"Cocoa's ready!" Michelangelo all but sang as he bounced out of the kitchen. He joined his brothers in the living room, where they were putting up the last of their Christmas decorations. About time. It was Christmas Eve after all.

Mikey placed the tray bearing mugs of rich, steaming cocoa on the table with a flourish. His brothers smiled warmly, but in an instant the peaceful, contentedness of the room vanished. Smiles dropped one by one from the turtles' faces.

"What?" Michelangelo asked, glancing around.

Raphael and Donatello swallowed nervously, both instinctively looking towards Leonardo.

Leonardo set down the stockings he was hanging above their makeshift fireplace. He walked over to Michelangelo and gently took one of his hands in both of his own. "You made five cups of cocoa, Mikey."

Michelangelo froze.

Looking down, he finally realized his mistake: he had automatically poured five cups of cocoa into the well-used and well-loved family mugs.

"Sorry," he mumbled quickly. "I wasn't thinking. It just happened and I didn't mean to upset anyone…" He was rambling but seemed unable to stop himself.

A soft hand on his arm silenced his garbled apology. "Stop," Donatello said quietly.

"No one blames you," Raphael added, lightly punching his youngest brother in the shoulder.

A tear leaked out of the corner of Michelangelo's eye. He nodded.

Leonardo made a snap decision he was so famous for. "Well then," he said briskly, standing up again, "we'll just have to leave the last cup out, like when we were kids."

He looked around. "For Santa," Leo clarified, seeing his brothers were utterly perplexed.

Small smiles broke out again.

"Now that everything is settled, hand over my cocoa," Raph said, trying to lighten the mood once more. Mikey passed him a mug and he took a large gulp, purposely leaving a whipped cream mustache.

Michelangelo giggled, just like Raphael hoped he would.

Leonardo turned back to the stocking, facing away from his brothers. "For Santa," he said to himself. "And for Splinter," he finished as he lovingly stroked the fifth stocking and hung it in its proper place.

I am so rusty. SO RUSTY. Bear with me; it might get better. Keep warm, gentle readers!