Note: A number of years ago, I did a bunch of Christmas fics for different series and posted them all together, but I don't think anybody knows where to find them (either that or they totally suck, which is a definite possibility). So I'm just going to post them all separately. They're all shamelessly holiday-ish in nature, like this piece of sap, but they were a tremendous amount of fun to do. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the following characters. I don't really own much of anything other than a pencil and a notebook which I am attempting to make good use of in hopes of someday owning something better. =)

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
Teen Titans/X-Men: Evolution Crossover
Amos Whirly

I enjoy this little café. Even though it doubles as an unusual gift store, it's dark and quiet and unassuming. I can come and sip my herbal tea and read my books in solitude with no questions asked. This little café is some distance from my city, but it's worth it when I need to get away. And living in the same house with Beast Boy would be enough to make anyone want to get away.

Don't misunderstand. He's my friend. I'd do anything for him. But of the multitude of people I've met in my lifetime, he's the only one who can continually drive me crazy.

So, when I'm tired and just don't feel like I can take the superhero life anymore, I come here. Bayville, New York.

Like I said, it's quite a distance. So I don't come very often. But today – Today, I just had to get away. The Tower is draped in every festive color of the Christmas season. Robin spent hours trying to explain to Starfire why humans put up trees and cover them with decorations. I don't think she understands yet. Beast Boy and Cyborg argued for long hours over the holiday feast they were planning to make. Tofu or beef. Tofu or ham. Tofu or turkey.

I don't care. Just give me a salad, and both of you shut up.

I take a sip of my tea and glance out one of the darkened windows. A young woman stands outside the window, looking in at a book displayed behind the glass. I'm not quite sure what it is about her that captivates me. She is taller than I am, though not by much, and her skin is pale. Her hair is flame red with a white streak in her bangs and in the strands that frame her face. She's probably about my age.

Usually I can analyze people instantly. With a mere glance, I can understand their motivations, their purpose, and their goals. I can see what they want, who they are, and why they exist.

But not this girl.

Her face is a strange mixture of emotions. Her eyes reflect an ancient maturity that rivals my own. She carries herself with the confidence of a great warrior, but at the same time as people pass her, she seems to shrink like a nervous child.

I lean forward slightly to see what book she is so intent on, and I am shocked to see the title. The Intricacies of the Human Psyche. I've read it already. It's a fascinating book. But this girl in her trendy clothes doesn't seem to me like the kind of person who would enjoy it.

I watch the girl enter the café and pick up one of the hard-bound books. She stops at the counter and pays the clerk behind it. For a moment, I think the girl is going to leave, but she seems to change her mind and wanders deeper into the café. She stops at a table across from me, sits down, and begins to mark on a crumpled sheet of paper drawn from her coat pocket.

As if she can sense my curiosity, she looks up at me. Again, I am startled by the unreadable expression in her eyes.

I do not turn from her piercing gaze. "It's a good book," I say.

"Hm?" Her response is something between a growl and a grunt.

"The book you just bought." I cock an eyebrow. "It's a good book."

Her expression softens slightly. "It isn't for me. It's for a teacher of mine."

"Must be some teacher."

"Yeah. He's somethin' else."

Her accent is southern, harsh but refined at the same time.

I look back at her as I feel her eyes roaming over my dark blue cloak.

"You aren't from around here." It was not a question.

"Not really."

"Bayville doesn't really like strangers much. Especially strange strangers, if you catch my meaning." Her eyes linger on the jewel in my forehead. "You might be better off going back to wherever you came from."

"Are you telling me to leave?"

"No." The girl shakes her head. "Stay, if you want. But just know that Bayville folks don't like – well – weird stuff."

"And who says I'm weird?"

"Don't know. Just a feeling, really."

I narrow my eyes, finish my tea, and close my book. I stand slowly and move to stand beside the girl. She has returned her attention to the paper in front of her. Now that I am closer to her, I see that it is a Christmas list.

"You come here often?" she suddenly asks.

"Not really. Only when I need to get away from – from my roommates."

"I hear that. But this isn't the kind of place I'd hang around. It's nice an' all, I guess, but I miss the places like down south. With loud music and bright lights and happy people."

"Happiness is relative."

The girl stands up and shoves her list back into her pocket. "I'm Rogue."

"Raven," I reply. I notice that she does not offer her hand, a fact for which I am grateful. Humans are always touching – hugging or kissing or shaking hands. I would prefer they keep their distance. I wonder briefly if this girl is as good at analyzing me as I seem to be failing at analyzing her.

"Feel like a walk, Raven?"

"I should be getting home." I glance at a clock on the wall. "But I would enjoy that, I think."

Rogue smiles oddly and starts toward the sidewalk. "I've just got a few more things to buy, and I can go home."

I do not answer. We walk the sidewalk, side-by-side. The wind catches in my cape.

"You got people you're buying for?"

"I'm not a Christmassy person."

"I'm not either, really." Rogue shrugs. "I mean, I kind of am. I like it, 'n all. But there are just a few people I ever get stuff for."

"Your teacher?"

"Professor Xavier." Rogue's face brightens as she hugged the book she had purchased for him close to her chest. "He's helped me learn more about myself than I thought I could ever know. He's like a father to me, I guess you could say."

Rogue stops outside another store front and looks in.

"A hunting supply outlet?" I look up at her, confused.

"Yeah," she sighs. "I want to get – well – his name is Logan. And I never quite know what to get for him."

"Why get him anything?"

"So he'll know I care about him."

"Do you have to give people presents so they know you care about them?"

"No." She sounds impatient. "It's just nice. That's all."

A snowball hit the sidewalk in between us. Rogue turns around in time to take another one square in the face. I hear another one coming, and I raise my hand. The snowball halts in mid-air, flashing with the black energy of my powers.

A mob of teenage boys stand some distance off, pointing and jeering cruelly. They hurl another round of snowballs through the air, but I stop them all and send them hurtling back toward them. The boys scatter and run, but they cannot escape the onslaught of snow that I fling at them.

Stupid human boys.

They run away quickly, screaming about being attacked by a mutant.

Insulting stupid human boys.

By the time I turn around, Rogue is on her feet and dashing the snow out of her eyes. "You shouldn't have done that!" she exclaims, grabs my wrist, and dashes down an alleyway, dragging me with her.

"Let go of me," I command.

She does not listen.

For the first time since meeting her, I sense some kind of fear building inside her. I restrain myself from tearing out of her grip and allow myself to be dragged into a dark gutter. She finally stops and leans against a wall.

"Are you crazy?" She glares at me. "You gotta' be crazy! You don't just attack humans like that!"

"They started it."

"You aren't from around here. Here it don't matter who starts it. If a mutant hurts a human, it's the mutant who takes the blame. No matter what the human did."

"I'm not a mutant."

"Then, what was that back there?"

"I'm not from this planet."

Rogue blinks for a moment. "Oh."

"I'm assuming that you're a mutant, then?"

"Yeah."

I had heard months earlier that there had been an uprising in New York, concerning people with strange powers. Mutants, they had been called. I hadn't paid much attention to the news article, but in speaking to this strange young woman, the details returned to the forefront of my mind.

Teenagers. Boys and girls. Arrested. Detained. Questioned. Military and police with guns and other weapons.

Starfire had requested that we go to help them. Robin had declined, saying that our place was in our own city in case something of that nature were to occur there.

We wait in the alley for a long time, neither of us speaking. Finally, Rogue straightens and exhales. "The professor wouldn't have liked that."

"The professor?" I ask. "Is that the one you were talking about earlier?"

Rogue winces and turns back to me. "Yeah. It's a school for mutants."

I watch her face, her eyes full of something I cannot understand. "Your power must be psychological," I say suddenly, curious to know why I cannot decipher this strange young woman.

Her pale face remains stoic. "It can be." She rubs the top of one of her gloved hands. She looks up at me again. This time, the emotion in her eyes is obvious.

Sadness. Intense sadness.

"Do you know what it's like," she whispered, "to know that you'll never be able to touch another human being?"

I must have looked confused.

She pulls off one of her gloves and displayed her pale hand. "I can drain the powers of other mutants." She glares at her hand as if it were something monstrous. "And then I can use those powers like they're my own. But when I touch a human – I put them in a coma."

Inadvertently, I move to step backward, but I stop before my feet comply.

"If you are draining the essence of the people you touch," I reason aloud, "what happens to their personalities?"

Rogue smiles. "You catch on quick."

"That is why I can't analyze you properly," I realize. "Usually, I can figure out a person within moments of meeting them. You're confusing to me. Like trying to isolate a voice within a choir."

"That's me," Rogue replaces her glove. "One in a million."

"But all alone?"

Rogue regarded me again, her expression once more unreadable. "Yeah. Alone in a crowd." She glanced at her watch. "It's near past curfew. I need to get home."

"I'll walk with you."

We walk together without speaking and both begin to smile as a few soft snowflakes drift on the breeze. In a moment, the sky is full of gentle flakes, falling down all around us and on us. The snow under our feet crunches. The snow falling on us from above is invigorating.

Suddenly, Rogue speaks. "Raven?"

"Yes?"

"Haven't you got anyone special in your life?"

I think for a moment. "I have friends."

"And you're not getting them anything?"

"I don't see a need for it. Besides, they wouldn't like anything I'd get them anyway."

"At least—" she stops before she finishes and takes a deep breath. "At least, tell them that you care about them. Shake their hand. Something."

"Why?"

"All I know, is that I would give near about anything to shake someone's hand. To give someone a kiss or a hug. Without wearing—these—clothes." She shudders. "I'd give near about anything. N' to see someone choose not to show affection that way – it just seems wrong."

I do not answer.

"Do you like being alone or something?"

"What do giving gifts and being alone have in common?"

"I don't know what it is," Rogue answers, "but something about giving people gifts makes me feel – I don't know – like I'm not so alone after all."

"Being alone isn't all that bad."

"No," Rogue admits with a smile, "but it can get pretty lonely after a while."

We walk the rest of the way in silence.

Rogue walks to a large set of wrought iron gates and enters a code into a keypad. The gates swing open. I can see a massive mansion beyond the gates.

"Wanna' come in?" Rogue asks, her eyes hopeful.

"I need to be going myself," I answer. Part of me is sorry to disappoint her.

Rogue nods and backs through the gates as they begin to close. "It was nice to meet you, Raven."

"Likewise. I hope your professor likes his book."

"He will. Raven?"

"Yes?"

"Merry Christmas."

I stop for a moment and smile at her. "Merry Christmas to you too, Rogue."

I watch the girl turn and jog toward the large house on the hill, and then I continue on my own. My thoughts begin to churn in my mind, thinking about what the young woman had said to me.

Is it wrong to choose isolation over friendship? I wonder. I have friends. But I do isolate myself. It's safer for everyone if I do. I stop and stare at the snowflakes that are coming down. But is it wrong?

I look back over my shoulder in the direction I had come. Suddenly, an image appeared in my mind's eye – a peculiar item on one of the shelves in the café – a lump of green putty.

I hurry back to the café and walk in. Spying the putty on the shelf, I move closer to examine it. More than likely, it was intended as a form of non-violent expression of dark emotions, but all of a sudden the lump of inanimate clay became the perfect gift for one loud, obnoxious metamorph of the same color. Without stopping to examine my motivation, I pick up the package of clay.

In the opposite corner I find a book on ancient runes and glyphs. Perfect for Robin. In the center display, I find a book of ink blot drawings that would probably keep Cyborg busy for hours. And on another shelf, I locate a package of assorted herbal teas. Starfire has been wanting to try some of them.

I purchase all of the items and exit the café. I start for home, holding my gifts close.

I feel something stirring inside me as I imagine my friends' reactions to my gifts to them. Something warm. Something joyful.

It's not a feeling I'm accustomed to.

But I think I like it.

Maybe I'll do this again next year.