This story is slightly down the road for my timeline, but I just wanted to write a sweet and nice story for the season. Of course, what's Marvel's is Marvel's. Don't put this story on your page without my okay, or I may have to put a lump of coal in your stocking.

Nobody could accuse Petra Wisdom of being a sweet little girl. She was too busy getting into mischief for that. While Meg Guthrie would just ask what would happen if a cat was flushed down the toilet like they did the goldfish, Petra was the kind that would find out and take the consequences later. Pete and Kitty could only shake their heads and wonder how their adopted daughter, devoid of any of their DNA, still could end up so much like her parents. That and firmly monitor what she watched on TV, to stop some ideas from getting into her impressionable and willful mind. And keep the breakables out of reach.

They had always prided themselves on their honest and frank approach to parenting, which was why Pete Wisdom was so out of his league the cold December day that Petra turned to him and announced, "I have some questions about Santa." At four, she was trying her best to enunciate as well as she could, which had removed the babyish quality to her voice. The tone of her voice, coupled with the serious look in her brown eyes, warned Pete that it might be time for the Santa talk.

He sat down on the rocking chair in the children's playroom. Between Kurt's daughters, Petra, and Rahne's litter, Excalibur had decided to build a safe room that doubled as the kids' chief play area. Pete smiled bitterly as he lifted her into his lap. There were certain illusions he had hoped that his daughter could hold on to for just a little while longer and, next to Mommy and Daddy knowing all, Santa had been chief. "Wot?" he asked.

"How does Santa fly around the world in one night?" Petra asked eagerly.

He breathed a sigh of relief and then thought for a second. "I think he's got rockets on the sleigh," he improvised.

"Then why does he need the reindeers?" she quickly followed up with.

Pete frowned as he tried to think of a reasonable answer. "Everybody expects them," he finally answered.

Petra smiled. In a household where people flew, lifted things with the power of their mind, and turned from human to wolf, it didn't strike her as odd that a reindeer could fly. Instead, "How do they keep up with the rockets?"

"They run real fast."

That also made sense to her. Already, her mutancy enhanced body build allowed her to run faster than her pseudo-cousins, who were four years older than her. "And how does Santa stop from freezing his arse off?" she asked, hoping for a second that her daddy would let her get away with a naughty word.

Pete bit back the laughter that started to swell up in his throat as he looked into his daughter's sparkling brown eyes. "You know yer momma would spank you if she caught you sayin' arse," he warned.

"But you say it all the time, and she doesn't spank you!" Petra protested indignantly.

This time, a small chuckle did escape before he could stop it. Then he frowned and answered her, "Santa doesn't freeze his bum off," he carefully accentuated the word bum before continuing, "because Mrs. Claus sews extra padding into it."

Again, Petra nodded, sure that her father had all the answers. "How does he get into the houses then?" She had looked up the chimney in the main room in the castle and, if Moira hadn't stopped her, would have climbed up it to get a closer look. But it didn't seem like a grown up could just slide down. Not to mention, if there was a fire- a lot of Uncle Sam's Christmas songs mentioned fires- he would burn all that padding up.

"He teleports down off the roof," her father quickly answered. Then he bit his lip and started to wonder if lying to her was such a good idea. Even if his intentions were good, she was going to hear the truth soon enough.

"Does he teleport in even if there's no chimney?" The question stopped his train of thought.

"No, he picks the lock," Pete answered as he kissed her forehead. There was still a small part of her that smelled like a baby.

"Like Uncle Gambit?" she asked, brown eyes glittering with impishness.

"Who do you think taught him how?"

"But how does Santa know who's naughty or nice?" she demanded.

"Telepathy." This time, Petra nodded and grew silent. She snuggled against Pete's chest and sighed. "Wot, honey?" he asked, concerned.

"Me and mommy bought a present for a kid who Santa wasn't going to visit," she started softly. "Why does Santa just visit some kids and not others?" she asked quickly. "If they are good, and he can get in, why doesn't he go to everybody's house?"

Oh, Pete thought. Now we get to the heart of the matter. He sighed and hugged his daughter as he tried to find a way to explain it to her. Finally he started, "Sometimes a parent can't afford to buy presents for their kid for Santa to give them–"

"Elves don't make them?" Petra asked, stunned.

"Elves only make special gifts for special kids," Pete explained gently, rocking his daughter, remembering hearing about her need for a home on a Christmas Eve not too long ago. "But there are only so many elves and so many more kids and it takes a long time to make a special gift."

"Oh," she whispered, content in the knowledge that Daddy did know all.

"So other people have to help other kids get gifts," he finished up softly.

They sat and rocked together for a minute after that. Pete snuggled her close to him and smiled. "So do you have any other questions?" he finally asked.

"Where do babies come from?" she asked quickly. "Aunt Rahne is pregnant, and Granny Moira said that it was all Uncle Sam's doing. How can it be his doing if she's going to have a baby?"

That one Pete did have a quick and easy answer for. "Go and ask yer mum that one."