'Tis the season, my friends! Christmas fic, comin' right up. But first, no less than four warnings:

Warning one: Maria the Hedgehog, SonicSong182 style.

Warning two: Pretty heavy Christian themes. Happy to have you here, but I don't want to force anything on anyone. If this is going to be uncomfortable or annoying for you, it's okay if you go ahead and skip on to some other fic—I won't mind.

Warning three: Dialog- and exposition-heavy, almost no real action. It'll bore you sick, believe me.

Warning four: No promises about keeping in-character, particularly Shadow. Where Maria's concerned, all bets are off.

Now, enough with the hazard briefing! If you're still there, grab some eggnog and get comfortable. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Sonic and Co., or the songs mentioned!

Ahhh, Christmas. It was always a somewhat giddy time on Mobius, with the usual nonsense from Eggman getting blurred and tangled together with a mess of tinsel, trees, and scrounging for appropriate presents. Somehow everyone managed to find the time and energy to be ridiculously cheerful and merry and good-spirited, a real nightmare if you were a Scrooge. But you'd better not be a Scrooge, because Scrooges were dealt with very severely on Mobius. With fruitcake.

Shadow had learned to tolerate all the festivities, even vaguely appreciate them. He didn't grudge the others a bit of reveling, but all the same he left the reveling solely up to them. He did very much like the abundance of sweets that came with the season, though.

Mixed blessings, the holiday brought. G.U.N. missions got harder in the snow. One had to worry about leaving footprints, as well as freezing one's nose off. On the other hand, in between the chill and adrenaline, an atypical, pleasant sort of drowsiness permeated G.U.N. headquarters; as if to tell agents that even here, it was all right to relax a little in between life-or-death situations.

There was a radio playing in the G.U.N. rec room. It was an old-fashioned boom-box affair, merrily blasting a slightly scratchy and bass-challenged version of "Jingle Bell Rock." Not too many were around to hear it, since most agents were spending as much of their free time at home as possible.

Nearby, however, a gloved hand was dangling languidly towards the floor, swinging lazily. Its owner, Shadow, was flung lengthwise on one of the rec room sofas, with one leg folded carelessly over the other and his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He seemed to be ignoring the music entirely, judging by the complete disregard his swinging hand showed for the song's beat. A casual observer would think he was lost in his own little world; however, Rouge was watching from a nearby armchair with great interest.

Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock! intoned the radio earnestly. Jingle bells swing and jingle bells ring!

Swing, swing, swing, went Shadow's hand, his eyes roving lazily over the ceiling tiles.

Giddy-up, Jingle horse, pick up your feet! continued the radio.

Swing, swing, swing . . .

The happy little bridge choir started up: Jing-jing-jingle bell, Jingle Bell Rock! Jiiiingle bells chime in jingle bell—

A sudden flash of motion, and a sofa pillow was hurtling across the rec room. It smacked into the radio, sending it crashing to the floor. The device had a pretty sick sense of humor, though; instead of dying honorably it switched channels and began to blare "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer."

Shadow groaned in annoyance and rolled onto his stomach, pulling another sofa pillow onto his head. He'd heard them all, and he'd heard them quite enough. Rouge giggled, having been expecting more or less this chain of events.

"You know, you could always get up and turn it off the civilized way," she postulated, not expected much response.

She got a baleful look from one red eye.

"Since you're supposed to be so awesome and fast and all," she continued.

The eye slipped shut stubbornly.

"Lazybones," she chuckled, and flapped lightly out of her chair and towards the prostrated radio. The music was wearing thin for her, too.

"So are you going to lie there all day?" she asked, flipping the switch. "Or do you want to go train or something?"

"I'm waiting for a briefing," replied Shadow.

"Can't you train while doing that?" Rouge persisted.

"No." Shadow was all powerhouse when there was something actually going on, but periods of inaction always cast him into an indifferent lethargy. Also, since Rouge wanted him to move, there was all the more case for staying put.

"You would do better to keep your physical condition favorable," warned Omega, clanking into the room. "Even a robot of superior quality becomes stiff when inactive. You organics become thoroughly pathetic."

"Mnyah," yawned Shadow, stretching. He glanced over idly and sat bolt upright.

"What," he demanded, pointing, "is that?"

"This?" enquired Omega.

"That," confirmed Shadow.

"This is a hat."

"Well I can see that," said Shadow, surveying the object in question blankly. "Why are you wearing that hat?"

"Christmas is approaching," replied Omega seriously. "As most organics wear some external decor for the season, Rouge thought it appropriate that I also participate in this tradition."

"Oh, so this is your doing?" Shadow turned to Rouge. "Seriously, now. Did it have to be a Santa hat."

More of a statement than a question. Rouge was unruffled.

"He asked me himself," she smiled. "He wanted to know if there was a way he could dress up for the holidays like Mobians do. How could I not help him out?"

"Help him out," said Shadow drily. "With a Santa hat."

"No?"

"We're going to be the laughingstock of the agency."

"What makes you so sure? You'd need a sense of humor to know that."

Shadow rolled his eyes resignedly. The bat was off her rocker, and arguing with the rockerless was always a waste of time.

"So, training?" asked Rouge brightly.

"Whatever," sighed Shadow, getting up.

They were still in the midst of a three-way sparring match when they were summoned for their briefing. Standard jive—first half of tonight, second half of tomorrow night, blah blah blah—only there was an extra note for Shadow.

"And you've got your assignment for Christmas Eve," said the second-in-charge who was giving them their briefing. They all kind of liked the fellow; Frank, his name was. He was a solid guy. "They want you up in Holoska, to investigate some serious electrical disturbances that have been taking place in the southeast portion. Details in the briefing folder."

Shadow nodded seriously, tucking the folder under his arm. He could feel Rouge's surprised eyes fixed on him, but he didn't let on. Not wanting to make a fuss in front of a superior, she also held her peace.

At least until they were out in the hallway.

"What's that I heard?" Rouge asked immediately, her tone already edging into the accusatory as she caught up to Shadow. Omega kept a slight distance away, sensing that things were about to go rapidly downhill. "Do my ears deceive me, or did he say you had an assignment for Christmas Eve?"

"Yes, I do," said Shadow, his stride not wavering.

"But agents are supposed to get the day off, Christmas Eve and Christmas!"

"Only if they identify as Christian."

"B-but—you—"

"You're the one who snoops around on every G.U.N. agent's profile," said Shadow quietly, sparing a glance over his shoulder.

"I didn't even look at the "religion" heading, I thought it was a given!"

"Well, I'm listed as 'non-religious'," said Shadow, turning back and still continuing down the hall.

"What?! Why?"

"Because that's what I told them I was when they took down my info."

"But—don't tell me—" Rouge scrabbled for the right words. "You're telling me you don't believe in—"

"I'm not necessarily saying that," grated Shadow, clearly unhappy with this conversation. "Drop it."

"No I will not!" Rouge caught up to Shadow, grabbed him by the shoulder, and spun him around to face her. "Look me in the eye, Shadow the Hedgehog, and tell me what it is you're saying."

Shadow didn't look her in the eye, but shrugged her hand off firmly, making his point—he would not be pushed around.

"Shadow!" she half-growled.

"There's nothing to say." He looked away. "I'm not demonstrative. You know that."

Rouge rolled her eyes silently, her stance still accusing. She wasn't yet satisfied with the answer.

"I don't hold for rituals," continued Shadow, turning away. "G.U.N. needs all the help it can get, since so many of its agents take Christmas Eve off. Since I am listed as non-religious, I am a candidate for Christmas Eve missions."

"But why would you say that? You're going to just leave us on Christmas Eve?" persisted Rouge.

Silence. He began to walk away.

"Shadow!"

Still not a word. He swung around a corner and was gone.

. . .

Elsewhere on Mobius, a small brown-and-green bundle burst out of a neat little house tucked under the eaves of Blaze's home and began to tear around in circles in the snow. It happened to be Marine, trying to restrain herself from nagging her teammates. At last she tore over to Silver's house, which was right nearby.

"Hurry up, Silva, hurry up!" she chanted, dancing in the snow. "You're sapposta get the tree before ruddy Christmas, mate!"

"There's plenty of time," assured Silver, stumbling outside still wrapping a scarf around his neck. "We just have to go and find it."

"Doesn't that usually take a long time, though?" asked Blaze, joining the other two. "I've often seen books and television portraying the search for a Christmas tree as a long process. It seems that finding the perfect tree is very difficult."

"Not this year!" said Silver proudly, puffing up his chest. "I already found the perfect tree."

Marine's dancing stopped immediately.

"Oyyyyyy, Silva, you picked a tree withou' us?"

"Not really, not really," said Silver hastily. "You see, I was just out on a flight near the woods a few weeks ago, and I saw a lot of evergreen trees growing near the outskirts. I just happened to stumble across one that was just perfect. There couldn't be a better tree in the world, believe me! But we kind of have to find it all the same, because it's still out there. And if you don't like it, we can still look for a new one!"

"But how do we know if it's the same one?" asked Blaze, pulling her scarf tighter. "Many trees tend to look alike . . . "

"Don't worry," said Silver confidently. "It had a bit of red ribbon tied to it. That's how we'll know it was the one!"

Then let's go, Silva mate!" whooped Marine, stampeding off with all her might.

"We're going to lose her at least once, aren't we?" sighed Blaze good-naturedly.

"I say twice for sure," chuckled Silver. "At least we can follow her footprints." He glanced at the erratic curlicues of plowed-up snow, twirling back over themselves. "Or maybe not."

. . .

Over in the Chaotix headquarters, Vector was yawning cavernously and leaning back in his office chair, waiting for a call to come in. Business usually slowed a bit during Christmastime, but Team Chaotix didn't mind too much. Charmy in particular had bigger things he was thinking about; he was sprawled on the floor with a passel of crayons and an oversized sheet of paper, meticulously scrawling something in green block letters.

Espio glanced over the little bee's shoulder and gave Vector a worried look. Vector came over to see what was up. Charmy had drawn, in marvelous detail (for a six-year-old), a striking red-and-blue snare drum, with two drumsticks and a lot of musical notes. Above it he was still busily scrawling, "DAER SANTA, PLEEZ GIV ME A DRUM FOR—"

Charmy stopped his laborious efforts and looked up at his teammates.

"How do you spell 'Christmas'?"

"Just say 'Xmas', kid," said Vector hastily. "X-M-A-S."

Pulling Espio aside, he tapped at his ears—or the headphones over his ears—and gave the chameleon a pained look. Espio nodded glumly. Either Charmy was going to be very disappointed on Christmas day, or his teammates were going to be very deaf after Christmas day. Clearly the wheels in Vector's head were already turning.

. . .

"One little, two little, three little treesies!" Marine's voice rang in the distance. "Four little, five little, six little treesies! Seven little, eight little—"

"At least we know where she is," chuckled Silver wearily. "Maybe it's better this way."

"Are you sure we're going the right way, though?" asked Blaze, shivering as a cold breeze whipped through her bundled hair. "I feel like we're going in circles."

"It's got to be around here somewhere," said Silver firmly. "I know I was in just about this neck of the woods when—"

"I FOUND IT!" Marine squalled from somewhere nearby. "Roight on! The champi'on-est tree-finda in alla Mobius, that's me!"

Exchanging wry smiles, Silver and Blaze broke into a trot towards the sound of Marine's shouting. Very soon they came across a fine tall fir, with a red ribbon flapping briskly near the top.

"That's the one all right!" cheered Silver. "Hey Marine, where'd you go?"

"Nowhere mate, I'm right 'ere," called Marine, popping out from behind another fir tree. "Whattaya doin' ovathere, the tree's ovahere!"

"But this is the one with the ribbon," said Silver, pointing.

"Then what's that then, eh mate?" demanded Marine, pointing at an identical red ribbon tied to the tree she was guarding.

"Wait, two?" Silver squinted at the two trees blankly.

"No, three," said Blaze suddenly, pointing to a third tree. "There's another one over there."

"And one here too!" cried Marine. "And two more there! They all 'ave ribbons!"

"Wasn't there a fairy tale like this?" asked Blaze uneasily. "Where they marked every door in town with a chalk X so the villains couldn't find the one house they'd marked before?"

"I don't see how that'd work, unless the forest doesn't want us taking its trees," murmured Silver. Suddenly he smacked his forehead. "Oh no . . . I get it now. This must be a tree farm."