5 comments/ 11575 views/ 7 favorites A Winter's Rose By: LadyArielle Jack found his wife in their hotel room, flinging clothing into her suitcase, a scowl stamped on her face. He leaned against the door frame to watch, casually crossing his arms over his chest, amused. "Going somewhere?" he asked pleasantly. "I'm moving to Florida," she answered, viciously jabbing a pair of Jimmy Choos into a corner. "I hate snow." She paused, groping for another item to abuse. "And I can't ski worth a damn," she added, wadding a pair of insulated ski pants unceremoniously into a ball and jamming it into the recesses of the bag. "You skate beautifully," he risked stepping into the bedroom of their suite, his long legs reaching her in less than two strides. He plucked the ski pants out of the suitcase and shook them out. "And you look cute in snowdrifts. You know I don't mind skiing alone." He hung the pants in the closet as she stuffed an Irish wool sweater into the suitcase. "I can skate in Florida. They have indoor rinks, and it's warm outside." "Honey, it's our job," Jack said patiently, taking out the sweater and folding it neatly. He stowed it in the dresser as she heaved an armload of lingerie willy-nilly on top of the designer shoes. He groaned inwardly. If she was packing her underwear, she was more serious than usual. Still, it was always fun to sort through her amazing collection. He started carefully pulling out the bits of silk and satin and lace, admiring the colorful assortment as he piled them into a tidy stack. He barely managed to duck aside as she launched a pair of fur-lined Uggs at his head. "It's your job," she snapped, nodding in satisfaction as the boots toppled sideways into the suitcase. "I quit." "You can't quit," Jack said reasonably, tucking the panties into a drawer. "It's less than a week 'til Christmas. Your father would skin me. And then exile you to the South Pole until the next millennia." "He can try," she snarled, shooting a spike-heeled silver shoe in his general direction. He caught it one handed, and batted aside its mate as it sailed toward him. "Sweetheart," Jack soothed, ducking flying footwear as he inched toward his furious wife, "you always threaten to quit during the holidays. You always manage to get through it, and we laugh after New Year's. You love Christmas, remember?" He caught her arm, poised to heave a fistful of belts, bolo-style. His large hand circled her wrist, gentle but implacable, and squeezed. She met his gaze for a long moment, eyes spitting fire. Then the angry façade cracked, and she suddenly burst into tears, dropping the belts and sliding to the floor in a soggy heap. He knelt with her, holding her close as she cried. "I just want to be warm," she wailed. The vase of hothouse flowers, delivered only that morning, wilted and spit petals over the dresser as Rose, the only child of Nicholas, the Great Lord of Winter, sobbed. Jack wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin. "I know, baby," he rocked her gently, her tears soaking his silk shirt. "Right after Christmas, two weeks in the Bahamas. I promise." "You can't take two weeks in the tropics," Rose The Ever Perverse argued. "I'll wait for you in Alaska," Jack shrugged. "You need a break." "What will you do while I'm gone?" she asked, sounding equal parts woebegone and hopeful. "Ski," Jack said promptly, nudging her with an elbow and kissing her nose. "You hate it anyway." "I'm tired of ice, and snow, and being in Australia in June," she sighed deeply, but it was obvious her meltdown had passed. Jack let himself relax, and helped his wife to her feet. "I'm sick of hotels, too. Why can't we have a home, like Dad does?" "There's only a few places it's cold enough, love, you know that," Jack answered for the hundredth time. "And our work is hands-on; we travel so much it's pointless." After three hundred years wed, the conversation was pretty much rhetorical. Jack pulled Rose into his arms, his mind more on her curves than her misery. Three centuries of loving her, and he was still bemused at the intensity of his adoration. Jonathan Frost III, Jack to his friends, had fallen head-over-heels, face-first into a brick wall, in love with the most beautiful and gifted Winter Sprite in a thousand years. From the first time he laid eyes on her, he had surrendered his soul without a whimper. He was quite aware that he was the luckiest of men - a besotted husband that was adored by a loving wife who shared his life's work with a passion equal to his own. Except for his beloved's occasional PMS from Hell, life was just about perfect. Ah well, Jack thought as he scooped Rose off her feet, his mouth most effectively distracting her from any last vestiges of bad temper, every relationship has its problems. *** Jack nearly ran over the woman who appeared out of nowhere on his ski run. A quick flick of his hips and he slewed around, spraying powder everywhere, and rapidly stopped behind her. She merely turned and glared at him, filmy green gown blowing around her lithe form, hair the color of sunset waving away from a perfect oval of a face. Familiar violet eyes glared him up and down. Jack went from startled - to irritated - to angry. "Rose, what that hell are you doing?" He snapped. "If you need me, there's better ways to call than almost making me cause an avalanche!" The woman grabbed his hand, yanked off his glove and slapped something cold, flat, and round into the bare palm, all the while glowering`. "It has come to my attention, Frost Lord, that you have been allowing my daughter to die in stages for the last three hundred years," the woman that looked remarkably like his wife snarled. "I will make this brief, as I am a danger to any that are not Mine. Take this talisman and find Lord Ra. He should be in Hawaii this time of year." Jack gaped at her in sudden understanding. "You're Calliope," he managed. "Rose's mother." "Callie, Nicholas calls me." The Muse shrugged. "It is my regret I could not raise my daughter, but never think I have not kept tabs on her. Except for the gross neglect you've displayed, I approve of your marriage. She loves you, Frost Lord." "And I her," Jack said, confused at the flood of emotion that didn't seem to belong to him, and the cryptic comments of his mother. Then something she said registered. "What the hell do you mean, my neglect?" he demanded, suddenly panicked. "And Rose is dying?" He felt fear crawl up his throat and clog his breathing. "How? Why? What did I do?" "All it not lost," Callie said gravely. "I should have realized that Nicholas would forget his daughter's needs. One of my sisters inspired his compulsive list-making years after I had to leave, to help keep him organized. Unfortunately, it did our daughter little good. Rose will be fine, Frost Lord, if you do as I say." And then she explained. *** Jack hated Hawaii as much as Rose hated snow -- and more. He was a Lord of Winter, for crying out loud; all this sun and sand and warm sapphire ocean made him faintly nauseous and wish feverently for a tall mountain and a pair of skis. Or even a boogie board - anything but this unrelenting heat and sunshine. I wonder if this is how Rose feels all the time, Jack thought suddenly. I feel like I'm going to melt from the inside out in this climate. Does she feel like she's carrying ice shards in her gut most days? It was a sobering thought. He glanced around, the idea of Rose suffering any further spurring him to locate Ra as soon as possible. A quick scan yielded nothing except a new appreciation of how sunny climates tended to produce better scenery than his own habitat. Despite his desperation, it was difficult to concentrate on locating a Sun Lord when confronted with so many luscious women in so little clothing. With a supreme effort to concentrate on the task at hand, he shut his eyes, counted to ten, and firmly set his mind on finding Ra. "C'mon, how hard can it be to find a Sun God in Hawaii?" Jack muttered to himself, checking the amulet Callie had given him. It was glowing brightly, a miniature heatless sun in his palm. Ra couldn't be far. He rotated slowly, squinting to try and catch any change in intensity. When the thing shocked him, he yelped involuntarily, and nearly dropped the talisman. His gaze jerked up. Not ten feet away was a low-slung beach chair, a tuft of golden hair visible over the high canvas back. Jack couldn't make out more than one darkly tanned hand holding an iced cocktail with a pink umbrella sticking out of it. On approach, he didn't look much like a Lord of anything. Jack estimated his height about the same as his own six-two, but it was difficult to judge when the subject was sprawled carelessly in a canvas chair. He was clad only in baggy, eye-searing, orange and purple board shorts and pair of Terminator sunglasses. A swath of neon yellow sunblock decorated his straight, but a shade too long, nose. As Jack drew closer, the fellow picked up his drink and took a long, leisurely sip. The guy actually used a straw. Jack winced. Rose will eat this joker alive, spit him out, and use the compost in her garden. Still, it wasn't entirely fair to judge by first impressions. It was possible Ra was playing a part, keeping a low profile, as most Immortals do among the humans. Like Clark Kent. Yeah, right. "Dude, you're blocking my rays," a deep, lazy, authentic Southern Californian Surfer voice interrupted Jack's inner debate. "Sorry." Jack stepped hastily aside, circling the chair until his shadow fell behind him. "Uh, I need to talk to you." "No more lessons today; sign up at the board shop," Mr. Surfer Dude waved a languid hand back the way Jack had come. "Lessons?" Jack asked blankly. The Terminator glasses turned his way, sliding down the long nose to reveal summer blue eyes that were regarding him with mild irritation. "You're not here for surfing lessons?" "No," Jack said, shrugging. "I --" "Big surprise." The gaze sharpened, looking Jack up and down just short of scornfully, raising an eyebrow at his Dockers and white dress shirt. "Wouldn't last five minutes." "I doubt you'd survive that long on skis," Jack said coolly, keeping his sneer under control with an effort. "Dude, do I look like a snow skier?" The blue eyes glinted dangerously. Jack laughed with a nod of respect. "No more than I look at home on a surfboard." A gleam of humor glimmered over the shades. "Fair enough." "Jack Frost," Jack stuck his hand out with a smile that was half a challenge. Surfer Guy took it in a firm grip. "Man, your parents must have hated you," he observed. "The Third," Jack said, with a significant look. "And you're Ra." The hand gripping Jack's stopped its friendly shake and the eyes over the black shades shuttered. "Name's Ray," he stood, fluidly extracting himself from the canvas chair and giving Jack a flat stare. "I think you've got me confused with someone else, dude." "I don't think so," Jack said, looking the man in the eye. "I'm who I said I am -- Jack Frost, Lord of Winter. And you're Ra, one of the Lords of Summer. At least, according to this you are." Jack held up Callie's amulet, which was now dark and doing a fine impression of an ordinary clay medallion. He blinked, and met Ra's -- Ray's -- amused grin. "You're on a whole slew of medications, aren't you?" "No," Jack ground out, baffled why the amulet was suddenly uncooperative. He shook it in exasperation, but it remained dull and lifeless in his fingers. He met the other man's gaze, willing him to listen. "Look, I get the cover story. We're immortal, have to blend in, yadda yadda. We're also on opposite shifts, so we've never met. But I need your help." "Mister, I don't know what you've been smoking, but unless you're gonna share, I suggest you move along." Ray plucked his chair off the sand and folded it in one motion, tucking it under his arm. "I'll even give you a head start when the guys in white coats show up to take you home." Desperate times call for desperate measures, was the only thought Jack had as he stopped the man's retreat by grabbing his arm. One long finger of his other hand plunged into Ray's drink, and Jack watched in satisfaction as the frou-frou cocktail froze solid even as he yanked his own hand away. Ray lost his grip as the suddenly arctic glass seared his skin. The glass shattered as it hit the hot sand. Jack was sweating now, swaying on his feet and feeling more than a little dizzy, but his ice blue eyes never wavered from Ray's. The other man glanced at the chunks of icy glass at his feet, and looked back at Jack with a slight smile and a look of perfect understanding. "Jack Frost, hm?" Ray's surfer dude accent morphed into an Australian drawl. "And how can I help a Lord of Winter?" Jack's stomach was in knots; the energy needed to freeze alcohol in this environment had drained him alarmingly. But he gritted his teeth and faced Ra, his mind in such a jumble that he blurted the first vaguely coherent thought. "I need you to make love to my wife." Ra blinked. "Well," he said after a long moment. "I'd find that tempting, if I wasn't certain you're delirious. Let's get you inside; it must be bloody torture for you out here." *** Air conditioning never felt so blissful. Jack sipped icy lemonade, wearing a pair of borrowed shorts, hair still damp from the hasty cold shower that had gotten his body temperature back down to something approaching normal. Ra, or Ray as he preferred to be addressed, sat near the window, the sun warming his skin as Jack's metabolism equalized. "So, Lord Frost," Ray began. "Jack," Jack corrected, waving a careless hand at Ray as he gulped his drink. "I hardly think we need to bother with titles, do you? I mean, I practically passed out in your room." "Jack," Ray amended, raising an eyebrow and nodding. "Tell me, how long have you been insane?" His tone was perfectly conversational. "About three and a half centuries," Jack laughed at the look on Ray's face. "Ever since I met Rose." "Your wife." It wasn't a question. "That's right." He drained the lemonade with a happy sigh and crunched the ice, sitting back and smiling pleasantly at his host. "Feeling better?" Ray asked. "Much. Remind me not to do that again." "Bloody idiot," Ray growled. "You should know better. I had terrifying visions of millennia of paperwork if you up and died on my doorstep. Good Lord, man, Apollo would have kittens if one of Nicholas' boys came to harm in his territory. What were you thinking?" "It got your attention." Jack shrugged. "And came close to killing you," Ray said bluntly. Jack nodded a bit sheepishly. "I admit I hadn't thought things all the way through. I was desperate." He eyed the other man with respect. "I'm impressed that you didn't break cover until then, though." "Didn't give me much of a choice, did you now?" Ray said with some asperity. "No." Ray waited patiently. When it became apparent that Jack wasn't inclined to speak further, he sighed, and took the conversation reins in hand. "You said you needed my help?" The other man looked startled at the sound of Ray's voice, but nodded gamely. "I do. It's....complicated," Jack eyed Ray warily. "I imagine so." They regarded each other for several long seconds. Finally, Jack offered a crooked half-smile and shrugged one shoulder. "I assume you know of Rose?" "Who doesn't, mate?" Ray gave Jack a grin of his own. "The Great Lord of Winter, felled by fickle beauty, is the story." The Immortal circle was notoriously gossip-ridden; all members knew amazingly intimate things about people they'd never met. Jack nodded at Ray, obviously unsurprised at the remark. "Rose's mother is a Muse, yeah," Jack confirmed. "I've met her." "Really?" Ray asked with interest. "You've met a real Muse? What is she like?" "Gorgeous. Persuasive. Scary as hell." Jack's voice was rather flat, and Ray laughed, stopping when he realized Jack wasn't joking. "Scary? How so?" "Apparently, if she isn't your Muse, all that creative energy has an.....unfortunate effect." Jack met Ray's eyes squarely. "Even on other Immortals. Euphoria, sexual desire, amazing rush of energy. Followed by panic, depression, desperation." "Wow," was all Ray could think to say. "Especially uncomfortable when she's your mother," Jack said sagely. "To give her credit, she did her best to keep the meeting brief. But I got the tongue-lashing of a lifetime, let me tell you." "What for?" Ray was finding himself intrigued by Jack and his story. The man was still mad, of course. But interesting. Jack leaped to his feet, pacing in obvious agitation. "How was I supposed to know?" He asked, running his hands through his hair and looking at Ray imploringly. "You couldn't," Ray answered obligingly. "I mean, she's the Great Lord of Winter's daughter," Jack seemed eager to explain. "Of course she is," Ray nodded encouragement. "And all women, Immortals or no, have that time of month," Jack went on, tossing his comments over his shoulder as he continued pacing. "Sure." "She doesn't even know herself; how does Callie expect me to put it all together?" "No idea." "Exactly." They were silent a moment. "Jack?" "Yeah?" "What are we talking about?" Jack collapsed onto his chair again, sighing deeply and seeming to droop. "My wife." "Right. What about her?" "She's allergic to snow." Ray stared, clearly absorbing this incredible statement. Then he started to laugh. Jack glared as Ray whooped, stamping his feet and almost falling out of his chair. "It's not funny," Jack snapped. "Sorry, mate, but yeah....it is. It's fucking hilarious." Ray sat back and wiped his streaming eyes. "Big Nick's daughter allergic to snow? How is that not funny?" He laughed at Jack's thunderous expression. For an instant, Ray thought he might have gone too far, and Jack was going to leap across the room and remove his tongue by way of his esophagus. But the moment passed, and the Frost Lord relaxed, smiling ruefully. "Ask me that when you've endured three centuries of PMS that makes a rampaging gorilla look just a tad cranky." Ray snorted again, but offered no comment, and Jack smiled a bit wider. "I'm only exaggerating a little," he assured Ray. "It's cold, really, not snow per se, and not so much an allergy as intolerance. If she hasn't had regular exposure to warmer weather in too long...." Jack stopped suddenly, swallowing hard. "So send her here," Ray said, puzzled at the fuss. "You're both adults, you can endure the occasional separate vacations. I mean, I get why you can't come...more than a couple of days of this weather and you'll be sicker than a frat boy after a week-long kegger." "It's been left too long," Jack said quietly. "Once she's stable again, we'll do just that, I expect. But right now....we've been trotting around the globe, always following winter, for three hundred years. She complains about the cold just before Christmas, without fail, but refuses to leave me when the holiday's over, and truth is, I've never wanted to be away from her so I never insisted she go. It's not weather she needs to make this right, it's magic. Weather will only maintain her once she's out of danger. I think." "I don't understand." "She's only half a Winter Sprite, Ray. The other half's Muse, which is the only reason, apparently, she doesn't have to live half each year someplace like here. Muses have to tolerate all climates. Rose can tolerate cold most of the time. But sort of like batteries, her Muse half needs recharging now and then. You know how we Weather Immortals work; we get our strength from the climate we're built for. We can leave it from time to time, carry it with us inside, even use it, like I did with your drink. Muses recharge differently; they feed off creative energy. Rose, being a hybrid of a Winter High Lord and a Muse, apparently twisted her mother's ability and it mutated to work like her weather magic. She simply needs a climate change a few days out of the year. Usually. At least that's the theory." A Winters Rose The snow floated gently down on the assembly. The graves of those who had gone before, lie silently covered in their blankets of white. I stood against the chill of winter, my head bowed, contemplating. Contemplating life, contemplating death, contemplating the impact of one simple life upon this ball of mud called Earth. She was born, she lived, she died, it was as simple as that, or was it? In her years what had she accomplished? Her meager possessions had already been divvied up amongst those of us left. A few scraps of cloth, a few shards of glass, a couple of bits of gold, photographs faded by time, only this and nothing more. The minister said his Amens' and bade us to go in peace. Peace, what was that, I wondered as I made my way to the wood coffin. The coffin gleamed dully against the stark winter's backdrop. The gaping hole, a black earthen maw lie silently beneath her, ready to swallow her up. I plucked a rose from the funeral spray, something to remember this day by, as if I would ever forget. The white snow landed on the blood red of the bud melting, making the rose appear to be weeping. I turned and began to walk, the winds whispered to me as I carefully picked my way over the frozen waste. I searched the landscape for something to cheer me, to thaw my freezing heart, but there was nothing only silence and decay from the graves. At least the day was over, I thought to myself from the solace of my car, turning the key, backing out of the cemetery, I left her behind, left her behind to sleep in the black silence of eternity. The hum of my tires on the interstate was a rhythm of comfort. I was away from that wretched place, away from the stench of chrysanthemums, away from the well wishers, those who claimed to understand, but they couldn't; away, safely away from the remnants of my life, a life that would never be the same. The house was as dark and silent as the grave in which she slept, I put my souvenir in a tiny bit of water, but it was too late the beauty of the rose had already faded, it withered much has she had, their lifetimes spent. Carefully I pressed the petals between two books, I wondered to myself why people insist on doing this, how could a person's life be remembered by a dead, dried out flower? I poured myself a hit of whiskey and flipped on the TV, not to watch, but to drown out the deafening roar of silence. After a few more shots, I fell into a restless and troubled slumber. I dreamt of her, her hair as white as the snow which covered her grave. Her smile, always warm and welcoming, the look she always had in her brown eyes, a look of knowing things which others did not, and sometimes, she did. Her voice and her scent haunted me, I wondered if I had done right by her. Would she have liked the funeral? Was the minister the one she would have picked? What about the flowers, the music, her funeral dress, was she satisfied? Did I do the right thing by following her wishes and allowing her to die? Maybe I could have done something more, but in the end there was no more to be done, me a simple human following the commands of another, the doctors mere mortals, powerless to stop the progression of time. I had to make a decision, I had a question that I would never have an answer to; did I make the right one? The minutes turned into hours, the hours into days, the days into weeks, till months had passed. She was with me every second of every day, watching over me, whispering to me the same way that she always did. I began to wonder who died that day, who was buried beneath the cold dark earth, her or me? She had gone on, I remained left behind, changed by what had occurred, but still the same. I had to find a reason for it, there had to be an explanation. I looked to others for comfort and solace but found none. There simply were no answers, only more questions. I pushed the great oak door open, the church was dark and musty, and the evening rays of sun struck the panels of colored glass casting sad reflections onto the creaking wood floor. Far above, the crucified body of Christ looked down upon burning incense and candles, on my knees I looked up at Him. The Virgin Mary knowingly smiled down at me. I asked my questions, whispered my prayers, waiting silently for answers, the statues stood at their posts, mute. No secrets were revealed that day, or in the days that followed. I stood in the doorway to what was once her room, a gallon of paint in my grip. The sickly gray that had once adorned the walls was replaced stroke by stroke, the past disguised with latex. Blue, the brilliant blue of a future that had no meaning to me, the blue of my pain, the blue of my anger; I moved some furniture into the room, making it a study. A study for what? Evening light crept through the white plastic mini blinds, turning my brilliant blue in to the same sickly gray color that I had concealed. I was transformed back, this was her room again, and I thought that if I listened closely enough, I could hear her last gasps for air, a painful wheezing and rattling, the sounds that haunted my dreams every night. I took pills to sleep; each night the dreams were the same, dreams of death. I couldn't escape the reality of it, not even in my dreams. The stench of death, the black silence of the grave, the deafening roar of the death rattle, the sobs of the family, and the flood of tears. I had prayed for the Lord to take her fast, to end her misery. She had been good and kind to me, and I loved her. The moment came and it was over, her worn out body lay lifeless in the bed, the starched white sheet that covered her lay still across her. I looked to the doctors and nurses, asking why? They looked away, there was no explanation, her body had simply given out, and she had simply given up. Simply given up, it was unfathomable. Didn't she realize how much I needed her? Didn't she realize how dark and lifeless the world was without her? She was my light, and that light had gone out, I was lost and alone. Her birthday was drawing near. I searched through the flower shops trying to find an adornment worthy of her, something that would tell the world that underneath this cold slab of concrete, the remains of a great, kind, and loving woman remained. Nothing was good enough, nothing was suitable, I couldn't bring myself to travel out to her grave empty handed, and I whispered a short apology to her, hoping she would forgive me. A strange thing began to happen; I was finding pennies almost everywhere that I went. I found pennies in parking lots, in the seat of my car, in the laundry hamper; it seemed that no matter where I went, a penny was there. Some of the pennies were bright and shiny new, some were green with age, some were a dull brown. I had begun to collect the pennies, pitching them into an old mug of hers that I had kept. I had bought the mug for her one year for Christmas. I had earned money by shoveling snow and sweeping walks. After carefully shopping to select the perfect present and proudly digging the money out of my shoe, I presented it to her, full of steaming hot coffee. She was so surprised; she used the mug every morning there after. The mug was chipped in spots, but the words were still legible, blue against a yellow background "I love you" they spelled. One day I was bent over picking up a penny when a woman stopped me. She looked down at me from under the brim of her sun visor; her slip was peeking from under the hem of her cheap polyester skirt. "You know, those are pennies from heaven," she said. I looked up at her, not sure of how to reply. "I believe that those who love us pitch pennies down on us as a way to tell us that they are watching over us and keeping us safe" she reached into her pocket and pulled out a penny of her own. "This one is from my husband, you know something though, and the living have to keep on living. The dead want us to be happy, that's why they give us pennies, to remind us." She shifted her bag, hefting her great purse onto her shoulder and waddled to her car, leaving me stooping in a parking lot to ponder what she had said. That evening after having a couple of stout shots of whiskey, I came up with an idea. I pulled up to the tattoo parlor and told them about my idea. The artist was a large, burly man with several tattoos of his own. He drew up a sketch and after bearing my shoulder, set about doing his work. The drinks I had earlier might have dulled my sense of reason, but not my sense of pain. My arm felt as if it were on fire, the buzz of the gun was deafening in my ears, but for once, I couldn't hear her gasps. I almost stopped him in the middle of his work, but I stuck it out, I had to do this. I would be her memorial, the tattoo her monument, the design an outward expression of my inward pain. I inspected his work, the design was intricate; a ring of forget-me-nots encircling a penny. The forget –me-nots were her favorite flower, every year, her summer gardens were filled with them. The penny was to remind me that she was watching over me and that I was never alone. I chose to tattoo it on my back to remind me to leave the past behind, the penny was heads up, looking forward to my future, unknown. The pain that I endured from the tattoo seemed to ease the pain that I had endured for months. I pressed the breaks on the car, turning onto the dirt road of the cemetery, greeted by the rows of gray and black tombstones. I could have found hers blindfolded, easing the car into park and turning off the engine, I walked across the freshly mown grass. I sat in front of the marker, tracing the name with my fingertip. "Beloved" she was my beloved, and I was hers. I told her about what had been going on in my life, as if she didn't already know. I showed her my new tattoo, she didn't agree with getting tattoos, but I knew she approved of this one. I had finally found peace, I finally had my answers, life is for the living and death was a part of that life, one could not exist without the other. She was still as real as I was, she left because it was her time, and my time is yet to come. I hadn't made the wrong decisions, the decisions were never mine to make. She was safe and happy, and for the first time in what seemed an eternity, so was I. A Winter's Rose "Which she hasn't been getting," Ray was beginning to follow Jack's logic. Maybe the fellow wasn't crazy after all. "Bingo." Jack looked at Ray, his expression a little wary. "I'm sure you understand our job," he said abruptly. Ray raised a brow at the apparent change of subject. "Spirit of Winter, helping humans keep faith until Spring, et cetera, et cetera." "Right. Well, during the Holidays, my boss, whom you know happens to be Rose's father, gives us a special case, someone that needs an extra boost. Last half century or so, we've taken to calling the client our yearly Wonderful Lifer." Jack gave an answering sardonic grin to Ray's snort of laughter. "You know how it is.....well, maybe not, you've never married, no?" "No." Clearly, that was all Ray had to say about the subject. Jack shrugged and continued. "We have our share of mortal lovers, in the course of our jobs.....no big deal, you know?" Ray did. Immortals didn't have many hang-ups about sex in general, and most enjoyed relations with mortals when the mood stuck. Rose was unusually attuned to mortal emotions, and as a result was much choosier, Jack explained. In response, Jack had also kept his sexual adventures in context of his duty since his marriage. "Sure, we enjoy it when the opportunity is there," Jack said, his crooked smile flashing. "But, well...." "You're saying you two have remained faithful to each other as far as the Immortal community goes." Ray summed up, deciding Jack could use a break. The demand to sleep with his wife was beginning to make sense. "And you're asking me to change that?" "Yeah, I am," Jack said simply, seeming almost relieved now that the cards were on the table. "You're a Lord of Summer, Callie recommended you, and Rose needs the magical connection. You can get it through other ways, of course, but Rose doesn't have that kind of time. Sex is fastest and surest." "Assuming she even likes me." "She will," Jack said positively. "I do. You in?" Ray stared at the other man for a long moment, his face expressionless. Then he chuckled. "Ra, Sun Lord and gigolo. Who would have thought? Do I have time to pack?" *** Rose was thinking about their latest holiday client as she glided around the outdoor ice rink, her feet on autopilot. It was past eleven on Christmas Eve and she was the lone skater, the gleaming ice illuminated only by a few street lights made to resemble old-fashioned gas lanterns. She didn't mind; in fact, she preferred simple moonlight, but George, the owner of the resort, had insisted on leaving some of the lamps on after granting her permission to use the rink after hours. She was high from having completed their assignment, and this was a victory celebration of sorts. She couldn't wait to tell Jack when he got back from whatever mysterious errand he was on. George -- the unwitting object of her and Jack's concern - was now on his way to full recovery from the depression and apathy he had sunk into after his wife and parent's deaths. Not that she blamed the poor man; there's only so much misery a mortal can take, she thought sympathetically. Rose had taught his daughter to skate -- well, really she only got George to see the astonishing talent emerging from the adorable six-year-old charmer. A few hints here and there, the tiniest bit of a magical push in the right direction, and a sorrowing widower on the brink of emotional and financial ruin had found his way back to the path of security again. Father and daughter had rebonded, and the resort was saved. Rose felt so good about her part in it that she had needed some quiet time to think and ice to move on and bleed off some energy. She had received more than a few interested looks from mortals as she prettily asked George if it were all right to skate this late; she knew from long experience it was best to absent herself. Right now she might as well be dumping buckets of pheromones at her feet. As she lapped the ice, she reflected on how cleverly she had managed their client. George now had an investor in the resort, one who was willing to be a silent partner. Rose smirked to herself. Jack will grumble and tease her about being a bleeding heart for mortals, but he'll be pleased to help George and Molly for the next ten years. She had arranged for one of her father's associates to act as go-between so George wouldn't suspect she was behind the sudden windfall. It was going to be worth every penny, that she was absolutely certain of. Rose had already glimpsed a brilliant future for both the Waltons. Smiling with satisfaction, Rose gradually felt the rhythm of the ice take over, letting the music she seemed to always carry in her head come forward and guide her body. She spun and leaped effortlessly, the familiar exhilaration taking hold. Skating always felt like a heady combination of dancing and flying, the thin silver blades on her boots her only tether to earth. It was the one time she truly felt like the Winter Sprite she was. She detested skiing, even though Jack, who probably skied before he could walk, earnestly said she was a natural. He teased her about falling into snow drifts, but it was merely a joke between them -- she rarely fell, and could tackle almost as difficult of mountains as her husband could. She just didn't like being surrounded by so much snow. Skating, however, was vastly different. Here, on the ice, she was at home. She felt her blades as extensions of her body, tracing patterns on the cold slickness under her feet. She sometimes improvised routines on freshly cleaned ice so that the marks of her skates drew a literal picture, chuckling to herself because few ever realized it. Now, she simply danced, letting her internal music dictate the steps. After a few minutes, she visualized a man joining her, keeping time, complimenting her turns and poses. She instinctively matched her imaginary partner's movements, the music swelling, her arms curved gracefully over her head, one leg extended behind, a ballerina on ice. The tune ebbed and faded, and she felt the hum on her skin that told her that her husband was near. She glided to a graceful stop almost in the middle of the rink, looking up eagerly. Smiling brilliantly, bursting with the news of George and Molly, she sought Jack's gaze, but the delight froze a little on her face as she realized he was not alone. Another man was with him and she couldn't help but stare as the full force of his unfamiliar gaze struck her. Her first thought was how entirely different two men could look that were so similar in height, build, and coloring. They each were tall and elegantly slender, wide-shouldered without being burly -- a dancer's build. Both were blond, but Jack's was nearly white, while the stranger's was warmly golden. Without realizing she was moving, she drew closer, her skates whispering across the ice. The stranger's eyes were deep summer blue, almost the color of forget-me-nots, a flower she rarely saw since she lived most of her life in winter. The purity of the color took her breath away. His hair was long, touching his shoulders, and grew in thick curly profusion, a definite contrast to Jack's short, straight, fine locks. Jack was pale, this man was deeply tanned. The blue eyes were trained on her violet ones, looking slightly stunned. Rose didn't realize she was at the edge of the ice until she had one hand extended, touching the stranger's cheek, so utterly absorbed by the lines of his face she barely noticed when Jack cleared his throat. She wanted to look at Jack, but at that moment the stranger placed his hand over hers, turning his head so that his lips grazed her palm, making her shiver. But when Jack took her free hand to turn her to face him, the shock of electricity that snapped through her froze her on the spot. She could tell the man felt it too; his eyes grew wide, the whites showing all around. Rose heard Jack inhale sharply and that released her muscles enough to look at her husband. He had the same look of wonder and bemusement in his ice blue eyes, and something else....relief? She wasn't sure, but didn't have time to ask, because at that moment the stranger tugged her hand over his shoulder and pulled her to him. When his lips touched hers, the warmth that flooded her body was almost orgasmic. Rose was still holding Jack's hand, and she felt it squeeze hers as she shuddered with a sudden rush of desire that nearly buckled her knees. Years of skating kept her upright, but she did sag a little against the broad chest, feeling the man's arm tighten around her waist. The other skimmed slowly up her body and paused at her shoulder, giving it a little squeeze of reassurance. Then it moved again, trailing along until it rested against her cheek, the wide palm cupping her face tenderly, almost reverently. All the while, his mouth was tasting hers, not kissing so much as savoring, and Rose was helpless against the power of that tenderness. She lost herself in the feel of him, the heat that coursed through her veins, the dizzying sensation of finally, gloriously, feeling completely warm from the inside out. I don't even know his name was the first sane thought to hit her. Followed by I don't care. That was enough to draw her gently way from that amazing mouth, searching the face of the stranger whom she had surrendered to without so much as a hello. The physical ache of being separated from him startled her, and she took his hand again, feeling the balance of fire and ice humming along her veins soothe her as she stood, linked between them. She looked from one face to the other, trying to sort out the storm of emotion, and sighed, biting her lip. The stranger smiled a little lopsidedly and spoke. "Hello, Rose. I'm Ray." His voice was as deep as Jack's, a low rumble that made her stomach flip around and her heart beat a little faster. She smiled. "Hi Ray." It was inane, but the only thing she could come up with. Somehow, now that we've covered introductions, let's get naked seemed a bit too forward. But every cell yearned for the touch of Ray's skin on hers. She looked at Jack, trying to gauge how he was feeling, and saw a look in his eyes that warmed her as much as Ray's kiss had. Love, tenderness, bemusement, wonder, and raw desire all mixed together, with an edge that from long experience she knew promised adventure and a night that would require stamina. This flashed between them in one long, eloquent look before he shrugged and smiled that crooked tender smile that always made her melt. "Hi Babe. I guess I don't have to introduce Ray." "I guess not," she said a bit dazedly. "He was your errand?" "Yeah." Jack looked faintly uncomfortable, and Rose narrowed her eyes at him. "Why?" The question was simple, but she could see by both men's reaction that the answer would not be. She held up a hand to stop them as they drew breath. "Wait. Let's get inside first." *** It didn't take long for her to change from skates to boots and for the trio to make their way to the suite. Rose found herself touching Ray and Jack constantly, holding their hands as they crunched through the snow to the lodge, the top of her head barely reaching their shoulders. The three were silent as they walked. The lobby was deserted and the elevator ride was brief. Soon the three of them were in the living area of the suite, a bottle of wine opened and poured, which was quite a trick as Rose wouldn't let go of either man for more than a few seconds at a time. Ray and Jack managed as a team to uncork the bottle and retrieve glasses. The thought of asking Rose to back away didn't seem to occur to either of them. The couch wasn't big enough for all three. Rose led them to the rug in front of the fireplace, a large faux bearskin that was so soft and silky no self-respecting bear would have deigned to sport it. Rose sat gracefully, the men following suit, and she looked at Jack, who balanced his and her wine glasses in one large hand, the delicate stems held between long fingers. A deft move sat them on the hearth, Ray placing his glass nearby, and they all looked at each other. Rose took a deep breath, released their hands and kept herself from grabbing them back only by forcing herself to pick up her wine glass and drink deeply. Half the glass was downed in one long gulp, and she knew her father, a wine enthusiast, would have winced at the cavalier treatment of fine wine. Jack did wince a little, but it seemed more sympathetic than disapproving. She hopped up, grabbed a couple more bottles and a corkscrew, and brought them to the hearth. The momentary panic of being apart from Jack and Ray even that briefly faded as she again touched each in turn. Finally, she sighed and looked at her husband searchingly. "Jack, what's going on?" she asked bluntly. The explanation, which was delivered entirely by her husband, with Ray silently watching and sipping wine, stunned her. She stared uncomprehendingly from one to the other, too numb to really grasp it right away. One point wormed its way through, however. "You talked to my mother about our sex life!?" "Technically, it was about your sex life," Jack made a feeble attempt at a joke. Rose glared. "She talked to me, sweetheart," Jack looked at her pleadingly, his cheekbones stained faintly pink. "And she seems to be right. I've never seen you react to anyone so strongly before." He nodded at Ray with a small smile. Ray nodded back, and Rose sighed again. "Okay," she said softly. "I'll give you that." She sipped her wine again, then speared her husband with a piercing look. "Are you really okay with this?" "Baby," Jack said sincerely, "if it kept you breathing, I'd be okay with Beelzebub himself." He smiled at her, dimples flashing, and she couldn't help but grin back. "That's not what I meant," she laughed. "I know, sweetheart." Jack took a thoughtful sip of his wine, glancing at Ray, who raised his glass in salute before sipping himself. Jack grinned at him, and faced his wife. "I mean it," he said, his voice quiet. "Your life is worth far more than my pride. But Rose....Ray is something I didn't count on. Whatever happened at the rink is real. Ray's a brother now, something closer to both of us than I ever expected. I think Callie knew, and sent me to find him. She sure as hell knew you'd never go looking for him." "Ray?" Rose looked at him, her violet eyes direct, a universe of unspoken questions in that one syllable. He met her stare calmly. "I thought Jack was crazy," Ray said frankly. "But he obviously believed what he was saying. I said yes because........well, what breathing male wouldn't agree?" A dimple flashed, then his expression turned serious. "Then I saw you." He paused, taking a long swallow of wine and leisurely refilling all their glasses. "I saw your soul as you skated, and I knew I'd come home." He shook his head, unable to find better words. "When you touched us both, I knew for sure that I'd found what I'd been looking for." He set down his glass, calmly taking Jack's and Rose's drinks from them and setting them on the hearth. "I understand your confusion, Rose. I feel it too. So does Jack. But it's okay, it really is. Let me show you." With that, he took her small soft hand in his big hard one, and with a smooth motion, grasped Jack's wrist with his left hand. Jack instinctively returned the grip, and the three of them snapped upright as electricity zapped them with a force hard enough to make them gasp. Sweet, dizzy, drowning desire hit all of them in a wave so powerful they would have staggered if they had been on their feet. As it was, Rose made a sound very like a whimper and pitched forward so abruptly that Jack and Ray barely had the presence of mind to catch her as she fell. Their locked arms caught her as each man dropped a slack hand and instinctively scooped under her torso. The result was a nearly limp Rose supported by Jack and Ray, their linked arms spanning across her rib cage, the opposite hands crossing each other at the wrist and cupping a breast each. She moaned as both men reflexively tightened their grip, meeting each other's gaze with a purely male look of understanding. Jack gave Ray a nod, and they shifted their weight enough so that Rose rolled toward the Sun Lord. A slight flex and Rose was in Ray's arms, her mouth being devoured, his hands spanning her slender waist. Jack scooted closer, hands sliding over her ribs to cup her breasts through her sweater. She moaned into Ray's mouth, nipples tightening into hard nubs under her husband's tender touch. Ray's tongue slid sensuously along hers, teasing, stroking, gently demanding her response. Jack nibbled the back of her neck, his fingertips soft but insistent as they slipped under her sweater, skimming her skin, sending tingles down her spine. Rose moaned again, in the grip of desire so strong she felt boneless as a rag doll. She was pulled away from Ray, her sweater being tugged over her head and cast aside, the lacy nothing of a bra swiftly unclasped and discarded. Her head fell back on Jack's shoulder as he held her, bare to the waist, hands cupping her breasts, teeth nipping her ear lobe. Ray leaned forward and captured one pert nipple between his lips, sucking gently, then stronger as she whimpered at the combined attention. She could feel waves of hot desire from both men as they left no inch of her bare skin unworshiped. A sudden surge of energy washed over her and she began to move restlessly, wanting to participate rather than simply receive. Her hands sought Ray's shirt, barely able to fumble the buttons loose, and he obligingly helped her along by ripping it open, buttons flying. Then her fingers were plunged into his hair, kneading his scalp. Her mouth was on his, sucking his tongue as she pressed against him, his warmth like a balm on her skin. She felt a hand in her hair, stroking, playing with the long coppery locks, then twining into the mass and dragging her away from Ray. Jack was kissing her now, with an intensity that she'd never quite felt before, possessive and demanding and loving, but not jealous...it was joyous and sweet and giving. Ray was taking advantage of her distraction by deftly removing her boots and tugging down her leggings, kissing random bits of bare skin as he pulled them free. Jack held her, one hand firm on the back of her head, his tongue leisurely exploring her mouth, the other making slow sensual circles along her side, over her hip, teasing her navel and up her torso to tweak each nipple into aching hardness. She whimpered, groping for his shirt, yanking impatiently at it so she could touch the hard smooth skin underneath. Ray had succeeded in removing her pants, and she felt him nibbling her toes, his warm wet tongue tracing the arch of her foot, sharp little nips along her calves and a startling stab of lust as he probed behind each knee. Rose twitched almost violently as Ray found a particularly sensitive spot, causing her breasts to thrust even more firmly into Jack's hands. He happily capitalized on her reaction, pinching the already pebble-hard nubs just enough to make her moan helplessly, simultaneously biting the place where her neck joined her shoulder. Rose squirmed in his lap, now clad only in a ridiculous scrap of bright red lace. He felt the moment she became aware of the more obvious evidence of his desire. She stilled for just a fraction of a moment, registering the heavy hardness of his cock thrusting against the small of her back. A dreamy smile tugged at her lips as she adjusted her squirming to stroke him with one hip. Then she gasped aloud as Ray's long clever fingers found her hot slick center, the thumb pressing against the bud of her clit, and she came, flooding his hand and moaning into Jack's mouth as he jerked her to him and kissed her at the moment of climax. A Winter's Rose She had no time to recover. Ray, delighted at her reaction, wasted no time in removing the last barrier between them and diving forward with enthusiasm. Rose was overwhelmed with piercing, aching, glorious lust as the Sun Lord's tongue lapped at her, exploring every crevice and teasing her expertly. Jack released her mouth long enough to watch her face for a long moment, clearly reveling in her enjoyment, and gently laying her back against the rug. Ray paused only long enough to adjust Rose's legs over his shoulders and eagerly continued to suck and lick and tease her to the edge of madness. She came twice again before he would allow her to ease down. In the mean time, Jack had disrobed in record time and was aiding and abetting his newfound brother by keeping Rose too distracted elsewhere to escape Ray's relentless tongue. "Do you know how hot you are?" he murmured in her ear, lightly nipping the lobe. "Do you have any idea how badly I want to fuck you until you can't walk right now? God, yes, baby, don't stop..." It was his turn to moan as she gripped him, stroking slow and feeling him throb in her palm. The stroking became a series of insistent little tugs that brought his cock closer to her face, Jack protesting feebly that this was about her, not him. She ignored him grandly, flashing him a naughty look before suddenly encasing his whole pulsing length into the hot, wet cavern of her mouth. The groan that issued from his throat as she began to suck reverberated through all three, Ray pausing in his feast to grin up at them both. Jack's hands plunged into Rose's hair, his hips moving almost involuntarily. Ray's head dipped again, slowly rebuilding Rose's excitement with slow searching strokes of his tongue. He felt her quivering under his hands, her fingers in his hair, the purring growl of Jack's breathing, his own rising lust. His teeth found her clit, grazing the sensitive button until she was thrusting at his face, moaning around Jack's cock. He brought her to the brink of orgasm and backed off, feeling her frustrated delight at his teasing. When she couldn't stand one more second, he plunged two fingers into her hot tight wetness and had the satisfaction of feeling her buck hard into his hand as she almost shrieked her orgasm. He tried an experimental curving of his fingers and grinned as she bucked again, glancing up to see Jack, eyes half closed as he received a magnificent blow job, watching with interest and a slow smile. Ray grinned back, and used his thumb against her clit, almost laughing with joy as she bucked again, and her inner muscles clamped down on his fingers. Jack almost lazily reached down and brushed his hand over her clit as well, groaning as her mouth clamped down as hard as her pussy. Rose was almost out of her mind. She was quivering uncontrollably, each manipulation of Ray's fingers and mouth increasing the sensation, sucking Jack's cock as if it was a lifeline. When her husband touched her, she almost jumped out of her skin. Then she felt herself being lifted, encouraged to move, Jack withdrawing from her mouth. She whimpered in protest, but subsided as she felt him pull her into his arms, cradling her with his legs around her hips, cupping her breasts and kissing her long and sweet. Then Ray was between her legs, his deep blue eyes locking with hers, taking her face in his hands and kissing her, tasting her lips, tender and demanding and humble all at once, giving her one last chance to say no. But she wanted this, she wanted him, and Jack was there, holding her, kissing her ear, whispering that this was the hottest thing he'd ever seen or done, and how much he loved her. She touched both of their faces, wondering how someone she'd met less than two hours ago could suddenly mean so much, when Ray, eyes never leaving her face, slid into her with a soft groan of pleasure. She gasped as he filled her completely, lodging deep inside her womb, the shock of connection sending a bolt of lightning down her spine. "Oh fuck you're tight," Ray gasped as he slowly moved his hips until just the head of his cock was inside her. He panted, pausing to keep himself from bursting in just a few strokes. Rose's cunt was practically gobbling his cock and he could barely restrain himself from mindlessly slamming himself into her softness. When he finally could trust himself to move, she met each slow thrust with mewling cries and an equal flex of her hips. They started a slow sensual rhythm, and Rose felt Jack's hands stroking her heated skin as Ray thrust in and out of her body. Then the warmth began to spread, starting between her legs and surging quickly through every cell, a bone-deep, life giving heat that made her want to stretch like a cat in a sunbeam. But now Ray was thrusting harder, and she was moaning into his mouth as he kissed her deep, and Jack was shifting under her, his skin cool compared to the firebrand that was becoming her and Ray. Jack was suddenly gone, and she panicked for a moment, then he was there again, holding her as Ray moved so they were face to face on their sides, and Jack had his hand between her legs, wet and slick and slippery. Rose felt a finger thrust into her ass, and she moaned as Jack fingered her. Then she felt him, hard and thick, probing at her, his hands stroking and soothing, and Ray's voice murmuring encouragement, and slowly, carefully, she felt Jack's cock slide inside, pausing to give her time to get used to him, and Ray slowed to barely moving at all. Her eyes wide, Rose felt both her lovers' breath on her face, their cocks lodged deep, their hands on her skin. When they started to move, slowly back until Jack was thrust to the hilt, then forward until she could feel Ray hit bottom, the sensation was so intense she almost passed out. The heat that was Ray was balanced by Jack's coolness, and soon the two found a natural rhythm with Rose moaning and writhing between. Rose felt as if she was reduced to raw sensation; the overwhelming pleasure of being completely filled had become her entire universe. She felt Jack close to orgasm, and had come herself so many times she had lost count. Ray caught her gaze as she opened her eyes, his face shining with her juices and on impulse she leaned forward and licked at his mouth, lapping like a cat to clean him. He almost purred and thrust a little harder, making her moan. Jack bent a little, moving faster, and she felt his cock swell deep in her ass, his balls slapping her with each thrust, his breath hot in her ear. She felt him shove deep.....once, twice.....and on the third thrust erupted with a deep satisfied groan. At that moment, Ray ground into her, catching her clit hard against his cock and she came spasmodically as Jack emptied himself with hot spurts. Ray grabbed Rose's waist, rolling her onto her back with Jack still deep inside, suddenly positioning her with deep, fast, hard strokes that made her moan helplessly. Jack was still hard and every thrust of Ray's made him quiver inside her. Only a thin membrane separated the two cocks shoved into Rose, and it was being caressed almost brutally. She let out a keening cry, coming so hard she felt her vision go gray at the edges. Ray's growl of satisfaction followed, and he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt as he came so hard Rose swore her teeth rattled. And as his heat exploded inside, Rose finally let go entirely. She came to only moments later, dazed and boneless and sated, her lovers curled around her. She felt Jack's cool lips on her cheek, and Ray's warm ones on her forehead, but she could not have moved if they held a gun to her head. She tried to speak but gave it up as too much effort. She felt them ease out of her and whimpered as they left. "Let's get her to bed," Jack's voice sounded far away, and Rose smiled at the sound. "I'm almost afraid to go there, considering what you two are capable of outside bed," she managed to joke. "The princess speaks," Ray sounded amused. "I was starting to think the cat got your tongue." "Nope, all parts accounted for," she assured him. She raised a hand and touched his face as he bent to pick her up. "Ray?" "Yes, Rose?" "Will you stay with us?" She peered at him anxiously. "This wasn't just a...fling for you?" Ray set her down carefully on the bed as Jack held the covers for her to slide under, and without discussion, they joined her, Rose curled happily between. "It isn't a fling," Ray said softly. "Even if I thought that was what it was supposed to be at first. But Rose, I have a job. It's not as simple as wanting to stay." He looked at Jack, who shrugged. "Nothing worth having is ever simple," Jack said, kissing his drowsy wife and giving Ray a wink. "And it's Christmas. Who knows what can happen?" "That's right," Rose smiled and touched Ray's cheek. "Dad always says so. Who would know that better than him?" "I bow to Big Nick's wisdom," Ray chuckled. "Merry Christmas, Rose." *** A few thousand miles away, in the luxurious private chamber of the Great Lord of Winter, a scrying mirror was being smugly observed by Calliope. The image of her daughter, Jack, and Ray snuggling in the oversized bed faded as she drew the red velvet drape across the magical glass. "Is she safe?" Nick rumbled from the bed. He had refused to spy on his daughter while there was any chance she was sexually engaged. Callie had fewer scruples then her lover, but in truth did not wish to invade Rose's privacy and had only tuned in when she was reasonably certain the deed was done. She smiled like a cat and slinked over to the bed, her pale skin glowing like pearls in the moonlight. She had not bothered with a robe and Nick eyed her slender curves with deep appreciation. Callie purred as he ran a hand down her side, admiring the deep red hair and fit physique of the man sprawled casually next to her. "She's safe," Calliope confirmed, rubbing her cheek against his palm as he cupped her face. "Remind me why we never married?" "You know it would never have worked," Nick chuckled as she slipped between the sheets and snuggled close. "Your job and mine....ah well. I'm content as we are, love." "As am I," she nodded. "Although I wasn't always." "Don't remind me," Nick growled. "I'm not sure I forgive you yet for inspiring that Moore fellow." Callie laughed wickedly. "Fat man in a red suit," she said smugly. "That really was genius. I don't think you'll ever live that one down." She patted his flat belly affectionately. "But it really was a low blow to bribe my sister to inspire that awful movie in retaliation. Thank the Gods Xanadu was a flop. Such a shame that it was Mr. Kelly's final movie, though. He deserved much better." "Agreed." Nick nodded ruefully. "I learned my lesson, love - never tangle with a Muse. You'll always lose, and often look foolish for generations." He kissed her nose. "But really, Callie....this time you really take the prize. Two sons? I understand the necessity, but how in all the Gods' names are they going to manage that?" "It's Christmas," Callie said, echoing Jack with a gleam in her eye. "Anything can happen."