A/N: Because this has lived on my hard drive forever and is sick and tired of waiting for Like Dreams to be finished. Unrelated to both Like Dreams and Cold Outside.
Disclaimer: Don't own, (probably) never will. Song credits go to Pat Ballard.
Mr. Sandman
It was a silly, stupid, giddy little song she'd heard from one of her fairies. Or a few of them. Apparently, the song had been rather popular five decades ago. Or was it six? Years blurred together for an Immortal, and she'd long ago given up keeping a precise count. Anyway, the song was nothing special, a little ditty harmonized between a few voices, and despite the fact that it was repetitious, completely unrelated to work, and an utterly inane pastime, she found herself memorizing the words shortly after hearing it.
It amused her, she supposed. It was funny knowing the Sandman, and then hearing a song about the Sandman. She hummed little bits of it as she bustled to and fro in her palace, running errands, checking the tooth catalogues for the millionth time in a row. Once, on her way to the lower levels of the palace to oversee construction of a larger Asia Pillar, a few of the lyrics burst unbidden from her lips, and, on reflex, her shocked fingers covered her mouth as though to suck the words back into her throat.
She'd always loved to sing. Being part bird, it was a natural talent of hers, after all. Her mother's voice had been the pride of the Sisters of Flight, and her father had often accompanied her with a little sitar perched on his knee, and she remembered long nights in their little hut in the midst of the jungle, listening to her mother's lilting tones and her father's gentle harmonizing. It was beautiful. It was one of her fondest childhood memories, logged deep inside the most precious tooth in the little ruby box beside her bed even today. It had been wonderful.
So instead of stifling the song, which, though fading in popularity over the decades, remained her favorite for some reason unknown even to her, she raised her voice in soft, unheard chirps, feeling however silly that perhaps her song would reach her parents, wherever they were, and some miniscule connection would be restored between them. Somehow, their hearts would touch this way.
She liked to think it worked.
And so the years passed as the Tooth Fairy worked, flitted about, and sang the song. Her fairies, far from growing tired of the tune, happily joined in. Though they couldn't form the words, they squeaked and hummed in time and in perfect pitch, harmonizing with their mother in intricate separate melodies that resounded throughout the Palace. Sometimes, on very rare occasions, they sang in perfect synchronization, raising their tiny, beautiful voices to the heavens, and it was on these days that the villagers miles down the mountain claimed that the wind sounded its sweetest.
However, today was not such a day. Many more children than usual had been losing teeth tonight—Tooth had the sneaking suspicion that the fluke had to do with an impromptu blizzard provided by everyone's favorite Guardian of Fun—and so her palace was relatively empty. The few fairies that weren't collecting teeth were busily organizing the tooth cubbies, and since Tooth had so diligently given out orders a few hours before, the fairies flying north didn't need her instruction. Floating around the empty mountain that usually teemed with activity, Tooth felt inconsolably lost. Quite at a loss for what to do, and having been assured several times by her fairies that they could catalogue teeth very well without her, Tooth decided to tidy up her bedroom. The Moon knew it needed straightening up. When was the last time she'd cleaned? A few months ago? A few years ago? With a shudder, she asserted that she'd rather not think about it, and buzzed quickly through several tiled hallways and passages until she reached the highest parapet of the Tooth Palace; her bedroom.
Though she much rather would have slept in the heart of the palace, where she was within easier reach of her fairies, the mini-tooths had insisted on placing their queen in quarters affording her position. Thus they had crafted for her a beautiful bedroom as a housewarming present following the construction of the castle itself. The room was complete with a high-domed ceiling gilded with all manner of precious metals and glorious frescoes, and a round, nest-shaped wooden canopy bed, draped with the finest silk and stuffed with soft cotton. The floor was tiled and covered with an elaborate Persian rug, and even though she had no need of it, a mahogany armoire stood in the far corner of the room, a matching vanity by its side. Various precious trinkets decorated the shelves and the stands: ceramic vases, jade statues, all manner of treasures her little fairies had rescued from ruins in the surrounding rainforests.
But Tooth's favorite part of the room was the balcony. A delicate sloping arch, draped with pink sheer curtains that smelled vaguely like roses, was carved out of one entire wall, beyond which lay an extensive balcony. Vines and flowers crawled over the banister and a little bit up the wall. On some nights, Tooth would stand outside her bedroom, just staring at the sky and wondering, if she stretched up only a tiny bit more, she would be able to touch the stars.
It was this room that Tooth entered on her mission for usefulness. Hovering to the floor and disengaging her wings, she moved to the bed, making it for the first time in…too long, she decided. The sheets were a tangled mess, even though she couldn't remember the last time she'd actually slept in this room. Most days she was awoken by the indignant squeak of Baby Tooth or another fairy, having fallen asleep while hovering in the midst of giving orders.
It was alright, though. As far as she knew, Legendaries rarely needed sleep to survive. They could get along perfectly fine without it, as their bodies technically didn't need a resting period to compensate. They were usually too busy to sleep anyway. Mostly, they slept because they enjoyed it. Sandy was very generous with his dreams, and crafted only the best for his special friends. She'd particularly enjoyed one the other night, which had involved herself and a certain Winter Spirit with dazzling teeth and snow-white hair and the most beautiful blue eyes she'd ever seen—
A blush swamped her face, and she almost dropped her pillow in the midst of fluffing. That thought had caught her unawares. She cleared her throat, finished the bed, and moved on to dusting. She refused to think of him today. She'd been thinking enough about him lately. It was time to stop. It was time for her to grow up. She was a Guardian, had been for more than a thousand years, she might as well start to get used to it. Her number one priority was the children of the world, not to go gallivanting off into the arms of a teenager that she (technically) dwarfed in age. She'd been alive for hundreds, if not thousands of years before him. She'd retired from the field a hundred years before he'd even been born. And even though she was physically older than him by only a year or two, she refused to let that excuse become a light of hope.
Growling audibly, suddenly and infuriatingly frustrated with her own inability to control these blasted emotions, she tried to distract herself with that song. How did it go again? With no fairies there to start her off with the right verse, she struggled to begin.
"Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream." Ah, there it was! "Make him the cutest that I've ever seen."
"Give him two lips like roses in clover, and tell him that his lonesome nights are over."
The feeling of her voice rising from her chest as easily as the Sun cheered Tooth immediately, and she smiled to herself as she finished dusting her favorite statue of Buddha which the fairies had liberated from an overgrown mass of vines destroying the last ruins of a temple close by. She was so absorbed in her work, and so enjoying her song, that she didn't hear the quiet whoosh of the North Wind bringing a certain someone to the gates of her palace. Nor did she hear the ecstatic squeal of her tooth fairies, and the sheepish laughter that proceeded a shout of her name, made by the same voice. Vaguely, in the deepest corner of her heart, she could feel her fairies' excitement, like a rush of warm water in her chest, but she thought nothing of it. All of her fairies, except perhaps Baby Tooth who had made Jack Frost—what? Can't I just say his name without blushing? Jack Frost, Jack Frost, Jack Frost—her new favorite obsession, shared their mother's passion for teeth, and as such, exclamations over a particularly beautiful canine or incisor were perfectly normal. She passed this rush of feelings off as one in the same, and continued her work, singing merrily.
"Mr. Sandman, I'm so alone. Don't have nobody to call my own, so please turn on your magic beam. Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream."
After hovering high to clear the cobwebs from the humble chandelier above her bed, she spotted a minute rip in one of the sheer curtains on the balcony, and fetched an emergency needle and thread from her nightstand. It wasn't uncommon to have the occasional high-flying bird make accidental contact with the Tooth Palace, and often her curtains paid the price. She stood, tongue between her teeth, and hummed while she worked.
"Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream. Make him the cutest that I've ever seen. Give him the word that I'm not a rover, and tell him that his lonesome nights are over."
She didn't hear the gentle creak of the bedroom door easing open without knocking, nor did she hear the soft padding of bare feet across the plush Persian rug. Unwittingly, when her fairies had decorated her room, they had made it perfect for sneaking, and the present assailant, having heard the Tooth Fairy's singing from the other side of the door, was making every attempt to use it to his advantage. So quietly that he astounded even himself, he rested his crooked staff against the doorjamb, and continued the remainder of his advance unhindered, the most devious grin stretching across his face. This was going to be priceless.
"Mr. Sandman, I'm so alone. Don't have nobody to call my own. Please turn on your magic beam. Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream."
Tooth had almost finished sewing up the tear, and she held the needle between her teeth as she knotted the thread at the end. Even though she knew it was bad practice, she was secretly proud of her teeth's strength, and as such she bit the thread clean in two instead of using scissors. Looking over her work satisfactorily, she packed up her kit, and turned to the nightstand to put it away.
"Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream. Give him a pair of eyes with a 'come-hither' gleam. Give him a lonely heart like Pagliacci and lots of wavy hair like Libera—AAAAUUGH!"
Whatever she'd been expecting to bump into in the middle of her bedroom, Jack Frost's grinning smile had definitely not been on the list. She yelped, tumbled backwards most ungracefully, and sprawled in the most undignified fashion on her own carpet. The sewing kit burst on impact, pins and thread sent skittering into the far corners of the room.
"Jack! What are you, crazy?! You scared the life out of me! What are you doing here? Do you need something? What do you want? How long have you been standing there, anyway?"
All of this in rapid-fire succession. Tooth blinked a bit, still sitting on the floor, before regaining her composure and hovering back to eye level. She straightened her ruffled feathers and mustered the best glare she could. Difficult, given the heart-stoppingly wonderful smile Jack Frost was currently casting in her direction, his eyes low and melting and dripping with unspoken promises that made all the blood in her body rush to her cheeks. Clearing her throat, she dropped to the carpet and attempted to find her scattered pins.
Jack, instead of answering her questions, merely asked one of his own. He had a habit of doing that. She wondered if he was picking it up from North. It was infuriating.
"You sing?" he said, his hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. Tooth cursed again, and pretended to not hear him, busily plucking pins out of her Persian rug. If she stepped on one in the middle of the night or otherwise, someone was definitely going to get it, that's for sure. Even worse than that one time Bunny had so cruelly conspired with her fairies to rearrange her entire tooth library, which had resulted in a week long recovery from what would become infamously known as the Great Tooth Breakdown of '42. You don't want to know what she'd done to the Pooka after she'd been strong enough to get out of bed. It had been ugly. North still had the pictures, and she was fairly certain Bunny still had the scars.
Instead of taking her silence for his cue to be quiet, Jack Frost surprised her once again. Another one of his irritating habits.
"Mr. Sandman, someone to hold would be so peachy before I'm too old."
And Tooth's mouth fell open. As if he couldn't be any more perfect.
His voice was raw, lazy, and low with a thick, syrupy drawl that sounded like it came from the very back of his throat. Like sap in the trunk of a maple tree. But Tooth's heart took a few minutes to remember it was supposed to beat, and her stomach dropped through the floor. She froze, looked up at him, and at his answering beam she couldn't bring herself to care that she probably looked like an idiot. His voice was winter. And it was beautiful.
"Please, turn on your magic beam. Mr. Sandman, bring us, please, please, please, Mr. Sandman, bring us a dream."
It was then that he stepped closer, took her hands in his, and raised them between their bodies like precious gifts. He smiled, his eyes sparkling, and Tooth had to concentrate incredibly hard on remembering to breathe.
"Tooth, I…" he began, faltering slightly and casting his eyes to the ground with a sheepish wince, "I came here to tell you something today. I—I guess I finally got up the courage to say so, but, uh…"
She couldn't believe this. She was dreaming. She had to be. Vaguely, she considered stepping slightly to the left, where her foot would most assuredly find a pin lost in her carpet, and she'd snap herself out of it. She ran a systems check in her head. Heart beating, breathing, eyes open as far as she could tell. She couldn't be dreaming. She had to be dreaming.
He chuckled, his ears the most adorable shade of blue she'd ever seen, and he whispered quietly, "Well, I…I don't know if I'm the cutest you've ever seen, Tooth, and I…I don't quite know what a 'rover' is, but I'm sure you're not one…um…"
Oh, sweet mother of all molars. This was happening. This was happening. Something that felt horribly like a squeal was welling up in the base of her throat, soaring somewhere from the region of her heart, and she only managed to keep it in check by biting hard into her lower lip. Any harder, and she'd break the skin. At least it helped to mask this ridiculous smile that she couldn't seem to contain, that seemed insistent on crawling its way across her lips. His fingers were trembling around hers, and his skin was growing progressively colder. Puffs of her breath began to linger in the air between them in condensation clouds. His blush deepened, and Tooth almost lost control of the squeal.
"I don't know if I have 'come-hither' eyes or lips like roses, but…" He stared at her for a few moments, his mouth slightly parted, and his eyes searching her face like it held the secrets of the universe. Apparently finding whatever he was looking for—maybe her face was just that easy to read, she had given up attempting to hide what she could feel was a definite sparkle in her eye and her face couldn't have been a shade redder—his lips split into a wide smile, and he finished, "But I know I've got a lonely heart. And wavy hair. Whoever this Liberace guy is, I'll bet my hair kicks his hair's butt any day of the wee—"
She kissed him before she had a chance to talk herself out of it, or before his bumbling had her rolling in the aisles. She didn't quite know what she was doing. She'd had rare opportunities to share in kisses, even having lived so long as she had. Guardians with children to protect did not engage in kisses on a regular basis. Kisses were for humans, for people who had time and someone special to share it with, people with normal, short, uncomplicated lives who didn't worry daily about each of the billions of children living in every corner of the globe. Kisses were not for Guardians.
So, being so out of practice, Tooth waited patiently for his smirk, his laugh, his awkward push on her shoulders as he chuckled about how horrible a kisser she was, and that, on second thought, this had been a mistake. She didn't delude herself with useless imaginings that he might actually return her feelings. She was practical. An optimist, but practical.
So to say she was stunned when he smiled appreciatively against her lips, lost control of his powers, and started creating a snowstorm in her room, would have been an understatement. And she was positively gob smacked when he tilted his head, parted his lips just enough to breathe cool, dry peppermint into her gasping mouth, and folded her cheeks in his hands like he was cupping a precious gift.
And moments later, kissing Jack Frost became like second nature. Vaguely, between peppermint kisses and icy hands that wiped her mind clean with every movement, she realized that she'd always known how to kiss Jack Frost. It had been born into her, somehow, somewhere, or she'd learned alarmingly quickly. She'd known from the beginning of time.
Other girls might have been speechless at a moment like this. It would be perfectly understandable. Speechlessness, however, had never suited the Tooth Fairy, and so, when they pulled away for oxygen, uncontrollable snow coating every inch of the room she'd just dusted, she whispered against his lower lip;
"Better than roses. Much better than roses."
His answering chuckle stopped her heart, but the following kiss restarted it easily, and he scooped her up into his arms as, outside, the Sun sank below the ridge of the mountains and far away, golden tendrils of light spilled from the small man perched atop a sparkling yellow cloud, who smiled knowingly, and began humming the first few bars of a song he'd heard a long time ago.
"Mr. Sandman, bring us a dream…"
A/N: Yeah. Blah. Review?