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"I want a papa for Christmas," four-year-old daughter, Anwen, tells Santa. She bounces in his lap as his pigtails jiggle and tugs his beard. "A real live papa to play with me and take me to the zoo."

"You mean a puppy," Rhys cut in, his face flushed with heat. Ever since they put Anwen in preschool, she's realized she's missing something and bugging him to find someone as Mama was gone.

Rhys has tried to explain that Mama was busy with work, that's all. But the little girl was adamant that Mama was gone. She even suggested they put up posters on telephone poles like they do for lost pets. Really, she was right. Gwen seemed so invested in the new team that there was no time for him… for them.

She came in with a blast of hot air, ate like a pig then had a shower and went to bed. In the morning she was off again, a peck to the cheek if he was lucky. He missed her. He missed them, the 'them' that made this little one.

Rhys sighs softly as he pats her little head.

"No, silly Dadda." Anwen crosses her arms and shakes her blond ringlet curls. "I want a papa with two legs and two hands."

The mall-supplied Santa chuckles. "And a papa you shall have."

Giggles and titters spill from the women behind him. Anwen has two friends with same sex parents, and she seems to think it might be best. Mama has only ever been loud, bossy and busy. Anwen has explained before that another boy would mean more pizza nights. He had hoped she was over this but apparently…. Not.

"I need me one of those, too," a young mother holding a baby boy says. "Let's see, six-foot-six, blazing hot and built like a fire truck."

"Oh, yeah," another mother with two squirmy toddlers replies. "Do they have a catalogue? I can spend hours drooling instead of wiping up drool."

Anwen hugs Santa. "Will he be under the tree? Pwomise?"

"You bet." Santa high fives her. "Picture?"

Rhys scrambles with his camera, an old Canon point-and-shoot, but the battery light flashes and the camera shuts off. Meanwhile, the elf manning the professional camera snaps a few shots of his sweet daughter kissing Santa.

Ugh, Rhys wonders how many germs are embedded in that polyester beard? Santa hands Anwen to him and winks. "Shall I put a smartphone under the tree for you?"

Rhys needs a lot more than a smartphone: try rent, utilities, and car payments. Gwen's pay check mostly goes on her designer gear, now she's a bloody 'Assistant Director' if ya feckin please. The fact Rhys gave up his job to be a full time stay-at-home had been her idea, along with the move seemed lost on her. Not only was he a former trucking company employee, but he was also stupid enough to believe Gwen when she said there would be a job for him when they moved to London to be nearer the new Torchwood Offices. He has had to settle for a little part time night job cleaning offices.

"No, Taddy wants a papa, too." Anwen tugs his coat sleeve. "I hear him praying for one every night for some cuddles."

Oh god. He has to stop singing Queen's Somebody to Love while cleaning up in the evening.

Thankfully, Santa doesn't answer. He's already receiving the baby from the woman behind them. The picture-taking elf smirks at him and hands him a ticket for the picture. "It'll be twenty bucks for a five-by-seven or thirty-five for the package."

"I want a train ride." Anwen squirms from his arms and points to the Holiday Express miniature train making the rounds inside the enclosed winter wonderland play area in the mall. "When my papa shows up, he'll take me on the train, and we can wave at you."

Clutching the ticket for Anwen's picture with Santa, Rhys bypasses the photo booth conveniently placed near the line for the Holiday Express train. He just needs the ticket, and he knows Baxter can get the photo of the main sever for the photo company later. Perks of Torchwood, I guess.

"Taddy, there's my picture with Santa."

"There you are, and don't you look cute?" Rhys says, dreading her next request to buy it. The cashier flashes a toothy smile.

"We can have it printed while you wait for the Holiday Express."

"Can we?" Anwen bounces on her toes. "He pwomised me a papa for Christmas."

"Maybe after the train, sweetie."

Going for distraction over chancing a meltdown, Rhys hands the cashier a ten-dollar bill for our two tickets.

Fortunately, the screen behind her cycles to a baby boy crying on Santa's lap, and Anwen's attention turns to the candy cane man. "Taddy, candy cane's my fa-wor-ite."

"We have some at home."

"Those are teeny tiny. I want a big red and green one."

"We can't lose our place in line. Oh, look, see the fairy princesses?" Rhys directs her toward three teenaged girls wearing princess outfits. "They're so pretty."

Anwen's mesmerized, and he breathes easier.

His phone chimes with a text message. He flips it open. It's his mother reminding him to be on time for Wednesday night church. He groans as he knows Gwen will be a no-show again and he has already heard an earful last time.

The line inches forward as he texts her back. She's nervous about the piano at church not responding like hers. Could you get to church half an hour early to do a dress rehearsal?

He's not sure why she's so nervous. Maybe it has to do with the pretty widow who recently joined the congregation. Seems she is still trying to convince him to upgrade. He tells her he still has to finish shopping and prepare dinner for Anwen, but mother says not a problem. She'll bring macaroni and cheese and juice boxes to church, and Anwen can eat in the multipurpose room.

Rhys agrees, and she replies with her classic line to give Anwen a kiss from her. Rhys texts a goodbye and put his phone away. "Anwen, Nana's giving you a kiss."

She's not standing anywhere near him. A hot dagger of panic shoots up his chest. "Anwen?"

Oh no, where's Anwen? She was here a minute ago. The line hadn't gone forward by much. Surely, she surged ahead to gawk at the train and the princesses.

RhysI jump out of line, looking toward the fairy princesses. "Anwen!"

His voice rises to a high-pitched shriek. People are staring, and he's running in circles. "Have you seen my daughter? Anwen! pigtails, wearing a pink Hello Kitty jacket. Anwen!"

He rushes headlong to the picket fence separating the train tracks. What if she's on the tracks? "Stop the train. My daughter's missing."

A uniformed security guard heads toward him. "What seems to be the problem?"

"My daughter's missing. She was right here, and now she's gone. Anwen!" His arms flail, and he tears through the line.

"I need a description." The guard corners him. "Height, weight, what she was wearing."

"She's four years old. Name's Anwen Williams-Cooper. Long dark hair in pigtails, I don't know, maybe forty pounds and three-and-a-half feet tall." Rhys's heart pounds in his chest. How will he tell Gwen, oh god "We have to find her."

"We're trying, Sir." He calls into this walkie talkie. "Missing child. Four-year-old girl. Dark pigtails. Answers to Anwen."

"She was wearing a pink jacket and blue jeans. Dora the Explorer shoes," Rhys adds.

The guard reports into his device, then turns to him. "Why don't you come to the security office? Maybe someone's turned her in."

"No, I want to keep looking." His eyes are scanning the crowd. "I can't believe I lost her."

"It'll be okay." He hands Rhys his card. "Give me your number so we can call you."

He hastily gives his number and tucked the card into his wallet.

He runs around the train ride and check the line of children waiting for Santa. No Anwen. No where.

"Have you seen my daughter? Dark hair, blue eyes? Four-year-old?" He's frantically tapping people's shoulders. A middle-aged man and his wife join him on his search.

"It shouldn't be hard to spot a Pigtailed little one," he says as his wife nods.

"Anwen! Where are you? Taddy's looking for you." So many children and parents mill around, making it hard to spot a little girl on her own. Sympathetic faces turn to him, and people murmur.

The guard returns to his side and shrugs. "No sign of her. We've called the police. Do you have a photograph?"

Rhys removes his wallet and riffles through it for the photo wallet.

"Here, here." His fingers tremble as he gives him the wallet-sized photo taken last month.

"We've put out a lost child alert to all of the guards and merchants. Every exit has a camera, so if anyone tries to take her out, we'll have it recorded." The guard attempts to reassure him.

"What if someone's taken her to a restroom? What if they're hurting her?" Sharp pains pierce his gut as he pushes away horrifying thoughts. What if this is a Torchwood thing. Has she been taken? "My baby. Oh, God, please bring her back."

"We're checking all the restrooms and notified all the stores already," the guard says. "Please, come to the security office. The police will meet us there."

Oh god.

He will have to ring Gwen once he stops shaking.