The Magic of Christmas

By Asso

Rating: PG-13

Genres: challenge family fluff general humour missing scene

Keywords:

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Have you ever wondered, my friends, what is the true magic of Christmas?

Well, let's see if Trip and T'Pol are able to explain it.

One thing, though.

It is difficult to grasp fully this story without having read my stories "Vulcan Mothers and Mother's Day" and "Christmas Eve", and maybe some others.

However, do not worry: it's not impossible.


OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"This! This!"

"No. This."

"This is better. Her red stands out in the midst of the green."

"Mom! I do not like red! I want all of them to be gold!"

"Gold? Mom, no. I want them to be green, instead."

"Mom! Have you heard? Green! No, no and no. The green does not stand out in the green."

"But it is beautiful. Green with green. Harmonious. Very Vulcan."

"All this has nothing to do with Vulcan. It is human. It must be made of contrasts."

"I agree, but with a little of equilibrium. It is human, sure, but in our case it has to look also Vulcan. If the balls are golden, they contrast, but without overdoing it."

"Would you say that I tend to overdo it?"

"You don't, but your red balls, they do."

"Hey!"

"I insist. The final appearance must be harmoniously balanced. Green balls."

"No. It has to appear strongly contrasted. Red."

"No. The overall aspect must appear contrasted, but the contrast has to be well balanced. Golden."

"Green."

"Red."

"Golden."

"Gr..."

"Green, red and golden." T'pol's volce, quiet but firm, hushed all at once the fierce dispute.

"Green..."

"...red ..."

"...and golden?"

"Yes, children."

"All..."

"...three..."

"... of them?"

"Of course, children. We are giving shape to a symbol of peace and love, in the tradition of Humans, and certainly also in the idea of your father. Therefore, we will use all the balls, golden, red and green. All three colours will be present together."

"Nice, mom!" It was the youngest. The most Trip-like in her behaviour.

"Good idea, mom." It was the boy of the pair of twins, halfway between his mother and his father, in his way of being.

"Perfectly logical, mom." It was the sissy of the pair of twins, the most T'Pol-like, in her way of acting and thinking.

"Each of you will have his own colour."

"And you, mom?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"It's true, mom."

"Yes, mom. You, what colour will you have?"

T'Pol did not answer. She made a quiet gesture with her arm, softly, and softly spoke to the three kids. "Put the balls as you like."

Without making themselves be asked twice, the children started to work with enthusiasm, each of them carefully positioning the balls of the favourite colour.

T'Pol stood watching with unconcealed pride her kids while they were crowding around the majestic object of their care, so alien to the world in which she and they were born and yet so close to her, so inside her.

Her mind raced at that time, far away by now, in which for the first time she had seen it in person, glowing by the wonders that her husband had devised and built by his own hands, with the skill that was his own, that skill,that love of doing, which made him so unique.

So dear to her.

Her husband. Not yet bound to her by the bond of marriage at that time, but already inextricably linked to her, even though neither of them knew it yet.

Or maybe yes.

Her gaze caressed tenderly the children born from their love, while they, with boyish excitement, were ascending and descending the ladder and were shifting it, to place the balls; all of them, except the youngest, who was certainly not able to do so, but who, in no way discouraged, was casting her commands to her older siblings, so that they could position exactly where she wanted the balls of the colour that she liked.

Without bothering to suppress the smile that hovered over her mouth and that, on the other hand, the three kids couldn't certainly see, so engaged as they were in their venture, T'Pol stooped to pick up from the ground the small lights which were needed to complete the work. To complete it... almost entirely.

T'Pol took the small lights and began to wrap them all around the object of their attention, making them pass between a ball and the other, as in the meantime, little by little, the children placed the balls, and making herself helped by them to arrange the lights aloft.

In the end, everything was ready.

T'Pol, with the children clinging to her skirts, contemplated together with them the final result.

"Beautiful, mom!"

"Yes, mom. It is definitely nice. Worthy of the beauty that we Vulcans appreciate so much."

"Yes, it is beautiful, mom. Even dad will appreciate it."

T'Pol nodded, while the children clung to her legs. She could clearly feel the children's sense of satisfaction as all four were watching, pleased, the spectacle that made beautiful show of itself in front of their eyes, and she, too, felt greatly satisfied. More exactly, definitely glad.

But something was still missing. Two things.

T'Pol gently detached herself from the children. She went to the switch and turned on the small lights, turning off at the same time the lighting of the room.

In the dark, a triumph of little silver lights, pale and trembling.

T'Pol pointed with a large sweep of her hand the small lights, which died out and lighted up, sometimes a few at a time and sometimes all together. "Here, children. This is my colour. And..."

She turned, as the children were staring open-mouthed at the tenuous intermittent gleam of the small lights from among the balls and the green, and picked up from the ground the big tip. Blue, like the eyes of her husband. And silvery, like the colour of the small lights. Her own colour.

"And this…" - She climbed to the top step of the ladder and, rising on tiptoe, positioned with some effort the tip on the high summit. – "… this is your father."

She came down to the ground and knelt, watching her children with intensity. "Your dad, my kids."

The children did not have any hesitation. They ran to their mom and took refuge in the circle of her arms, immediately raised, to welcome them.

The Vulcan part of them could even be stronger than one could ever think (well, maybe in the youngest daughter not so much, after all), but all of them understood very well what their mom did mean with that "your dad", and in front of the shimmer that they saw in their mother's eyes, well far away from being vulcanly expressionless, there was no Vulcan restriction that could have been kept. They didn't even thought to stand up against the impulse that they felt throbbing within them, just as T'Pol didn't thought even for an instant to repress hers own.

They stayed like that for a few moments, embraced to each other, living proof of love in front of the symbol of love.

Then T'Pol detached the kids from her.

She sat down on the floor, cross-legged, and raised her head to contemplate their masterwork.

The twins imitated her and, in their turn, they sat cross-legged in front of her, their backs turned to her and leaning to her knees, while the youngest curled up in her lap.

And, all four, in the dark broken by the small intermittent flickering silvery lights, they stayed to observe the grandeur, flamboyant and yet so mystical and intimate, of what together they had readied.

At that moment the door opened.

Four heads turned in unison, the hearts already aware and foretasting.

Four pairs of eyes got focused on the man who had entered and who now stood there, still and silent, gazing at... that thing.

It was unbelievable, it was impossible. And yet it was there.

A wonderful, splendid, majestic Christmas tree, decorated with green balls and red and golden, sparkling with silver lights in the darkness of the room, and crowned by a big tip, glowing of blue and silver.

It took a little time, but eventually Trip succeeded. With evident effort, he managed to detach his eyes from the tree, in the end, and his gaze fell enchanted on the small group of people, who, sitting in front of it, the faces turned towards him, were enjoying the sight of him, unable even to articulate the most foolish of sentences.

Four people. Observing him, close to each other, with obvious enjoyment. And with unmistakable affection.

Three kids. Two grown up enough, yet still two little kids, and one definitely lesser.

His kids. The kids his and of the fourth person, who was watching him with two marvellous eyes, shining in the dark more than the Christmas tree lights.

His wife. His T'Pol.

The most beautiful woman ever appeared since, somewhere up there, it was decided to give rise to the creation.

And surely even the most beloved.

Because nobody could love a woman more than how he loved her.

And... - His eyes ran fast still for a moment to the tree - ... with all the reasons of world and even more.

A barrage of hasty words, rolled down from a baby voice, broke the silence and the switching off of his blocked brain. "Daddy, daddy, daddy! Nice, huh? Beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Do you like it, daddy? Do you like it? Yes, is not it? Oh how beautiful it is, daddy! It is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful! We made it for you!"

Trip lowered his head to look at the sassy and garrulous bundle that had clung to his legs and was looking at him from below.

He bent down, picked up the bundle, and, holding it tightly in his arms, caressed with infinite tenderness the delightful little tip of the its little delicious Vulcan ear.

"You all have made it for me, my baby?"

"Yes, daddy."

A voice more mature, but still childlike, a voice of little boy, interjected. "It is so, dad."

Right after a third, similar to the second, but feminine, a little girl's voice. Very staid. "Mom asked us to help her to make it for you, dad. She said it would be our Christmas gift to you. She also explained the meaning of Christmas and of the Christmas tree and told us that you would have been delighted if we had readied a great Christmas tree for you and for all of us."

Trip, still holding the smallest in his arms, stooped down on his knees to be at the same height of the twins. Their little faces looked at him with intensity. He had a little difficulty keeping his voice sufficiently steady. It seemed to him to succeed in doing it. Well, enough, at least. "Your mom was perfectly right, my little ones."

He looked up. There she was, near the resplendent tree. She was standing, calm and dignified, her arms placidly crossed behind her back. She was looking at him with those eyes as beautiful as a dream; with that face, quiet and composed.

With that face of wonderful doll so beautiful not to seem true.

A living doll of incomparable beauty who had agreed to be his, to accept his love.

And to love him.

To such an extent... to the point that...

A Christmas tree! On Vulcan. In their house of Vulcan! Wanted by her! Made by her! With the help of their children! For him! To bring in that house, on that planet where he had agreed to live for love of her, on that planet so alien to his culture, his feelings, his traditions, a little of his culture, his feelings, his traditions!

A little of that Christmas that, and she knew it, he missed so much and that, and he knew it, she couldn't not feel far from her. From her culture, her feelings, her traditions

Yet she had wanted to donate him, for Christmas, a Christmas tree!

And she had festooned it with her own hands, by the help of their children.

For him!

Just for him!

But how was it possible that he could be so lucky?

Trip put down to the ground carefully and gently the little bundle throbbing with life in his arms.

He straightened up, the eyes of him and of his T'Pol chained to each other, and slowly he approached her.

Behind him, the kids stood quiet and tranquil, even that earthquake of the smallest, with that sensivity, that keenness of perception, that all children, big and small, possess, no matter if Humans, Vulcans, Andorians, Tellarites, Denobulans or of any other race.

They felt it. Between their father and their mother something was going on, something that in reality they were not yet fully able to figure out, to define, to grasp in its essence, but that they sensed could not be disturbed in any way.

It was necessary to stand quiet and still, it was even necessary to avoid looking. That was a moment that must have belonged to them alone. Their dad and their mom.

Trip stopped one step away from his wife.

His eyes caressed hers.

He slowly raised his hand.

It was closed in a soft fist, except the forefinger and the middle, well pricked.

He held out his hand to her.

And T'Pol, without detaching her eyes from his, immediately imitated him.

Their fingers touched each other, stroked each other, spoke to each other.

They whispered to each other of an infinite love.

Their fingers were still rubbing sweetly each other, when Trip spoke, softly, without failing, however, to be also in that moment the Trip that he knew his T'Pol loved him to be. "I can imagine the face of the courier who delivered you this stuff, Hon."

T'Pol gently drew her fingers away from his. She raised an impertinent eyebrow. "Everything was tightly closed in packing cases without labels nor indicative pictures. Impossible to get any idea of the content."

"Ha ha, always able to foresee every eventuality, eh darlin'?"

"It would have really been not much vulcan not being able to do so."

"Oh yeah sure, also readying a Christmas tree is not much vulcan, though."

"Undoubtedly, but it would not have been vulcan at all, not taking care of the human portion of our children."

"Ah, I understand. You did it as to make their education complete not only in their vulcan portion, but also in that human."

"Obviously. It is only logical they to grow knowing and appreciating not only the traditions and customs of Vulcan, but also those of Earth. After all..." - T'Pol's eyes grew extremely deep – "... after all, they owe much to Earth."

If possible, T'Pol's gaze became even more profound. And glaringly sweet. "Like me, Adun."

No replies, this time, nor witticisms. Simply, Trip blushed. He could only do that. By wordless pleasure.

He managed to recover, after some instants. He choked on the words a little. "Oh ... mh ... and ... and th... they... have... did they... have they… have they appreciated this peculiar Earth tradition?"

T'Pol went along with her husband. She needed to lighten a little the intensity of emotions. Indeed, to tell the truth, she had much more need than him of that, and walking on the path that he was providentially opening for her, as he always knew how to do, consciously or not, was the best thing to do. "I do not think there can be any doubt. I believe that their human side has literally jumped for joy when they have been able to see the Christmas tree completed and most probably also their Vulcan side has remained nicely pleased. As you know, Vulcans appreciate beauty."

Trip shot a meaningful look at his wife. "Oh, for that matter, even Humans appreciate beauty. A lot."

T'Pol's eyebrow rose again, this time in the way of reprimand. "Husband..."

But Trip didn't give T'Pol time to finish the rebuke. "However, the tree is not at all complete. Missing the most important thing."

Behind him three kids who until then had pretended not to exist, pricked up their pointed ears.

Also T'Pol could not help but show her curiosity. "The most important thing?"

"Sure!" Trip's voice sounded cheerful and crackling. "Missing the gifts, sweetness of my heart!"

T'Pol's eyebrows went up in unison. Sweetness of my heart!? But which way of turning to her was ever this? Not that she minded, this not. Indeed. But in front of the kids! Let pass "darling". Let even pass "hon". And let pass even "wifey"! But "Sweetness of my heart!" It was... was unseemly, in front of the children. It was... it was morally harmful, behold!

But T'Pol could not fully show her disapproval of the way Trip had called her. She tried to do it. Sure she tried. "Trip! Do not..." But a well-known small voice, high-pitched and all excited, did not let her do it. "Gifts? What gifts, daddy? What..."

This time, though, the little brat didn't succeed in making it. No matter how small she was, she always managed to have the upper hand over her older siblings, a little because she was the one who she was - cute, nice and sympathetic, yes, but...! - and a little because she was the baby of the family and therefore the two twins, in feeling of having to act as big brothers, i.e. more judiciously than her, always ended up by letting her prevail. Mh, maybe a wee bit grudgingly, truth be told.

But not this time. Eh no. This time not. The little despot was abruptly interrupted, unceremoniously, without a "by your leave". "Sure. What gifts, dad? What do you mean?"

The little boy. It was him. Of course, his voice didn't ring as excited as that of his little sister, but one could not tell it were exactly controlled. A little bit of excitement, honestly maybe a little more than a little bit, leaked evident also in his, and - Powers of heaven! - what about the tone of the sissy of the two twins? The one who prided herself to be able to behave in all respects as a veritable vulcan woman, as much as yet in bud, even if - this must be said - she was well afar from feeling sorry for that something human she had inevitably within? Is it not, by chance, that even her voice resounded a wee bit over the top, as hers has overlapped with that of her brother by shouting... - well, yes! - ...by shouting "What gifts are you talking about, Dad?"

What do you want? Children are children, any way their ears are made, and when it comes to gifts... well, frankly, could you really think that they can stay well quiet, as if nothing were happening? And then, lest we forget, those were the sons of Trip, a Human who more Human than that! His genes were inside them and, in addition, he was with them, lived with them, was together with them as a father, a true father, does with his children, and despite all the efforts of T'Pol to limit… the damage, his exuberance could not but reside in them too. And, to be honest, is not that she minded that much, indeed, honestly her efforts to avoid it… well, they were not even so many. Indeed. Could you tell that she was merely pretending to strive? Maybe yes. Maybe you could tell really it was so. Indeed without maybe.

Of course, she would have had more than some difficulties to openly admit it, however, things were so and it is rather easy to understand the why. Fact was that it was nice... more exactly, highly more than simply nice... to see in her children something... or even more than something... of her Trip. Her unique... her beloved husband.

Husband who, at hearing those excited "almost screams" behind him, turned with promptness and looked down at the source of those peremptory questions.

The twins, brother and sister, both were there, close to him, with their faces turned up to him.

But... and the third? The little? Where the hell...?

Well, being small has its disadvantages, but it has also its exploitable sides. For example, it is easy to slip between the legs of those older than you and make them fools, appearing suddenly in front of them to assert your existence and your demanding requirements.

"Daddy! Daddy! Come on, say something! What are these gifts you speak of? And why without them the Christmas tree is not complete?"

Ah, there she was, the little pest. Of course, she didn't let herself be intimidated!

Trip laughed and stooped down, bending his knees, and called cheerfully to him his boisterous and excited offspring, that immediately pressed itself up against him. The twins e the little brat. All together, in their desire to know.

"But the gifts of Santa Claus, of course."

Three children's voices exploded together. "Santa Claus?"

"Sure. This is his night. The night of Santa Claus."

"The night..."

"…of Santa..."

"...Claus?"

"Just like that. This night, the night before Christmas, he has a lot of work to do. Fly here... fly there..."

"Fly?" The little boy.

"Yes."

"On a spaceship?" The older daughter.

"No. On a sleigh."

"A sleigh?" The younger little girl.

"Yes, a sledge. Towed by reindeers."

"Towed..."

"...by reindeers?"

"What are reindeers?"

"Exactly, towed by reindeers, great and beautiful and fast animals with large antlers, which lead around Santa Claus in his distribution."

"Distribution?" The boy again.

"Of what?" Again the older of the two little girls.

"Of gifts, daddy?" The little pest.

"Right. The gifts that he brings into the homes of children who have been good. Provided that no one sees him. He does not want to be seen. God help us if that happens. If someone sees him, he runs away, to never return again. But if he is confident he can work undisturbed, without anyone being able to see him, in this case he enters the homes of the good children, those who have deserved his gifts, lighter than a feather, even if he is really big, and puts the presents under the Christmas tree, so that on Christmas morning the kids can find them. After he has placed the gifts, he contemplates the tree. Now yes, it is complete. He laughs satisfied under his long white beard that stands out on his suit all red and then goes away, unseen by anyone, just as in the way he has arrived."

Silence fell in the room.

It took a few moments before the older daughter could recover. Just her as the first, obviously; who else of the three sons, otherwise? "Dad, this is one of your stories, is not it?"

Trip realized suddenly. But... but what was he doing? Those were his kids, okay, but they were also the children of his wife, gosh! And they lived on Vulcan, in the middle of the Vulcans! What did he want? Did he want them to become imbued with the fantasies of the children of Earth to become in the eyes of all their friends and companions the poor children of that blockhead of their human father, who had reduced them to be devoid of mind? Of logic? Namely of what made Vulcans the Vulcans, viz what, in the end, it was just and necessary, or maybe just simply appropriate, but not for this less just and necessary, that the children his and of T'Pol had to be, while not forgetting or neglecting their human roots, on that planet, Vulcan, where the two of them together, he and T'Pol, had felt that it would have been better to live for them; safer.

But had he become crazy? Did he want their benefit or their damage? Sure, it would have been nice even for them to be able to enjoy the pleasure to wait in their warm beds for Santa Claus to bring them his gifts, as the children of Earth. But it was not possible! He knew it could not be so! He knew that, the moment he and T'Pol had decided to live on Vulcan because that was the safest place for them and the children they had and maybe they would have had, he should have had to accept the laws, the way of life, the customs of Vulcan, also, in some way, the mentality itself of the Vulcans. He knew what he would have had to face, he knew that he would have had to give up what he had been, what he could have been on Earth, for love of his T'Pol. And for love of their children! And telling them absurd stories and illogical, as if they were… were trivial human children, it was not a demonstration of true love for them! It could have been dangerous for them! It was... was idiotic! In some ways, it was even bad for them, because it could make them feel their diversity. Not that this might have been not right, this no, not at all. But it was not appropriate to do it that way! It was stupid!

And then, what sort of respect, was he showing for T'Pol, for his wife, for the Vulcan woman who had agreed to change herself so deeply for love of him, to become, precisely, his wife, by behaving that way?

He was ... he was a jerk! That's what he was!

Without getting up, he turned his head a little backwards, to shoot an inquiring look and fearful at his wife.

Oh, for God's sake! How she was staring at him! How it was raised, her eyebrow! Bad! Bad! Bad!

He addressed his gaze back to the children, who were watching him on hold, their pretty little faces all attentive, the tiniest included.

Somehow he managed to conceal his embarrassment. His discomfort, too, needless to deny it. He chuckled. Cheerfully. Just like that! "Certainly that it is one of my usual stories, children. You know how your dad is made, don't you? It is precisely a story. Just a story."

Two hands, whose soft touch he knew very well. He felt them alight gently on his shoulders.

"It's a wonderful story, though."

Her voice. Her warm, soft voice. That softly rang behind him.

He raised his head. Her soft chin was just above him. She was watching the kids.

He turned his gaze again to them. Their faces were now intent on her.

Her voice. Again. Quiet and sweet. "It is such a beautiful story that it would be really nice it were true."

He got up slowly. T'Pol's hands slid away from his shoulders. He turned toward her. Their eyes met. Something indefinable, most sweet, shone in those of T'Pol. "It is such a beautiful story that, perhaps, it might even be true."

Trip did not have time to really realize. Behind him a burst of childish voices that overlapped each other.

"True?"

"But what you're saying, mom?"

"You are kidding, aren't you, mom?"

"Do not talk nonsense! Mom never jokes."

"That is not true! She too jokes! Like dad!"

"So, she is joking?"

"To me it seems she is talking seriously."

"But it can not be. It's ... it's illogical!"

"Mom is never illogical!"

"However..."

"But..."

"She..."

"Kids!" Trip watched almost dazed his T'Pol who interrupted with gentle firmness the dispute of their children. She squatted in their midst. She looked like a hen with her chicks. "I believe that there is only one way to see if the story of your dad is true or not."

"Which way, mom?"

"Yes, which one?"

"Which one, huh, mom?"

"Wait and see if tomorrow morning the Christmas tree ..." - T'Pol shot a pert look at her bewildered husband – "...will be complete."

Trip somehow managed to prevent his jaw from falling to the ground.

T'Pol stood up. She went next to him. Very close. In fact, she clung resolutely to his side. Her eyes rested for a moment on him. They were amused, you could see it. But they were also indefinably brilliant with a light that Trip had never seen in them. Then those eyes turned back to the children. "But you have heard what your father has said, haven't you? Whether he is true or invented, this Santa Claus does not want to be seen." Was it true? Was it a smile that which lingered for a moment on the lips of his ineffable wife? "He does not like to be disturbed when he... is working."

The kids were drinking in the words of their mom.

"Therefore, kids, in bed. Immediately. And do not try to get up from bed tonight and peek through the keyhole to see if this Santa Claus is coming. This would be pointless and illogical, in any way things may be, because if it is not a story and he realizes he is being watched, he will leave and will never come back, but, on the other hand, if that of your dad is just a story, you would merely lose time and sleep."

It was not true! It could not be true! Yet his ears did not deceive him. And not even his eyes. It was just T'Pol, his T'Pol, the one who had spoken thus to their children, coming to his aid, and de facto justifying and supporting him, by blanketing with her unassailable logic what logical was not at all, and making this way sound such a mess of illogic practically logical, in some way! Even plausible! Go figure!

Maybe... maybe it was the magic of Christmas! Eh yeah. Maybe it just was this magic, capable of winning over even the Vulcans, of fascinating even his scientifically logical vulcan wife. Going ahead at this rate, perhaps, who knows, it could even be that Santa could exist for real!

Incredulous and…well, yes… dizzy, how not admitting it?, Trip looked at the tribe of his sons who, prompt and obedient, after having greeted him and T'Pol with a serious and dignified air, turned to go... of course, it was just so!... to go to bed. Even the little brat was following her siblings without the slightest reservation, without any fuss.

It has been possible to hear their voices outside the room, as they walked away.

"I think it's a story."

"Also for me."

"However, if it were true..."

"But if tomorrow we do not get any presents under the tree, will it be because it is a story, or because we are not good kids and do not deserve the gifts of Santa Claus?"

"Dad always says we are pests."

"Actually, he says it to you."

"Hey!"

"Stop it, you two."

"Stop it you!"

"Listen..."

"You..."

"She..."

"He..."

Trip and T'Pol stood alone in the great hall, in front of the big Christmas tree.

Trip turned to her. He went in front of her. He took gently her hands. Her eyes were watching intent him, her face raised to his. "Hon... I..."

T'Pol interrupted him. An unusual, yet unequivocal merry note rang clear in her voice. "I think it's better that we do not linger, husband. Santa Claus could come and perhaps he might desist from entering into our house, fearing that we may see him."

Trip looked intensely at his wife. He was even scowling by the bafflement.

She stood on tiptoe and deposited a quick and light kiss on his lips, wrong-footing him, if possible, even more. Then she pulled away from him, turned around and walked rapidly towards the exit door. She stopped in the doorway. She turned toward him. Looked at him. Again that strange, indefinable light in her eyes, a whole new light, which filled her eyes with a recondite, unknown splendour.

And something else, something sweetly, softly… compellingly inviting.

"Do we go to bed, Trip?"


Mh ... it could not be if not a story, another of the usual pretty ... well, yes, it was to be really admitted... pretty stories that dad enjoyed foisting to them.

Certainly, though, it was weird. Mom almost seemed to want to endorse that story and mom was always logical.

The little girl turned a little restless in bed and... yeah... this, i.e. her being agitated, her feeling to be so... she did not like it at all. It was… unvulcan–like.

Anyway. However it was, there was something not quite right about all that. She was tempted to call her twin brother to ask him what he thought.

Mh, no. Better not. She would have risked appearing too curious, in the manner of the Humans, viz of the Humans in through and through, not like those three. And then her brother would have made as usual ... how was dad in the habit to say? His sayings were a bit too colourful, this was true, but they were certainly very, very illustrative ... the fish in the barrel. Namely to make the straddler, to not compromise too much himself.

Not to mention that ... that plague of their younger sister. She would... would ... how was it? Ah yes... she would have caught the ball on the bounce to tease her, just the way dad used to do. She would have made... would have made the plague that she was! As usual. On this, dad was perfectly right.

Better to sleep. Yes Better. Or. .. or rather tempt to do so.

A little bit of good meditation. This was what was needed, in addition to the simple introductory exercises that mom had started to teach her and her brother, already grown up enough, she said, to begin their practice. Mh… obviously she was not at all skilful; learning to meditate was all but easy. However… well, maybe she could try.

"Sister."

She sighed. Very humanely, but understandably. The little... the little brat. What... what the hell did she want? "Yes?"

"What do you think, sis?"

"Of what?"

"Of this story of Santa Claus."

"I think it's best to do what mom told us to do."

"That is?"

"Sleeping. "The voice, which tried to be masculine and was not yet, of the boy, rose a little annoyed.

The immediate reply of the little brat was not long in coming. "Sleeping! It is a word! And it seems to me that not even you're doing it."

"Of course. With you, who keep speaking."

"Even our sister has spoken."

"Because you have called her."

*Oh, all right!* The tyke decided it was better to give up. And then maybe her brother was right, as well as her sister. Mom had been clear and she was never mistaken. Well, almost never.

The little one rolled over in her bed and settled down to sleep.

In her tossing and turning, she turned toward the door of their room.

What was going on, back there?

Her eyes got attracted by the keyhole.

In the dark, barely illuminated by the night candles, she lifted her head from the pillow.

The keyhole...

Wonder if...

"Do not try it!"

Her sister! Damn her!

Her head fell back heavily on the pillow.

Damn, damn her!

She curled up in her bed.

Damn her sister!

She was pouting yet, when sleep overcame her.

Shortly before it grabbed also her siblings.


Trip closed gently behind him the door of their bedroom.

T'Pol had preceded him.

She was standing firm, with her back turned to him, next to their large bed.

Trip didn't move, upright, with his back to the closed door, his eyes fixed on the motionless T'Pol.

She turned slowly toward him.

She did not speak. Just looked at him.

Still motionless.

Then, still gazing at him, she daintily moved her hands.

They acted.

And her body, too, started moving with grace, and sensually, along with them.

Slowly, gradually, her panther sinuous figure blossomed from her dress, sliding out of it like from a sheath, little by little, as she made slip it down, with deliberate slowness, all along her, from her buxom breasts to her willowy hips, and more down, along her shapely thighs and her slender legs.

Down, down.

Until the dress remained to the ground, heaped around her feet.

Naked, incomparably beautiful, she stayed so.

Unmoving, watching him. Stock-still, completely, except the soft getting up and down of her gorgeous breasts along with her breath...

Except the hot glint darting into her eyes, as profound as the night.

Trip did not move. Not yet.

He had to look at her.

Had to bask in her beauty.

He had seen her that way so many times. Naked. For him.

But every time the marvel, the wonder for her beauty, bewitched him.

And the amazement that all that beauty was for him.

And the daze that all this would never have had end. Always, he would have been bewitched by her beauty; always, he would have been astonished at the awareness that all that beauty was for him; and always... - oh God of heaven, he knew he could have such a certainty! - ...always, she would have given him the gift of her beauty.

Of her love.

But that night... that night ... there was something more.

Something special.

There was something magic, that night.

The night of Christmas.

Or, maybe, to him it seemed merely so. But it seemed to him so much, that maybe it was really so.

T'Pol finally moved.

With the innate grace that was her own and with the sensuality that she was able to express even unknowingly, she lifted her feet one after the other, leaving the circle of her dress piled on the ground and at the same time abandoning her shoes inside the heap of her now useless outfit.

She stood still for a moment longer, stark naked, even her feet now, without detaching her eyes from those of Trip.

Then, finally, she moved again. She walked to the edge of the bed, still looking at him.

She grabbed the corner of the sheet and pulled this down.

By flexing one leg, she lifted it and rested the knee on the bed; then, hinging on the knee, she hoisted also the other leg on the bed and remained crouching, kneeling on it; lastly, with just one fluid motion, she slipped, literally, to lie down on the bed, under the sheet, pulling it up, until to wholly cover her.

From under the edge of the sheet, only the half top of her head peeped out, resting on the pillow.

Her eyes, her splendid, mysterious, sensuous, chocolate eyes, which watched him, alluring. Glistening.

Inviting.

And, at the sides of her delicious bowl of raven hair, the delightful tips of her ears.

Those tips, that whispered to Trip "bite me!"

And he couldn't resist that lure.

He was already stripped to the waist, when, in a leap, he was next to the bed.

Next to her.

But suddenly, he stopped.

His eyes caressed her, greedy.

But also uncertain.

That was a special night.

It was the night of Christmas.

And it was the night in which she had made him find a wonderful and sparkling Christmas tree. Her Christmas gift for him. A gift, where the Vulcans were well far away from the concept of gift, and a gift of Christmas, where the Christmas and its rituals, were what more far away could exist from the mindset of Vulcans.

And it was the night, too, in which she had been at her side, sweet and close to him, refraining from crushing in the grip of logic... Santa Claus.

There could be a greater demonstration of love?

She was T'Pol, the Vulcan T'Pol. But evidently she was especially his wife.

A wife whose love for him was far greater than her being a Vulcan.

And he was overwhelmed, in that moment, by all this love, to the point that his ardour, the ardour that she had caused in him, his craving for her, had to wait.

His voice rose low in a whisper. "T'Pol…"

She did not answer. Her eyes looked at him, inquisitive, from above the edge of the sheet. Maybe even a little annoyed.

Yep. Per force. But what was taking him? What was he waiting for? His wife, his wondrous wife, wanted him, desirous, and he was getting lost in trifles!

However, despite everything, he felt he had to tell it to her.

The time now.

At that moment.

"Thank you, T'Pol."

Those wonderful eyes, her eyes, widened a little, perplexed. "For what, Trip?"

"For everything you do for me."

T'Pol raised herself on one elbow. The bed sheet fell a bit, uncovering partially her lush breasts. My God! How beautiful she was! How she was desirable! And the softly husky tone her voice sounded with, multiplied to infinity her seductiveness. "What do you mean, Ashayam?"

Trip managed to resist a little while longer the enchantment of her magic, even much greater than the magic of Christmas. "A Christmas tree. For me. What a wonderful gift you gave me, Hon!"

T'Pol's eyes twinkled like stars. "Adun, do you realize the unique gift you have donated me?"

"I gave you a gift, T'Pol?"

"Yes, my T'hai'la."

"I don't understand. Which gift, T'Pol?"

T'Pol's hand rose up. Her fingers caressed mildly Trip's cheek. "You have donated me love, my K'diwa."

Trip felt something wet emerge in his eyes. He managed to banish it back. He laid his hand on that of T'Pol, whose fingers continued to gently caress his cheek. "Oh... ah... Well, you... you reciprocate my gift... grandly, my darlin'."

A slight but unequivocal smile stretched out T'Pol's lips. "I am glad of that, Ashayam."

Trip tried to compose herself. "Okay. But, how do we do with... with Santa Claus?"

T'Pol found rather difficult not smiling again. "What do you mean, Trip?"

"Well, Santa Claus does not exist, of course, but...well, yes, you have pretty much led our children to think that in my story there might be something true. Why?"

"I think it's fair that their human side can appreciate what you always call the magic of Christmas. And... and also their vulcan part, after all. It is beautiful, this magic of Christmas, Adun."

"Oh, well, yes. Sure. Thank you, T'Pol. But..." - T'Pol lay back again on the bed, looking curious and impertinent at Trip. The bed sheet was now fallen much more down. Damn! But how could one be able to keep himself lucid, so? Trip, however, make it. Barely, but he made it again. – "... However, there will be no Santa Claus, who will bring gifts to them, and they will remain deeply disappointed. And will think that you have deceived them, T'Pol, because you have said that my story could also be true, after all."

This time T'Pol did not make it. She had to smile again. "Oh, but they won't remain disappointed, Trip, nor think that I have fooled them, because they will have their gifts. Brought by Santa Claus."

"What!?"

T'Pol brought her hands behind her nape and leaned this comfortably on them, just in the manner her husband would have done if he had been in her place and had wanted to assume a sly attitude. Exactly the one that T'Pol wanted to show at that moment.

"My living together with you, my dear husband, and the consequent need to adapt myself to your tone of voice, not infrequently quite high in grace of your well-known ebullience, has not yet reduced so bad my hearing, and despite... your attentions for my ears - pleasant, I must admit - they still work very well."

A frank blush did spread on Trip's face. "You... you noticed!"

T'Pol stretched herself out with satisfaction. Luckily at that time her husband was too embarrassed, because, otherwise, that peculiar action on her part, as she was naked in bed and uncovered until the waist... well, it's hard to think that the conversation could have been go on. In another moment, Trip would have immediately passed from words to deeds. Instead, he could only stand there, like a child caught with his hands in the jar of the jam, to listen to the words of his impish wife. Damn, hearing aside, it could not be said that her living together with him had not produced any effect, and sometime Trip had to regret a little this. And that was one of those times. A little bit, however, only a little bit. Let's be clear.

"Of course, my husband, I have to admit that you're really good at it. I really do not understand how the hell, to put it in your own way, you've been capable of bringing in your arms that huge pile of packets and parcels that you have hidden in the garden's utility room."

At that point, an effluence of words, to be honest not really well articulated in their logical sequence, burst forth from Trip's mouth. "Oh! Hon! I know, I know. Christmas is not ... I mean... but I would have liked ... certainly, it is something far from your way to feel ... our children do not have to ... no, maybe is it better they do? ... or not? I do not know. But ... yes, well ... I wanted ... namely ... Christmas ... surprises ... gifts ... I thought..."

"You thought to give them a surprise? To give them their gifts, their Christmas gifts?"

"Y... y ... yes, Hon! And to you too."

"Oh, that's nice on your part, my husband. This means that I deserve it? That I have been good?"

"Darling! Do not tease me! This... this is not like you!"

"But I'm not kidding you, Adun. I am... I am glad you thought of making a Christmas surprise to our children." - T'Pol's voice softened decidedly. – "And even to me."

"You are glad?"

"Of course, my Adun."

"But... but... Christmas, its traditions, they are not..."

"Logical?"

"Well, exactly so."

"But this does not mean that they are not beautiful, Trip. I have already said this. Logic does not rule out poetry, mind does not rule out heart, just as you, exactly you, Adun, have taught me. And certainly I would not have strived so much to make to you the surprise of the Christmas tree if I were not more than convinced of that. I..."

T'Pol stopped. She completely emerged from under the blanket and curled up on the bed, kneeling on it, with her rounded nice bum resting on her heels. The softness of her voice got so tangible that it would have been impossible for anyone not perceive it.

She looked at her husband with the softest eyes of world.

"I very much appreciate the tradition of Christmas presents. I absolutely loved..." - Her eyes went to the bedroom dresser, where, next to the Matryoshka doll that Trip had given her on the occasion of that other human tradition, Mother's Day, when she was yet expecting their smallest daughter, it was proudly displayed the first gift that he had ever done to her, that delightful little Christmas transparent bubble that he had given her long ago, when her brain had begun to yield to the truth of her heart. - "…I absolutely loved and love the gift that you gave me at that Christmas Eve, that night, the night before Christmas, the first I experienced, on Enterprise."

Trip literally fell to his knees beside the bed, in front of T'Pol. He took her hands. "My love..." - His voice sounded cracked for everything he felt inside, for what his T'Pol was capable of making be felt to him. - "My love, that you deserve a Christmas gift on my part... there is no doubt about this!"

T'Pol's eyes twinkled. "I am happy of that, my Adun."

There was a moment of silence. Only their eyes spoke. And the warmth of their hands, as these were holding one another.

Then Trip shook himself.

He left go T'Pol's hands and stood up. He cleared his throat, looking down at the face of T'Pol, which, in turn, was raised to his.

"Well ... hem ... then we agree. Christmas traditions will be respected. Our babies will have their gifts under the tree." - He winked at T'Pol. – "And also my peculiar most loved baby."

Then he became serious again." However, T'Pol, I repeat... how do we do with Santa Claus? I mean..."

"How do we do to make sure that Santa Claus can exist for them, so that they do not feel cheated by me or by you?"

"Yes, exact. But... not only that. They are not human children, I mean, not entirely. Maybe it would be also nice that they may believe in Santa Claus, but... but it would not be right, behold! And then, in any case, surely not here, on Vulcan, by reason of the life they must lead here. We must take into account the environment, the intellectual climate around them, we must make sure that they are and feel part of the world in which they live and in which they will be called to operate. As much as we two can be happy that their human side can develop harmoniously together with that Vulcan, and as much as we two can think it is right for this to happen, our first thought must be for them. They mustn't be seen as the hapless children of that blockhead of a Human who has inculcated in their innocent minds the most outlandish ideas, manipulating at same time his equally unfortunate poor vulcan wife."

Trip looked at T'Pol with gravitas. "Your compatriots, sweetie, are smart and are opening up to the universe around them; the very fact that in the end we have been accepted by them, is proof of that. But... well, if they were human beings I'd be tempted to say that ultimately... they are still only human beings."

T'Pol's eyes became thoughtful, so much that they seemed even sad. Her tone was serious, and suffused, it too, like her gaze, of something indefinably sad. "But they are children of yours exactly as they are children of mine, my husband. And I... I can not tolerate the idea that you, who have given up everything for me, must also give up the pleasure of giving them the pleasure of believing in Santa Claus."

Trip had again to drive out back the dampness that surfaced to his eyes. "I have not given up anything, my love. Here, on Vulcan, I can have you. And you are all I desire."

It was the turn of T'Pol having to suppress the wet in her eyes. Damn! Her life along with her Trip was really fraught with serious consequences. But it was worth it! Damn, how much it was worth it!

She recovered. And, incidentally, what she did remembered quite what would have been done by Trip, if he had been T'Pol at that moment. Even in the manner of express herself. "The way to run with the hares and hunt with the hounds at the same time, exists, Adun."

Trip could not help but laugh out loud. How was it possible not to do it? Run with the hares and hunt with the hounds! But where was it possible to find another Vulcan female, more simply another Vulcan, able to express himself like this? His wife was really incomparable! And... and the fact was that she was so incomparably unique because she was who she was, sure, but also, not to say mainly, because she loved him. So much that she had absorbed his own way of being, of expressing himself. God of heaven! But could ever anyone be happier and luckier than him?

He tried to set his tone. "Ah. And which is it, wife?"

A mischievous light, yet indefinitely sweet, appeared in T'Pol's eyes. "Look in the bottom drawer of the cabinet. Underneath all there is there."

Trip frowned, without understanding. But he said nothing. He turned toward the closet, walked to it and opened the bottom drawer. He looked under the pile of stuff crammed in it.

Oh God!

He pulled out, almost with reverence, what he had found. With that in hand, he turned to T'Pol, surprise clearly painted in his eyes. "T'Pol, this is... this is..."

"It's the Santa Claus costume that you've worn that night, on Enterprise, Adun."

"Yes, of course. But... but..."

"You were so handsome, dressed that way, Ashayam, and I wanted to keep that costume. And evidently, I've done well."

"You... did well? Why?"

T'Pol smiled. No doubt about it. She smiled again. "Adun, am I wrong or Santa Claus is also called Father Christmas?"

"Oh... well... yes."

"And am I wrong in saying that you're a father?"

"But... but yes. Sure!"

"So then, it will be Father Christmas the one who will bring the Christmas gifts to our children, who will put them under the Christmas tree. You."

"Me?"

"You shall wear that costume again, my Adun. And when our kids will wake up, they will find under the tree the gifts that Santa Claus will have brought to them, but, next to the gifts, and next to me, they will find Santa Claus, too. Father Christmas. They will find you."

"They will find me?"

"Yes. You are their father and you will be for them even Father Christmas. Santa Claus. In this way we will be able to explain them the legend of Father Christmas. In a perfectly logical way, suitable for the Vulcans that they are, but without diminishing their human side. And they won't feel cheated or betrayed by me or by you. For them, Santa Claus, Father Christmas, will be you. Just like for all human children, whether they know it or not, whether they suspect it or not, Father Christmas is their dad."

T'Pol paused for a very brief moment, but immediately she began to speak again. And there was fervency, in her words.

"You and I, quite simply, will have given life, here, on Vulcan, to the recurrence of a perhaps illogical, but undoubtedly beautiful, human tradition. Because they are Vulcan, but also Human. Because you, their father, are a Human. And because, I, their mother, a Vulcan..." - Hard to believe that there might be a gaze more enamoured than that that T'Pol addressed to Trip. - "Because I'm madly in love with their father."

Trip was speechless. But where had he ever found, a woman like that? He managed to say something, finally. "T'Pol! You are amazing!"

With astounding promptness, T'Pol changed expression. She took an air of mindful superiority; decidedly vulcan. She raised patronizingly her eyebrow. "I know."

Trip burst into laughter, again. Eh no. The time of the misunderstandings was over from quite a while, between them. His ineffable vulcan wifey… had she pleasure in playing thus, with him? And okay. And he had pleasure that she had pleasure to do so. And pleasure in playing along with her play. "Obvious! How can one think that there may be something you do not know?"

T'Pol's expression became even more vulcan, if possible. "Actually, there is something I do not know."

It was Trip's eyebrow, which went up, this time. *Okay. Let's see. What are you going to combine this time, my incomparable vulcan bonbon?* "Really? Incredible! And what would it be, this something you do not know?"

"I do not know why the hell, still to put it in your own way, do you use so much time to put yourself into action."

"Huh?"

"The night is short and you need to wear your Santa Claus costume and place together with me the Christmas gifts for our children… and for me… under the tree before they wake up, which, judging by their degree of excitement, will not take long to happen. Therefore, my Adun..."

"Therefore?"

"Put yourself in action. Get to work." - As much as vulcan it could appear, the expression of T'Pol took a clear connotation of playful incitement. – "With me."

She shifted position. She remained kneeling on the bed, squatting on her backside, but tilted forward her bust, supporting herself on her outstretched arms, the palms of her hands resting flat on the bed.

From beneath her long lashes, her eyes stared at Trip. She did not smile. But those fairytale eyes, yes. "In case you haven't noticed, I am naked. And I'm cold. I need to be heated."

Protecting own woman from anything that might be of harm to her is the first duty of every man.

Could someone believe that the genuine, unexceptionable, exemplary, gentleman that was Trip, could even remotely think to shirk such a duty?


The large room was noiseless. Everything was quiet.

The great Christmas tree spread its soft light throughout the room, up to the large window, and thru it, in the moonless night of Vulcan.

Everything was silent.

Everything was motionless.

As on hold.

A light of the tree, a light slightly more vivid than the others, blinked.

Or maybe not.

No one was there to see it.

And perhaps there was nothing to see.

But... if someone had been there to see, who knows, maybe he would have noticed that that light seemed to grow louder and louder, and also larger.

Might it never be possible that, at some point, it appeared to detach from the tree, and cross over the room, and head for the exit, and go out? In the corridor?

To go where?

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

There. The children's room. A look inside.

Slowly, without making any noise. Okay. So.

Ah perfect! They slept soundly.

How cute! With those delicious pointy ears!

And they indeed were good children.

Eh, yes. They definitely deserved to be the first Vulcan children, who…

Okay. There, everything fine.

And the parents?

To them, now.

Their room. Yes

Inside. Slowly. Just like that.

Oh ... oh gosh!

Away, away! Immediately. There are things... decidedly intimate, that… that no one can disturb!

Good thing those two had not noticed anything!

Well ... heh heh ... on the other hand, how could they have done, so intent as they were… in their business?

But ... how much love! Oh yes. How much!

Just what was needed for this night.

It would have been the first night on that planet.

The moment had come and a family worthier to usher in the new course, certainly could not exist.

It took all that love, to make it that the Magic could be accomplished.

The Magic of Christmas.

The next morning, the loving hands of a father and a mother would have placed under the tree their gifts of love for their children.

And in that moment, the Magic would have been realized.

Santa Claus would have lived in them, in their love.

This was the true Magic of Christmas.

The Magic of Love.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

If someone had been there, in that room, where the great tree towered silent, could it be that this someone would have been able to see that strange, flickering light, which seemed to live its own life, come back into the room, go toward the large window and stop there, as if observing, as if looking at something, someone, beyond the glass of the window? In the night, in the moonless sky of Vulcan?

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Come on, come on!

But where was he? What was he waiting for?

Come on! Everything's been controlled! Everything is ready!

Ah! There he was!

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

And this someone... what ever this someone would have thought in seeing that strange light become suddenly extremely bright and then... - Yes! Just so! - ... and then... then turn into something, into someone, a ... - But what was it? - ...a kind of small being, oddly dressed in green and red, with pointed ears, like those of a Vulcan, yes, and with a strange face smiling with a big smile... and then... then, finally, all a sudden…

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

Welcome on Vulcan! Now I can...

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()(

... disappear!


Everything was quiet, that night.

If the Vulcan who was on duty at that time had been a Human, he would have been bored to death, maybe he would have even cursed.

But he was a Vulcan. Such behavioural patterns were for him not even conceivable.

So he stood there, in that space station of observation, absolutely calm and peaceful, on guard duty to the nothing. With nothing to watch for.

But, well, honestly... what a bore.

Lazily, in this way it could have been said, the Vulcan looked away from the control screen.

Lazily, he looked into space beyond the large porthole.

For... for Surak!

What was that?

He stood up abruptly.

He… - Well yes! - …he ran to the porthole.

He looked attentively into the dark space beyond the glass.

He saw nothing.

There was nothing.

He... – Once again! Yes! ... he ran back to his console, to the screen. Where nothing had appeared.

He checked the instruments.

Nothing.

And nothing had been recorded.

Nothing had passed, beyond the glass of the porthole, in the cold and lifeless space.

Yet...

Oh, Surak! Something was not right in him. Better him to go to make a medical control, when he had been off duty.

The Vulcan sat down, thoughtfully.

Strange things were happening lately. It was rumoured, for example, of a Human, who would have married - If the Vulcan had known something of the human idioms, he would have said 'But fancy that!' - a Vulcan female, and who would have decided to live with her on Vulcan.

Impossible. Completely illogical.

But... well, if it had been true, there was to be careful. Humans, it was said, were odd and unpredictable. Even dangerous, in a sense. They had an outlandish way of thinking, and it was also said that this way of thinking was contagious.

Illogical, of course. But, but... that thing, that thing he had seen, that he had thought to see...

Could… could it be that some strange contagion, some strange epidemic, had begun to spread, without anyone knowing anything, if indeed the rumours about that Human had been true?

The Vulcan tried desperately - this must be said - to give a semblance of logic to the matter. For Vulcans mental integrity is almost a sacred thing, you might say. And what he had seen ... well, yes, well ... He did not like at all the idea that his brain might have started not to work properly. It was like being affected in the sacred space of his innermost essence. There was ... yes ... there was even to be ashamed of, and, in fact, he was very reluctant to go to make himself seen by the doctor.

What do you want? Each race has its own taboos, even the most logical race in the universe.

Maybe… maybe…this, i.e. a possible unknown contagion, in fact, could have been a plausible cause, sufficiently logical, able to explain, perhaps, what he had seen. No. What he had believed to see.

Perhaps, before exposing himself with a doctor, it was worth investigating, with caution and discretion, if any case of this kind had already taken place, if... yes, well... if indeed there were around some strange form of mental epidemic that the presence - if indeed this was true - of that Human on Vulcan had somehow insidiously unleashed.

Certainly, though, it had been a vision definitely real, in all its details, with very little which could suggest a mental hallucination, if not the absurdity of the vision in itself.

That strange... vehicle. A... yes, a sleigh. He had seen some representation, in the documentary material of other races.

Towed... amazing!... towed, in... in the depths of space... by a pack... by a pack of animals! Great. Equipped with antlers.

And on the sleigh... a... a what? A... a being, behold! Dressed in red and with a large hood, it too red, on the head. And with a long white beard. And a gigantic sack behind him.

The Vulcan became... well, yes, let's admit it... became a little worried.

That vision had been extremely clear in all respects.

There had been even... there had been…

Oh, yeah! This particular, had escaped him in his... in his confusion, but, and this increased significantly his concern, there had been… even the sound!

A loud sound. A sound... he did not know how to define it. If he had been human, he would have said it was a laugh. A cheerful laugh. A big laugh.

But even if he did not know how to describe it, he could still hear it resound in his ears.

Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh...


The End


 

So, my friends? Clear, is not it, what is the true magic of Christmas?

Merry Christmas to you all!

 


Comments:

TatianaTova


I love this story. You really managed to catch the spirit of the Holidays.  :D

 

Linda

Really cute.  And different personalities for Trip and T'Pol's children.  Nice job, Asso.

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