2350

The sound of jingle bells woke Tom with a jolt. The motion detector! It worked!

It hadn't been easy, setting it up. It belonged to Moira - she used it to keep Tom out of her room. (Like I'd want any of her boring old stuff. It's not like she had any good toys or anything.) So first he'd had to steal the detector, then reprogram the alarm, (he wanted something more Christmas-y and that wouldn't wake up the whole house like the shrill sound his sister used) then hide it under the tree where no one else would see it. Real Starfleet Intelligence-level work he was doing.

Because he needed proof. Stupid Preston Weaver said Santa was a myth used to make kids behave. Tom had had to come home and ask Kath what a "myth" was, but once she told him he wanted to march over to Preston's house and punch him in the nose. Santa was not made-up! That's crazy talk! If he was fake, then who ate the cookies? Who brought him his perfect 1:500 scale model of the Friendship One? Whose woolly red mitten did he find half buried in ash in the fireplace last year?

Obviously Preston was just a jerk and said all that because Santa never brought him anything. Tonight Tom was going to get the pictures to prove it to him.

He slid his mother's holocamera out from under his bed. (He'd had to steal that, too. He was starting to get worried that all this sneaking around might impact the quality or volume of his Christmas haul this year. Meh. Totally worth it.) He slowly opened the door and creeped into the darkened hallway, thankful for the nightlight his mom left on in case he had to use the bathroom. Normally he bounded down the stairs two at a time (or used the banister when no one was looking) but tonight, stealthiness was of the essence and he took them slow. He carefully picked his way over the squeaky step halfway down, keeping his eyes and ears open for clues. He was no fool - if Santa heard him, he'd be halfway up the chimney before Tom even got the camera ready.

There was the sharp click of boot heels against tile. Someone was in the kitchen! Barra's frosted sugar cookies were the best. Tom would start there, too, if he were Santa. He slid slowly across the hardwood in stockinged feet, edging his way towards the kitchen door. He readied the camera, raising it to chest height, finger hovering over the button. He let one eye peer around the door frame into the dimly lit room.

Hmm. Santa was a lot thinner than he'd imagined. The tall man's back was facing him and mostly shrouded in darkness, but it was clear from Tom's vantage point that old St. Nick had a rather lean build, kind of sporting-like. The six-year old shrugged. He supposed hauling around sacks of toys all over the world meant you were in good shape, even with the cookies. The red suit he was wearing didn't have the furry white trim from all the pictures, but Tom had assumed those might be a little inaccurate, seeing as no one ever got to actually see Santa Claus on a regular basis.

He aimed the holocamera and pressed down on the button, triggering a faint whirr. Santa turned.

"Dad!" Tom exclaimed, nearly dropping the camera in his surprise.

His father smiled and stepped closer. He knelt down to Tom's level and eased the camera from his hands. "Tommy," he whispered, "what are you doing out of bed? It's almost two in the morning."

Tom leaned forward into his father's arms, pleased that he now had a co-conspirator. "I set a trap for Santa." he whispered back. "I was going to take his picture."

"Oh." His father nodded back at him. "I see. Well, I'm sorry to say you just missed him."

Tom deflated at that. Now Preston would never admit the truth! A sudden thought perked him up, though. "You're home! Mommy said you weren't going to be home for Christmas!"

"Yes, well," Dad said with a smile, "that's how I know you missed Santa. How do you think I got home so early?"

Tom's eyes widened at this. His father? Got to meet Santa? He had so many questions!

Before he could launch into them, though, he let out a wide yawn. Dad put the camera on the nearest counter and swept Tom up into his arms. "I think you'd better go back to bed, son."

Tom let his head sag onto his father's shoulder, inhaling the scent of his aftershave. Tom had missed it, while Dad had been away. Over three months this time! "I have questions."

"You always do," Dad replied as he walked across the foyer.

"Mommy said we could have second Christmas when you got back. Can we still have second Christmas?" Tom hugged his dad a little tighter.

"I don't think so." His father chuckled as he mounted the stairs. "We can make tomorrow twice as good as usual, though."

"Were you eating Santa's cookies?" He let his eyes close now. He didn't want to - there was so much he needed to know! But they felt really heavy.

"Just one," his father murmured in his ear. "Santa's very good about sharing."

"I missed you, Daddy," Tom mumbled as his father lay him down into his bed and tucked a well-loved blue elephant under his arm.

"I missed you, too, Tommy." Dad gave him a kiss on his forehead. The mattress sagged as his father lay down onto the bed next to him, pulling Tom into his chest with a strong arm. "Merry Christmas."