Santa Doesn't Visit the Cosmetics Department (2/2)
Title: Santa Doesn’t Visit the Cosmetics Department (Part 2/2)
Author: imigination
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, Merlin, Morgana, Santa and his Elves ♥
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Very vague allusions to 2.10.
Word Count: 7020
Summary: An AU holiday story. Guinevere is an overworked, overburdened shop girl, trying to hold up the world. But Santa’s best helper deserves a happy ending.
Author’s Note: Written for the holiday crackfest at camelot_love. A big thank you to the fabulous dis_netis for a quick brit-pick.
Herein lies a little angst and a lot of crack, some humor and, above all, romance. I hope you all enjoy, and happy holidays. ♥
Part One
Gwen cracked her bedroom door, poking her head around the frame and dripping water all over the carpet. She could see him there, crouched on the floor in front of her television stand as she’d left him nearly thirty minutes earlier, trying to put on some music.'>
“How do you get this bloody thing to close?” came Merlin’s frustrated demand from the living room.
Gwen cracked her bedroom door, poking her head around the frame and dripping water all over the carpet. She could see him there, crouched on the floor in front of her television stand as she’d left him nearly thirty minutes earlier, trying to put on some music.
She chuckled; after all these years, he still lacked the magic touch when it came to her stereo. No wonder, she was pretty sure her father bought it back in ’95. “Just a minute, Merlin!” Gwen shut her door and drowned out a heated, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
After a moment of digging, Gwen found what’s she’d been looking for buried deep in the bottom of the wicker hamper. Tom’s Christmas sweater had to be older than Gwen herself. It had long been the bane of her existence - she understood getting into the spirit, a pattern of white reindeer pranced across the crimson fabric. “It’s not Christmas without an ugly sweater,” he’d tell her at the start of each December, and Gwen would long for New Year’s Eve and the retirement of the garment for another eleven months.
It smelled like him still, a little like coffee and the mint of his aftershave. It was far too wide for her, hung down nearly to her knees, and there was a growing hole on one of the side seams, but it was ugly and perfect and now her burden to bear.
Pausing only to pat her hair with a towel one more time, Gwen slipped out of her bedroom and padded down the hall toward her friend.
He was seated in his usual spot on the couch, far from the stereo, with his feet kicked up on her coffee table and a sour look on his face. The telly was on in place of music, The Nightmare Before Christmas, and he resolutely did not turn his gaze to her when she entered.
“Come now, Merlin,” chided Gwen, “Don’t let it get the best of you.”
“How you get that prehistoric thing to work, I have no idea,” he huffed.
She just smiled and lowered herself to the floor, folding her legs beneath her. “It just needs a little love,” she teased, opening the CD tray. “Have you considered the problem may be you chose a crap CD?”
“It’s yours.”
“I can hardly be blamed for choices I made when I was ten,” quipped Gwen as she cast aside ‘A Muppet Christmas’ and flicked through her music collection. Minutes later, the dulcet tones of the Temptations filled her flat, sweetly crooning a Motown rendition of ‘Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.’
Though it took some measure of effort to get Merlin off the couch and on his feet again, Gwen was grateful for his presence, petulant or not. This was her first Christmas alone, and she was trying to stay just a step ahead of a tidal wave of loneliness, one that she knew could overtake her at any moment, send her reeling as only this holiday could. She’d settle for a dull throb of distant sadness over the raw wound she’d nursed in the weeks and months immediately after his death.
She vaguely remembered, in the week after she buried him, meeting with a grief counselor at someone’s behest. Barely anything registered - words were only words after all - but somewhere in the dross there had been a ‘Keep busy,’ and something about ‘Keep company.’ In the midst of it all, it struck Gwen as very good advice.
“Where’s your stocking?” asked Merlin, face buried in a large plastic carton of Christmas decorations.
Gwen, balancing boxes of ornaments in her arms, rose from her place on the floor. “I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have a stocking?” He was incredulous.
She chuckled. “No, Merlin.”
He opened a tin of ornaments - little gold angels made from beads - and approached her tree. “Why not?”
Shrugging, Gwen twisted a fresh green hook around a shiny red bauble. “I guess it just wasn’t our tradition.” She hooked it on the tree and reached for another.
That was acceptable enough to him, and for a few minutes they worked in silence, decorating side by side, Gwen occasionally correcting Merlin’s work when his back was turned. The CD went through her father’s classics, and she hummed along to a few as she worked.
“So …” started Merlin again, putting an ornament Gwen had made when she was six or so on a branch very close to the top, “What are you doing on Christmas?”
Gwen frowned and turned her back to him, looking for another box of handmade gold butterfly ornaments. “I don’t know. There’s a soup kitchen about five minutes away I thought I’d go to-” Merlin’s eyebrows shot up, and Gwen smiled gently, “To volunteer, Merlin. In the morning. Then … just cook something, I guess.”
He shifted a little beside her, before turning and crossing toward the kitchen. “Gotcha. But … you know, you’re quite welcome with us, you know.”
She stopped working, her fingers gently gripping a branch and prodding a strand of colored lights a little deeper into to the tree. Merlin hovered in the doorframe, munching on a chocolate chip cookie from Gwen’s table, a small smile on his face.
Her heart swelled a little at the thought, but outwardly, Gwen frowned. “I couldn’t-”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’ll just be me and Gaius. And my mother, she’s driving up tomorrow.”
“Hunith?” Gwen’s heart leapt at the thought; she adored Merlin’s mum. “Well, if Hunith’s going to be there …”
Merlin gasped, mock-offended. “I see … so Merlin’s not enough for you?”
Gwen laughed. “Of course, Merlin’s enough! But … I mean, for Hunith …” she paused and looked at her best friend, grinning at her like a loon, and bristled as she returned to work. “Do call her and ask what she’d like me to make-”
“Don’t be stupid, you’d be a guest.”
“Don’t make me call her myself, Merlin. I already have a million things to do.”
“But you’d like that, wouldn’t you! You could get your girly gossip on, you two … chatterboxes.”
Twenty minutes later, they stood back, marveling at their work. Gwen’s tree was smaller than it had ever been before - just a little taller than her - but it was full and decorated to the hilt. She was pleased.
Merlin swallowed his third cookie. “You know,” he commented thoughtfully, “Arthur’s tree’s got the same colors.”
Her voice remained carefully indifferent. “Really.”
“Yep. Red and gold, like that.”
She didn’t need to see Arthur’s tree to know that hers couldn’t possibly compare. She imagined the Pendragon household had a tree not unlike the one in their department store; grand and lush, high to the ceiling … the kind of tree you needed a ladder and a few able-bodied servants to decorate.
“Well, that’s not surprising,” she remarked, putting away empty ornament cartons.
Whether it was her tone or the flush of her skin, Merlin saw through her smokescreen of indifference. “What’s going on with you two?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He flopped down onto the sofa. “Well … I just thought you liked Arthur.”
“Everybody likes Arthur.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
Gwen shook her head and went to put another bauble on the tree.
“Is that why you turned him down?”
She froze, fingers closing tightly around a branch, and glanced over her shoulder at her dark haired companion. “I didn’t reject Arthur,” she corrected, before glancing away, uncomfortable.
He frowned at that, and looked away from Gwen toward the floor, turning over something in his head. “Yes, you did.”
Of course she didn’t. She wouldn’t. “Merlin-”
“You told me yourself,” he insisted, rather heatedly, “You didn’t want to go on a date with him.”
“I said no such thing,” exclaimed Gwen, whirling around to look at him. She bristled at his accusatory tone, shocking for one so not involved. In the situation.
“You did! … Didn’t you?”
“But-”
“When he asked you to Morgana’s party-”
Gwen shook her head and back to the tree once more. “It doesn’t matter,” she continued softly.
The plate of snacks he’d been nursing cast aside, Merlin had buried his fingers in his short hair, clearly struggling with the information she divulged. “Why doesn’t it matter?”
“Whatever he wanted … if he wanted to … take me …” she shook her head. “He made it clear that he didn’t want to be together. Er … go together, I mean.”
“Because you said you didn’t want to!”
“Merlin,” snapped Gwen, growing frustrated, “I never said that to him. I never said it, because it wasn’t true. I didn’t talk to anybody but you about it anyway. And you-”
She didn’t need to continue; the look on his face said enough. He was looking at her, mouth parted and eyes wide and more than a little alarmed. Her voice dropped. “You told him what I said.”
He bit down hard on his bottom lip, and took a cautious step toward her. “I … I thought that you meant you didn’t want to go.”
Gwen felt her stomach churning. “I just wanted a little privacy about it-”
“But-”
There was no flare of anger, or rush of hope at this revelation, only a wave of sadness. After all, thought Gwen, if he’d really wanted her … he would’ve insisted. Wouldn’t he? And it’s too late, anyway … Morgana’s party was tomorrow.
So Gwen settled for a small, sad smile. “It’s my fault, anyway,” she murmured.
By the time she looked up again, Merlin was close, just in front of her, and emphatic. “There’s time to fix this, Gwen! I can-”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. Don’t. Maybe this was all for the best anyway.” He opened his mouth to protest, but Gwen was already turning away, already closing herself off. She returned to her carton of Christmas decorations and fell to her knees. “Just … help me put the star up. I can never reach.”
***
Gwen carefully detached the bottom half of another order form. “There you go,” she said, handing it over with a smile. “And you-” she looked down at the little girl clutching her mother’s hand tightly, “can go see Santa now.”
She watched pair make their way up the front of the queue toward Billy, who greeted the shy girl sweetly.
By now, Gwen was less surprised to find that she lacked the willpower to turn a friend’s request down. It had taken Anne only two minutes of hacking coughing and sad pleading to get Gwen to cover for her again. Perhaps the universe just thought candy cane tights suited her well.
For the afternoon on Christmas Eve, the Santa display was relatively quiet; only four children had passed through since Gwen’s arrival, which made her feel at best redundant and at worst, like she was colossally wasting her time. At this rate, she’d be cooking for Merlin’s late, after Morgana’s party that evening. A party for which she was still unprepared; she’d had the foresight to bring a dress to change into, but she’d forgotten shoes and would otherwise be stuck in flats that didn’t match. She leaned against the faux-iced entrance to the Winter Wonderland. ‘O Tannenbaum’ rang out over the store stereo system.
“How now brown cow?” drawled a newly familiar voice.
Gwen looked to her left and forced a tight smile. “I’m sorry?”
Richard - who usually worked in women’s shoes, far away from Gwen - sauntered up the exit aisle, the bell on his elf-hat jingling with every step. “What’s shakin’, bacon?”
When Gwen turned away so that her eye rolling wouldn’t be quite so conspicuous, Richard sidled up a little closer, arms crossed and chest puffed out. Gwen took another step to her right to put a little space between them. “Just … waiting for a few people to turn up.”
“So you like the gig?” asked her elfin coworker, leaning back against the display as well.
Gwen stood upright and gave a little shrug. “Do you?”
His face lit up. “Love it.”
Her lips formed a skeptical line. Gwen wasn’t sure any reasonable person could love a little seasonal, public humiliation. “You do?”
Richard was up in an instant, legs spread wide, and he held up an open hand. “One,” he ticked off his first finger, “We’re getting paid double the rate of your regular job for these hours, so getting £98 for the day.”
Gwen had never considered that, didn’t even know about it, and she couldn’t help the pleased little smile that appeared on her face. Richard, with authority, continued.
“Two: I don’t give a shit about ladies shoes, really. But for a couple weeks, change of scenery-”
“It’s a holiday explosion-”
“‘Winter Wonderland’ and yes. Three: I’m dressed like an elf.”
A semi-hysterical bubble laughter escaped Gwen’s lips, and she blushed and started walking down the open lane. Richard trailed after her, jingling all the way. “You like playing dress up?” she teased.
“Oi!” Richard stopped dead in his tracks, affronted. He held out his arms wide, showing off his green, fur trimmed jacket and fitted green trousers, if they could even be called such. He wore his hat and belled shoes with pride; he held out his left foot and gave it a little shake. “It’s form flattering.”
Gwen smiled gently. “Well … at least we’re not reindeer.”
“Agreed.” They both glanced at the photographer, donning an exuberant pair of antlers.
“Oh, yes, yes but anyway,” he reached out and tapped her arm with the back of his hand, “I was supposed to tell you … I was with my girls-”
“Your girls.”
“My ladies,” amended Richard, “in make-up, and they told me that they heard from the lad that works over in jewelry with you, the one with the hair, right? And he said that Arthur came round looking for you earlier. I guess he saw your time card was logged in.”
Gwen’s eyes shot up in surprise. “Arthur?” she repeated.
“Pendragon, yes.” She was thankful Richard was none-the-wiser to her familiarity with the boss’s son, since he continued: “You in trouble?”
“No … no, we just have a mutual friend.”
Richard pursed his lips, obviously surprised. “Well, the girls asked about you, in case he came round again.”
She whirled on him, shoulders suddenly tense. “Did you tell them? About this … ‘gig’?”
“No, no. Didn’t know if it was his business or not.”
His wide-eyed stare was innocent, and upturned hands, placating. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Though … well, I’d check in on your friend because apparently Arthur was a fine piece of work, he’d turned on the attitude and everything, so it’s good your man in jewelry couldn’t give him the answers …” and Richard wandered away to go eat a candy cane, leaving Gwen with this odd nugget to chew on.
***
With a soft clink, Gwen snapped the thin chain sealing off Santa’s workshop from the rest of Pendragon’s. Though the store would close soon, the pianist on the third floor was now playing ‘Let It Snow’ with more zeal than ever, no doubt fueled by the spiked egg nog in the employee lounge - Gwen had heard, but not sampled - and eager anticipation of imminent escape.
Around her, just beyond the frosted garland barrier that separated the ‘Winter Wonderland’ from the rest of the store, odd ends of gift boxes and wrapping paper was collecting unnoticed in the corners beside racks of clothes and cosmetic displays. Men and women darted about, mad and furious, as the store clock chimed eight o’clock.
Gwen was far later than she wanted to be. The mobile hidden in her dress pocket, somewhere around her hip, had begun buzzing at half-past five, and Gwen had only been able to steal five minutes for a spot of coffee and to shoot Morgana a hastily composed, apologetic text to say that she likely wouldn’t make it before the party started; she wasn’t even going to be able to make it home for a shower, at this rate.
She glanced back toward Billy, still seated in Santa’s chair. He’d removed the white cap, and now reclined with his eyes closed, glasses hooked between fingers in a dangling hand, the other settled on his belly. If she was tired, he must’ve been exhausted; he had been the main act for weeks now, after all.
“Ready for a break?” he rumbled, punctuated with a loud, long yawn.
Gwen blushed, caught staring. “I could sleep the rest of winter,” she admitted, carrying the photo booth sign to ‘Closed.’
Billy chuckled and replaced his spectacles. Somewhere behind the chair, Richard was putting away the big box of candy canes and trinkets they distributed to the children in line. She smiled down at Billy and stretched, ready to hurry up, help and get a move on to the party she’d been working hard not to dread. “Exciting plans for tomorrow, Billy?” asked Gwen as she retrieved a broom stowed away beside the register.
“Supper at the kids’, down on the coast.”
“Sounds nice,” murmured Gwen.
He laughed. “Always a lot of hubbub, but I do like to see the grandchildren.”
She smiled down at him. “How many?”
“Well, lets see …” Billy settled back into his seat, crossing his black-booted feet at the ankle and folding his hands on his stomach. She warmed at the sight, how in that moment she reminded her of her own father just a year ago, getting comfortable in his own favorite armchair Christmas Eve while Gwen wrapped presents at his feet. He caught her tender smile and grinned, bright-eyed, back up at her, and Gwen ducked her head as she listened. “Catherine has three now, all about eight-”
“Triplets?”
“Well, no. I suppose they aren’t all eight, then. … And then my son lives nearby, and he’ll be there too, and they just had a baby-”
“How sweet. A new baby?”
“No, he’s about three now.”
Gwen laughed. “I see.”
“And you? Where’ll you be?”
Gwen did her best to ignore the pang of regret in her chest. “Oh, home.”
“Parents coming?”
She faltered, just briefly, mid-step. “No,” and she turned her back to him to put away the broom.
For a few minutes, she neatened up in silence, placing stacks of order forms in their place, picking up abandoned candy cane wrappers from the floor, half-heartedly dusting off the countertop. Outside their perimeter, the crowd was thinning out.
When Gwen turned around again, she expected Billy’s seat to be empty, that the old man would’ve been itching to get out of his costume and on with his life. But there he sat, jolly belly and a great white beard and a knowing gaze. It was no mystery children made the mistake of thinking him real. Even to Gwen the resemblance was uncanny. And in this light …
“Well, Guinevere,” Billy started, looking over his glasses at her, “What do you want for Christmas?”
Her heart skipped a beat, and Gwen instantly chided herself for feeling suddenly a little shaky in the presence of this man, a salesman, whom she’d known a very long time. She forced a laugh. “I think I’m a little old for that, Billy,” Gwen teased.
“No one’s too old for wishes,” he chided, folding white-gloved hands over his stomach.
Gwen held her hands tightly behind her back. “I am.”
“And somehow I’m not!” Billy smiled. “Everybody gets at least one wish at Christmastime, Guinevere.”
The impulse to answer honestly stirred in her, and Gwen struggled to tamp it down. She felt foolish, but then no one was around to hear her. No one but Santa.
Gwen took one cautious step toward him. “I’d like to not be alone. For Christmas.”
Billy’s smile fell, and he nodded, looking at the ground between them. “That’s … a tricky fix.”
“Tell me about it.”
A beat passed as Gwen waited. But there was no easy cure to loneliness, no quick fix to a Christmas without love. The holidays would never be the same without Tom. That was fine, and it was the truth; Gwen didn’t want a replacement. But that heady feeling, the fluttering of her heart that she felt when she was around Arthur … it caused a warmth within her that had led her to believe Christmas didn’t have to be so loveless this year. That loneliness was temporary.
It had been a mistake. Whether by his design or hers, it wasn’t meant to be. And so Gwen would move on and put on a stiff upper lip.
Before she could tell Billy that she was already running late and she really should get going and ‘Happy Christmas,’ he spoke again.
“It’s not impossible.”
Gwen blinked. Billy was smiling at her again, eyes twinkling. She shook her head in disagreement. “Bill, you don’t know the half of it.”
“I bet I don’t,” he conceded, but his smile did not subside. “Still, Gwen, something tells me you’ve been a good girl this year.”
Of course, he didn’t understand. He was just an old man, trying to make everybody happy for the holiday. He deserved happiness, and so Gwen appeased him. “I hope so,” she chuckled.
“I was a young man once, Guinevere. Young men are fools.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well … you’ve got to be willing to make a bit of your own Christmas magic, then.”
She smiled. “Santa, you sound like a greeting card.”
“Mummy!” screeched a little voice from behind Gwen. She glanced over her shoulder, only to find a little boy, about half her size, clutching the ‘Closed’ sign with little hands. Behind him, a woman stood, arms full of shopping bags. He pointed at Billy and turned to shout at his mother again, “Santa!”
“Come on, Joseph, it’s too late-”
His face broke almost immediately. “But …” He turned his watery gaze back to Billy on his throne.
“I’m sorry,” said the woman, hurrying up the queue to collect her son. “Joseph, the store is closing, Santa has to go.”
Billy just waved a hand. “No, no, it’s all right. Get on up here, Joseph-” The little boy darted under the chain toward Santa’s seat. He caught Gwen’s eye just as she turned to leave. “After all,” he winked, “Everyone deserved a little happiness on Christmas.”
***
“Come on,” urged Gwen softly, impatiently tapping her foot on the gas so that her car lurched forward in meager little spurts. Ahead of her, a black Audi crept along at a leisurely pace; through the back, she could see the driver and his passenger half-heartedly snogging as he wound his way through the streets. She didn’t have the heart to honk and put an end to the love-fest, but the prelude to whatever romantic evening this pair had planned was making her seriously late.
For all its beauty, Morgana’s neighborhood was pretty ill-planned, and after all these years Gwen still had trouble navigating it by car. Somehow single lane Fay Way, which ostensibly ended in a cul de sac, managed to cross itself … and managed to trip Guinevere up every time through.
The array of four story tall Victorian homes blended together to make a gorgeous, and utterly indecipherable, red-brick pattern. Tall trees, now flecked with falling snow and sparkling with perfect yellow Christmas lights - overseen by the neighborhood committee, and executed by a few low-wage workers from Gwen’s side of town, no doubt - turned it into a picturesque wonderland of posh, pretty houses.
“Oh, come on,” Gwen moaned, as the Audi came to a complete stop dead in the center of the road. Whoever they were, they were all over each other now; embarrassed, Gwen averted her eyes and brought a gloved hand to her temple. She felt the familiar pressure of a headache building somewhere just above her left eye.
Her stay would be brief, and Morgana would simply have to understand. It was Christmas Eve, after all … and though Gwen had no family to see tonight - or tomorrow - it was an easy excuse.
Her vision was awash with the bright glow from the Audi’s red tail lights - a foot pressing down hard on the brake petal - and Gwen did her best to swallow a bubble of bitterness threatening its way up her throat. At least someone is enjoying themselves, and she chuckled darkly.
But behind her, an angrier driver let his horn rip. The pair in the car ahead of her broke apart, and Gwen even caught a flash of the passenger’s eyes, illuminated by her headlights.
Gwen smiled apologetically, mouthing, “It wasn’t me!” But he man flipped her one anyway as the car rolled forward again.
“Happy Christmas to you too,” she murmured, pressing the gas pedal once again.
Ten minutes and a full turn back to the entrance of Morgana’s community later, Gwen was leaning over and straining to read the house numbers … when she recognized a swag of evergreen affixed to a dark front door. Though the sheer white curtains were drawn, Gwen could see people moving about inside in dark, warm light - and when she turned down the inane chatter of her radio - Gwen could hear the din of a holiday party.
Gwen let out a little whoop in relief. Her mobile in the cup holder beside her had long stopped buzzing, and she’d been too ashamed - and too certain of the content of each message - to respond to any of Merlin or Morgana’s texts. But she was alone on the road now, and she snatched it up and came to a stop long enough to type: ‘Im here!!!’
Satisfied, she tossed it back onto the other seat and continued down the lane in search of an open space. She found one - between a freshly parked black Audi and a vehicle so expensive Gwen inched into the space, afraid of scratching it.
She yanked the key from the ignition and leaned back against her headrest, willing herself to enjoy this brief moment of silence and peace.
The air inside the car was cool, and her windows began to fog up almost immediately, as her breath came out in little puffs of warm air.
In one of her pep talks, Gwen had instructed herself not to think about the week and her troubles, but to be every bit the easy hostess. It was Morgana’s party, but she’d put herself into the event as much as Morgana had. Besides, Gwen knew herself - she’d be more comfortable tending to people’s drinks and making sure her food was served properly than doing much socializing. Merlin was in there, she already knew, but the party had started almost an hour and a half ago, and it was near ten … he was probably more than a few drinks deep.
He was in there. But - in defiance of that sinking feeling in her stomach - Gwen turned her rearview mirror toward her and pressed her lips into a firm line. He’d be well into his evening, enjoying his time with friends. And they were both mature; Gwen would handle that as she did everything else. With a smile and a stiff upper lip.
Giving herself a little nod in affirmation, Gwen reached out and opened her door, stepping carefully onto the road, slick with slush.
It was even colder than she’d assumed, cold enough to have made the snow that had begun while she was at work stick. The zipper on her coat had long been broken, but she shoved her hands deep into her pockets, and nudged the door shut with her hip. She squeezed the automatic lock button on the key in her pocket and turned to take the quick jog down the road to Morgana’s.
Though freezing, Gwen couldn’t help but marvel at the beautiful night. The sky, visible through the glowing branches, high over her head, was clear, and a full moon made the wet pavement sparkle. Most of the houses were dark, and Morgana’s - a little beacon of light on the corner - called to her like never before. She darted along on her tip-toes, slipping between two cars up onto the sidewalk.
It was then that she caught sight of her reflection, a little flash of green fabric peaking out from between the open folds of her coat. Gwen paused and turned to face the car window full on, tugging her jacket open with her hidden hands. Plain as day, was the cursed elf costume, green dress, candy cane stockings and all. A far cry from the cranberry dress she’d settled on.
She’d forgotten to change, but it was no big deal - she remembered tucking a garment bag in the backseat before work. Gwen turned on her heel and ran to the car, careful not to splash in any puddles as she did so.
Gwen walked around to the driver’s side once more and fished her key out of her pocket. Bracing herself with one hand against the door handle, she slipped it in and turned, and yanked. But the door didn’t budge.
Don’t panic, and she took the key out, put it in and tried again. There was no give, no creak of imminent acquiescence.
Her heart began to race, and brown eyes flicked to the back seat. She could she her clothes, laid out on the worn cushion, neat and appropriate. Not a bloody elf costume.
Gwen tried again, but the night was quickly becoming hot and the silence, deafening. Though she’d never let it escape her lips, her mind was suddenly full of terrible, nasty words, enough vulgarities to make the most foul-mouthed sailors blush. Her heart was racing, and her car just refused to open, determined to show her for opting not to just buy the replacement part.
She stepped back into the street and took a deep breath, cold December air pricking her lungs.
“Okay.” She nodded slowly, suddenly strangely calm. At this point, it wasn’t as though things could get any worse. This was surely the bottom, and that knowledge gave her a strange peace.
As she began to walk toward Morgana’s place once more, the pragmatic part of her - the part that guided her when the world turned to utter and complete lunacy - began to formulate a plan. She’d enter, be a little rude and go straight to Morgana’s bedroom, borrow something and the whole ordeal would be over with. She could call a mechanic - Do mechanics respond to calls Christmas Eve? … she could call a cab, and send a mechanic in the morning … Tomorrow’s Christmas! … she could call a cab, send for a mechanic the day after tomorrow and everything would be fine. Everything would be fine.
Gwen hopped up onto the curb again, spirits brightened - even if only a little - by the growing sound of music. People were likely dancing; no one would even notice her come in. She ducked her head and smiled, relieved.
But Guinevere stopped dead in her tracks only two doors down. Where there had been no one before, a lone dark figure, about Merlin’s height, but a more solidly built, was hovering just beyond Morgana’s gate, leaning against one of the lit trees, back to her. There was blond hair, a little disheveled but nonetheless perfect, and a familiar, squared-off stance though he seemed to be looking at no one.
She allowed herself a moment’s hesitation. She had known that he’d be there, but not at the bloody door.
Then again, perhaps it wasn’t him. Or maybe she could dash by without him noticing. Or something like that.
With her chin held high, Gwen continued, chest tight.
When she’d walked nearly to the gate, and he hadn’t turned, Gwen wondered if it had really been a case of mistaken identity after all. But as she turned, and reached out a hand to under the wrought iron latch, she caught him turn to look out of the corner of her eye.
His voice was a little strained, more than a little surprised. “Guinevere?”
Gwen stopped mid-step, halfway across the small threshold, and she clutched the opening of her jacket at her chest with one hand. She forgot to smile, breath caught in her throat, but she quickly remembered herself. There was no way around it; she turned and looked at him. “Arthur.”
He didn’t look upset, or even displeased, which Gwen took as a good sign. Still, he made no move toward her, only pushed off from his position against the tree, his hands tucked deep into his jeans. “All right?” he asked cautiously, nodding to the party. “Everyone’s been wondering where you were.”
She raised an eyebrow; Merlin and Morgana both knew she’d been called into work. But before she could call him out, the corners of Arthur’s mouth twitched upward. “Well, I wondered.”
Her eyes widened a little. “Did you?”
“You’re never late. I was … the roads are a bit slick, aren’t they?”
Gwen took a small step toward him, out the gate. “What are you doing out here?”
Arthur shrugged and kicked at the light dust of snow on the ground. “I was bored.”
She glanced over her shoulder, she could still clearly see people interacting inside, could hear laugher ringing out from behind the door. “Really?” asked Gwen, skeptical.
He grinned outright, cheeks faintly pink. “Well, Merlin’s getting pissed on the egg nog, Leon and Morgana have been talking all night-”
“And the other boys?”
“All there, stuffing themselves-” A little swell of pride filled Gwen’s chest, “Talking with some of Morgana’s mates, trying their luck and looking like absolute prats. Dancing.”
“But not your cup of tea?”
Arthur’s gaze lingered on her face, bright in the light cast off the trees. “Well. I was wondering about you.”
Gwen looked back at him, uncertain, and she tried to recall their last conversation … how he pulled out of what should’ve been their date, ambivalent where she thought he’d been interested.
A rival memory cropped up as well, of Richard, and how he relayed the quick gossip that Arthur had come looking for her when he saw she was at work. That he had been agitated and insistent. And the way he was looking at her now …
Arthur took another step toward her, and suddenly the distance between them wasn’t so great. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted to, and perhaps that would be more effective than trying to think of something to say about the mess they’d made of ‘them’ … before there even was a ‘them.’ Maybe touching him would say more about how it shocked and pleased her to see him standing here, in the dark, waiting for her to arrive.
His eyes flicked briefly down, toward Gwen’s feet, and when they found her eyes once more, they were crinkled and mirthful.
Gwen raised an eyebrow as she watched him, seemingly working hard at suppressing a grin, and subsequently making a totally ridiculous face himself. “What?” she demanded, hardly the romantic line she wished she could’ve come up with.
It was Arthur’s turn to quirk an eyebrow, and Gwen glanced down at her open jacket. Her elf costume was peaking out, in all its Christmas glory.
She imagined, a day ago, she might’ve been mortified. But now, Gwen couldn’t help but grin. She tamped it down and looked back up at Arthur’s smiling face, though - bless his heart - he wasn’t laughing. “Not a word, Arthur Pendragon,” she demanded, though her tone was belied the threat.
“I wasn’t-” he started, but his eyes flicked down toward Gwen’s chest, and he broke out into toothy grin.
She stepped back closer to the white frosted hedges and tried her damnedest to look severe. It must not have been convincing; Arthur continued to ogle her costume. “Honestly, Arthur!”
He found her eyes again, “Guinevere, I had no idea that you-” Arthur raised a pointed eyebrow.
Her face was suddenly hot, and she, grinning, tossed a handful of powder at him. “I mean it! Not another word!”
Arthur jerked to the side, and the snow caught his shoulder. “It’s a little like a fantasy-”
“Tell me it’s not your fantasy,” teased Gwen, pretend-affronted.
He smirked. “It could be.”
She palmed more snow and took a threatening step forward, trying to quell her laughter. Arthur backed up toward the trees, chuckling and playing his part.
“This is your fault, you know!” she quipped, arm raised.
“My fault?”
“It should be you in this damned thing, it’s your fault.”
Arthur grinned widely. “I wouldn’t mind it …”
Gwen did not miss the suggestion in his tone. She smashed the remaining snow in her hands into his coat, giving him a playful shove. He reached out and caught her as she did, drawing her small frame closer and disabling any further snow attacks. Gwen relented to his pull without hesitation. She tipping her chin up to him, cheeks flushed from their brief skirmish, a smiling defiantly.
His grin softened to something far more tender, and Gwen was stricken with sudden acute awareness. She was standing there, in his embrace, his hands heavy on her back, hers held tightly against his chest. Arthur seemed to realize it too at the same moment, since his hands moved to hold her lightly at her elbows, giving her space that she did not require.
He swallowed, glancing down at the ground between them. And when he looked back up at her, he expression was more restrained. “I’m sorry.”
She frowned, then - following his meaning - shook her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
But Arthur was withdrawing, insistent, and Gwen felt the lightness she felt only moments prior swiftly drained out the soles of her feet. She took a careful step back as she watched him fuss with his fringe awkwardly, pale cheeks tinged pink. He cleared his throat as he watched her step back. His eyes seemed to be searching her face, and Gwen ducked her head out of habit. “Merlin-” began Arthur, by way of excuse.
Gwen shook her head. “Merlin got his wires crossed.”
Their gaze met once more. Arthur’s more dark than blue, Gwen noticed, and it was strange the way it made her heart race. His silent scrutiny was getting to her; she cleared her throat.
“Maybe we should go inside …” mumbled Arthur finally.
She felt herself nodding, distantly, and she took a few steps back toward Morgana’s gate.
Her fingers had barely grazed the wrought iron latch before her mind suddenly gave way. Later, perhaps she could blame the impulse on the hours of toil - over her car, over work, over this very party - but Gwen knew she wouldn’t. She knew that it was much more than simple exhaustion that stilled her hand and stopped her mid-step, that turned her around to face the very … the only thing she really desired for Christmas.
The distance between them was short. Arthur watched, wide-eyed, as petite Gwen closed the space between them in an instant.
Her mouth found his in an instant, as she rose on her tip-toes and braced her hands against his chest for balance. Through her lashes, she saw surprised, dark eyes fall shut, and very, very close Gwen heard the release of a mutual, long-held breath.
Forcing her own eyes shut, Gwen willed the What are you doing? thoughts down, allowed herself to enjoy the soft fullness of his lips, the sudden heat of his hands on her hips pulling her closer to him, the heaviness of his abdomen, hard against her stomach.
She kissed him fully, closed-mouthed but insistent. Only seconds later, when her might caught hold of her errant lips, Gwen pulled away just enough to catch her breath, mouth hovering above his for a long moment until she carefully lowered herself back down.
She waited until his eyes fluttered after, long after her own.
“Merry Christmas,” Gwen murmured, and with a satisfied little nod, she turned to go inside.
But her hand was suddenly tugged back, his thumb solid on her jaw and fingers buried in her curls, his mouth tenderly expressing some long pent up thing. Guinevere leaned into him, fitting her body against him and reveling in the warm cocoon of his grip. Some far away part of her wondered if she’d ever make it into the party, and whether she even cared when she was busy experiencing her ‘bit of Christmas magc.’
Santa always gave the best advice.
***
Happy Holidays! Comments are ♥
Author: imigination
Characters/Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, Merlin, Morgana, Santa and his Elves ♥
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Very vague allusions to 2.10.
Word Count: 7020
Summary: An AU holiday story. Guinevere is an overworked, overburdened shop girl, trying to hold up the world. But Santa’s best helper deserves a happy ending.
Author’s Note: Written for the holiday crackfest at camelot_love. A big thank you to the fabulous dis_netis for a quick brit-pick.
Herein lies a little angst and a lot of crack, some humor and, above all, romance. I hope you all enjoy, and happy holidays. ♥
Part One
Gwen cracked her bedroom door, poking her head around the frame and dripping water all over the carpet. She could see him there, crouched on the floor in front of her television stand as she’d left him nearly thirty minutes earlier, trying to put on some music.'>
“How do you get this bloody thing to close?” came Merlin’s frustrated demand from the living room.
Gwen cracked her bedroom door, poking her head around the frame and dripping water all over the carpet. She could see him there, crouched on the floor in front of her television stand as she’d left him nearly thirty minutes earlier, trying to put on some music.
She chuckled; after all these years, he still lacked the magic touch when it came to her stereo. No wonder, she was pretty sure her father bought it back in ’95. “Just a minute, Merlin!” Gwen shut her door and drowned out a heated, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
After a moment of digging, Gwen found what’s she’d been looking for buried deep in the bottom of the wicker hamper. Tom’s Christmas sweater had to be older than Gwen herself. It had long been the bane of her existence - she understood getting into the spirit, a pattern of white reindeer pranced across the crimson fabric. “It’s not Christmas without an ugly sweater,” he’d tell her at the start of each December, and Gwen would long for New Year’s Eve and the retirement of the garment for another eleven months.
It smelled like him still, a little like coffee and the mint of his aftershave. It was far too wide for her, hung down nearly to her knees, and there was a growing hole on one of the side seams, but it was ugly and perfect and now her burden to bear.
Pausing only to pat her hair with a towel one more time, Gwen slipped out of her bedroom and padded down the hall toward her friend.
He was seated in his usual spot on the couch, far from the stereo, with his feet kicked up on her coffee table and a sour look on his face. The telly was on in place of music, The Nightmare Before Christmas, and he resolutely did not turn his gaze to her when she entered.
“Come now, Merlin,” chided Gwen, “Don’t let it get the best of you.”
“How you get that prehistoric thing to work, I have no idea,” he huffed.
She just smiled and lowered herself to the floor, folding her legs beneath her. “It just needs a little love,” she teased, opening the CD tray. “Have you considered the problem may be you chose a crap CD?”
“It’s yours.”
“I can hardly be blamed for choices I made when I was ten,” quipped Gwen as she cast aside ‘A Muppet Christmas’ and flicked through her music collection. Minutes later, the dulcet tones of the Temptations filled her flat, sweetly crooning a Motown rendition of ‘Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.’
Though it took some measure of effort to get Merlin off the couch and on his feet again, Gwen was grateful for his presence, petulant or not. This was her first Christmas alone, and she was trying to stay just a step ahead of a tidal wave of loneliness, one that she knew could overtake her at any moment, send her reeling as only this holiday could. She’d settle for a dull throb of distant sadness over the raw wound she’d nursed in the weeks and months immediately after his death.
She vaguely remembered, in the week after she buried him, meeting with a grief counselor at someone’s behest. Barely anything registered - words were only words after all - but somewhere in the dross there had been a ‘Keep busy,’ and something about ‘Keep company.’ In the midst of it all, it struck Gwen as very good advice.
“Where’s your stocking?” asked Merlin, face buried in a large plastic carton of Christmas decorations.
Gwen, balancing boxes of ornaments in her arms, rose from her place on the floor. “I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have a stocking?” He was incredulous.
She chuckled. “No, Merlin.”
He opened a tin of ornaments - little gold angels made from beads - and approached her tree. “Why not?”
Shrugging, Gwen twisted a fresh green hook around a shiny red bauble. “I guess it just wasn’t our tradition.” She hooked it on the tree and reached for another.
That was acceptable enough to him, and for a few minutes they worked in silence, decorating side by side, Gwen occasionally correcting Merlin’s work when his back was turned. The CD went through her father’s classics, and she hummed along to a few as she worked.
“So …” started Merlin again, putting an ornament Gwen had made when she was six or so on a branch very close to the top, “What are you doing on Christmas?”
Gwen frowned and turned her back to him, looking for another box of handmade gold butterfly ornaments. “I don’t know. There’s a soup kitchen about five minutes away I thought I’d go to-” Merlin’s eyebrows shot up, and Gwen smiled gently, “To volunteer, Merlin. In the morning. Then … just cook something, I guess.”
He shifted a little beside her, before turning and crossing toward the kitchen. “Gotcha. But … you know, you’re quite welcome with us, you know.”
She stopped working, her fingers gently gripping a branch and prodding a strand of colored lights a little deeper into to the tree. Merlin hovered in the doorframe, munching on a chocolate chip cookie from Gwen’s table, a small smile on his face.
Her heart swelled a little at the thought, but outwardly, Gwen frowned. “I couldn’t-”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’ll just be me and Gaius. And my mother, she’s driving up tomorrow.”
“Hunith?” Gwen’s heart leapt at the thought; she adored Merlin’s mum. “Well, if Hunith’s going to be there …”
Merlin gasped, mock-offended. “I see … so Merlin’s not enough for you?”
Gwen laughed. “Of course, Merlin’s enough! But … I mean, for Hunith …” she paused and looked at her best friend, grinning at her like a loon, and bristled as she returned to work. “Do call her and ask what she’d like me to make-”
“Don’t be stupid, you’d be a guest.”
“Don’t make me call her myself, Merlin. I already have a million things to do.”
“But you’d like that, wouldn’t you! You could get your girly gossip on, you two … chatterboxes.”
Twenty minutes later, they stood back, marveling at their work. Gwen’s tree was smaller than it had ever been before - just a little taller than her - but it was full and decorated to the hilt. She was pleased.
Merlin swallowed his third cookie. “You know,” he commented thoughtfully, “Arthur’s tree’s got the same colors.”
Her voice remained carefully indifferent. “Really.”
“Yep. Red and gold, like that.”
She didn’t need to see Arthur’s tree to know that hers couldn’t possibly compare. She imagined the Pendragon household had a tree not unlike the one in their department store; grand and lush, high to the ceiling … the kind of tree you needed a ladder and a few able-bodied servants to decorate.
“Well, that’s not surprising,” she remarked, putting away empty ornament cartons.
Whether it was her tone or the flush of her skin, Merlin saw through her smokescreen of indifference. “What’s going on with you two?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He flopped down onto the sofa. “Well … I just thought you liked Arthur.”
“Everybody likes Arthur.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
Gwen shook her head and went to put another bauble on the tree.
“Is that why you turned him down?”
She froze, fingers closing tightly around a branch, and glanced over her shoulder at her dark haired companion. “I didn’t reject Arthur,” she corrected, before glancing away, uncomfortable.
He frowned at that, and looked away from Gwen toward the floor, turning over something in his head. “Yes, you did.”
Of course she didn’t. She wouldn’t. “Merlin-”
“You told me yourself,” he insisted, rather heatedly, “You didn’t want to go on a date with him.”
“I said no such thing,” exclaimed Gwen, whirling around to look at him. She bristled at his accusatory tone, shocking for one so not involved. In the situation.
“You did! … Didn’t you?”
“But-”
“When he asked you to Morgana’s party-”
Gwen shook her head and back to the tree once more. “It doesn’t matter,” she continued softly.
The plate of snacks he’d been nursing cast aside, Merlin had buried his fingers in his short hair, clearly struggling with the information she divulged. “Why doesn’t it matter?”
“Whatever he wanted … if he wanted to … take me …” she shook her head. “He made it clear that he didn’t want to be together. Er … go together, I mean.”
“Because you said you didn’t want to!”
“Merlin,” snapped Gwen, growing frustrated, “I never said that to him. I never said it, because it wasn’t true. I didn’t talk to anybody but you about it anyway. And you-”
She didn’t need to continue; the look on his face said enough. He was looking at her, mouth parted and eyes wide and more than a little alarmed. Her voice dropped. “You told him what I said.”
He bit down hard on his bottom lip, and took a cautious step toward her. “I … I thought that you meant you didn’t want to go.”
Gwen felt her stomach churning. “I just wanted a little privacy about it-”
“But-”
There was no flare of anger, or rush of hope at this revelation, only a wave of sadness. After all, thought Gwen, if he’d really wanted her … he would’ve insisted. Wouldn’t he? And it’s too late, anyway … Morgana’s party was tomorrow.
So Gwen settled for a small, sad smile. “It’s my fault, anyway,” she murmured.
By the time she looked up again, Merlin was close, just in front of her, and emphatic. “There’s time to fix this, Gwen! I can-”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. Don’t. Maybe this was all for the best anyway.” He opened his mouth to protest, but Gwen was already turning away, already closing herself off. She returned to her carton of Christmas decorations and fell to her knees. “Just … help me put the star up. I can never reach.”
***
Gwen carefully detached the bottom half of another order form. “There you go,” she said, handing it over with a smile. “And you-” she looked down at the little girl clutching her mother’s hand tightly, “can go see Santa now.”
She watched pair make their way up the front of the queue toward Billy, who greeted the shy girl sweetly.
By now, Gwen was less surprised to find that she lacked the willpower to turn a friend’s request down. It had taken Anne only two minutes of hacking coughing and sad pleading to get Gwen to cover for her again. Perhaps the universe just thought candy cane tights suited her well.
For the afternoon on Christmas Eve, the Santa display was relatively quiet; only four children had passed through since Gwen’s arrival, which made her feel at best redundant and at worst, like she was colossally wasting her time. At this rate, she’d be cooking for Merlin’s late, after Morgana’s party that evening. A party for which she was still unprepared; she’d had the foresight to bring a dress to change into, but she’d forgotten shoes and would otherwise be stuck in flats that didn’t match. She leaned against the faux-iced entrance to the Winter Wonderland. ‘O Tannenbaum’ rang out over the store stereo system.
“How now brown cow?” drawled a newly familiar voice.
Gwen looked to her left and forced a tight smile. “I’m sorry?”
Richard - who usually worked in women’s shoes, far away from Gwen - sauntered up the exit aisle, the bell on his elf-hat jingling with every step. “What’s shakin’, bacon?”
When Gwen turned away so that her eye rolling wouldn’t be quite so conspicuous, Richard sidled up a little closer, arms crossed and chest puffed out. Gwen took another step to her right to put a little space between them. “Just … waiting for a few people to turn up.”
“So you like the gig?” asked her elfin coworker, leaning back against the display as well.
Gwen stood upright and gave a little shrug. “Do you?”
His face lit up. “Love it.”
Her lips formed a skeptical line. Gwen wasn’t sure any reasonable person could love a little seasonal, public humiliation. “You do?”
Richard was up in an instant, legs spread wide, and he held up an open hand. “One,” he ticked off his first finger, “We’re getting paid double the rate of your regular job for these hours, so getting £98 for the day.”
Gwen had never considered that, didn’t even know about it, and she couldn’t help the pleased little smile that appeared on her face. Richard, with authority, continued.
“Two: I don’t give a shit about ladies shoes, really. But for a couple weeks, change of scenery-”
“It’s a holiday explosion-”
“‘Winter Wonderland’ and yes. Three: I’m dressed like an elf.”
A semi-hysterical bubble laughter escaped Gwen’s lips, and she blushed and started walking down the open lane. Richard trailed after her, jingling all the way. “You like playing dress up?” she teased.
“Oi!” Richard stopped dead in his tracks, affronted. He held out his arms wide, showing off his green, fur trimmed jacket and fitted green trousers, if they could even be called such. He wore his hat and belled shoes with pride; he held out his left foot and gave it a little shake. “It’s form flattering.”
Gwen smiled gently. “Well … at least we’re not reindeer.”
“Agreed.” They both glanced at the photographer, donning an exuberant pair of antlers.
“Oh, yes, yes but anyway,” he reached out and tapped her arm with the back of his hand, “I was supposed to tell you … I was with my girls-”
“Your girls.”
“My ladies,” amended Richard, “in make-up, and they told me that they heard from the lad that works over in jewelry with you, the one with the hair, right? And he said that Arthur came round looking for you earlier. I guess he saw your time card was logged in.”
Gwen’s eyes shot up in surprise. “Arthur?” she repeated.
“Pendragon, yes.” She was thankful Richard was none-the-wiser to her familiarity with the boss’s son, since he continued: “You in trouble?”
“No … no, we just have a mutual friend.”
Richard pursed his lips, obviously surprised. “Well, the girls asked about you, in case he came round again.”
She whirled on him, shoulders suddenly tense. “Did you tell them? About this … ‘gig’?”
“No, no. Didn’t know if it was his business or not.”
His wide-eyed stare was innocent, and upturned hands, placating. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Though … well, I’d check in on your friend because apparently Arthur was a fine piece of work, he’d turned on the attitude and everything, so it’s good your man in jewelry couldn’t give him the answers …” and Richard wandered away to go eat a candy cane, leaving Gwen with this odd nugget to chew on.
***
With a soft clink, Gwen snapped the thin chain sealing off Santa’s workshop from the rest of Pendragon’s. Though the store would close soon, the pianist on the third floor was now playing ‘Let It Snow’ with more zeal than ever, no doubt fueled by the spiked egg nog in the employee lounge - Gwen had heard, but not sampled - and eager anticipation of imminent escape.
Around her, just beyond the frosted garland barrier that separated the ‘Winter Wonderland’ from the rest of the store, odd ends of gift boxes and wrapping paper was collecting unnoticed in the corners beside racks of clothes and cosmetic displays. Men and women darted about, mad and furious, as the store clock chimed eight o’clock.
Gwen was far later than she wanted to be. The mobile hidden in her dress pocket, somewhere around her hip, had begun buzzing at half-past five, and Gwen had only been able to steal five minutes for a spot of coffee and to shoot Morgana a hastily composed, apologetic text to say that she likely wouldn’t make it before the party started; she wasn’t even going to be able to make it home for a shower, at this rate.
She glanced back toward Billy, still seated in Santa’s chair. He’d removed the white cap, and now reclined with his eyes closed, glasses hooked between fingers in a dangling hand, the other settled on his belly. If she was tired, he must’ve been exhausted; he had been the main act for weeks now, after all.
“Ready for a break?” he rumbled, punctuated with a loud, long yawn.
Gwen blushed, caught staring. “I could sleep the rest of winter,” she admitted, carrying the photo booth sign to ‘Closed.’
Billy chuckled and replaced his spectacles. Somewhere behind the chair, Richard was putting away the big box of candy canes and trinkets they distributed to the children in line. She smiled down at Billy and stretched, ready to hurry up, help and get a move on to the party she’d been working hard not to dread. “Exciting plans for tomorrow, Billy?” asked Gwen as she retrieved a broom stowed away beside the register.
“Supper at the kids’, down on the coast.”
“Sounds nice,” murmured Gwen.
He laughed. “Always a lot of hubbub, but I do like to see the grandchildren.”
She smiled down at him. “How many?”
“Well, lets see …” Billy settled back into his seat, crossing his black-booted feet at the ankle and folding his hands on his stomach. She warmed at the sight, how in that moment she reminded her of her own father just a year ago, getting comfortable in his own favorite armchair Christmas Eve while Gwen wrapped presents at his feet. He caught her tender smile and grinned, bright-eyed, back up at her, and Gwen ducked her head as she listened. “Catherine has three now, all about eight-”
“Triplets?”
“Well, no. I suppose they aren’t all eight, then. … And then my son lives nearby, and he’ll be there too, and they just had a baby-”
“How sweet. A new baby?”
“No, he’s about three now.”
Gwen laughed. “I see.”
“And you? Where’ll you be?”
Gwen did her best to ignore the pang of regret in her chest. “Oh, home.”
“Parents coming?”
She faltered, just briefly, mid-step. “No,” and she turned her back to him to put away the broom.
For a few minutes, she neatened up in silence, placing stacks of order forms in their place, picking up abandoned candy cane wrappers from the floor, half-heartedly dusting off the countertop. Outside their perimeter, the crowd was thinning out.
When Gwen turned around again, she expected Billy’s seat to be empty, that the old man would’ve been itching to get out of his costume and on with his life. But there he sat, jolly belly and a great white beard and a knowing gaze. It was no mystery children made the mistake of thinking him real. Even to Gwen the resemblance was uncanny. And in this light …
“Well, Guinevere,” Billy started, looking over his glasses at her, “What do you want for Christmas?”
Her heart skipped a beat, and Gwen instantly chided herself for feeling suddenly a little shaky in the presence of this man, a salesman, whom she’d known a very long time. She forced a laugh. “I think I’m a little old for that, Billy,” Gwen teased.
“No one’s too old for wishes,” he chided, folding white-gloved hands over his stomach.
Gwen held her hands tightly behind her back. “I am.”
“And somehow I’m not!” Billy smiled. “Everybody gets at least one wish at Christmastime, Guinevere.”
The impulse to answer honestly stirred in her, and Gwen struggled to tamp it down. She felt foolish, but then no one was around to hear her. No one but Santa.
Gwen took one cautious step toward him. “I’d like to not be alone. For Christmas.”
Billy’s smile fell, and he nodded, looking at the ground between them. “That’s … a tricky fix.”
“Tell me about it.”
A beat passed as Gwen waited. But there was no easy cure to loneliness, no quick fix to a Christmas without love. The holidays would never be the same without Tom. That was fine, and it was the truth; Gwen didn’t want a replacement. But that heady feeling, the fluttering of her heart that she felt when she was around Arthur … it caused a warmth within her that had led her to believe Christmas didn’t have to be so loveless this year. That loneliness was temporary.
It had been a mistake. Whether by his design or hers, it wasn’t meant to be. And so Gwen would move on and put on a stiff upper lip.
Before she could tell Billy that she was already running late and she really should get going and ‘Happy Christmas,’ he spoke again.
“It’s not impossible.”
Gwen blinked. Billy was smiling at her again, eyes twinkling. She shook her head in disagreement. “Bill, you don’t know the half of it.”
“I bet I don’t,” he conceded, but his smile did not subside. “Still, Gwen, something tells me you’ve been a good girl this year.”
Of course, he didn’t understand. He was just an old man, trying to make everybody happy for the holiday. He deserved happiness, and so Gwen appeased him. “I hope so,” she chuckled.
“I was a young man once, Guinevere. Young men are fools.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well … you’ve got to be willing to make a bit of your own Christmas magic, then.”
She smiled. “Santa, you sound like a greeting card.”
“Mummy!” screeched a little voice from behind Gwen. She glanced over her shoulder, only to find a little boy, about half her size, clutching the ‘Closed’ sign with little hands. Behind him, a woman stood, arms full of shopping bags. He pointed at Billy and turned to shout at his mother again, “Santa!”
“Come on, Joseph, it’s too late-”
His face broke almost immediately. “But …” He turned his watery gaze back to Billy on his throne.
“I’m sorry,” said the woman, hurrying up the queue to collect her son. “Joseph, the store is closing, Santa has to go.”
Billy just waved a hand. “No, no, it’s all right. Get on up here, Joseph-” The little boy darted under the chain toward Santa’s seat. He caught Gwen’s eye just as she turned to leave. “After all,” he winked, “Everyone deserved a little happiness on Christmas.”
***
“Come on,” urged Gwen softly, impatiently tapping her foot on the gas so that her car lurched forward in meager little spurts. Ahead of her, a black Audi crept along at a leisurely pace; through the back, she could see the driver and his passenger half-heartedly snogging as he wound his way through the streets. She didn’t have the heart to honk and put an end to the love-fest, but the prelude to whatever romantic evening this pair had planned was making her seriously late.
For all its beauty, Morgana’s neighborhood was pretty ill-planned, and after all these years Gwen still had trouble navigating it by car. Somehow single lane Fay Way, which ostensibly ended in a cul de sac, managed to cross itself … and managed to trip Guinevere up every time through.
The array of four story tall Victorian homes blended together to make a gorgeous, and utterly indecipherable, red-brick pattern. Tall trees, now flecked with falling snow and sparkling with perfect yellow Christmas lights - overseen by the neighborhood committee, and executed by a few low-wage workers from Gwen’s side of town, no doubt - turned it into a picturesque wonderland of posh, pretty houses.
“Oh, come on,” Gwen moaned, as the Audi came to a complete stop dead in the center of the road. Whoever they were, they were all over each other now; embarrassed, Gwen averted her eyes and brought a gloved hand to her temple. She felt the familiar pressure of a headache building somewhere just above her left eye.
Her stay would be brief, and Morgana would simply have to understand. It was Christmas Eve, after all … and though Gwen had no family to see tonight - or tomorrow - it was an easy excuse.
Her vision was awash with the bright glow from the Audi’s red tail lights - a foot pressing down hard on the brake petal - and Gwen did her best to swallow a bubble of bitterness threatening its way up her throat. At least someone is enjoying themselves, and she chuckled darkly.
But behind her, an angrier driver let his horn rip. The pair in the car ahead of her broke apart, and Gwen even caught a flash of the passenger’s eyes, illuminated by her headlights.
Gwen smiled apologetically, mouthing, “It wasn’t me!” But he man flipped her one anyway as the car rolled forward again.
“Happy Christmas to you too,” she murmured, pressing the gas pedal once again.
Ten minutes and a full turn back to the entrance of Morgana’s community later, Gwen was leaning over and straining to read the house numbers … when she recognized a swag of evergreen affixed to a dark front door. Though the sheer white curtains were drawn, Gwen could see people moving about inside in dark, warm light - and when she turned down the inane chatter of her radio - Gwen could hear the din of a holiday party.
Gwen let out a little whoop in relief. Her mobile in the cup holder beside her had long stopped buzzing, and she’d been too ashamed - and too certain of the content of each message - to respond to any of Merlin or Morgana’s texts. But she was alone on the road now, and she snatched it up and came to a stop long enough to type: ‘Im here!!!’
Satisfied, she tossed it back onto the other seat and continued down the lane in search of an open space. She found one - between a freshly parked black Audi and a vehicle so expensive Gwen inched into the space, afraid of scratching it.
She yanked the key from the ignition and leaned back against her headrest, willing herself to enjoy this brief moment of silence and peace.
The air inside the car was cool, and her windows began to fog up almost immediately, as her breath came out in little puffs of warm air.
In one of her pep talks, Gwen had instructed herself not to think about the week and her troubles, but to be every bit the easy hostess. It was Morgana’s party, but she’d put herself into the event as much as Morgana had. Besides, Gwen knew herself - she’d be more comfortable tending to people’s drinks and making sure her food was served properly than doing much socializing. Merlin was in there, she already knew, but the party had started almost an hour and a half ago, and it was near ten … he was probably more than a few drinks deep.
He was in there. But - in defiance of that sinking feeling in her stomach - Gwen turned her rearview mirror toward her and pressed her lips into a firm line. He’d be well into his evening, enjoying his time with friends. And they were both mature; Gwen would handle that as she did everything else. With a smile and a stiff upper lip.
Giving herself a little nod in affirmation, Gwen reached out and opened her door, stepping carefully onto the road, slick with slush.
It was even colder than she’d assumed, cold enough to have made the snow that had begun while she was at work stick. The zipper on her coat had long been broken, but she shoved her hands deep into her pockets, and nudged the door shut with her hip. She squeezed the automatic lock button on the key in her pocket and turned to take the quick jog down the road to Morgana’s.
Though freezing, Gwen couldn’t help but marvel at the beautiful night. The sky, visible through the glowing branches, high over her head, was clear, and a full moon made the wet pavement sparkle. Most of the houses were dark, and Morgana’s - a little beacon of light on the corner - called to her like never before. She darted along on her tip-toes, slipping between two cars up onto the sidewalk.
It was then that she caught sight of her reflection, a little flash of green fabric peaking out from between the open folds of her coat. Gwen paused and turned to face the car window full on, tugging her jacket open with her hidden hands. Plain as day, was the cursed elf costume, green dress, candy cane stockings and all. A far cry from the cranberry dress she’d settled on.
She’d forgotten to change, but it was no big deal - she remembered tucking a garment bag in the backseat before work. Gwen turned on her heel and ran to the car, careful not to splash in any puddles as she did so.
Gwen walked around to the driver’s side once more and fished her key out of her pocket. Bracing herself with one hand against the door handle, she slipped it in and turned, and yanked. But the door didn’t budge.
Don’t panic, and she took the key out, put it in and tried again. There was no give, no creak of imminent acquiescence.
Her heart began to race, and brown eyes flicked to the back seat. She could she her clothes, laid out on the worn cushion, neat and appropriate. Not a bloody elf costume.
Gwen tried again, but the night was quickly becoming hot and the silence, deafening. Though she’d never let it escape her lips, her mind was suddenly full of terrible, nasty words, enough vulgarities to make the most foul-mouthed sailors blush. Her heart was racing, and her car just refused to open, determined to show her for opting not to just buy the replacement part.
She stepped back into the street and took a deep breath, cold December air pricking her lungs.
“Okay.” She nodded slowly, suddenly strangely calm. At this point, it wasn’t as though things could get any worse. This was surely the bottom, and that knowledge gave her a strange peace.
As she began to walk toward Morgana’s place once more, the pragmatic part of her - the part that guided her when the world turned to utter and complete lunacy - began to formulate a plan. She’d enter, be a little rude and go straight to Morgana’s bedroom, borrow something and the whole ordeal would be over with. She could call a mechanic - Do mechanics respond to calls Christmas Eve? … she could call a cab, and send a mechanic in the morning … Tomorrow’s Christmas! … she could call a cab, send for a mechanic the day after tomorrow and everything would be fine. Everything would be fine.
Gwen hopped up onto the curb again, spirits brightened - even if only a little - by the growing sound of music. People were likely dancing; no one would even notice her come in. She ducked her head and smiled, relieved.
But Guinevere stopped dead in her tracks only two doors down. Where there had been no one before, a lone dark figure, about Merlin’s height, but a more solidly built, was hovering just beyond Morgana’s gate, leaning against one of the lit trees, back to her. There was blond hair, a little disheveled but nonetheless perfect, and a familiar, squared-off stance though he seemed to be looking at no one.
She allowed herself a moment’s hesitation. She had known that he’d be there, but not at the bloody door.
Then again, perhaps it wasn’t him. Or maybe she could dash by without him noticing. Or something like that.
With her chin held high, Gwen continued, chest tight.
When she’d walked nearly to the gate, and he hadn’t turned, Gwen wondered if it had really been a case of mistaken identity after all. But as she turned, and reached out a hand to under the wrought iron latch, she caught him turn to look out of the corner of her eye.
His voice was a little strained, more than a little surprised. “Guinevere?”
Gwen stopped mid-step, halfway across the small threshold, and she clutched the opening of her jacket at her chest with one hand. She forgot to smile, breath caught in her throat, but she quickly remembered herself. There was no way around it; she turned and looked at him. “Arthur.”
He didn’t look upset, or even displeased, which Gwen took as a good sign. Still, he made no move toward her, only pushed off from his position against the tree, his hands tucked deep into his jeans. “All right?” he asked cautiously, nodding to the party. “Everyone’s been wondering where you were.”
She raised an eyebrow; Merlin and Morgana both knew she’d been called into work. But before she could call him out, the corners of Arthur’s mouth twitched upward. “Well, I wondered.”
Her eyes widened a little. “Did you?”
“You’re never late. I was … the roads are a bit slick, aren’t they?”
Gwen took a small step toward him, out the gate. “What are you doing out here?”
Arthur shrugged and kicked at the light dust of snow on the ground. “I was bored.”
She glanced over her shoulder, she could still clearly see people interacting inside, could hear laugher ringing out from behind the door. “Really?” asked Gwen, skeptical.
He grinned outright, cheeks faintly pink. “Well, Merlin’s getting pissed on the egg nog, Leon and Morgana have been talking all night-”
“And the other boys?”
“All there, stuffing themselves-” A little swell of pride filled Gwen’s chest, “Talking with some of Morgana’s mates, trying their luck and looking like absolute prats. Dancing.”
“But not your cup of tea?”
Arthur’s gaze lingered on her face, bright in the light cast off the trees. “Well. I was wondering about you.”
Gwen looked back at him, uncertain, and she tried to recall their last conversation … how he pulled out of what should’ve been their date, ambivalent where she thought he’d been interested.
A rival memory cropped up as well, of Richard, and how he relayed the quick gossip that Arthur had come looking for her when he saw she was at work. That he had been agitated and insistent. And the way he was looking at her now …
Arthur took another step toward her, and suddenly the distance between them wasn’t so great. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted to, and perhaps that would be more effective than trying to think of something to say about the mess they’d made of ‘them’ … before there even was a ‘them.’ Maybe touching him would say more about how it shocked and pleased her to see him standing here, in the dark, waiting for her to arrive.
His eyes flicked briefly down, toward Gwen’s feet, and when they found her eyes once more, they were crinkled and mirthful.
Gwen raised an eyebrow as she watched him, seemingly working hard at suppressing a grin, and subsequently making a totally ridiculous face himself. “What?” she demanded, hardly the romantic line she wished she could’ve come up with.
It was Arthur’s turn to quirk an eyebrow, and Gwen glanced down at her open jacket. Her elf costume was peaking out, in all its Christmas glory.
She imagined, a day ago, she might’ve been mortified. But now, Gwen couldn’t help but grin. She tamped it down and looked back up at Arthur’s smiling face, though - bless his heart - he wasn’t laughing. “Not a word, Arthur Pendragon,” she demanded, though her tone was belied the threat.
“I wasn’t-” he started, but his eyes flicked down toward Gwen’s chest, and he broke out into toothy grin.
She stepped back closer to the white frosted hedges and tried her damnedest to look severe. It must not have been convincing; Arthur continued to ogle her costume. “Honestly, Arthur!”
He found her eyes again, “Guinevere, I had no idea that you-” Arthur raised a pointed eyebrow.
Her face was suddenly hot, and she, grinning, tossed a handful of powder at him. “I mean it! Not another word!”
Arthur jerked to the side, and the snow caught his shoulder. “It’s a little like a fantasy-”
“Tell me it’s not your fantasy,” teased Gwen, pretend-affronted.
He smirked. “It could be.”
She palmed more snow and took a threatening step forward, trying to quell her laughter. Arthur backed up toward the trees, chuckling and playing his part.
“This is your fault, you know!” she quipped, arm raised.
“My fault?”
“It should be you in this damned thing, it’s your fault.”
Arthur grinned widely. “I wouldn’t mind it …”
Gwen did not miss the suggestion in his tone. She smashed the remaining snow in her hands into his coat, giving him a playful shove. He reached out and caught her as she did, drawing her small frame closer and disabling any further snow attacks. Gwen relented to his pull without hesitation. She tipping her chin up to him, cheeks flushed from their brief skirmish, a smiling defiantly.
His grin softened to something far more tender, and Gwen was stricken with sudden acute awareness. She was standing there, in his embrace, his hands heavy on her back, hers held tightly against his chest. Arthur seemed to realize it too at the same moment, since his hands moved to hold her lightly at her elbows, giving her space that she did not require.
He swallowed, glancing down at the ground between them. And when he looked back up at her, he expression was more restrained. “I’m sorry.”
She frowned, then - following his meaning - shook her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
But Arthur was withdrawing, insistent, and Gwen felt the lightness she felt only moments prior swiftly drained out the soles of her feet. She took a careful step back as she watched him fuss with his fringe awkwardly, pale cheeks tinged pink. He cleared his throat as he watched her step back. His eyes seemed to be searching her face, and Gwen ducked her head out of habit. “Merlin-” began Arthur, by way of excuse.
Gwen shook her head. “Merlin got his wires crossed.”
Their gaze met once more. Arthur’s more dark than blue, Gwen noticed, and it was strange the way it made her heart race. His silent scrutiny was getting to her; she cleared her throat.
“Maybe we should go inside …” mumbled Arthur finally.
She felt herself nodding, distantly, and she took a few steps back toward Morgana’s gate.
Her fingers had barely grazed the wrought iron latch before her mind suddenly gave way. Later, perhaps she could blame the impulse on the hours of toil - over her car, over work, over this very party - but Gwen knew she wouldn’t. She knew that it was much more than simple exhaustion that stilled her hand and stopped her mid-step, that turned her around to face the very … the only thing she really desired for Christmas.
The distance between them was short. Arthur watched, wide-eyed, as petite Gwen closed the space between them in an instant.
Her mouth found his in an instant, as she rose on her tip-toes and braced her hands against his chest for balance. Through her lashes, she saw surprised, dark eyes fall shut, and very, very close Gwen heard the release of a mutual, long-held breath.
Forcing her own eyes shut, Gwen willed the What are you doing? thoughts down, allowed herself to enjoy the soft fullness of his lips, the sudden heat of his hands on her hips pulling her closer to him, the heaviness of his abdomen, hard against her stomach.
She kissed him fully, closed-mouthed but insistent. Only seconds later, when her might caught hold of her errant lips, Gwen pulled away just enough to catch her breath, mouth hovering above his for a long moment until she carefully lowered herself back down.
She waited until his eyes fluttered after, long after her own.
“Merry Christmas,” Gwen murmured, and with a satisfied little nod, she turned to go inside.
But her hand was suddenly tugged back, his thumb solid on her jaw and fingers buried in her curls, his mouth tenderly expressing some long pent up thing. Guinevere leaned into him, fitting her body against him and reveling in the warm cocoon of his grip. Some far away part of her wondered if she’d ever make it into the party, and whether she even cared when she was busy experiencing her ‘bit of Christmas magc.’
Santa always gave the best advice.
***
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