Secret Santa

A Seasonal X-verse fanfic, by Brian Doyle

The character in this piece is an established but rarely seen Marvel
mutant. I leave it to you to work out who it is. No permission has been
granted. No offence has been intended. 

Dedicated to all those unappreciated people who help behind the scenes of
society, who are never recognised for being the true superheroes that they
are.

+ + +

The trouble was never getting the names. The trouble was whittling down
the list to the most deserving. That was what took time and was always a
tricky task. For every one he helped there'd be another five he really
couldn't. Well, he could, but to do so would draw far too much attention
to the area.

He never even had to look too far. He'd grown up in a fairly deprived
neighbourhood, and understood better than most the sheer greyness of a
life of continued poverty. Unlike them though, he need never have that
problem again. He need never worry about being able to afford anything
ever again, and that really worried him. He was ethical enough not to
abuse his gifts, but it was a constant temptation to him. He saw little
wrong with using it on rare occasions to help out others though.

He'd also known some bad Christmas's in the past. Never unhappy, his
mother had made sure of that, but always so meagre compared to those that
his friends would tell him about when the school holidays were over. He
had been more than a little jealous of them, and now he had the power to
ensure that some other family wouldn't have that problem again.

He'd staked the flat on the estate out, nothing voyeuristic, just a little
observation. There were no burglar alarms on this flat, no neighbours
who'd care. Hopefully that might change.

The lock on the front door was easy to fix, simply concentrating on the
number 16 and a certain atomic structure ensured that the catch of the
lock would no longer be solid.

He sneaked in as quietly as possible and found himself in a dark hallway.
There were some signs of festive cheer up, but not many, and those that
they had were a little on the faded side, like they'd been exposed to one
too many editions of "Noel's Christmas House Party"... He paused at that
mental image and thought 'Well, who hasn't?' 

The living room had cheap looking furniture in it, and three small
stockings on the window ledge. Clearly someone had already been busy
before they'd been to bed, because he could see some carrots sticking 
out of the stockings and a small mince pie set out on a plate.

There was a tree in the living room, there was always a tree, even in the
most dismal flats he went into. Well, not quite true, there'd been at
least one Hannukah candlestick thingie (he was embarrassed to realise that
he could never remember the proper name), but that wasn't the point.

The tree was a suitably dilapidated looking thing, losing a lot of
needles, but with some rather heavily moulting tinsel wrapped around it,
as well as a few home made strings of beads as baubles. Perfect for his
requirements.

He reached out and touched the tinsel. Elements were simple, stable metals
the easiest of all, and you only had a couple of metals more stable than
the ones he was thinking of. Numbers flashed through his mind, accompanied
by complex tables and images of quantum structures. He had no idea if
these had any real bearing on what he was doing, but he found that it
helped his concentration to focus on them when using his powers. 

Subtly the tinsel changed appearance, keeping a metallic look, but perhaps
gaining a little lustre and a lot of weight. Considering the fundamental
atomic forces he was playing with, adding a polish to things didn't even
raise a sweat.

Then it was the turn of the baubles. He didn't do all of them, that would
have been too much, and compounds always made him feel slightly nauseous
(not the sort of Christmas present he wanted to leave behind him). Carbon
and assorted oxides twisted themselves into being under his touch, and the
baubles gleamed a little bit more than they might otherwise have done. 

Just to be on the safe side he ate the mince pie, and pocketed the carrots
for later. That should be enough to convince the kids' mother that there
really had been someone there. Just so she wouldn't panic too much, he
also left a small typewritten note addressed to her, carefully wiped clean
of fingerprints. (All the extraneous matter had actually been turned into
nitrogen, which was as complete a method of removing all traces as he
could think of.) 

In the letter he mentioned what he had done (after that first year when
the family hadn't noticed his changes and the world's most expensive
tinsel had been chucked out in January without another thought). He also
gave the name of a local pawnbroker-cum-fence that he knew of. She had
been receiving unexpected piles of precious metals and small but high
quality gemstones for the past few Christmas seasons, but knew better than
to ask her customers questions and would offer a fair enough price. The
rest was up to the individuals concerned. If they chose to ignore his
present then that was their prerogative.

With that he sneaked out again, recreating the lock behind him as he went,
and in fact adjusting it so that it was somewhat stronger than it had been
before. No sense in not helping out if he could.

Of the people he'd helped in the past few years several had moved away to
better housing, but some had stayed, and enjoyed a slightly better
standard of living than they might have been expected to. Nothing silly
or extravagant, he'd picked his recipients too well for that, but just
newer clothes for the children, maybe a holiday once a year, enough to
hopefully make a bit of a difference.

He'd met superheroes in the past, mostly other mutants, or at least he
assumed so. Fine and noble people, no matter that some of them looked like
bogeymen. He knew that could never be a life for him, his powers and
disposition were not really suited for that much adventure, and he knew
he'd look a complete idiot in spandex. All the same, he couldn't really
imagine that their achievements could make them feel much better than
this.

"'God Bless us every one' said Tiny... Tom?" he muttered to himself, with
more than a hint of irony. With that, he hunched further into his duffel
coat and disappeared into the silent streets of London in the early hours
of Christmas morning, humming a carol under his breath.