A/N: It's been a while!
I haven't vanished, honest... Life has just been... well crazy, lately. More than normal. More than even I can handle, and I'm used to chaos. :-p

But... it's Christmas, and the guys have been on my mind a lot lately. I've missed writing about them, missed visiting their world. Tonight I made a brief excursion... Sorry, Splinter. Blame the Christmas cookies. And the song. It was all the song's fault.

I do not own the rights to the TMNT, and intend no infringement. I would like to offer a big Thank You to the owners for allowing us to play on their playground in the world of Fanfiction, and to the fans and readers, I would like to say, may you enjoy a very peaceful, beautiful and blessed holiday season.

Merry Christmas everyone.

PS: thanks to Mindy Owen for encouraging me to post this. :)

Confusion.

Colors flashed behind his eyelids. Red… gold… brown… before everything went black.

Slowly, he forced his eyes open, blinking against the light but determined to regain a sense of where, of who, he was.

"He's coming around."

"Back up, Mike, give him some room."

"Is 'e gonna be ok, Donny?"

Voices. Familiar voices. Anxious, soothing, wonderful voices. He was home. A sense of self crept back, bringing the scattered pieces back until he felt himself to be a whole being once again.

"My… sons," he managed, his voice rasping.

He had been coming down with a cold, but he'd promised the boys… And so he'd ventured out. The dull ache at the back of his head increased slightly as he tried to retrieve the memory.

"Here, Sensei." Donatello was holding out a bundle, something wrapped in a ragged bit of cloth.

Splinter reached to take it, something like recognition sparking in the back of his mind. A bundle… wrapping… He'd lost something… something important. He scanned the anxious faces crowding close. One, two, three… four. His sons were present, and safe. The quiver of tension slid out of him, leaving behind cool relief. His sons were safe. Nothing else mattered.

The cold of the cloth registered in his mind, and slow understanding of what Donatello had handed him crept quietly in.

"Thank you, Donatello." He lifted his head far enough to slide the icepack behind it, tolerating the small hands that immediately tried to help support his shoulder as he sat up with a patient smile. He lay back, resting his aching head against the icepack with a sigh.

"How are you feeling, Sensei? Shall I make you some tea?"

Splinter barely contained the wince. "Thank you, not now, Leonardo."

His son had only recently begun to master the art of steeping the leaves. His efforts were improving with practice, but Splinter had drunk enough tea over the past few weeks to float a ship.

"What happened, Father?" asked Raphael. "Did ya run into da humans?"

"No, Raphael…" Splinter closed his eyes. He'd been close to the sewer entrance he used to return to the Lair, when he'd heard… Bells. He'd been certain he'd heard bells. Then the flash of red… he'd dropped his ragged sack, startled… and everything was dark.

"Were you attacked, Sensei?" asked Leonardo. He was hiding his anxiety with a determined tone.

"No way, Leo! Who'd attack Sensei?" asked Michelangelo, wide-eyed. "Besides, he was right outside the door."

"He was outside the door when we found him, Mikey," Donatello interjected. "Who knows how far Sensei traveled after he got hurt. Do you remember anything, Sensei? You've got a lump on your head."

Splinter shook his head, and immediately regretted it.

"Bells," he murmured, rubbing a hand over his face. "I heard bells. I must have fallen."

"You never fall, Sensei!" protested Michelangelo.

"Ever'body falls, Mikey," huffed Raphael. He hesitated, glancing uneasily at Splinter. "Even Sensei. Right, Father?"

"It is true, Raphael," said Splinter. He forced himself to sit up, holding up a hand to forestall Donatello's attempts at assistance this time. Even with his still-aching head protesting the movement, he knew his sons needed to see him strong and healthy. It was best if they held on to their childish belief that he could overcome anything, that he could handle any emergency and would always be healthy and whole, for a bit longer.

"Even the strongest warrior may lose his footing on the ice," he remarked dryly. "But now it is late and it is time for you to be in bed."

"Yeah, 'cause Santa's comin'. Isn't he, Sensei? He's comin' and bringin' us stuff, just like he does for the humans." Michelangelo bounced on the balls of his feet, his eyes shining with excitement.

"I dunno. Are you sure it's ok fer dis guy ta come inta da Lair, Sensei?" Raphael was frowning. "Ya said humans can't find our Lair. An' we ain't got no chimney. How's he gonna get in?"

"If Sensei says it's all right, then it is, Raph," asserted Leonardo, his hands on his hips. "Santa Claus is a special kind of human, like Master Yoshi. He's not gonna tell the other humans where we live."

"I guess." Raphael shook his head, still uncertain. He turned to his father, giving him a slight bow. "I'm glad yer ok, Sensei."

"Thank you, my son." Splinter smiled. "Do not worry, Raphael. Go to bed, my sons. You need your sleep."

"Are you sure, Sensei? Maybe we should stay up and make sure you're ok…" Donatello trailed off, shifting uneasily.

Splinter gave him a gentle, but firm look. "I am recovered, Donatello, thanks to your care. Now, you need to go to bed."

He was rewarded by a tiny, relieved smile from his purple-masked son.

"Hai, Sensei."

"Yes, Father."

"Okey-dokey."

"Goodnight, Father."

One by one, they filed off into their shared bedroom spaces, Raphael and Mikey into one tunnel-room, and Donatello and Leonardo into the other. There were rustlings and mutterings as they settled into the bunks Splinter had constructed from cast-off wood he'd scavenged. Soon the sounds ceased, but Splinter knew it would be another hour before they settled down enough to truly sleep.

He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, gathering and channeling his energies. Aside from a slight ache in his body and a faint throbbing in his head, he felt well enough. He closed his eyes, allowing the spiritual plane to rise up to meet him like a wave breaking on the sand.

I was walking back… I went to gather gifts for my sons… I lost the sack.

Regret pierced him. His sons hadn't mentioned his bag, and he was certain he'd been crawling at one point in the tunnels. It was gone. He was sure of it. I promised them. I'll have to go back out. I don't know if I'll be able to find more gifts in time. They ask so little… I wanted to let them celebrate this holiday.

Ever since they'd seen a Christmas special on the television Donatello'd managed to get working, Michelangelo had been obsessed by the idea of Santa Claus.

All we gotta do is write him a letter. He doesn't know we're here, because we live in the sewers, but he'll come. I know he will!

Raphael had been less enthusiastic. Don't be stupid, Mikey. Dis fat guy ain't gonna come down in da sewers ta bring us stuff.

Even Donatello was doubtful. That would be cool, Mikey, but you know what Sensei says. Humans can't find our Lair. It'd be too dangerous.

Typically, Michelangelo had not been disturbed by his older brothers' doubts.

Can't Santa come for us, Sensei? he'd asked, turning his big, blue eyes on Splinter. He's a special human, right? So he can come visit us, can't he?

In a moment he now thought of foolishness, Splinter consented.

Certainly, Michelangelo.

He'd almost smiled at the way the other three gasped, staring at him as if he'd lost his mind… but looking around at their faces, he'd seen something else… even in Leonardo's dark eyes and Raphael's amber gaze. It was something like hope. The idea that a magical elven human could appear in their Lair, not to attack or harm them, but to bring them toys, was a daunting concept for their seven-year-old-minds to absorb. He'd spent so many years teaching them of the dangers humans posed to them, they could barely comprehend the idea that their father would allow a human to enter the Lair unchallenged. Still… that glimmer of hope was a light he could not bring himself to quench.

They ask for so little, he thought. It seemed harmless enough, to allow them this flight of fancy, to let them have this small thing to believe in. But now… How will I fill the promise I have created? How will I bring them gifts? Perhaps if I retrace my steps…

He sat up, and immediately knew he wouldn't be venturing back out that night. The room seemed to tilt and spin crazily. He sank back with a sigh.

I must have hit my head, he thought with a twinge of bitterness. But how? And how did I get back to the Lair?

Splinter sank back into the aging couch cushions with a sigh. There is no sense in crying over a cracked pot, he told himself. What's done cannot be undone. I will simply have to explain the truth to my sons in the morning. I will make it up to them by going back out tomorrow night, and retrieving the gifts I lost, or finding new ones.

Slowly, carefully, he got to his feet and picked up the single candle burning on the low table. Feeling very old suddenly, he made his way slowly to his room. He untied his sash, and slipped his robe off, rolling his shoulders to ease the ache that had settled between them. Splinter frowned as he noticed a new tear in the back of his worn covering.

I will need to sew that, but it must wait until morning.

He pinched out the candle, and with a sigh, lay down on his low mat.

I am sorry, my sons.

Sleep took a long time to find him.

Splinter felt as if he were floating, moving along without any effort. White flakes swirled around him, but he wasn't cold. He caught a glimpse of a familiar dark shape ahead. Shrouded in overgrown grass and weeds, the rusted bars of the sewer grate leading toward his home beckoned to him. From a slight distance, the grate looked sturdy and solid, but Splinter knew if he pulled at the edge, it would swing open just enough for him to slip through. Instinctively, he tried to move in that direction, but the sack was holding him back… he hadn't even realized he was gripping it, slung over his shoulder, but now it was so heavy he could barely carry it.

Through the bars, he could hear his sons, calling to him.

"Sensei!"

"Master Splinter!"

"Father! Father, wake up!"

The weight on his shoulder shifted, and suddenly small hands were shaking him.

"Father! Father, wake up! Come on, Sensei! There's somethin' for you, too!"

The excited chatter finally broke through the dream state. The first thing Splinter saw was a blur of sea-green and shining blue eyes surrounded by a slightly-crooked orange mask. He blinked as his son backed up.

"There's a package for you, Sensei! It's got your name on it an' everything! And it's all wrapped in paper, not cloth like you do our birthday presents. It's pretty! Leo says we can't open 'em, though, until you say it's safe, so can you get up now? Pleeeeeeaaaase?"

"Yes, my son."

Splinter sat up, reaching for his walking stick. Michelangelo snatched it up, practically dancing as Splinter tied his obi. The young Turtle led the way at top speed out into the main Lair. His other three sons were crowded around the low table in the living room, uncharacteristically silent. Splinter soon spotted the cause for their shocked states. A small pile of brightly-wrapped packages were stacked on the table.

"My sons! Step back!" he warned, instinct driving him to rush forward, to shield them.

They obeyed, but Donatello fixed his Sensei with a steady gaze, unafraid.

"It's ok, Sensei. They've got our names on them, see?"

Someone entered our home, without my hearing them? Impossible! And yet…

Splinter approached, the hair on the back of his neck bristling. He sniffed as he reached for the top-most package. Leonardo. Oddly, seeing his son's name in such careful, bold script reassured him.

"Dat one's fer you, Sensei," said Raphael, pointing.

Slowly, cautiously, Splinter picked up the box. It was surprisingly heavy in his hands.

"There's a note, Father." Leonardo's dark eyes were anxious, waiting for his father's judgment of this bizarre situation.

Splinter nodded. The stark white envelope was attached to the top of the box, so he set it down to open it. A brightly-colored cardboard square slid out. A smiling snowman stood in front of snow-covered pines on the front of the card, and sparkles represented gently-falling flakes. It was a peaceful scene. Frowning, Splinter opened the card.

"Dear Splinter:

I hope you are feeling better this morning. I am very sorry for the unfortunate mishap last night. I misjudged the distance while landing, and didn't see you there in the shadows until it was too late. Your home is very different from most of those I visit. You have fine sons. Their letters surprised me, especially Michelangelo's. Rarely have I received such unselfish requests from children so young.

Merry Christmas, Hamato Splinter-san. I will try to be more careful if we meet again!

-Santa Kurousu"

Splinter's hands were steady as he slid the card back into its envelope. Slowly, as if in a dream, he picked up the box and sat down in his chair, resting it on his knees.

He took a deep breath and looked around at the four anxious faces, meeting each gaze in turn. "My sons," he said quietly. "It would seem that we have had a very special visitor. You may each take your gift and sit down. We will open them together."

The boxes disappeared off the table at the speed only made possible by ninja reflexes. Four quivering Turtles were lined up on the couch, each with a brightly-wrapped package in their laps, before Splinter could blink.

At his nod, there was a sudden flurry of motion. Torn wrappings filled the air, floating down like confetti-snow, and cries of joy echoed off the brick walls.

"Look't, I gotta new skateboard! Cool!"

"Oh! Oh wow… I saw this chemistry set advertised on tv! I never thought I'd actually… oh, wow."

"A scooter! Look, Sensei! It's a real scooter!"

Only Michelangelo sat silent, his box in his lap, watching Splinter.

"Father? Aren't you going to open yours?"

"I… yes, Michelangelo," said Splinter. "Of course." Slowly, the sense of unreality deepening with every passing moment, Splinter slid a claw under the edge of the paper. He tore it carefully, admiring the pattern of portraits of a smiling, round-cheeked man. The human's eyes seemed to sparkle with secret humor, inviting Splinter to smile back. He ignored the foolish notion, setting the paper aside and lifting the lid of the box carefully. A collective gasp sounded as the dark red material shimmered in the light. A familiar scent rose from the robe as Splinter lifted it reverently out of the box.

Yoshi.

"He did it." Michelangelo's voice was quiet, but his eyes were shining. "I told you if we all asked, he'd do it. He brought Sensei somethin' too." His grin widened as he turned to his brothers, triumphant.

Leonardo was staring at his father, dumbstruck. Raphael glanced at Michelangelo, shaking his head.

"I can't believe it," he muttered. "Mikey was right."

"Yeah," said Donatello, smiling. "Yeah, he really was. You did great, Mikey."

"Yes, you really did, Mikey." Leonardo found his voice at last. "Sensei, Mikey said if we all wrote to Santa and asked, he'd bring you a new robe. I… I guess we thought it was kind of… silly but… but Mikey was right."

"I am most grateful, my sons," said Splinter, blinking to hide the moisture that gathered in his eyes. "It is a beautiful gift."

"Santa brought it, didn't he, Sensei?"

"It would appear that he did, Michelangelo."

The youngest Turtle smiled.

"Aren't you going to open your present, Mikey?" asked Donatello, nudging him.

"Oh, yeah!" Mikey tore into the wrapping paper with as much enthusiasm as the others. He'd hardly opened the package when he squealed. "It's a Silver Sentry Fully Articulated Action Figure, complete with mask, cape and punching action!" he shouted, not pausing for breath. "It's just what I always wanted! Look, Sensei! It really punches!"

Splinter watched tolerantly as Michelangelo pushed a button on the doll, and its miniature fist shot out.

"Wow, Mikey, dat's pretty cool," Raphael offered a rare smile.

"You really think so, Raph? I'll let you hold it, if you're real careful." Michelangelo beamed.

"Cool. Ya can try my skateboard after me, ok?"

"Awesome! Thanks, Raph!"

"You wanna try out my scooter, Donny?" asked Leonardo.

"Sure. Just let me put this chemistry set away, ok? Maybe later we can try some 'speriments," replied Donatello.

"Sounds great, Bro."

Splinter smiled, watching them drift off in a pack, still exclaiming over the gifts. He stood up, laying the box carefully aside. A slight frown tugged at his brow at the pile of paper and discarded packaging, but he shook his head.

We can clean up later. Let them enjoy this moment.

The Rat made his way to his room, sliding the rice-paper door closed behind him. Slowly, he untied the sash of his robe and slid it off. He hesitated only a moment before slipping his hand into the dark-red silk sleeve. Yoshi's robe settled on his shoulders like a mantle, warm, comforting, familiar. He tied the sash with careful reverence.

"Master?"

Splinter turned. "Enter, my son."

Michelangelo slipped into the room, giving his father a respectful bow. "I just wanted ta say 'Merry Christmas', Father."

"Merii Kurisumasu to you as well, my son." Replied Splinter with a smile. "Merry Christmas."