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When Director Harlow offers Jack the job instead of payment, she tells him he'd have to be a moron to decline, and she's damn right.
He locks that shit down like a hacked mainframe, signs the paperwork then and there, agrees to all the NDA bullshit, doesn't even care that he'll be starting out at the bottom. MORA recruits are put through a month of on-site training, a lot like what Jack remembers of boot camp. He flunked out of that, but MORA tests he aces gleefully, thrilled by the mystery, the novelty of overhearing shit like the Loch Ness Monster needs to be corralled back into the Bermuda Triangle and Bigfoot was seen streaking in Central Park again, all this fantasy come to life. Jack's first assignment is to locate a ghost, a literal ghost, and when he tracks it down he receives his badge. Jack O'Malley with a badge, who'd have thunk? He barely has to leave his office — his very own office, too, ain't that a kicker? — for that case, so it's not quite as thrilling as the whole saving Christmas thing, but it's great. It's awesome. It's so badass.
Jack wakes up with a smile every morning, in his nice new apartment with his nice new flat screen. Olivia looks him in the eye now with something akin to respect, though she thinks he's finally been recruited by the FBI, the excuse everyone at MORA uses for being all secretive all the time. In fact, a fake FBI badge came with his actual MORA badge, it's hilarious. He has Dylan every weekend, and the kid thinks he's the best thing since Ultimate Vampire Assassin 4. He's got his very own registered acquiescer. He puts on a suit to go to work, which is one of those things he used to scoff at, but now that he's actually got the opportunity to do it, he fucking loves it. He feels the same way about his new sobriety. He's all out of problems, at least the ones he wanted to drown, so why drink? He's making great money, he rolls up to the base every morning in a Corvette only slightly less nice than the one Cal sprung from a Hot Wheels.
Now, maybe Jack chose the Corvette specifically because it reminds him of that drive, and maybe he bought that exact Hot Wheels model soon afterward and tucked it reverently into his glove department like a good luck charm, where it remains to this day. Maybe it feels like a good luck charm, something small but important. Maybe he thinks of that Christmas every day, and maybe his thoughts take a special interest in Cal's face, Cal's arms, the shape of Cal's smile. Maybe some nights these thoughts breach the surface of Jack's mind like missiles, consuming everything until all he can do is screw his eyes shut and touch himself pretending it's Cal's big hand. Maybe that's most nights.
Well, so what? Jack's always swung both ways, and this wouldn't be the first time some ripped guy caught his eye. Would Jack like to return to the North Pole? Yeah, of course, but he can't, and it's for the best. Cal has his candy cane troops to command, and Jack has his awesome new life to enjoy, and they might cross paths again someday, but probably not. It's for the best, really. Jack doesn't have time to pine. He volunteers at a detention center whenever he can, encouraging the kids there to use their unconventional talents for good instead of crime. He spends time with Dylan, as much as he possibly can. He goes on dates sometimes, and maybe he's been preferring guys lately, and maybe those guys he prefers tend to bear some resemblance to Cal — but so what? It doesn't mean anything, and those nights go nowhere, because Agent Jack O'Malley doesn't have time for doomed love affairs. Been there, done that.
So Jack goes to work.
This morning he gets into his office an hour early and gets cracking on a pretty straightforward case pertaining to some cult looking to summon their patron demon. He's learned in his six months with MORA that this kind of shit happens all the time, and all he really needs to do is find out if it's a legitimate threat to be handled by MORA or if the regular authorities will suffice. That's easy enough to uncover by cross-referencing MORA’s grimoire database with cult leader Peter Peterson's grocery lists. Jack's giggling over security footage of this guy picking out lingerie at a Walmart when Director Harlow buzzes him up to her office, saying she needs a word with him. This could mean anything, but with Harlow, Jack likes to go in apologizing.
"Hey, sorry about saving that lingerie footage," he says before he's even sat down in the chair opposite her desk. "It's not relevant to the case at all, I just thought it was kinda funny —"
"What?" Harlow scoffs out a laugh. "You think I called you up here to talk about lingerie? No, sit down, and forget about that Peterson cult, I'm giving it to another agent."
Jack sits, frowning. "What, why? Did I —?"
"No, you haven't done anything wrong. It's only because I've found you something better." She cuts him a smile, and slides him a manila folder across the top of her desk. "Your first field assignment."
"No shit?" Grinning, he picks up the folder, and his grin only widens when he opens it. "The North Pole, huh?"
"Something came up yesterday, the yetis are threatening to declare war on Christmas again," she says, in the same vaguely annoyed but predominantly bored tone one might use to say, It's raining again.
"Again?" He laughs. "The yetis? Um..." He racks his brain, thinking back to his training, which involved some pretty dense studying of every kind of mythical creature that actually exists and what their deal it, basically. "They live in the North Pole, too. They share it with Santa's guys, begrudgingly, and there's this, um. Peace treaty, right?"
"That's right, very good," she says, and he tries not to preen too much under the praise; he's good now, a certifiable Nice-Lister. "It's all in the files, but in short, the yetis' princess is missing, and they're accusing Red One of kidnapping her. You'll be assisting Commander Drift in locating and returning her to her people before they attack the Complex. This will be good training for you, it's a simple enough mission. And it'll annoy Cal, which is always a plus."
Jack's heart flies free of his chest at "Commander Drift," and by "Cal" it's through the ceiling and lost in the stratosphere. He clears his throat, playing it cool, stomping down that wild, wanting thing in his gut. "Nice —" He clears his voice when it squeaks, and ignores the way Harlow's eyebrows shoot up, her smile quirking. "Nice. It'll be nice, I mean, seeing him again. Annoying him again! So, uh. When do I leave?"
"I can have you on a jet in an hour, if you're ready. You'll be staying at the Complex for a few days, so pack a bag."
Jack tries not to knock the chair over when he springs up, so ready he could scream.
North Pole City is as magical as Jack remembers, peeling away the jaded grown-up until he's a little boy gawking from his seat in the jet, straining against his harness to see more of the sprawling city below, alive with palpable happiness and a widespread glow like the northern lights. A hatch in the dome opened to make way for the jet, the same hatch Santa's sleigh used. Jack remembers the shock of warmth he felt that Christmas Eve, when he and Dylan were brought along for the ride. That warmth was so strong it never really faded. It's still there in his chest, a seed of goodness, cheer. Good feeling, like Cal said. It sings tonight, his eyes on the city, greedily soaking up the light.
The tower is like the emerald crown jewel of the Complex, and when the jet touches the same landing strip as magic hooves, shuddering as it settles on its wheels, Jack laughs. It's pure relief, bubbling up from deep in his stomach. He's only been here once before, but he had this same feeling then; maybe it's the kid in him saying, We're home.
He says goodbye to his pilot, hops out of the jet amid a gathering of curious, chittering elves. It's awesome, and he can't keep from grinning, though he's taken two whole classes on Maintaining Your Poker Face Around Non-Humans, but what he wants to see is Cal.
Instead, when the jet's turned around and departing and he's starting to wade his way through the elf crowd, he's confronted by a scowling polar bear in E.L.F. gear.
"Oh, hey, Garcia," Jack says, smiling up at that snaggletoothed muzzle, glad even to see the killer polar bear. Happy memories, rib-crushing bear hugs and slobber in his face, good times. "What's up, man? You chillin'?"
"Director Harlow sent you? You?" Garcia crosses his arms and tosses his head in agitation. "You've gotta be shakin' my snow globe."
"North Pole slang, I love it!" Jack moves to clap Garcia companionably on the arm, but reconsiders when Garcia growls at him. He retracts his hand, playing it off. "Taking it back, no worries! Hey, where's your boss, where's Cal?"
"Oh, he's on his way." Garcia snorts. "He's pissed."
"Pissed?" Jack grins, points to his face. "Look at this face! How could anyone be pissed at —"
"Where are they?" comes a booming voice, and approaching footfall like thunder and lightning. The elves scatter, some literally diving out of the way, and then there's Cal, charging in a straight line toward Jack. He's flanked by Arthur the penguin, who also manages to look pissed, in his own cute, waddling way. "This is it? Zoe only sent one agent? She thinks I'm so incompetent that —" Cal stops in front of Jack, and his eyes widen, flicking down to Jack's polished Oxfords and then up to his neatly combed-back hair. "Jack O'Malley?"
"In the flesh, the one and only!" Jack takes a quick bow, beaming and throwing out his hand to be clasped when he straightens. "How you been, buddy?"
Cal shakes his head, a small smile crossing his face. He takes Jack's hand in a firm, warm grip. "I almost didn't recognize you with the suit," he says. "Zoe didn't tell me she was sending you."
Jack tries not to whimper out loud when Cal releases his hand after only a brief shake. Instead Jack smiles, and picks his tie off his chest to show off. "Candy cane-striped tie, check it out! It's July for us Southerners, but I thought I'd dress in North Pole-appropriate attire. You can't tell, but my socks have little Santa hats on them, too, it's sickening."
Arthur snorts. "You clean up pretty good, kid."
"Hey, thanks, Arthur! I see you're still rocking the purple mohawk." Jack winks down at him, then fixes his eyes back on Cal, who's staring in what seems to be a state of bemused shock. "So? Did you miss me?"
"No," Garcia says flatly. Jack opts to ignore him.
"I didn't ask MORA for backup," Cal says, shaking his shock. "I don't need it. You're really wasting your time here."
"Wasting my time? At the North Pole? With yetis?" Jack gawks. "I read the file, seems like some seriously dramatic shit’s going on. Plus..." He grins at Cal. "I've been looking for an excuse to come back here and bother you, it's been too long."
Cal sighs. "Well," he says. "I guess you can stay. I'd never turn away the help of a level-four Nice-Lister, after all."
Jack gasps. "Level four? No!"
Cal smiles. "Yes." He nods to Arthur, then to Garcia. "You two go check on Phil, we're good here."
"Later, Chief." Garcia starts to follow Arthur, who salutes Cal with a flipper and waddles off, but stops once he's behind Cal. He brings his claws to his eyes in an "I'm watching you" gesture directed at Jack. "I'll be on the comms if you need anything,” Garcia says. “Anything.” As if Jack might try to have his way with Cal or something.
Well. He kind of wants to. Cal looks good, Extremely Large and Formidable in that ridiculously hot uniform, built like a brick house decorated for Christmas.
Jack grins at Cal when they're alone in the hangar save for a few straggler elves. "Be honest, were you gonna have Garcia eat whatever MORA agent and-or agents Harlow sent?"
Cal rolls his eyes and takes Jack's shoulder in one broad hand, steering him toward the elevators. "Come on, and don't say I didn't warn you about wasting your time. The situation's already been resolved, we've located the Princess."
"Ah, I see." Jack isn't surprised; he'd be surprised if Cal hadn't cracked the case in less than twenty-four hours. "Nicely done, Commander, I commend your diligence and promote you to Sargeant."
"That would be a demotion," Cal says mildly, walking Jack into an elevator. "But thank you. Though I'll remind you that you're still only an agent-in-training, and even if you managed to become MORA's director someday you'd still have no authority over me."
"Aww, thanks for that reminder." Jack laughs. "You're the nicest asshole I've ever met, you know that?"
"I don't doubt it. I am a level-five Nice-Lister," Cal says, and presses the button for the seventy-ninth floor.
"Level five?" Jack balks at this. He didn't even know the Nice List had five levels. "Excuse me, what? What do I gotta do to get up to level five, donate a lung?"
"Shh." Cal presses something on his vambrace. "I was just on my way to retrieve the Princess when you arrived. Then we'll escort her home." He glances over at Jack, as if Jack might shoot this down. "If you want to come."
"Obviously I wanna come!" Jack shoves Cal's arm, and ends up accidentally — it really is an accident, he swears — feeling up Cal's bicep in the process. Goddamn, it's like he was sculpted from stone, like one of those Roman statues. Only Cal's clothed, unfortunately. "So tell me more about this yeti problem,” Jack says, composing himself. “I know I said I read the file but I really just skimmed it in the jet."
"Where to begin," Cal mutters. The elevator dings as the doors glide open, and Cal leads him down a vibrant green hallway decorated with swirling brown snowflakes, as if they're made of chocolate. Jack smells chocolate, actually, an inviting sweetness from up ahead. "The Chuti — that's what yetis call themselves — are our neighbors, and we've always had territory disputes. The peace treaty was supposed to bring an end to that, but Princess Bun complicates things."
"Princess Bun?" Jack says, smiling. Anyone with a name like Princess Bun must be severely, criminally cute.
"Of the Chuti," Cal confirms. "She tunneled under the dome, she does that on occasion, and every time she does her people act as if we've purposely lured her away and captured her. If we don't return her within the next three hours they'll claim we violated the treaty and declare war on Christmas." He doesn't seem overly concerned about this, walking briskly, but with purpose, not panic.
"Wow," Jack says, doing his best to match Cal's long strides. "War on all of Christmas, what would that even entail?"
"Misery, I suppose," Cal says. "But it doesn't bear thinking about."
"'Course not," Jack says. "But I don't get it, why does Princess Bun keep breaking in?"
"Two words," Cal says. They come to a tall rounded door at the end of the hallway, chocolate-brown with green stripes and a polished bronze handle. Cal taps the gilded sign that hangs beside it: Hot Chocolate. "The Chuti adore it, and no place in creation has more delicious hot chocolate than we do here. It's even in the treaty; part of the price we pay for peace is half a million gallons of hot chocolate yearly."
"Jeez. That's a big lift," Jack says.
"Not for us," Cal says, something bright and prideful in his eyes when he pushes open the door. Jack follows him inside.
It's like a pocket dimension of hot chocolate, or a warm winter wonderland. The first thing Jack notices is the thick fog of steam that fills the room, smelling strongly of chocolate and peppermint, all rich sugar but minty-fresh with every exhale. "Damn, that's thick," he says, waving it away from his face.
When his eyes adjust to the steam he marvels instead at the Willy Wonka-esque landscape that makes up the hot chocolate room. There are gentle terraformed hills of preternaturally wispy, bright green grass, a ceiling painted to look like a baby blue sky, and the centerpiece, a massive flowing lake of steaming hot chocolate, with filter waterfalls and giant peppermint candies for stepping stones. The temperature blast isn't even overwhelming; it's overly warm, but in a cozy, by-the-fireplace way that makes Jack want to lie down for a nice winter nap. His mouth waters.
"Holy shit," he says, grabbing at Cal's arm for support when his legs wobble. He feels smacked over the head with a pleasantly hot, fragrant iron. "How, what? There's grass?"
"It's Northern wheatgrass. The steam makes this the ideal room to grow it. Makes it sweeter, too," Cal says as he leads Jack toward the lake. "It's an export, we fly it to Easter Island every spring for the Hare."
"The Hare? Dude." Jack releases Cal to laugh at the joyful absurdity of all this. "That's fucking awesome. This room is fucking awesome, it's like a hot chocolate sauna."
"I know, but watch your language," Cal scolds. "There's a child present."
"Oh, shit. I mean shoot!" Jack says when Cal glares at him. "The Princess is in here? Where?" He doesn't see her, and there's really nothing to hide behind, unless baby yetis are small enough to tuck themselves behind blades of wheatgrass.
"Just stay behind me," Cal says. He crouches down and creeps to the edge of the lake, brushes the surface of the hot chocolate with his fingers, so it ripples. He murmurs something in a language Jack's never heard before, something low and guttural that makes his eardrums ache.
"What're you doing?" Jack asks, whispering without really knowing why; Cal didn't tell him to be quiet. This just feels ominous suddenly. "Is there some kinda Christmas monster in there?"
"Of course not. I'm —" A dark-furred, hook-clawed hand flies out of the lake and closes around Cal's arm, yanking him off the wheatgrass and into the lake with a typhoon splash of hot chocolate, before he can do more than gasp. Before Jack can do more than take a frantic step forward. The hand was huge enough to wrap all the way around Cal's stone bicep. Was it the yeti? That wasn't a very princess-like hand.
"Oh my god!" Jack sprints to the edge of the lake, staring down at where the hot chocolate's still rippling around the spot that swallowed Cal. "Okay, okay, um!" He starts tearing off his suit jacket. "I'm coming in, Cal, don't worry, I've got you —"
Just then, as Jack's stepping back to take a running jump, Cal resurfaces, spluttering and laughing, throwing up a wave of hot chocolate. Jack's gut-punch of relief is short-lived, however, because Cal's immediately joined at the surface by one of the most horrifying creatures Jack's seen yet; an extremely high bar set by none other than Gryla the Christmas Witch. It has thick black fur soaked with chocolate and a face caught somewhere between a pug and a pig. It's still grabbing at Cal's arms with its claws, almost twice his size, its lips curled back over rows of dagger-like fangs.
Jack shrieks, poker-face training forgotten, and his hand twitches automatically toward the acquiescer on his belt. He only hesitates because Cal's still laughing.
"You got me again!" He splashes the squealing horror, grinning almost as wide as that night on the sleigh, hot chocolate dripping from the tip of his nose. He's playing, Jack realizes. "Jack, I'd like you to meet Princess Bun of the Chuti!"
"Oh, wow." Jack forces his hand off his acquiescer, and tries for a wary smile. "How you doin', Your Majesty?"
Princess Bun just makes a low, intimidating but seemingly joyful noise, hopefully her way of saying Nice to meet you, and not Prepare to be eaten.
"Well, she's covered in hot chocolate and she's away from her parents," Cal says. "So I'd say we better get her cleaned up and on her way back home. Wouldn't you agree, Jack?"
"Absolutely. As soon as possible," Jack says, sure he'll see that face in his nightmares later.
Jack helps Cal haul himself and Princess Bun out of the hot chocolate lake, truly something he never would've imagined himself doing before today. He cringes back from the splash zone when the Princess makes like a dog and shakes, probably ten feet tall when she stands up straight, her puffy fur making her appear even larger. She's still sticky, though, and so Cal declares it time to involve Mrs. Claus, who seems to be his go-to for this sort of thing.
"Partridge, the Code 457 has devolved into a Code 278," he says into his vambrace, which is still functioning despite being hot-chocolate drenched with the rest of him. "We're in the hot chocolate room, headed up to the bathroom on the ninetieth floor. Meet us there?"
Code 457 and 278. Jack snorts; he wouldn't be surprised if Cal had a code for whenever Santa sneezes and requires a tissue, stat.
"Roger that, Commander," Mrs. Claus says, her voice ringing like a bell over the comms. "I'll run a bath."
"Thank you, ma'am." Cal taps his vambrace, then turns to Princess Bun, grinning again. "Now, you, ma'am, are in some trouble. What are you doing here again, didn't I tell you to ask your parents next time?"
Princess Bun whines and growls, with Cal nodding along as if she's speaking some kind of language. Maybe she is. Yetuguese, Jack thinks, or maybe Yetish.
"Well, if they say no, then the answer's gotta be no," Cal says, and tuts when she groans in apparent frustration. "Hey, now, they only want what they think is best for you, even if you don't agree." Jack kind of gets the sense that Cal doesn't agree with them, either, and wonders if there's a story there.
"Hold on, Cal," Jack says, because something about the whole telling kids to blindly obey their parents thing just doesn't sit well with him. Even in regards to mythical monsters. "I think it's pretty impressive that she managed to break into the dome and get all the way up here. Seriously, Your Majesty, you get a gold star for infiltration."
Princess Bun beams, and bounces on her colossal clawed feet. Jack takes back the horror thing, she's actually pretty cute. Well, ugly-cute: cugly.
Cal sighs. "Jack, the last thing this behavior needs is encouragement."
"What behavior?" Jack teases. "Initiative? Enterprise? For all you know we're standing here in the presence of the future Hot Chocolate Queen."
Princess Bun laughs delightedly, and just about bursts Jack's eardrums when she claps her colossal hands. Jack laughs, too, and harder when he sees how Cal's resolve is crumbling, a helpless smile tugging at the corners of his stern frown.
"You have a point," he concedes, and grunts when Princess Bun tackles him to the wheatgrass in an overly enthusiastic hug.
The elevator shudders a little bearing their combined weight, but Cal seems confident in its ability to safely lift them, and he's right. He leads Princess Bun down the hallway by her hand — well, he's holding her finger, her hand is too huge to hold — and Jack trails behind, chuckling to himself at the adorable absurdity of how this mission is playing out so far. So this is the kind of thing Cal handles on a daily basis, more lighthearted Christmas adventures than the whole Gyra fiasco.
He's handling it well, moving with sure-footed confidence, and Princess Bun's staring starry-eyed down at him, like he's the most impressive thing she's ever seen. It's to the point that Jack suspects she breaks in here not only to be a hot chocolate fiend but also to visit him. If so, Jack doesn't blame her. From what Jack can tell, everyone here looks at Cal like that, he's so loved, and he deserves it so much. He's great. Really great, and just look at that ass.
Jack shakes his head to scatter that thought. Lighthearted or not, he's still working a job here, he's supposed to be a professional now.
Mrs. Claus is waiting for them in the bathroom, which is really more like a regular non-hot chocolate sauna, with a massive inlaid tub and tiles with little Christmas icons, trees and gingerbread men. Everything's all Christmas all the time here. She's as incongruously harmless yet tough looking as the last time Jack saw her, and she smiles at them when they escort Princess Bun in. Princess Bun growls out something, bouncing excitedly and hurrying over to tug at Mrs. Claus' sleeve.
"Hello again, sweetheart,” she says, then turns to Jack. “And hello again to you," she says. "Look at that suit, I barely recognize you."
"You and me both," Cal says. Jack just smiles and ducks his head, cowed; he still feels awful about being the catalyst of the kidnapping of Santa. "Do you need anything?" Cal asks. "A brush or —?"
"No, no, I'll take it from here. You boys go and give us some privacy, shoo," she says, waving them out.
"Chief, you alright?" Garcia growls over Cal's vambrace just as he and Jack are sitting down together to wait in the hallway, side-by-side against the candy cane-striped wall. "You need an extra set of paws with the Code 278?"
"We've got it covered, Garcia, thanks," Cal says.
"Hey, Garcia!" Jack says, leaning over Cal to speak into the vambrace. "What's going on, man, how's Phil?"
The line crackles and goes dead, Jack's question ignored. He laughs, imagining Garcia's polar bear face all scrunched up in irritation, furiously tapping his own vambrace to end the call. "Who even is Phil, anyway?" Jack asks.
"The head elf of our ribbons department," Cal says, smiling. "He gets overwhelmed sometimes."
"Don't we all?" Jack pauses. "And that's elf as in the species, right? Not your E.L.F."
"Right, that's good," Cal says. "It's an important distinction for a MORA agent to make."
Jack tries not to moan audibly at Cal calling him good, and jumps ship for a change of subject. "So, hey," he says, clearing his throat. "I've been working on my Christmas list, now that I'm a level-four Nice-Lister and all. Think I can get a sit-down with the big man while I'm here?"
"Negative," Cal says. "Red's unavailable today. He's sleeping off Krampus' visit and he's not to be disturbed."
"Woah, hold on, you mean Krampus was here?" Jack asks.
Cal nods. "Yesterday. It was…" He grimaces. "Stressful. But good, I think, for both of them."
"Huh!" Jack grins, and fires off a joke to conceal how crushed he is to have missed it. "Did you end up having that Krampusschlap rematch? Did you win?” He interprets Cal’s deepened grimace as another negative. “Aw, buddy. Y'know, you really oughta work on your schlap more, you've got a mean right hook, your shrinking game's great, but your schlap? Room for growth there."
Cal cuts him a humorless look. "Anyway," he says. "I'm going to escort the Princess home when Partridge is done with her, and I'll caution you against coming along. The Chuti village is a dangerous place for a human, even with my protection."
Jack tries not to moan audibly at the idea that he has Cal's protection. "Obviously I'm coming with you," Jack says, and scoffs. "I'm not just some lame ‘human, therefore weak’ anymore, I'm a MORA agent, like you said. I've gotta learn this shit."
Cal shakes his head, smiling. "Very well," he says. "But only if you agree to follow my directives this time. "
"Deal," Jack says, thinking he'd follow Cal's directives anywhere.
When Cal says they'll be traveling by sleigh, Jack kind of expects The Sleigh, and he's a little disappointed when Cal leads them to a smaller, less epic version instead, pulled by only four normal, nonflying reindeer. Princess Bun seems thrilled, though, and is obviously an experienced sleigh passenger at this point, settling into her seat and hugging the blanket Mrs. Claus gave her around her colossal shoulders. Jack sits up front beside Cal, who takes up the reins, and is mostly just hushed with awe as they ride through the Complex. There's so much magic here, beaming around every street corner, a shimmer in every snowflake, in the face of every fantastical citizen; it's even in the air, Jack thinks, a smell like cookies fresh out of the oven, warmth despite the snow.
A hatch in the dome opens when they reach it, then closes behind them, and it's as if they've been dropped into the middle of Arctic nowhere, nothing but white wind-whipped tundra all around them. The sleigh's heated, and Jack's only freezing a little in the long faux-fur coat Cal gave him before they left, but he still finds himself huddling closer to Cal, as close as he dares. Cal, meanwhile, wears nothing over his uniform, and he never shivers, facing the bite of the ice without flinching. He seems perfectly comfortable, as if the cold can't touch him, and maybe it can't. He's not human, Jack remembers, though what exactly he is instead he hasn't shared with Jack.
"So," Jack says, and tugs his hood back into place when a lash of wind shoves it down. "Tell me more about yetis."
"Chuti," Cal says. "And all you really need to know is that the royal family are called the Nyalmo, they're larger and have black fur. Princess Bun's parents are King Kang and Queen Mirka. Be respectful, and silent: the Nyalmo don't allow mortals to speak in their court. In fact, they usually just eat any mortals who happen across the village."
"Rude!" Jack says. "Also, King Kang? Is he, like, King Kong if King Kong lived in the Arctic?" Behind them, Princess Bun shrieks with laughter.
"Yes," Cal says, mouth quirking toward a smile. "But don't make that comparison in his presence, if you value your life at all.”
"Duh!" Jack says. "Whaddya take me for, some kinda idiot?"
Cal smiles properly now, glancing over at Jack with pure mischief in his eyes, and Jack's torn between wanting to schlap him or kiss him.
The yeti village isn't far from North Pole City, maybe another half hour of riding before they're upon the surrounding wall of ice bricks. The gates are giant and carved from thick sheets of ice, and they yawn slowly open when Cal stands from his seat and shouts something in that low, growling tongue. Cal beckons Jack and Princess Bun, who snarls happily to be home, from the sleigh, saying they're leaving it outside the wall for the safety of the reindeer. They're met at the gates by a towering pair of white-furred yetis, who startle Jack so much he plasters himself to Cal's side, and escorted through the village with its houses of packed ice to the compact ice castle that overlooks it. All through the village they're stared at by other white-furred yetis, who make reverent gestures to Princess Bun but sneer at Jack and Cal in passing.
Jack sticks close to Cal, shivering inside his coat against the newly vicious cold; it's much more impressive here that Cal doesn't seem at all affected by it.
"It's alright," Cal whispers to him. "The castle is warmer."
The castle is less impressive than North Pole City's tower, much smaller and constructed from the same ice bricks as the wall, but Jack's still amazed. The doors swing open, and as they're led inside Jack's relieved to discover that Cal's right, there's some kind of magical heating on the inside of the structure that somehow doesn't melt the outside. Princess Bun keeps tugging at Cal's arm and grinning at Jack, as if she's eager to show off her crib, and Jack keeps smiling warily back.
The throne room is intimidating, a massive room of jagged ice empty but for two ice-sculpted thrones on a glacial platform at the head of the room. Ice, ice, everything ice; don't these people know there are more comfortable building materials? On the thrones sit two truly colossal yetis, black-furred and scowling, one slightly taller than the other but both easily three times the size of Princess Bun. They almost manage to dethrone Gryla as the most horrifying things Jack's ever seen.
"Commander Callum Drift," the slightly taller yeti says, standing, their voice a low but not unkind growl.
"Queen Mirka," Cal says, bowing. He glares at Jack when he just goes on gawking, and he quickly doubles over. "King Kang," Cal says, nodding to the other yeti, whose scowl only twists with obvious displeasure. Jack gulps, finding there's really nothing funny about him.
Queen Mirka snarls, and opens her arms when Princess Bun comes running, only pausing to wave at Jack and give Cal a potentially rib-crushing goodbye hug, which he returns without wincing. Queen Mirka scoops her up, and Princess Bun is instantly asleep on her shoulder, snoring like a small earthquake, bundled up in her blanket. All that infiltration must've tuckered her out.
"You've brought a mortal," Queen Mirka says, and she might sound surprised, but it's difficult to discern tone when her voice is a flat growl. "A snack, perhaps?"
Jack flinches, but Cal speaks up before he can object himself. "This is Agent Jack O'Malley of MORA," Cal says. "He assisted me in retrieving the princess."
"Then he has my thanks." Queen Mirka nods to Jack.
Jack opens his mouth to speak, ignoring Cal's elbow digging into his side, because it's just good manners to say you're welcome. "You're —"
"Silence him!" King Kang booms, shaking the room, dislodging a few icicles from the ceiling. Jack clamps his mouth shut, and resists the urge to dive behind Cal. "The mortal has no blood right to speak here!"
"Apologies," Cal says. He shoots Jack a glare, and Jack smiles sheepishly in return. "It won't happen again."
"And you have my thanks, Commander," Queen Mirka says as though there was no interruption, and it's difficult to discern expression when her face is all pig-pug, but her eyes flash meaningfully, looking at Cal. Jack gets a particular, very unwelcome vibe.
"Of course, Mir — ah, Your Majesty," Cal amends, shifting his weight almost awkwardly from one foot to the other. "It's my privilege."
No way, Jack thinks, stunned and jealous but also a little fascinated, in a morbid, half disgusted way. There's definitely a story here.
"Unfortunately, I must now leave you to my husband." Queen Mirka seems genuinely apologetic about this, or maybe just reluctant to part from Cal. At any rate, she nods and pads out of the room, claws clicking like heels on the ice floor, an incongruous regal quality to her lumbering strides. "Farewell, Commander and his mortal," she says as she passes them.
Cal growls out some farewell in Yetish, but Jack barely hears him, too obsessed with the idea of being Cal's mortal. Or Cal's anything, for that matter.
"Drift," King Kang snarls, standing only when Queen Mirka has left the room. Cal doesn't flinch, but his shoulders tense, so Jack knows this guy is a real threat. "My Queen has asked me to apologize for threatening your people, but frankly, war is still very much on the table. It would be easy, it seems, to get past your defenses. Child's play, literally."
Cal clears his throat, and speaks with admirable fearlessness. "I assure you it wouldn't be. We're all fond of the princess and make no effort to repel her; such would not be the case for you. But we fed your daughter, cared for her, and returned her to you as soon as we located her. As always. I feel that I'm owed an apology."
King Kang snarls and spits, pacing back and forth in front of the thrones.
"One more time, please," Cal says. "I didn't quite catch that, Your Majesty."
"I'm..." King Kang spits the word like the filthiest curse: "Sorry."
Cal's shit-eating grin is split-second, there and gone again, but Jack catches it and has to restrain himself from laughing. Cal's fucking with the guy.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Cal says. "No harm done. However, I would like to propose that this year's hot chocolate tribute be halved as penance."
"Absolutely not," King Kang snarls. "The terms of the treaty are forever fixed. Break one and you make yourself an enemy of the Chuti."
"Yes," Cal says. "But seeing as the princess did ruin a whole batch of —"
"Careful." King Kang curls his lip, regarding Cal with such royal disgust it makes Jack want to charge up and schlap it off that ugly face. He doesn't, he'd need a ladder and a much bigger death wish for that, but he really, really wants to. "You only have half a blood right to speak," Kang grates out, dripping contempt. "Bastard son of Winter."
Whatever the hell that means.
Cal opens his mouth, a spark of anger in his eyes, but it quickly fizzles out. He lowers his head. "Forgive me, Your Majesty," he says.
"Fine. Now go, get out!" King Kang snaps. "If I have to see your face again this century, Drift, it will be too soon!"
It's only with conscious effort that Jack doesn't flip the King off when they turn to leave.
They're quiet on the walk back to the sleigh, escorted there by the same two white-furred yetis, who keep glancing back at them and snickering. Cal seems kind of bummed out, scowling as he sits and takes up the reins, so Jack spends the first few minutes of the ride back thinking of something to say, something that'll cheer him up. Jack's also itching to know what all that was about.
"Well," he says finally. "That went well."
Cal glances over at him. "You have questions," he says.
"Uh, yeah, a few," Jack says. "What's up with you only having half a right to talk, or whatever?"
"The King dislikes me," Cal says simply, dodging the question. Jack lets it go.
"Can you blame him?" Jack grins at Cal's confused frown. "You did bang his wife. Not very Nice-List of you."
Cal's frown breaks around a startled laugh. "That was a long time ago! And it wasn't like that," he says, snorting. "How could you tell, anyway?"
"I have a sense for these things," Jack says. "But is that what you're into? Monsters?" And at least a few witches, Jack remembers. Jack's only hot by human standards, which he'd hoped would be enough, but maybe not.
"Not lately," Cal says, and gives Jack a look that could mean something monumental or nothing at all.
"Well —" Jack splutters when a wad of slush smacks him square in the face, kicked up by one of the reindeer. "Ugh, remind me again why we couldn't take the magic flying ones?"
"Oh, the girls will be on vacation until November," Cal says. "Until then it's all carrots and spa treatments. They'd trample me if I tried to take them out for a joyride in July."
"Jeez, talk about a charmed life." Jack nudges his shoulder to Cal’s. "Y'know, I guess I'm kinda on vacation now, too, since the mission wrapped up so early. Technically I'm supposed to stay up here another two days."
"Huh," Cal says, and goes quiet, eyes on the tundra ahead.
"I mean, I'm sure Harlow would send a jet to pick me up tonight if I asked," Jack says, fidgeting with his candy cane-striped tie. "I don't gotta stay, if you're too —"
"No, stay," Cal says. He turns to Jack, smiling. "We'll go to my apartment. I can change into clean clothes, and you can have some of our famous hot chocolate."
Jack buries his triumphant whoop with a cough. "Sure," he says. Cool, O'Malley, just keep playing it cool.
The cool act dissolves like marshmallows in hot chocolate when they're back at the tower, riding in the elevator to the ninety-eighth floor where Cal says his apartment is. The ride starts out cool enough, ice-cool, with Jack marveling at the expanding view of the Complex from the window as the elevator rises, Cal hanging back. Jack says something dumb about the weather up here, just fishing for small talk, and Cal's fingers brush his waist, and Jack is turning, and Cal is there. And then, with a funny feeling of fate or freefall, their mouths are crushed together.
Jack doesn't question otherworldly shit anymore, he doesn't make the rules, he just goes with the flow. Especially when the flow leads to Cal shoving him up against the elevator wall and kissing him breathless, tasting like chocolate and peppermint and some other Christmassy spice Jack can't quite place.
"Oh my god, yes, finally," Jack babbles, and dives in for another taste, clutching the back of Cal's neck while Cal clutches his hips through the faux-fur coat. "Thank fuck, it's finally happening —" He gasps when Cal bites at his jaw, kisses Cal's cheek. "You taste like gingerbread, what the hell."
"Shh." Cal cups one hand firmly over Jack's mouth, and raises his other arm to speak into his vambrace, all while holding Jack's eyes. "Garcia, Code 352 went off without a hitch. I'm turning in for the night."
And Code Have-My-Way-With-Cal is in progress, Jack thinks, increasingly delirious with most of his blood pooling below his belt.
"Copy that, Chief," Garcia says. Jack whines into Cal's palm and pushes his hips forward, only managing to find a tease of friction against Cal's thigh. Cal winks at him, the perfect asshole. "What about Code Jerk?" Garcia asks.
"Handling it now. I'll talk to you in the morning, over and out." Cal grins, lowering his arm and taking his hand away from Jack's mouth. "Looks like I'm all yours —"
Jack shoves him back, pins him to the opposite wall of the elevator and kisses him desperately. He knows Cal's letting him do this, playing possum, or else Jack wouldn't be able to move him an inch. "You fucking better be," Jack pulls back to say, gasping and pressing his mouth to Cal's face between words, wherever his lips land. "Man, I was starting to think you'd kiss that yeti lady before you'd kiss me, and if there's anything going on between you and the Coca-Cola bear, tell me now, because I can't —"
"What!" Cal tips his head back when he laughs, exposing his neck to Jack's mouth. Jack takes advantage, nipping at the knot of Cal's throat, moaning when Cal's hands come up to tug at his hair, hard in his slacks. "Of course not," Cal says. "Take a breath, there's nothing more unattractive than insecurity."
"Oh, yeah? How's this for insecurity?" Jack kisses him again, squeezes his waist. He licks into Cal's mouth with all the confidence he can muster, everything he's been building since Harlow recruited him. And Cal opens for him, lets Jack pin him to the wall, makes soft noises every time Jack uses his teeth. Jack's stomach is lodged somewhere high in his throat, making it tough to breathe, which might have more to do with the elevator still rising and the kissing asphyxia than anything, but it feels good. It feels like being alive, and he's wanted this for so long. Cal smells heavenly, like cloves and coriander, that's it, and he tastes like a fucking cookie. Jack's drooling down Cal’s chin, wants to get on his knees and —
There's a crackling noise from beneath them, like a live wire sizzling out, and then Jack's arms are abruptly empty. His forehead smacks the wall when he sways forward.
"Woah, where'd you go?" Jack straightens up, rubbing at his head, eyes screwed shut.
"Down here," Cal says in a slightly higher pitch than usual. Jack gets his eyes open and looks down to see that Cal's shrunk, his head down around Jack's knees. "Sorry," Cal says, laughing and looking a little disoriented himself.
"What happened, you click your heels together by accident?" Jack asks, laughing, too. "You wanna get back up here or should I come to you?"
"Hold on." Cal bends down and fiddles with his boots. He's hilariously tiny, and Jack takes a second to appreciate that, deciding it's actually more adorable than disturbing. Every other time he's seen Cal shrink was during a fight, when he barely had time to process it. It's even funnier because everything's proportional; Cal's just a little guy, maybe a foot and a half tall. "My boots are malfunctioning," he says as he straightens. "Damn, it must be the hot chocolate eroding the magic conductors. I have a spare pair at my apartment."
"No worries." Jack kneels, grinning so wide his cheeks ache, though his erection throbs angrily at this interruption. Kneeling doesn't quite put them at eye-level, but Jack can see Cal better now, the pink flush of uncharacteristic insecurity in his cheeks. On him, it's very attractive. "I can wait. Lucky this didn't happen in front of your ex, huh? Now that would've been embarrassing."
Cal snorts and shoves Jack's knee, and Jack falls back onto his ass, laughing. Tiny Cal still packs a punch.
When the elevator dings and opens, Cal leads the way out into a small foyer with a single door. It's all decorated for Christmas, of course, lights outlining the red and green walls and a wreath on the door, even a small tree in one corner.
"You need me to —" Jack starts as Cal goes to the door, but stops when he realizes the knob is at the bottom of the door, only about a foot up from the ground. He didn't notice at first glance, with all the lights in his eyes. There's no regular doorknob, and Jack's quick assumption is that maybe this is some kind of security measure, Cal having to shrink down to open the door. Doesn't make a whole lot of sense, a full-sized person could still reach the knob if they knelt down, but whatever. "Nevermind."
"Mm." Cal pulls his keys from his uniform, holds them up and gives them a merry jingle. "Hey, Ellen," he says to his keychain with its little rubber chicken.
Jack smiles helplessly. "So," he says. "You've got a whole floor all to yourself, huh? It's good to be Commander." He touches an ornament on the tree that's caught his eye. It's a twinkling golden fish, and the back is engraved with these words: To Chief — Love, Garcia. Jack grimaces and withdraws his hand. Fucking polar bear.
"It's excessive, especially considering how little time I spend here," Cal says. He pulls open the door, and gestures for Jack to go in ahead of him, the miniature gentleman. Jack takes a breath first, because holy shit, this is actually happening.
He's so excited it takes him a few seconds to register what he's seeing when he steps inside. The apartment's all Christmas, of course, a fully decked-out tree in every room, twinkling lights outlining almost everything, including the holly berry-red refrigerator. It's a festive smack in the face, but that's no surprise. The surprise here is that everything's small. All the red and green furniture, all the Christmas decorations — all tiny. All obviously made for someone one-foot-six. The ceiling's a normal height, thank God, and some of the trees, but that's about it.
"Woah," Jack says, on the brink of a steep realization. "You, uh. You..."
"Yeah, excuse the mess," Cal says. He shuts the door and walks past Jack, stepping out of his boots as he goes. And staying tiny without them. "Garcia was here last week. I have a guest bedroom with a mattress that will fit you, by the way, it's Garcia's whenever his wife kicks him out of their igloo."
"Woah, woah, woah, hold on," Jack says. "You... You're small, like, by default?"
Cal turns back to him, frowning. "Oh," he says. "You thought it was the other way around."
"Uh, yeah, kinda." Jack laughs, mostly at himself. "Sorry if that was presumptuous of me or whatever, you're just always...huge, y'know? I figured you were wearing a shrinking device, not a growing device."
"Well, I do enjoy being able to look my troops in the eye. I consider hugeness part of my uniform." Cal smiles. "It's fine, though, like I said, I'll go get my spare boots."
"No, wait," Jack says. "I mean, this — that's not —" He draws a steadying breath. "If we're doing this," he says in an even voice. "It's because I want you. Like, the real you. So, don't."
Extremely Large and Formidable, Jack thinks with growing dread. All he really knows is that letting Cal change his natural body for the sake of sex seems kind of shitty. It's bad enough that he has to do it for work.
Cal seems surprised, raising his eyebrows. "Okay," he says slowly. "But I'll ask you what you think 'this' is, because there's currently an obvious physical incompatibility at play here."
"Yeah, obviously." Jack grins. "Buddy, it's all good, we don't have to do things the traditional way. You oughta know that, you've been with yetis and witches and shit."
"Only one yeti," Cal says with a small smile. "And I was huge at the time."
"Thank you for the specifics, such a pleasant mental image," Jack says, laughing. It's a little uncomfortable, him straining his neck to look down at Cal, Cal straining his neck to look up at Jack, but they'll figure it out. "Seriously, though, relax. Go get changed, and tell me where this magic hot chocolate is so I can get to work on that. We'll take it from there. Okay?"
Cal's smile grows. "Okay."
The hot chocolate is really very good, so good it might as well be magic. Cal's fridge has a hot chocolate dispenser where Jack's fridge back home has a water dispenser — don't ask him how an ice box can dispense steaming hot liquid, he doesn't know and it's too amazing to question — so Jack's able to refill his mug ten times. He has to, because he's drinking from one of Cal's miniature mugs. Cal sits on his miniature couch, and Jack sits cross-legged on the floor in front of it, worried that he'd break it and wanting to be closer to eye-level with Cal. It's not as awkward as Jack might've imagined, because it's still Cal, he's the same person. He's just a little squeakier, is all.
"But you're happy with MORA?" Cal asks when the topic of Jack's awesome new job comes up. Cal's nursing his second refill, the sleeves of the ugly-on-anyone-but-him Christmas sweater he changed into rolled up. He even removed his vambrace.
What Jack's really been fixated on, though, since Cal came back from his bedroom, are his socks. It's such a simple thing, but Jack never thought he'd see Cal sitting around in civilian clothes, in just a sweater, flannel pants and fuzzy socks. There are little poof-ball snowmen on them. Jack's jealous, honestly, his Santa hat socks aren't nearly as fuzzy.
"Yeah, of course." For Jack's part, he's shed his coat, jacket and tie, kicked off his shoes and popped the first button on his shirt. His acquiescer came off with his jacket. He still feels overdressed for this cozy hot chocolate-fueled chat by the crackling light of Cal's fireplace, but if he's lucky, neither of them will be dressed at all soon enough. "It's the best gig I've ever had. Definitely better than helping the scum of the earth be the scum of the earth, y'know?"
Cal nods, and sips from his mug. There's a Christmas tree on it. Jack's has a cardinal, and it feels, maybe ridiculously, like a sign. "I worked in gift wrapping for almost two hundred years before I started with the E.L.F.," Cal says. "I enjoyed wrapping, it was an easy job —"
"Most Fun Gift Wrapper, I remember," Jack says, beaming, and clicks his little mug to Cal's. "Proud of you, buddy."
Cal laughs, shaking his head. "Yes, well. I was successful, and I was happy, but I wasn't fulfilled. I wasn't satisfied. It's important to have both, to do something that makes you happy and lets you live up to your full potential. That challenges you. Do you have that with MORA?"
"You know what? Yeah, I do," Jack says brightly. "My first big case was tracking down a ghost, actually. Like, a literal ghost, not a metaphor. It had possessed this girl, and I caught her trying to fly from the States to Australia, 'cause I had the idea to have the metal detectors scan for ectoplasm, too." Jack blushes when he realizes how he's gushing, Cal smiling softly at him. "Well, anyway," he says. "That's how I got my badge."
"I heard about that," Cal says. "Very impressive. I asked Zoe to keep me posted about your progress."
"You did?" Jack asks.
"Mhm. She asked for my blessing, before she recruited you." Cal taps his mug, lowers his eyes to the hot chocolate inside. "I guess she thought I wanted you for the E.L.F."
"Oh." Jack blinks. "Well, did you?"
Cal looks up at him, frowning. "You couldn't work at the North Pole, Jack. You have a son to see. Anyway, MORA is a better fit for your skill set, the E.L.F. doesn't do much tracking."
"Fair enough." Jack shrugs. Cal's right, though Jack's heart feels kind of sat-on, hearing it. "But you did want me, though? Or you would've, if not for that?"
Cal rolls his eyes. "Of course I'd want you —"
Magnetized and possessed by some Ghost of Christmas Hope, Jack puts his mug down, sits forward and kisses Cal, just lightly at first, testing the waters of this new size difference. It's not as weird as he'd worried, so he gets bolder, licks at Cal's little mouth and catches Cal's mug when he almost drops it, sets it down on the floor next to Jack's. "Say it again," Jack says when he comes up for air, panting and needing this, hard again in his slacks. He braces his hands either side of Cal's hips, leaning up over the miniature couch, caging him in against its red cushions. "Please."
Cal sighs, smiling up at Jack, and cups Jack's face in his tiny but tough hands. "Jack," he says. "I want you."
"Fuck —" Jack whimpers, high and embarrassing, but quickly buries it against Cal's face, kissing him as deeply as he can when his tongue’s too big for Cal’s mouth. He shoves one hand between Cal's legs and squeezes, feeling that he's hard, too, that he really wants this, hearing it in the way he gasps into Jack's mouth. Jack could wrap the thickest part of Cal's thigh all the way in his fist, and he does, just to see. Cal's muscles still feel sculpted from stone; they're just smaller now, like a miniature Roman statue. "I'm gonna, I —" Jack leans back, breathless. "Um, I was thinking, can I suck you off?"
Cal shudders and nods. "Please," he says, whispering this into the warmth between them, their snow globe.
"I've got you, you're so hot, fuck," Jack babbles, launching himself at this exhilarating new mission. He kisses at Cal's cheeks, then his jaw and neck and shoulders, Jack's hands clumsily tugging down his pants. Jack finds he likes how much ground he can cover, mouthing his way from Cal's chest to his hips in only five kisses. Cal's boxers are candy cane-striped. "Hey, you match my tie. It was meant to be," Jack says, grinning when he bends down to press his nose to the front of Cal's boxers and breathes in deep, a gasp flying from Cal’s mouth, Cal's hands flying to tug at two tufts of Jack's hair. Cal smells so good, not just in a cookie way but also in a normal man-musk way. "Do you taste like sugar down here, too? You gonna melt in my mouth?"
Cal groans and bucks his hips, whining when Jack draws back before Cal can rub against his face. "Damnit, Jack."
"I know, I'm workin' on it. I'm gonna take care of you, Cal, gonna be so good for you." Jack peels down Cal's boxers, and coos at the thumb-sized gift he's unwrapped. "Aww. Little Callum’s so cute, I could just eat him up."
Cal scoffs. "It's proportionally big, asshole —" He cuts himself off with a strangled sound when Jack bends back down and takes him between his lips, tasting cinnamon. Jack's careful, because Cal might not actually be delicate, but he feels like it. He feels breakable, like something to be handled with care. "Yeah, that's — that's good," Cal says, tugging again at Jack's hair, sending wave after hot wave crashing down his spine. "Good, Jack, feels good."
Jack moans, and ruts hard against the front of the couch, almost tipping it. This is what gets him off, it turns out: Good. He hollows his cheeks, taking every part of Cal into his mouth, glad that it all fits, that it's so effortless, rolling his tongue over the whole package at once, that it's so damn delicious. And it must feel pretty world-rocking, because Cal cries out and kicks his legs up over Jack's shoulders, and against his upper back Jack feels Cal's toes curling inside his fuzzy socks. Jack could fit Cal's whole foot in his mouth, too, and that thought has no right being as hot as it is. Every single thing about this is fucking scorching.
"Jack, Jack, Jack," Cal's saying, every time accompanied by a tug and a gasp, a shiver up and down Jack's spine. "Good, so good," Cal says, and Jack shoves one hand down his waistband, because he can't take it anymore, though he kind of wanted to wait and find out how huge it looks in Cal's little hands. Maybe next time, or the time after that; they do have two days, and Jack plans to spend as many hours touching Cal as Cal will let him.
Jack comes like that, riding his hand and shouting around Cal, Cal's fingers tightening in Jack's hair when he follows him over. Jack's never liked the taste, but Cal makes swallowing easy, shooting out barely anything. And he really is sweet, like thick liquid sugar.
"Wow," Jack says for maybe the tenth time since they relocated to the guest room and flopped down onto the bed to sleep. He's shucked his ruined slacks, and Cal’s lent him a pair of E.L.F. uniform pants from this room's closet — Jack's realized, too, that he left his bag on the jet. They're ridiculously oversized, having been fitted for a polar bear, and they make Jack feel kind of tiny himself, though not as tiny as this king-size mattress must make Cal feel. Cal's lying beside Jack, but not touching him, post-coital cuddling yet to be initiated. They haven't touched each other again since Cal was in Jack's mouth.
Jack's beginning to feel maybe a little bit insecure about it, because Cal hasn't said much, either. He's mostly just been staring at the ceiling and grunting in response to Jack.
"Hey, you okay?" Jack asks, daring to brush his fingers over Cal's sweater, his five-kisses-long waist. Cal's redonned his pants, so he's fully dressed again. "You seem a little...spooked."
"Spooked?" Cal looks at Jack finally, and it comes as such a relief, though he's frowning. "No, I'm fine. I guess I'm just wondering why you want me small."
"Hey, I don't want you small," Jack says. Cal makes it sound like a fetish or something. "I want you as yourself. I told you, if we're doing this, we're doing it right. You shouldn't feel like you have to change yourself for me.”
“I don't, Jack. I'm not ashamed of my size. I don't need to be reassured, though I appreciate the thought," Cal says, but he's smiling now as if the thought's absurd. "If I could choose to be huge all the time, I wouldn't. Do you know why? Because," he says when Jack just stares at him, "level-five Nice-Listers are nice even to themselves. That's what it takes to move up from level four to level five."
Jack feels punched in the throat by that; he's not quite there yet. "I just..." he starts. "I've made a lot of mistakes in love, I've been a jerk, but I want this to be different. Wanna be good to you, Cal."
Cal's eyebrows shoot up. "In love?"
Jack flushes, fire spreading out to the tips of his ears, down his chest. "Okay, well." He clears his throat. "Maybe not yet, but yeah, eventually. If you're up for it. You're…” He feels like an idiot for this one, but maybe he'll get lucky and Cal will be endeared. “You're at the top of my Christmas list.”
Cal laughs and groans, putting his hands over his face. "Oh, Jack," he says, and pulls his hands away to smile incredulously at Jack. "Did you know I'm 542 years old?"
"Yeah, you kinda told me," Jack says, grinning. "S'okay, I don't mind being the controversially young boyfriend. Why would I? You're easily the hottest 542-year-old I've ever seen."
Cal snorts. "Sure, but... I'm reluctant, I'll admit, to be in a relationship with a mortal."
"Oh," Jack says, faltering. This he hasn't considered. "You mean because I won't live as long?"
Cal nods. "So I'm reluctant," he says again.
"Okay." Jack huddles closer, and wraps his arm around Cal, heartened when Cal allows himself to be hugged against Jack's chest. "But is that gonna stop you, is the question."
"No," Cal says right away, sighing through his smile. "No, it won't. It can't, I should say."
Jack beams, presses a triumphant kiss to Cal's forehead. "Fuck yeah," he says. "I can't wait to be Director, it's gonna be the hottest scandal in the Underworld, the heads of MORA and E.L.F. shacking up together. What a dangerous power couple, oof."
Cal laughs, and slings a small but strong arm around Jack's waist. He can't reach all the way around, so his hand ends up resting on Jack's ribs, over the heart he's stolen. "Should I warn Zoe you're gunning for her job?" he asks.
"Please don't." Jack shudders at the thought. "Anyway, she would've been promoted to, like, President of the World or something in that scenario, so she wouldn't be pissed."
"Gotcha." Cal leans his head against Jack's chest.
They're quiet for a while, just holding each other, feeling each other's shapes. If Jack curls up tight, with his chin tucked down and his knees pulled toward his chest, he finds that Cal fits almost perfectly in that space between chin and knees. Still, it's pretty rowdy inside Jack's head; he's mentally thumbing through labels, because he's a labels kind of guy, he wants an official title for their relationship. He wants to lock this shit down like he locked down his job with MORA, but it's too early for marriage. Boyfriend seems technically correct, except there's something so ridiculous about assigning a highschool word like "boyfriend" to a 542-year-old...
Wait a second.
"Hey, Cal?" Jack asks, breaching the topic without much delicacy. "What are you?"
"What am I?" Cal lifts his head to frown up at Jack.
"Yeah, like..." Jack sends off a quick mental prayer to all the light and dark deities he now knows exist that Cal won't kick him out for this. "Are you an elf? It's cool, I'm not trying to make fun of you or anything."
Cal gives him a pointy look, but without pointy ears, so Jack really doesn't know what to think. "You've seen the elves," Cal says. "And you'll notice that I look nothing like them."
"Yeah, but what, then?" Jack asks, needfully curious. "How come you're so strong and you don't get cold and you're 542?" He rubs Cal's back when Cal hesitates, so he'll believe Jack about not making fun of him, though it's tricky with Jack's palm being about the size of Cal's back. Jack doesn't add, And how come you're so small?
Cal sighs, and mumbles something too low to catch.
"What?" Jack asks. "C'mon, you're starting to sound like King Kong, just tell me."
"I'm," Cal says with extreme reluctance, "a faerie."
"A fairy?" Jack doesn't know what he'd expected, but it wasn't that. "Without wings?"
"Not a fairy, asshole. Faerie," Cal says, pronouncing it slowly. "Of the Winter Court. That's a...branch of fae, I guess you'd say."
"Oh." Jack blinks as he processes this. "Is that why he called you son of Winter?"
Cal nods, and leans his head back on Jack's chest. "The Chuti are friendly with the Winter Court, that's why I have a blood right to speak there. And to answer your question," he adds, "I only have half a blood right because I'm only half faerie. The rest of me is human."
"Oh, shit. Really?" Jack feels Cal nod against his shirt. "Fuck. How'd that happen?"
"I was a changeling," Cal says. "The Court stole a woman's baby and left me in his place. They used to do that all the time, the evil little shits. There's always a catch with fae, for me it was that I grew older without actually growing. So she went to Red — this was when he was living among humans, before his sainthood — and he got the Court to return her true son. She didn't want me. She thought I should be destroyed."
"Oh my god," Jack says, horrified, holding Cal a little tighter.
"No, no, you can't blame her, after what she'd been through. What I was to her," Cal says, and he really seems to mean it, his voice empty of animosity. Level-five Nice-Listers are nice to their toxic parents, too, apparently. "Anyway, Nick kept me. He believed I would grow to be good. Believed in me, imagine that, before I could prove him right. Before I could even say thank you. He gave me the great gift of a happy childhood, with love and magic and hope. A million years of service wouldn't repay a debt like that."
Jack frowns. "That's nice and all, Cal, but something tells me he doesn't see it as a debt to be repaid."
Cal hums, and sits up suddenly, so he's finally looking down at Jack again. "Secrets are sacred things," he says, gravely serious. "I told you mine, only a few people alive know that story. Now you tell me a secret of yours, and it will bind us together."
Jack gulps. "Okay, um..." He searches for something heavy enough to match Cal's. Not the Hot Wheels in his glove compartment, that's stupid. "Well, when I was a kid," he says, deciding on this one. "I used to sit up waiting for my dad like some kids sat up waiting for Santa." Cal's eyes soften, and he rubs one tiny, tough hand over Jack's forehead, brushing back his hair. Jack catches Cal's wrist between thumb and forefinger and kisses his palm, finding that it's only one kiss wide. "I'm a bastard, too, I guess," Jack says. "'Cause my dad cheated on his wife with my mom, but she didn't want me. He didn't really want me, either, so I ended up staying with my Uncle Rick most of the time."
"Thank you," Cal says. He lies back down on Jack's chest, and Jack squeezes him like a teddy bear, blinking against the sting of tears. Jack keeps holding Cal’s hand, closing Cal's loose fist in his, covering it completely. "I know how devastating things like that are to a child, how they can bleed into adulthood," Cal says. "I'm proud of you for breaking free of it, for choosing to be the father you never had. I know you struggled for a while, but you turned out good, and the world is a better place for it. I'm better for you showing me it's possible."
"Fuck," Jack says, sniffling a little. "Can you please not make me cry? This is super embarrassing."
"Just one more thing." Cal kisses Jack's cheek. "Another question I left unanswered: I did miss you. And I will miss you, when we're apart again."
"And there's the haymaker." Jack groans, squeezes Cal again. "Fuck, man, let's just agree to be apart as little as possible. Obviously it's not gonna be easy, we've both got responsibilities, but let's see each other whenever we can, okay? I'll take every North Pole assignment I can get my hands on. Let me know when you're gonna be at a toy store and I'll portal right over there. Next time Santa wants to hang out at the mall, get him to pick one in Atlanta. We'll spend every Boxing Day together. Shit like that. Whaddya say?"
"Deal," Cal says, and somehow, like a Christmas miracle that lasts all year round, it really is that simple.