Disclaimer: Don't own anything at all except this Santa hat I'm wearing to put me in the mood for Christmas fics. And Minnie's family and specific interpretation belong to HedgehogQuill. :)

Note: Ugh, so, I know this one took me awhile, but it's super-long to make up for it and I have excuses! I just got done with two weeks of hell filled with two presentations, five term papers, and one final, ugh. And also, this chapter went through three different song/plot ideas before I figured this one out a few days ago :) Anyway, thanks very much to the five fantabulous reviewers of the raunchiness that was Action and Pauline. As always, any dates mentioned are based on the movie occurring in June of 1957, meaning that Baby John and Minnie are thirteen during this chapter. Further notes at the end!

For: some very lovely people I know: HedgehogQuill, SheWhoDreamsByDarkness-x, xXc0okieSsNcrEamXx, and Megfly. There is no possible way this chapter (or most of what I have up) would exist without them.

—viennacantabile

merry christmas with love

three : santa claus is comin' to town

…in which Baby John and Minnie discover the answer to that age-old question: is there a Santa Claus?

.

He sees you when you're sleeping,
He knows when you're awake.
He knows when you've been bad or good,
So be good for goodness' sake!

So you'd better watch out,
You'd better not cry.
You'd better not pout,
I'm telling you why:
Santa Claus is coming to town!

.

Christmas Eve, 1955

.

Ding-dong.

Outside the door to the Goddard apartment, Baby John fidgeted. It was Christmas Eve, and Minnie Goddard had asked him over to her house to help her bake sugar cookies.

Ding-dong.

Baby John couldn't help it: he was nervous. Not only was Minnie the prettiest girl he'd ever seen in his whole life, she had a police officer for a father. A police officer who, judging from the glares Baby John always got whenever he was around, didn't seem to like him too much.

Ding-dong.

And now, to add yet another worry to his worry list, no one was answering the door. Baby John gulped. What if he'd misunderstood, what if Minnie hadn't invited him over at all? What if she actually hated him, and what if, assuming she actually answered the door, she just slammed it back in his face and got her dad to lock him up and told the whole world that he was a crazy stalker and he—

The door swung open to reveal Minnie, her pink blouse and blue skirt covered by a voluminous beribboned apron. "Hi, Johnny," she beamed. "It's so nice to see you!"

"Yeah, uh, you too," returned Baby John bashfully.

"Come on in," Minnie urged, opening the door wider.

"Okay," said Baby John meekly, following her into the apartment. "So, um, what do we gotta do?"

"I've already mixed the dough and put it in the refrigerator to chill," explained Minnie perkily as she led him into the kitchen. "It should be ready by now. All we have to do now is roll the dough out and cut the cookies and decorate and bake them. So, not too much."

Baby John blinked in trepidation. That sounded like an awful lot to him. Still, though, he was here and he was going to do his best. "Just tell me what ya want me to do," he said heroically as he surveyed the sunny kitchen.

Minnie beamed at him and gestured to one of the drawers. "I'll roll out the dough. Can you pick out the Christmas cookie cutters? Be careful, they're—sharp," she ended with a gasp, seeing that Baby John had already found this out. "Johnny, are you all right?"

"Gee, I think I'm bleedin'," Baby John said faintly, feeling a bit sick at the sight of the crimson blood oozing slowly out of his finger.

"I—I'll get you a Band-Aid," promised Minnie worriedly, hurrying over to one of the cabinets and pulling out a cardboard box. Taking a small bandage out, she raced back and smoothed it over the cut. "How does it feel?" she asked solicitously.

"Better," Baby John said bravely. "What should I do now?"

"I guess you probably shouldn't handle the cookie cutters," reflected Minnie seriously. "Do you think you could take out the decorating sugar to put on top? It's in there." She gestured toward the drawer next to the refrigerator.

Bab John nodded eagerly. Reaching for the drawer, he picked up three brightly-colored sugar canisters marked "Decorating Sugar" and waved them in the air. "This them?"

"Yes, but maybe only one—"

Crash.

"—at a time," finished Minnie weakly, staring wide-eyed at the explosion of pink, yellow, and orange sugar on the linoleum.

Baby John cringed, mentally whacking himself on the head. "Gee, Minnie, I'm awful sorry!"

"Oh, it's all right, Johnny," reassured Minnie with a faint giggle. "I don't even think we were going to use those colors, anyway!"

"We weren't?" asked Baby John, breathing a sigh of relief. "Phew."

"No," laughed Minnie, stepping over and deftly plucking four more canisters from the drawer. "It's Christmas, after all. We should use red and green, and silver and gold. Don't you think?" she ended, rather anxiously.

"Oh, yes!" agreed Baby John immediately. "Definitely!"

Minnie beamed. "Now, let me just clean this up, and we'll get started."

"I can help," volunteered Baby John, praying he wouldn't mess up again.

"Oh, no, it's fine," said Minnie brightly, shaking her head as she took a broom and began sweeping the sugar into a dustpan. "You're hurt, I can do it. You just stay right there and talk to me."

Baby John chuckled sheepishly. "Well, okay." Watching her clean the mess up, he felt kind of funny. It was almost like when they'd played house, back in kindergarten. He wondered suddenly whether Minnie remembered that, too. Baby John cleared his throat. "Say, Minnie—"

"Johnnyboy!" boomed a loud voice, a shade too cheerily. Caught completely off guard, Baby John choked and staggered as Minnie's father clapped him on the shoulder. "I didn't know you were going to be here!"

"Yes, you did, Daddy!" piped up Minnie, beaming as she hurried over and gave her father a hug. "I told you so, yesterday!"

Officer Goddard appeared to lose steam for the briefest moment. "Oh. Right. Well, anyway, how're the cookies coming along? You are helping my little girl bake her cookies, right?" he added with a glower, patting said 'little girl' on the head.

"Sure am," babbled Baby John, snatching up a stray rolling pin and brandishing it illustratively. "She makes the bestcookies. I love Minnie's cookies. I could eat 'em all day!"

"Oh, thank you, Johnny," Minnie blushed as she skipped to the refrigerator and took out a very large lump of dough.

Officer Goddard's eyebrows snapped together with an almost audible click. "You aren't going to eat her cookies and leave her all alone with a mess of little crumbs to clean up, are you?" he demanded heatedly. "You want to eat my daughter's cookies, you'd better be a responsible cookie eater and take the consequences!"

Baby John frowned. "Huh?"

"Oh, George, don't be silly," laughed a woman—presumably Mrs. Goddard—who came breezing through the kitchen and ruffled Baby John's hair before taking an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter. "I'm sure Johnny here is avery responsible young man. Aren't you, Johnny?" she called over her shoulder as she sailed out again.

Baby John didn't have any clue what they were talking about but figured it was best to nod vigorously. "Yes'm. Well, gee, I'd take responsibility for any crumbs I made," he offered.

Officer Goddard glowered. "But ya aren't gonna make any crumbs, are ya, Johnny-boy?"

Baby John gulped. "Um. No?"

"Good," snapped Minnie's father with a scowl. "'Cause if ya do, you'll be in the can faster than I can say 'juvenile delinquent.'"

"Um, okay," said Baby John meekly.

"Daddy, you're so funny!" giggled Minnie as she staggered over and deposited the dough on the table. "Don't worry about us; Johnny is doing a great job!"

"I am?" asked Baby John bashfully, his knees quaking as he glanced guiltily from his bandaged finger to the now-clean floor.

"Oh, yes!" she beamed, humming blissfully as she turned to sort through a drawer. Officer Goddard took the opportunity to shoot Baby John a ferocious glare and make an emphatic gesture that somehow did not appear to be at all friendly.

Baby John squeaked.

"Hmm? Oh, thanks, Johnny, that's exactly what I was looking for, how did you know?" exclaimed Minnie happily as she turned and saw the rolling pin in Baby John's hand.

"Ol' Johnnyboy here is just a genius!" said Officer Goddard with a bark of laughter as he clapped Baby John on the shoulder so hard that his still-shaking knees buckled. "Aren't ya, Johnnyboy?"

Baby John was saved from having to reply to this question when the phone jangled and Officer Goddard, still giving Baby John the evil eye, reached for the phone. "Goddard here."

The phone squawked so loudly that Officer Goddard nearly dropped it before catching and gingerly holding it a few inches away from his ear. Baby John thought he could vaguely make out words that sounded very much like "kids," "water balloons," and "Krupke." And…. He frowned. The voice sounded almost like Schrank.

"Right. Right. Okay, okay, I'm comin'!" exclaimed Officer Goddard in slightly panicked voice. "Keep your shirt on, Lew!"

At this, Baby John goggled. Lew was usually short for Lewis, which meant…Schrank's first name was Lewis?

Officer Goddard hung up the phone and swung around to face Baby John and Minnie.

"What is it, Daddy?" asked a wide-eyed Minnie.

Officer Goddard coughed. "Well, uh—I gotta go down to the station, take care of a situation." Baby John could have sworn the man's gaze flicked over to him before he turned to his daughter. "Don't work too hard, okay, Minnie?"

"Of course, Daddy!" chirped Minnie, beaming.

Officer Goddard's fond smile shifted into a ferocious scowl as he wheeled on Baby John. "An' no funny business!" he growled. "Got it?"

"Yup," said Baby John in a tiny voice.

Officer Goddard glowered. "Good."

And with that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen.

"Well, I guess it's time to roll out the dough now," said Minnie cheerfully in the silence that followed.

"Yeah," agreed Baby John in a faint voice, "I guess so."

.

Several hours and several decorating mishaps later, a rainbow sugar-dusted Baby John was pulling his coat on to leave when he heard footsteps behind him.

"Johnny? Johnny, wait," called Minnie. She hurried over, brushing her floury hands on her apron. She glanced seriously up at him. "Before you go, I—"

"Yeah?" asked Baby John, his heart thumping.

"I'd like to ask you something," she went on, fidgeting and not quite looking him in the face.

Baby John couldn't help the bashful grin that spread over his face. "You can ask me anythin', Minnie," he said happily.

Minnie blushed pink. "Well, I was just wondering if you would come back here later tonight. I'd like your help with something—I'll explain what it is later."

Baby John's eyes widened. "Sure, Minnie," he said eagerly. "What time ya want me to be here?"

Minnie gave a shy smile. "Oh, thank you so much, Johnny! I think eleven forty-five should be about right—that's not too late, is it?" she asked fearfully.

"Nah, that's perfect," grinned Baby John, surprised but very, very pleased. "I'll be here," he promised. "No matter what."

Minnie smiled. "Thanks. Oh, and Johnny?" she added with a blush as he turned to leave, "come by my fire escape, okay? You can get to it from the alley behind our building. Same floor, two over from the left."

Baby John nodded vigorously. "See you later."

.

At precisely eleven forty-five that night, Baby John tapped softly on Minnie's window.

"Minnie?" he hissed quietly. "Ya there?"

The window slid smoothly open, and Minnie's head popped out. "Hi, Johnny," she whispered. "Come on in."

Baby John nodded. "Okay." Very carefully, he began to ease himself inside, cautiously slipping one limb after another through the window. That done, he dropped silently to the floor and promptly fell flat on his face.

"Johnny, are you all right?" gasped Minnie, anxiously helping him up. "Oh, and how's your finger?"

Baby John grinned sheepishly, holding up a gigantic pink stuffed unicorn. "Yeah. I just, um, tripped. And it's fine."

"Oh, I'm sorry," apologized Minnie, taking the unicorn with a blush. "I have a lot of these."

Baby John looked around, eyes wide. It was the first time he had ever been inside Minnie's room, and all he could see was pink. And stuffed animals. Lots of them. "Um, yeah, you do," he offered inanely.

"Oh!" said Minnie suddenly. She colored when Baby John glanced at her. "I forgot. I made you some hot chocolate."

Baby John's jaw dropped. "Ya did?" he breathed, awed. "Gee, Minnie, that was real nice of ya."

Minnie blushed even more before hurrying over to her desk. "I thought you would be cold, coming in from out there."

"Wha—oh, yeah," said Baby John feelingly, rubbing his arms as he finally grasped the benefits of the situation. "It's, uh—real cold. Yeah," he went on, shivering for greater effect, "a guy could freeze out there without nice girls like you bein' so thoughtful."

"Are you cold?" asked Minnie worriedly as she came back and handed him a mug which, Baby John was pleased to see, did contain hot chocolate. "If you're sick, maybe I should get my parents…"

"No!" yelped Baby John in a panic, imagining what Officer Goddard would do if he found Baby John inside his daughter's bedroom at eleven forty-eight at night. He took a gulp of the hot chocolate and yipped again—it was scalding hot. "I'm good, this is good!"

"Oh, I'm so glad," sighed Minnie. "I would feel terrible if you were sick because of me, Johnny."

Baby John struggled for words. "I'd, uh—feel terrible if you felt terrible," he stammered clumsily, fanning his burnt tongue with his hand.

Minnie smiled at him and sank to sit on the floor, tucking her skirts in around her. "Sit down," she suggested.

Baby John kept his hands carefully around the mug as he settled onto Minnie's flower-shaped rug. "So why'd ya want me to come over?" he asked very, very quietly. No, he definitely didn't want to wake Officer Goddard up right now, he thought with a shudder.

Minnie, fiddling with her unicorn, was silent for awhile. "Johnny, do you believe in Santa Claus?" she finally asked softly.

Baby John froze. Being small and frequently picked on, he dreaded this question every holiday season. "Um—well—"

"It's all right if you don't," Minnie assured him, apparently used to this answer. "I know most people don't."

Drawing his knees up to his chest, Baby John glanced fearfully through the semidarkness at her; then, convinced that Minnie, of all people, would not laugh at him, looked around to make sure that the coast was clear. Only then did he face her and give a tiny nod. "Yeah, I do," he confessed quietly. It wasn't something he'd ever admit to anyone else, not even A-Rab, but Minnie, well—somehow he thought she'd understand.

He was rewarded by the prettiest smile he'd ever seen lighting up at him through the gloom. "I knew you would," Minnie whispered fervently, reaching out and squeezing his hand. "I just knew it."

Baby John's ears reddened as he daringly returned the squeeze before Minnie withdrew her hand. "So, uh, why d'ya ask?"

Minnie bit her lip. "Tonight is Christmas," she said quietly. "Santa's come to bring me presents every year, but I'm almost fourteen. Mother says he'll probably stop coming pretty soon. And before that happens, I'd just really like to meet him, just once, and—thank him, you know. And I was just hoping—would you wait with me?" she ended in a rush.

Baby John's eyes widened. "Sure, Minnie," he said eagerly. "I'll wait with you. I mean, I'm thirteen an' a half, an' I'd sure like to meet Santa before I get old, too."

"Oh, good," Minnie breathed gratefully. "I'm so glad."

"So I guess he'll be here around midnight?" asked Baby John, glancing at the pink unicorn clock on the wall, which now read eleven fifty-two.

Minnie's brows knitted. "Yes, I think so. That's what mother said when I asked what time Santa comes."

"I guess she'd know," agreed Baby John, still awed by the idea of actually coming face-to-face with Santa.

"I've put the cookies on a plate and poured some milk," said Minnie nervously, indicating the place where they sat on her desk. "And now we just have to wait a few more minutes, and then…"

"We'll meet Santa," finished Baby John. The two shared an excited look. "Gee, Minnie, I can't wait."

"Me, neither," whispered Minnie, biting her lip.

"How d'ya think he gets around the world so fast?" asked Baby John wonderingly, taking a sip of his hot chocolate, which had thankfully cooled down by now. "An' what does he do the resta the year, d'ya think?"

Minnie sighed happily. "I'm sure I don't know, but we'll be able to ask in just a few minutes. Johnny," she went on thoughtfully, "how many people do you think have met Santa?"

Baby John thought about this. "Well, there're his elves…oh, and Mrs. Claus, a'course," he added. "But I don' know. I guess we could count all the people who've been to the North Pole. An' maybe there've been other kids who've stayed up late to meet him, too. An' now there'll be us," he grinned.

Minnie sighed. "I wonder why more people don't believe in him," she said a bit dejectedly, hugging her unicorn. "It would make me sad if no one believed in me."

"Well, I believe in you, Minnie," said Baby John stoutly. Then he flushed pink. "I—I mean, Santa. I believe in Santa."

Minnie smiled at him. "I know you do, Johnny," she said softly, reaching over and squeezing his hand again. "You're one of the nicest boys I know."

Baby John went red. "I, um—you're real nice, too," he managed. Unsure what else to say, he lapsed back into silence. Minnie didn't seem to mind, though; they sat in comfortable quiet for a few minutes until she withdrew her hand.

"I think we'd better go," she whispered, indicating the clock, which read eleven fifty-eight. "Can you get the milk?"

"Yeah," Baby John whispered back, trading the mug of hot chocolate for the glass of milk on the desk. "Can ya get the cookies?"

Minnie flashed him a smile through the darkness. "Yes. Ready?"

Baby John's stomach flipped over. "Ready," he gulped.

As Minnie eased open the door and slowly crept out into the hallway, Baby John followed her, his heart thumping loudly. In all the Christmases he could remember, he'd never been so excited. He was about to meet Santa, the real thing, the guy in red, the man who brought love and joy and gifts to the whole entire world—even West Side. How could he not be thrilled?

But what if Santa wasn't there? wondered Baby John, biting his lip anxiously. What if he never showed up and the cookies got stale and the milk went bad and he and Minnie just waited all night until morning when Officer Goddard found them and kicked Baby John out in the snow on his rear? What if, as every other kid he knew believed, the horrifying truth was that Santa wasn't real at all?

As if to reassure him, Minnie glanced back and smiled at him. "He'll be there," she whispered, "he will. I promise."

Baby John blinked, feeling better in spite of his doubts. Tentatively, he reached for her hand and squeezed it. "I know."

This time, Minnie didn't pull away, just squeezed back and drew him forward with her into the living room. Baby John peered into the gloom, heart in his mouth. If Santa really was there, he would be right around the firepla—

And, sure enough, at the fireplace stood a man all in red with a stocking cap and long white beard and a sack stuffed full of presents he was unloading into the stockings hung on the mantel. Baby John yelped, almost dropping the glass of milk in his surprise. "Santa! I knew you were real!"

Santa swung around, his mouth dropping open. "Johnny! What the he—I mean, what in the world are you doing here so late with this nice young lady?" he finished pleasantly, although his face was curiously twitching.

Baby John cringed. Santa's initially very unhappy tone sounded pretty familiar from Baby John's dealings with the school guidance counselors and various police officers, and he didn't want Santa, of all people, thinking that he was just some juvenile delinquent who stayed up late and went over to girls' apartments when he should have been sleeping and waiting for Santa in his own home. Even if that was, in fact, what he was doing at the moment. Squaring his shoulders, Baby John shrugged weakly. "I, uh—well—"

Minnie hurried over, hands clasped. "Oh, Santa, I'm so sorry we startled you," she said penitently. "I just—Mother said that since I'm growing up you won't be able to come much longer, so I—I wanted to thank you for being here every year since I was born. And Johnny wanted to say thanks, too." She held out the plate of cookies. "We made these for you."

After a pause, the man in red took the plate and smiled at her, tugging at his beard. "Thank you, Minnie," he said gruffly. "You're a good girl." Taking a cookie, he blinked as a cascade of red and green sugar showered down on the plate. "This is a nice cookie."

"Johnny decorated that one," said Minnie proudly.

"Oh, I see," said Santa, eyeing Baby John sternly. "I hope you're a responsible—"

"Yeah, I'm a responsible cookie-eater," babbled Baby John in something of a panic. Gee, he thought, thunderstruck, it was true. Santa did know everything.

Santa's gaze didn't waver. "Yes. Well."

Baby John laughed nervously, then choked as Santa tossed a wrapped gift at him and clapped him roughly on the shoulder. "Merry Christmas, Johnnyboy," he said in a gruff, oddly familiar voice. "Since you're here, anyway. One less stop I have to make."

"M—merry Christmas, Santa," he managed with an awed stare at his present. "Gee, thanks."

Santa coughed uncomfortably before gulping down the last of the milk and wrapping the cookies into the napkin Minnie had thoughtfully provided. "Don't mention it. Now, you go upstairs and sleep, Minnie, and Johnny, you run along home before your mother finds out you're not home." He smiled. "And you never know, I might be seeing you again next year."

"Goodbye, Santa!" chorused Baby John and Minnie. "Merry Christmas!"

Santa grinned. "Merry Christmas, kids."

There was a awed silence as the red-coated man shouldered his sack and headed for the door to the apartment. Then:

"Um, Santa?" piped up Baby John, "shouldn't you be going, y'know, up the chimney instead?"

Santa turned around and regarded Baby John with a toothy grin eerily reminiscent of…someone; Baby John couldn't remember who. "Well," he said heartily, "aren't you a smart boy. But you see, Santa gets a little tired of going up and down chimneys all the time, so tonight I parked my reindeer on the street."

Baby John gaped. "Cool, can we see?"

"No!" snapped Santa, looking flustered and tugging his cap even lower over his eyes. "I mean—they're invisible! Right. Invisible reindeer. They're a, uh, special kind of North Pole breed."

"Even Rudolph?" asked Minnie, eyes wide.

"Y—yes, even Rudolph," nodded Santa cheerily, coughing. "Otherwise I'd love to show ya!"

"Oh," said Baby John, disappointed. Then he brightened. "Could we ride on your sleigh, instead?"

"No!" Santa practically shouted. "That is—Santa has a lot of other children to visit tonight, so he'd better be going," he ended with a nervous chuckle, edging toward the door.

"Oh, okay," shrugged Baby John agreeably.

"Thank you again for visiting," said Minnie shyly. "It means so much to us."

"Yeah," nodded Baby John fervently. "None'a the other kids believe in you."

At this, Santa paused, regarding them with an odd look in his eyes. "You two're good kids," he said quietly, "and I hope you always believe in Santa Claus." His gaze rested on Baby John. "I know I believe in you. Merry Christmas."

And with that, he strode toward the door and left.

"Wow," whispered Baby John after a minute or two. "We just met Santa Claus."

"We did," agreed Minnie, sighing happily as she locked the door. "And he was just like I thought he'd be."

Baby John suddenly smacked himself in the head. "I can't believe I forgot to ask him if he ever gets tired of fat jokes!"

Minnie smiled. "I guess he would," she offered dreamily. "After all, that's the nice thing about Santa, I think. He's human. He must get sad, and frustrated, and lonely, too, just like the rest of us. But even though he's not any different from us, he still does everything he can each Christmas to bring joy to people all over the world, people he'll never even meet. People who don't even believe in him." She paused. "And I think that's wonderful."

"Yeah," reflected Baby John thoughtfully. "I guess you're right." He glanced at Minnie shyly. "Gee, thanks for askin' me over tonight. I wouldna missed it for the world."

Minnie blushed. "You're welcome. I couldn't think of a better person to meet Santa with."

Baby John turned pink and cast around for a change of subject, flustered. "Y'know, he seemed kinda familiar," he said wildly. "Like I'd seen him before."

"Maybe you met him when you were little and just don't remember it," suggested Minnie. She smiled shyly at him. "I felt the same way."

Baby John shrugged, still embarrassed. "I guess so. I'd better go, though."

"It is getting late," agreed Minnie, leading the way back into her room and to the window.

Baby John climbed through and turned around to face her, giving her a little wave. "Well, bye."

Minnie smiled back at him. "Bye."

Baby John grinned back—he couldn't help it. "Bye."

"Bye," returned Minnie obligingly.

"Bye," repeated Baby John, waving again.

"Bye—oh, wait, I forgot!" exclaimed Minnie, diving back into her room. She emerged a minute later with a small bag in her hands. "I made these cookies especially for you," she informed him with a blush. "Merry Christmas."

"Wow," said Baby John as he took the pink bag, amazed. "Thanks." His face fell. "Gee, I don't have anythin' for you…"

Minnie shook her head. "I don't need anything," she said quietly, giving him that heart-stopping smile again. "You being here, and believing with me—that's enough. Thank you, Johnny." She leaned forward and pressed a shy kiss to his cheek.

"You're welcome, Minnie," managed Baby John, feeling warm all over despite the snow that was beginning to fall. "M—merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Johnny," said Minnie softly. "Good night."

.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished…. No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

—Francis Pharcellus Church, "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus"

.

.end.

Note the Second: I feel I should let you all know that there was totally a deleted scene planned where Baby John found "Santa" trying to get back into the house, but, alas, it had to be cut. Actually, there were about three pages full of deleted scenes from all the ideas that I had, but I'm pretty sure you're all glad that I cut them, since this is the longest chapter yet. :) I have most of the next chapter written, so unless I drastically extend it, it should be up tomorrow. :)

Music: I have three recordings of "Santa Claus Is Comin' to Town," by Faith Hill, Rockapella (an a cappella group), and Frank Sinatra. All are excellent, go listen. :)

Hint: Well, it's A-Rab and Anybodys's turn next. And it will, I hope, be epic. :)

love, viennacantabile