Disclaimer:All of the characters are the property of Dick Wolf. I thank him, the writers, the directors and all the great actors who brought them "to life" for our benefit. Any "liberties" I have taken with them stems from my fond admiration (and a few personal quirks I will seek "help" for).

AN: This story is not set within the accepted "canon" for the characters as it is only officially portrayed by the TV series. So I get to "fool around" with them in ways in which they've never been seen, stretching that to the limit and suspending the "reality" that is "fiction" to start with…now there's a contradiction in terms!!!

(And yeah Goren I know the proper word for that is oxymoron…I said to hang the stockings not try them on)

I'm sure we'd all like to think of Bobby having a Happy Christmas…but it wouldn't be FF without a little dose of angst for him to suffer first…

HAVE YOU BEEN A GOOD BOY THIS YEAR?

Bobby had always hated going to see Santa. He didn't know why and neither did his mother recall, why as a toddler he developed an irrational fear of the occasion. It wasn't like he'd been molested or anything. Nor had he ever suffered the trauma of seeing his Mommy kissing Santa Claus. Underneath Magnoliopsida Santalales or any other type of seasonal foliage.

But even within his own memory he could recall his Mom, with his brother hanging onto one hand pulling her towards the grotto, keen and exicted. Whilst he, fearfully and often in tears, tried to drag her the other way. As other kids stood in line bubbling with excitement he was blubbing and begging to go home.

Each year Mom tried to explain there was nothing to be afraid of, pointing out the cool enthusiasm of the other children. Nor did his "Santa loving" brother help, using it as excuse to be mean to him behind Mom's back. Only made him worse and the one occasion Bobby did manage to evade the ordeal, it was thanks to getting in such a state he threw up over Frank. Meant neither of them got to see Santa that year and the following week of torment from his disappointed sibling was worth it.

So why he found himself waiting in the semi darkness Bobby had no idea. And even less why he should be doing it at all at his age. Unless it was to prove something to himself he should have addressed, perhaps with professional help, many years ago?

He could still feel his heart beating rather fast and a churning in his stomach. Perhaps his terror stemmed from the colour of Santa's suit and all that white fur? Or the unnatural facial whiskers? Unnatural beyond the remotest Blue Grass counties of Kentucky anyway.

Could it be that it was rooted in the slightly odd smell he could recall coming from one of the Santa's? Though at this distance of time, he couldn't remember if that was the same Santa had holes in the pants of his suit looked very much like cigarette burns. And a stain on the coat the colour of spaghetti sauce. Even then he'd been a very observant child.

Or maybe the basis of his fear stemmed from guilt? That he knew he wasn't entirely telling the truth when he said, "Yes. I've been a good boy all year". Though more accurately it was Mom or Frank claimed that on his behalf whilst he sniffed, wiped his nose on his sleeve and made out he badly needed the bathroom.

Perhaps Santa really did know of all his childish indiscretions and deceits? Like who really broke Mrs Watson's window and wrote a rude word on the bathroom wall at school. And that it was he routinely took nibbles from the carrots left out for the reindeer? Though that was something of a scientific experiment after someone said they improved your night vision.

Bobby had no idea why he didn't just get up and run whilst the going was good. As the door opened and Santa walked in he sat to attention. His mouth dropped open as if to scream but no sound came out.

"Ho, ho, ho, Robert" said Santa kindly "So have you been a good boy this year?"

"I…um…maybe" he squeaked in a very doubtful soprano he didn't have, even before puberty. Coughed and swallowed hard. "I think so Santa" he said in a more normal voice.

His breath shuddered as he looked at Santa. No smell of whiskey or stale cigars. Definitely Chanel No 5. Not a white whisker in sight. Just brunette waves peeking out from the red and white hat. And the scant panties and bra in red lace, trimmed with white fur, were a real improvement on moth eaten cloth.

"Good. So what would you like for Christmas Robert?"

Bobby's fear of Santa was gone as he motioned his wife towards him on the sofa. "You climb into my lap baby and I'm sure I'll think of something"

AN: Well I guess we can assume about Bobby…question is…did Santa come that night?

With my very best wishes to everyone, wherever you are in the world and whatever this time of year means to you...

Clueless xxx

PS I've asked Santa to bring me a sensible head this year...again.