Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except for this little introduction here:

Soooooo…once upon a time, there was a rock of crack. It was a big rock of crack, and it was created by an enabling fic-dealer to satisfy a kinkmeme crack addict. Now, the crack was separated into eight parts, and seven were made public and received unexpected amounts of praise (which at one point made the fic-dealer topple out of her chair in surprise, prompting her roommate to ask "What, did somebody die?!")

The eighth part, however, went unfinished and was locked away in a hard drive for safekeeping. That is, until a certain anonymous person on the kinkmeme said "I want more of this!" and the fic-dealer said "I have more of this!" and went back to finish the eight part. It had begun as a part of the other fic, but was basically stand-alone when it came down to it.

Only she discovered that while she wasn't watching, the crack had become not only more potent (let's think China White), but had separated into 12 parts, each demanding attention and love. The fic-dealer could not stop herself, as per usual, and wound up turning it into a twelve-chapter Christmas Crack Story.

And posting it well after Christmas. Because I have no self-control. Here is part one, with 11 more to follow. -McKown

A PARTRIDGE IN A PEAR TREE

Holy Moses on a matzoh.

It's Santa Claus.

"Well, have you been a good girl this year?" he chuckles, sprawling in the Captain's chair like he owns it. Jim sees red – literally, since the man's wearing the most glaring bright red velvet suit he's ever seen, but also because that's HIS chair. The CAPTAIN's chair. And unless this ship is being drawn through space by Rudolph the Warp-Powered Reindeer, nothing should be in the chair but Jim's own toned ass. The confusion that's been mounting ever since he noticed the course correction and came up to investigate has grown tenfold in a single second. Most of the bridge crew has backed away, except Spock, who is standing beside the chair looking pained and a little homicidal.

Uhura, who is sitting on Santa's lap with his arm around her waist, and is currently mouthing "Save me, NOW!" over the faux-Santa's shoulder, nods her head. "Uh-huh. Sure. Very good."

Jim's halfway onto the bridge, and the door decides it's had enough of him loitering and begins to close on his shoulders, forcing him to take a stumbling step into the room. He bumps into Sulu, who's backed against the bulkhead like he's in shock, muttering something to himself under his breath.

"What's going on? Where's security? Is that Santa?" he asks in succession, not sure if that's the order things should go in, but trusting his helmsman to interpret it all.

"It can't be." Sulu responds.

"Well, what would you like me to bring you for Christmas, dearie?" Santa asks, turning one ear towards her lips confidentially, "It'll be our special secret."

"Why not?" Jim asks, almost reflexively. Looks like Santa to him.

"Because I'm a fucking BUDDHIST and Santa does not exist, okay?" Sulu bites back in an eardrum-puncturing whisper, "And he's weird and won't let anyone near him. We already called security. Whatever that is, it thinks it's Santa and we're little kids."

Uhura, whose free arm is waving frantically behind faux-Santa, squirms awkwardly and stammers, "Uh- um, chocolate…chocolates would be nice. Maybe a hat."

"In a favorite color?" Santa asks gleefully, "How about a purple hat? With sparkles and big pom-pom on top?"

"Er…yes. That would be nice." Uhura says, trying to slide off his lap, "Okay, well, then thanks…"

"Oh, let's sing a song, shall we? Do you know the words to 'Jingle Bells'? It's one of my favorites-" Santa gives a mighty 'ho-ho' and begins with a hearty "Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way-"

Once he notices no one is singing along, except Uhura who is humming and looking panicked, he reaches out and beckons to Spock, "Come, come, Little Elf, sing the song with me! Help out our shy friend!"

"I am not an elf. I am a Vulcan, a race-" Spock says, and from his tone Jim can tell he's repeated this several times already.

"Ooh, Little Elf, he's so very silly! Sing with us, Little Elf!" the Santa-thing laughs merrily, jiggling EXACTLY like a bowl full of jelly, in Jim's opinion, but it only makes Uhura more uncomfortable. As Santa launches into another round of "Oh what fun it is to ride in a warp-nine vessel, hey! Oh, jingle-" she makes her break for it and dashes against the far wall, nearly crushing Ensign Batek in her fervor.

"You dick! Why didn't you do anything?" she hisses at Jim furiously, "That was the most humiliating-"

"- dash to battle stations, fighting in the fray; o'er galaxies we go, exploring all the way! Red-shirts beam on down, most likely to die…"

"It looked like a security threat? Christ, Uhura, it's Santa Claus, I'm not gonna stun the guy, besides, you were in contact, it would've knocked you out too-"

"-what fun it is to fly a Constitution Class tonight! Oh, jingle bells, jingle bells…"

"THERE IS NO GODDAMN SANTA! That is- that is a disturbing, strange apparition-"

Security takes that opportunity to finally arrive, and a team of six pours onto the bridge and quickly surrounds the Santa-guy before he can launch into the second verse.

"Oh, now, this won't do at all." Santa says reproachfully, and then he twitches his nose and their uniforms are suddenly very…seasonal. They've retained the red shirts (though everyone's Fleet insignia have morphed into little blinking Christmas trees) but instead of phasers they now have water pistols. Also, they are wearing green tights and curly-toed slippers.

"Ho ho ho! Meeeeeeerry Christmas!" he booms, "Now, who wants to sit on Santa's lap next?"

Lieutenant Wittimer from Botany takes that opportunity to call up to the bridge- "Er, Captain, could someone tell me why there's suddenly an enormous partridge nested in the lab's pear tree?"