Author's Ramblings~

Hey everybody! Ana here. So this is officially my very first Fanfic. Sure I've read enough of them, but until now I was too nervous to post my own work. No longer! It's safe to say that I've been a bit nervous about the whole writer/reader interaction thing. But in the end, my curiosity and my itchy fingers got the better of me. CURSE YOU ITCHY FINGERS! *shakes fist at no one in particular*...oh. Ahem. Anyway, I look forward to posting a variety of works in multiple genres, with an emphasis on movies and TV shows, but by no means excluding books... I happen to have a few good Lit. Fics up my sleeves right now...heh heh heh. Made you wonder. ;) Eventually they'll be up too.

For now, I present to you-drumroll please...- a Santa Clause Fanfic! Boo yah!

Eh...*coughs*...right.

I look forward to this. I'm also interested to find out who else still has the hots for Bernard. #oneDAMNfineelf, right ladies? ;) You know who you are.

So: the story. It's pretty much a novella at this point, due to become novel any day. Word says I'm at 26k+right now but I'm posting in pieces to see the reaction I get. Set in 2013, with a bit of a time continuum so that Charlie, Lucy, and Buddy are closer to the ages of my OCs. Will be Bernard/OC, Charlie/OC (different OC), and slight Curtis/OC (another different OC). And YES, I dragged in religion. HEY...GET BACK HERE!

(After I drag YOU back in...) I'm a bit of a stickler for history, okay? *sighs* Confession made. And I've been dying to give the real back story on Santa for years now. So, no likey, no readey, okay? Certain characters will be Byzantine Orthodox, including 2 of 3 OCs. (WTF is Byzantine Orthodox, you ask? Look it up. Google is DYING to be your new best friend. ;)

However, this doesn't mean things won't get heated...rating is T. UPDATE AS OF 12/18/13, AND will remain T. No future upgrade to M rating :)

I think that just about covers things, so...let the show begin! And please leave a review. No, don't be MEAN. Like I said, I'm a newbie. Don't shoot me down before I get off the ground. (Have I made a rhyme?) But if you're nice, I'd love to hear from you. I don't really associate with people on the Naughty List. ;) Hope you enjoy the story.

Also, I OBVIOUSLY don't own The Santa Clause, 1,2,or 3. C'mon, people! If I did, would I BE here?!

Rhetorically speaking.

Oh, and pleasepleasepleasePLEASE follow me on Twitter! AnaontheFritz. I follow back ;)

All the best!

Ana, aka

étiquette-faux-pas

Ellington sat at her desk.

This was hardly unusual.

Ellington Connelly was seventeen years old, and was very often busy on her laptop, slaving away at her multiple novels. Having graduated from high school at the young if not adept age of sixteen, she was enjoyed doing what she was actually interested in—that is, writing —at a level that she found moderately challenging.

When she was sixteen, Ellington had graduated high school (with honors, of course; top of her class.) She had received many and multiple scholarship packages from Ivy League colleges; the ones from Bryn Mawr and Vassar had particularly interested her. All expenses paid, tuition, dorm, food; everything. And she had been very excited with her prospects.

Then Ellington's father had contracted an illness. At first, it seemed to all to be nothing more than a bad case of bladder stones. Painful, yes; but easily treatable. Ellington had a strange way of sometimes knowing certain things that she shouldn't have been able to. She never told anyone these hunches. Nobody knew things before hand; only fake magicians and psychics, phonies like that. Well, and saints. Ellington and her family were Orthodox Christians, an unaltered form of Byzantine Christianity that was practically unheard of in Hawaii, where they had moved to three years before from Washington State. A day didn't pass that Ellington didn't wish she were back in Seattle. Anyway, girls like her, however gifted, didn't read into the future. More than likely, they were just coincidences.

So when Ellington had a strange sense of foreboding about the cause of her father's illness, she ignored it. But she wasn't surprised when the surgery ran for six hours instead of two, and all of the other out-patient surgery cases that had gone in after her father had already gone home. Ellington had sat there in the empty waiting room with her mother and youngest sister, for another two hours. Finally, the surgeon came out, wearing a solemn expression that made it clear for once to Ellington just how horribly right she had been.

"I'm afraid it's much worse than we thought," he had said, wringing his mask in his hands. He wore a long surgical overcoat that Annise, Ellington's ten year old sister, had mentioned made him look like Big Bird from Sesame Street. They had laughed before, but there was nothing funny about it now.

Both girls sat, ridged and silent, while Dr. Calvin explained to their mother that her husband had a seriously invasive form of bladder cancer that would most likely continue to spread throughout the entirety of the bladder, eventually taking his life. "Radiation and Chemo Therapy are highly ineffective with this type of cancer," the surgeon had said. His shoulders were sagging, and he clearly felt as though this diagnosis were a personal failure to what he had called on more than one occasion, 'a perfect Little family.' "I can keep removing parts of the tumor, but it will continue to grow back, and eventually..." He sighed. "There will be nothing else we can do."

"How long do we have?" Their mother asked, in a broken voice. Josette Connelly was a strong yet kind woman with a stubborn streak that she put to use by fiercely protecting her family. Her own life was troubled by long illness of her own: childhood Diabetes and immune system weaknesses had dulled a portion of her beauty, but not her spirit. Here, she was on the edge of a collapse that Ellington could see she was fighting back. Ellington could always read her mother better than anyone else; most said she was the most like her mother, in looks and personality. Ellington had thought she had brown eyes until she was twelve because of this: she hadn't even once looked closely in the mirror to make sure. Only then had she realized that her eyes were blue: a bright, twinkling, mischievous blue. Then, she had seen the differences. Her mother's hair was a wavy chestnut brown; hers was a darker brown with a golden hue to it, and curly. Her mother had olive skin; hers was a lighter shade of neutral. The list went on and on.

Nowadays, Ellington's eyes weren't mischievous very often. You were more likely to see them looking around cynically. Misfortune had routinely beset her family, and Ellington found herself just waiting for the next upset to arrive. And here it was, just as usual. And, also as usual, Ellington didn't cry. Because that was the one way that
Ellington was truly different from her mother: she hid her feelings.

Annise, on the other hand, was emotional, like their mother. In all other things she was her father's daughter. Blonde hair, green eyes. She had exceptionally big feet (size eight already) and was exceptionally tall (five foot since age nine.) Ellington, who was only five foot four and a half and wore a size six and a half or seven at most, felt oddly small next to her younger sister, though Annise was still smaller. Annise was as bubbly as Ellington was wary; Annise would talk and laugh with strangers, whereas Ellington would smile politely, chat only reservedly, and make an occasional joke that was usually lost on whoever she was talking to. She had a very dry sense of humor.

And so Annise sat in tears, with Ellington's arm around her. "Wi-will...he live until Christmas?" she asked tremblingly. Ellington's eyes smarted.

Dr. Calvin smiled a crooked, sad smile. "Yes. He'll be here for Christmas." And he patted their mother's hand. "I'm so sorry."

And Ellington thought, but did not say, "But not next Christmas."

Their father, whose name was Phillip, was in the hospital for three weeks before he came home. And then, things were very different from how they had been before.

For one thing, Phillip Connelly hadn't been sick a day in his life. For him, being diagnosed with cancer was an even harsher blow than it might have been, say, for someone who had been through chicken pox, or scarlet fever. He had been a contractor, building large and important looking houses for moderately rich people. But that had been in Seattle, almost ten years before.

By then, Josette's health required constant monitoring, which meant that a nurse was out of the question, because if during any routine shift change any information failed to be passed along, it could lead to Josette's untimely death. So Phillip had given up his excellent and rewarding career to stay home and care for Josette, who was his second wife. His first marriage, to a woman named Veronica, had been an unfortunate mistake of youth. But before the divorce, they had had one child: a daughter, named Dorothy.

Dorothy was the one good thing that came from those troubled years, he liked to think, and as such he thought the world of her. Custody battles raged long after he remarried, and even after Annise was born. It wasn't until he was forced to move their family to Hawaii (without Dorothy) that he threw in the towel—and hardly, even then. Phillip was and had always been desperate to have a good relationship with Dorothy, in spite of her mother's refusal to cooperate.

Because of this, Ellington and Annise had been put through the wringer, with Phillip being too exhausted from court to spend time with his other two daughters. Even now, being separated by two thousand miles only seemed to make things more miserable for the other girls.

Not that he didn't love them. But they just didn't get his best sometimes, because he gave his best to Dorothy, who didn't always appreciate it the way she should have.

At first, Phillip put much of his dwindling energy into the research and purchasing of natural 'cures' or 'treatments', in the hopes of ridding himself of the illness. Even affording the pills was difficult, since the family lived off of disability assistance for Josette. But a few remedies seemed to produce hopeful results, even according to Dr. Calvin, who was still assisting Phillip with his healthcare. For a while, most of that summer in fact, spirits were up.

Except for the nagging feeling in Ellington's stomach.

Then the pain started to return. By August, scans showed that the tumor was growing again. As the cancer took over in Phillip's body, he became less and less able to assist his wife in the way she needed him to. The hourly blood sugar checks, the administering of medicines, shots, everything became too much for a man who was too hosed up on codeine to stay awake for longer than five minutes. Only a close family member, who knew what went on with Josette's health, could do the job that Phillip was now incapable of.

Annise couldn't do it; she was far too young. And so Ellington turned down all seven of her scholarships and put off college altogether to care for her mother, as well as her father. Figuring she could make it up later.

After all, she was only seventeen.

And then came the fever. Phillip ran a temperature of one hundred and four continuously, unbroken by any medications they had at home. Back to the hospital he went.

This time, the outlook was even more grim. The tumor had taken up the entire bladder; he had also gotten blood poisoning. The on call doctor gave Phillip through the weekend to live, no longer.

And they all had to say goodbye.

Dr. Calvin had come in late that evening, and sat with the Connelly's in Phillip's hospital room. The surgeon was nearly speechless.

"C...can I do anything for you?" he asked Josette.

Josette looked away from Phillip's hand that she had been holding. "Do you...pray?' she asked carefully.

Dr. Calvin smiled. "I pray all the time."

Josette gave him a Connelly, sad smile. "Then please, pray for us."

And he did. Heading out of the ICU that night, he passed the girls out in the hall. Ellington was sitting with a dazed yet grim look on her face, while Annise leaned tiredly on her shoulder. They hadn't been home for days.

"Hello there."

Annise started, and looked up. "Oh...hi." Ellington gave a little wave.

"Can I do anything for you girls?" He smiled at them, as sadly as had their mother.

"No," said Ellington somewhat flatly. "But...thank you for asking." Ellington was having to face a future where she took on many of her father's responsibilities.

A future without college any time soon.

"Um...actually, yes." Annise pulled a letter from her pocket. "Would you mail this for me?" It was a letter to Santa Claus.

Dr. Calvin looked surprised for a moment, then gave the girls a strange smile. "You bet I will." And he took it from her. "Good night, then, ladies."

"Good night," called Annise, "and thank you!"

When he got to his car, Dr. Calvin looked at the letter in his hand, and shook his head.

Then, suddenly, he had an idea.

A great, wonderful, magic idea.

He took out his cell phone, and called his son.

It rang six or seven times before it picked up.

"Hi there, sport," he said. "I need a favor."

But favors sometimes take longer than one might prefer.

And so it was, that Dr. Calvin's son couldn't find the time to assist his father for a good month and a half. By then, the problems had only worsened, all around.

When Phillip's secondary infection dropped away over the next few days, Dr. Calvin was able to offer a surgical option: he could remove Phillip's bladder entirely, along with the tumor inside of it. With the cancer nearly eliminated, Phillip had a high chance of total recovery. So Phillip chose to have the surgery, despite the chance of his death on the table.

And Phillip survived.

The surgery was successful; the bladder was removed and the cancer all but gone. He remained in the hospital for weeks, recovering. Josette never left his side. The girls were sent home to take care of the farm until their father's return.

Three weeks later, Phillip and Josette returned home. It was a joyous day. And a few days later, at a follow up appointment with Dr. Calvin, all signs were good. Things were definitely looking up for the Connelly Family.

Except for the nagging feeling in Ellington's stomach, that is.

During the second week of September, Phillip began to throw up bile, and all of his medicine. He began to have pain in his stomach again. As usual, he refused to go to the hospital until the last possible moment, and when he finally allowed Josette to take him, it was bad.

Scans revealed that the cancer, which only two weeks earlier had been very, very Connelly at his appointment with Dr. Nelson, was now as large as it had been before surgery, growing on the wall of his abdominal cavity. It had also spread to his liver. Even Dr. Calvin, who had always been the one to find solutions when no one else would, had nothing else to offer.

After a week's stint in the hospital, Phillip Connelly came home once more, this time, to die.

The girls watched their father waste away before their eyes, unable to eat. And they tried to act as if all were normal.

But they could feel that normality, along with their father, was slipping away.

"Keep in touch with me," Dr. Calvin had said. "I want to know how he's doing, every day." He didn't need to say that he was also concerned about Josette—and mainly, the girls.

And it was at this point that he made the second call to his son.

"Sport, I know you've got a lot on your plate right now, but I really need your help."

And this time, his son came through and delivered.

Which was exactly to the point.

Bernard sat at his desk.

This was hardly unusual.

As Head Elf, he spent a lot of time at his desk, doing monotonous paperwork when he'd rather be doing something else.

But this time, it wasn't paperwork that had put him there. It was Santa.

That afternoon, Santa Claus had gotten a call from his father in Hawaii.

"Hi dad. What's up?"

It wasn't what was up. It was what was down.

After Santa had hung up the phone, he called in Bernard, along with the Number Two Elf, Curtis.

"Guys," he said, "We've got a problem."

"Uh oh." Curtis sighed. "If this is about Chet, I'll deal with it, I promise. I had no idea he knew where we kept the oat cakes, and if I had known he knew, I never would have left him without supervision."

"No, this isn't about Chet," Santa said.

"And if it's about the quotas being a bit short, I've already got it under control." Bernard scowled. "Apparently, some of the elves down in packaging decided to take a few 'unauthorized breaks'. It won't be happening again." He'd fired them, of course.

"No, this isn't about quotas!" Santa was getting exasperated. "Let me finish, will ya?"

The elves exchanged looks. "Sorry, sir," said Bernard.

"Thank you." Santa sat down behind his own desk. "Now, like I was saying, I just got off the phone with my dad. Apparently, he's got an end stage patient who has just gone home. Cancer."

"Oh," said Curtis quietly.

"Yeah." Santa sighed. "And the sad part is, the guy's got kids. Two daughters, who are lonely and sad. Not to mention frightened. The youngest wrote me a letter." He passed the letter across the desk.

"Really? But it's only August." Bernard picked it up, and held it low enough for Curtis to read as well.

Dear Santa, it read,

I'm not sure if I should be writing to you, since technically I'm not allowed to believe in Santa Claus. I know that St. Nicholas is real. He visits my house every year on December 19th, and brings gifts for me and my sister. But as for you...I don't know. But I need some help.

My daddy is dying, Santa. I'm scared. My sister Ellington is scared, but she doesn't say so. Ellington doesn't like to be afraid of anything. She's seventeen and really smart. She would be in college by now if Daddy wasn't sick all this time. She needs a friend, cause she doesn't really have any, besides me. Could you find her a really, really good friend?

My family needs a miracle. I'm asking God for one already but I thought it would be good to ask for all the help I can get. Santa, if you can do anything, please, let my Daddy live. I won't ask for anything else for Christmas, I promise.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Annise Connelly

Curtis wiped away a stray tear that had formed in his left eye. "That's horrible!" he cried. "We have to help her!"

"And I mean to," said Santa ambiguously.

"How do you mean?" asked Bernard, almost squeakily. His voice sometimes did that weird teenage thing human boys' did, even though he was nearly seventeen hundred years old. Physically, he was frozen at that age, and his vocal cords knew no different. Not that it didn't bother him. Immensely.

Santa reached into a drawer and pulled out his copy of The Abbreviated Santa Handbook. He flipped it open about halfway, then read a passage aloud. "According to rule nine thousand, two hundred and seventy four, 'Every 550 years, an emissary must be chosen from among human children to visit the North Pole, be they lonely or without cheer.'"

"Oh, Good grief!" Bernard rubbed his face. "Not the Emissary Clause."

"What about it?" Santa asked. Bernard gave no reply.

"Curtis, what are the rules for this clause? You've got the whole book; you should know." Santa was giving Bernard an odd look.

"Already on it, boss." Curtis was turning pages rapid fire. "Ah here it is: 'Rule 9,274, The Emissary Clause. Every 550 years, an emissary must be chosen from among humans to visit the North Pole, be they lonely or without cheer. All emissaries must be under the age of eighteen. All emissaries must be female. This practice must be observed every 550th year, with the exception of postponements. Such postponements may be made only by Santa or...the Head Elf.'" Curtis looked up, appalled. "You told me only Santa could postpone! It was you, all along! You put it off, without telling me!"

Bernard sputtered, but ultimately said nothing.

Santa frowned. " I checked the record. Apparently, you've been putting it off for nearly fourteen hundred years, Bernard! Why?"

"There just wasn't time!" said Bernard, exasperated. He knew that one day this would come up, but it still seemed too soon, even after fourteen hundred years. "Those years were particularly complicated, and the last thing we needed was a strange little girl wandering around the Pole!"

"So you...postponed it," said Santa. "And, when, may I ask, were you planning to actually fulfill this Clause?"

Bernard raised his chin.

"You weren't!" Curtis exploded. "You were going to keep putting it off, until the very end!"

"So what!" Bernard threw up his hands. "So I postponed the Emissary Clause, and didn't tell you about it. What's the big deal, anyway? Nobody even cared until now!"

"I'll tell you what the big deal is!" Curtis was livid. "Do you realize what the purpose of this Clause is, Bernard? It's to restore the True Spirit of Christmas! Who knows what horrible major events in human history could have been avoided if the Clause had been enforced, like it should have been!"

"Like what?" Bernard pressed, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"I-I don't know, let's see, shall we?" Curtis began ticking off years on his fingers. "Year 894 could have stopped the Schism of the Christian Churches, East and West!"

Bernard scoffed at this. "Oh, like you care, Curtis. You're Catholic!"

With a frustrated look, Curtis said, "Well, being Byzantine Orthodox doesn't seem to be doing any favors to your personality, now does it?"

Another scowl from Bernard.

"Year 1444 could have finished the Dark Ages in Western Europe, not to mention the fall of Constantinople," said Curtis, "And 1994...that was the year Santa took over! There! Have I made my point, or have I made my point?" And he slammed the Handbook shut, sitting primly in a chair before Santa's desk.

"That's rich, coming from the elf who conveniently overlooked the Mrs. Clause," Bernard snapped.

Santa eyed the tension between his top elves warily. "Regardless of what may have happened to history or not," he said, "postponing the Clause indefinitely was wrong, Bernard. And now that I'm Santa, it's my job to clean up the mess. Great." He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "So here's what we're going to do. It will take me a while to convene a Council of Legendary Figures to deal with the issue of her dad's health; in the meantime, I'm going to solve this whole problem with the Emissary Clause, by bringing up the man's daughters, what's their names, Natalie and Cinnamon?"

"Ellington and Annise," said Bernard, skimming the letter. "But sir, I don't see how this will solve our problem. There are only two sisters."

Santa gave a knowing grin. "Nope. There's a third sister..." he picked up a different sheet of paper, "...Dorothy Agev-Connelly, in Tacoma, Washington. We'll bring her too. No doubt she's affected by her father's eminent death, and she'll bring the Clause right up to date."

"I don't see why we need to get into all of this right now, what with the..." Bernard pointed to a digital map on the wall. Not surprisingly, it was a map of The North Pole. But the boundaries of the Pole had turned a menacing shade of black. An Unknown lurked on the horizon.

"You and I both know that we have no idea what to do about that yet," said Santa quietly. He sighed. "The way I look at it, the more loose ends we finish off, the more likely we are to make it go away."

"But we don't even know what it is!" Bernard threw up his hands. "It's been a month, and we've made no progress! This is exactly the kind of reason I put off the Clause in the first place!"

"A fact that I kept in mind when I chose your punishment, Bernard." Santa snatched the letter back from his Head Elf. "It says here that Ms. Ellington Connelly, age seventeen, has need of a friend. A good, true friend. You are going to be that friend, Bernard, when the girls arrive. I'm putting you in charge of showing her around the Pole."

"B-but I have work to do!" Bernard cried. "In case you've forgotten, I manage this place! I've got too much to do already, without having to drag some teenage girl around sightseeing!"

"It's a punishment, remember?" said Santa, a bit coldly. "and a pretty easy one too, I might add. I'm really letting you off the hook here. As far as management goes, you'll just have to find a way to balance work and play, without putting off the girl." He cleared his throat. "You're also in charge of overseeing that each girl is having a good time with their chaperone. You are Ellington's chaperone, and the others..." He grabbed for another page. "How do you feel, Curtis, about playing chaperone to our letter writer? Ten year old Annise?"

Curtis shifted in his seat. "Well, I'm...not very good around girls, but...I'll try. After all, asking for her father's health for Christmas is a very noble thing to do." His voice had gradually grown stronger and more excited. "Yeah, sure I'll do it. She seems like a nice little girl."

Santa smiled. "Good then. Now I've just got to find a chaperone for Dorothy, and we're set. In the meantime, I suggest you two start getting ready for their arrival. They'll need rooms, for sure; and clothes. It's much colder up here than in Hawaii. Get Abby to help you with that. Carol has already agreed to help with getting them settled in, so they should have no trouble adjusting to the idea of living in the North Pole for a while." And he rose as if to leave the room.

"But sir," asked Bernard, grabbing Santa by the arm, "how long are they staying?"

Santa gave Bernard a sideways look. "You spent so much time avoiding the Clause that I thought you'd know, Number One. They're here until Christmas."

"When do they arrive?" Curtis wondered.

"Oh, in less than twelve hours," said Santa casually, on his way out. "Better hurry up and adjust, Bernard. You don't have two days to grouch around like you normally do."

After Santa had left, Curtis gave him a mischievous grin.

"Oh shut up," Bernard snapped, but Curtis kept smiling.

"Come on, Bernard, stop moping. You may have twice as much work now, but so do I! He gave us both chaperone duty. Can't you see? It wasn't really a punishment at all!"

Considering this, Bernard felt slightly better. That is, until Curtis said,

"And another bonus: since you categorically refuse to marry, Santa assigned you a girlfriend!"

"Shut UP! Shut up shut up shut up!" And Bernard chased him out of the room in a rage.

Okay, so the beginning was a bit depressing, but you've gotta have backstory, right? And look-Bernard is back! Yeah baby! Whose getting excited!?

*crickets*

Wow, tough crowd.

Be better than my imaginary readers. Leave me a comment.

With Cheer,

Ana

P.S. NO, I'm NOT a cheerleader. GOD. Jump to conclusions much? HOLIDAY cheer, people. It's already November. Time to get festive, like, yesterday.

Oh, and picture of Ellington up tomorrow evening. ;)

Ciao!