beckymonster (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
beckymonster) wrote2013-02-11 08:45 pm
beckymonster) wrote2013-02-11 08:45 pm
FIC - 364 Days (Arthur Christmas, Gen, PG)
Title - 364 Days
Fandom(s) - Arthur Christmas (2011)
A Gift For -![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
littledust as part of the 2012 ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
yuletide challenge - after this, there is one more.
Disclaimer - This is a work of fanfiction. No profit is being made from this story. All rights belong to their respective holders.
364 Days can also be read over at AO3
North Pole, January 6th - Days Until Christmas: 359
Number of times that Arthur has wanted to run away and join the circus today: 14
Even though Arthur knew that he’d witness the ceremonial passing of the baton between one Santa and the next, he’d never expected to be, y’know, the star of the show.
It had always been going to be Steve sitting in Arthur’s place, next to Mum, listening to Dad speak about his time as Santa to the gathered masses of the elves in the hangar of S-1. Arthur had always thought he’d seated with the rest of the mail department - somewhere near the back, so that they - or rather he - wouldn’t be a nuisance on Steve’s Big Day.
Arthur looked out over the gathered army of elves, arranged into their battalions, all resplendent in their dress uniforms of bottle green and scarlet. He was dressed in red, naturally, in a suit that looked commanding on his father and comical on him, despite the fact that it had been tailored to fit him like a glove. They still felt as if they were clothes that belonged to another man.
Steve had helped him dress that morning - a good thing, as Arthur had never worn a tie in his entire life - while chatting to him about the plans that Arthur had suggested. Somehow, their discussion of the eating habits of Lapland Reindeer had done more for Arthur’s nerves than the stiff brandy that GrandSanta had yelled that he needed when he met the rest of the family before the ceremony.
Just before he had gone to sit with Grandsanta, Steve had pushed some notecards into Arthur’s hands with a whispered “good luck.” In theory, Arthur knew that the cards had suggestions as to what to say to the gathered elves: words of wisdom, of encouragement, of leadership. But, a moment ago, when he had stolen a glance at them, the words had been whirling and swimming before his eyes. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest; it wasn’t as loud as the wheezing of his breath.
Oh joy: he wasn’t even officially Santa yet and he was already having a heart attack.
He was going to be a terrible Santa - even worse than Santa XVI - he was going to screw this up so badly that they’d have to cancel Christmas permanently and make all the elves redundant and-
“You are going to be a wonderful Santa.” His Mum’s words were just a whisper; really, they shouldn’t have been audible over the amplified sound of Dad’s voice, but Arthur had always known that his Mum had the uncanny knack of being heard regardless of whatever else was going on.
She was sat next to him on the podium, looking resplendent in a green dress coat with a matching hat decorated with feathers. Her hands were folded neatly over the handbag sat on her lap.
He leant slightly towards her before whispering in reply: “Mum! You don’t know that!”
Just as quietly, she leant into him to reply, “I saw the footage the same as everyone else. It doesn’t matter to you if it’s one child or two billion, Arthur. They all matter to you. You want them to be happy.” She never took her gaze off her husband, who was still talking to the rapt crowd. “I’ve also read the letters you wrote. You have what it takes.”
Arthur hid his surprise remarkably well, but it had to be obvious on his face; he could see that the first few rows of elves were nudging each other, paying more attention to their byplay than to the retiring Santa.
“I didn’t know that you read some of the letters, Mum!” he whispered, trying to school his expression into something more suited to card games than board games.
“Well, someone has to help lick all those stamps,” Margaret Claus replied, her lips barely moving. “The number of cases of dehydration that the Elf Hospital gets is shocking.”
“Don’t they have self-adhesive ones now?” Arthur asked quietly, “I’m sure quite a few of the letters I’ve seen this year have stick-on stam-”
He didn’t get to finish the sentence as the hangar suddenly went almost silent; the only sound that could be heard was his whisper.
“Arthur,” his father began, turning towards him, hand held out, “would you like to say a few words?”
With knees that felt like they were made of strawberry jelly, Arthur stood up, nodding with a manic grin to his father. “Thanks, Dad,” he said as he stepped up to the mic.
The next few minutes were a complete blur. Arthur was sure he had said something, but couldn’t remember what it had been. Even so, everyone agreed, as he shook (seemingly) everyone’s hands afterward, that it had been a great speech and he would make a great Santa.
After all, that’s what his Mum said and it’s a fact that Mums know everything.
North Pole, March 12th - Days Until Christmas: 289
Recruits undergoing Basic Training: 1407 Elves and 1 Claus
“Really, there is nothing to it, sir,” Sergeant Major Barton said with a softer tone than she used on the other recruits - but that only meant she wasn’t shouting. “You slip your foot in the loop and hold on. The computers on the S-1, sorry, Evie II, do the rest.”
Arthur wasn’t convinced. “I’m not a great fan of heights,” he muttered out loud. His lunatic reboarding of Evie, somewhere just off the coast of Cuba, haunted his dreams some nights.
“It’s not the heights you have to be worried about. It’s the landings!” a wheezy old voice stated.
Everyone but Arthur stood to attention for GrandSanta. Not for the first time, Arthur wondered if GrandSanta shouldn’t actually be Great-GrandSanta, now that Dad had retired, but given that his immediate thought was still of his Dad when anyone talked of ‘Santa’ around him.... he knew he had a long way to go.
“Hello, GrandSanta,” Arthur greeted him nervously. He was sure that there would be stories of how he faceplanted into the snowdrifts or ended up tied up in the worst way in the ziplines over dinner that night.
“Come to see how it’s done nowadays,” he explained as he looked around for somewhere to rest his old bones. Unfortunately, the jump hangar was short of overstuffed sofas, so GrandSanta was left to stand, his weight rested on his cane.
“Carry on, Sarah,” he said as he moved arthritically to the back of the bay. The remark surprised Arthur for a moment, as GrandSanta’s method of remembering the names of the elves was not to; he referred to them all as ‘Elf’.
But then, turning up to watch training wasn’t exactly commonplace for him either.
With a deep breath, Arthur pushed his foot into the zipline before he jumped off the platform.
For an instant, all he could hear was the hiss of the zipline playing out and the hammering of his heart before his booted feet felt the crunch of snow underfoot. It took a lot, but he valiantly resisted the temptation of falling to his knees to kiss the ground. If he was going to be Santa, he had to get used to that - and fast.
There were two billion children relying on him and he would not let them down.
He caught his breath and tugged on the zipline, signalling for elevation; felt the acceleration of the line racing up towards the ceiling of the hangar. The same panic came again, but it wasn’t as overpowering as it had been on the descent. It was nowhere near manageable yet, but it was a start that Arthur would happily take.
As his foot hit metal decking again, Arthur let out a sigh of relief that was drowned out by the round of applause that it garnered from the elves standing around watching. To Arthur’s surprise, leading the applause was GrandSanta.
“Well done, lad!” the old man said. “Still got a few months to get it perfect, but it’s a good start.” Turning to the other new recruits, he continued: “Well done, all of you.” It caused an outbreak of chatter that even Sergeant Major Barton was loath to silence; GrandSanta was not one to give praise lightly.
“Just remember your ‘elf and safety and you should be fine,” GrandSanta said, laughing uproariously at his own - terrible - joke.
Arthur put his head into his hands as the elves dutifully tittered.
St Ives, Cornwall, 10th August - Days to Christmas: 143
Ratio of postcards written to postcards purchased: 1 to 17
“Dear Bryony and everyone else in Pacific Region Wrapping,” Arthur’s neat handwriting flowed across the postcard, decorated with an image of standing stones. “I’m currently in Cornwall - yes, this is where Trelew is, not the other one, which is actually in Argentina and not Mexico. Yes, I can hear Steve grumbling about Apple Maps from even down here, thank you-”
He paused in his train of thought as another pot of tea miraculously appeared at his elbow on the small cafe table.
He glanced up into the smiling features of the very lovely Annie, whose cafe he’d stumbled into on his first day in St Ives, desperate for a cup of tea and something to eat. She’d smiled at him before plying him with iced buns and tea better than even his Mum made (not that he’d ever tell his Mum that.) That had been three days ago and each day since he had stopped by Annie’s cafe for tea and cake.
Annie was as beautiful as her tea was wonderful; this had not escaped Arthur’s notice. He was just painfully glad that he was on his own, as Steve would most likely have mercilessly teased him about her. As for what anyone else would say... he dreaded the thought.
“You look like you could do with a refill,” Annie noted as she scanned the quiet street.
"Thank you,” he replied, offering her a shy smile. Later, in hindsight, he’d wonder what had possessed him to speak up instead of returning to the small mountain of postcards he’d promised to write, but, in a faltering voice, Arthur asked “Will you join me? For a cup of tea?”
He’d been expecting her to laugh and politely decline: she had too many things to do; the working day was just beginning; she would be inundated with customers as she was every day; she didn’t have time to spend with a guy like him.
So it was an unlooked for and very pleasant surprise when Annie tipped her head to one side to study him closely for a moment before putting her hands behind her back to undo the ties on her apron. As she did so, she turned towards the kitchen, yelling to Maria, her cook, that she was taking the day off.
“Why on earth for?!” a red headed Scottish woman yelled, poking her head from behind the kitchen door. She glared at Arthur. Arthur waved at her sheepishly. “Oh,” Maria said, glancing at her boss before retreating back to her domain. “On your head, lass, I’ll get ye a cup and some crumpets.”
“Thank you, Maria!” Annie replied, grinning as she turned back to Arthur. “So, tell me, what’s a nice lad like you doing in a place like this?”
As the day wore on, Arthur discovered a number of different things. Annie liked paddling in the sea and had wanted to be a mermaid when she was a little girl (but alas, biology had put paid to that); she liked Shakespeare, monster movies, Christmas and baking. He also found out, to his eternal surprise and delight, that he was on a (sort of) date.
The day ended with them watching the Perseids brightly streaking across the zenith of the night sky.
“Oh!” Annie exclaimed, grasping Arthur’s arm as they stared up at the celestial light show. “Make a wish!”
So he did and, with the touch of Annie’s lips on his, it came true.
Santa’s Office, North Pole - October 24th. Days Until Christmas: 62
Letters received by the North Pole Mail Department so far: 449149
“Onto AOB,” Steve droned on as Arthur perused the letters in front of him. If anyone asked, yes, he was listening to his brother. It’s just that the work he was doing was slightly more important in his view.
“The Elves have all turned into Yeti overnight,” Steve explained, his tone of voice not changing at all. “We’re having a bit of an issue trying to understand what they’re saying, but Mother knows BSL, which seems to help with the communication issue. They’ve asked for leave in Nepal next-”
Arthur frowned, lifting his gaze from the children’s letters he was reading. “Yeti?!” he asked incredulously. Somebody’s grip on sanity was not as strong as it should be - and for once, Arthur was sure it wasn’t his.
Steve buried his head in his papers. “I knew you weren’t listening to me!” he groaned, turning a frustrated gaze on his little brother. “Arthur, this is important.”
“And this isn’t?” Arthur replied sharply, waving a handful of the letters that Imelda from the Mail Room had brought up for him today. Or, rather, snuck up; there were supposedly ‘rules’ about that sort of thing. With a weary sigh, Arthur slumped back into his chair. “I’m sorry, Steve, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that-”
Steve rubbed his temples. “I’m the one who owes you an apology,” he replied as he closed his laptop to focus properly on his brother. “I keep forgetting that you’re not Dad... well, I know you’re not Dad, but I got used to doing things a certain way when Dad was Santa and now that you’re Santa I’m trying to figure out how to make everything run the way you want it and for it to work better than it did last year-”
Arthur listened carefully to what his brother was saying. “And you have and you are!” he pointed out. “I’d be utterly lost without your support.” He stood up and headed towards the small table where a tea tray had been laid out. “Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked politely. Steve shook his head, lifting the coffee mug he had brought with him.
The motions of making tea reminded Arthur of happier times, allowing him to find what he hoped the right words were to say to his brother. “We both have our strengths; yours is organisation, mine’s worrying. And in this case, it’s worrying about those we serve.” He turned back to his brother, tea mug in hand. “Those letters are part of that.”
Steve considered his brother’s words, nodding after a pause. A year ago, Arthur was sure that Steve would have dismissed what he said out of hand, if he had heard him at all. It would seem that the last ten months had changed Steve nearly as much as they’d changed him.
“You’ve done amazingly well - you do know that, don’t you?” Steve said, staring into his coffee. “I didn’t think you’d be able to cope, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to be disappointed by anything in my life.”
If Steve noticed that Arthur sat back in his chair a little heavier than before, he didn’t remark on it. With his eyes on his own mug, Arthur replied simply “Thank you, I couldn’t have done it without everyone’s help.”
With a cough, Steve opened up his computer again. “I’ll send a memo to the Mailroom and Purchasing to organise a system where you get to read the letters before they are actioned.”
Arthur lifted his head from his contemplation of his tea. “Thanks, Steve,” he said, smiling at his brother. “What did you want for Christmas, by the way?”
The stern look that Steve gave him over the computer was leavened by the way that his lips were quirking into a smile. “You’ll have my letter by the end of the week, Arthur,” he said dryly, bending to the small pile of papers on the chair next to him. “Talking of which, these came in today’s post. Thought you might want to see them.”
He handed over two letters to Arthur; both had St Ives postmarks. Arthur’s face lit up when he saw the return address on one of them. “It’s from Gwen!” he exclaimed as he fumblingly ripped open the envelope. “The little girl from last year-” he glanced at the letter, quickly scanning the contents - “Look, she’s even sent us a photo of her on her bike!” he said happily, gazing down at the flimsy photo of Gwen beaming and waving astride her bike.
“That’s nice,” Steve replied, meaning it. “What about the other one?”
“Oh,” Arthur said, his cheeks colouring, as he saw the return address of the other letter. “I thought Annie’d have forgotten all about me.”
“That’s the girl you met when you were on holiday?” Steve prompted while Arthur opened the second letter. Only he and Mum knew about her; Arthur had felt he couldn’t tell anyone else about that aspect of his trip, he’d only found out because he’d been in the same room when Arthur had mentioned it to their mother. “How did she know where to send the letter to?”
“I gave her the same address that Mum used for her correspondence courses,” he replied distractedly as he read the contents, a goofy grin blooming over his face. “I just didn’t think that she’d use it!”
“Well, where there’s a Santa Claus, there’s usually a Mrs Claus,” Steve murmured as he gathered up his papers. “After all, that’s how Dad met Mum, while he was on holiday...”
Arthur blushed to the roots of his hair. It was quite an impressive feat, clashing as violently as it did with his favourite Christmas jumper. “I’m not even properly Santa yet and you’re already thinking of who’ll take over from me?” he moaned.
Steve shook his head, a small smile on his face. “No, Arthur, I just want you to be happy.”
“Thanks, Steve,” he replied before squinting up at his brother. “But you are kidding about the Yeti, aren’t you?”
Steve laughed.
North Pole, Evie II’s Hanger, Christmas Eve. Days to Christmas: 0
Time to Launch: T minus 3 minutes
Arthur glanced down at the monitors in front of him; every couple of seconds a light turned from red to green. In his ear, he could hear Steve run through the final checks before their mission for this year could begin. On either side of him, he could see the elves all settling into their stations, murmuring their own preflight checks.
He knew should say something to everyone; Dad had always said something inspiring to everyone before he started off on his missions every year. But Arthur’s mind had gone blank.
“Are you alright, Sir?” a voice at his left asked. Flight Officer Ashley Shelfley was standing there, watching him. “My sister Bryony asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“I’m just worrying, that’s all,” Arthur replied, feeling for the first time that this could actually work.
Ashley smiled at him. “Then we’re going to be fine, Santa.”
Fin
Fandom(s) - Arthur Christmas (2011)
A Gift For -
littledust as part of the 2012 yuletide challenge - after this, there is one more.Disclaimer - This is a work of fanfiction. No profit is being made from this story. All rights belong to their respective holders.
364 Days can also be read over at AO3
North Pole, January 6th - Days Until Christmas: 359
Number of times that Arthur has wanted to run away and join the circus today: 14
Even though Arthur knew that he’d witness the ceremonial passing of the baton between one Santa and the next, he’d never expected to be, y’know, the star of the show.
It had always been going to be Steve sitting in Arthur’s place, next to Mum, listening to Dad speak about his time as Santa to the gathered masses of the elves in the hangar of S-1. Arthur had always thought he’d seated with the rest of the mail department - somewhere near the back, so that they - or rather he - wouldn’t be a nuisance on Steve’s Big Day.
Arthur looked out over the gathered army of elves, arranged into their battalions, all resplendent in their dress uniforms of bottle green and scarlet. He was dressed in red, naturally, in a suit that looked commanding on his father and comical on him, despite the fact that it had been tailored to fit him like a glove. They still felt as if they were clothes that belonged to another man.
Steve had helped him dress that morning - a good thing, as Arthur had never worn a tie in his entire life - while chatting to him about the plans that Arthur had suggested. Somehow, their discussion of the eating habits of Lapland Reindeer had done more for Arthur’s nerves than the stiff brandy that GrandSanta had yelled that he needed when he met the rest of the family before the ceremony.
Just before he had gone to sit with Grandsanta, Steve had pushed some notecards into Arthur’s hands with a whispered “good luck.” In theory, Arthur knew that the cards had suggestions as to what to say to the gathered elves: words of wisdom, of encouragement, of leadership. But, a moment ago, when he had stolen a glance at them, the words had been whirling and swimming before his eyes. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest; it wasn’t as loud as the wheezing of his breath.
Oh joy: he wasn’t even officially Santa yet and he was already having a heart attack.
He was going to be a terrible Santa - even worse than Santa XVI - he was going to screw this up so badly that they’d have to cancel Christmas permanently and make all the elves redundant and-
“You are going to be a wonderful Santa.” His Mum’s words were just a whisper; really, they shouldn’t have been audible over the amplified sound of Dad’s voice, but Arthur had always known that his Mum had the uncanny knack of being heard regardless of whatever else was going on.
She was sat next to him on the podium, looking resplendent in a green dress coat with a matching hat decorated with feathers. Her hands were folded neatly over the handbag sat on her lap.
He leant slightly towards her before whispering in reply: “Mum! You don’t know that!”
Just as quietly, she leant into him to reply, “I saw the footage the same as everyone else. It doesn’t matter to you if it’s one child or two billion, Arthur. They all matter to you. You want them to be happy.” She never took her gaze off her husband, who was still talking to the rapt crowd. “I’ve also read the letters you wrote. You have what it takes.”
Arthur hid his surprise remarkably well, but it had to be obvious on his face; he could see that the first few rows of elves were nudging each other, paying more attention to their byplay than to the retiring Santa.
“I didn’t know that you read some of the letters, Mum!” he whispered, trying to school his expression into something more suited to card games than board games.
“Well, someone has to help lick all those stamps,” Margaret Claus replied, her lips barely moving. “The number of cases of dehydration that the Elf Hospital gets is shocking.”
“Don’t they have self-adhesive ones now?” Arthur asked quietly, “I’m sure quite a few of the letters I’ve seen this year have stick-on stam-”
He didn’t get to finish the sentence as the hangar suddenly went almost silent; the only sound that could be heard was his whisper.
“Arthur,” his father began, turning towards him, hand held out, “would you like to say a few words?”
With knees that felt like they were made of strawberry jelly, Arthur stood up, nodding with a manic grin to his father. “Thanks, Dad,” he said as he stepped up to the mic.
The next few minutes were a complete blur. Arthur was sure he had said something, but couldn’t remember what it had been. Even so, everyone agreed, as he shook (seemingly) everyone’s hands afterward, that it had been a great speech and he would make a great Santa.
After all, that’s what his Mum said and it’s a fact that Mums know everything.
North Pole, March 12th - Days Until Christmas: 289
Recruits undergoing Basic Training: 1407 Elves and 1 Claus
“Really, there is nothing to it, sir,” Sergeant Major Barton said with a softer tone than she used on the other recruits - but that only meant she wasn’t shouting. “You slip your foot in the loop and hold on. The computers on the S-1, sorry, Evie II, do the rest.”
Arthur wasn’t convinced. “I’m not a great fan of heights,” he muttered out loud. His lunatic reboarding of Evie, somewhere just off the coast of Cuba, haunted his dreams some nights.
“It’s not the heights you have to be worried about. It’s the landings!” a wheezy old voice stated.
Everyone but Arthur stood to attention for GrandSanta. Not for the first time, Arthur wondered if GrandSanta shouldn’t actually be Great-GrandSanta, now that Dad had retired, but given that his immediate thought was still of his Dad when anyone talked of ‘Santa’ around him.... he knew he had a long way to go.
“Hello, GrandSanta,” Arthur greeted him nervously. He was sure that there would be stories of how he faceplanted into the snowdrifts or ended up tied up in the worst way in the ziplines over dinner that night.
“Come to see how it’s done nowadays,” he explained as he looked around for somewhere to rest his old bones. Unfortunately, the jump hangar was short of overstuffed sofas, so GrandSanta was left to stand, his weight rested on his cane.
“Carry on, Sarah,” he said as he moved arthritically to the back of the bay. The remark surprised Arthur for a moment, as GrandSanta’s method of remembering the names of the elves was not to; he referred to them all as ‘Elf’.
But then, turning up to watch training wasn’t exactly commonplace for him either.
With a deep breath, Arthur pushed his foot into the zipline before he jumped off the platform.
For an instant, all he could hear was the hiss of the zipline playing out and the hammering of his heart before his booted feet felt the crunch of snow underfoot. It took a lot, but he valiantly resisted the temptation of falling to his knees to kiss the ground. If he was going to be Santa, he had to get used to that - and fast.
There were two billion children relying on him and he would not let them down.
He caught his breath and tugged on the zipline, signalling for elevation; felt the acceleration of the line racing up towards the ceiling of the hangar. The same panic came again, but it wasn’t as overpowering as it had been on the descent. It was nowhere near manageable yet, but it was a start that Arthur would happily take.
As his foot hit metal decking again, Arthur let out a sigh of relief that was drowned out by the round of applause that it garnered from the elves standing around watching. To Arthur’s surprise, leading the applause was GrandSanta.
“Well done, lad!” the old man said. “Still got a few months to get it perfect, but it’s a good start.” Turning to the other new recruits, he continued: “Well done, all of you.” It caused an outbreak of chatter that even Sergeant Major Barton was loath to silence; GrandSanta was not one to give praise lightly.
“Just remember your ‘elf and safety and you should be fine,” GrandSanta said, laughing uproariously at his own - terrible - joke.
Arthur put his head into his hands as the elves dutifully tittered.
St Ives, Cornwall, 10th August - Days to Christmas: 143
Ratio of postcards written to postcards purchased: 1 to 17
“Dear Bryony and everyone else in Pacific Region Wrapping,” Arthur’s neat handwriting flowed across the postcard, decorated with an image of standing stones. “I’m currently in Cornwall - yes, this is where Trelew is, not the other one, which is actually in Argentina and not Mexico. Yes, I can hear Steve grumbling about Apple Maps from even down here, thank you-”
He paused in his train of thought as another pot of tea miraculously appeared at his elbow on the small cafe table.
He glanced up into the smiling features of the very lovely Annie, whose cafe he’d stumbled into on his first day in St Ives, desperate for a cup of tea and something to eat. She’d smiled at him before plying him with iced buns and tea better than even his Mum made (not that he’d ever tell his Mum that.) That had been three days ago and each day since he had stopped by Annie’s cafe for tea and cake.
Annie was as beautiful as her tea was wonderful; this had not escaped Arthur’s notice. He was just painfully glad that he was on his own, as Steve would most likely have mercilessly teased him about her. As for what anyone else would say... he dreaded the thought.
“You look like you could do with a refill,” Annie noted as she scanned the quiet street.
"Thank you,” he replied, offering her a shy smile. Later, in hindsight, he’d wonder what had possessed him to speak up instead of returning to the small mountain of postcards he’d promised to write, but, in a faltering voice, Arthur asked “Will you join me? For a cup of tea?”
He’d been expecting her to laugh and politely decline: she had too many things to do; the working day was just beginning; she would be inundated with customers as she was every day; she didn’t have time to spend with a guy like him.
So it was an unlooked for and very pleasant surprise when Annie tipped her head to one side to study him closely for a moment before putting her hands behind her back to undo the ties on her apron. As she did so, she turned towards the kitchen, yelling to Maria, her cook, that she was taking the day off.
“Why on earth for?!” a red headed Scottish woman yelled, poking her head from behind the kitchen door. She glared at Arthur. Arthur waved at her sheepishly. “Oh,” Maria said, glancing at her boss before retreating back to her domain. “On your head, lass, I’ll get ye a cup and some crumpets.”
“Thank you, Maria!” Annie replied, grinning as she turned back to Arthur. “So, tell me, what’s a nice lad like you doing in a place like this?”
As the day wore on, Arthur discovered a number of different things. Annie liked paddling in the sea and had wanted to be a mermaid when she was a little girl (but alas, biology had put paid to that); she liked Shakespeare, monster movies, Christmas and baking. He also found out, to his eternal surprise and delight, that he was on a (sort of) date.
The day ended with them watching the Perseids brightly streaking across the zenith of the night sky.
“Oh!” Annie exclaimed, grasping Arthur’s arm as they stared up at the celestial light show. “Make a wish!”
So he did and, with the touch of Annie’s lips on his, it came true.
Santa’s Office, North Pole - October 24th. Days Until Christmas: 62
Letters received by the North Pole Mail Department so far: 449149
“Onto AOB,” Steve droned on as Arthur perused the letters in front of him. If anyone asked, yes, he was listening to his brother. It’s just that the work he was doing was slightly more important in his view.
“The Elves have all turned into Yeti overnight,” Steve explained, his tone of voice not changing at all. “We’re having a bit of an issue trying to understand what they’re saying, but Mother knows BSL, which seems to help with the communication issue. They’ve asked for leave in Nepal next-”
Arthur frowned, lifting his gaze from the children’s letters he was reading. “Yeti?!” he asked incredulously. Somebody’s grip on sanity was not as strong as it should be - and for once, Arthur was sure it wasn’t his.
Steve buried his head in his papers. “I knew you weren’t listening to me!” he groaned, turning a frustrated gaze on his little brother. “Arthur, this is important.”
“And this isn’t?” Arthur replied sharply, waving a handful of the letters that Imelda from the Mail Room had brought up for him today. Or, rather, snuck up; there were supposedly ‘rules’ about that sort of thing. With a weary sigh, Arthur slumped back into his chair. “I’m sorry, Steve, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that-”
Steve rubbed his temples. “I’m the one who owes you an apology,” he replied as he closed his laptop to focus properly on his brother. “I keep forgetting that you’re not Dad... well, I know you’re not Dad, but I got used to doing things a certain way when Dad was Santa and now that you’re Santa I’m trying to figure out how to make everything run the way you want it and for it to work better than it did last year-”
Arthur listened carefully to what his brother was saying. “And you have and you are!” he pointed out. “I’d be utterly lost without your support.” He stood up and headed towards the small table where a tea tray had been laid out. “Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked politely. Steve shook his head, lifting the coffee mug he had brought with him.
The motions of making tea reminded Arthur of happier times, allowing him to find what he hoped the right words were to say to his brother. “We both have our strengths; yours is organisation, mine’s worrying. And in this case, it’s worrying about those we serve.” He turned back to his brother, tea mug in hand. “Those letters are part of that.”
Steve considered his brother’s words, nodding after a pause. A year ago, Arthur was sure that Steve would have dismissed what he said out of hand, if he had heard him at all. It would seem that the last ten months had changed Steve nearly as much as they’d changed him.
“You’ve done amazingly well - you do know that, don’t you?” Steve said, staring into his coffee. “I didn’t think you’d be able to cope, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad to be disappointed by anything in my life.”
If Steve noticed that Arthur sat back in his chair a little heavier than before, he didn’t remark on it. With his eyes on his own mug, Arthur replied simply “Thank you, I couldn’t have done it without everyone’s help.”
With a cough, Steve opened up his computer again. “I’ll send a memo to the Mailroom and Purchasing to organise a system where you get to read the letters before they are actioned.”
Arthur lifted his head from his contemplation of his tea. “Thanks, Steve,” he said, smiling at his brother. “What did you want for Christmas, by the way?”
The stern look that Steve gave him over the computer was leavened by the way that his lips were quirking into a smile. “You’ll have my letter by the end of the week, Arthur,” he said dryly, bending to the small pile of papers on the chair next to him. “Talking of which, these came in today’s post. Thought you might want to see them.”
He handed over two letters to Arthur; both had St Ives postmarks. Arthur’s face lit up when he saw the return address on one of them. “It’s from Gwen!” he exclaimed as he fumblingly ripped open the envelope. “The little girl from last year-” he glanced at the letter, quickly scanning the contents - “Look, she’s even sent us a photo of her on her bike!” he said happily, gazing down at the flimsy photo of Gwen beaming and waving astride her bike.
“That’s nice,” Steve replied, meaning it. “What about the other one?”
“Oh,” Arthur said, his cheeks colouring, as he saw the return address of the other letter. “I thought Annie’d have forgotten all about me.”
“That’s the girl you met when you were on holiday?” Steve prompted while Arthur opened the second letter. Only he and Mum knew about her; Arthur had felt he couldn’t tell anyone else about that aspect of his trip, he’d only found out because he’d been in the same room when Arthur had mentioned it to their mother. “How did she know where to send the letter to?”
“I gave her the same address that Mum used for her correspondence courses,” he replied distractedly as he read the contents, a goofy grin blooming over his face. “I just didn’t think that she’d use it!”
“Well, where there’s a Santa Claus, there’s usually a Mrs Claus,” Steve murmured as he gathered up his papers. “After all, that’s how Dad met Mum, while he was on holiday...”
Arthur blushed to the roots of his hair. It was quite an impressive feat, clashing as violently as it did with his favourite Christmas jumper. “I’m not even properly Santa yet and you’re already thinking of who’ll take over from me?” he moaned.
Steve shook his head, a small smile on his face. “No, Arthur, I just want you to be happy.”
“Thanks, Steve,” he replied before squinting up at his brother. “But you are kidding about the Yeti, aren’t you?”
Steve laughed.
North Pole, Evie II’s Hanger, Christmas Eve. Days to Christmas: 0
Time to Launch: T minus 3 minutes
Arthur glanced down at the monitors in front of him; every couple of seconds a light turned from red to green. In his ear, he could hear Steve run through the final checks before their mission for this year could begin. On either side of him, he could see the elves all settling into their stations, murmuring their own preflight checks.
He knew should say something to everyone; Dad had always said something inspiring to everyone before he started off on his missions every year. But Arthur’s mind had gone blank.
“Are you alright, Sir?” a voice at his left asked. Flight Officer Ashley Shelfley was standing there, watching him. “My sister Bryony asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“I’m just worrying, that’s all,” Arthur replied, feeling for the first time that this could actually work.
Ashley smiled at him. “Then we’re going to be fine, Santa.”
Fin