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 ...