[Stargate: Fiction] "Christmas Magic" [John/Rodney, G]
Title: Christmas Magic
Author: Ami Ven
Prompt: romancingmcshep 2024, but also 100_tales challenge 029 ‘Christmas’
Word Count: 9,360
Rating: G
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing(s): John Sheppard/Rodney McKay (background Lorne/Parrish)
Summary: John is Santa’s heir, Rodney is a toy maker, but it will take a little Christmas magic to get them together.
Christmas Magic
“Where have you been?” demanded Evan.
John continued walking, even as his valet started wrestling him into his formal jacket. “Out.”
“Yeah, I got that.” Evan straightened John’s cravat, but didn’t even try to fight with John’s hair. “That’s why nobody could find you when His Majesty summoned you.”
He quickly grabbed John’s arm as he made to turn around, pivoting both of them back toward the direction they’d originally been going.
“Oh, no, sir, you’re going to see him.”
“What’s the point?” John protested, but let himself be steered toward the large ornate doors, which opened for them.
“His Highness, Prince John,” called the court herald, “Heir to the North Pole, Duke of the Arctic, Earl of the Aurora Borealis, Baron of Polaris.”
“Must you recite all my titles every time?” John sighed, but the herald didn’t answer.
Evan cleared his throat pointedly, and John took a deep breath, then strode away from him and across the throne room, stopping at the edge of the dais.
“You wanted to see me, Father?”
King Patrick stood from his throne, clasping his hands behind the back of his red velvet robe. “You know why I called for you.”
“So why don’t we just skip the inevitable argument and I can go get a snack?” asked John.
His father scowled. “Do you take nothing seriously?”
“Only because you take it too seriously. You’re Santa Claus, you’re supposed to be jolly!”
“I am plenty jolly on Christmas Eve,” said Patrick. “But until then, there’s work to do. Our family has carried on these traditions for thousands of years, and you have no respect for them.”
“I have respect,” John protested. “That’s why I know we can’t just keep doing things because we’ve always done them. The world is changing, Father! New technologies, new explorations - we have to change with it, or be left behind.”
“Left behind? I travel the world in a single night. I bring joy and delight to children, as my father and his father did before me. I had hoped that one day, you would follow me.”
“Father, if you’d just listen-”
“I’ve heard enough!” Patrick interrupted. “We will continue the traditions of Christmas, as we always have, and that is final!”
“I-” John started, then sighed, “Yes, Father.”
“Good. You are dismissed.”
John clenched his jaw, but bowed - just slightly less deeply than a prince should to a king - and turned from the throne room.
Evan caught up with him in the antechamber, “Must you antagonize him?”
“Yes,” snapped John, then softened. “Sorry, I just… He’s wrong, Evan. He visits the human world every year, but he doesn’t see it. There’s got to be something I can do, something to show him…”
“Oh, no,” said Evan, as he trailed off. “I know that look, it means you’re about to do something stupid. And it’s already a week until December.”
“Evan…” John said, softly. “I can’t ask you to come with me.”
“Well, too bad, because I’m coming anyway. Where, exactly?”
John grinned. “The human world.”
*
“Rodney!”
He heard his name being called, and ignored it, bent over his workbench and the intricate device he was assembling.
“Rodney McKay, where are you!?” the voice continued, getting closer. “Why is your shop closed?”
He continued to ignore the footsteps in the next room until they rushed to a stop in his workshop doorway, “Rodney!”
“What?” he said, setting down his fine-carving tools with a scowl. “Why must you bother me while I’m working?”
His sister scowled. “Why is your shop closed?” Jeannie repeated.
Rodney frowned back. “It’s not, we’re open for another-” he glanced at the clock, “-two hours.”
“No, you’ve been closed since whenever your shop clerk left this on the till and locked up behind him.”
Jeannie held out a handwritten note and he took it, still frowning, then shot to his feet. “He quit!?”
“Because of your constant negativity,” she said, quoting from the letter. “And the hostile work environment.”
“That is - he can’t possibly - he worked in a toy shop!”
“Yes,” Jeannie said, slowly. “The only toy shop in the whole world with a hostile work environment. You make toys, Rodney, you should be happy. Instead, you’re a miserable old grump.”
“I’m not miserable,” he protested.
“Maybe, but you’re very good at making other people miserable!” She took a deep breath and continued more softly, “Rodney, this is the third clerk who’s quit in the last two months. You are a brilliant toymaker, you make things I could never even dream of, people travel to Lantea just to buy your toys, but you insist on hiding in your workshop and scaring away your staff.”
“I-” he began, then deflated, sinking back into his chair. “I don’t mean to scare them away. I just, I’m not that good with people, you know that, and everyone I hire turns out to be stupid.”
“You just need to have more patience,” said Jeannie.
“Or,” suggested Rodney, “you could come back and work for me - with me - again. You’re not completely hopeless at toy making.”
His sister laughed. “You think that’s a compliment, don’t you?”
“I…”
“Rodney, I have my own life now. I have a husband, and we’re planning to start a family. I can come help you out for a few hours a day - but only until you hire an assistant who can put up with you.”
He sighed. “Where am I going to find someone like that?”
*
With a shimmer, they appeared at the edge of a small town. Evan swayed and John released his hand to take firmer hold of his arm - only Clauses could travel by magic and young elves like Evan were often dizzy afterwards.
“I’m okay,” his valet said, after a moment. “Where are we?”
John shrugged. “No idea.”
“Sir.”
“I just… Father thinks of our magic as a tool, just something to get the job done, but it’s not. It’s… it’s got its own presence. I trusted it to take us where we need to be.”
Evan let out a breath. “And it needs us to be here?”
It was just dawn and the town was waking up before them. Smoke curled from a few chimneys already, the distant sounds of people and machines starting their day. They were standing at the edge of the main street, looking down the rows of shops until the road curved at a large building that seemed to be an inn. There was no snow on the ground, but it was far enough north to have a decided chill in the air, making John tuck his nose into the collar of his dark wool jacket.
“This way,” he said, and Evan followed him down the road.
Around them, the shops were opening - a bakery, a bookseller, a doctor’s office, a general store, an apothecary. Every store had evergreen wreaths on their doors and boughs at the windows, red ribbons and golden baubles, all cheerily decorated for Christmas.
Except one.
It was lit by new electric lights, but the large front windows were framed by heavy curtains and nothing was displayed in them. Nothing about the architecture gave any clue what the shop was selling, but something about it, something deep inside, drew John’s attention.
When John pushed open the door, a bell tinkled somewhere inside the shop, lower and more melodic than he was expecting. The shop wasn’t what he was expecting either. John heard Evan close the door behind them, but he was distracted by the room they’d entered.
It was a toy shop. But perhaps one that was trying not to be - the heavy wooden shelves were more practical for storage than display, toys and games stacked in efficiently neatly-printed paper placards. A wooden counter ran along one wall, with a gleaming brass cash register.
There wasn’t a single decoration - Christmas or otherwise - in the entire place.
“Sorry for the wait!” A woman hurried in from a side door, hastily tying on a plain apron. “How can I help you?”
John spotted a small ‘help wanted’ sign by the register, and smiled. “Actually, I’ll be in town for a little while and I’m looking for a job.”
“Sir,” murmured Evan, but John ignored him.
“I’m Mr. Sheppard,” he said - it was his middle name, and less likely to get him noticed. “And this is my brother, Evan.”
“Evan Lorne,” the other man said, holding out his hand to her. “We have different fathers."
“Mrs. Miller,” she said, shaking it. “We’re looking to hire an assistant - but two would be better. Is that what you’re interested in?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said John.
She stepped back, eyeing them searchingly, and John studied her back. She was perhaps a few years younger than he was, blonde hair pulled back under a kerchief. Her practical dress was clean and pressed, except for a small smudge of what looked like flour at the shoulder.
After a moment, she said, “Do you know much about toys?”
“Oh, yes,” said John.
“Can you do medium to heavy lifting? Restocking, inventory, maybe some deliveries?”
“Sure.”
“Are you all right being insulted on a daily basis?”
“I - what?” he asked, because she seemed nothing but polite and pleasant.
Mrs. Miller laughed. “Sorry, this shop belongs to my brother, I’m just helping out. He has no tact and no filter, but he’s harmless. If you can put up with it, the job’s yours.”
“Just like that?” asked Evan.
“I’m desperate,” she admitted, with another laugh. “Rodney has chased away four assistants in the last year-and-a-half.”
John smiled, slightly apologetic, “We might not be able to stay long.”
She waved a hand. “I’ll take what I can get, especially this time of year. Not that we’ve been all that busy, but…”
“You might get more business if you decorated a bit,” offered John, as politely as he could. “It’s almost Christmas after all.”
“Try telling my brother that,” she snorted, then she brightened. “Are you serious about being able to put up with angry shouting? Because I would love if you would decorate. I haven’t had the time or creativity lately.”
“Well, I…” Evan began - John could practically see the designs forming in his friend’s imagination - elves naturally had a sense of festive decoration, but Evan’s was particularly keen. “If you put some of these puzzle boxes or those teddy bears in the window, got a bit of greenery…”
Mrs. Miller beamed and John smiled back. “We’ll take the job.”
*
“Jeannie, have you seen my small wood rasp? I can’t find it…any…where.”
Rodney trailed off, stunned by the sight that greeted him when he left his workshop. For a moment, he had the impossible thought that he’d been transported to a different shop entirely, but then his sister flitted between the shelves with an armload of toys, too busy to realize he was there.
He blinked around at his shop. The shelves had been pushed back - he was sure a few were now missing altogether - and instead of being neat and tidy, they were now overflowing with toys and games in no apparent order. Other items had been moved to displays along the sides of the shelves, and another was set up in the large picture window, the curtains drawn back to let in the late morning sun.
And there were customers, at least a dozen. Children and adults alike had the same expressions of wonder as they found new delights and old memories. After a few minutes, Rodney realized that Jeannie wasn’t at the register - it was being run by an unfamiliar man. Another, equally-unfamiliar man was moving around the shop helping customers.
“What’s going on?” he demanded of the second man, as he passed.
He was about Rodney’s age, with a shock of unruly dark hair. “Well,” he said, with a smile. “It’s a toy store, so we’re selling toys.”
Rodney glared. “Yes, very funny. Who are you?”
“Mr. Sheppard!” It wasn’t the man who answered, but his sister, joining them. “We need - Oh, Rodney.”
“Yes, Rodney,” he grumped. “The boss.”
“And here’s your new assistant,” said Jeannie, unrepentant. “Mr. Sheppard. And his brother, Mr. Lorne,” she gestured to the man at the register. “This is my brother, Mr. Rodney McKay.”
“How do you do,” said Mr. Sheppard.
“And what happened to my shop?” Rodney demanded, ignoring the greeting. “It was neat! It was organized! It was-”
“Empty,” his sister finished. “We’ve made more sales this morning than we have in the last three weeks combined. Mr. Lorne is a marvel at decorating, and Mr. Sheppard just seems to know what each child wants. It’s amazing. You’re keeping them on.”
“I-” Rodney began.
Mr. Sheppard smiled. “You’re just the man we need, Mr. McKay. There’s a young man who just can’t figure out your puzzle box, and he could use your help…”
Before he knew it, Rodney was actually talking to people, explaining how his puzzles worked or the different styles of stuffed animals. Whenever he began to get annoyed, Mr. Sheppard seemed to magically appear at his side, redirecting the customer or Rodney himself so that each felt in the right.
They were so busy, Rodney didn’t notice the hours go by until Mr. Sheppard closed the door behind the last customer, and he realized the two of them were alone in the shop.
“So,” his new assistant said, with a smile, “you took that better than expected. Mrs. Miller was sure you’d throw a fit.”
“I would not,” protested Rodney, which was probably a lie. “But I can bend to logic when I see it. This… frippery is clearly effective to draw in customers. And I suppose you know where everything is in this rearranged chaos.”
Mr. Sheppard grinned. “Absolutely.”
“Then I’m making inventory your responsibility. I expect to have a full list of the remaining stock completed first thing in the morning.”
“Then Evan - Mr. Lorne - and I can keep our jobs?”
“Yes, yes.” Rodney waved a dismissive hand. “But I expect you both to be able to do sales on your own tomorrow, someone has to make all of these, and I usually spend most of my time in my workshop.”
“Understood. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with our work.”
“Hmm, I suppose we’ll see.”
*
John waved to Mr. Halling as he left the Lantea Inn and stepped out onto the street, pulling his coat more tightly around him against the sharp wind. It would snow in the next few days, he was sure, and he paused a moment to watch his breath condense into little clouds, before turning down the street.
“Good morning!” he called to Mr. Dex, as he opened his bookstore, and got a friendly grunt in return.
He tipped his hat to Sheriff Emmagan, who was passing on the other side of the street, called another greeting to Reverend Woolsey on the steps of the chapel, and stopped in front of the general store when Mr. Zelenka hurried out.
“Good day, Mr. Sheppard,” he said, holding out a small package. “Just arrived today. Would you mind taking this along to Mr. McKay?”
“Of course,” John said, and tucked the package into his pocket as Mr. Zelenka went back inside.
As he continued down the street, a figure emerged from the bank - not Mr. Kolya, the banker, but Mayor Weir.
“Oh, Mr. Sheppard,” she said, looking flustered. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” replied John. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course. Just a business meeting, nothing to worry about.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t worried.”
“No, of course not.” Her smile was brittle. “But you must be on your way to work - please, don’t let me keep you. Good day.”
“Good day,” said John, still a little confused, and continued on to the bakery.
The bell tinkled merrily as he opened the door and Mr. Parrish, the baker, popped up from behind the counter.
“Good morning!” he said, brightly. “The usual, Mr. Sheppard?”
“Yes, please,” John said, smiling.
They had only been in Lantea a little over two weeks, but he was already familiar with all of the other shopkeepers along the main street. They were all surprised he’d lasted so long with McKay, but all had been quick to accept him into their community.
John hadn’t had any kind of plan when he left the North Pole, but he could see himself living in a town like this. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
“And a few extra,” said Mr. Parrish, interrupting his thoughts. “For letting me steal one of his employees.”
As if on cue, Evan came in from the back room, carrying a fresh tray of rolls for the display case.
“I don’t know what I’d have done without him, after Miss Brown left to care for her sick aunt,” the baker continued, with a smile for Evan. “Thank Mr. McKay again, for me.”
“I will,” John promised, taking the paper bag of pastries.
He shared a smile with Evan -John found Mr. McKay’s irritability amusing, but his friend had quickly gown tired of it. Evan had been doing the deliveries for the toy shop, and had added deliveries for the bakery. When Miss Brown left, it was John who suggested Evan take the job. His valet was initially reluctant to leave him for so long each day, but the bakery was right next door to the toy shop, and he’d agreed.
“Let me walk you out,” said Evan, and John frowned.
“Everything all right?” he asked, voice low. “I thought you liked this job.”
His friend smiled. “I do. That’s why… Sir, I… Well, that is…”
“Evan…” said John. “What?”
“David - Mr. Parrish - has asked if I’d like to stay in the apartment over the bakery,” he said, in a rush. “He stays in the greenhouse, you see, and he’s got some orchids that need a lot of attention. And not that the inn is very far, but I’d be able to help start the dough earlier and-”
“Hey, that’s fine,” John interrupted, smiling, then bumped Evan’s shoulder with his own. “And you wondered why we’d come here.”
“No, I know,” his friend said, softly. “This is unexpected. But nice.”
“Yeah,” agreed John.
“But you haven’t found what you’re looking for yet?”
“Maybe.”
*
The smell of coffee slowly drifted into Rodney’s consciousness, drawing his attention away from the music box he was fine-tuning. He blinked back into awareness to hear familiar footsteps through the back hallway to his workshop.
It was odd how quickly he’d gotten used to having Mr. Sheppard in the toy shop. Rodney was even used to the way his salesroom had been rearranged and the happy chaos that greeted him whenever he entered it.
Rodney didn’t like people, as a rule, and they tended not to like him. But his new clerk only laughed at his insults and at times, seemed to be purposely contradictory, just to rile him up.
And Mr. Sheppard showed no signs of wanting to quit. It had been three weeks and he was still as cheerful as ever each morning when he arrived for work. Or when he brought coffee to the workshop.
“Hey, there, boss,” said Mr. Sheppard, setting the mug into the only clear space on the bench. “You’d better get cleaned up.”
“What? Why?”
“Because Mr. Zelenka is coming for lunch today.”
“What?” Rodney repeated. “Why?”
Mr. Sheppard frowned. “Because he’s your neighbor?”
“He’s been my neighbor for years and he’s never come over before.”
“It’s a business lunch,” said Mr. Sheppard.
Rodney frowned. “Business? He sells dry goods and furniture. I sell toys. What business could we talk about?”
“Last week, I sold a doll to a little girl, who admired the dress it was wearing. I mentioned to her mother that Mr. Zelenka’s general store had bolts of the same fabric, if she wanted to make the girl a dress to match. She mentioned it to Mr. Zelenka when she bought the fabric, and he mentioned to me that maybe you could do something similar on a more permanent basis.”
“I’m no fashion expert, Mr. Sheppard,” protested Rodney. “Dolls are an interesting challenge, and my sister tells me it’s unseemly to sell them naked.”
Mr. Sheppard smiled. “It won’t hurt to hear him out. And I’ve taken the liberty of getting some of your favorites from the inn.”
“Have you?” Rodney narrowed his eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
For a moment, his clerk’s expression faltered, almost alarmed, then his smile smoothed out again. “If you and Mr. Zelenka make an agreement, I also sent a few boys who bought your model trains over to Mr. Dex’s bookshop for books about trains, he was asking about something similar. And Miss Cadman, at the apothecary, she apparently has a hobby involving explosives and wants to talk to you about model rockets…”
Rodney stared at him for a long moment, then asked, “How have you had time for all that mentioning? Every time I come up to the salesroom, it’s busier than ever, and you’re darting around helping every small child find whatever they need.”
Mr. Sheppard smiled again, bright and genuine. “Would you believe it was Christmas magic?”
“Hmmph,” Rodney grumbled, but he set aside his tools and went to get cleaned up.
*
The entire town of Lantea was busier than ever as Christmas drew nearer.
John had always loved this time of year in the human world, when people thought about others instead of themselves, when adults laughed and wished like children, when there was warmth in people’s hearts despite the chill in the air.
Only, it wasn’t as he remembered.
Christmas shopping was often stressful, especially for people who had travelled to do it, but this felt different. People snapped at the slightest things, then blinked and apologized like they hadn’t meant to at all. Children were unusually shy and fitful, though all of them brightened when John helped them find their perfect toys.
He thought it perhaps his own bias, not having travelled himself and with the natural Claus cheer at Christmas, but several of the other shopkeepers made mention of unusually short-tempered customers. Even Mr. McKay had noticed, and it only seemed to be getting worse.
As the week before Christmas approached, John was using his Claus magic more and more to sooth tensions. It took so much more energy than it did to see a child’s Christmas wish or even to get a glimpse of an adult’s, and John found himself exhausted at the end of each day.
“You look terrible,” said Mr. McKay, tactless as usual, as they were closing up.
John managed a smile. “I’m fine, just tired.”
“Oh, um, well,” he said, “About that. I know it’s not far, but Mr. Halling has had more business at the inn lately, and it might be easier… that is, if you wanted… I have a spare room, you’re welcome to stay here. With me.”
John’s smile broadened. “That’s very kind, Mr. McKay.”
“Really? That’s a yes?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’ll check out of the inn tomorrow morning, if that’s all right.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then, good night, Mr. McKay.”
“Rodney,” he said, then flushed slightly. “If we’re going to live together, we should be on a first name basis, don’t you think?”
“Of course. Good night, Rodney.”
“Good night… John.”
*
“I don’t know why I’m here,” Rodney grumbled, following Mr. Sheppard - John - through the back entrance of the Lantea Inn.
“It’s an Athosian Midwinter party,” John said. “Teyla told me all about her people’s traditions, they’re mostly about being together during the longest night of the year.”
“No - yes, that,” said Rodney. “I don’t do people and I don’t do parties. How did I let you talk me into this?”
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Mr. Halling made all kinds of food, and Evan said Mr. Parrish was making those little pastry rolls you like.”
“Well, I suppose-”
“Rodney!” As they stepped into the dining room, Jeannie hurried over to hug him quickly. “You’re here!”
She was slightly pink, like the mug of ale in her hand hadn’t been her first, but her smile was so bright and genuine that Rodney couldn’t help smiling back.
“How did you do it?” Jeannie asked, hugging a surprised John, as well. “My brother is anti-social.”
Rodney scowled, but John bumped his shoulder, smiling. “Just needed a little Christmas spirit.”
“Speaking of which,” she said, “Come on, everyone’s waiting for you.”
“Me?” John repeated, just as the rest of the partygoers realized he was there.
“Mr. Sheppard, let me get you a drink,” said Mr. Halling.
“Well, I-”
“Mr. Sheppard, please, come and sit,” said Mr. Zelenka, pulling out a chair.
“No, I can-”
“Mr. Sheppard, you must take a sprig of holly for your lapel,” said Mr. Parrish.
“Really, I don’t-”
Evan appeared at his elbow, “I think you’d better go along, sir,” he said.
“I-” John tried again, then huffed a laugh. “Sure.”
He let Mr. Zelenka guide him to a chair, accepted a mug of ale from Mr. Halling, and pinned Mr. Parrish’s holly to his jacket, then looked around.
“What’s this all about?”
Mayor Weir took the seat beside him, smiling. “Everyone is just grateful for your coming here, Mr. Sheppard. And how much you’ve done for all of us.”
He frowned. “I haven’t done anything.”
“On the contrary,” said Sheriff Emmagan. “Since you joined our community, you have done much to improve our lives.”
“To be honest,” Mr. Halling added, “business has been rather poor the last few years. Even during the holiday season, it was difficult.”
“Lantea is a long way to travel from the city,” continued Mr. Parrish. “Even with the draw of Mr. McKay’s wonderful creations, there were fewer customers each year.”
“Aye,” said Dr. Beckett. “The Commerce Committee had been contemplating something drastic, if things didnae pick up this season. And then, there you were!”
“Like some kind of magic,” put in Miss Cadman. “And that was before you started sending customers to all of our stores, in addition to Mr. McKay’s.”
“That wasn’t anything special,” John protested.
“Not so,” said Mr. Zelenka. “This season has been our best. I have even paid off the mortgage on my shop!”
“As have I,” said Mr. Halling.
“And many others,” Reverend Woolsey agreed. “You’ve been a godsend, Mr. Sheppard.”
“I…” John looked around at them all, then back at Rodney, standing beside him. “You were all so welcoming, when I came here. I was just repaying the favor.”
“Still,” said Mayor Weir. “It’s much appreciated.”
Jeannie raised her glass, “To Mr. Sheppard!”
Everyone repeated the toast, then John raised his mug. “To Midwinter, and good friends to share the dark night with.”
They repeated that, too, then Jeannie bumped Rodney’s shoulder. “Since my brother has finally joined us, maybe he can make himself useful. Play us something, Rodney.”
He started to protest, but John twisted to look up at him. “You play?” he asked.
“I know how,” Rodney demurred. “But it’s been said my playing is too mechanical.”
John smiled. “I don’t believe that. Will you play?”
“I don’t know any Athosian Midwinter songs.”
“That is no matter,” said Sheriff Emmagan, cheerfully. “Christmas carols will be very welcome.”
“Carols, right.”
Rodney made his way to the upright piano in the corner of the inn’s parlor and sat down. He began to play, a soft hymn he’d learned long ago. When he finished two verses, there was a beat of silence.
“Wow,” said John.
“Really?” Rodney asked.
“That was beautiful, lad,” said Dr. Beckett. “But perhaps something more… lively? This is a party, after all.”
“Oh.” Rodney smiled. “Any requests?”
After a few faster tunes, Sheriff Emmagan joined him, her voice a pleasant alto. Soon, everyone was singing, some aided by liberal amounts of ale, some of them a bit unclear on the correct lyrics. It was after midnight when Mr. Halling called for a final song. Rodney chose a slower melody, something about candles and snowfall, he half-remembered.
The party broke up with laughter and calls of good night, as everyone went their separate ways. Rodney fell into step beside John, on the way back to the toyshop.
“I… I had a good time, tonight,” said Rodney, surprised to find it was true.
John grinned and bumped his shoulder. “Told you.”
“Hmmph,” he said, but couldn’t hide his smile.
They climbed the stairs a bit unsteadily, tired rather than inebriated - Rodney hadn’t had much time to drink while he was playing, and John had chosen not to, after his first mug of ale.
Rodney’s bedroom door was the first along the corridor, and they both stopped in front of it.
“I had a good time tonight, too,” said John. “I love Christmas carols, and you play beautifully.”
“I felt them tonight,” Rodney said. “I don’t think I ever have, before.”
John smiled, his usually-hazel eyes shining green in the dim lamplight. Rodney was so distracted he didn’t notice John move until there were suddenly lips against his, then gone.
“Happy Midwinter,” said John, pulling away. “Good night.”
Rodney blinked, “Good night,” he managed, just as the other bedroom door closed.
*
John didn’t get a chance to speak to Rodney the next morning.
They had both overslept slightly, after the late night of the party, and hurried to open the toy shop for the morning rush.
The day before Christmas Eve meant a long line of harried customers looking for last-minute gifts, and Rodney joined John in the salesroom to keep up. He looked just as harried as his customers, but he managed a genuine smile when John brought him a second cup of coffee midmorning.
Then, John began to feel something at the edge of his awareness. The shop was so busy that it took him a moment to spot the figure lingering by the display of model trains. Rodney had already turned the sign on the shop door to closed, with the time they would reopen after lunch, so John continued helping the last few customers, until only one was left.
The young man approached the counter. “Hello, John.”
Rodney looked between them. “Do you know each other?”
John sighed. “Dave, allow me to introduce my employer, Mr. Rodney McKay. Rodney, my brother, Dave.”
“Another one? He looks like you, at least,” said Rodney, then seemed to remember his manners and held out a hand. “How do you do, Mr. Sheppard?”
Dave shook his hand but didn’t correct him. He turned to John, “Can we talk? Privately?”
John hesitated, and Rodney touched his arm. “Upstairs. I’ll be in the workshop, if you need me.”
“Thanks.”
John led his brother up the stairs to the small apartment he now shared with Rodney. There was silence as he made tea and set two cups on the table.
“Okay,” he said. “Give me the lecture Father sent you with, so I can get back to work.”
“Father doesn’t know I’m here,” said Dave.
“Really? You snuck out?”
Dave had always been the dutiful son, the one who always followed the rules and never argued with their father. He always tried to appeal for compromise, but John and Patrick were too stubborn to give in.
“I had to,” said Dave. “John, Father is dying.”
The clatter of John’s teacup hitting its saucer was loud in the sudden silence.
“What? No, he can’t be. He was fine.”
“He isn’t,” said Dave. “Haven’t you felt it? People are usually happier at Christmas time than at any other. But now, they’re all rude and angry.”
“I…”
“How do you think I found you here?” his brother pressed. “This town has the most Christmas spirit of anywhere else on Earth.”
“People are always stressed this time of year,” said John. “That doesn’t mean Father is ill, let alone dying.”
“But he is. It finally got to be too much.”
“Finally? What do you mean?”
“He didn’t just fall ill recently, Father has been ill, for years. Probably since Mama died.”
John picked up his teacup, needing something to hold. “How did we not know?”
“He’s been hiding it,” said Dave. “Using Polar magic to bolster his own. But it’s not the same. Polar magic is elemental, unforgiving. That’s why you two were always arguing, John, you have so much Christmas magic, and Father had hardly any left. But now his is running out, and what he has left just isn’t enough.”
John couldn’t quite believe it - his father was Santa Claus, a larger-than-life figure, even in the North Pole. The Clauses were mortal, for all that the magic of Christmas gave them longer lifespans, but Patrick was hardly old even for a non-magical human.
“I’m not a doctor,” he said, slowly. “Or a mage. I don’t think there’s anything I can do to help.”
“The elf doctors and mages have tried everything, apparently, and there’s no help to be had. Father is getting worse by the day, there’s no way he can make his deliveries tomorrow night. John, you have to come back and take over.”
John frowned. “Father made it very clear that he doesn’t approve of me or my ideas for Christmas. Besides, he has you.”
“I can’t,” said Dave. When his brother continued to frown, he added, “I’m not like you. I have the Claus magic, yes, but I can’t use it like you can. You have this way of… of inspiring those around you, not just using the magic but spreading it. I’ve always been better at the practical things, you know that.”
“Yeah,” said John, on a shaky breath.
Being Santa Claus was what he had been born for, the only thing he’d wanted as a child. As he got older and had more disagreements with his father, John had started to think it was something he’d never have. But he could feel that it was what he needed to do. The world needed Christmas and he would do what he could to make it happen.
“Father will be angry,” he said.
Dave looked up sharply. “But you’ll come?”
“I’ll come,” John agreed. “Evan should be at the bakery,” he told his brother. “I’ll just be a few minutes here, I’ll catch up with you.”
John packed his few belongings into his travel bag, then headed back downstairs. He walked into the workshop without knocking, “Hey.”
“Is everything all right?” Rodney asked. There was nothing on his workbench. “With your brother?”
“I have to go home,” John said. “My father…”
“Of course.” Rodney rose and came to stand beside him, just out of reach. “Is he…?”
“He’s ill. Very ill.”
“Ah. Of course, you’ll need to go.”
“No, I…” John let out a huff of laughter, then took a deep breath and said matter-of-factly, “My father is Santa Claus and I have to go back to the North Pole because he doesn’t have enough Christmas magic to deliver gifts tomorrow night, so I have to go instead.”
Rodney stared at him, the same assessing look he gave his clockwork toys when they weren’t working correctly.
Then, those blue eyes softened, “Okay.”
“Okay?” John repeated.
Rodney smiled. “John Sheppard, you are the most amazing, generous, magical person I have ever known. And if you tell me that you’re Santa’s son, I believe you.”
“Yeah?” John’s return smile was glowing. He leaned in to kiss Rodney, brief but intense, then pulled away, “Sorry. I’m sorry. I have to go and I don’t know when - or if - I’ll be able to come back.”
“Just give me five minutes,” said Rodney.
“What? Why?”
“To pack,” he said, like John should know that. “I’ll need my tools, I’m sure, a change of clothes… I assume you have food in the North Pole?”
“I - what?”
Rodney, who had been gathering things from his workbench, turned back around. “I’m going with you,” he said, firmly.
“I can’t ask that,” said John. “I don’t know how long… your shop-”
“John,” interrupted Rodney. “I’ve lived in this town for eight years, and it hadn’t ever felt like home until you came. I’m going with you.”
John caught his hand. “I’d really like that.”
“Good. Now, go pack me some clothes and things, while I get my tools together.”
Grinning, John went upstairs to pack Rodney’s bag.
They stepped outside the toy shop and into a crowd of people.
“What is going on?” Rodney demanded.
Their neighbors all started talking at once, but Mayor Weir made her way over to them. “Mr. Lorne tells us there’s trouble in your hometown, Mr. Sheppard. You could use our help.”
“Mr. Zelenka was in the bakery when His - when your brother found me, sir,” said Mr. Lorne, looking a little overwhelmed at the turn of events. “He gathered the others.”
“Of course I did,” said Mr. Zelenka. “You have shown us that we are a community, and we must act like one. So, if you need help, we will help you.”
“They seemed very determined,” added Dave.
John frowned around at them. “But you don’t know what the problem is, or where I’m from.”
“What does that matter?” asked Mr. Dex.
“But your families…”
Mrs. Miller smiled. “My family is going with you anyway, going by the way you’re holding Rodney’s hand.”
Rodney flushed slightly, but didn’t pull away. “Yes, I am.”
“But it’s Christmas,” John protested. “There are traditions - services.”
“Most people go up to the cathedral for Christmas services,” said Reverend Woolsey. “My usual holiday congregation is right here.”
John tried one last time, “I-”
“It is no use to waste time arguing,” said Sheriff Emmagan. “We will be lucky to catch the last train.”
Rodney squeezed John’s hand, and he looked around at his new neighbors, his friends. They were each wearing their winter coats, bags and satchels ready to go, determined looks on every face.
“Thank you,” John said, sincerely. “But we don’t have to take the train. Everybody, hold hands. And think about Christmas.”
*
Rodney felt as though the whole world had become brilliant golden light. After a long moment, everything resolved itself, but he was no longer standing on the main street of Lantea. The group of them were now on the cobbled courtyard of a great gleaming palace.
John swayed on his feet and Rodney reached out to steady him, earning him a small smile. “I’m fine, just tired,” said John. “I’ve never transported that many people before.”
Everyone else was looking around them in wonder. Under other circumstances, Rodney would probably be in awe, too, but at the moment, he was more worried about John, who still looked a little unsteady on his feet.
“So…” said John, and the others turned back to him. “Welcome to the North Pole.”
“Ah,” Mr. Zelenka said. “This makes much sense.”
“It does?” chorused Rodney and John together.
“Little things now adding up,” he continued. “In Mr. McKay’s shop, you always know which toy a child will like. You know their names, their hobbies, even when they do not say. I thought, perhaps, you were a Christmas elf.”
John smiled, slightly. “Actually, I’m Santa’s son.”
“Your Highnesses!” A figure hurried down the palace steps, some kind of official, by his suit. “Your Highnesses!”
John’s shoulders tensed and he stepped away from Rodney, who frowned. “Highness” he repeated. “You told me you were Santa’s son, not that you were royalty.”
The official interrupted any reply, coming to a stop with a formal bow. “Your Highness,” then a second bow to John’s brother, “Your Highness. It’s your father, he’s collapsed.”
“What happened, Bates?” asked John.
The official shook his head. “The doctors don’t know. But King Patrick is asking for both of you.”
“Go, sir.” Mr. Lorne had not wandered with the Lantean shopkeepers, but he nodded toward them. “I’ll take care of things here.”
“Might I be of help?” asked Dr. Beckett.
“I don’t know, doc,” said John. “But it’s worth a try. Bates…”
“Your father is in his room,” the official replied.
John led the way inside, through towering doors into a long corridor. Rodney slid his hand into John’s and gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.
“And who is Bates?” he asked.
“Oh, um,” said John. “The Lord Chancellor. Head of all the elves.”
“Elves?” repeated Rodney. “He didn’t look like an elf.”
“Neither does Evan.”
“Mr. Lorne isn’t your half-brother, then, I take it?” put in Dr. Beckett.
John shook his head, looking a little more calm. “My valet and dear friend.”
“Valet,” Rodney scoffed, but he squeezed John’s hand again.
They approached a door that was more ornate than the others, and went inside. The room was a suite, large and richly decorated, but Rodney followed John’s attention to the carved wooden bed off to one side.
A woman beside the bed took off her stethoscope and came over to them.
“Your father is very weak,” she said, with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Your Highnesses. We’ve done everything we can, but it doesn’t look like he has long.”
“Thank you,” said John’s brother, Dave.
The doctor nodded. Behind them, Rodney could hear Dr. Beckett introduce himself to the royal physician, Dr. Biro, and the two of them begin to talk in hushed technical tones, but his attention was on John.
“You need to talk to him,” said Dave, softly. “Before…”
“Yeah,” John agreed, voice hoarse.
Rodney wasn’t always great with social situations, but he recognized that this was a private family matter, probably a conversation long overdue, and he started to pull his hand away from John’s.
John tightened his grip. “Stay,” he said. “Please?”
“Of course,” said Rodney.
He had stopped believing in Santa Claus when he was young, and he had some trouble believing that the man lying in the bed was him. His was not just pale but almost translucent, his face almost the same color as his white beard. His breathing was slow and rattled slightly.
John released Rodney’s hand to take the his father’s in both of his own. The breathing hitched and the king opened bleary eyes that were the same hazel-green as John’s.
“Father?”
“John,” he croaked. “David.”
“I’m here,” Dave said, and Rodney moved over to the brothers stand together at their father’s bedside.
“My sons,” the king continued. “I’m sorry. All these years…” He looked between them. “I have brought this on myself.”
“Father…” John began.
“No,” his father interrupted. His voice was raspy, but he sounded determined to say whatever he had to say. “The magic of Christmas is a precious thing. The Claus Family has been its stewards for hundreds of years. But somehow, I forgot that. When… when your mother died, I felt like the magic had abandoned her. So I abandoned it. But I was wrong. And once I had lost the magic, I could not get it back, no matter how I tried.”
“There must be a way,” said John.
“No,” said the king. “It must be in the heart, like yours. Your heart has always been more open. Is that not right, Rodney?”
“Oh, uh,” said Rodney, startled to be addressed at all, let alone by name - he really was Santa. “Your son has a wonderful heart, sir. Your Majesty.”
“Yes, he does. And fitting that he should find a toy maker to give it to.”
Rodney spluttered, “We’re not - he hasn’t - that is, if he wanted, of course I would…”
John leaned back to bump his shoulder, and said softly, “Thank you, Father.”
The king smiled, then coughed weakly. “He is a good balance. That’s what I lost, when I lost your mother. I tried so hard to regain it that I missed your whole lives.”
“Father…” said Dave.
The king raised his free hand to his younger son, “You have always been more like me, and for that, I’m sorry. I drove you apart, when you needed each other the most.”
“Father,” said John. “I never wanted to fight with you. I wanted you to be proud of me.”
“I always have been.” He managed a wavering smile. “You will be a good Santa, John. Certainly better than I was. Rely on your brother. You are stronger together.”
“Father,” John said again. “Papa…”
The king’s hand dropped back to the bed. “I…” His breathing was more labored, as though he had used the last of his strength. “I’m sorry. My sons. I love you.”
He closed his eyes. His pale face seemed to glow, a shimmer that travelled to his hands, then up to both of his children.
“Doctor?” called Rodney, just as John turned and almost fell into his arms. He pulled John out of the room as Drs. Biro and Beckett moved toward the bed, out into the quiet corridor.
“He’s gone,” John breathed.
Dave joined them, and touched his brother’s arm. “You felt it, didn’t you? Father’s magic…”
“It’s ours now,” said John. He straightened, taking a deep breath. “We have a duty.”
“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and there’s a lot to do,” said Dave.
John nodded. “Rodney-”
“Whatever you need,” he interrupted. “Anything.”
“You mean that,” John said, wonderingly.
“I do,” Rodney said, because he had never meant anything more.
“Come on, then.”
They continued down several more corridors to a large workshop, which was bustling with activity. Their neighbors from Lantea mingled with dozens of others - Santa’s elves, no doubt - at different workbenches and stations around the room.
Mr. Lorne spotted them and came over. “Your Highness, how is-” he broke off at the look on their faces, and bowed to John. “Your Majesty.”
“Evan,” said John, then frowned. “What’s going on?”
“Father got sick just after you left,” said Dave. “The elves… well, there’s a reason they need us human Clauses. They did their best, but there was still a lot to do.”
“There is,” said Mr. Lorne. “But don’t worry, it’s under control.”
Rodney looked again.
Mayor Weir was standing at the front of the room by a large blackboard, discussing what was written on it with two elves. Jeannie and her husband were putting bonnets on baby dolls, smiling at each other. Mr. Zelenka was at a table of brightly-colored paper, expertly wrapping boxes. Mr. Dex had joined a group of elves sorting books, while Sheriff Emmagan carried a box of teddy bears to another table. Mr. Parrish and Reverend Woolsey were organizing the fruit and candy intended for children’s stockings. Miss Cadman was mixing up paints for watercolor sets, and Mr. Halling supervised several elves with carts of tea and sandwiches.
Rodney turned back to John, who was still looking at the scene in amazement. “This is your doing,” he said, softly. “Your Christmas magic, bringing people together.”
John smiled, and Rodney leaned in to kiss him.
Then, he saw the table of half-finished clockwork toys and broke away to frown at the bustling elves, “Who’s in charge of this?” Rodney demanded. “What kind of mess is going on here…?”
He heard John chuckle behind him - a wonderful sound, given the circumstances - then lost himself in the challenge of making toys.
*
John guided the sleigh to a stop and allowed the hostler elves to take the reins from him. He felt exhausted and elated all at once, the glow of Christmas magic still flowing through him. He turned to smile at Dave, on the seat beside him, looking just as flushed and happy as John felt.
Rodney had refused John’s offer to come along, insisting that it was something the brothers should do together, this first time after losing their father - “Besides, I’ll need to study a so-called magic flying sleigh much more carefully before I let you take me up in it,” Rodney had grumbled, and John was sure the promise of their future together had done wonders for his reserve of Christmas magic.
As had the lingering kiss he and Rodney had shared, after the brothers had transported the residents of Lantea back to the woods beside their town.
“Welcome back, Your Majesty, Your Highness,” said Bates, now, as they disembarked from the sleigh.
“Thank you,” said John. “And please make sure everyone knows how much I appreciate their hard work.”
“I shall, sire,” he replied, then, “When you’ve had a brief rest, Your Majesty, there are several things that require your attention. The funeral, the coronation-”
“Bates,” interrupted Dave. “All of that has enough tradition behind it that we don’t need John right now, do we? I couldn’t sleep a wink at the moment, anyway, I can help you get started.”
“I suppose that would be possible, Your Highness.”
John frowned, but his brother smiled at him. “We’ll take care of this, John. Go find your toymaker.”
Grinning, John clapped Dave’s shoulder and left.
Evan met him at the door of the stables, “Sir,” he said, “If you’re going back to Lantea…”
John’s smile softened. “Mr. Parrish?”
“Yes, sir. I don’t know how he feels, really, of what will happen but…”
“But you deserve the chance to find out,” said John. “Come on.”
Out in the courtyard, he took Evan’s hand and transported them both to the now-familiar Lantean woods. They set off quickly into town, but in their high spirits, it took them a long moment to realize how unusually quiet everything was.
“It’s after dawn,” said Evan, voice low. “Someone should be out, even if it is Christmas morning.”
John caught his arm, “The inn is boarded up.”
“And the bookshop.”
They hurried up the street. All the shops were boarded and sealed. No smoke came from any chimneys, not even the bakery, and no lights shone in any of the windows - until they reached the toy shop, where a faint light showed in the upstairs window.
John still had his key, and he let them inside.
“Rodney!”
He appeared at the top of the stairs to his apartment, still in the same clothes from the day before, tired-looking and unshaven. John hurried to meet him and they collided halfway up in a crushing hug.
“John,” breathed Rodney, then released him. “I won’t even ask why, I’m just glad you’re here. Come on, both of you.”
“Mr, McKay,” said Evan, as they followed him upstairs, “What’s going on?”
Rodney didn’t answer, just lead the way to the kitchen doorway.
The doorway was as far as they could go - the room was full, everyone looking as rumpled and tired as Rodney. Mayor Weir, Reverend Woolsey and Mr. Dex were at the table, heads bent over a pile of similar-looking documents. Mr. Halling and Mr. Miller were making tea, while everyone else sat, stood, or paced wherever they could find room.
“Mr. Sheppard,” said Mrs. Miller, “Or rather, Mr. Claus.”
“John,” he corrected, then repeated Evan’s question, “What’s going on?”
“The mortgages,” said Mr. Zelenka, roused from where he had been staring out the window.
“But you paid them off,” said Evan, moving to help Mr. Parrish pass around the teacups.
“So we thought,” snapped Miss Cadman. “Those low-down, sneaky-”
Dr. Beckett laid a hand on her arm. “Now, now, my dear. It seems the contracts were all quite legal.”
“Deceptive, though,” put in Mr. Dex. “I read the whole thing carefully before I signed it, didn’t see anything amiss then.”
“And now?” asked John.
“It’s clever, in its way,” said Reverend Woolsey. “Each one precisely outlines the loan and repayment scheme for one of the buildings here.”
“Buildings,” repeated Mayor Weir. “Not the land.”
“Mortgages were for both,” said Mr. Zelenka, “but payments have only been for buildings.”
“We thought we’d paid them off early, partly in thanks to you,” said Mr. Miller. “But we owe more than the original loan for the land, plus all the unpaid interest.”
“And Mr. Kolya can’t help?” asked Evan.
Mayor Weir scowled. “It was his idea. He’d been making inquiries into the town and its real estate for years, but no one would sell. So, he got a judge in the city to rule that the mortgage contracts could be read this way.”
“He called in soldiers,” Mr. Parrish said, his usually-cheerful face glum. “They boarded everything up while we were gone.”
John’s heart sank. “While you were helping me.”
Sheriff Emmagan touched his arm. “It would have happened whether we were here or not. Perhaps it is better that we were not.”
Mr. Dex and Miss Cadman shared dangerous smiles, and John thought she was probably right.
“So, of course everyone came here,” grumbled Rodney. “I was smart enough not to have a mortgage.”
His sister snorted. “We sold our parents’ house and bought the toy shop,” she said. “And lucky we did, or we’d have nowhere to go.”
She handed John a teacup and he took it automatically, “I’m sorry,” he said.
“None of this is your fault,” Rodney snapped. “What could you have done to stop it?”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“Exactly,” said Mayor Weir, gently. “And unless your Christmas magic can do something about legal documents…”
“No,” said John. “But I think I can help.”
“How?” Rodney demanded. “Are you rich enough to just pay all the mortgages on the land?”
“Rodney that’s rude,” said Mrs. Miller, smacking her brother’s arm. “And I don’t think Mr. Kolya would accept it, anyway.”
“I don’t know if I am,” faltered John - his being a prince had never mattered before, and now he was king. “The North Pole doesn’t have a currency-based economy, like the human world. But I had something else in mind. If you’d consider relocating.”
“Surely, that would be more expensive than paying for the land,” said Dr. Beckett, but John saw the moment Rodney got it.
“Brilliant!” he said, then frowned. “But you’ve been up all night, flying around the world in that magical contraption. You were tired just taking the bunch of us, let alone multiple buildings.”
Murmurs started around the room, excitement and concern and confusion all at once.
“I can do this,” said John, and he knew he could. “We can do this.”
“That would require a vote from the town council,” said Mayor Weir, then smiled. “Luckily, we’re all here. Who votes in favor of relocation to the North Pole?”
Every hand went up.
An hour later, John finished his circuit of the shops and houses, where everything was as ready as they could make it, and joined Rodney in the front doorway of the toy shop.
“Still sure about this?” Rodney asked.
John leaned in to his him, letting the feeling of love and friendship from his friends, his new family, flow through him as he channeled his natural Christmas magic into a blinding golden light.
And when Mr. Kolya arrived the next afternoon with the soldiers he thought he’d need to evict the no-doubt-angry townspeople, he found only an empty forest clearing where the town had stood.
*
(Almost) One Year Later…
Rodney slotted the misaligned gear into the proper place, then closed the clockwork music box.
Only when it began playing softly did he realize how quite the usually-bustling workshop was. His own small section was the only one with its magical lamps still illuminated.
His assistant’s desk was empty, too - he’d declined a valet, considering that he could dress himself just fine, but had interviewed dozens of elves before selecting one who was usually quiet, but could certainly stand up for herself against his stubbornness - but he asked, “Miko?”
“She went to bed hours ago,” said John, appearing at the door. “As you should have.”
“You know how much I hate unfinished projects, Your Majesty.”
John snorted, as irreverent about his title almost a year later as he had been when he’d first gotten it. “I could make it an order, Your Highness.”
“I’d rather it was a request from my husband.”
“Husband,” John repeated, with a dopey grin, as though he was the lucky one in this relationship. "What kind of request?”
Rodney grinned. “You could tell me what you want for Christmas.”
“That’s easy,” said John, leaning in to kiss him. “I just want you.”
THE END
Current Mood:
accomplished
Author: Ami Ven
Prompt: romancingmcshep 2024, but also 100_tales challenge 029 ‘Christmas’
Word Count: 9,360
Rating: G
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing(s): John Sheppard/Rodney McKay (background Lorne/Parrish)
Summary: John is Santa’s heir, Rodney is a toy maker, but it will take a little Christmas magic to get them together.
Christmas Magic
“Where have you been?” demanded Evan.
John continued walking, even as his valet started wrestling him into his formal jacket. “Out.”
“Yeah, I got that.” Evan straightened John’s cravat, but didn’t even try to fight with John’s hair. “That’s why nobody could find you when His Majesty summoned you.”
He quickly grabbed John’s arm as he made to turn around, pivoting both of them back toward the direction they’d originally been going.
“Oh, no, sir, you’re going to see him.”
“What’s the point?” John protested, but let himself be steered toward the large ornate doors, which opened for them.
“His Highness, Prince John,” called the court herald, “Heir to the North Pole, Duke of the Arctic, Earl of the Aurora Borealis, Baron of Polaris.”
“Must you recite all my titles every time?” John sighed, but the herald didn’t answer.
Evan cleared his throat pointedly, and John took a deep breath, then strode away from him and across the throne room, stopping at the edge of the dais.
“You wanted to see me, Father?”
King Patrick stood from his throne, clasping his hands behind the back of his red velvet robe. “You know why I called for you.”
“So why don’t we just skip the inevitable argument and I can go get a snack?” asked John.
His father scowled. “Do you take nothing seriously?”
“Only because you take it too seriously. You’re Santa Claus, you’re supposed to be jolly!”
“I am plenty jolly on Christmas Eve,” said Patrick. “But until then, there’s work to do. Our family has carried on these traditions for thousands of years, and you have no respect for them.”
“I have respect,” John protested. “That’s why I know we can’t just keep doing things because we’ve always done them. The world is changing, Father! New technologies, new explorations - we have to change with it, or be left behind.”
“Left behind? I travel the world in a single night. I bring joy and delight to children, as my father and his father did before me. I had hoped that one day, you would follow me.”
“Father, if you’d just listen-”
“I’ve heard enough!” Patrick interrupted. “We will continue the traditions of Christmas, as we always have, and that is final!”
“I-” John started, then sighed, “Yes, Father.”
“Good. You are dismissed.”
John clenched his jaw, but bowed - just slightly less deeply than a prince should to a king - and turned from the throne room.
Evan caught up with him in the antechamber, “Must you antagonize him?”
“Yes,” snapped John, then softened. “Sorry, I just… He’s wrong, Evan. He visits the human world every year, but he doesn’t see it. There’s got to be something I can do, something to show him…”
“Oh, no,” said Evan, as he trailed off. “I know that look, it means you’re about to do something stupid. And it’s already a week until December.”
“Evan…” John said, softly. “I can’t ask you to come with me.”
“Well, too bad, because I’m coming anyway. Where, exactly?”
John grinned. “The human world.”
*
“Rodney!”
He heard his name being called, and ignored it, bent over his workbench and the intricate device he was assembling.
“Rodney McKay, where are you!?” the voice continued, getting closer. “Why is your shop closed?”
He continued to ignore the footsteps in the next room until they rushed to a stop in his workshop doorway, “Rodney!”
“What?” he said, setting down his fine-carving tools with a scowl. “Why must you bother me while I’m working?”
His sister scowled. “Why is your shop closed?” Jeannie repeated.
Rodney frowned back. “It’s not, we’re open for another-” he glanced at the clock, “-two hours.”
“No, you’ve been closed since whenever your shop clerk left this on the till and locked up behind him.”
Jeannie held out a handwritten note and he took it, still frowning, then shot to his feet. “He quit!?”
“Because of your constant negativity,” she said, quoting from the letter. “And the hostile work environment.”
“That is - he can’t possibly - he worked in a toy shop!”
“Yes,” Jeannie said, slowly. “The only toy shop in the whole world with a hostile work environment. You make toys, Rodney, you should be happy. Instead, you’re a miserable old grump.”
“I’m not miserable,” he protested.
“Maybe, but you’re very good at making other people miserable!” She took a deep breath and continued more softly, “Rodney, this is the third clerk who’s quit in the last two months. You are a brilliant toymaker, you make things I could never even dream of, people travel to Lantea just to buy your toys, but you insist on hiding in your workshop and scaring away your staff.”
“I-” he began, then deflated, sinking back into his chair. “I don’t mean to scare them away. I just, I’m not that good with people, you know that, and everyone I hire turns out to be stupid.”
“You just need to have more patience,” said Jeannie.
“Or,” suggested Rodney, “you could come back and work for me - with me - again. You’re not completely hopeless at toy making.”
His sister laughed. “You think that’s a compliment, don’t you?”
“I…”
“Rodney, I have my own life now. I have a husband, and we’re planning to start a family. I can come help you out for a few hours a day - but only until you hire an assistant who can put up with you.”
He sighed. “Where am I going to find someone like that?”
*
With a shimmer, they appeared at the edge of a small town. Evan swayed and John released his hand to take firmer hold of his arm - only Clauses could travel by magic and young elves like Evan were often dizzy afterwards.
“I’m okay,” his valet said, after a moment. “Where are we?”
John shrugged. “No idea.”
“Sir.”
“I just… Father thinks of our magic as a tool, just something to get the job done, but it’s not. It’s… it’s got its own presence. I trusted it to take us where we need to be.”
Evan let out a breath. “And it needs us to be here?”
It was just dawn and the town was waking up before them. Smoke curled from a few chimneys already, the distant sounds of people and machines starting their day. They were standing at the edge of the main street, looking down the rows of shops until the road curved at a large building that seemed to be an inn. There was no snow on the ground, but it was far enough north to have a decided chill in the air, making John tuck his nose into the collar of his dark wool jacket.
“This way,” he said, and Evan followed him down the road.
Around them, the shops were opening - a bakery, a bookseller, a doctor’s office, a general store, an apothecary. Every store had evergreen wreaths on their doors and boughs at the windows, red ribbons and golden baubles, all cheerily decorated for Christmas.
Except one.
It was lit by new electric lights, but the large front windows were framed by heavy curtains and nothing was displayed in them. Nothing about the architecture gave any clue what the shop was selling, but something about it, something deep inside, drew John’s attention.
When John pushed open the door, a bell tinkled somewhere inside the shop, lower and more melodic than he was expecting. The shop wasn’t what he was expecting either. John heard Evan close the door behind them, but he was distracted by the room they’d entered.
It was a toy shop. But perhaps one that was trying not to be - the heavy wooden shelves were more practical for storage than display, toys and games stacked in efficiently neatly-printed paper placards. A wooden counter ran along one wall, with a gleaming brass cash register.
There wasn’t a single decoration - Christmas or otherwise - in the entire place.
“Sorry for the wait!” A woman hurried in from a side door, hastily tying on a plain apron. “How can I help you?”
John spotted a small ‘help wanted’ sign by the register, and smiled. “Actually, I’ll be in town for a little while and I’m looking for a job.”
“Sir,” murmured Evan, but John ignored him.
“I’m Mr. Sheppard,” he said - it was his middle name, and less likely to get him noticed. “And this is my brother, Evan.”
“Evan Lorne,” the other man said, holding out his hand to her. “We have different fathers."
“Mrs. Miller,” she said, shaking it. “We’re looking to hire an assistant - but two would be better. Is that what you’re interested in?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said John.
She stepped back, eyeing them searchingly, and John studied her back. She was perhaps a few years younger than he was, blonde hair pulled back under a kerchief. Her practical dress was clean and pressed, except for a small smudge of what looked like flour at the shoulder.
After a moment, she said, “Do you know much about toys?”
“Oh, yes,” said John.
“Can you do medium to heavy lifting? Restocking, inventory, maybe some deliveries?”
“Sure.”
“Are you all right being insulted on a daily basis?”
“I - what?” he asked, because she seemed nothing but polite and pleasant.
Mrs. Miller laughed. “Sorry, this shop belongs to my brother, I’m just helping out. He has no tact and no filter, but he’s harmless. If you can put up with it, the job’s yours.”
“Just like that?” asked Evan.
“I’m desperate,” she admitted, with another laugh. “Rodney has chased away four assistants in the last year-and-a-half.”
John smiled, slightly apologetic, “We might not be able to stay long.”
She waved a hand. “I’ll take what I can get, especially this time of year. Not that we’ve been all that busy, but…”
“You might get more business if you decorated a bit,” offered John, as politely as he could. “It’s almost Christmas after all.”
“Try telling my brother that,” she snorted, then she brightened. “Are you serious about being able to put up with angry shouting? Because I would love if you would decorate. I haven’t had the time or creativity lately.”
“Well, I…” Evan began - John could practically see the designs forming in his friend’s imagination - elves naturally had a sense of festive decoration, but Evan’s was particularly keen. “If you put some of these puzzle boxes or those teddy bears in the window, got a bit of greenery…”
Mrs. Miller beamed and John smiled back. “We’ll take the job.”
*
“Jeannie, have you seen my small wood rasp? I can’t find it…any…where.”
Rodney trailed off, stunned by the sight that greeted him when he left his workshop. For a moment, he had the impossible thought that he’d been transported to a different shop entirely, but then his sister flitted between the shelves with an armload of toys, too busy to realize he was there.
He blinked around at his shop. The shelves had been pushed back - he was sure a few were now missing altogether - and instead of being neat and tidy, they were now overflowing with toys and games in no apparent order. Other items had been moved to displays along the sides of the shelves, and another was set up in the large picture window, the curtains drawn back to let in the late morning sun.
And there were customers, at least a dozen. Children and adults alike had the same expressions of wonder as they found new delights and old memories. After a few minutes, Rodney realized that Jeannie wasn’t at the register - it was being run by an unfamiliar man. Another, equally-unfamiliar man was moving around the shop helping customers.
“What’s going on?” he demanded of the second man, as he passed.
He was about Rodney’s age, with a shock of unruly dark hair. “Well,” he said, with a smile. “It’s a toy store, so we’re selling toys.”
Rodney glared. “Yes, very funny. Who are you?”
“Mr. Sheppard!” It wasn’t the man who answered, but his sister, joining them. “We need - Oh, Rodney.”
“Yes, Rodney,” he grumped. “The boss.”
“And here’s your new assistant,” said Jeannie, unrepentant. “Mr. Sheppard. And his brother, Mr. Lorne,” she gestured to the man at the register. “This is my brother, Mr. Rodney McKay.”
“How do you do,” said Mr. Sheppard.
“And what happened to my shop?” Rodney demanded, ignoring the greeting. “It was neat! It was organized! It was-”
“Empty,” his sister finished. “We’ve made more sales this morning than we have in the last three weeks combined. Mr. Lorne is a marvel at decorating, and Mr. Sheppard just seems to know what each child wants. It’s amazing. You’re keeping them on.”
“I-” Rodney began.
Mr. Sheppard smiled. “You’re just the man we need, Mr. McKay. There’s a young man who just can’t figure out your puzzle box, and he could use your help…”
Before he knew it, Rodney was actually talking to people, explaining how his puzzles worked or the different styles of stuffed animals. Whenever he began to get annoyed, Mr. Sheppard seemed to magically appear at his side, redirecting the customer or Rodney himself so that each felt in the right.
They were so busy, Rodney didn’t notice the hours go by until Mr. Sheppard closed the door behind the last customer, and he realized the two of them were alone in the shop.
“So,” his new assistant said, with a smile, “you took that better than expected. Mrs. Miller was sure you’d throw a fit.”
“I would not,” protested Rodney, which was probably a lie. “But I can bend to logic when I see it. This… frippery is clearly effective to draw in customers. And I suppose you know where everything is in this rearranged chaos.”
Mr. Sheppard grinned. “Absolutely.”
“Then I’m making inventory your responsibility. I expect to have a full list of the remaining stock completed first thing in the morning.”
“Then Evan - Mr. Lorne - and I can keep our jobs?”
“Yes, yes.” Rodney waved a dismissive hand. “But I expect you both to be able to do sales on your own tomorrow, someone has to make all of these, and I usually spend most of my time in my workshop.”
“Understood. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with our work.”
“Hmm, I suppose we’ll see.”
*
John waved to Mr. Halling as he left the Lantea Inn and stepped out onto the street, pulling his coat more tightly around him against the sharp wind. It would snow in the next few days, he was sure, and he paused a moment to watch his breath condense into little clouds, before turning down the street.
“Good morning!” he called to Mr. Dex, as he opened his bookstore, and got a friendly grunt in return.
He tipped his hat to Sheriff Emmagan, who was passing on the other side of the street, called another greeting to Reverend Woolsey on the steps of the chapel, and stopped in front of the general store when Mr. Zelenka hurried out.
“Good day, Mr. Sheppard,” he said, holding out a small package. “Just arrived today. Would you mind taking this along to Mr. McKay?”
“Of course,” John said, and tucked the package into his pocket as Mr. Zelenka went back inside.
As he continued down the street, a figure emerged from the bank - not Mr. Kolya, the banker, but Mayor Weir.
“Oh, Mr. Sheppard,” she said, looking flustered. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” replied John. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course. Just a business meeting, nothing to worry about.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t worried.”
“No, of course not.” Her smile was brittle. “But you must be on your way to work - please, don’t let me keep you. Good day.”
“Good day,” said John, still a little confused, and continued on to the bakery.
The bell tinkled merrily as he opened the door and Mr. Parrish, the baker, popped up from behind the counter.
“Good morning!” he said, brightly. “The usual, Mr. Sheppard?”
“Yes, please,” John said, smiling.
They had only been in Lantea a little over two weeks, but he was already familiar with all of the other shopkeepers along the main street. They were all surprised he’d lasted so long with McKay, but all had been quick to accept him into their community.
John hadn’t had any kind of plan when he left the North Pole, but he could see himself living in a town like this. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
“And a few extra,” said Mr. Parrish, interrupting his thoughts. “For letting me steal one of his employees.”
As if on cue, Evan came in from the back room, carrying a fresh tray of rolls for the display case.
“I don’t know what I’d have done without him, after Miss Brown left to care for her sick aunt,” the baker continued, with a smile for Evan. “Thank Mr. McKay again, for me.”
“I will,” John promised, taking the paper bag of pastries.
He shared a smile with Evan -John found Mr. McKay’s irritability amusing, but his friend had quickly gown tired of it. Evan had been doing the deliveries for the toy shop, and had added deliveries for the bakery. When Miss Brown left, it was John who suggested Evan take the job. His valet was initially reluctant to leave him for so long each day, but the bakery was right next door to the toy shop, and he’d agreed.
“Let me walk you out,” said Evan, and John frowned.
“Everything all right?” he asked, voice low. “I thought you liked this job.”
His friend smiled. “I do. That’s why… Sir, I… Well, that is…”
“Evan…” said John. “What?”
“David - Mr. Parrish - has asked if I’d like to stay in the apartment over the bakery,” he said, in a rush. “He stays in the greenhouse, you see, and he’s got some orchids that need a lot of attention. And not that the inn is very far, but I’d be able to help start the dough earlier and-”
“Hey, that’s fine,” John interrupted, smiling, then bumped Evan’s shoulder with his own. “And you wondered why we’d come here.”
“No, I know,” his friend said, softly. “This is unexpected. But nice.”
“Yeah,” agreed John.
“But you haven’t found what you’re looking for yet?”
“Maybe.”
*
The smell of coffee slowly drifted into Rodney’s consciousness, drawing his attention away from the music box he was fine-tuning. He blinked back into awareness to hear familiar footsteps through the back hallway to his workshop.
It was odd how quickly he’d gotten used to having Mr. Sheppard in the toy shop. Rodney was even used to the way his salesroom had been rearranged and the happy chaos that greeted him whenever he entered it.
Rodney didn’t like people, as a rule, and they tended not to like him. But his new clerk only laughed at his insults and at times, seemed to be purposely contradictory, just to rile him up.
And Mr. Sheppard showed no signs of wanting to quit. It had been three weeks and he was still as cheerful as ever each morning when he arrived for work. Or when he brought coffee to the workshop.
“Hey, there, boss,” said Mr. Sheppard, setting the mug into the only clear space on the bench. “You’d better get cleaned up.”
“What? Why?”
“Because Mr. Zelenka is coming for lunch today.”
“What?” Rodney repeated. “Why?”
Mr. Sheppard frowned. “Because he’s your neighbor?”
“He’s been my neighbor for years and he’s never come over before.”
“It’s a business lunch,” said Mr. Sheppard.
Rodney frowned. “Business? He sells dry goods and furniture. I sell toys. What business could we talk about?”
“Last week, I sold a doll to a little girl, who admired the dress it was wearing. I mentioned to her mother that Mr. Zelenka’s general store had bolts of the same fabric, if she wanted to make the girl a dress to match. She mentioned it to Mr. Zelenka when she bought the fabric, and he mentioned to me that maybe you could do something similar on a more permanent basis.”
“I’m no fashion expert, Mr. Sheppard,” protested Rodney. “Dolls are an interesting challenge, and my sister tells me it’s unseemly to sell them naked.”
Mr. Sheppard smiled. “It won’t hurt to hear him out. And I’ve taken the liberty of getting some of your favorites from the inn.”
“Have you?” Rodney narrowed his eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
For a moment, his clerk’s expression faltered, almost alarmed, then his smile smoothed out again. “If you and Mr. Zelenka make an agreement, I also sent a few boys who bought your model trains over to Mr. Dex’s bookshop for books about trains, he was asking about something similar. And Miss Cadman, at the apothecary, she apparently has a hobby involving explosives and wants to talk to you about model rockets…”
Rodney stared at him for a long moment, then asked, “How have you had time for all that mentioning? Every time I come up to the salesroom, it’s busier than ever, and you’re darting around helping every small child find whatever they need.”
Mr. Sheppard smiled again, bright and genuine. “Would you believe it was Christmas magic?”
“Hmmph,” Rodney grumbled, but he set aside his tools and went to get cleaned up.
*
The entire town of Lantea was busier than ever as Christmas drew nearer.
John had always loved this time of year in the human world, when people thought about others instead of themselves, when adults laughed and wished like children, when there was warmth in people’s hearts despite the chill in the air.
Only, it wasn’t as he remembered.
Christmas shopping was often stressful, especially for people who had travelled to do it, but this felt different. People snapped at the slightest things, then blinked and apologized like they hadn’t meant to at all. Children were unusually shy and fitful, though all of them brightened when John helped them find their perfect toys.
He thought it perhaps his own bias, not having travelled himself and with the natural Claus cheer at Christmas, but several of the other shopkeepers made mention of unusually short-tempered customers. Even Mr. McKay had noticed, and it only seemed to be getting worse.
As the week before Christmas approached, John was using his Claus magic more and more to sooth tensions. It took so much more energy than it did to see a child’s Christmas wish or even to get a glimpse of an adult’s, and John found himself exhausted at the end of each day.
“You look terrible,” said Mr. McKay, tactless as usual, as they were closing up.
John managed a smile. “I’m fine, just tired.”
“Oh, um, well,” he said, “About that. I know it’s not far, but Mr. Halling has had more business at the inn lately, and it might be easier… that is, if you wanted… I have a spare room, you’re welcome to stay here. With me.”
John’s smile broadened. “That’s very kind, Mr. McKay.”
“Really? That’s a yes?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’ll check out of the inn tomorrow morning, if that’s all right.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then, good night, Mr. McKay.”
“Rodney,” he said, then flushed slightly. “If we’re going to live together, we should be on a first name basis, don’t you think?”
“Of course. Good night, Rodney.”
“Good night… John.”
*
“I don’t know why I’m here,” Rodney grumbled, following Mr. Sheppard - John - through the back entrance of the Lantea Inn.
“It’s an Athosian Midwinter party,” John said. “Teyla told me all about her people’s traditions, they’re mostly about being together during the longest night of the year.”
“No - yes, that,” said Rodney. “I don’t do people and I don’t do parties. How did I let you talk me into this?”
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. Mr. Halling made all kinds of food, and Evan said Mr. Parrish was making those little pastry rolls you like.”
“Well, I suppose-”
“Rodney!” As they stepped into the dining room, Jeannie hurried over to hug him quickly. “You’re here!”
She was slightly pink, like the mug of ale in her hand hadn’t been her first, but her smile was so bright and genuine that Rodney couldn’t help smiling back.
“How did you do it?” Jeannie asked, hugging a surprised John, as well. “My brother is anti-social.”
Rodney scowled, but John bumped his shoulder, smiling. “Just needed a little Christmas spirit.”
“Speaking of which,” she said, “Come on, everyone’s waiting for you.”
“Me?” John repeated, just as the rest of the partygoers realized he was there.
“Mr. Sheppard, let me get you a drink,” said Mr. Halling.
“Well, I-”
“Mr. Sheppard, please, come and sit,” said Mr. Zelenka, pulling out a chair.
“No, I can-”
“Mr. Sheppard, you must take a sprig of holly for your lapel,” said Mr. Parrish.
“Really, I don’t-”
Evan appeared at his elbow, “I think you’d better go along, sir,” he said.
“I-” John tried again, then huffed a laugh. “Sure.”
He let Mr. Zelenka guide him to a chair, accepted a mug of ale from Mr. Halling, and pinned Mr. Parrish’s holly to his jacket, then looked around.
“What’s this all about?”
Mayor Weir took the seat beside him, smiling. “Everyone is just grateful for your coming here, Mr. Sheppard. And how much you’ve done for all of us.”
He frowned. “I haven’t done anything.”
“On the contrary,” said Sheriff Emmagan. “Since you joined our community, you have done much to improve our lives.”
“To be honest,” Mr. Halling added, “business has been rather poor the last few years. Even during the holiday season, it was difficult.”
“Lantea is a long way to travel from the city,” continued Mr. Parrish. “Even with the draw of Mr. McKay’s wonderful creations, there were fewer customers each year.”
“Aye,” said Dr. Beckett. “The Commerce Committee had been contemplating something drastic, if things didnae pick up this season. And then, there you were!”
“Like some kind of magic,” put in Miss Cadman. “And that was before you started sending customers to all of our stores, in addition to Mr. McKay’s.”
“That wasn’t anything special,” John protested.
“Not so,” said Mr. Zelenka. “This season has been our best. I have even paid off the mortgage on my shop!”
“As have I,” said Mr. Halling.
“And many others,” Reverend Woolsey agreed. “You’ve been a godsend, Mr. Sheppard.”
“I…” John looked around at them all, then back at Rodney, standing beside him. “You were all so welcoming, when I came here. I was just repaying the favor.”
“Still,” said Mayor Weir. “It’s much appreciated.”
Jeannie raised her glass, “To Mr. Sheppard!”
Everyone repeated the toast, then John raised his mug. “To Midwinter, and good friends to share the dark night with.”
They repeated that, too, then Jeannie bumped Rodney’s shoulder. “Since my brother has finally joined us, maybe he can make himself useful. Play us something, Rodney.”
He started to protest, but John twisted to look up at him. “You play?” he asked.
“I know how,” Rodney demurred. “But it’s been said my playing is too mechanical.”
John smiled. “I don’t believe that. Will you play?”
“I don’t know any Athosian Midwinter songs.”
“That is no matter,” said Sheriff Emmagan, cheerfully. “Christmas carols will be very welcome.”
“Carols, right.”
Rodney made his way to the upright piano in the corner of the inn’s parlor and sat down. He began to play, a soft hymn he’d learned long ago. When he finished two verses, there was a beat of silence.
“Wow,” said John.
“Really?” Rodney asked.
“That was beautiful, lad,” said Dr. Beckett. “But perhaps something more… lively? This is a party, after all.”
“Oh.” Rodney smiled. “Any requests?”
After a few faster tunes, Sheriff Emmagan joined him, her voice a pleasant alto. Soon, everyone was singing, some aided by liberal amounts of ale, some of them a bit unclear on the correct lyrics. It was after midnight when Mr. Halling called for a final song. Rodney chose a slower melody, something about candles and snowfall, he half-remembered.
The party broke up with laughter and calls of good night, as everyone went their separate ways. Rodney fell into step beside John, on the way back to the toyshop.
“I… I had a good time, tonight,” said Rodney, surprised to find it was true.
John grinned and bumped his shoulder. “Told you.”
“Hmmph,” he said, but couldn’t hide his smile.
They climbed the stairs a bit unsteadily, tired rather than inebriated - Rodney hadn’t had much time to drink while he was playing, and John had chosen not to, after his first mug of ale.
Rodney’s bedroom door was the first along the corridor, and they both stopped in front of it.
“I had a good time tonight, too,” said John. “I love Christmas carols, and you play beautifully.”
“I felt them tonight,” Rodney said. “I don’t think I ever have, before.”
John smiled, his usually-hazel eyes shining green in the dim lamplight. Rodney was so distracted he didn’t notice John move until there were suddenly lips against his, then gone.
“Happy Midwinter,” said John, pulling away. “Good night.”
Rodney blinked, “Good night,” he managed, just as the other bedroom door closed.
*
John didn’t get a chance to speak to Rodney the next morning.
They had both overslept slightly, after the late night of the party, and hurried to open the toy shop for the morning rush.
The day before Christmas Eve meant a long line of harried customers looking for last-minute gifts, and Rodney joined John in the salesroom to keep up. He looked just as harried as his customers, but he managed a genuine smile when John brought him a second cup of coffee midmorning.
Then, John began to feel something at the edge of his awareness. The shop was so busy that it took him a moment to spot the figure lingering by the display of model trains. Rodney had already turned the sign on the shop door to closed, with the time they would reopen after lunch, so John continued helping the last few customers, until only one was left.
The young man approached the counter. “Hello, John.”
Rodney looked between them. “Do you know each other?”
John sighed. “Dave, allow me to introduce my employer, Mr. Rodney McKay. Rodney, my brother, Dave.”
“Another one? He looks like you, at least,” said Rodney, then seemed to remember his manners and held out a hand. “How do you do, Mr. Sheppard?”
Dave shook his hand but didn’t correct him. He turned to John, “Can we talk? Privately?”
John hesitated, and Rodney touched his arm. “Upstairs. I’ll be in the workshop, if you need me.”
“Thanks.”
John led his brother up the stairs to the small apartment he now shared with Rodney. There was silence as he made tea and set two cups on the table.
“Okay,” he said. “Give me the lecture Father sent you with, so I can get back to work.”
“Father doesn’t know I’m here,” said Dave.
“Really? You snuck out?”
Dave had always been the dutiful son, the one who always followed the rules and never argued with their father. He always tried to appeal for compromise, but John and Patrick were too stubborn to give in.
“I had to,” said Dave. “John, Father is dying.”
The clatter of John’s teacup hitting its saucer was loud in the sudden silence.
“What? No, he can’t be. He was fine.”
“He isn’t,” said Dave. “Haven’t you felt it? People are usually happier at Christmas time than at any other. But now, they’re all rude and angry.”
“I…”
“How do you think I found you here?” his brother pressed. “This town has the most Christmas spirit of anywhere else on Earth.”
“People are always stressed this time of year,” said John. “That doesn’t mean Father is ill, let alone dying.”
“But he is. It finally got to be too much.”
“Finally? What do you mean?”
“He didn’t just fall ill recently, Father has been ill, for years. Probably since Mama died.”
John picked up his teacup, needing something to hold. “How did we not know?”
“He’s been hiding it,” said Dave. “Using Polar magic to bolster his own. But it’s not the same. Polar magic is elemental, unforgiving. That’s why you two were always arguing, John, you have so much Christmas magic, and Father had hardly any left. But now his is running out, and what he has left just isn’t enough.”
John couldn’t quite believe it - his father was Santa Claus, a larger-than-life figure, even in the North Pole. The Clauses were mortal, for all that the magic of Christmas gave them longer lifespans, but Patrick was hardly old even for a non-magical human.
“I’m not a doctor,” he said, slowly. “Or a mage. I don’t think there’s anything I can do to help.”
“The elf doctors and mages have tried everything, apparently, and there’s no help to be had. Father is getting worse by the day, there’s no way he can make his deliveries tomorrow night. John, you have to come back and take over.”
John frowned. “Father made it very clear that he doesn’t approve of me or my ideas for Christmas. Besides, he has you.”
“I can’t,” said Dave. When his brother continued to frown, he added, “I’m not like you. I have the Claus magic, yes, but I can’t use it like you can. You have this way of… of inspiring those around you, not just using the magic but spreading it. I’ve always been better at the practical things, you know that.”
“Yeah,” said John, on a shaky breath.
Being Santa Claus was what he had been born for, the only thing he’d wanted as a child. As he got older and had more disagreements with his father, John had started to think it was something he’d never have. But he could feel that it was what he needed to do. The world needed Christmas and he would do what he could to make it happen.
“Father will be angry,” he said.
Dave looked up sharply. “But you’ll come?”
“I’ll come,” John agreed. “Evan should be at the bakery,” he told his brother. “I’ll just be a few minutes here, I’ll catch up with you.”
John packed his few belongings into his travel bag, then headed back downstairs. He walked into the workshop without knocking, “Hey.”
“Is everything all right?” Rodney asked. There was nothing on his workbench. “With your brother?”
“I have to go home,” John said. “My father…”
“Of course.” Rodney rose and came to stand beside him, just out of reach. “Is he…?”
“He’s ill. Very ill.”
“Ah. Of course, you’ll need to go.”
“No, I…” John let out a huff of laughter, then took a deep breath and said matter-of-factly, “My father is Santa Claus and I have to go back to the North Pole because he doesn’t have enough Christmas magic to deliver gifts tomorrow night, so I have to go instead.”
Rodney stared at him, the same assessing look he gave his clockwork toys when they weren’t working correctly.
Then, those blue eyes softened, “Okay.”
“Okay?” John repeated.
Rodney smiled. “John Sheppard, you are the most amazing, generous, magical person I have ever known. And if you tell me that you’re Santa’s son, I believe you.”
“Yeah?” John’s return smile was glowing. He leaned in to kiss Rodney, brief but intense, then pulled away, “Sorry. I’m sorry. I have to go and I don’t know when - or if - I’ll be able to come back.”
“Just give me five minutes,” said Rodney.
“What? Why?”
“To pack,” he said, like John should know that. “I’ll need my tools, I’m sure, a change of clothes… I assume you have food in the North Pole?”
“I - what?”
Rodney, who had been gathering things from his workbench, turned back around. “I’m going with you,” he said, firmly.
“I can’t ask that,” said John. “I don’t know how long… your shop-”
“John,” interrupted Rodney. “I’ve lived in this town for eight years, and it hadn’t ever felt like home until you came. I’m going with you.”
John caught his hand. “I’d really like that.”
“Good. Now, go pack me some clothes and things, while I get my tools together.”
Grinning, John went upstairs to pack Rodney’s bag.
They stepped outside the toy shop and into a crowd of people.
“What is going on?” Rodney demanded.
Their neighbors all started talking at once, but Mayor Weir made her way over to them. “Mr. Lorne tells us there’s trouble in your hometown, Mr. Sheppard. You could use our help.”
“Mr. Zelenka was in the bakery when His - when your brother found me, sir,” said Mr. Lorne, looking a little overwhelmed at the turn of events. “He gathered the others.”
“Of course I did,” said Mr. Zelenka. “You have shown us that we are a community, and we must act like one. So, if you need help, we will help you.”
“They seemed very determined,” added Dave.
John frowned around at them. “But you don’t know what the problem is, or where I’m from.”
“What does that matter?” asked Mr. Dex.
“But your families…”
Mrs. Miller smiled. “My family is going with you anyway, going by the way you’re holding Rodney’s hand.”
Rodney flushed slightly, but didn’t pull away. “Yes, I am.”
“But it’s Christmas,” John protested. “There are traditions - services.”
“Most people go up to the cathedral for Christmas services,” said Reverend Woolsey. “My usual holiday congregation is right here.”
John tried one last time, “I-”
“It is no use to waste time arguing,” said Sheriff Emmagan. “We will be lucky to catch the last train.”
Rodney squeezed John’s hand, and he looked around at his new neighbors, his friends. They were each wearing their winter coats, bags and satchels ready to go, determined looks on every face.
“Thank you,” John said, sincerely. “But we don’t have to take the train. Everybody, hold hands. And think about Christmas.”
*
Rodney felt as though the whole world had become brilliant golden light. After a long moment, everything resolved itself, but he was no longer standing on the main street of Lantea. The group of them were now on the cobbled courtyard of a great gleaming palace.
John swayed on his feet and Rodney reached out to steady him, earning him a small smile. “I’m fine, just tired,” said John. “I’ve never transported that many people before.”
Everyone else was looking around them in wonder. Under other circumstances, Rodney would probably be in awe, too, but at the moment, he was more worried about John, who still looked a little unsteady on his feet.
“So…” said John, and the others turned back to him. “Welcome to the North Pole.”
“Ah,” Mr. Zelenka said. “This makes much sense.”
“It does?” chorused Rodney and John together.
“Little things now adding up,” he continued. “In Mr. McKay’s shop, you always know which toy a child will like. You know their names, their hobbies, even when they do not say. I thought, perhaps, you were a Christmas elf.”
John smiled, slightly. “Actually, I’m Santa’s son.”
“Your Highnesses!” A figure hurried down the palace steps, some kind of official, by his suit. “Your Highnesses!”
John’s shoulders tensed and he stepped away from Rodney, who frowned. “Highness” he repeated. “You told me you were Santa’s son, not that you were royalty.”
The official interrupted any reply, coming to a stop with a formal bow. “Your Highness,” then a second bow to John’s brother, “Your Highness. It’s your father, he’s collapsed.”
“What happened, Bates?” asked John.
The official shook his head. “The doctors don’t know. But King Patrick is asking for both of you.”
“Go, sir.” Mr. Lorne had not wandered with the Lantean shopkeepers, but he nodded toward them. “I’ll take care of things here.”
“Might I be of help?” asked Dr. Beckett.
“I don’t know, doc,” said John. “But it’s worth a try. Bates…”
“Your father is in his room,” the official replied.
John led the way inside, through towering doors into a long corridor. Rodney slid his hand into John’s and gave what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.
“And who is Bates?” he asked.
“Oh, um,” said John. “The Lord Chancellor. Head of all the elves.”
“Elves?” repeated Rodney. “He didn’t look like an elf.”
“Neither does Evan.”
“Mr. Lorne isn’t your half-brother, then, I take it?” put in Dr. Beckett.
John shook his head, looking a little more calm. “My valet and dear friend.”
“Valet,” Rodney scoffed, but he squeezed John’s hand again.
They approached a door that was more ornate than the others, and went inside. The room was a suite, large and richly decorated, but Rodney followed John’s attention to the carved wooden bed off to one side.
A woman beside the bed took off her stethoscope and came over to them.
“Your father is very weak,” she said, with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Your Highnesses. We’ve done everything we can, but it doesn’t look like he has long.”
“Thank you,” said John’s brother, Dave.
The doctor nodded. Behind them, Rodney could hear Dr. Beckett introduce himself to the royal physician, Dr. Biro, and the two of them begin to talk in hushed technical tones, but his attention was on John.
“You need to talk to him,” said Dave, softly. “Before…”
“Yeah,” John agreed, voice hoarse.
Rodney wasn’t always great with social situations, but he recognized that this was a private family matter, probably a conversation long overdue, and he started to pull his hand away from John’s.
John tightened his grip. “Stay,” he said. “Please?”
“Of course,” said Rodney.
He had stopped believing in Santa Claus when he was young, and he had some trouble believing that the man lying in the bed was him. His was not just pale but almost translucent, his face almost the same color as his white beard. His breathing was slow and rattled slightly.
John released Rodney’s hand to take the his father’s in both of his own. The breathing hitched and the king opened bleary eyes that were the same hazel-green as John’s.
“Father?”
“John,” he croaked. “David.”
“I’m here,” Dave said, and Rodney moved over to the brothers stand together at their father’s bedside.
“My sons,” the king continued. “I’m sorry. All these years…” He looked between them. “I have brought this on myself.”
“Father…” John began.
“No,” his father interrupted. His voice was raspy, but he sounded determined to say whatever he had to say. “The magic of Christmas is a precious thing. The Claus Family has been its stewards for hundreds of years. But somehow, I forgot that. When… when your mother died, I felt like the magic had abandoned her. So I abandoned it. But I was wrong. And once I had lost the magic, I could not get it back, no matter how I tried.”
“There must be a way,” said John.
“No,” said the king. “It must be in the heart, like yours. Your heart has always been more open. Is that not right, Rodney?”
“Oh, uh,” said Rodney, startled to be addressed at all, let alone by name - he really was Santa. “Your son has a wonderful heart, sir. Your Majesty.”
“Yes, he does. And fitting that he should find a toy maker to give it to.”
Rodney spluttered, “We’re not - he hasn’t - that is, if he wanted, of course I would…”
John leaned back to bump his shoulder, and said softly, “Thank you, Father.”
The king smiled, then coughed weakly. “He is a good balance. That’s what I lost, when I lost your mother. I tried so hard to regain it that I missed your whole lives.”
“Father…” said Dave.
The king raised his free hand to his younger son, “You have always been more like me, and for that, I’m sorry. I drove you apart, when you needed each other the most.”
“Father,” said John. “I never wanted to fight with you. I wanted you to be proud of me.”
“I always have been.” He managed a wavering smile. “You will be a good Santa, John. Certainly better than I was. Rely on your brother. You are stronger together.”
“Father,” John said again. “Papa…”
The king’s hand dropped back to the bed. “I…” His breathing was more labored, as though he had used the last of his strength. “I’m sorry. My sons. I love you.”
He closed his eyes. His pale face seemed to glow, a shimmer that travelled to his hands, then up to both of his children.
“Doctor?” called Rodney, just as John turned and almost fell into his arms. He pulled John out of the room as Drs. Biro and Beckett moved toward the bed, out into the quiet corridor.
“He’s gone,” John breathed.
Dave joined them, and touched his brother’s arm. “You felt it, didn’t you? Father’s magic…”
“It’s ours now,” said John. He straightened, taking a deep breath. “We have a duty.”
“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and there’s a lot to do,” said Dave.
John nodded. “Rodney-”
“Whatever you need,” he interrupted. “Anything.”
“You mean that,” John said, wonderingly.
“I do,” Rodney said, because he had never meant anything more.
“Come on, then.”
They continued down several more corridors to a large workshop, which was bustling with activity. Their neighbors from Lantea mingled with dozens of others - Santa’s elves, no doubt - at different workbenches and stations around the room.
Mr. Lorne spotted them and came over. “Your Highness, how is-” he broke off at the look on their faces, and bowed to John. “Your Majesty.”
“Evan,” said John, then frowned. “What’s going on?”
“Father got sick just after you left,” said Dave. “The elves… well, there’s a reason they need us human Clauses. They did their best, but there was still a lot to do.”
“There is,” said Mr. Lorne. “But don’t worry, it’s under control.”
Rodney looked again.
Mayor Weir was standing at the front of the room by a large blackboard, discussing what was written on it with two elves. Jeannie and her husband were putting bonnets on baby dolls, smiling at each other. Mr. Zelenka was at a table of brightly-colored paper, expertly wrapping boxes. Mr. Dex had joined a group of elves sorting books, while Sheriff Emmagan carried a box of teddy bears to another table. Mr. Parrish and Reverend Woolsey were organizing the fruit and candy intended for children’s stockings. Miss Cadman was mixing up paints for watercolor sets, and Mr. Halling supervised several elves with carts of tea and sandwiches.
Rodney turned back to John, who was still looking at the scene in amazement. “This is your doing,” he said, softly. “Your Christmas magic, bringing people together.”
John smiled, and Rodney leaned in to kiss him.
Then, he saw the table of half-finished clockwork toys and broke away to frown at the bustling elves, “Who’s in charge of this?” Rodney demanded. “What kind of mess is going on here…?”
He heard John chuckle behind him - a wonderful sound, given the circumstances - then lost himself in the challenge of making toys.
*
John guided the sleigh to a stop and allowed the hostler elves to take the reins from him. He felt exhausted and elated all at once, the glow of Christmas magic still flowing through him. He turned to smile at Dave, on the seat beside him, looking just as flushed and happy as John felt.
Rodney had refused John’s offer to come along, insisting that it was something the brothers should do together, this first time after losing their father - “Besides, I’ll need to study a so-called magic flying sleigh much more carefully before I let you take me up in it,” Rodney had grumbled, and John was sure the promise of their future together had done wonders for his reserve of Christmas magic.
As had the lingering kiss he and Rodney had shared, after the brothers had transported the residents of Lantea back to the woods beside their town.
“Welcome back, Your Majesty, Your Highness,” said Bates, now, as they disembarked from the sleigh.
“Thank you,” said John. “And please make sure everyone knows how much I appreciate their hard work.”
“I shall, sire,” he replied, then, “When you’ve had a brief rest, Your Majesty, there are several things that require your attention. The funeral, the coronation-”
“Bates,” interrupted Dave. “All of that has enough tradition behind it that we don’t need John right now, do we? I couldn’t sleep a wink at the moment, anyway, I can help you get started.”
“I suppose that would be possible, Your Highness.”
John frowned, but his brother smiled at him. “We’ll take care of this, John. Go find your toymaker.”
Grinning, John clapped Dave’s shoulder and left.
Evan met him at the door of the stables, “Sir,” he said, “If you’re going back to Lantea…”
John’s smile softened. “Mr. Parrish?”
“Yes, sir. I don’t know how he feels, really, of what will happen but…”
“But you deserve the chance to find out,” said John. “Come on.”
Out in the courtyard, he took Evan’s hand and transported them both to the now-familiar Lantean woods. They set off quickly into town, but in their high spirits, it took them a long moment to realize how unusually quiet everything was.
“It’s after dawn,” said Evan, voice low. “Someone should be out, even if it is Christmas morning.”
John caught his arm, “The inn is boarded up.”
“And the bookshop.”
They hurried up the street. All the shops were boarded and sealed. No smoke came from any chimneys, not even the bakery, and no lights shone in any of the windows - until they reached the toy shop, where a faint light showed in the upstairs window.
John still had his key, and he let them inside.
“Rodney!”
He appeared at the top of the stairs to his apartment, still in the same clothes from the day before, tired-looking and unshaven. John hurried to meet him and they collided halfway up in a crushing hug.
“John,” breathed Rodney, then released him. “I won’t even ask why, I’m just glad you’re here. Come on, both of you.”
“Mr, McKay,” said Evan, as they followed him upstairs, “What’s going on?”
Rodney didn’t answer, just lead the way to the kitchen doorway.
The doorway was as far as they could go - the room was full, everyone looking as rumpled and tired as Rodney. Mayor Weir, Reverend Woolsey and Mr. Dex were at the table, heads bent over a pile of similar-looking documents. Mr. Halling and Mr. Miller were making tea, while everyone else sat, stood, or paced wherever they could find room.
“Mr. Sheppard,” said Mrs. Miller, “Or rather, Mr. Claus.”
“John,” he corrected, then repeated Evan’s question, “What’s going on?”
“The mortgages,” said Mr. Zelenka, roused from where he had been staring out the window.
“But you paid them off,” said Evan, moving to help Mr. Parrish pass around the teacups.
“So we thought,” snapped Miss Cadman. “Those low-down, sneaky-”
Dr. Beckett laid a hand on her arm. “Now, now, my dear. It seems the contracts were all quite legal.”
“Deceptive, though,” put in Mr. Dex. “I read the whole thing carefully before I signed it, didn’t see anything amiss then.”
“And now?” asked John.
“It’s clever, in its way,” said Reverend Woolsey. “Each one precisely outlines the loan and repayment scheme for one of the buildings here.”
“Buildings,” repeated Mayor Weir. “Not the land.”
“Mortgages were for both,” said Mr. Zelenka, “but payments have only been for buildings.”
“We thought we’d paid them off early, partly in thanks to you,” said Mr. Miller. “But we owe more than the original loan for the land, plus all the unpaid interest.”
“And Mr. Kolya can’t help?” asked Evan.
Mayor Weir scowled. “It was his idea. He’d been making inquiries into the town and its real estate for years, but no one would sell. So, he got a judge in the city to rule that the mortgage contracts could be read this way.”
“He called in soldiers,” Mr. Parrish said, his usually-cheerful face glum. “They boarded everything up while we were gone.”
John’s heart sank. “While you were helping me.”
Sheriff Emmagan touched his arm. “It would have happened whether we were here or not. Perhaps it is better that we were not.”
Mr. Dex and Miss Cadman shared dangerous smiles, and John thought she was probably right.
“So, of course everyone came here,” grumbled Rodney. “I was smart enough not to have a mortgage.”
His sister snorted. “We sold our parents’ house and bought the toy shop,” she said. “And lucky we did, or we’d have nowhere to go.”
She handed John a teacup and he took it automatically, “I’m sorry,” he said.
“None of this is your fault,” Rodney snapped. “What could you have done to stop it?”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“Exactly,” said Mayor Weir, gently. “And unless your Christmas magic can do something about legal documents…”
“No,” said John. “But I think I can help.”
“How?” Rodney demanded. “Are you rich enough to just pay all the mortgages on the land?”
“Rodney that’s rude,” said Mrs. Miller, smacking her brother’s arm. “And I don’t think Mr. Kolya would accept it, anyway.”
“I don’t know if I am,” faltered John - his being a prince had never mattered before, and now he was king. “The North Pole doesn’t have a currency-based economy, like the human world. But I had something else in mind. If you’d consider relocating.”
“Surely, that would be more expensive than paying for the land,” said Dr. Beckett, but John saw the moment Rodney got it.
“Brilliant!” he said, then frowned. “But you’ve been up all night, flying around the world in that magical contraption. You were tired just taking the bunch of us, let alone multiple buildings.”
Murmurs started around the room, excitement and concern and confusion all at once.
“I can do this,” said John, and he knew he could. “We can do this.”
“That would require a vote from the town council,” said Mayor Weir, then smiled. “Luckily, we’re all here. Who votes in favor of relocation to the North Pole?”
Every hand went up.
An hour later, John finished his circuit of the shops and houses, where everything was as ready as they could make it, and joined Rodney in the front doorway of the toy shop.
“Still sure about this?” Rodney asked.
John leaned in to his him, letting the feeling of love and friendship from his friends, his new family, flow through him as he channeled his natural Christmas magic into a blinding golden light.
And when Mr. Kolya arrived the next afternoon with the soldiers he thought he’d need to evict the no-doubt-angry townspeople, he found only an empty forest clearing where the town had stood.
*
(Almost) One Year Later…
Rodney slotted the misaligned gear into the proper place, then closed the clockwork music box.
Only when it began playing softly did he realize how quite the usually-bustling workshop was. His own small section was the only one with its magical lamps still illuminated.
His assistant’s desk was empty, too - he’d declined a valet, considering that he could dress himself just fine, but had interviewed dozens of elves before selecting one who was usually quiet, but could certainly stand up for herself against his stubbornness - but he asked, “Miko?”
“She went to bed hours ago,” said John, appearing at the door. “As you should have.”
“You know how much I hate unfinished projects, Your Majesty.”
John snorted, as irreverent about his title almost a year later as he had been when he’d first gotten it. “I could make it an order, Your Highness.”
“I’d rather it was a request from my husband.”
“Husband,” John repeated, with a dopey grin, as though he was the lucky one in this relationship. "What kind of request?”
Rodney grinned. “You could tell me what you want for Christmas.”
“That’s easy,” said John, leaning in to kiss him. “I just want you.”
THE END
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