More than forever, p.5
More Than Forever, page 5
“You know, taking one night off to go to an elf’s birthday party isn’t going to hurt you. You won’t stop being Santa just because you give yourself a break,” Miss says, like she knows what he’s thinking.
Something tightens unpleasantly in his chest, a panic that he’s not used to and doesn’t much like. “Won’t I?”
“I don’t think this draconian work ethic is part of the whole ‘being Santa’ thing.”
The pain in Nick’s chest is too much, and he gives Miss one last squeeze before standing up. She gives him a sad, tender smile, and he turns away, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to think about his job. It’s his job. It’s what he does. It’s who he is. And that’s all there is to it. He manages to compose himself and spins back, giving Miss a huge grin. She nods, clearly not buying it, and they leave the office together. The hallways are empty. Everyone must be at the party. Nick didn’t even know there was a party. He should probably be more aware of what’s going on in his workshop. He used to be, when he first became Santa. That was a long time ago. Nick scowls at himself and shakes his head again.
“What did you do today?” he asks Miss, in a vague attempt to stop himself thinking.
Miss looks at him like she knows exactly what he’s doing. “What I do every day, try to find ways to occupy my time.”
“Doing what?”
Miss stares at him as they walk. Their footsteps are muffled by the thick rug under their feet. It’s important to try and stay warm in the North Pole.
“I gave the reindeer baths,” Miss says, turning away from Nick. That’s a lie. The reindeer don’t need baths.
Nick chuckles. “Fine, keep your secrets.”
“We have no secrets. You know about my many hobbies, and I know all about those sketches you try to hide from me.” Miss smirks, glancing at him, and Nick blushes. He feels hot all over, his heart skipping. He splutters, trying to think of words to say, and Miss laughs. “You are not smooth.”
Nick knows that, but he didn’t think that he was so obvious. He feels the need to change the subject deep in his stomach. His neck still tingles with embarrassment.
“Maybe we can find you another job around here. Maybe you can help me with mine,” he says.
“Oh, but if you did that, who would be Santa?”
Nick frowns. He doesn’t know how they keep coming back to this, because he’s trying to avoid it, and he doesn’t know what would happen if Miss took on some Santa duties, because they’ve never tried it before, and he doesn’t know how to answer the question. It feels awkward in his mind, too thick and too sharp. Miss laughs, shaking her head and slipping her arm through his as they walk down the hallway. He smiles at her, resolved to ignore the discomfort sitting heavy in his chest.
JACK
Jack is starting to think that Pascal isn’t actually his friend. For one thing, Pascal has recently taken to trying to get Jack to try new things, when he knows that Jack hates new things. And for another, he keeps trying to introduce Jack to new people, when he knows Jack hates new people. It’s exhausting.
“So, Jack Frost, huh?” says the immortal sitting next to him. Jack looks at the man. He’s a relatively average immortal, perhaps a little more stylish than others Jack has met, but then Jack has no idea what clothes are or aren’t in style. He’s wearing clothes now, because he’s at a dinner party held by Pascal and it would be rude, apparently, if he were both visible and naked. He does know that, but he’s also very uncomfortable, even though Pascal has set the dinner up outside. Pascal wanted him to make an effort, so he ordered some nice trousers online when he got back to his house, and he feels like his legs are suffocating. If legs could do that.
“Indeed,” Jack says when it’s obvious the man isn’t going to shrink away like people normally do when Jack stares at them. The man smiles. Jack hates smiles.
Okay, maybe he’s a little grumpy. But he’s warm and he’s being forced to talk to people. Pascal is definitely not his friend.
“How’s work?” the man asks. Jack raises an eyebrow. He’s been asked that before, recently. But when Nick asked, it was with a blush that was sort of cute, and a grin that made Jack warm for better reasons than trousers. And, importantly, Jack knew that Nick wouldn’t care if Jack didn’t answer. Nick seems to have endless patience, and an acute understanding of how awkward Jack is, and he’s not pushy. Unlike this man, who isn’t saying anything. Like he’s waiting for Jack to talk. Jack considers turning around and not engaging anymore, but Pascal catches his eye from the end of the table. Right. He’s supposed to be making friends.
“Work is good,” he says, which is a lie, but he doesn’t care about lying to this stranger. Pascal wiggles his bushy eyebrows and Jack holds back a sigh. “What do you do?”
“I used to be in medicine, but I’ve switched careers recently. You know how it gets when you live forever. One job just doesn’t seem to satisfy me,” the man says, and Jack grinds his teeth together. The man doesn’t seem to notice or even to care, and Jack realises he’s had enough. They’re not eating anymore, and Jack doesn’t have to continue sitting next to this man.
He doesn’t smile, because this man doesn’t make him smile, and nods his head. “How wonderful,” he drawls, and then, “excuse me.”
He doesn’t wait for the man to say anything before he stands. He lets his hand drape across the back of the man’s chair as he walks through the open door into the kitchen. It’s warmer in here, almost too warm for Jack to stand, but he wants a drink that won’t freeze if he holds it for too long. Pascal has laid out bottles on his kitchen counter, and Jack starts to look through them, making sure he doesn’t touch anything that looks like red wine. No one likes cold red wine.
“So, what do you think of Vlad?” Pascal says, suddenly appearing next to Jack. Jack doesn’t look up.
“I think he’s an obnoxious arse.”
“Jack!”
“I’m not apologising.” Jack finds a bottle of whiskey and a glass to pour it into. He holds the glass for a moment, watching as frost spreads up it in crystalline patterns, before unstopping the bottle and pouring himself a large measure. He continues to not look at Pascal, who is, as usual, dressed in hundreds of scarves and woollen jumpers. After a moment, Pascal waves at him, and then leans closer.
“Fine. What about Rosaline?”
Jack shrugs. “I haven’t spoken to her much.”
“Jack, you don’t speak to anyone much.”
Jack scowls. That doesn’t seem fair. He can’t talk to anyone much, because most people live in warm places, and even when they don’t, they either don’t like him or he doesn’t like them. Or they don’t live in the human world. Not that he’s bitter about it. Nick’s probably having a great time in the land of eternal Christmas where everything smells of warm winter spices and happiness. Who would want to live in Jack’s cave when there are other options? He coughs, getting rid of the lump that is threatening to form in the back of his throat, and takes a large gulp of his drink. It tastes nice, and if Jack could get drunk, he would get drunk on something like this. But he can’t, so instead he drinks more, and then tops up his glass.
“I speak to you,” he mutters as he does so.
Pascal looks at him sadly. “I am one person.”
Ouch. Jack turns his scowl onto Pascal. “I speak to Nick.”
Pascal perks up, his nose twitching slightly. “Oh really?”
Shit.
“Sure.” Jack shrugs, trying to convey how little it matters that he talks to Nick. Not that they even really talk! They’ve spent probably fifteen minutes together. Total. That doesn’t count. Except Jack knows that it does. He coughs again, and shifts under Pascal’s gaze.
“Interesting,” Pascal says, the word drawn out.
“It’s not interesting.”
“If you say so.”
Jack doesn’t say anything, because saying something would be very incriminating. Not that he has anything to incriminate himself about. He’s spent the last few Christmas eves on a rooftop chatting with another immortal. That means nothing. Nick is just another guy. He doesn’t make Jack think things or feel things or want to do things. He’s just a person. That is all.
And even if it were more than that, Nick lives at the North Pole, which is a place Jack has never been invited to, and isn’t even sure he’s able to go. Immortals usually can’t go to places they aren’t supposed to exist. And Jack lives sometimes in a house with no roof, and sometimes in a cave made of ice, and most of the time he just wanders around. They see each other once a year for fleeting moments. And, more to the point, Nick probably doesn’t want to see Jack. He probably only invited him to the roof because Jack just kept appearing.
There is absolutely nothing unusual about the situation.
“So, will you be seeing him again this year?” Pascal says.
Jack frowns. “I’m leaving.”
“Okay, I’ll stop.” Pascal holds up his hands, which are wrapped in soft white gloves. Jack eyes him warily, but relaxes his body against the kitchen counter. A breeze floats in from outside and gives Jack a momentary reprieve from the heat that is definitely entirely from wearing clothes and being in a house, and absolutely nothing to do with thoughts of Nick and his smile and his laugh. Pascal grins. “So. Are you having a good time?”
Jack shrugs. “It would be nicer if I wasn’t so warm.”
“And you don’t want to take your clothes off?”
“I didn’t want to embarrass anyone.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you.”
“I’m a thoughtful person.”
Pascal scoffs, the sound strange coming from his mouth. “You aren’t, but it’s nice for you to think that.”
Jack would feel insulted if it weren't true. He doesn’t generally care about other people. They don’t generally care about him. Pascal might say that is because he doesn’t know them, but how is he supposed to get to know them if they never spend any time with him. Because they live in warm places. And he’s not spending more time with the abominable snowman. He’s heard enough stories about him destroying humans who get too close. Call him unusual, but Jack doesn’t approve of murder.
The problem is that whenever he does meet up with other people, he can tell that they’re all mildly uncomfortable. They don’t like the cold, they don’t like that Jack is clearly uncomfortable, and they don’t like that Jack doesn’t speak or blink. He doesn’t understand the blinking thing; he just doesn’t need to, so he doesn’t. But apparently it makes people nervous. So, he makes people nervous and cold and uncomfortable. Which is just a fantastic way to make friends. Slide doesn’t count, because he is a penguin. And Pascal doesn’t count because he’s friends with literally everyone. And Nick doesn’t count because… well, he doesn’t count. Jack would be blushing, if he were capable of it. There’s a warmth in his stomach that twists pleasantly. He doesn’t want to think about that, so instead he thinks about the other immortals at Pascal’s party. Vlad the annoying. Rosaline. Ben, who doesn’t like him. A couple of vampires who haven’t eaten anything. An immortal called Peter who is apparently an actor. An unfamiliar and altogether horrible feeling prickles at the back of Jack’s neck that he knows is guilt. He’s not used to feeling guilty. He doesn’t often have things to feel guilty for.
“I’m sorry everyone has to sit outside,” he says, his voice quiet.
Pascal beams at him, his overly large front teeth seeming even larger. “They don’t mind.”
Jack shakes his head. “Why not?”
“Because they want to get to know you, Jack. And so, they have to sit outside.”
That doesn’t make Jack feel any less guilty.
“They must be freezing.”
“They’re probably as uncomfortable as you are wearing clothes. And yet, you’re wearing them to make other people feel a little more comfortable.” Pascal stares at Jack with his dark, dark eyes, and Jack has to admit it is a little unnerving when people look like that. Maybe he should try blinking. Or at least not watching people. He doesn’t like the feeling that Pascal is studying him, that Pascal is knowing him. He doesn’t like what Pascal is suggesting. He needs to change the subject, or at least lighten the vibe of the conversation. He raises an eyebrow, standing tall.
“Because I’m a thoughtful person,” he says, his lips twisting into his approximation of a smirk.
“Hmm,” Pascal says, rolling his eyes. Jack can feel the shift in the conversation and breathes deliberately through his nose. Pascal shakes his head, his scarves bunching up around his fuzzy ear. “Come on, I’ll move you next to Rosaline. She’s lovely.” He goes to walk out of the kitchen, gesturing for Jack to follow. Jack takes one last gulp of his drink and walks out into the cold to try and make at least one other friend.
Jack waits next to their roof for the slight shift in the air, the static that runs along his arm. He can hear it, the moment of complete silence that lasts less than a second. If he hadn’t been waiting for it, he wouldn’t even have noticed. He’d have walked down the street, staring at the frost leaking from his feet. He’d have gone right past it, completely unaware. He would never have met Nick. The thought sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine.
He’s so focused on the horror of potentially not having met Nick that he almost misses the shimmer. If he blinked, he would have missed it. But he doesn’t, so he straightens from where he was leaning against a tree and pushes off the ground to land on the roof. Going through the barrier into the time-freeze is a bizarre experience, and Jack wonders for a moment if Nick has ever felt it.
He doesn’t have long to think ridiculous thoughts though, because Nick is climbing out of the sleigh, his deep red coat flapping around thick thighs. Jack likes this moment, when Nick doesn’t notice that he’s there. It gives him a moment to catch his breath.
Nick lands on the roof, dusting off his clothes, even though he probably has no need to. Jack waits. He knows Nick will look for him; he asked Jack to be there.
Which is the only reason that he came.
Nick turns around, his warm eyes searching, and Jack stands completely still at the edge of the roof. He wants to lean against something, but there’s nothing to lean against. He got up on the wrong side of the roof to lean against the chimney, and Nick is too quick to look for him for Jack to casually lean against the sleigh. So, he’s stuck standing like an icicle, waiting for Nick to see him.
And then he does. His face lights up, and Jack decides he doesn’t really need to breathe anyway. He could just be a statue, there on the roof, for Nick to look at, if Nick is going to look at him like that. And Nick is looking at him like that. And Nick is walking towards him with purpose. Not like the other times that Jack has arrived on the roof, with a hint of wariness. It’s almost like he was hoping Jack would be here. Jack can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. He wants to move, but he’s not sure where or how. He has a sneaking suspicion that he wants to… hug Nick? He’s never hugged anyone before. People don’t really like touching him for too long.
Nick grins at him, one cheek dimpling. His smile is warm and open and slightly crooked. Jack likes it. It feels more real than the fake smiles he sees on Christmas cards. He’s roughly the same height as Jack, something Jack has noticed before. There isn’t much Jack hasn’t noticed. Jack likes to watch people. But he can’t help but notice it again. Really notice it, when Nick is standing so close to him that Jack can feel warmth that should be uncomfortable, but somehow isn’t.
Jack continues to watch as Nick’s eyes flick over Jack's face, over his arms. He wants to smile in amusement as Nick’s eyes very carefully don’t go below his waist. It’s very respectful. Jack tilts his head to the side as he observes, and wonders if he should put clothes on. Nick doesn’t seem to be embarrassed, or even particularly bothered by Jack’s nakedness. He’s not looking, not that Jack would be bothered if he did, but he’s not squirming either. He’s not uncomfortable, or at least not with Jack’s nakedness, so Jack doesn’t need to worry about clothes. Nick seems to finish trying to find whatever it was that he was looking for in Jack, and turns to walk away. Jack doesn’t follow him.
Nick takes a blanket and a box from the sleigh, and lays the blanket on the roof. Jack openly stares as he moves. Nick has nice movements. They’re big and filled with energy. All of Jack’s movements are precise, they have to be, he can’t accidentally touch anything that shouldn’t have frost or ice on it. It’s interesting to see someone just existing, without thought of their body. Nick slumps down on the blanket, and then looks at Jack. It takes Jack a moment to realise Nick is suggesting that Jack join him. Jack very rarely sits on fabric, frost does weird things to the fibres. But Nick is waiting for him, or at least he’s waiting for Jack to make a decision, and so he decides that Nick probably knows that the blanket will get frosty, and probably doesn’t care. He lives at the North Pole. He’s not exactly a stranger to the cold.
Jack moves slowly, folding himself on the blanket, bringing his knees up to rest his chin on them, and wrapping his arms around his legs.
“Do you like gingerbread?” Nick asks. Jack would blink at him, if he ever blinked. He tries to think about the last time he had gingerbread. He doesn’t eat much. He doesn’t have to, and so when he does it’s because other people around him are. He hasn’t been around people eating gingerbread in quite a while.
“I don’t have an opinion on it,” he says. Nick nods and chuckles. It does something wriggly to Jack’s stomach.
“Here.” Nick holds out the box. Jack looks at it for a moment. If he takes the box, it will get very cold very quickly, but it’s just a box. There’s nothing particularly special about it. He doesn’t think he’d destroy it by touching it. He takes the box and opens it. Nick is watching him. Inside sit a dozen gingerbread men, their faces iced on, their bodies decorated with sugary fruit gummies. They look like something from a fairy story. Jack half expects one to jump out and run away.
It’s a gift, he realises with a jolt. Nick has brought him a gift. The thought makes Jack tingle, his ears fill with a loud rushing. He doesn’t know what it means. Why would Nick bring him a gift? Why would he bring a blanket and sit on the roof? Jack has a horrible suspicion he knows the answer to those questions, and he doesn’t want to think about it now. He takes one of the biscuits, putting the box to the side. He looks at Nick, his heart beating hard in his chest. Nick’s eyes are so warm. Hot, even. Jack takes a bite of the gingerbread man, his eyes never leaving Nick’s. Nick chuckles again. It’s a different kind of chuckle this time. It’s deeper, richer. Almost like he’s laughing instead of growling. If Jack were inclined, he’d be growling right now too.
