Claus help you with this festive season, young man?"
John was standing there clutching the cords of his dressing gown nervously, his usually sleek red hair was messy and his little feet were bare. It was difficult for Jeff to hold back a paternal smile at the sight of his little boy meeting what must be one of his heroes. For a second, Jeff really thought he had gotten away with it.
"Well, sir-" Began John, but then paused. "Wait…are, are you definitely the real Santa Claus?"
He knew he could hardly call himself Sir Jeff Olivier, but still his stomach plummeted, "Of course! Why do you ask?"
"Well…" John's piercing blue eyes flickered to Jeff's palm. "You got umm – you got cord-nits written on your hand, sir. Like what daddy does when he flies airplanes."
He could have kicked himself. "Oh, these? No…I, uhh…you see I don't have GPS on my sleigh, so I have to write the coordinates of the kids on my 'nice' list on my hand to remember…"
"You don't got GPS?" John looked surprised. "What about if you get lost?"
"Umm – the mommies and daddies usually help me if I get lost. I just park my sleigh, hop down the nearest chimney and ask for directions."
John didn't miss a beat, "We don't got a chimney though. Chimneys are from the olden days when grandmas and grandpas didn't invent radiators or blankets. How do you get in if there's no chimney?"
"…Your daddy left the door unlocked," Said Jeff, hoping that John was feeling tired.
"That's careless," Said John disapprovingly. "What if a burg-ular comes in after you came, and steals all the presents?"
"I lock the door on my way out," Answered Jeff, and anticipating the next question added "With my magic key."
"Why don't you use the magic key to open the door too? Instead of getting dirty in chimneys or leaving the door unlocked?"
"Because – uhh – that…would be…would be…rude? Uhh…Didn't you have something important you needed to ask me?" he switched the subject quickly.
John's eyes widened, "Oh yeah! I 'member now. It's super important."
Jeff sat down on the couch, relieved at the distraction, and patted his red silky knee, "Hop on and tell Santa Claus what's wrong."
The little boy let out a yawn as he clambered onto his lap. "Thing is-" Said John. "I wanted to ask if I could check your naughty list. I'm scared there's a mistake on it."
"My – my naughty list?" He patted his pockets hoping there was paper in there of some description, but was disappointed. "You know what – it's actually all electronic now. What is worrying you about it?"
"Oh-" Said John, a little put out. "Well thing is, I got a little brother, Baby Virgil. That's only what we call him though, his actual name is just 'Virgil'. Anyway umm – well yesterday, on Christmas Eve, it was the last day to be naughty or nice before you came and…"
John bit his lip and dropped his voice to barely a whisper, "Baby Virgil is a good boy but yesterday he done a really really naughty thing because he threw his broccolis on the floor instead of eating them and…and mommy said 'bad boy' and said he would go on Santa's naughty list if he didn't eat them, and he never even eated them, actually he even threw one at Mommy when she wasn't looking. He's only really really small though so sometimes he does bad stuff by accident-"
Jeff tried desperately not to squeeze his son tightly at the sight of those beautiful blue eyes drowning with concern beyond their years. "I see," he said. "So you're worried that the broccoli incident put Baby Virgil on my naughty list for this year, and won't get any presents? And you stayed up to make sure I know that Baby Virgil is usually a very good boy, and yesterday was just a one-off?"
John nodded, his teeth now anxiously clamped on the sleeve of his dressing gown as he awaited the verdict.
"Well it's very kind of you to come and speak to me on his behalf, young man." Jeff smiled down at him. "Don't worry – I get to see all of your behaviour all year round, and I know that – while all of you have your moments – overall you all deserve to be on my nice list. See that pile over there? Those gifts are all for Baby Virgil."
John let out a sigh of relief and snuggled into Jeff's pillow belly. "Thank you, Santa. I was scared he wouldn't get no presents. Me and Scotty could of shared, but sometimes we get toys what aren't age-'propriate for Baby Virgil."
Holding in a laugh, Jeff patted his back. "That's quite alright. It means a great deal to me that you care about your little brother having a good Christmas, and that you were willing to share your own toys if he didn't get any. I'm sure if your mommy and daddy knew you had come to talk to me they would be very proud of you. In fact – I might even write them a letter. How would you feel about that, John? …John?" but there was no reply. John had gone limp against the fabric of the cheap, itchy Santa costume.
"Goodnight, son." Jeff smiled, relieved that the magic of Christmas would be kept alive for another year. "And Merry Christmas."