Ficlet - Resurrection Man

Nov 27, 2009 22:59

“So, what d’you reckon we should do now?” Jack asked, unhurriedly stretching his legs to the blazing fire, obviously at peace with himself and the surrounding world.

Will glanced at the pub’s multi-paned window, comfortable heat settling into his limbs caused by the drink, the hearth, and the company. “Snow’s piling up out there,” he observed quietly. “Traveling is out of the question tonight.” He gave a look around the snug room, half full of revelers drinking to the season. “I suppose I’d better see if the landlord has any rooms to let.”

“Won’t be finding any room at the inn, not at this time of year.” Jack gestured towards the door. “But, it just so happens,” Jack perked up and leaned forth, the hearth giving him a soft, warm flair, “I’ve a place, just down the road. Nothing fancy, but it’s warm and dry, and…warm.” He then rose, and placed his hat on his head, with that familiar gesture Will remembered so well. “I believe you’ll find it a bit more comfortable resting place than the graveyard.” Jack’s eyes twinkled in the firelight, his entire countenance speaking of a man who’d had the world’s weight removed from his shoulders when he stepped in front of Will and offered out his hand. “If you don’t mind joining me?”

“I can’t think of anything that’d make me happier,” Will said, matching smile for smile, and taking Jack‘s hand.

For a passing, brief second, neither man knew how to let go.

“Off we go then,” Jack cleared his throat and chucked down the rest of his mull, unsure if the flush he felt spreading across his face came from the spiced wine, or the ease with which Will first threw on his own coat, patted even his sleeves, and held out Jack’s as if he’d done so a hundred times before.

Jack shrugged on his coat with a thanks, and shouldered his way to the bar to purchase a bottle for the road, only to be halted by a gent at a nearby table suddenly turning to grab Jack by the lapel of his coat. A bleary eyed patron pointed at him, squinting, and upon recognition, said excitedly, “Blimey! You! Ain’t you Harper’s Ghost?”

“As I am neither dead nor dying, I find that highly unlikely,” Jack answered amusedly, following his afterthought as he noticed Will having proceeded to the intended purchase, “Although, much like Mr. Scrooge, I too, have been visited by a ghost from Christmas past.”

“You’ve seen ‘em, then!” A companion of the first man said. “Always knew o’ Harper was tellin’ the truth.”

“Now, Ned, you’ve not said nothin’ of the sort!” The first man set his pint down and wagged an educating finger at his friend. “If I recollect, you weres just sayin’ yesterday how Harper’d be seeing ghosts in his bottle again.”

“What was he like, this ghost?” Ned the now-believer gawked at Jack and asked, ignoring the other.

Will, a bottle of rum, and one of the tavern’s own produce - the spicy mull in hand, stepped up and said, “I‘m afraid, gentlemen, that he also was neither dead nor dying. In fact, I‘d hesitate to call him a ghost at all.”

“So there ain’t no ghost? At all?” Ned sat back, a rather crest-fallen expression on his face.

“Oh, the ghost was real, all right, contrary to what my less-than-superstitious companion here might be telling you,” Jack hastened to reassure the disappointed man while Will hid his chuckle in a cough.

“And,” Jack grinned at Will, “as in Mr. Dickens’ wonderful tale, he offered his partner a second chance, a chance to make right all the wrongs of his past.” Jack fished in his pocket for some coins and set them on the table. “A round, landlord! For all these fine gents, in the spirit of Christmas past, present and all the other kinds.”

Amidst the cheering and toasting, Jack and Will managed to slip out of the pub unnoticed, and made their way up the snowy street. The storm had passed, leaving the dark, clear sky ablaze with stars. The moon glistened on the virgin snow, so like a Christmas carol from long ago.

Draping a companionable arm around Will’s shoulders, and gaining Will’s arm around his waist in return, Jack stopped to take in Will’s face as if to confirm that his senses weren‘t betraying him, then shook his head once with a deep, delighted sigh. Composing himself, and with heartfelt cheer and an all-encompassing wave over the harsh, blue scenery, Jack declared, “Ain’t it just the perfect weather for a little stroll, my dear Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?”

****

graveyard ghost, j/w

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