Up on the Housetop
      By Amythyst
      DISCLAIMER: Umm, hi, Marvel lawyers? Me again. Just want to remind you 
      that this is the time of year for peace on Earth, goodwill to men, joy to 
      the world and other kinds of good stuff. That being said, I’m sure that in 
      the spirit of the holiday season you wouldn’t even think of suing me, 
      right? I’m just borrowing your characters for a little while and I promise 
      I’ll give them back undamaged. Did I mention that I’m not making any money 
      from this story?
      AUTHOR’S NOTE: I wrote this fic in an attempt to spread a little holiday 
      cheer and maybe get a few cheap laughs along the way. Anyhoo, I hope you 
      enjoy it. Happy holidays! :)



      Twenty million deliveries down, and countless millions left to go.
      Santa grasped the reins of his sleigh with one hand as he searched for his 
      list under the seat. He had covered most of New York already and was 
      planning to finish this part of his route in Westchester County. The old 
      man squinted as he adjusted his glasses and read the next name.
      And the lucky recipients were ... the X-Men. Oh, this was going to be fun, 
      he thought dryly as he folded the list and shoved it back under the seat. 
      Had it been only a year since his last visit to the mansion? It didn't 
      seem right that on the one night of the year dedicated to peace on Earth, 
      he would be forced to deal with a group of people who were so paranoid 
      about intruders that they were likely to attack first and ask questions 
      later.
      He shook his head and chided himself for this behavior. Santa really did 
      like the X-Men. He had a tremendous respect for this unusual group of 
      heroes, and in a way, felt a strange sense of kinship with them. They 
      certainly had an unconventional lifestyle, after all. With a secret 
      headquarters, a past shrouded in mystery and habit of breaking and 
      entering, he felt he had a lot in common with the team -- not to mention 
      the fact that both of them seemed to leave their own special calling cards 
      wherever they went, whether it be bright, shiny presents or a long list of 
      property damage. Even though they were often misunderstood, the X-Men did 
      strive to create peace and goodwill, just as Santa did.
      And much like him, they were used to being mobbed by screaming crowds. Of 
      course, Santa mused, the X-Men were usually forced to flee the throngs of 
      well-meaning citizens that were trying to kill them. Santa had never been 
      physically attacked himself outside of the occasional "Ally McBeal" 
      episode, and luckily the show’s producers had allowed him to have a stunt 
      double for that. But he was letting his mind wander now.
      No, the X-Men didn’t always get it right, but they meant well. Besides, 
      Santa thought as he straightened his fur-trimmed red suit, a wild 
      assortment of freedom fighters with an affinity for obscenely colorful 
      uniforms couldn’t be all bad. They deserved to be rewarded for their 
      efforts, and he fully intended to make sure that they were.
      He only wished that they would remember to turn off the security system on 
      Christmas Eve. It would make his job *so* much easier. Last year Blitzen 
      had accidentally tripped the force field surrounding the estate, causing 
      an air assault to launch. Mrs. Claus had been able to repair the scorch 
      marks on his suit, but it had taken nearly a year for the reindeer to work 
      through their post-traumatic stress disorder.
      Santa guided the reindeer closer to the ground so he could survey the 
      premises. So far, so good. The skies were clear. He couldn’t see anyone 
      patrolling the grounds, and no one stood guard at the windows. It appeared 
      as though the X-Men had, for once, taken a night off from surveillance. 
      Maybe the Christmas spirit had infected all of them and leveled out the 
      paranoia, or maybe they just had just forgotten about it with all of the 
      last-minute holiday preparations. In any case, it looked like Santa would 
      finally have a peaceful, uneventful visit this year.
      Just as the reindeer approached the roof for a landing, Santa saw a figure 
      emerge from a window and climb over the icy shingles. He cringed as he 
      watched the man flick a spark from his fingers to light the cigarette in 
      his mouth before settling in for a long night of brooding. Wonderful, 
      Santa thought. He must have gotten into another argument with Rogue. 
      Either that or the price of cigarettes had gone up again or someone had 
      just told him that trench coats were passé. It didn’t take much to get 
      Remy Lebeau sulking these days.
      Whatever the cause, the bottom line was that a roof landing was obviously 
      out of the question -- and Santa still had to find a way to sneak past the 
      lone X-Men.
      Santa considered his predicament for a moment. Landing on the ground was 
      still a possibility, but he would have to set the sleigh down further away 
      to stay outside the mansion’s perimeter and avoid triggering any automatic 
      defenses that might be functioning. He sighed and resigned himself to the 
      fact that he would be walking a very long way.
      He tugged the bridle, signaling to the reindeer that he wanted to land in 
      a clearing on the outskirts of the estate. Soon the sleigh was sliding to 
      a halt on the fresh snow, its rudders spraying loose powder with the 
      initial impact. Santa hopped down from his seat, hefted a bag of presents 
      onto his shoulder and groaned as he stared at the lengthy path of snow 
      before him.
      Thirty minutes later ...
      Santa dropped his bag to the ground with a loud thud as he panted and 
      leaned against the exterior wall of the mansion. Why did the X-Men need to 
      have such a big backyard? Why couldn’t they have a designated spot for 
      drop-offs and deliveries? And why had he insisted on finishing off every 
      last drop of eggnog at the last house? He was starting to get just a bit 
      uncomfortable in his suit, and he probably wouldn’t be able to find a 
      little Santa's room anywhere in the vicinity.
      No, don’t think about that right now, Santa admonished himself as he stood 
      up and straightened his coat. He took a deep breath. OK, he could do this. 
      He braced himself against the cold, peered up toward the top of the 
      building ...
      ... And realized that he had not thought this idea all the way through. 
      Faint wisps of smoke rose from the chimney, and the smell of burning pine 
      was unmistakable. Santa trudged a few steps to the window and rubbed the 
      snow away with his gloved hand before peering in. Professor Xavier sat 
      before the fireplace in his hoverchair, seemingly transfixed by the 
      dancing flames. Luckily the man appeared to be too absorbed in his own 
      thoughts to notice the mystical figure just outside the glass.
      Oh, this was just great. What was he supposed to do now? Even if he could 
      make it past the flames, which was highly unlikely, there was no way he 
      could sneak past the telepathic mutant. Well, there *was* a way, but 
      somehow Santa doubted that he would be able to whack Xavier from behind 
      with a clown hammer and stuff him in an empty sack without anyone else in 
      the mansion noticing. Not even the elves fell for that anymore, and 
      somehow he suspected that Charles Xavier was far more intelligent than 
      Hermie and Binky.
      He obviously needed to find another way to get inside. Walking slowly 
      around the corner of the building, he saw a light shining in one of the 
      windows and stopped to observe.
      Bobby Drake stood before the stove, cooking who-knew-what sort of 
      concoction. His friend Hank McCoy was perched atop a chair, stuffing his 
      face with popcorn and looking somewhat out of place, even in the spacious 
      kitchen. Marrow appeared to be utterly bored as she sat on the floor and 
      launched stray popcorn kernels at the furry blue scientist’s back.
      Santa watched as Bobby poured the mixture -- was it hot chocolate? -- into 
      mugs and served it to his fellow X-Men. Beast took a huge gulp and 
      immediately grimaced. Marrow sniffed her mug uncertainly. Hank stood up 
      and opened the window, causing Santa to duck to avoid being seen. Overcome 
      by curiosity, Santa crouched below the panes of glass so he could hear 
      what was happening. As soon as Bobby had turned his back, Hank reached 
      over the ledge and flung the contents of his mug out of the window -- 
      right onto Santa’s head. The not-so-jovial being let out a huge yelp 
      before remembering that he was supposed to be working in secret.
      He scampered over to the bushes at the side of the house and ducked for 
      cover, tripping on an extension cord and yanking a strand of lights free 
      from the branches. Unfortunately his squeal had spurred the X-Men into 
      action. Santa peered out from behind the leaves and watched as Rogue and 
      Storm flew overhead. Bishop emerged from the mansion a few seconds later, 
      wearing a menacing glare and an Uzi the size of a Buick.
      The two women landed next to the heavily armed man as he surveyed the 
      serene snowscape. The snap of a twig drew the soldier’s attention, and he 
      whipped around and aimed his gun at the offender, determined to capture 
      and/or destroy this unseen foe. The tiny squirrel dropped the acorn it was 
      holding and stared wide-eyed at Bishop, who, despite the relative size and 
      strength of the creature, refused to lower his weapon. Storm tugged on his 
      arm and pointed toward the area by the window.
      Rogue flew over to the bushes where Santa was hiding, her hands coming 
      within inches of his face. Santa gulped silently. Of all the X-Men who had 
      to find him, why did it have to be the only one who could rip the stuffing 
      out of him? This was going to be bad, and possibly painful. He held his 
      breath as Rogue reached past his arm to snap the loose extension cord back 
      into its outlet.
      Relief flooded Santa’s mind. Sure, that was the only problem. Some tiny, 
      lost woodland creature had gotten tripped up in the team’s holiday 
      decorations. It happened all the time. No need to continue searching for 
      mythological figures lurking in the bushes. He’d just be on his way now.
      Just as the three heroes were about to head back inside for the night, 
      Bishop stopped short and bent down to examine the ground. Santa bit his 
      lip as he remembered that even a figment of the imagination such as 
      himself left footprints. Bishop started scouting the area as Rogue flew 
      into the air and Storm contacted their teammates.
      Santa knew that the only way for him to leave the estate was to fly on his 
      sleigh. Unfortunately, at the moment, the path to his sleigh was blocked 
      off by a very large man with an even larger arsenal of futuristic 
      weaponry. He tried to press himself against the wall and hide in the 
      shadows, but quickly discovered that the shadows were not very friendly to 
      overweight men wearing bright red suits. Which, unfortunately, also 
      eliminated sneaking across the pristine snow-covered lawn as a means of 
      escape.
      Bishop was closing in on him fast. If only he would turn around for a just 
      a few seconds ... yes! This might give him just enough time to make it to 
      the woods.
      He raced to the edge of the clearing -- well, maybe not raced, as it was 
      quite difficult for Santa to traipse through two feet of snow, but he was 
      making pretty good time, considering -- and had almost reached the woods 
      when he tripped over a fallen tree limb that had been completely hidden by 
      the snow. Santa groaned and pushed himself up on all fours as he shook the 
      snow out of his beard.
      He slowly hoisted himself up, using one hand to brace his back as he 
      stood. Oh, but he was getting much to old for this sort of thing. As much 
      as he respected the X-Men, there was no way he was going through this 
      again. Maybe he could talk the elves into doing the deliveries next year. 
      Or better yet, maybe he could get one of those nice new web sites and --
      [*SNIKT*]
      Uh-oh. This was not good. Santa looked up to see a short and extremely 
      ferocious-looking man glaring at him from behind the trees. He saw his 
      life flash before his eyes, and was depressed to find it consisted mostly 
      of cleaning up behind the reindeer. He began thinking about the horrible 
      unfairness of this job. Most men his age were retired and living in 
      spacious beachfront condos in Florida. Santa would spend the remaining 
      three seconds of his life on a trip to Claw City.
      The feral mutant emitted a guttural growl that snapped Santa’s attention 
      away from his thoughts and back to reality. He looked at Wolverine, but 
      oddly enough, was no longer frightened. In fact, suddenly he was very 
      cranky about how the entire night had turned out. Santa was weary and cold 
      and had pine needles stuck in his beard. His right boot was all scuffed 
      up, and no stain remover known to man would get the hot chocolate stains 
      out of his hat. His back was killing him, he knew that the reindeer would 
      be bitter and uncooperative after the long wait (^$%&% unions!) and on top 
      of all that, he hadn’t even gotten any cookies for this little adventure!
      This ‘right jolly old elf’ had finally had enough.
      Santa snatched the sack of gifts off the ground, and with a mighty heave, 
      flung them at Wolverine. The X-Man was momentarily taken aback by the 
      gesture, and Santa used the opportunity to scramble back to his sleigh. As 
      soon as he snatched up the harnesses, the reindeer spurred into action and 
      took off into the air, leaving a puzzled Wolverine on the ground below to 
      explain who and what he had seen and convince his teammates that he hadn't 
      consumed *that* much alcohol.
      Santa stretched back in the seat and picked up his list of the naughty and 
      the nice. He scribbled out the X-Men as he read through the remaining 
      names. Next on the list was ... the Massachusetts Academy. He sighed. 
      Maybe those nice little pink and green boys would be there again - they 
      had been so kind to him last year, and they gave him lots of cookies, too.
      At least he had gotten the X-Men out of the way for this year. But what 
      about next year, and the year after that? After all, they were still on 
      his "nice" list for the time being, and he would have to find some way, or 
      *someone*, to deliver their presents. Someone who wouldn't object to 
      battling through a veritable fortress in order to get the job done.
      Hmmm ... Maybe Deadpool wasn’t too busy this time of year. If only he 
      would be willing to wear the Santa hat ...
      THE END