Disclaimer: Neither Gundam Wing or The Christmas Carol are mine.

Yes, like this hasn't been done before, but we wanted to do it too.

Plotz and Ponder are ours, but I'm sure you'll notice a resemblance especially if you are a fan of the Muppets.

Lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

Get out of there! You are squishing my ears!

Is the clown gone?

Yes, the clown is gone. So is the first ghost.

The clown was scarier than the ghost.

That's a matter of opinion. Shall we move on now?

Second ghost?

Second ghost.

Scary?

Incredibly so. Though perhaps not the way that you are thinking.....

Quatre huddled under his bed, visions of Christmases Past dancing in his head.

"Make it stop! Make it stop! She moved to Africa! She's nowhere near here! I'm safe. I'm safe!"

The clock tolled two.

"Hello...." He heard the bed curtains move. "Um... hello? I was supposed to meet some miserable bastard here at 2 am?"

The voice sounded cheerful and friendly, gushing with goodwill and happiness. Quatre peeked out from under the bed. A young man with a long braid stood there, dressed in red and black. He grinned at Quatre.

"I'm here, but do I have to go?" Quatre didn't want to leave his hiding space. "I think I've been scared enough..."

"Have you discovered the true meaning of Christmas?"

"Does it involve chains, farm animals and the color pink?" The spirit shook his head.

"No, I don't think so." He raised an eyebrow. "At least not in my circles it doesn't. Try again?"

Quatre thought for a moment. "It's a time to hide from your relatives?"

The young man laughed and shook his head, his braid swinging. "Good guess, but no. Come on." CRACK! His braid suddenly wrapped itself around Quatre's throat with the precision of a fedora wearing whip-cracking adventurer, and pulled him out from under the bed. "Come on, we've got things to see."

Choking, Quatre got to his feet. "What's the rush?"

"Look, you may have no social life, buddy, but I do. A very possessive, jealous social life that doesn't like me taking a long time on my jobs- get it?" The spirit grinned, not so nicely this time. "So, let's get crackin'." His braid whipped out again and caught Quatre full across the face.

Stars fill the air as the scene changes.

Ooo! Stars are nice!

I think so too.

Quatre's vision cleared and he found himself standing on a busy street corner. People were passing him, calling out greetings and wishing each other a Merry Christmas. They didn't seem to notice the pajama clad Quatre or his black-clad companion.

"Don't worry," the ghost smiled. "They can't see us." He grabbed Quatre's wrist and pulled him into the crowd. "At least, I don't think they can. If you get arrested for public indecency, don't blame me."

"What?"

"Have you ever noticed that everything seems better at Christmastime?"

"Uh no." Quatre frowned. "In fact I though that people got more depressed around the holidays."

CRACK!

"OW!"

"Don't spoil my mood." The ghost frowned. "Look around you. Look at all these people enjoying themselves, forgetting their troubles for one day at least. This is the day when we are supposed to show our family and friends how much they mean to us." Quatre raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Have you met my family?" He asked dubiously. The spirit lit up.

"What a great idea! Let's go!"

CRACK! The stars resumed their dance for a moment.

"I think I miss the stick," Quatre muttered as his vision cleared again. "Where are we?" There was a big pile of giggling bodies in the center of the room. "A whorehouse?"

"Your family's house. At least one of them. The closest actually." The ghost replied. "They sure are different than you..."

The pile of bodies in the center of the room shifted slightly. A voice called out: "Right hand red!"

"That's the right hand," a voice said from the bottom of the pile, "but that's not the red dot."

"Yes I am!" A voice replied. "Dot is one of my nicknames!"

"That's the spirit Dorothy!"

"Is it the custom to play games at Christmas time?" Quatre asked the ghost as they watched, fascinated.

"It's a great time to play games," the ghost replied. "I haven't tried this one though, but I am definitely going to try it later!"

The pile collapsed in a fit of giggles.

"Game over!" A young dark haired lady extracted herself from the pile gracefully. Zechs's wife was indeed as flexible as he claimed, Quatre thought.

"That was fun!" The guests pulled themselves up off of the floor. "What next?"

"Strip poker!" Zechs declared. "Everybody- panty up!"

"Do we have to stay for this?" Quatre asked. He didn't need to know more of his relatives this well.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay? It's just getting good!" The spirit laughed. "Ah well, time's a wastin anyway. Let's move on to friends."

"Rashid's dead. I don't have any other friends."

"That's what you think."

CRACK!

Quatre blinked. They stood outside a ramshackle tenement building in the city's poorest district.

"Who do I know here?"

"You'll see." The ghost caught his hand and pulled him through the door.

They stood in a fire-lit kitchen. A young woman was bent over a stove while two more were busy at the hearth. One was turning a goose on a spit; the other was poking the potatoes among the ashes.

"Not too much longer, Sister Cathy!" Said the potato poker.

"Be careful not to fall in the fire, Carrie," her sister responded. "Clarissa- how is the goose?"

"Nearly done!" the other girl replied. "Will Brother Trowa and Tiny Trieze be home soon?"

"They should be," Cathy straightened up and brushed herself off.

The front door opened and Trowa came in, a tiny boy with a crutch on his shoulder. He set the boy down and was immediately set upon by his sisters.

"TROWA!" They slammed him back against the door with the force of their collective embrace.

"Lucky guy," the ghost commented. "Are they really all his sisters?"

"I think so," Quatre replied. "He has four dependents listed on his tax form."

"Oof!" Trowa hugged them as the tiny boy made his way to the table. "It's good to see you too, sisters. Is dinner nearly ready?"

"It is!" The girls let him go and hurried back to their places.

"Then can we eat?" Tiny Trieze demanded. "I'm starving!"

The girls bustled around bringing food to the table.

Quatre frowned. "Such a meager feast. I pay Trowa so little and he has to feed all these vultures? Why doesn't he throw them out?"

"They are his family."

"He could sell them off."

"Slavery?"

"Prostitution."

CRACK!

"OW!"

"You could just increase his salary," the ghost suggested, his braid swinging ominously.

"I guess I could," Quatre eyed the braid warily.

"You guess?" The braid swung a bit faster.

"I will."

"Good boy."

Trowa lifted his glass in the air. "Before we begin, we need to toast my employer, without whom we would not have this feast."

"Toast Mr. Winner?" Sister Cathy demanded. "Are you insane? If I had him here I would give him something to feast upon!" She waved the carving knife threateningly. Quatre hid behind the ghost.

"I told you, they can't see you."

"I'm not chancing it."

"Sister! It's Christmas!" Trowa protested.

"Well, I suppose on the blessed day of Christmas I can raise my glass to Mr. Winner. Even if he is odious."

"And bad-tempered!" Chimed in Clarrisa.

"And badly dressed!" Added Carrie.

"Can we get on with it? Some of us are actually hungry!" Tiny Trieze snapped. "To Mr. Winner! Now pass me that goose!"

"What a sweet child," said Quatre sardonically.

"But a very ill one," the ghost looked sober for a moment. "I can't see too far into the future, but I see an empty chair there next Christmas."

"Tiny Trieze is going to die?" Quatre gasped. "Then I don't have to give Trowa as big a raise as I thought..."

CRACK!

Quatre found himself lying on his own bedchamber floor.

"You are a miserable bastard," the ghost of Christmas Present complained. "But I doubt you'll be able to retain that attitude much longer. My lover will knock some sense into you, or die trying."

"I thought you guys were already dead."

"I meant you'll die trying..." The ghost laughed chillingly and vanished.

Quatre was once again alone in his room.