Title: Dear Santa

Author: Dark Roswellian Angel

Elizabeth McDowell

Disclaimer: I do. I so totally do. Which means that Alec will, of course, be waiting for me in my stocking Christmas morning. Bring on the Christmas cheer :)

Copying/Downloading/Posting: Please let me know first, and let me know where my work will be posted as I would love to come visit it. Make sure that it is put under my name, as I would love to hear how others feel about it. Thanks ;)

Rating: K+, just in case

Synopsis: 7-(short)parter. Snow Day in Las Vegas, NV put me in the mood. It's Christmas time, and several people are writing their letters to Santa. A lot of those letters seem to have a recurring theme. Find out what it is and whether or not Santa will respond. I will update one chapter a day and finish on Christmas Day- It's a Merry Christmas present to my readers.

A/N: Part 4 is up. Yay! This was also only going to be one letter, but I read through my reviews right before posting and found that Angelofdarkness78 had another fun idea that totally fit in with the mood of the letter I'd already written, so I'm going to use that in here too- thanks again :) Hope you all enjoy :)

The next day had all the inhabitants of the North Pole wondering what they would find in the arriving letters. They all hoped to hear more about the transgenics, most especially Alec and Max who were becoming some of the most talked about, hypothesized about, and popular individuals that had caught their interest in quite some time. It seemed to be the general consensus that Alec and Max must be really nice people who just happened to be not-all-people. After all, if they weren't nice then they wouldn't have people who also seemed nice writing about them and wanting them to be happy. The unspoken wish was that today would be the day that Max and Alec's letters arrived. In this hope, they would be more than slightly disappointed.

When the Mail Call Bell rang, all of the elves dashed to the Opening Room. Santa was at least as excited and expectant as the others, so with his travel-the-world-in-a-single-night (possibly transgenic?) speed, he was able to beat them there. For fun, he sat in his giant chair and pretended that he'd been there waiting for quite a while when they arrived. Then with a shinier-than-normal twinkle in his eye, he turned to the task of opening the mail in the larger-than-normal burlap sack. Over 45 minutes later, they had yet to get a single letter from any of the transgenics' friends or the transgenics themselves, and the mood was getting a tiny bit more somber. It was still extremely cheerful and energetic- this is the North Pole after all, but it wasn't quite as excited as it had been. Still, most of them maintained their normal smiles and hyperactive Polo was still bouncing all around the room. As was their usual, the elves just allowed Polo's energy to liven them up- elves don't get upset when children act like children, and they don't get upset because one of them is more excitable than the average elf. Besides the elves were able to redirect their focus quickly- they cared very much about all the children they provided toys for- even if they were coming to the sad conclusion that they weren't going to hear from the people they had especially wanted to, they were happy to hear from all the other boys and girls. Still, they couldn't help but wish that they'd at least gotten one letter from the people they were coming to consider their new friends. That is why when they saw the postmark stating that the next two letters were from Seattle, even though one of the handwritings somehow managed to seem malicious and the other seemed a little too neurotically precise, the excitement level in the room immediately escalated. Unfortunately, they were not in for the pleasure they were hoping for.

Attention Mr. Inappropriately-Sized-Man-in-the-Juvenile-Red-Suit,

As a representative of the United States government, I am writing to request your aid in helping your country (assuming, of course, that you are American since otherwise you would be trespassing on American soil every year) pursue transgenic scum. As they are not human beings, I believe that your reported generosity does not and cannot be expected to extend to them. And as I and my group are the most important human beings throughout history, I can only rightfully anticipate that you will help us in our most ultimately-beneficial goals. We are attempting to eradicate the world of the threat that these unnatural things pose, most especially 452 and her breeding partner 494. If they are permitted to continue, they may disrupt plans that have been in place for centuries. If, however, you were to find a way to help us, we would make it worth your while. I have been authorized to make you a membership offer- you deliver 452 and 494 to us on a silver platter and reunite me with my son, and we will permit you to participate in our test in order to determine if you would be an appropriate member of our collective. If you are worthy, then we will allow you (and worthy parts of your group) to join with us when we take over the world. You will enjoy heretofore unknown power, position, and prestige as you join with the leaders of the world today and forever after. Knowing that you most assuredly will agree to these conditions, I must say that after everything I've heard about you I am most definitely looking forward to working with you.

Fenos'tol,

Ames White

As he read the letter, Santa's face had turned white. Now he looked at his friends and found that all of their mouths had dropped wide open in astonishment (as had his). How was it possible that anyone could possibly misunderstand their mission like this? Without making a single comment, and hoping that the next missive would help to settle his mind, Santa opened the next letter.

Dear Mr. Claus,

As of this date, you have failed to respond to my annual letters in an appropriate manner. As I do so much good in the world every year, I must believe this to be an oversight of your checklist. I have, therefore, sought the advice of my family lawyer, who (after regaining his composure and explaining that he had simply been reading something ridiculously funny prior to my request for aid) suggested that I create a form of contract similar to the one following.

To Whom It May Concern:

I, the undersigned, have been informed of your company's policy regarding the provision of certain desirable materials to individuals who are shown to be participating in worthy endeavors. I am not a man who has a lot of time to waste on pleasantries, so I'll get right to the point. As I am, without a doubt, actively pursuing the most worthy objectives in the world today, I feel it particularly perfunctory to remind you of your duties to ensure a lack of renigging on your part. In addition, I feel the need to assure you that proper consequences will ensue if you, your employees, and/or your company in any or all ways fail to fulfill the responsibilities which you have set before yourself. To that end and in order to facilitate matters, I have enclosed a list of necessary, requisite, anticipated, and expected items that I have been assured will be present and available to me by December 25th A.M. I thank you in advance for your kind (and legally obligatory) attention to this matter.

Cordially,

Logan Cale, a.k.a. Eyes Only

(attached list)

1. Max- her affections and everlasting loyalties

2. Terminal City's closure- as the occupants of this biohazard zone currently occupy far too much of Max's time and energies and have even occasionally been placed before much higher and worthier causes (i.e. Eyes Only missions) it is necessary for all transgenics and transhumans to be physically removed from Max's (and preferably my) physical sphere. She is, after all, so very misguided, the poor dear, that she'll probably never realize that she should do this herself.

3. Most specifically the removal of one specific sociopathic screw-up transgenic masquerading by the name of Alec McDowell (though how he came up with McDowell is anyone's guess- maybe the first Ordinary he robbed after being freed through the magic of my broadcast or perhaps the first person he ever killed in cold-blood while choosing to work for Manticore- regardless of what confused little Max thinks if he had wanted to leave them he most certainly could have, he is a transgenic with no loyalties or morals after all) from both my and Max's acquaintanceships for the rest of eternity. I don't especially care what you do with him as long as he is no longer permitted to interrupt the smooth flow of Max's participation in Eyes Only missions.

4. In addition, you will probably have to find a way of specifically permanently removing all of Max's closest familial ties- Original Cindy, Joshua, Sketchy, for example. After all those ties only serve to confuse her. For that matter, you might want to permanently remove Normal, Mole, and Kendra- no point in taking any chances.

5. That brings up the subject of her first family, if you can really call them that. I already managed to get rid of Zack, no thanks to you, but there are still several of them who may at any point in the future pop up and cause problems- make sure you do something to prevent that.

6. Oh, I almost forgot- you should probably provide a cure to the virus. For Max's sake. And I suppose I wouldn't mind being able to hook up with her whenever I feel like it. But mostly it's for her- the poor kid is so very desperate to be able to be with me that it would really help her out.

7. The world's acquiescence to my expectations

8. New computer equipment. This must, of course, be the best- fastest, most powerful, highest state-of-the-art- equipment available in the entire world because my work is the most important work being done in the world (why else do you think Max is so happy to take a backseat to it?)

9. Better, newer, faster, safer, and stronger Eyes Only materials, sources, equipment, and resources. After all, it's kind of hard to save the world with the crappy supplies that I'm currently working with. I still manage to do it, but since I am helping people out so much it would only make sense for me to get state-of-the-art materials to help me continue.

The list continued on in this vein for quite a few more pages, but by this point, the pulsepoint on the side of Santa's head was throbbing. Betsy was actually staring at it with some fear hoping that it wouldn't burst. All of the elves were looking at him with a little worry- even Polo had stopped in midbounce. None of them remembered seeing him look this ticked- even when the reindeer had eaten all of his aunt's fruitcake and then sat in a new batch of Mrs. Claus' fudge. For a long moment, it seemed as though he wasn't breathing, and they all held their breath with him as his face went through several shades of red. Finally, his chest heaved and his color began returning to normal- the only thing that still seemed off was the look in his eyes. "So, Mr. Cale, you think that you do so much good in the world that you deserve something in return, do you," he said to no one in particular. "Well, I would tend to agree with you. (Several of the elves gulped in fear as they watched his usually twinkling blue eyes almost turn black) You do most definitely deserve to get something back." As he stood abruptly, disregarding the rest of the letters in his sack (after all he was hardly in the right mood to be reading them if the children who had written them wanted anything other than coal in their stockings), he turned and stomped out, hardly even noticing as the elves anxiously skittered out of his way.