Chapter Text
Leo
"Santa doesn't exist," Christian scoffed.
Leo gave his older cousin a sceptical look; "Then who puts the last present under the tree?"
Christian rolled his eyes; "Your parents, obviously."
Leo rolled his eyes right back; "Mum and Dad just get me gift cards. They wouldn't know what I wanted for Christmas if I wrote it in plain Standard across the kitchen cupboards using my own blood."
Christian turned somewhat pale at the mention of blood and fled to somewhere in the house far from Leo, who scoffed. He was the tougher of the two, and it was going to disappoint his uncle greatly when his Christian failed to become a doctor. Leo was hoping to laugh at him all the way to the grave.
Even at six, his dry humour and generally laconic nature was shining through and startling all and sundry. His parents had wondered if maybe they'd been letting him watch too many drama holos, but even the removal of their favourite shows yielded a child whose only concession to joy were jokes at the expense of others and the occasional bout of toilet humour (he was only six, after all).
This did not, however, diminish the fact that Leo was still a kid. One who believed in the Tooth Fairy and Santa the Easter Bunny and a lot of what went bump in the night. The fact that his mother nurtured that belief, even when his father rolled his eyes and scoffed, only made him more certain that his faith was well-placed.
So he shook off his cousin's close-mindedness and headed for the kitchen, where he'd been helping his parents and relatives chop carrots before being dragged away to "play".
"Did you enjoy talking with your cousin?" his mother asked mildly.
"I hate him," he replied, shrugging indifferently.
His aunts exchanged a look and he added, "He keeps trying to put me down because I'm younger than him."
The look was decidedly more fierce this time, and Leo took up his little knife and chopping board with the satisfaction of a job well done.
Christian's punishment for "being mean to Leonard" was to eschew his place at the adult table, which he'd earned last year by turning eleven, and sit at the kid's table while Leo took his spot.
Leo thought this was fair and just and took his spot happily, ignoring the mumblings of dissent from the larger boy.
He listened to his family talking around him; this business venture by so-and-so was going well, Uncle Ryan was thinking about opening a new practise in another location ("You're moving to Nebraska?" his mother had gasped) and Leo's father was very proud of his son's progress in school.
"He must be the only literate child there," he said, rolling his eyes, "You'd think in this day and age that people would teach their kids to read before sending them off to learn other things. They're barely teaching it at the school; I wonder why I pay so much, to be honest."
As Leo recalled, he had taught himself how to read by learning the alphabet from a holo and then opening up a copy of The Chronicles of Narnia and staring at the letters, clumsily making sounds at the page until they resembled words.
"Not everyone can be Leo," Aunty Susan said fondly, "And some people don't have time to be teaching children how to read; they have to support their families."
"They should get better jobs," Leo's father said dismissively.
Leo frowned; his best friend Mark's parents hadn't taught him to read before school. Mark had told him that they worked a lot, so he had to help more around the house. That it was okay, though, because they did it all for him. Leo wondered what made his dad think differently.
"Dad," he spoke up, "doesn't working more mean you're doing better?"
His father laughed fondly; "Son, you know you're doing well in your job when you're doing LESS work."
(In thirty years' time when Bones was entrenched in his position as CMO on a starship, he'd remember that comment and nearly cough up a lung laughing.)
"But what if they can't get better jobs even though they try really hard?"
"Then they should think about getting further education," Uncle Ryan said firmly, receiving nods from everyone but Leo's mother, who was frowning.
"What if they can't afford it?"
"Join Starfleet?" Uncle Richard said, laughing derisively.
Leo frowned; why were they all being so mean? It wasn't their own fault that they'd ended up with bad jobs.
He said as much, and his father turned on him; "Who exactly are you talking about, Leo?"
Leo got the feeling that answering would mean that he wouldn't be allowed to see Mark anymore and he refused to answer.
"Leonard, tell me who it is that's got you thinking that being poor is okay."
"No one made me think that being poor's okay!" he replied, "I just think that you can't always blame them just because life gave them bad luck!"
"Young man-"
"Will, back off," his mother intervened, "Leo's got a good heart, and you should be proud of that."
"May I be excused?" Leo muttered glaring at his half-full plate.
"Finish your dinner," his father ordered, and Leo scoffed the whole thing down and informed the table at large that he'd probably throw up now. Then he marched himself to his room and shut the door quietly behind him.
His room was a haven of storybooks and data PADDs. His cupboard was topped with toys that he no longer played with and his desk covered with all sorts of things, from writing projects to anatomically correct sketches of squirrels and opossums (or as close as one could get with crayon).
He sat on his bed and pondered his father's words, and then decided that his father was stupid and got up to pull a book of Christmas stories off the shelf.
A knock sounded on his door before he could start reading, and he called, "Come in."
The door opened and his mother slipped inside, looking unhappy. Leo recoiled for a moment before the frown was smoothed over by his favourite smile in the world. "I remember the first time I came in here and saw you reading a book by yourself," she said, sitting down beside him, "I was so surprised, because you were only four and I'd been so excited about teaching you myself. But you didn't need my help, just like you didn't need anyone to tell you that your father was dead wrong about Mark's parents."
Leo glanced up, startled, and she rubbed his back reassuringly; "Your father doesn't talk to them, unlike me. I would've been in exactly the same position if your father hadn't fallen in love with me. He forgets that, sometimes."
"I thought things like this were supposed to be grown-up topics, anyway," Leo said sullenly, unhappy that his day was going to end with him camping in his room to avoid everyone.
"You were sitting at the grown-up table," she replied cheekily, and Leo pouted at her. Then he leaned against her and savoured the warmth she radiated.
After a while he spoke up again; "Christian said that Santa doesn't exist."
"He was wrong," she said firmly, standing and pulling out a thin novel, "Remember the books by J. Bennett?"
"Yeah," he said, "About the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy..."
"And Santa," she continued, "and the Sandman and Jack Frost and all the others. They're all real, darling. I know you've got this book firmly catalogued in your little library's fiction section, but everything in it is true. You know I wouldn't tell you lies before bed."
Leo didn't reply, so after a short time his mother kissed him on the head and left, returning to the party. The book was left on his bedside table, and Leo stared at it's cover for a time – it was the one about Santa and the North Pole – before frowning and grabbing a PADD. He set an alarm for eleven thirty pm and changed into his pyjamas, going to bed and willing himself to sleep.
He woke with the alarm and immediately shut it off, wide awake and ready for a reconnaissance mission. He'd played this game plenty of times with the kids at school so he was almost silent, making his way to the living room on thickly socked feet.
He'd missed the Christmas Eve opening of presents, which his father's side of the family did every year, so what had to be his pile was noticeably higher than his parents'. Everyone had already left, the youth of all the children making it necessary for earlier bedtimes, so he was alone in the dark room, looking for a place to hide. He settled for a spot atop a cabinet in the corner, where the shadows were deep and he could keep an eye on the entire room.
The bright numbers of the digital clock on a side table across the room informed him as five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty. He'd almost begun to nod off again when an odd whine brought him back. He looked to the window, where the noise came from, and froze as the now unlocked window slid open and a huge man stepped through, carrying an equally massive sack on his back. He panicked for a moment, before remembering that it was Christmas and oh my gosh, Santa.
The man carefully knelt down beside the tree and extracted two packages from the sack, placing one on his pile and another on one of his parents'.
He stood to leave, nodding at a job well done, before Leo managed to speak up; "Santa?" he whispered.
The man - Santa! - froze and turned to look at him. Leo saw a twinkle of blue eyes in the moonlight as the man frowned into the darkness.
"Yes?" he asked, voice rough and low.
"... Hi," Leo whispered, sliding forward and off the cabinet.
"Hello, Leonard," Santa replied, smiling brightly (if a little awkwardly) at him, "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," he replied, "Sorry I didn't leave out any cookies or anything; Dad doesn't do it if I'm not here, I guess."
He frowned at the empty coffee table and Santa shrugged.
"Is no problem, I am full of cookies anyway," he said, making a face, "Is no wonder that Bunny is always making fun of my weight."
"The Easter Bunny?"
"Who else?" Santa laughed loudly, before slapping a hand over his mouth and looking up the hallway. When no one stirred he shook his head, "You realise that you will have to work extra hard to be on Nice List next year, now you have seen me, yes?"
"I know," Leo said, smiling, "I know I wasn't supposed to see you at all, but my cousin said you didn't exist. Mum said you did and I had to prove that she was right."
"Of course she was right," Santa said, crouching down (still tall enough to be looming over him), "Why do you think she still gets presents from me? Is because she knows I am real."
"What did you get her?" Leo asked.
"Limited edition Star Wars box set with functioning light sabre," he replied, grinning and holding a finger to his lips, "Do not ruin surprise."
Leo mimicked the movement and nodded, "I should go back to bed now," he said, "... Can I have a hug?"
Santa smiled and opened his arms, and Leo skittered forward and hugged the man's huge torso, giggling when equally large arms folded around him.
"Thanks," he said when he stepped back, "Good night. Merry Christmas again."
"Merry Christmas, Leonard," Santa replied, rising, "Lock the window behind me?"
Leo nodded and escorted the man out, blinking when he leapt onto the roof in one fluid movement. He wondered for a moment why he couldn't hear hooves, and realised that he could see the sleigh and accompanying reindeer a few rooftops away; Santa had been leaping from roof to roof by himself.
"Awesome," he muttered, closing and locking the window before shivering and hurrying back to his room. Before turning off the lamp, he took the book off the bedside table and placed it on the non-fiction side of his shelves. Then he tucked himself in and fell asleep once more, mind alive with what had just occurred in his living room.
He woke the next morning and calmly made his way to the couches where his parents sat, already awake and waiting for him.
"Merry Christmas," he said with a smile.
"Merry Christmas," they replied, and Leo turned to the pile, grabbing Santa's gift to his mother.
"Open this one, Mum," he said, presenting it to her, "You'll like it a lot."
"Why thank you, Leo," she said, waiting until he'd handed one to his father as well to look down at the tag, "Oh, it's from Santa!"
His father huffed, but said nothing, and Leo suddenly felt a wave of pity wash over him. It quickly dissipated when his mother opened her present and smiled hugely; "The Star Wars set with the light sabre that's actually made of hardlight! I've been wanting this all year!"
Leo quickly tore into his, and grinned when a remote control hovercar emerged; "My friends are going to be so jealous."
His mother sent him a knowing look and gestured to the pile, "Well? You'd better open everything up before we get ready to visit my family; otherwise they might not be there when we get back."
Leo shook his head, knowing that wouldn't happen, and dutifully handed both his parents another present before turning to his own.
His Christmas Eve may have been a bit lacklustre, but his Christmas Day seemed like it was more than going to make up for it.
Oh, and he'd gotten to meet Santa - the real deal. Yes, life was good for Leo McCoy.
(Over three decades later, he'd look back and wonder how the hell he'd ever managed to stop believing after that encounter. He put it down to the world being assholes and moved on. He was too busy patching up the Guardian of Fun in sickbay; he didn't have time for such maudlin thoughts.)