A/N: Happy… early-October? It's almost time to pull out the artificial Christmas tree, isn't it? Ish?

_oOo_

Ch.6 – Finding Time

_oOo_

The shout blasted into his head and shattered his thoughts. Bernard felt the danger, and instinct demanded that he try to pull out of the plane of magic, back to the living room, but he couldn't. Something was relentlessly tugging him into the strange, empty void, compressing his lungs. If he gave in he'd be able to breathe… but Pete waited on the other side, he knew. This was the same feeling he'd gotten from the teleport pull that had brought him to Santa's house without a purpose. Far away now, the echoes of Pete's voice tumbled from an indistinct direction, singing bits of carols that Bernard hadn't heard in centuries.

Frustration and annoyance gave him a surge of will power that allowed him to yank himself out of the plane, or else Pete chose to release him. He heard Santa ask what had happened as the living room appeared dimly before his eyes, and the floor beneath him was reminiscent of a Tilt-A-Whirl from hell, spinning and bucking off its hinges.

"Are you okay?" he heard Charlie ask, through the wooshing of blood pounding in his ears. Each pulse sent a crack of pain fizzling through his head. Santa reached out to steady him, which was about when Bernard realized he was tipping over a bit. Vertigo got the better of him and he sunk to the carpet as carefully as he could, then leaned back against the couch, eyes closed.

"Pete…" he said, but stopped, not sure what to say. Pete was lurking in the magic plane, waiting for me? Pete was singing Christmas carols whilst attempting to drag me into oblivion? Father Time is nowhere to be seen, perhaps because Pete has cut off my link to the greater fabric of Time, rendering us isolated and almost surely screwed?

"Pete is closer than I thought," he finished with a sigh.

"What happened?" asked Santa, who had knelt down by the elf, concern plastered across his face. Charlie was looking around suspiciously, probably thinking Pete was about to come waltzing up the basement stairs. A distinct possibility, but Bernard wasn't about to let on.

"I don't know what happened. I tried to find Father Time but the only thing out there was Pete. And he sounds even more insane than the last time I talked to him. He's been screwing around with my teleports, too, I think he's why I came here this morning when nothing was wrong. Still don't know why he'd want to do that, though."

"Where was he, though? What do you mean, he was 'there'?"

"I don't know how to explain it. His presence was there. He has a definite material form so he shouldn't be able to do that. Or he had a definite material form. Who knows now."

"Are you okay?" his boss asked again.

"I've got the flu," Bernard replied in exasperation. And my head's going to explode, he didn't add. Darkness jumped at the edge of his vision with each heartbeat.

"So… what do we do?"

The elf wanted to throw up his hands and yell 'I don't know!' but that was hardly appropriate. What he really wanted to do was share the burden of responsibility with someone – that meant Father Time. How else could he get a hold of the entity? There was no way he was going to try calling out again.

"Charlie, hand me the radio." The teen reached it over and Bernard pressed the call button, wondering if he should collect his thoughts before letting Judy know what was going on. Of course, it was too late for any real coherency when Judy answered.

"Bernard?"

"Hey Judy. Bad news."

_oOo_

Santa tried to sit still while Bernard talked to Judy, but his legs refused to obey. He got up and paced, worry boiling away in his gut. The situation kept getting worse, and he had too many things to worry about, not the least being Pete wanted him dead. What about his son? What about his wife? What about all the elves at the Pole, and what about Christmas itself? Christmas was supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year, wasn't it? What was happening was so sudden he felt as if he'd stepped into another plane of existence altogether, one where none of the rules of reality, stretched thin as they already were, applied.

Maybe I'm having a nightmare, he thought, suddenly hoping. He used to have Christmas nightmares all the time when he was a kid – Santa didn't come, he only got coal, bad gifts, the tree starting on fire – so why couldn't he be having one now? But as he thought about it, he realized with a crawling certainty that this was no dream. He'd had the same realization when he and Laura had divorced, and when Charlie had been taken away from him for those few tortuous weeks, nine years ago.

No nightmare, then. And he was unable to help. Absolutely in the dark, and here he was, Santa Clause. He would have guessed he'd be the one who was in control of the situation, being the Big Guy himself. He needed to know what was going on, desperately needed the details, more facts, more information, but Bernard wasn't telling him anything. It was his right to know, wasn't it? It was his duty to defend the Christmas spirit, wasn't it, so shouldn't he have known all these things beforehand? Bernard should have told him everything years before. They should have sat down together after that first Christmas and Bernard should have made a point to tell him all these important details, about dark times and dark dwarves, white magic and gleipnir, first thing. Scott stopped his pacing for a moment to throw a semi-involuntary glower at his head elf, who was still on the radio with Judy.

Bernard was still pressed against the foot of the sofa. The hand that wasn't holding the radio was holding up his downcast face, and his voice was wreathed in weariness. The elf's eyes were shrouded with a foggy gloom that immediately dispelled most of Scott's blame. Clearly Bernard was having as hard of a time with the situation as he himself was, if for different reasons. How many times had the head elf told Scott to visit the hall of records? And Scott had failed on all accounts. Now that the situation had come up, he felt like a fool for not knowing everything that had happened in the past.

Seeing Bernard crumple after attempting to reach Father Time hadn't been encouraging, either. Bernard had never not seemed in control – he'd always been the sharp voice of reason, and he always seemed to know everything. Clearly, at the present moment he didn't know what to do. A bit worrisome. A tad. A smidgeon.

Bernard put the radio down and sighed, rubbing his temples. Scott took this as a cue to push his mind onto a more relevant topic.

"What did Judy say?" he asked.

"She's trying to summon Father Time, and hopefully he'll either be able to tell her something useful and she'll tell us, or he'll be able to come here himself. I'll trust him to make the wisest choice." Bernard closed his eyes. "I don't know what to do in the meantime. She should be calling any second."

Scott took this as a cue to sit down and twiddle his thumbs, something he'd never quite had enough coordination to do. Charlie, a growing teen and therefore perpetually hungry, left to heat up some soup. Scott couldn't imagine eating anything at the moment. Watching his son leave the room even made him nervous, and he almost followed Charlie into the kitchen, but held back. After all, how could Pete know he had a son? He told himself he was being paranoid. His unease didn't leave.

"Jern og magi," Bernard mumbled, and lay down at the base of the sofa, muttering to himself in Norwegian for a few seconds before falling silent. Santa stared at him; the elf was shaking with spells of chills. He was tempted to take the blanket from the sofa and drape it over his body, but the fact that Bernard was his old-as-dirt advisor, not some helpless kid, stayed his hand. They should be keeping up a somewhat formal relationship, shouldn't they?

"Grab a blanket if you're cold, dummy," he advised. Bernard didn't respond, and after peering closer, Scott figured he was sleeping. He gave in and laid the blanket over Bernard. He couldn't help it; his parental instincts were on overload. Even though Charlie was in the next room, clunking around with some pots, Scott idly wished Charlie had a cell phone. Just in case they got separated. At least he'd be able to call to make sure his son was okay. Which was, he reflected, quite possibly one of the reasons that Charlie hadn't wanted one in the first place.

Bernard started, and half sat up. "She call?"

"Nope."

"Kull, I fell asleep."

"Go back to sleep. I'll kick you if anything happens."

"No, I should be awake. Don't want you kicking me." Nonetheless, he lay back down. One of those 'I'm going to lay down now but I'm really not going to sleep' aspirations, inherently doomed to failure. He was sleeping again within the next ten seconds.

This was the radio's cue to buzz. Typical. Santa snatched it up and answered the call, his foot wondering if it should keep its promise and kick the elf awake.

"Judy?" he asked.

"Hello there," answered a cheerful voice. Not Judy. Immediately, he recognized it as the voice that had spoken in his head. He kicked Bernard, who sat up a lot quicker than Santa had been expecting. "So, how are preparations going? Everything all in a row for the big day?" said the voice. It had a strange, echoing quality about it, and a twinge of an accent. Santa gestured wildly at the radio, mouthing 'Pete' to Bernard, who seemed unfazed as he reached for the radio. Santa handed it to him, and leaned forward, listening. Charlie walked into the room with a bowl and froze.

"Pete," Bernard said, interrupting Pete, who had been rambling. "What are you doing?" The question was so saturated with weariness that the voice didn't reply immediately; at least, Santa wanted to think that Pete had picked up on the seriousness of Bernard's question.

"What am I doing?" asked the tiny voice on the other end of the radio. "Well, I suppose I'm creating somewhat of an interference with your radio." Bernard didn't answer. "And," Pete continued after a moment, "I'm coming back. But you knew that. Because you're Bernard! You know everything." By now Charlie had knelt down next to them and was attempting to listen as well.

"How did you get out?"

"Would I really tell you my secret?"

"Thought I'd ask."

"You don't sound so good. How are you faring in your old age?"

"Better than the last time you saw me," said Bernard, bitterness edging his voice. "If you tell me what you want, maybe we can work something out with minimum disaster. I'm just gonna remind you that picking a fight with the orders of existence probably isn't the wisest."

"You know what else wasn't the wisest?" Pete waited for a response that wouldn't come. "Locking me to what I did wasn't the wisest. Do you have any idea how long a thousand years feels? I mean, really feels? Stuck in one spot, facing eternity? I was almost ready to feel sorry for what I did, I'll have you know—zwart, I DID feel sorry about it. Anything to have gotten out of that. But did the bonds break? No! You and that old man Father Time are liars! And now I've gone completely insane, I fathom, and I'm a little peeved at you. You know? A little angrier than before? Wasn't the wisest move on your part. Feeding the flame and all. But! I blather. Can't wait to see you when I get here, it's been too long. I miss your gloomy face. Need to meet this new Santa, too, I suppose. And his son, shan't forget him." Scott tensed, but Bernard held up his palm to still him.

"Wait, you're not here yet?"

"My body's lagging behind a bit. I like to think of it as being fashionably late. Zwart, everything I do is fashionable."

"You really have cracked, haven't you?"

"Yes, my dear Bernard, and mine's not going to be the only cracked head. Not for long." Before Bernard could say anything else, Pete's voice was replaced by a burst of static. His tone had switched into 'sinister' mode there at the end, and Scott's heart took a plunge into his stomach. The call signal shrieked to life, causing all three of them to jump.

"Hello?" said the voice.

"Judy!" Bernard answered. "Did you hear all that?"

"Yes, Pete must have interrupted my signal. I was going to tell you something, but…" But now, Scott knew, they shouldn't use the radios to say anything important, as Pete could potentially hear anything they said. Which he didn't understand at all, but that was nothing new.

"Yeah…" said Bernard, somehow conveying with the single word that they knew why she wasn't telling them anything. Scott watched the gears in the elf's head turning. It was a mightily awkward situation. Their next step depended upon if Judy had gotten into contact with Father Time. Suddenly, Bernard's forehead stitched up in thought. He lifted the radio to his mouth.

"Um… Sizi… nasıl konuşmalısınız?" Scott sighed, wishing he was fluent in more languages. He was getting better as the years went on, but he had no idea what this new one was. Bernard's speech was halting and hesitant, but the elf looked hopeful.

"Evet! Evet… iyi bir fikir. Ah, bence," came Judy's reply, and Scott could see the relief on Bernard's face. Presumably they'd found a language they didn't think Pete knew.

"Öğrendiniz?" Bernard asked, and they proceeded to have a short, choppy conversation, effectively leaving Charlie, Scott, and (he hoped) Pete in the dark. After a few moments Bernard put the radio down and turned to the expectant stares of the two humans.

"Judy said – "

There was a soft sound from behind them all, like the foof of a stove igniting or a heavy flag billowing in a gust. Scott was sure it was also the sound of Pete appearing in their living room, but upon turning around he was greeted with the exceptionally welcome site of Father Time.

"… that she found him," Bernard finished.

"Father Time," Scott said, standing. "What a welcome site. Thanks for making an appearance." Scott bit back a bad pun about time never being around when he needed it the most, because the expression on Father Time's visage froze his thoughts. The old man's usual gentle, bemused smile had been cast away in the wake of stormy eyes and a mouth that finally gave Scott an idea of what it meant to have a 'long face'. He bit his tongue even harder as why the long face? tried to come popping out of his mouth. Father Time nodded gravely to him, and then to Charlie. Bernard had pushed himself to his feet – Scott could almost hear the elf's joints protesting – and now stared at Father Time in a helpless sort of way, while the elder figure in turn cast his questing gaze at the elf. After a moment Bernard lowered his eyes.

"Sit," Father Time said, and Bernard sat down on the couch. "How long," asked the old man, coming forward a few steps, "have you been ill?"

"Few hours. A day. Hard to tell."

"How are you doing?" The question was one Scott had heard many times in the past few hours, had heard many times over the course of his life. It was a courtesy question, like, 'how was your day?', or 'how did you sleep?', usually asked in a tone that was polite yet distant, because the asker already knew what the answer would be. 'Ok'. 'Pretty good'. 'Not so well'. 'Eh'. All answers that would evoke a nod from the asker, and the conversation would move on. As Father Time asked his question, though, his eyes hardened with an intensity that could have knocked down anyone with less of a spine. Scott could tell that within the question there was a whole current of meaning.

Bernard didn't answer right away, but to his credit, he didn't shy from Father Time's gaze. Finally, he replied hopefully,

"I was worse last time."

"Only near the end," Father Time murmured, and then seemed to notice that Scott and Charlie had been left in the dust of their mysterious conversation.

"We have a lot to discuss," he said, "and not much time. Tell me everything you know."

"Who are you addressing?" asked Scott. Father Time valiantly tried to hide an eye roll, and turned to the elf.

"Tell me everything you know," he asked again, pointedly.

"Pete pulled me to Santa's house," Bernard started reciting. "I got sick. Santa went back to the workshop and started hearing a voice in his head. We translated what the voice was saying, which was a very Pete-like message warning of his return. I gave Charlie and Santa the bare bones, tried calling out to you, found Pete instead – he's messing around with my connection to the fabric of magic. So I called Judy. I'm sure she told you that her call to us when she did find you was intercepted by Pete. He's angry, he's insane, he claims he repented but the bonds didn't break, his body is lagging behind a bit, and he wants to crack our heads open."

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