AN: I based this on an e-mail that I get around this time every year. When you don't have cable, and you watch every DBZ episode from Ginyu to the end, things tend to ferment. I know it's a bit OOC, but I tried. And I did this in one sitting, with the email open in another window.

Oh, and yes, I did do to my husband what Bulma does to Vegeta at the end. Quite entertaining. Have to do it again. The cats liked the bells and ran off with them. So now I need new ones.

-

It was five minutes to dinner, and I still didn't smell food cooking. Trunks and Goten hadn't noticed yet, but I had. This damned season — as if the woman didn't shop enough the other 11 months of the year, she had to go overboard this month.

I heard the door slam downstairs, felt the almost imperceptible rush of cooler air. Preparing my best "rant" face, I stormed downstairs. "Woman! Why weren't you back in time to make dinner?" I roared.

I wasn't prepared for the vision standing in the middle of the living room. Bulma, my headstrong, impetuous wife, was positively glowing with excitement and shaking off a light coating of ... snow? When did it start snowing? It doesn't snow here.

I realized I was staring and made sure to deepen the scowl. The snow fairy standing before me wasn't the least bit fazed. "Merry Christmas to you too, Vegeta," she chirped.

I folded my arms. "I don't do Christmas."

She stuck out her tongue. "Well, the rest of us do, so I'll say it anyway," she sassed, sugar and vinegar at the same time, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever," I replied. "I suppose you want a hand carrying these things. Even though you were perfectly capable of carrying them all until you saw me."

Bulma laughed. "You're so sweet, Vegeta. Since you offered so lovingly, you can help carry stuff into the kitchen."

Sweet. I made a face, but reached for some of the bags. I wasn't expecting the swat, and so she actually made contact.

"Not that one! That one has your present in it!" she scolded. "Take the ones with the groceries."

I looked at the bag the she claimed had a gift for me and shuddered inwardly. She wouldn't, would she? From there? Then again, the bag didn't have to match the gift, or it didn't have to be mine at all. I tried to read her face, but she wasn't giving anything away. Wench. I grabbed the other bags and followed her into the kitchen.

"Honestly, Vegeta," she asked over her shoulder, "didn't you have any fun growing up? I mean, every year you act like such a Scrooge. Lighten up a little."

I put the bags on the table and forced my tone into something expressionless. "By the time I was five, I was Frieza's 'guest'." She never asked before. There had been holidays and festivals, but I rarely was allowed to them. Something always 'came up.'

She put her hands on her hips and stared me down. Gods, if her body had the strength to match her will, we would have been an unstoppable team. Come to think of it, we probably are.

"Well. It's never too late to have a happy childhood, and I'm going to see you have one if it kills me." The glint returned to her eyes. "I could always hunt down the dragonballs ..."

"Don't you dare!" I snapped. I caught the smirk — is that what I look like? No wonder people find it so unnerving — and realized she baited me. And I fell for it. I harumphed and turned to go.

She stopped me with a touch on the arm. I froze, and remembered I was in the doorway. I looked up, then down, into her smiling face.

"Ancient Earth tradition. On my honor."

I raised one eyebrow. Old joke, getting a little worn, but it was traditional by now. "And did the Ancients use plastic berries?"

She grinned. Maybe it wasn't worn out yet. "Always." She grabbed both sides of my face and pulled me down for a noisy kiss. I knew it was coming, debated resisting, but didn't.

"EEEEEWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!" We broke apart to see Trunks and Goten peering around the opposite doorframe.

"Oh good. I was just about to go looking for you two. Get in here and help Bulma with dinner." Synchronized groaning, but they sucked it up and trooped across the living room and into the kitchen.

"That was evil," she murmured. I smirked and walked out.

It had been a long time since I had actually seen snow. Growing up on a desert world will do that; only certain locales, usually mountaintops, ever saw ice and snow. And most of Frieza's clients preferred more temperate planets.

I had to admit, it looked nice. Most of the compound lights were off, and the moonlight reflected over the fresh powder. Full moon. Longest night. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, trying to remember.

A thump behind me broke my reverie. Now it could have been Gohan, come to bring his little brother home early. It could have been that clown Kakarott. It could even have been some new enemy trying to destroy the world. It could have been any number of things, but it certainly wasn't a fat human in a red suit - snowy beard, rosy cheeks, and all - backed by eight reindeer and a sleigh. I blinked. Wasn't there supposed to be one with a red nose? I blinked again and there were nine reindeer, the lead one's nose glowing brightly.

"Hello, Vegeta," he said warmly.

"I'm stone cold sober and you don't exist."

He looked at me with a mixture of sorrow and compassion and sighed heavily. "Do you have somewhere we can sit? We need to talk."

The thought crossed my mind that I was going crazy, and he flashed me a smile that would melt the polar ice caps. "Don't you miss being a part of family? Of traditions as old as the hills?"

"No," I said flatly. "Apparently you don't see me when I'm sleeping or awake. I haven't wanted that for years." Mentally, I cursed myself; I saw the spark when he picked up on my slip.

"I'm an old man, Vegeta. Why don't we go over to that lovely little gazebo and have a nice chat?"

I sighed. If this was a hallucination, it was a singularly stubborn one. If I tried to vaporize it, and it was all in my head, I'd take out half the complex.

And if I wasn't seeing things, how do explain to your son that you just killed Santa?

I claimed one bench, making it a throne by mere presence. It was an art I perfected a long time ago. He wasn't impressed, settling opposite me with a contented groan. The snow continued to float down, cutting us off from the rest of the world.

"I fail to see the problem," I sneered. "This ridiculous holiday seems to be two parts crass commercialism mixed with one part blind faith in a religion the populace only pays lip service to the rest of the year." He sat across from me, nodding patiently. "And you talk about tradition when your current appearance was dreamed up less than a century ago."

He laughed, a deep, rolling chuckle that was unlike any Santa in any mall that Bulma dragged me to over the years. "Of course I change my form now and then to suit fashion. Don't you? Does it stop you from being yourself?" Then he asked me if I remembered something Raditz had mentioned long ago.

I gaped at him for a moment, then caught myself. "This is like that ridiculous movie, isn't it? I'm having a dream that pretends to be real, but is only pieces of my memories. You don't look like a Goblin king."

"He had this switchboard theory of the universe," Santa went on amiably. "The energy you put into you beliefs influences the real existence of the archetypes— oh, let me put it simpler: 'In the Beginning, Man created God.'"

He lit a long-stemmed pipe. The tobacco somehow smelled like Christmas and every puff sent up a wreath of smoke. "I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than he told it, but that's pretty good for a mortal. Are you with me so far?"

"Sure," I lied as unconvincingly as possible. Was this going to end any time soon? Still, the smoke smelled good. It may be a hallucination, but at least it's not unbearable.

Santa sighed heavily. "Why do you scoff at the boys leaving out tea and cookies for me?"

"Because Bulma and I are the ones to eat them."

"Vegeta, Vegeta. Don't you remember ancestor plates?"

"Of course. Something was always set aside."

"Did you ever really believe your ancestors ate the food."

I glared at him. "You're a sneaky old elf."

"I believe the term is 'jolly old elf,' my friend." He watched me, eyes twinkling under those bushy brows.

"All right. Fine." I crossed my arms. "Spirits consume the spiritual essence and the living could then consume the physical. Happy now?"

"Mm-hmmmm." Santa smiled through his snow-white beard.

I rallied quickly. "What about the toys? I know for a fact they aren't made by you and a bunch of nonunion elves."

"Oh, that's quite true. Manufacturing physical objects out of pure energy is terribly expensive and bends several laws of Nature. We only get to do that on special occasions. To do it globally, annually, is almost impossible. The missus and the elves and I do have a shop up North. Nothing you or the Air Force will ever find. What we make up there is what makes this time a holiday, no matter what the humans call it."

"Don't tell me," I replied, rolling my eyes. "You make the sun come back. Yay."

"Oh my, no. That solar cycle stuff isn't our department. Our part is making it a holiday. We make a mild, non-addictive, psychedelic thing called Christmas Spirit."

He dipped his fingers in a pocket and tossed redgoldgreensilver glitter at me. I could have ducked. I should have. I don't know why I didn't.

It smelled like the snow, and pine needles, and the cedar logs in the fireplace. It smelled like that odd fruitcake, Bulma's mother's famous stuffing, like that foamy white stuff the boys are supposed to spray on the windows with stencils and usually spray on each other. It felt like wind, a sneak-attack hug from my son, that jacket Bulma bought me, the pine needles under my feet that never seem to get vacuumed up. I saw twinkling lights, Bulma hanging that blasted mistletoe in the doorways, beaming faces as presents were opened in years gone by. Several carols played simultaneously in a weird harmony. I fought my way back to reality — such as it was — and glared sternly at the apparition across from me.

"Fun stuff," I said dryly. "You need a prescription for that?"

"Oh, Vegeta, why are you such a hard case? I told you, it's non-addictive and has no harmful side effects. Would Santa Claus lie to you?"

I opened my mouth and clamped it shut again. We stared at each other for a while. Non-addictive, my ass. I wanted more, but there was no damned way in hell I was going to admit it.

"Hmmm. I think you need something stronger. Try a sugarplum."

I didn't have to take it. Ahh, who was I kidding? I'm a Saiyan, it was food, and dammit, this was the calmest I'd felt in decades.

I tasted rum balls. Peppermint. Chi-Chi's favorite fudge recipe. Those weird candies with the picture that went all the way through. A chorus line of Christmas treats danced in my mouth.

Greeting cards taped to the refrigerator door, the door frames, everywhere. Trooping through god-knows-how many places, looking for the perfect pine. Taking some off the bottom because the star wouldn't fit and watching my wife beam. Lights, ornaments, tinsel. Lifting Trunks up to hang his stocking before he could fly. All those crazy rituals I watched but never joined, feeling like the alien I was. Watching the cats try to mangle the tree and nearly knocking it over in the process.

I came back to reality more slowly this time, an odd expression on my face, and a tightness in my eyes. The phrase "visions of sugar plums" took on a whole new meaning to me.

Somehow, he knew. "They don't know your rituals and traditions. They're offering you the only ones they know. Care for another sugarplum?"

I did. I tasted gingerbread. Eggnog the way Bulma liked it best. Fresh sugar cookies; not the store bought ones, but the ones made by hand, usually involving as much sugar on the floor as in the dough, and as much dough filched from the bowls as was made into cookies. Getting roped - literally - into stringing popcorn and berries for the trees, and enjoying it. Carrying Trunks to bed because he fell asleep waiting for Santa, again. Waking up four hours later to hear him pleading with his mother to let him open his stocking before breakfast, at least.

I'd drawn a knee to my chest, my chin resting on it. My chest felt tight, like ice cracking in the sun. Santa looked misty-eyed.

"Want to sit on my lap and tell me what you want for Christmas?" The grin beneath that beard was pure mischief.

"Funny," I shot back, but there was no bite in it. He'd already given me what I didn't know I wanted. Or maybe just shown me.

"I have to go now. I've got other stops to make, and you have work to do."

I remembered that we hadn't done the popcorn strings this year and just nodded. I followed him back to the sleigh. The reindeer were pawing impatiently at the moon-kissed snow. I swear the freak in the front winked at me.

"Don't forget the tea and cookies. Gets cold up there."

"Right. Sure."

He shrugged in response to a question I never voiced. "Whatever night you expect. Christmas Eve is the most common. Don't wait up though. Visits like this are tightly rationed. Laws of Nature, you know."

"Whatever. If it's so strict, why me?"

He laid a finger along his nose and winked. Thanks. That explained a lot.

The sleigh soared up, and he really did exclaim something. Sounded like ... No, it couldn't be! Smart-assed elf! How did he know Saiyan?

The question carried me back to the house. As I stepped into the hallway, I could hear that Trans-whatever Orchestra playing from the kitchen. The one that had electric guitars.

I paused in the doorway, counting plates. Apparently Kakarott and the rest of his family were coming tonight, along with Videl. She must take after her mother; how she came from that flamboyant idiot is beyond me.

Bulma looked up and smiled. "We were beginning to wonder if you got lost." Her gaze flicked up above my head. She waited for me to move out from under the mistletoe, giving me a fair chance before she pounced.

I didn't budge. I could see the hesitation in her eyes as I leaned against the doorframe. This is your only chance, Woman. I have no clue where I'm going or what I'm doing, so you have to meet me halfway.

She strolled around the table and draped her arms around my neck. I wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her close, capturing her lips with mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the boys making faces.

"Wow! This is a surprise!"

I groaned and broke away. "Shut up, Kakarott. Just shut up." I looked back down into my wife's radiant face and winked.

-

Epilogue

Christmas morning. Three hours of sleep. Goten stayed over, after being assured Santa would know he was here and adjust his route accordingly. They all stayed, as a matter of fact. The Namek managed to make himself scarce before he could be invited, and Three-Eyes and the Mime doll had other plans, although they promised Bulma they would stop by at some point. The monk and the android were bringing their daughter in an hour, and I could hear the ex-boyfriend singing from the front yard. Enthusiasitcally off-key, I might add. Oh Tidings of Joy.

The kids were having fun, at least. Marron was content to sit on the floor and drag tinsel for the cats. The boys fought over who got to hand out presents, before agreeing to take turns. Then they fought over who got to go first. That one was settled by a coin toss. Chocolate, of course.

Goten won. Trunks ate the coin. At least he remembered to unwrap it this year.

I sneaked a glance at my wife when Trunks handed me a gift from her. He looked ridiculous in a too-big red hat with white fur trim that kept sliding down over one eye. Still, somehow that seemed part of the ... charm.

Bulma's expression wasn't giving away anything, except a certain smugness. The package felt suspiciously light, and I wasn't sure I wanted to open it in public.

I handled it as I would a live bomb or a venomous snake; knowing her sense of humor, they would probably be less dangerous. Probably why we got along so well, despite outward appearances.

It was an empty box. Well, not completely. There was a bit of tissue paper in it. I stared at her, puzzled and more than a little apprehensive. She just grinned.

"Look at the box again."

I did. Waitaminute. This was from — This was a box for women's underwear. Nice set too, if the tiny picture on the end was any indication. The box was empty ... Oh no. She didn't. She didn't.

The look on her face was priceless. She did. "You," I said calmly, "are evil." She giggled behind her hands.

Kakarott pulled the box out of my hands before I could stop him, not realizing that he had covered the only clue as to it's contents. "I don't get it. What's so funny about an empty box?"

Bulma started laughing harder and I groaned, burying my face in one hand. Kakarott's wife snatched the box. She understood perfectly as soon as she saw it. Probably was planning for next Christmas.

Oh, gross. I didn't need that mental image. I'd replace it with the implicit promise of the empty box, but I'd never get through the rest of the day if I did. She would pay for this. Later.

After all, it was Christmas.