A Christmas fic for Outnumbered. Leave a review if you like it. :) This is set when Karen is about eight, as I think recent Karen would probably be over Santa Claus, pretty much. So this is when she's a bit younger. :)

Enjoy. :)

Santa bent over and rubbed his back. He was getting too old for this. He tugged at his beard and examined the assortment of presents jumbled under the tree. Two boys and a girl. All of them made the nice list-well, the second boy had just barely scraped on, and the older one was getting to the stage where he was difficult anyway. But they'd all made it and the presents had been delivered, same as every year. He made his way to the fireplace where several chocolate digestives had been painstakingly left on a plate. A glass of milk stood beside them.

Santa rubbed his beard. He had a few minutes to spare. He could hear the hooves, scuffing back and forth on the roof, but he could wait a moment.

He was reaching for the plate when he heard the noise.

It was a creaking sound. The sound of hinges-hinges of a door. The sound of a door being pushed open.

A door very close at hand.

Santa turned round slowly. The living room door was moving.

And then, before Santa had time to react, the door was pushed open and his eyes fell on a small girl with blonde curls standing in the doorway, with the undeniable look of one who has been proved right about something.

He stood there. In his long and varied career as Santa, he had never been caught. Oh, a few sightings-once or twice. But not quite like this.

Still, he knew what he must do.

The little girl looked at him with a remarkably small amount of surprise. "Did you like the biscuits?"

Santa took a step towards her. "You're dreaming" he said, keeping his voice very low. "It's time to go back to bed. When you wake up in the morning, all your presents will be here."

The little girl folded her arms, frowned-and then shook her head. "I don't-think-I'm dreaming-" she said, taking another step into the room. "I just woke up from my other dream, about Ben and the badgers, and I don't-I don't think you go right into another one."

Santa opened his mouth but the little girl was already talking again."I told Daddy you'd like the biscuits. He said, he thought-" She screwed up her face in an effort to remember. "He thought the biscuits were a little-I think, overrated. And that he thought Santa would prefer-I think it was-" She bit her lip. "Jack Daniels" she said after a moment.

Santa sighed, glad his smile was hidden by his beard. "I think your daddy would like it if you went back to bed."

"I don't-really care...if my daddy likes it." She had made her way over to the armchair where she took her seat as naturally as if this sort of thing occurred every day. "I'm rather annoyed with my daddy."

Santa knew he should end the conversation but something about the child's manner intrigued him. "Why are you annoyed with him?" He stole another glance at the door but there were no further movements or sounds from the stairs.

"Because-" The little girl tapped her fingers for a moment, in the manner of one much older than herself, and accustomed to holding the attention of others. "Because I-I told him that I thought Santa should read my list in person this year. You see-" She sighed, and with a small yawn, pushed her hair off her forehead. "I told him...that I needed to make sure Santa got all my presents this year, and that I don't get anything silly...like the dream-catcher Auntie Angela got me last year." A small scowl crossed the little girl's face. "And it didn't catch any of the dreams I wanted to have again."

She blinked up at him, her curls falling around her eyes. "Where do dreams go?"

Santa stared at her, taken aback by the sudden turn in the conversation. "Well, I-well, I don't know" he said, trying to remember whether or not he'd ever thought about this question before.

"But you have to know, you're Father Christmas."

Santa blinked but before he could say anything, the little girl had gone on speaking. "Or Santa. Why do you have different names?"

Santa swallowed. "Well, I-I don't know." He thought about affecting a "ho ho ho", but somehow, he wasn't sure this child would be impressed by it.

"You have to know." The little girl folded her arms. "You have to have one name. What's your favourite name?"

Santa looked at her. "Well,..um...probably Santa Claus. Or Father Christmas-"

"Why do you get to have a lot of names?"

Santa blinked. "Well, I-"

"I only have one. Doesn't it get confusing, having a lot of names?"

"Well, I-"

"What-what does Mrs. Claus call you? Does she call you Santa?"

Santa opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Well-no-Mrs. Claus calls me-"

The little girl was still talking. "I asked my daddy that. He said he didn't know. He said Santa was probably the name the children call you, the way the children at his school call him Mr. Brockman." She frowned. "Except he said some of them don't call him that. He said some of them use-use other terms. He wouldn't say what, though."

Santa pushed his hand over his mouth. "How old are you?"

"How old are you?"

Santa blinked. "Well, I'm-" He tried to think of a way to phrase it for the child. "Very old" he said. "In fact, I'm as old as the earth."

The little girl's brows crinkled. "That's not possible, because if you were as old as the earth, then your mummy and daddy would have to be older than the earth, and that-that's impossible."

Santa swallowed. "Well-" he began but the little girl went on.

"Because you have to have a mummy and a daddy to get a baby. That's what Daddy said." She frowned again. "But then I asked how the mummy and daddy get a baby and he went all red and said I'd have to ask Mummy. He kept making these coughing sounds." She demonstrated. "Like he was choking."

Santa had to look away. He had never had a Christmas conversation quite like this.

"So-" The little girl folded her arms. "You can't be that old."

Santa cleared his throat. "So, what's your name?"

The little girl sighed. "You're not very good at this, are you?"

Santa blinked.

The little girl waved a hand. "You should know everyone's name. You're Santa."

Santa counted to ten silently.

"It's Karen" said the little girl. "Karen Brockman." She slid off her chair and made her way over to the tree.

Santa recovered his voice. "You know, you shouldn't touch the presents. Not until Christmas morning, after all."

Karen blinked at him. "What will happen?"

Santa sighed, glancing almost regretfully at the stairs. He was almost tempted to wish it could have been one of the two boys who had woken up. Perhaps they'd have been a little easier to handle.

"Well, it won't be being a good little girl, will it?" he asked, hoping to impress the seriousness of the situation on the child. "And then you might end up on the Naughty List next year."

The little girl sighed. "But I wouldn't, because two years ago, Ben got down at four in the morning and tried to switch the wrappers round so he got the best stuff. Mum only realised because the wrappers were torn and Ben had written a letter from you that said "Ben is the only child that has been good this year, the other two can just have stones."" She sighed. "And Ben still had presents next year."

Santa sucked in his breath. It was rare that any child was really put on the Naughty List, but of course, Karen wasn't to know that. "Well, I'm sure he was good the rest of the year."

"Oh, he wasn't." Karen shook her head. "That was the year he tried to put the rabbits in the microwave." She sighed. "And the year he knocked off the teacher's wig. And the time he pulled the door off-"

Santa held up his hands. "Well, maybe-" He swallowed, but Karen was already holding up her hands.

"I don't want to hear excuses."

Santa's mouth hung open. Karen sighed and looked up at him. "I'll make you a com-a compromise" she said slowly. "I'll go right back to bed and I won't tell anyone I've seen you-"

Santa breathed out slowly.

"If you answer some of my questions."

Santa stared at her. "Questions?"

"Yes. I've got a list." She wandered across the room to the table and picked up a sheet of notebook paper tucked under the coasters. "First-" She cleared her throat. "How do you get around the world in one night?"

Santa sighed. He glanced longingly at the milk and wondered if the child's father might not have been more along the correct lines when it came to drinks.

"Well-" he said, haltingly.

Karen sighed. "Oh, dear-"

Santa hurried on. "Well, I mean-there are lots of different time zones these days. It means we can use the different times to make sure that nobody's missed out."

Karen tilted her head to the side. "Hmmm..." She picked up a pencil on the side table. "Hmmm..O...K" she said slowly, and dubiously.

There was a rustling sound and it was then that a pair of feet descended to the floor beside Santa. "Now, sir, we're almost done with this one, children tucked up snug as three buttons-" There was a sharp intake of breath as the elf that had just scrambled through the window turned to look at Karen. "What is this?"

Karen stared at him. "You're an elf!"

The elf stepped towards her. "It's OK, little girl." He held up his hands. "You're just dreaming. When you next open your eyes, you'll be tucked up safe and sound-"

"She knows she's not dreaming, Rusty." Santa sighed, as he turned to look at his head elf, who was staring indignantly, the glitter scattering from his hat. "She already knows that."

Karen's eyebrows had arched. "And my name's Karen, actually."

Rusty turned to look at her, and then back to Santa. "Sir?" His voice was rather strained. "Isn't this a little-dangerous?"

"Oh, don't worry." Karen waved away Rusty's objections with one movement of her hand. "I'm not going to tell anyone." She turned back to her list. "As long as you answer my questions."

"Sir." Rusty fixed Santa with a meaningful expression, which Santa had to acknowledge. He swallowed. Perhaps he had indulged the child enough.

"This next question's for you, actually." Rusty turned in surprise as the child rested her gaze on him. She cleared her throat. "Next is, how do the elves make all the toys?"

Rusty glanced up at Santa, who sighed and held out his hands. "Go ahead."

Rusty twisted his hands together, clearly torn between his desire to inform the child and his policy of secrecy. "Well, that is something we're rather proud of" he admitted, after a long second. "You see, we elves aren't like humans. We run on our own individual times, and it makes things far easier for us, with our separate abilities, to create all the toys." He smiled, clearly cheered by the thought of this secret knowledge.

Karen frowned. "Do the elves have insurance?"

For a moment, Santa wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. Rusty stared up at her. "What?"

Karen sighed. "Do they have insurance? You know, sick leave, compensation, all those kind of things. Employment support."

Santa's gaze had turned to Rusty who was now regarding him with a rather worrying expression.

"What is this employment support?"

"Well-"

"It makes sure you're treated properly by the boss" Karen chipped in. "It means that, if he does something wrong, you can get back at him."

"Well, it doesn't quite mean that-" Santa hastened to say.

Rusty was staring at Karen. "What kind of wrong things?"

Karen sighed. "Over time, not enough pay, not enough allowances-" She was counting on her fingers. "Daddy said thank God for it. He said thank God for-" She chewed her lip. "I'm not allowed to say that word. Thank God for badword allowances, and thank God for insurance, it kept you out of trouble with the badword education department." She sighed. "He said a lot of bad words, actually. He actually said f-"

"I'm sure it doesn't matter what he said." Santa held up his hands and kept his eyes on Rusty, whose arms were folded now.

"I'm sure it doesn't matter what he said." His voice had a faintly pleading tone as he regarded the disgruntled looking elf.

Rusty said nothing directly but as he turned away, he muttered under his breath. "Heard nothing about this insurance before, and all that overtime last year, oh, the bother the wife gave me-"

Santa scratched his head and turned back to the child.

"You might want to prepare yourself." Karen sighed, looking back down at her list. "My daddy says that you never know what happens when lawyers-when lawyers get involved."

Santa's hand rose to his beard. Rusty folded his arms.

Karen glanced over her shoulders at the stairs. "Anyway, another one was, how do you eat all the food we leave for you?"

"Good question," was Rusty's pronouncement. "The poor reindeer. The sleigh gets heavier every year."

"Yes, thank you, Rusty." Santa sighed. "Well-I don't know." It was one question he couldn't really answer. "I just-I suppose I just do."

Karen frowned. "And what if you get something you don't like?"

This was easier. "Well, in that case, the reindeer are more than happy to take care of it for me."

Rusty tutted again. "Spoilt. The lot of them. They run rings around you, they do."

Karen shrugged. "And my last question was-how do you get down our chimney?"

Santa opened his mouth but the child carried on, anyway. "Because we-we don't have a chimney. We used to have a chimney but we had it taken out after Ben tried to climb up it one year to see if there were any presents stuck up there."

Santa blinked. "Well-I use my magic key. I open your front door."

He regretted the words almost the moment they were out of his mouth. The little girl's eyes widened. "You have a magic key? What if you were a burglar?"

"Well-" Santa tried to laugh. "I'm hardly a burg-"

Karen shook her head. "But what if you-you were tipsy from all the alcohol people leave out for you and you dropped the key and you only realised in the morning? And then, back at the North Pole, you were like "Oh, no, I dropped my key, how silly of me" but by then, it was too late, because some burglar might have found the key and be breaking into everyone's houses?"

Santa blinked. "Oh no. That couldn't happen."

"Are you sure?" Karen had folded her arms again and was regarding him with a rather disbelieving expression.

"I'm sure. You see the magic key only works for me. Not for anyone else."

Karen tipped her head to the side. "Keys work for everybody. When Daddy lost his keys, that man was still able to get into our car. He just got scared because of the dead mouse Ben had left under the seat."

Santa stared at her. Karen tilted her head to the side. "Are you sure you're really qualified to do this?"

Before Santa could answer, Rusty had tugged at his sleeve. He bent down.

"I really think this is enough now" whispered the elf, rather severely. "She could blow the entire operation. Plus, the reindeer are getting impatient, I've had to stop Rudolph taking out next door's flower baskets twice now-"

Santa nodded and stepped forward. "Karen."

Karen was squinting down at her list again. "And my next question is-"

But before she could continue, there was a creak from the stairs. Karen spun around, as Santa took a step towards the window.

"Isn't it time you went back to bed?" he asked, calculating how long it would take him to get back to the sleigh.

Karen sighed. "I don't know. I don't think that anyone else is awake yet." She turned back to her list. "Now, my next question is-"

"Karen?" It was a male voice and Karen turned towards the doorway. "Karen, are you down there?"

Karen froze for barely an instant before she took a step towards the door. "Dad?"

Santa turned to the window immediately, followed by Rusty. "Honestly-" grumbled the elf, pushing at the window frame. "Getting into conversations, answering questions-we could have blown the whole thing-"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic-"

"So dramatic? Why didn't you just pop her in the sleigh and offer her a guided tour of the workshop? I don't know-" Rusty shook his head and tugged at the window. "With any luck, she'll think it was all a dream anyway" was his parting remark, as he shook his hat one more time, a shower of glitter raining down, as the window closed behind him.

Karen had stepped out into the hallway, closing the living room door behind her. Her father peered over the banisters. "What are you doing downstairs?"

"Checking to see if Santa's been."

"Oh, no." Her father was already moving down the steps. "Not 'til the morning. Not until seven. That's the rule, that's been the rule since Ben came down early that time and we found him digging through the garden looking for coal."

Karen sighed and pushed at the living room door. Her head peered round. "Sa-"

The living room was empty. Santa and the elf had vanished. Karen squinted, puzzled.

Her father was standing in the hallway now. Karen stared up at him. "I saw Santa."

"No, you didn't." Her father had hold of her hand now, turning her back towards the stairs. "Come on, before you wake Jake and Ben up."

"I did see him. And an elf. Rusty. And now they're gone." Karen pushed out her bottom lip. "They hadn't finished answering my questions."

"Yeah, well, Santa's very busy." Her father followed her up the stairs. "Got a lot of stops to make."

"That was my next question." Karen pushed her hair out of her eyes as she headed towards her bedroom. "I was going to ask him where his next stop was."

"Hopefully, his answer would have been bed."

At seven the next morning, the three Brockman children crowded into the living room.

"Has he been?" was Ben's question.

Karen darted ahead of all of them, crouching under the tree. "I told you. He was here."

Jake rolled his eyes. "No, Karen, he wasn't here."

"Yes, he was, he answered my questions." Karen waved the piece of paper in the air.

"That's the same list you've carried round for the past four years" Jake pointed out.

Karen sighed. "And now the questions are answered. Number one, he said, it's the different time zones-"

Neither Jake nor Ben were listening. Ben had dived on the nearest present. "The T-rex stalks his prey, ripping at the delicate flesh, with his fangs of terror-"

"Not dinosaurs again, Ben." Sue sighed as she observed the scene from the doorway. "The wiring still hasn't recovered from the time the stegosaurus attacked in the fuse box."

"And neither have the hospital bills" muttered Pete, taking a seat on the couch.

None of this interested Karen much, who turned back to her own presents. "It's been-" She sighed, counting on her fingers. "Approximately four hours since I saw Santa." She looked up. "So, now, he should be home, I think-or maybe somewhere else, if I look on Google Earth..."

At that precise moment, Santa was sitting in the North Pole. Mrs. Claus had her hand on his shoulder.

"Now, now, dear" she was saying. She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure one little girl doesn't matter. She'll wake up in the morning and think it was all a dream."

Santa shook his head. "You didn't see this little girl. It was-" He sighed. "She was a-determined child."

Mrs. Claus shook her head. "I'm sure it'll all come to nothing. Now, that's quite enough of that." She lifted the glass of eggnog from Santa's hand.

Santa sighed, pushing his hand through his beard. "You're right, of course. You're right. One child, out of billions-it really doesn't matter-"

"Of course not, dear." Mrs. Claus turned back to the fireplace, and patted their own tree fondly. "Though, I forgot to tell you, Rusty came to see me this morning."

Santa froze. "Oh?"

"Yes, he was asking something. He and the other elves want to speak to you. Something about...insurance?"

A loud groan emanated from the armchair as Santa buried his head in his hands.

With all the presents unwrapped at the Brockman house, Karen leaned back. "I got almost everything I wanted" she said, her voice laced with satisfaction.

"So did I" said Ben. "Except the AK-47."

Jake snorted, strumming his guitar. "Who's going to bring you a gun, for Christ's sake?"

"Jake!" His mother looked at him, askance. "It's Christmas."

"So?"

"So, could we tone it down with the language, please?"

"Yeah, exactly. Christ-mas."

Pete sighed, standing up. "Well, everyone into the kitchen. Christmas breakfast."

Ben stood up. "Can I cook the bacon?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because another trip to A and E would probably land us in the Social Services office, that's why."

Jake followed them into the kitchen, his eyes still rolling as he entered into an argument with Ben over whether or not Santa could fit a bazooka down the chimney.

"Come on, Karen." Sue watched her daughter, who was getting to her feet slowly, still scanning the floor for something. "Gran's coming over later. The rest of your presents will be here, then."

"I know that, Mummy. I was looking for fingerprints."

"Fingerprints?" Sue rested her hand on Karen's shoulder. "Who'd have left fingerprints?"

Karen blinked up at her. "Santa and Rusty."

Sue sighed. "Santa and Rusty. Of course." She looked at her daughter. "Well, Karen, if they're Santa and Rusty, I don't think they're going to leave any fingerprints, do you?"

Karen stared up at her. "Actually, they might. They were rather in-im-" She swallowed for a moment. "Incompetent" she finally announced, triumphantly.

Sue nodded slowly. "Really. Well, why don't you tell us all about it, in the kitchen?"

Karen sighed. "I suppose so."

As she turned to follow, her bare foot brushed something. She glanced down, puzzled.

"Look, Mummy. Glitter."

Sue squinted. "Who put that there?"

Karen beamed. "It's off Rusty's hat! He and Santa must have gone out the window-"

Sue sighed. "Pete?" she called, waiting until her husband appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Could you look at this a sec?"

Pete squinted at the glitter on the floor. "Who put that there?"

"That's what I was about to ask you."

"I told you!" burst in Karen. "It was Santa and Rusty-"

Sue rolled her eyes. Pete looked at her-and then smiled.

"What do you know? Christmas elf. Learn something new every day." He beckoned Karen into the kitchen. "Come on, then. Tell us about it."

"I will." Karen picked up her list. "And only if you promise not to be sarcastic about it."

Pete pressed a finger to his lips and Karen rolled her eyes.

Still, she had her list. And she was sure Santa would be back next year. Next time, she'd sit up and wait and he could answer the rest of her questions.

Next year, she'd find out everything she wanted to. She was sure of it. And she could find out if Santa really preferred milk or Jack Daniels. She should have found out last night.

Never mind. Next year, it would be top of her list.

Karen can get anyone to answer questions, even Santa. Merry Christmas, everyone. :)