Disclaimer: Still don't own Criminal minds, or anything you recognize in here! Based on the TV Prompt Challenge "Santaclaustraphobia" from the King of Queens!


Emily Prentiss had a list of boyfriends as long as her arm. She had a list of failed relationships, just as long. And the list of places she'd traveled in her life? Well, no secret, it rivaled her list of boyfriends. Then there was her list of successful relationships. That one was short- just one- and she planned on keeping it that way til death do they part.

But Emily had a secret list. A list so secret that no one knew it existed… not even those who bore witness to the events that formed it.

Emily Prentiss had a Christmas List.

Now, most people would roll their eyes and wonder what's so bad about having a Christmas list. Kids have them. Teens have them. Even adults have them. But Emily's list was not your typical Christmas list. There were no designer clothes on it, or jewelry, or even the latest crime novel.

No, the Christmas list was a list of crimes against humanity, if you defined humanity as being one Emily Prentiss.

And the perpetrator?

Kristopher Kringle. Alias: Santa Claus.

The fact was simple: every encounter Emily Prentiss had with Santa Claus had been a combination of disastrous and traumatizing, leading to the world's most severe case of Santaphobia. Pictures and lawn ornaments? She could handle them. Even the little robot Santa's that sat in the front window and waved a candle at you weren't so bad. But a real life Santa? Now that was a totally different story.

This unique tragedy began when she was three, and her mother and father brought her for her first picture with Santa. Because of her mother's schedule abroad, they'd never actually spent a Christmas in the states since her birth. In an attempt at normalcy, they dressed Emily up in a bright red satin and velour dress, put a giant red bow in her hair, and set off in the limo accompanied by only two secret service agents.

You know. Normal.

Emily was giddy as she waited in line, excited for the first time in her life to be telling Santa her ever wish. Not only that, she was surrounded by other kids her age. Normal kids with normal parents- not the silent, politically correct two-point-five accessories all the dignitaries seemed to haul out of the closet at special occasions. She giggled, she laughed, and by the time her father picked her up and plopped her on Santa's lap, she was beside herself with anticipation.

That was when disaster struck.

The satiny material of Emily's dress started slipping, and her tiny hands reached for the closest thing to prevent her fall- Santa's beard.

It should have been simple. Santa's beard was attached to his face, wasn't it?

But the impossible happened. The beard fell off.

Santa gasped. Emily screamed. The secret service agents drew their weapons, frightening the nice normal families.

And at that very moment, Santa's elf snapped a portrait on the Polaroid camera.

One tiny incident scarred Emily Prentiss's opinion of Santa Claus permanently. Santa was not equated with toys and candy, but fake identities, crying children, guns, and furious mall managers. Which was why, at the ripe old age of five, when once again her parents attempted a picture with Santa, she lasted three seconds on his lap before peeing herself

That was the last mall trip to see Santa. But the reign of terror didn't end there.

At ten, her parents brought her to a banquet for all of the DC dignitaries. They were placed at a table near a set of double doors. The same double doors that Santa later burst through with a bag of candy for all the children.

Emily bolted, leaving a very confused speaker of the house in her wake, dressed in the red suit he'd inherited from his father many years before. Later in the evening, when he asked Ambassador Prentiss why her daughter bolted, the older woman only rolled her eyes and replied, "Bad experience. She'll grow out of it."

OOO

Except she didn't.

Which was why, thirty-two and a half years later, in a mall bedecked with hanging lights, ornament-laden wreaths, and giant red bows, Emily was having heart palpitations as she waited in line to visit her old friend Santa.

The family waiting two ahead of them was called forward, and she was breathless. Scratch that- this could very well qualify as an all out heart attack.

"You alright, Emily?" Aaron asked, holding a hyperactive Jack by the collar of his crisply ironed red polo. The six year old had been buzzing with anticipation for days, his list ready to show Santa.

She jumped out of her reverie to look at her boyfriend of almost four year, and now fiancé. He had a slight smirk on his face, which should have made her immensely happy- since Hayley's death, smiles were few and far between, except for Jack- but instead made her incredibly suspicious.

He couldn't know about the list… could he?

No, he was probably just concerned, and it was understandable. Emily knew she had been acting out of sorts for days, since he asked her to accompany him and Jack for the little boy's annual picture with her childhood enemy.

She'd lucked out so far. The first year of their relationship- and it probably didn't even qualify as a relationship at that point- Christmas came only a few short months after Hayley's brutal murder. Hotch and Jessica, Hayley's sister, had brought Jack to the mall to see Santa.

That night, as they lay in bed after another incredible round of comfort sex (really, that was all their relationship was at that point), he'd told her how Jack asked Santa for his mommy for Christmas. Emily cried that night, in sadness for Hotch and Jack, whose lives had been torn apart. In self-pity, because she would never fill the void that Hayley had left in both their hearts. And then there was relief that they weren't in a serious enough relationship for her to attend the picture with them. If her fear of Santa was enough, Jack's request would have been the end of her.

The next year, the first together as an official albeit secret couple, they were in Maine on a case. Jessica brought Jack to the mall for his picture, which Emily got to see when they returned home. It would have been very cute, if Jack hadn't looked like an alcoholic, chain smoking, pedophile.

Their third year together had been a really close call. They were going to go together, and Emily spent days stealing herself for the encounter with her mortal enemy. But when the time came to step into the line, she panicked at the sight of red velour and white beard. She couldn't do this. She couldn't. So she ran, shouting over her shoulder that she just realized she forgot to get a gift for her mother.

Which led to this year.

Had it been Hotch who asked her, she might have tried to avoid it. But it was Jack, with his sweet little puppy dog eyes, who asked "Emmy" to accompany them on the year trip to see Santa. And really, how could she refuse him? In the three years they'd been together, she'd grown tothre love Jack as her own son. Hell, if her ovaries decided to play stubborn (and at forty-two, her biological clock was ticking at hyper speed), Jack could be the only child she ever had. She relished their friendship, and the fact that he had accepted her. She'd never replace Hayley- she wouldn't want to replace Hayley- but she wanted Jack to know she'd be there.

That meant meeting Santa, eye to eye. And she was going to, even if she had to ask Aaron to handcuff himself to her and drag her along.

The two little girls waiting in front of them skipped past the elven photographer and took their place on Santa's lap. After reciting their lists of desired Barbie accessories and stuffed animals, they smiled for the camera. With a kiss on Santa's cheek, they leapt up and rejoined their mother, waiting for the photo to develop.

Santa stood briefly to readjust himself in his seat. Instinctively, Emily grabbed Aaron's hand, momentarily filled with terror. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Never been better."

She hoped her teeth hadn't sounded too clenched as she grumbled the words out.

It was Jack's turn.

Be calm, Emily. Do not destroy his love of Santa just because of your bad experience. You can do this. It only takes five seconds.

Jack strode forward with a confidence that Emily only wished she had, and she wondered briefly how she could face hardened serial killers and not the happiest man on the planet. Santa offered to lift him onto his lap, but Jack refused, insisting on climbing up.

And then Emily saw it. Tiny hands reaching up towards Santa's face, moving directly toward the fluffy white beard. Jack's Christmas would be ruined, just like hers so many years before. Emily wouldn't allow this travesty. Not if she could help it.

"Jack! No!" she shouted, moving forward quickly.

The little boy turned to her, confused. And despite his protests that, "EMMY! I can do this myself," and despite his stomping foot, she lifted him up in the air, and plopped him down on Santa's lap, waiting a moment before letting go. No way were any beards flying off on her watch.

Protests quickly forgotten, Jack got to work listing his epically long list, including, but not limited to, a new bike (check!), a Wii (already wrapped!), and a four wheeler (not happening in a million years). Emily, realizing just how close she was standing to Santa, quickly retreated back to Aaron's side, the adrenaline rush wearing away. The portrait was snapped, a candy cane obtained, and the trio headed off to the food court for a deliciously unhealthy lunch at McDonalds.

OOO

Later that night, after another round of incredible sex, Emily felt Aaron pull her closer, kissing down her spine. "It meant a lot," he whispered, "what you did for Jack today."

She shrugged, not willing to reveal her ever-so-traumatic Christmas list to her future husband, before turning to face him. "Couldn't let his day be ruined. I know he looks forward to this every year."

"But not everyone would face their deepest, darkest fears like that though," he replied sincerely, though across his face was plastered a smirk.

Emily felt her jaw drop and her face redden." Wait… you… you knew?"

Aaron's smirk grew into an all-out smile. "I did work security detail for your mother. She had some favorite stories she used to enjoy telling to everyone. One of them being your hate-hate relationship with Santa Claus."

She groaned. "I'm going to murder her."

"Then I'd have to send you to jail."

Emily smacked him playfully, though she was still blushing wildly. "Do you want to sleep on the couch?"

Pulling her in for a kiss, Aaron proceeded to remind her just why Emily wouldn't make him sleep on the couch. And in that moment it didn't matter if every single dignitary in Washington DC knew about the Christmas list. Santa phobia be damned, she'd beaten her fears today.

And even if it was only Jack and Aaron who knew that? So be it. In the end, for Emily, they were the only people that mattered.

So I wrote this on the plane on my way back home for Christmas, so it's probably not the best thing I've ever written. Still, definitely tons of fun! Hope you all enjoyed it! Leave a review with comments/critiques/suggestions- they are always appreciated! Best wishes to all and HAPPY HOLIDAYS! -Jac