The oldest living Immortal glared at the youngest Immortal in the room. "If you play that Christmas Macarena mix again," Methos warned clearly, "it'll be your head hung by the fireplace with care instead of someone's old smelly stocking."
"You don't like it?" Richie asked, grinning. He shuffled through the compact discs scattered on the glass coffee table. "How about Englebert Humperdink's Home for the Holidays?"
"You play that one, I'll kill you myself," Connor warned, setting down a silver tray laden with sugar cookies and glasses of holiday punch.
"Here's a better one," Richie said, turning toward the stereo. "John Denver and the Muppets. I used to adore Miss Piggy. I still can't eat bacon to this day."
Methos scowled, but anything was better than the Macarena mix again. He picked up a glass from Connor's tray and leaned back against the sofa. Gillian Horvath's Victorian house had been fully decked out with fragrant wreaths, twinkling lights, faux snow on the windowpanes, and a massive Christmas tree in the corner of the living room where they were sitting. He sipped his punch and made a face. "What did you put in this? It's awful."
"I like it," Connor said defensively, sitting down beside him. "And you'd better keep your voice down. It's Virginia Foster's recipe. She and the other fanfic writers are in the kitchen, trying to stay out of trouble."
"Trying to poison me is more like it," Methos said darkly. "Or something worse. There aren't any computers around, are there?"
Richie rubbed his hands together briskly. "Removed them all myself. I'm not having another "When Immortals" story hijacked to fulfill anyone's personal sexual fantasies. My pants are staying *on* in this one. And who knows, if you play your cards right, Connor, you might even get the girl this time."
Any retort Connor might have made was lost in the gust of wind and snow that came with the opening of the front door. "Merry Christmas, everyone!" Duncan called out from beneath an armload of beautifully wrapped presents. He was followed by a stunningly gorgeous, scathingly brilliant, well-endowed and immaculately coiffured woman in a very short red dress.
"This is Mary Sue," Duncan said, dropping his presents under the tree. He brushed his hands free of glitter and gave them all a broad smile. "I found her down the street looking for a legitimate plot."
Connor and Richie merely gaped. Methos said, "Good grief, I've had socks longer than the dress she's wearing."
Duncan's grin grew wider. "The best thing is that since we've got a low budget for this story, she doesn't have any dialogue."
Mary Sue nodded in agreement and then did a small pirouette that illustrated exactly how short her dress was.
"Come sit by me, dear," Connor said. "You must be cold."
"Hey - " Duncan protested as Mary Sue cozied up to Connor.
Richie pressed a glass of punch into his hands. "You can't do anything with her anyway. What would Tessa think?"
"I was hoping Tessa wasn't in this story," Duncan sighed. "That it was Sandra's Universe B or something."
"You could bribe Sandra, maybe," Methos suggested. "She's probably in the kitchen."
Duncan looked at Richie.
"My pants are staying on," the younger Immortal vowed. "Where's Amanda?'
"Giving out Christmas gifts to the poor with Dairus," Duncan replied, reaching for some sugar cookies.
Richie's eyes widened. "Amanda's giving out presents instead of stealing them for herself?"
"She can be extremely charitable when she wants to be," Duncan said. "You know, this punch is pretty good, but these cookies are horrible."
"I'd be careful if I were you," Connor said. "Angela made them, and she's already not a big fan of yours. Don't criticize her baking."
"Bad punch, worse cookies, and this sofa is lumpy, did you notice?" Methos complained.
"You're in a bad mood, aren't you?" Duncan asked. "Don't you have the Christmas spirit?"
Methos made a face. "There's no such thing as Christmas spirit. Christmas is a *fad.* In another thousand years or so and no one will remember it. You want a holiday, you should have seen Beltain. . . "
He went on grumbling, but found his audience drawn to the front door and newly arriving guests. Anne had brought baby Mary, Joe Dawson came with a winsome young lady half his age, and Kalas lugged in a karoake machine. Kenny showed up with his foster family in tow, wearing a ridiculous pink bunny hat his adopted mother Mary Panzer had made.
"No comments, Ryan," Kenny warned.
Richie hid a smile behind his hand. "You know, Kenny, I still haven't figured out why you haven't whacked your new family."
"I'm *reformed,*" Kenny said, rolling his eyes. "Sneak me a beer, will you? I'm dying for a smoke."
Felicia Martins arrived with songs for the karoake machine and soon she and Kristov were belting out "I Got You Babe." Richie's date Jen arrived and claimed the television in order to watch the SeaQuest Christmas Reunion Special, hosted by Darwin from Sea World in Florida. Cassandra, the witch from Donan Woods, showed up but had to leave again in order to retrieve her accent, which she'd accidentally left in the car. Carl Robinson arrived bearing fruitcakes and had to weave his way through the music and dancing to dump them in the kitchen. He found the way blocked, with Richie pounding on the door for someone to let him in.
"Come on!" he pleaded. "Three people have "accidentally" spilled their punch and eggnog on me and the only bathroom is in there!"
Cindy Hudson opened the door fractionally and smiled coldly at him. "You said you were going to keep your pants on in this one, and so ye shall. Never tempt the goddesses of fanfic."
"Or the gods!" Kevin Robnett's voice yelled cheerfully from somewhere behind her.
Carl caught just a glimpse of gorgeous women and handsome men milling around the countertops and tables before the door swung shut. "They look like they're having a good time in there," he observed. "Here, have some fruitcake."
Richie accidentally dropped the cakes, breaking several toes. He howled and hopped around and begged until finally Marina Frants took pity on him and let him limp into the kitchen. The fanfic writers had fashioned their own smashing party, complete with tempting chocolate delights of every description, the Nectar of Muses as punch, and small elves scurrying around to do all the cleaning and washing. One small detail in the scene struck terror in his heart, leaving him at a loss for words and short on breath.
"Sit down," Janine Shahinian instructed Richie kindly, helping him to a chair. "Let's see that foot. Oh, I see. Sandra's dampened your Immortal healing ability. That's always a useful plot device in hurt/comfort stories."
"You're not going to hurt me, are you?" Richie squeaked. "You're not going to give me gangrene or a compound fracture or fallen arches or something, are you? I didn't mean what I said earlier. I'll take off my pants off if I have to."
Angela Mull patted his head gently. "There, now. Don't worry. Whatever happens, you'll probably recover." "What's going on in here?" Duncan asked, wandering in. "Richie, I thought I heard you yell - " He froze, unable to complete the sentence.
"Just don't make any sudden moves," Richie said.
Duncan swallowed hard. Almost every fanfic writer in the room - including but not limited to Kat, Kit, Virginia, Sue, Kevin, Angela, Cindy, Janine, Lisa, Heidi, Vi, Wendy, Monica, Bonnie, Tasha, Sophie, Laura, Anvil, Dawn, Celli, Christine, Audrey, Josh, and both Marinas - stood poised and ready over golden notebooks, waiting to unleash adventures, comedies, tragedies, mayhem and Quickenings with the slightest strokes of their pens.
Duncan held up his hands in surrender. "Easy, easy. I don't mean any trouble."
Sue Factor ordered, "Everyone relax. Now's not the time for the plot climax anyway."
"We've actually got a plot around here?" Kat Parsons asked. "Who let it in? All the plots, themes, subtexts and metaphors are supposed to stay on the back porch before they track mud everywhere."
"Ho ho ho!" a voice bellowed from the front of the house.
Lisa Krakowka jumped off the counter where she'd been sitting. "It's Santa Claus!"
Everyone rushed from the kitchen except for Richie, whose toes were still broken. "Can't you just let me heal?" he whined to Sandra, who stayed behind sympathetically to lend a helping hand.
"Of course I could," Sandra soothed. "But the story wouldn't be half as much fun without just a little Richie angst."
"That's not Santa," Kenny sneered from the sidelines as the Immortals and mortals alike all crowded into the front hall and living room. "That's David Abramowitz."
"Of course it's Santa," Amanda said in chastisement. She and Darius had just returned from the Immortal Foundling Hospital and hung their coats onto pegs hung beneath the stairs. "It just looks like David."
Santa leaned back on a red velvet arm chair and stroked his beard. "I have to say it wasn't easy this year deciding who was naughty or nice. Some of the episodes were quite good, others lacked . . . oh, shall I say, coherence?"
Carl Robinson gritted his teeth. "I *wanted* to take that stupid jacket off but they wouldn't let me! Who wears a big jacket with his name on it when the police are chasing him?"
"That other episode, Little Tin Cup, that was quite good," Santa beamed. "Although I had a little difficulty believing there are pine trees in the jungles of South America."
"Tin Cup was a Kevin Costner movie," Debbie Douglass whispered in Santa's ear. "You mean Little Tin God."
The jolly old soul just laughed. "You should see the trouble I've had trying to decide who on the discussion list has been naughty or nice! People quoting back entire posts, complaining about the conventions, trying to rig the People magazine poll, being very snippy with one another - and rerun season has just started! Oy vey!"
"He could stop lecturing and give us our gifts," Mary Sue whined, pouting.
"Sssh," Connor said, nuzzling kisses into her neck. "No dialogue for you, remember?"
With the help of Debbie, Rachel Shelton, and Claire Maier, Santa began to give out presents. Joe Dawson got a crowd to mull around the bar scenes, Anne got a consistent personality, Ron Perlman got not only his head back but assertiveness training as well, and Gregor got a lifelong prescription for Prozac. All of the fanfic writers got brand new Pentium computers, laser printers, and high-speed modems. Bill Panzer received the biggest gift of all - season six, approved with an unlimited budget and two legal clauses that Donna Lettow found at the bottom of the bag, wrapped in blue ribbons. The first ruled that all future episodes had to be written by fans.
The second ordered Bill to stop smoking cigars at conventions. One by one everyone in the room received something special until only one dismayed person remained, way back in the corner, and then it seemed as if he'd been overlooked.
"Bag's empty," Santa announced, standing and stretching his back. "Time for me to get on to the Forever Knight party just down the street."
"Bye Santa!" voices rang as he lumbered out. Just outside the door he stopped, scratched his beard, and turned around.
"I almost forgot someone! Adam! Where's Adam?"
Methos had spent the last few minutes busily trying to persuade himself that it didn't matter if Santa Claus forgot him, Christmas was stupid, and as soon as the party was over he was going to find a bottle of Mint Schnapps and forget all about the lousy holiday. Still lost in gloomy thoughts, it took a moment for him to realize Santa was calling him, and even then Duncan had to push him forward.
"I forgot," Santa said, eyes twinkling. "Your gift was out parking the sleigh in the cavalry stable."
Santa pulled in an Immortal woman from the porch. Methos' breath caught in his chest, and for a moment all he could do was stare. Alexa. But not as the writers had written her - personality like dishwater, voice weak and whiny, body plagued by a some vague undefinable Ali MacGraw-like medical ailment - but Alexa as she should have been created. Beautiful, witty, with humor marked in her eyes and smile, a woman who could converse about Homer without associating the name Simpson to him, a partner he could spend the rest of his life with, however long or short it might be.
As Methos wrapped himself in Alexa's arms Duncan felt a suspicious tear well up in his own eyes. He missed his wife and children. No sooner had the realization struck than he heard the kids' voices, and Tessa threw herself at him.
"Hello, you!" she said with a kiss, as Kip, Benji and little Debbie went to go swarm Santa. "Sorry we're late! Did we miss anything?"
"Not at all," Duncan smiled.
The music started up again - the Macarena mix, but Methos didn't care this time - and as the house began to boom and shake with a hundred poorly coordinated line dancers, Sandra led Richie back to the kitchen. "Now, let's see about those injuries and those pants... "
Richie hopped to the counter and slid up on it, easing the pain in his injured foot. It really didn't feel that bad, just a slight tingling that was already easing. She must have restored his Immortal powers when he wasn't looking. "Hey, Santa didn't give you anything," he observed.
"Sure he did," Sandra said, closing the kitchen door firmly and latching it. "He gave me all these amazing Highlander characters to play with, wonderful friends I've met through the list, and great new plot ideas for the coming year."
Richie grinned. She was, after all, his favorite fanfic writer, although he would never dare admit it to any of the others. "And what can I get you for Christmas?"
She slowly advanced on him with a seductive smile. "I bet we can work something out. Merry Christmas, Richie."
"Merry Christmas, everyone," Richie murmured, just before he was lost in a long sweet kiss . . .
The End
What? It's fanfic! It's *supposed* to be wish fulfillment!