Reposting this here so that those subscribed can read the rewritten, better version! TEC:Reloaded is a much better version than this, truer to my vision for the story, and I think you'll all enjoy it. Please feel free to check it out!

-Ana

1.

Ellington sat at her desk.

This was hardly unusual.

Ellington Sophia Connelly was seventeen years old, and was very often busy at her desk, writing or planning. Today she was doing neither, as a blank page was staring her down mercilessly.

When she was sixteen, Ellington had graduated high school (with honors, of course; top of her class.) She had received many and multiple scholarship packages from Ivy League colleges; the ones from Bryn Mawr and Vassar had particularly interested her. All expenses paid, tuition, dorm, food; everything. And she had been very excited with her prospects.

Then Ellington's father had contracted an illness. At first, it seemed to all to be nothing more than a bad case of bladder stones. Painful, yes; but easily treatable. Ellington had a strange way of sometimes knowing certain things that she shouldn't have been able to. She never told anyone these hunches. Nobody knew things before hand; only fake magicians and psychics, phonies like that. Well, and saints. Anyway, girls like her, however gifted, didn't read into the future. More than likely, they were just coincidences.

So when Ellington had a strange sense of foreboding about the cause of her father's illness, she ignored it. But she wasn't surprised when the surgery ran for six hours instead of two, and all of the other out-patient surgery cases that had gone in after her father had already gone home. Ellington had sat there in the empty waiting room with her mother and youngest sister, for another two hours. Finally, the surgeon came out, wearing a solemn expression that made it clear for once to Ellington just how horribly right she had been.

"I'm afraid it's much worse than we thought," he had said, wringing his mask in his hands. He wore a long surgical overcoat that Annise, Ellington's ten year old sister, had mentioned made him look like Big Bird from Sesame Street. They had laughed before, but there was nothing funny about it now.

Both girls sat, ridged and silent, while Dr. Calvin explained to their mother that her husband had a seriously invasive form of bladder cancer that would most likely continue to spread throughout the entirety of the bladder, eventually taking his life. "Radiation and Chemo-therapy are highly ineffective with this type of cancer," the surgeon had said. His shoulders were sagging, and he clearly felt as though this diagnosis were a personal failure to what he had called on more than one occasion, 'a perfect Little family.' "I can keep removing parts of the tumor, but it will continue to grow back, and eventually..." He sighed. "There will be nothing else we can do."

"How long do we have?" Their mother asked, in a broken voice. Josette Connelly was a strong yet kind woman with a stubborn streak that she put to use by fiercely protecting her family. Her own life was troubled by long illness of her own: childhood Diabetes and immune system weaknesses had dulled a portion of her beauty, but not her spirit. Here, she was on the edge of a collapse that Ellington could see she was fighting back. Ellington could always read her mother better than anyone else; most said she was the most like her mother, in looks and personality - though she was slightly more mischievous.

Nowadays, Ellington didn't have time to be mischievous very often. You were more likely to see her looking around cynically, waiting for the next bout of trouble. Misfortune had routinely beset her family, and Ellington found herself just waiting for the next upset to arrive. And here it was, just as usual. Annise, on the other hand, would talk and laugh with strangers, whereas Ellington would smile politely, chat only reservedly, and make an occasional joke that was usually lost on whoever she was talking to. Sometimes she even lost sight of how reserved she'd become.

Annise sat in tears, with Ellington's arm around her. "Wi-will...he live until Christmas?" she asked shakily. Ellington's eyes smarted.

Dr. Calvin smiled a crooked, sad smile. "Yes. He'll be here for Christmas." And he patted their mother's hand. "I'm so sorry.

While her mother and sister strove not to fall apart in the doctor's office, Ellington found herself thinking a rather gruesome thing, quite without her consent: 'But not next Christmas.'

Little did she know how much she would later curse that nagging sense of intuition.

Their father, whose name was Phillip, was in the hospital for three weeks before he came home. And then, things were very different from how they had been before.

For one thing, Phillip Connelly hadn't been sick a day in his life. To him being diagnosed with cancer was an even harsher blow than it might have been, say, for someone who had been through chicken pox, or scarlet fever. He had been a contractor, building large and important looking houses for rather rich people. But that had been in Seattle, almost ten years before. By now, Josette's health required constant monitoring. A nurse was out of the question, because if during any routine shift change any information failed to be passed along, it could lead to Josette's untimely death. So Phillip had given up his excellent and rewarding career to stay home and care for Josette, who was his second wife. His first marriage, to a woman named Veronica, had been an unfortunate mistake of youth—but before the divorce, they had had one child: a daughter, named Dorothy.

Dorothy was the one good thing that came from those troubled years, he liked to think, and as such he thought the world of her. Custody battles raged long after he remarried, and even after Annise was born. It wasn't until he was forced to move their family to Hawaii (without Dorothy) that he threw in the towel—and barely even then. Phillip was and had always been desperate to have a good relationship with Dorothy, in spite of her mother's refusal to cooperate. Because of this Ellington and Annise had been put through the wringer, with Phillip being too exhausted from court to spend time with his other two daughters. Even now it seemed that being separated by two thousand miles only seemed to make things more miserable for the other girls.

Not that Phillip didn't love them. But they just didn't get his best sometimes, because he gave his best to Dorothy, who didn't always appreciate it the way she should have.

During the first months of his illness, Phillip put much of his dwindling energy into the research and purchasing of natural 'cures' or 'treatments', in the hopes a cure. Even affording the pills was difficult, since the family lived off of disability assistance for Josette. But a few remedies seemed to produce hopeful results, even according to Dr. Calvin, who was still assisting Phillip with his healthcare. For a while, most of that summer in fact, spirits were up.

Except for Ellington, whose nagging gut feeling wouldn't leave her be.

Then the pain started to return. By August, scans showed that the tumor was growing again. As the cancer took over in Phillip's body, he became less and less able to assist his wife in the way she needed him to. The hourly blood sugar checks, the administering of medicines, shots, everything became too much for a man who was taking too much medication to stay awake for longer than a five minute period Only a close family member, who knew what went on with Josette's health, could do the job that Phillip was now incapable of.

Annise couldn't do it; she was far too young. And so Ellington turned down all seven of her scholarships and put off college altogether to care for her mother, as well as her father. Figuring she could make it up later…after all, she was only seventeen.

Then came the fever. Phillip ran a temperature of one hundred and four continuously, unbroken by any medications they had at home. Back to the hospital he went.

This time, the outlook was even more grim. The tumor had taken up the entire bladder; he had also gotten blood poisoning. The on call doctor gave Phillip through the weekend to live, no longer.

And they all had to say goodbye.

Dr. Calvin had come in late that evening, and sat with the Connelly's in Phillip's hospital room. The surgeon was nearly speechless.

"C...can I do anything for you?" he asked Josette.

Josette looked away from Phillip's hand that she had been holding, a sad smile gracing her lips. "Not more than you're already doing. Thank you doctor, for everything."

But that didn't feel good enough. Heading out of the ICU that night, he passed the girls out in the hall. Ellington was sitting with a dazed yet grim look on her face, while Annise leaned tiredly on her shoulder. They hadn't been home for days.

"Hello there."

Annise started, and looked up. "Oh...hi." Ellington gave a little wave.

"Can I do anything for you girls?" He smiled at them, as sadly as had their mother.

"No," said Ellington somewhat flatly. "But...thank you for asking." Ellington was having to face a future where she took on many of her father's responsibilities. A future without college any time soon.

"Um…actually, yes." Annise pulled a letter from her pocket. "Would you mail this for me?" It was a letter to Santa Claus.

Dr. Calvin looked surprised for a moment before giving the girls a strange, almost knowing smile. "You bet I will." He took the letter, turning it over in his hands a few times before heading for the exit. "Good night, then, ladies."

"Good night," called Annise, "and thank you!"

When he got to his car, Dr. Calvin stared at the letter, shaking his head. An idea struck him then, and while it was a bit of a long shot he thought it worth a try. It was, after all, a great, wonderful, magic idea.

He took out his cell phone, and called his son.

It rang six or seven times before it picked up.

"Hi there, sport," he said. "I need a favor."

But favors sometimes take longer than one might prefer.

And so it was that Dr. Calvin's son couldn't find the time to assist his father for a good month and a half. By then the problems had only worsened, all around.

When Phillip's secondary infection dropped away over the next few days, Dr. Calvin was able to offer a surgical option: he could remove Phillip's bladder entirely, along with the tumor inside of it. With the cancer nearly eliminated, Phillip had a high chance of total recovery. So Phillip chose to have the surgery, despite the chance of his death on the table.

The surprising thing was, Phillip survived.

The surgery was successful; the bladder was removed and the cancer all but gone. He remained in the hospital for weeks, recovering. Josette never left his side. The girls were sent home to take care of the farm until their father's return.

Three weeks later, Phillip and Josette returned home. It was a joyous day. And a few days later, at a follow up appointment with Dr. Calvin, all signs were good. Things were definitely looking up for the Connelly Family.

Except for the nagging feeling in Ellington's stomach, that is. An anger began pooling inside of her, anger at herself for being unable to embrace their miraculous good fortune. But it only made the feeling worse, so Ellington began to shut herself off from her surroundings and burying herself in books and her writing, unable to cope.

During the second week of September, Phillip began to throw up bile, and all of his medicine. He began to have pain in his stomach again. As usual, he refused to go to the hospital until the last possible moment, and when he finally allowed Josette to take him, it was bad.

Scans revealed that the cancer, which only two weeks earlier had been very, very Connelly at his appointment with Dr. Nelson, was now as large as it had been before surgery, growing on the wall of his abdominal cavity. It had also spread to his liver. Even Dr. Calvin, who had always been the one to find solutions when no one else would, had nothing else to offer.

After a week's stint in the hospital, Phillip Connelly came home once more, this time, to die.

The girls watched their father waste away before their eyes, unable to eat. They tried to act as if all were normal, but failed miserably. They couldn't help but feel that normality, along with their father, was slowly slipping away.

"Keep in touch with me," Dr. Calvin had said. "I want to know how he's doing, every day." He didn't need to say that he was also concerned about Josette—and mainly, the girls.

It was at this point that he made the second call to his son.

"Sport, I know you've got a lot on your plate right now, but I really need your help."

And this time, his son came through and delivered.

Which was exactly to the point.

Bernard sat at his desk.

This was hardly unusual.

As Head Elf, he spent a lot of time at his desk, doing monotonous paperwork when he'd rather be doing something else. But this time, it wasn't paperwork that had put him there; it was Santa directly, and Bernard couldn't decide if that was better or worse.

For starters, Santa Claus had gotten a call from his father in Hawaii that morning. Surprisingly, Scott was actually on decent operable terms with his father, despite the physical distance that had existed long before he'd donned the suit.

"Hi dad. What's up?" A casual greeting, which belittled the strain Scott was already under. Already he had a situation on his hands with the Handbook, and besides this there was another, less fathomable problem clinging to the outskirts of the Pole's boundaries. But it wasn't often his father asked him for favors, so Santa knew the situation must be dire indeed. He was correct, and what had followed had been a serious and lengthy conversation.

After Santa had hung up the phone, he had sat by himself in the safety of his office, taking in the news and processing it alongside his other existing issues. Slowly, over the course of several painstaking hours of studying, planning, and some sustaining cookies and cocoa, he had a rough idea of what needed to happen. Luckily for everyone involved it seemed he would be able to take care of two problems at once, which would give him more time to worry about the third, more dangerous one.

When he was moderately satisfied with his plan, he sent for the two people he knew could help him sort the situation out.

Bernard should have taken it as a warning when he saw Scott's telltale grin of satisfaction, and excused himself with whatever means necessary. But he didn't, and that would have more of an effect than he ever could have known.

"You rang, sir?" Curtis scrambled into the office, taking up position beside Bernard and flashing his superior a slightly embarrassed grin. Ever since the escape clause incident, Curtis had been on his best behavior to prove that he didn't deserve to be fired. Demoted to the research and development section twas bad enough, but then, he quite liked the lesser burden of responsibility, and the free time he had to work on his projects. He had come to consider the fact that maybe he just wasn't cut out for management, after all.

Bernard narrowed his eyes slightly and turned back to Scott, tilting his chin up ever-so-slightly. Needless to say, he was still searching his heart to find forgiveness for what Curtis had allowed to happen in his absence. He had finally given him the chance to play head elf, and he'd completely blown it. It had actually cost them Christmas, but luckily, Scott had been able to reverse the effects of the clause in time. That level of mistake was hard to just drop—or maybe that was just Bernard being a scrooge. He honestly didn't care if he was somewhat scrooge-like from time-to-time; someone had to keep their head screwed on when it seemed like they were the only person keeping things from descending into chaos.

"Bernard, Curtis, great. Just who I wanted to see."

Bernard rolled his eyes. "I gathered. Like Curtis said, you did ring."

Scott gave him a look. "Alright Bernard, don't get your tinsel in a tangle." He adjusted some books on his desk, a few papers fluttering to the ground. "We need to talk. First off, I'd like to ask you to both take a seat. This may take awhile."

Bernard and Curtis exchanged uncomfortable looks. Eventually Curtis shrugged, and scampered off to find a chair on the opposite side of the room. Bernard, with his ability to perform better magic, simply conjured one up for himself with a careless wave of his hand. By the time Curtis returned he was sitting down comfortably with a smirk on his face—a smirk that quickly became a grin when Curtis scowled in irritation, huffing from the weight of the chair he'd just dragged over.

"What seems to be the problem, Santa?" Bernard asked, stretching his legs out and crossing his ankles while Curtis plopped exhaustedly down in his seat.

Scott was sitting across from them with his glasses perched on his nose. "Well boys, some things have come to my attention this morning that need to be discussed."

"Uh oh." Curtis coughed, suddenly uncomfortable. He squirmed a little in his seat. "If this is about Chet, I'll deal with it, I promise. I had no idea he knew where we kept the oat cakes, and if I had known he knew, I never would have left him without supervision."

"No, this isn't about Chet," Santa said while scanning a large book in front of him, a finger trailing the page. "Though if you have one more mistake this month I'll have to ban you from the floor, Curtis. That's the third incident this month, we can't have that kind of clumsiness!"

"Sorry, Santa," Curtis replied, clearly dejected. He was staring at his lap in shame, cheeks a bright red. To say that his path to redemption was a long, difficult one was an understatement when he was so clumsy.

"Don't stress yourself out over it, just do better, okay?" Scott smiled at him reassuringly. Curtis gave a half-hearted smile in return.

"Well then if it's about the quotas being a bit short, I've already got it under control." Bernard scowled, crossing his arms. "Apparently, some of the elves down in packaging decided to take a few 'unauthorized breaks'. It won't be happening again."

"No, this isn't about quotas either." Santa looked up at his elves, serious for once. Scott wasn't deathly serious very often. Generally speaking, it wasn't a good sign—not at all. "Whatever the issue with the quotas is, we'll pull through. We always do. No, what I have to discuss with you two is a bit less routine than all that."

"Go on," Bernard prompted, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach.

Scott sighed and picked up and envelope from his desk. "I received this letter in this morning's Santa Post. I think for understanding's sake you'd both better have a read."

"A bit early for writing to Santa…it's only August." Hesitantly Bernard reached out and took it, tilting it to allow a single sheet of notebook paper to slide out into his hand.

Dear Santa, it read,

I'm not sure if I should be writing to you, since technically I don't believe in Santa Claus. I know that St. Nicholas is real, and he visits my house every year on December 19th. At least I think so. But then I thought maybe you were the one delivering for him nowadays, so I decided to write you anyway. I don't know for certain what the truth is, but I need some help.

My daddy is dying, Santa. I'm scared. He has cancer and everyone expects him to die. My sister Ellington is scared, but she doesn't say so. Ellington doesn't like to be afraid of anything. She's seventeen and really smart. She would be in college by now if Daddy wasn't sick all this time. She needs a friend, cause she doesn't really have any, besides me. I think that she needs a friend, someone to talk to. If you could help her, it would mean a lot to us both.

My family needs a miracle. I'm asking God for one already but I thought it would be good to ask for all the help I can get. Santa, if you can do anything, please, let my Daddy live. I'm not sure if I've been good all year or not, but I won't ask for anything else for Christmas. I promise.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Annise Connelly

Bernard looked up over the edge of the paper, speechless. He found Santa watching him with tears in his eyes and smiling sadly.

"That's…remarkable," Bernard said quietly. He cleared his throat and passed the letter and its envelope to Curtis. "You don't see that kind of selflessness in most kids anymore."

"My thoughts exactly." Santa leaned back and laced his fingers on his stomach thoughtfully. Curtis was reading the letter, dabbing at his eyes with a red kerchief. "I was even more surprised when my father called me out of the blue, about these same children."

"How does he know them?" Bernard asked hesitantly, confused.

"He's the doctor treating their father, apparently." Curtis leaned far forward and passed the letter back to Scott, then proceeded to loudly blow his nose. This garnered yet another roll of the eyes from Bernard's quarters. "And he seconded what the girl said. Their father is on his deathbed, and won't live to see the spring."

"That's…terrible," Curtis said.

"But I don't see what we can do about it."

"That's a cold thing to say, Bernard."

Bernard tilted his head. "Santa, you know that I would like every child to have his or her Christmas wish."

"Yeah, sometimes I wonder if you only feel that way out of obligation…" Scott muttered. Bernard ignored him.

"But you and I both know that granting prolonged life is outside of Santa's abilities. It belongs in the hands of Mother Nature, Father Time…and several other magical sprites that don't have seats on the Council but are nevertheless very powerful. Life is one of the only gifts you are unable to give."

"What about when people ask for babies?" Scott asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

"Really Santa, you've been in the suit for almost fifteen years. You don't know this stuff by now? Those requests are contracted out to the Stork. And besides, most humans can take care of that on their own." Curtis, rather inappropriately, broke down into giggles. With a frown, Bernard scowled and upslapped the younger elf.

"OW!"

Scott was too preoccupied to notice. "It's a good thing I noticed this then." He searched his desk for something, eventually holding up a section of the List.

"Naughty or Nice?"

"Nice, obviously!" Santa found himself having to refrain from glaring at Bernard. "I thought it would be a good idea to at least check to make sure before I got involved. Sure enough, this is the listing for the Connelly children."

"There are only two children under Connelly on this List," Curtis noted.

"Precisely. Dottie Agev-Connelly is on the Naughty List. She also doesn't live with her siblings, but with her bio-mother in Seattle. The other two live with their father and mother in Hawaii."

"Interesting family dynamic." Bernard didn't know why he was being so cynical, but it was just coming to him at the moment and he didn't feel much like checking it.

"Note the mark next to the names." A golden embossed stamp was next to each of the girls' names: a swirling SC and a half crescent of words and numbers.

"Ref 9274." Bernard said aloud. Instantly Curtis was bouncing in his chair.

"Ooh ooh! That's a reference to the Handbook." In a flash he had said book spread out on his lap, turning it to the appropriate page and adopting his serious reading voice. "'Reference 9274: the Emissary Clause."

"Exactly. Another Clause. Which is why I'd like to know why it wasn't brought to my attention before. I thought there were only the three Clauses: Santa, Missus, and Escape," Scott went on, turning through the pages of his own abbreviated copy of the Handbook that he kept for casual usage. "Now there's the Emissary Clause?"

Bernard sighed a long loud sigh, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Already he could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. "Santa, there are countless Clauses, okay? They only come into play at certain times, which is the only time you, as Santa, need to worry about them. Memorizing them all would take you several centuries—and just look at how Curtis turned out."

Curtis beamed for a confused moment before turning to his superior with an angry glare. Bernard, as per usual, paid him no mind.

"Well I haven't even seen this Clause yet, for your information," Curtis said sharply, pushing up his glasses with the pad of his finger. "This particular Clause seems to have been Deadlocked…I couldn't have opened it even if I wanted to. So there."

"Deadlocked?" Scott's face was wrinkled in confusion.

"A deadlock is a particular type of seal, that involves magic and a set amount of time," Curtis offered up helpfully. "It's usually in Father Time's domain to set such seals, and he does so on a strict case-by-case basis. Whatever this Clause is about, it must be really important."

"'Every 550 years, an emissary must be chosen from among humans to visit the North Pole, be they lonely or without cheer,'" Scott read aloud musingly. "'All emissaries must be under the age of eighteen. All emissaries must be female. This practice must be observed every 550th year, with the exception of postponements. Such postponements may be made only by Santa or the Head Elf.'" He looked up, confused. "Well those are very specific instructions. You alright there, Bernard?"

"What? Yes, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" Bernard shrugged lightly, but his careless laugh was a little too high pitched. He seemed more than a bit uncomfortable with the situation—at least so Scott thought. His Head Elf was beginning to glance at the door every few seconds, and the looks in his eyes could almost be labeled as panic.

"Hmmm." Scott obviously wasn't convinced, but decided to let the matter drop. "So. Would somebody like to explain to me why this Clause says every 550 years, yet was, what do you call it…"

"Deadlocked," Curtis supplied.

"…Deadlocked, right. Why would it say 'an Emissary must be chosen every 550 years' if the Clause couldn't even be viewed until now?"

"Because it was…" Bernard's sentence trailed off into muttering.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Bernard?"

"Because it was supposed to accumulate," Bernard repeated, staring across the table at Scott irritably. "That's the only logical reason, right? The only logical reason why it seems that it was almost waiting for these three girls, even though one is on the Naughty list?"

"True. Okay, we'll go with that. I like it. 'Supposed to accumulate'." Scott looked down at his book again. "Here in my copy it says to refer to the Unabridged Volume for further information. Curtis, what do'ya got?"

"Well, it's…" Curtis frowned, trying to unstick a pair of pages. After several unsuccessful attempts, he gave up. "It seems that the rest of the pages are still Deadlocked, sir."

"Until when?"

"It doesn't say."

Scott leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I'm not really sure if that simplifies things or complicates them at this point."

"What do you need us to do, Santa?" Bernard was clearly getting impatient now, as attested to by the fact that he was checking his watch, the wall clock, and the clock tower across the courtyard through Santa's balcony doors. "It may only be August but we're still on a schedule here."

"Oh come on, Bernard, don't be so soulless!" Scott gave his Head Elf an equally irritable stare. "These girls are, by some strange chance, our responsibility this holiday season—which means that you are going to be directly involved."

"Oh no."

Oh yes. See it says here in the Clause that the Head Elf is to be one of the supervising ah…what did it say? Chaperones. Rather applicable, really."

Bernard sputtered in indignation. "But Santa. You know I don't have time for—"

"Ah ah ah!" Scott wagged a finger at him. "You of all people know that there is no arguing with a Clause, Number One."

"Really? Number one? I'm your only head elf."

"As per your request, but if you ask me, the stress isn't doing wonders for your mood," Scott retorted.

Bernard scowled furiously down at the floor, eyes hidden beneath his hair and hat. Curtis was rather inappropriately grinning. It wasn't often he got to see Bernard put in his place by Santa himself, when usually it was the other way around.

"So here's what we're going to do," Scott announced decisively, taking charge of the situation. "It will take me a while to convene a Council of Legendary Figures to deal with the issue of their father's health—I'll also need to speak with my father about his case. In the meantime, the girls will fulfill the Emissary Clause for us. What were their names again?"

"Ellington, Dorothy and Annise," said Bernard, surprising both Santa and Curtis. He looked up, clearly annoyed. "What, am I the only one here graced with functioning short term memory?"

"Easy, mister."

"Or should I also overlook the fact that we have no idea what to do with that," said Bernard, and pointed to a large map on the wall. Not surprisingly, it was a map of the North Pole. But the map, although made of paper, moved. It was enchanted, of course, and the map kept track of many pathways and things. But the most notable development of late was that the boundaries of the Pole had turned a menacing shade of black, as an Unknown lurked on the horizon in a voluminous, undulating darkness.

"We don't even know what it is!" Bernard threw up his hands. "It's been a month, and we've made no progress!"

"No, we don't," Santa admitted, quietly but firmly. "Which is yet another reason why we should convene the Council. This kind of thing usually doesn't just go away on its own; I think we've wasted far too long waiting for that to happen already. No, something needs to be done." He sighed. "And the way I look at it, the more loose ends we finish off we might just be more likely to make it go away."

Santa snatched up the letter again. "I need three Chaperones, one for each girl. Bernard is obviously getting one—"

"I have work to do!" Bernard cried. "In case you've forgotten, I manage this place. I've got too much to do already, without having to drag some little girl around sightseeing."

"Which is why I'm giving you the eldest to deal with," Scott replied, pointedly level. "Ellington is seventeen, which is plenty old enough to behave herself. She won't need entertaining. Honestly Bernard, it'll be easier than you think. You'll have to make sure she doesn't post a bunch of photos online, but besides that teenagers are pretty self-maintaining. It should be smooth sailing after the first few days."

"This is a terrible mistake," Bernard gritted out, crossing his arms more tightly and clenching his jaw as if holding back a stream of arguments and possible insults.

Santa ignored him. "How do you feel, Curtis, about playing chaperone to our letter writer? Ten year old Annise?"

Curtis shifted in his seat. "Well, I'm...not very good around girls, but...I'll try. After all, asking for her father's health for Christmas is a very noble thing to do." His voice had gradually grown stronger and more excited. "Yeah, sure I'll do it. She seems like a nice little girl."

Santa smiled. "Good then. Now I've just got to find a chaperone for Dorothy, and we're set."

"Set for what?"

"Their arrival, of course!" With a few merry chuckles Scott got up from his desk, apparently very pleased with himself.

"I thought they were coming for the holidays, sir," Curtis asked, casting worried sideways glances at Bernard, who was now making strange strangled noises in this throat while trying not to burst out shouting.

"No, they're coming now. Now is when the need has arisen, now is when the Clause had revealed itself." After a pause he added, "They'll stay until Christmas, of course."

"That's five months," Bernard said, slowly.

"Yes, Bernard. It is five months. Thanks for the help, but I can count on my own."

"How are you going to take them from their family—from their dying father –for five months?!"

"I have my ways," Scott said vaguely. Bernard rolled his eyes and huffed at this non-answer. "Now: in the meantime, I suggest you two start preparations for their arrival. They'll need rooms for sure, and clothes—it's much colder up here than in Hawaii and they won't exactly have time to pack. Get Abby to help you with that. I've spoken with Carol, and she's already agreed to help with getting them settled in. Hopefully they won't have trouble adjusting to the idea of living in the North Pole for a while, because that would definitely complicate things." With a sigh he rose, his chair creaking in relief. "I'm glad we've gotten this settled, guys. Thank you."

Bernard and Curtis had gotten to their feet before him, one decidedly more graceful than the other. Already a deep-set frown was set on Bernard's face, his mind retreating to a thoughtful, irritated place. "How long do we have?" he asked, his voice flat and unenthusiastic.

As much as Scott was aware of Bernard's usual sarcastic state of existence, he knew that his Head Elf had a soft spot for children. Normally, his stubborn behavior came from disagreeing with adults more than anything, so Santa was very much confused by the general lack of excitement—or even just resolve or preparedness—from Bernard's quarter. Already Curtis had squared his shoulders, a gleam of enthusiasm in his eye at the events ahead.

"About twelve hours," said Santa slowly, turning away from Bernard and trying to stuff down his worries. "There's a time difference between us and Hawaii. ELFS prefers nighttime pickups, if I remember correctly, so that will be around nine o'clock their time. And, since Seattle is three hours ahead of them, it'll be midnight there. I think that's the most workable time-frame."

"I'll let them know." Bernard began walking out of the room, eyes on the floor as he submerged into his own thought process. Thinking who knew what, Scott mused ruefully. Sometimes—no, often he wished Bernard were more communicative. Times like these it would make things that much easier.

"They've already been told—Bernard!" The elf paused mid-stride and turned, eyebrows raised. "What is the matter with you? It's not normal to be this detached…even for you. What is going on?"

Bernard stared into a vacant space midair for a long moment, as if lost. Then his head snapped up, and he gave Santa a small, forced smile.

"Nothing, sir. I can personally assure you that all the necessary arrangements will be made." With a tight nod and a tighter pivot of his heel, Bernard left the room, eyes already back on the ground.

Santa and Curtis stood together in a stunned silence for a moment. "What was in his cocoa this morning?" Scott muttered eventually.

Curtis seemed genuinely taken aback. "I don't think it was his cocoa—he was fine before this," he told his boss. "Something about this whole situation has affected him…I don't even really want to know how." The blond elf looked vaguely horrified at the idea.

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Bernard's emotions that frightening?"

"No," Curtis replied with a shudder. "But when he gets into a bad mood, you and I both know that's another story."

Disclaimers:

I am not Disney or Disney affiliated and therefore do not own any rights or credits to any characters, concepts or places portrayed in or from "The Santa Clause 1, 2, or 3". The only thing I own is my own creative work and original content and characters, including the Connelly family, the Emissary Clause and Elle herself.

Many characters and concepts are borrowed/used shamelessly from the works and headcanons of SafyreSky, all rights and credit go to her for coming up with such incredible ideas. These include but are not limited to the Legate concept, Jacqueline Frost and the portrayal of many other non-canon/canon characters.