If We Must

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own A Christmas Carol.

Ebenezer Scrooge had kind of an unfortunate name. He didn't mind it, really, but people often had difficulty saying it with a straight face. Unless, of course, they were too terrified of him to breathe loudly in his presence but he would like to think that that was the least of his reasons for making it his business to terrify everyone he came into contact with. He always did like to challenge himself, after all.

Bob Cratchit was shivering more and more noticeably, hoping that his employer would say something so he wouldn't have to be the one to bring it up. Scrooge did not look up once, however, and so finally Cratchit coughed and said. "Mr. Scrooge?"

"Yes?" Scrooge asked curtly, still not looking up.

"It is extremely cold in here," Cratchit informed him.

"Is it?" Scrooge asked rhetorically. "I hadn't noticed."

Cratchit stared with some disbelief. Scrooge was wearing, if anything, less clothing than he himself was. Maybe he was just immune to weather. "Yes, well, it is just three days after the darkest day in the entire year. Things are about as cold as they ever get."

"I assume there was a point to this, Cratchit?" Scrooge asked, irritated.

"A point? Yes, of course. I was just wondering if we could put more coal in the fire," Cratchit replied hurriedly. He was always loathe to upset his employer for fear that the other man would snap and fire him and try to save costs by running the business entirely by himself.

Scrooge said nothing for so long that Cratchit turned to look at him to make sure that he hadn't suddenly died or something.

"Mr. Scrooge?"

"I was just calculating whether it would be cheaper to risk you freezing to death and being forced to pay for the funeral like with my last three assistants or to start increasing the minimum acceptable temperature for this building," Scrooge explained.

"M-Mr. Scrooge?" Cratchit asked, alarmed. Scrooge was kidding, of course. Probably. Dear God, he hoped the man was kidding! But he rather doubted most days that Scrooge was capable of humor and he certainly didn't look as if he were not being serious.

Scrooge saved from having to answer (or perhaps Cratchit was saved from having to wait indefinitely for an answer that may not be forthcoming) by the door banging open.

"I say," a cheerful voice said as Scrooge's nephew Fred stepped into the counting house. "It's almost colder in here than it is outside!" He shut the door experimentally and then opened it again and stepped back outside before finally coming in this time for good. "Did I say almost? I mean it is definitely colder in here. How ever does my uncle manage that?"

Cratchit had often had the same feeling but he had thought – hoped – he had imagined it. "Good day, sir."

"Good day to you, too, Cratchit," Fred said merrily. "Where is my uncle? Has he left for the day? I do hope that he has not because he won't tell me where he lives and I have no other idea where I could find him."

Cratchit frowned in confusion and gestured towards Scrooge's desk. "But he's right-"

"Cratchit, you're fired," Scrooge snapped, slowly coming out from his hiding place of under his desk.

Cratchit felt his heart stop.

"Don't be ridiculous, Uncle," Fred chastised. "You can't fire somebody on Christmas Eve!"

"Why not?" Scrooge asked petulantly.

"Because it just isn't done!" Fred exclaimed, shocked.

"Would it be any kinder if I fire him the day after Christmas?" Scrooge asked him.

Fred hesitated. "Well…it really isn't ever kind to fire anybody at all. And in this case, he'd know of his impending termination so he'd have that hanging over his head during all of the holidays. But if he didn't then he'd spend too much and not be able to afford it since he must secure another position…this is a tricky one."

"You had best go on your way and leave me to it," Scrooge suggested hopefully.

"I won't fall for that one again!" Fred cried out. "And I'm not leaving until you let me say what I've come here to say."

"What's the point?" Scrooge demanded. "You always say the same thing and every year I always say the same thing. You needn't have even bothered to come here. If I had wanted to go I would have just shown up."

"Ah but then you might fear that you weren't welcome and it would have hurt you," Fred protested.

" 'Fear' is really not the word, nephew," Scrooge said flatly. "And while it is lovely of you to think of my feelings, perhaps you ought to consider them again here and now and stop bothering me with your Christmas tripe."

Fred laughed heartily. "Oh, uncle, you are too much! And no need to suggest that in that case I leave because I'm still not going to go."

Scrooge sighed. "Then hurry up and invite me."

"Uncle, would you care to join Clara and I for our dinner party tomorrow?" Fred asked graciously.

"No."

"But-" Fred started to say.

"No. And you really should invite people more than one day in advance. They might have plans," Scrooge said pointedly.

"Oh, we invited everybody else weeks ago," Fred assured him. "But you never have plans."

"You presume much, nephew," Scrooge growled.

"Besides, I wanted to wish you a happy Christmas and I couldn't do that in November. I was thinking of your feelings about seeing me twice in such a short period," Fred informed him.

"And yet you think I'd want to see you twice in such a short period by coming to dinner tomorrow?" Scrooge asked incredulously.

"Every year you do not attend, Uncle, is a little bit richer I'll be when I finally win the bet I have made with all of my friends about getting you to come to dinner," Fred said determinedly.

"Bah, humbug," Scrooge scoffed.

Fred's eyes lit up. "You said the line!"

"It's not a 'line'," Scrooge argued. "It just perfectly encapsulates how I feel about this whole Christmas season."

"Somehow it's not Christmas without that line," Fred said fondly. "I almost don't know what I'll do if you ever come around. Sorry, when. It doesn't do to be skeptical at this time of year."

"I do so resent the day that you first started to come and visit me," Scrooge said, annoyed.

"You don't mean that, Uncle," Fred said casually.

"And you have got to stop telling me what I do and do not mean!" Scrooge cried out.

"Maybe I will when you stop saying such ridiculous things," Fred countered. "What could you possibly have against Christmas?"

Scrooge opened his mouth and then stopped as he actually thought about it. "Nothing, really," he admitted. "I'm rather indifferent to it on the whole."

"That," Fred declared, "is certainly not the impression that you've given me. Ever. At all."

"It's just that the blasted thing won't leave me alone," Scrooge complained. "If I could just ignore it in peace then we wouldn't have any problem. But no. Everyone feels the need to force their holiday spirit on me when I have no interest in celebrating and closing everything down and demanding days off…The whole thing is a nightmare. And good luck attempting to get anything out of anyone in the days leading up to Christmas!"

"Just give it up, Uncle, and get caught up in the spirit," Fred urged.

"Never," Scrooge sniffed. "What good does Christmas do anyone anyway? It's just an excuse to make merry and indulge yourself and spend money that you do not have."

"Maybe," Fred conceded, shrugging. "But we have such a jolly time doing it!"

"Happiness is fleeting," Scrooge insisted.

"It is an annual celebration," Fred pointed out.

Scrooge shook his head. "Oh, be gone! You've said what you've come here to say and you're giving me a headache."

Fred obligingly moved towards the door. "So I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Good day, sir!" Scrooge cried out.

"Happy Christmas!" Fred said before ducking out the door.

Scrooge glared after him and then, when the door shut, switched his glare over to Cratchit. "What kind of a bodyguard are you when you don't keep undesirables from getting in here?"

"I'm not actually your bodyguard, sir, I'm your clerk," Cratchit corrected quietly.

Scrooged waved that away. "You're whatever I pay you to be. And speaking of…"

The door opened and two strange men walked in.

"Hello," one of them said brightly. "Is Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Marley here?"

"Mr. Marley," Scrooge said icily, "is dead."

"Oh!" the man said, horrified. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"He's been dead for seven years," Scrooge continued.

"But…but the sign," the man said, gesturing vainly towards the door.

"You have no business coming in here to beg me for money if you're not even going to bother to learn the slightest thing about my business," Scrooge sniffed.

"So…are you Mr. Scrooge?" the other man spoke up.

"I am," Scrooge allowed.

The two men breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, we're not really here to beg you for money," the first one said slowly.

Scrooge remained impassive. "Really."

"Only-only it's for the poor, you see," the man hurried on, seeming to lose his nerve.

"What about them?" Scrooge asked.

"They have no money," the man informed him. "Some of them having nothing to eat and nowhere to go and not even adequate clothing to shelter them against the elements. And while this is a problem at all times, this time especially it is truly terrible."

"I am familiar with the concept of the poor," Scrooge said distastefully. "Although I don't see what's worse about this season than any other."

"It's Christmas!" the man exclaimed.

"Quite," Scrooge said sourly. "What do you want?"

"How much money can we put you down to giving to the poor?" the braver of the two spoke up.

"Nothing."

"You wish to remain anonymous?" he pressed.

Scrooge actually chuckled. "That's adorable."

"How can you have so little regard for the poor?" one of them demanded.

"I help the poor out plenty," Scrooge insisted.

"Just not at Christmas," the other said, shaking his head.

"My taxes go to prisons and poorhouses and if these people are really that badly off they really should go there and not expect people to throw money at them," Scrooge said flatly.

"They don't expect that!" one cried out.

"And they shall not get it. It is good to see that we are on the same page then," Scrooge said, nodding to himself.

"And many would rather die than go there!" the other cried out passionately.

Scrooge shrugged. "It's not the choice that I would have made but it is a free country. Maybe if enough of them die off we'll have more resources to deal with the ones who do want to live."

"You…you are…you…terrible!" one of them spluttered.

"Do try to articulate," Scrooge said absently. "Now if there's nothing else, could you kindly take your leave? I have much work to do."

"You are a bad person," the other accused as they headed to the door.

"Now is that really any way to talk at Christmas?" Scrooge asked mockingly.

A slammed door was the only response.

Scrooge sighed. "Honestly, Cratchit, I don't even know why I pay you. You're worthless."

"That being so, sir, it's time to go," Cratchit announced.

Scrooge glanced at the clock. "Is it already? I never do get anything done when people insist on barging in here and wasting my time. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow."

Cratchit winced, hating what he was about to have to do. "But…Christmas."

Scrooge's eye twitched. "Is it really?"

Knowing he was treading on dangerous grounds, Cratchit continued with, "It's just that everyone else will be closed so there's actually no real point in opening up the office. It will just inconvenience you and rack up expenses and…yeah."

Scrooge gave him a look. "And I expect you'll be wanting to be paid for the work you're not doing."

"If it's convenient," Cratchit said meekly.

Scrooge barked out a laugh. "If it's convenient? Oh, that's a good one. But I suppose if I don't you'll go off and form a union or something. Fine, fine. But I want you to come in half an hour earlier every day until we've gotten that full day made up for."

Cratchit couldn't help grinning. Another year of successfully getting Christmas off and he could feel a weight lifted from his shoulders. "Thank you, sir!"

"Get out of my sight before your Christmas spirit makes me ill," Scrooge ordered and Cratchit was only too happy to oblige.

Scrooge had just reached up to open his door when the door-knocker morphed into Jacob Marley's face. Scrooge blinked but continued what he was doing. He was a bit more put-out when he was nearly run over by a ghostly and horseless hearse charging up the stairs in front of him. As it was ghostly and thus probably not there he more than likely would have been fine but why take the chance?

"And it has less trouble with the stairs than I do," Scrooge groused. He was entertained at dinner by watching all of the objects on his mantelpiece transform into Marley's face and back.

Just as he was finishing, the sound of bells ringing loudly was heard.

"I don't even have bells in here," Scrooge complained. He stood up abruptly when the banging sounded and then promptly sat back down again when the ghostly figure of Marley dragged himself into the room, hardly able to move from the great chains weighing him down.

The two men stared at each other for a moment.

"You know, Jacob, just because this was your house first doesn't mean that it's not weird and rather unappreciated for you to haunt it," Scrooge said finally.

Marley's jaw dropped just a little further than a normal jaw could had he quickly moved it back into place. "This is the first time you've seen me since my death seven years ago and more than likely your first supernatural experience and that is how you greet me?"

Scrooge fought the impulse to look away. "Yes, well, I'm not up on ghostly etiquette and even if I was, I don't remember inviting you."

"You said it was my house," Marley pointed out.

"I said it had been but ownership had passed to me once you died," Scrooge countered.

"Well that's just not fair since I couldn't fight for it," Marley protested.

"I think recent events prove that you could have if you really wanted to. The superstitious lot down in the courts probably would have let you keep it," Scrooge said disdainfully.

"You sound as if you don't believe me," Marley noted. "Or, to be more precise, you don't believe in me."

"Put yourself in my shoes, Jacob," Scrooge entreated. "You live a rational, reasoned life and suddenly supernatural occurrences – which have never been present before – are all around you? The logical explanation is that I'm hallucinating. I would say it was something I ate but I saw a few things before dinner. Perhaps I've been drugged. That's a much more comforting idea than losing my mind. I really shall have to fire Cratchit for this."

"If you think that you're hallucinating all of this and that you have quite possibly lost your mind then why are you so calm about it?" Marley asked suspiciously. "I know that if it had been me, I would have been much more…excitable. Agitated, even."

Scrooge nodded. "Of course, I could react like that. But really, what's the point? It would just compound an already bad situation and it wouldn't change anything. Besides, since I'm probably just talking to any empty room or maybe not even talking at all but lying catatonic somewhere there is no point in shouting at the walls."

Marley just shook his head at him, disappointed.

"What?" Scrooge asked defensively. "Stop judging me!"

"What does it matter if I'm judging you if I'm not even real?" Marley asked waspishly.

"It's actually more of an issue if you're judging me when you're not real," Scrooge explained. "I can take you judging me. You did it all the time when you were alive. But if you are actually just a figment of my imagination and you're judging me then it really means that I am judging me and I do not like what that implies about me."

"Or it could just mean that since you expect me to judge you, you imagined that I would do so," Marley suggested. "Wait, why am I trying to convince you I'm not real?"

"I do not know," Scrooge replied. "But that is a good idea regardless. Let's keep the damage to my psyche to a minimum, shall we?"

A companionable silence fell upon them.

"So why are you here, anyway? Assuming you're real, of course. Or even if you're not, I want to know what purpose my subconscious could possibly have assigned you," Scrooge told him.

"Ebenezer, I'm here to save your soul," Marley intoned gravely.

Scrooge just stared at him for a second. "No."

"No? You can't just reject my reason for coming here!" Marley burst out.

"I'm just saying that I find it all highly suspect," Scrooge replied. "I mean, Jacob Marley. The Jacob Marley. Coming here to talk about my soul? I might believe you if you were anyone else but not Jacob Marley. It simply couldn't happen."

"It could if the instant I died I found myself burdened with all of this cumbersome chain," Marley argued. "I'm forced to wander the Earth and can never rest-"

"Except evidently right now," Scrooge interrupted.

"Well, yes, except for right now," Marley agreed. "But you know what I mean."

"I only know what you say and what you said wasn't true," Scrooge claimed.

"This is a special circumstance and you know it," Marley growled, beginning to lose his patience.

"Do I?" Scrooge demanded. "How could I possibly know it when you haven't told me anything?"

"You won't let me!" Marley accused.

Scrooge made an overly elaborate gesture for Marley to continue. "By all means."

"As I was saying, I am forced to wander the Earth without rest – except for literally right now – because of the way that I-" Marley began again.

"Okay, I'm sorry, but I do have another question," Scrooge interrupted apologetically. "Or two."

Marley closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "What?"

"You're a ghost. You don't have a physical form," Scrooge said slowly.

"That's not a question," Marley pointed out.

Scrooge's eye twitched. "I was getting there!"

"Well don't give me so much damn buildup, just ask your question," Marley ordered.

"Fine," Scrooge bit out, glowering. "How much of a burden can chains be if you're not actually corporeal?"

Marley thought about it. "It's more symbolic, I think. I'm not literally having difficulty moving around but the weight upon my soul is immense. And that is not the extent of my punishment either."

"And tacky," Scrooge announced. "Really overdone. Besides, how can they force you to wander the world? Is there some sort of compulsion on you?"

"Why do you have to overthink everything always?" Marley cried out in sheer frustration.

"I take exception to the idea that it is possible to 'overthink' anything," Scrooge sniffed. "And if this is to have anything to do with me, as I assume it does or you would not be here, then I believe it is perfectly reasonable to put some thought into this. Even though it's probably not real."

Marley decided to pretend as if Scrooge had never cut in and keep going.

"Look," he said, cutting to the chase. "It turns out that there is an afterlife and that in that afterlife higher powers frown on you being a selfish bastard. I know that I was a selfish bastard in life and you were just as bad. You see where that got me and you've had seven more years to add to it so I can only imagine how badly you'll be punished."

"Well that doesn't seem very fair," Scrooge objected.

"What? You being punished for being a terrible person?" Marley inquired.

"That too. I really don't like the thought of being judged," Scrooge remarked. "But I mean the fact that my punishment would be worse than yours. It's not my fault that you went and died seven years ago! Why should I be punished for my longevity and you be rewarded for the fact that you went and-"

"That's quite enough of that," Marley quickly cut in. "I don't know about 'fair' but let me ask you something. Is it fair that I never got a personal intervention and a chance to repent?"

Scrooge sat back, blinking. "Oh, is that what this is?"

"Yes!" Marley exclaimed. "Why do you think I bothered coming here in the first place?"

Scrooge shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know. You were always a right bastard, Jacob."

"I've changed," Marley insisted.

"You waited seven years to come here," Scrooge countered.

Marley coughed. "I was busy."

"Doing what?" Scrooge demanded. "You were dead."

"Exactly. Being dead is very time consuming, I'll have you know," Marley informed him.

Scrooge just sighed. "I don't see why I'm being punished for being successful."

"You're not," Marley replied. "And don't even start with 'But you just said that I was' because I didn't."

Scrooge shut his mouth and tried to look like he was not about to do that very thing.

"You're being punished because you're kind of a terrible person, just like I was, and don't help the poor. You don't even spend any of your own damn money!" Marley exclaimed. "You live worse than your underpaid employee does."

"I'm sure Fred will blow through the money helping everyone he sees after I'm gone," Scrooge said indifferently.

Marley's eyes widened. "You're leaving everything to your nephew?"

"Well who else am I supposed to leave it to?" Scrooge asked reasonably. "My business? I might as well just hand it to my soon-to-be-fired employee. Why do I need to be saved and not, say, people who go around murdering other people?"

"I don't know but you should be grateful that you're getting this chance," Marley informed him.

"Just tell me how is it my responsibility to help the poor?" Scrooge demanded.

"You have much and they are dying on the street. That makes it your responsibility," Marley tried to explain.

"I don't follow," Scrooge said stubbornly.

"Mercy, man! I can't put such a basic concept into words!" Marley exploded.

"Then you're not doing a very good job of convincing me," Scrooge said placidly.

"I'm not the one who is supposed to convince you," Marley replied.

Scrooge frowned. "Oh, you're not? Then why are you here anyway?"

"I'm starting to wonder that myself…" Marley muttered. "I'm here to not only slowly ease you into this whole supernatural thing but to warn you that you are going to be visited by three spirits. The first will be at one, the second at two, and the third at three. It will save time if you know to expect them."

"Do I have to?" Scrooge almost whined. "That sounds terribly inconvenient."

Marley's eyebrows rose. "More inconvenient than being eternally damned?"

"That will be later and this is now. And I hate staying up all night as well as continually getting woken up," Scrooge replied primly. "Besides, I don't believe you're even here for altruistic reasons. You probably get some sort of 'get out of Hell free' card for 'saving' me, don't you?"

"You," Marley said frostily, "are just as impossible now as you ever were when I was alive."

"You haven't changed much, either. But I, at least, am not too proud to admit that I have missed you, Jacob," Scrooge said, following Marley as he headed to a window. Looking down, he noticed a freezing mother and child huddled across the street and hundreds of ghostly apparitions all desperately attempting to help her. "What are they even doing? They have to know that ghost money won't do her any good. I didn't realize that dying made you an imbecile."

Casting one last disgusted look at Scrooge, Marley flew off to join them.

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