More Than Forever, page 3
Maybe he should just make more of an effort with his job, the way he used to when he first came into existence. Filled with excitement and rushing around freezing rivers and lakes and covering people’s houses in gentle shimmering layers every night. Maybe he should like his work more, like the tooth fairy, who likes teeth as much as a slightly manic dentist, or even the Loch Ness monster, who doesn’t actually like their job, but does like popping up occasionally to freak out the humans. Or Nicholas Claus. Nicholas Claus lives for his job, in a wholly single-minded way.
Jack sits next to a tree and runs his hands through his hair. Nicholas Claus is the embodiment of his job. The two times that Jack has met him, he’s been doing it with great enjoyment, those honey eyes focused and determined. It’s a good look. His instincts are awful, and it always takes him a couple of moments to realise that Jack is there, but Jack doesn’t mind that. It gives him a second to watch Nicholas Claus jump from the sleigh, the purpose and focus and pure happiness on his face almost disgusting. No one should like their job that much. And then Nicholas Claus sees Jack, and it changes.
Jack isn’t sure he likes the change.
It would be ridiculous to try again. They clearly don’t get along. They probably never will. Jack would have to be beyond bored to even try and see him. He’d have to be sitting against a tree, thinking existential thoughts. Jack sighs, standing up and floating into the sky.
NICK
Jack is on the roof again. Nick sighs, pulling his sack from the sleigh and wandering over to him. Jack doesn’t move, doesn’t stand straight, just carries on leaning against the chimney breast like he has all the time in the world. Nick doesn’t know much about Jack, but he supposes that must be true. Frost doesn’t have much of an expiration date. Jack is still staring at him with those eyes. Those sharp, intense eyes that Nick isn’t sure he wants to look at. He’s not entirely sure he wants to look away either.
“Hello,” he says, because thinking about Jack’s eyes isn’t going to get him anywhere he wants to go. Jack’s lips twitch, that hint of a smile that curls the corner of his mouth, and Nick realises he’s now staring at Jack’s mouth. He coughs, stopping about a foot away from Jack. Not too close. Not too far.
“How’s work?” Jack asks. Nick’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. It’s a civil enough question and it was delivered without any tone of sarcasm or tediousness. Jack’s head tilts to the side, his eyes on Nick’s.
Nick chuckles. “It’s good, thanks.”
“Delivered coal to any naughty children?”
“No. All kids get a gift.”
“Your list must be very one sided.”
Nick grins. Miss says that too, but there’s no way he can judge a child for one or two little things when they have so much more to learn in their lifetime. He readjusts the sack on his shoulder. Whatever gift it was that this kid wanted, it’s really heavy. Nick knows he should walk past Jack, should get on with his job, but there’s something that stops him. And it isn’t the fact that Jack isn’t moving.
“How’s your… work?” Nick asks.
Jack’s eyebrow twitches up again, like Nick’s question is a ridiculous one. Nick shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Now that he thinks about it, he’s not entirely sure what Jack’s job is. His role is to make frost. But as far as Nick is aware, Jack can’t be everywhere, and so he can’t be the only source of frost. Does that make it a job? If he doesn’t have to do it? The thought of not having anything to do makes Nick’s stomach swirl uncomfortably.
“Do you work through the whole year?” Jack says, instead of answering. It’s another civil question. Nick feels itchy with confusion. They aren’t friends. Or at least, he’s pretty sure they aren’t. But this is a conversation very similar to one he would be having with Miss.
“Uh. Yeah?” Nick stutters. Jack's lips twist into his own version of a smile.
“You’re not sure?” Jack raises an eyebrow, but this is different. This is Nick in on a joke that Jack is telling just for him. Nick feels the laughter in his chest building. He laughs, patting himself on the chest as he does so. Jack watches him, follows the movement of Nick’s face as he tilts forward. It wasn’t even that funny, but something in Nick is making him laugh, and he has a horrible feeling that maybe he doesn’t hate Jack Frost as much as he thought he did.
He takes a deep breath, slowing his pulse and grinning at Jack. They look at each other for a long moment, something crackling in the air between them. Nick hadn’t noticed before, but Jack’s eyes aren’t just grey. They have jagged edges of clear white in them, and flecks of deep blue. They’re beautiful. Nick twitches, suddenly hot, a blush rising on his cheeks. He didn’t mean to think that. He straightens his back and coughs. Jack is looking at him with open interest.
“I have to, um—” Nick points at the chimney. The children in the house below are asleep, but he knows that could change in a moment, and Nick has half the world to get to.
“Have a good evening.” Jack steps to the side, giving Nick space, and Nick nods, moving towards the chimney. After a moment he stops, turning back to Jack.
“You know, next year I’ll probably be around about this house at three in the morning, human time. If you’re about?”
Jack stares at him for a moment, and Nick could kick himself. Why the fuck did he invite Jack fucking Frost to hang out on the roof with him? Why did he bother to put himself out there like that, like Jack Frost, the coldest immortal out there, would want to spend time on a roof with—
“I may be about,” Jack says with another of his secret, twisted smiles. Nick thinks maybe he's swallowed his tongue. He nods, almost more to himself than to Jack.
“Okay. Yeah. So, next year?” Nick says.
“Have a good evening,” Jack says, before stepping off the roof and disappearing into the night.
year four
. . .
NICK
Nick is stressed. It’s only eight months until Christmas, and he is very far behind in his work. Everything seems to be taking longer to complete, his mind very unhelpfully stuck on a curved eyebrow and a twisted half-smile. On grey eyes that sparkle like icicles. On a voice that sends shivers down his spine. It’s very inconvenient. He should be thinking about work. He should be focusing on what children want, not on what he wants. That isn’t what he’s supposed to be doing.
He marches into his office, slumping down onto his chair. Children don’t usually start thinking about what they want for Christmas this early, but it’s always a good idea for him to start putting ideas out into the world. He should be thinking about what to create, what can be made in the workshop. He should be talking to his head elves about their departments, streamlining the creation process. He should be tending to the reindeer.
He closes his eyes and imagines a twisted smile and raised eyebrow.
He doesn’t know why he can’t stop thinking about Jack. Probably because he’s the most confusing person Nick has ever met. He just turns up, cold and silent, raises his ridiculous eyebrow, and then pisses off again. And that would be fine, except he keeps showing up! And then there’s that smile, and Nick has no idea what that smile could mean, or if it even is a smile. It’s confusing and unnerving and Nick doesn’t like to feel wrong-footed.
Also, a small part of him suspects it’s something to do with the fact that Jack is an attractive man, and Nick isn’t used to being around attractive men. Not ones that keep turning up without warning and distracting him. Nick barely managed to finish the night last Christmas, without snapping at a dog or cat. Jack had him on edge.
Because he is confusing. Not because he is attractive.
In a minute, Miss will walk in with a knowing smile, and Nick will have no peace, so he allows himself a second more to imagine what Jack might feel like. To clear up his confusion. He’d be cold, because he’s Jack Frost, and maybe a little hard. His skin looks smooth, soft, but his muscles ripple as he leans and walks and steps off rooftops. Nick won’t deny that Jack is exactly what Nick considers to be his type. Physically, that is. Except usually, when he imagines being with someone, that someone is friendly, with a large grin and enticing temperament. Not like Jack, who appears to be all sharp edges and intensity. Still, there’s something interesting about being the subject of Jack’s gaze, like his focus is entirely on Nick, like he can see right into Nick’s heart.
Enough of that. Nick sits up, dragging the list towards him. He needs to make sure he has done everything he possibly can, checked all his lists more than once, before letters start arriving. He can usually expect the first one around September, and he doesn’t know why this year would be any different for the children, even if it feels a little different for him.
He picks a pen out of his pen pot and looks down at the list, focusing on the names in front of him, waiting for the feeling in his stomach, the tightening in his chest that just lets him know if they are naughty or nice. They’ll get a gift either way. All children deserve to get a present. But this is part of his job, and so he does it. Just to make sure. He waits, his pen hovering over nice. Yes, the feeling, rising up. He can tell. This child is—
Ice-grey eyes, twisted smile. Raised eyebrow that tells him that ‘naughty’ and ‘nice’ are concepts as intertwined as the red and white stripes of a candy cane.
No. Nick scowls at himself. He’s not thinking about Jack right now. He’s thinking about the children on his list, the children all around the world who are just about forgetting the excitement of Christmas and letting it be replaced by the sugar rush of Easter. Bunny will be having fun, leaving their burrow for a night to deliver chocolate eggs. Nick has never quite got that one, but he never talks to Bunny, so he can’t ask.
He coughs, turning back to the list. This child. Michael Novak. He is… he is…
Nick tries to locate the feeling, but something stops him. He doesn’t need to think hard about what that thing is: Jack is distracting him from his work, and it isn’t alright. Nick is Santa Claus, Father Christmas. Saint Nicholas. He is not supposed to be obsessing over Jack Frost.
He slams his pen down on the list, the plastic cracking and ink spreading quickly across the list.
“Fuck!” Nick shouts, leaping up and dragging the list with him. The pen lands on the desk, dripping ink everywhere. Nick closes his eyes and growls, “Fuck!”
“Are you okay?” Miss asks, walking into the office. Nick turns his scowl on her. She laughs.
“This isn’t funny,” Nick says. He’s going to have to get rid of the ink somehow. Maybe find his backup list and change the pages out. He’s going to have to go through each of the kids again, and if the past half an hour is anything to go by, it’s going to take forever. He shouldn’t be indulging in whatever his mind wants to do with images of Jack fucking Frost. He should be doing his job.
“It’s a little funny,” Miss says.
“What are you doing here?” Nick doesn’t want to encourage her to laugh at him anymore. He closes the list, putting it to the side so he can clean up the spilled ink and bits of broken pen on the table. He didn’t realise how hard he’d slammed the pen down. He thought he was in control. It’s dangerous when he isn’t in control. He grabs tissues from the box on his desk, scooping up the pen and dropping it into the bin next to him. He scrubs as best as he can at the ink, trying not to spread it around too much, and gets rid of the blue stained tissues. His desk is a mess.
“Head Elf Noёlle says you were supposed to be in a meeting with her, but she couldn’t find you. She looked worried, so I said I’d look for you.” Miss flops into her chair, legs dangling over the arm. She’s wearing combat boots that Nick is fairly sure she had the elves make specially for her, and they kick against the side of her chair. Nick tries not to let it annoy him, even though he’s pretty sure that’s exactly why she is doing it.
“I’ll go and find her,” he mutters. Miss gives him a sad look.
“Maybe wait a minute?” she says.
Nick nods, sitting back down on his chair. His desk is going to be stained. The list won’t be ready to double check for another couple of months, by which time the ink will have sink completely into it. He has no idea where the backup list is. He’s hungry and tired, and he is so far behind in work he’s forgetting that he has important meetings with elves. Nick puts his head into his hands and tries to breathe deeply.
“Want to talk about it?” Miss sounds quieter than usual, which suggests that Nick really has lost control.
“Not really,” Nick says.
There’s a pause.
Nick looks up. “I just need to focus. I’ve been distracted. But I need to not be distracted.”
“What have you been distracted by?” Miss’s face is knowing, because she is the person who knows Nick more than anyone else in the universe. It’s the two of them, platonically linked and together forever.
“Just someone I met.”
“Jack Frost?”
“Yeah.”
Miss nods. Nick watches her. She’s supposed to be giving him advice, or telling him that it’s alright. She isn’t supposed to be nodding like it all makes sense. Nothing about Jack Frost makes sense.
“You know, we’re still a whole eight months from Christmas. It’s okay to take a break, to spend some time thinking about sexy immortals.”
“He isn’t sexy,” Nick lies.
Miss smirks. “Take a break, Nick. Come help me bake some gingerbread biscuits.” She stands up, holding out a hand for Nick to take. After a moment, Nick links his fingers with hers and allows himself to be dragged from his chair. He will bake one round of biscuits and then he will get back to work. He will reschedule his meeting with Head Elf Noёlle. He will sort out his list. And he will absolutely not think about Jack Frost.
JACK
Jack leaps from a roof somewhere halfway around the world from home, brushing his hand along a gable as he lands on the ground. Frost sparks from his fingertips, and he dances over the grass between the two houses. He pauses, letting sparks of ice grow from him, and then moves onto the next house, stepping up onto the roof and sprinkling it with a glistening sheen.
He’s been trying, this year. It’s August and he hasn’t stopped moving around the world, helping the natural weather by bringing a few extra cold snaps. He’s caught glimpses on the news about a freak dip in the temperature, and he grins. That’s him. He did that. Soon he’ll be in places where people won’t even notice the frost. Places where the snow is always thick and the people are always wrapped in layers of wool or polyester. He’ll have to work harder in those places, nipping at people’s noses as they walk past, frosting car windows as they sit parked, forming icicles above doorways in a way that he knows is safe, but the humans are scared of.
He hasn’t moved like this in years, with purpose and drive.
Turning around, he admires his handy work. The town below him shimmers, the air around him cold enough that it’ll stay like that at least until mid-morning. Jack doesn’t know if anyone appreciates how beautiful the frost looks, but they don’t need to appreciate it. They just need to notice it.
He gazes around him, trying to decide on his next spot. There’s a river not far from him that flows slow enough that the edges could probably freeze for a while. He moves quickly, walking through air and pushing off of trees. He knows he’ll be dusting the trees with frost and sending small flurries of snow to the people below from where he steps in the sky, but he doesn’t think too much about it. He doesn’t have time to stop. He’s working. The thought makes something clench in his chest, and he’s not sure if it’s good or bad.
He isn’t thinking of much except frost when he gets to the river. He stands on the bank, his toes touching the water, and watches as it starts to harden.
“Who are you?” a voice says, and Jack would jump if he were easily shocked. As it is, he stays where he is, glancing around to try and find the source of the voice. It must be another immortal, or they wouldn’t be able to see him.
He finally manages to locate the owner, hidden in the dark slick of the water. It’s a small river mermaid, hovering at the surface, their big eyes trained on Jack. Jack is used to new people staring at him, so he just stares back. They watch each other, the ice hardening at Jack’s toes. He should probably apologise for freezing this mermaid’s home, but it’s his job, and he’s trying to get better at doing his job.
“What are you doing?” the mermaid says eventually.
“Freezing the edges of the river,” Jack says.
The mermaid glares. Jack takes a step a metre to the side and starts to freeze the new patch of river. It’s a strange interaction, but Jack very rarely has any interaction, so he’ll take strange.
“We don’t usually get ice here, this time of year,” the mermaid says. Jack snorts. He knows. That’s why he’s doing it. Because he’s Jack Frost, and this is his job.
“Just pretend I was never here,” Jack says. The mermaid doesn’t move. Their face isn’t fully out of the water, and the reflection makes Jack feel uncomfortable. He takes a step to the side and waits for the ice to seep from him. He could do without being observed. He’s just working; it’s not like there’s anything that interesting about him.
“There’s no point in doing that, Jack Frost,” the mermaid says, and Jack freezes. He turns to look at them. They’ve risen up in the water, their hair short and spiky, their neck gills closed tight. Jack can’t tell how old they are, because immortals don’t age, and don’t change, and they are the way they are. Like Jack. Like Nick.
Jack frowns. “If you knew who I was, why did you ask?”
The mermaid shrugs. “I thought it was polite.”
Jack looks down at his feet, at the trail of ice he’s leaving in his path. The river is starting to freeze at the edges, the grasses and plants shining with ice, which happens sometimes if he’s stood in one place for a very long time. He brings down the temperature of an area. He takes a step to the side, away from the mermaid. There’s something about mermaids that he doesn’t trust. They’re too much like him, secretive and solitary and never saying what they mean. The mermaid smirks at him and slides in his direction until they’re sitting a metre away, just far enough that the ice won’t reach them.
