Wow, three chapters in less than six months. This is almost unheard of for me. Luckily I had most of the work done for this one. Enjoy.


Chapter 2: Freeze Thy Blood Less Coldly

Bernard's vision swam as he floated toward consciousness. His eyes focused as he recognized the ceiling of his bedroom and began to wonder what he was doing on the floor.

"Thank goodness," a voice said. "I was beginning to think you would never come round."

He slowly craned his head toward the voice, hoping that his ears and his memory were deceiving him.

"I thought it best not to move you under the circumstances. I didn't mean to frighten you."

Bernard sat up and stared at the figure beside him. He blinked a few times, but no, Lydia Hightower was still there, kneeling by his side, concern and affection written on her very lively face. Yet he was in no way ready to accept it.

"No, no, no, no! NO."

He leapt to his feet and stepped as far away from her as the confines of the room allowed.

"Bernard, please!"

As the apparition got to its feet, he began to pace about in small circles.

"No. No. NO."

"Please, you must calm down."

"Calm down? CALM DOWN?! You're dead."

"Bernard, I'm so sorry."

He looked her over for the few seconds his troubled mind would allow. She was wearing a heather grey tunic in thick cotton over black wool leggings and leather boots. Her fair hair was held back in a complex braid, but a few strands fell loose on the sides of her face. She had removed her scarlet cloak and draped it over his bed. Her face was etched in concern and regret for how badly she had disturbed him, and that expression was the only thing familiar about the image.

"You – you died," he said, forcing himself to look upon her. "You and he were fighting on the roof of your house."

"Yes," she confirmed.

"And he threw you off the roof."

"Yes, he did."

"And you're body was broken, I saw it."

"Yes, you did."

"And then you died. Didn't you?"

"I'm so sorry."

"No, no. No, no, no, no, no. You're a ghost, or...a hallucination. That's what you are. Santa was right, I'm overworked. Maybe I'm coming down with something."

"Getting sick?" asked the apparition as she wandered over to his bed and sat down.

"Yeah - no! Don't talk to the hallucination."

She bounced lightly atop the mattress as she regarded him with a soft smile on her face.

"But I thought elves don't get sick? You told me that, remember? When we first met. Right here in this room. Do you remember? I had your clothes on, and my arm was in a sling, and you wouldn't let me look out the window?"

She stopped bouncing and stared at him from the bed.

"You had so many secrets."

Bernard turned and glared at her.

"They should've stayed secrets."

"How can you say that?"

He turned away again with a scoff, unwilling or unable to look at her any longer.

"I let you get involved, and it got you killed. And now you're haunting me, I guess. A bit late for that, isn't it?"

"It's a bit late for you to still be feeling guilty."

The mattress creaked behind him, and he felt her approach. He felt her presence at his back and her hand upon his shoulder. He turned around.

"I am not a ghost. And what happened all those years ago was not your fault."

Lydia put her hand to his face. It felt solid and warm against his skin. He willed himself not to lean into it and wish ardently that this was not just a cruel dream.

"Bernard, I'm real. I swear it."

"This is impossible."

The door to his closet burst open. Quinton tumbled in, still hanging onto the door handle, his arms tangled in the sleeves of Bernard's shirts. His face was flushed, and he breathed heavily as though he had taken the journey between his lab and Bernard's room at a run.

"Can't you knock?"

Quinton ignored him. Instead he looked straight passed Bernard's to where the specter of Lydia Hightower stood and the color drained from his face.

"Bless my soul."

"You can see her too?"

"Of course I can see her."

Quinton's face slowly expanded into a wide grin. He stepped toward Lydia and pulled her into a warm hug.

"I knew. As soon as Bernard told me your body had disappeared, I knew one day you would return."

Quinton pulled away and smiled brightly as he looked upon her face.

"Welcome home."

Lydia cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

"The Pole is your home, my dear, and has been since you came to us," Quinton insisted. Lydia's face relaxed into a smile, and Quinton embraced her again with a laugh.

"Quinton, what are you doing here?" demanded Bernard.

"I heard you were unwell."

"And you decided to check up on me? How sweet."

"I heard you were hallucinating," said Quinton. "Rumors are spreading like wildfire. I only came up to see for myself that you hadn't shot your bolt before your second comes bursting in to measure for new curtains."

"Well you can tell the Number Two Elf that if I lose my mind, this room is to be converted into my padded cell."

"Duly noted."

"Anyway, apparently I was not hallucinating. Apparently I am being visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past."

"I am not a ghost," insisted Lydia with an annoyed frown. She turned to Quinton as her face melted back into concern. "He did faint though."

Quinton looked at Bernard aghast.

"You fainted?"

"Wouldn't you?" said Bernard.

"Well obviously, he wouldn't," said Lydia airily.

"See, this is why I can't believe you. You were never this..." Bernard grasped for a word, but it slipped away from him as easily as his patience.

"Cheeky?" Lydia supplied.

"I'd be cheeky too if Death came knocking and I slammed the door in his face," said Quinton. "Besides, she's always been this way. You've just forgotten. Maybe you're getting old."

"Stop it! Just stop it!" shouted Bernard.

He was fed up with their concern, and he was fed up with their banter. He glared at Quinton's stricken face.

"I haven't forgotten a thing," he growled. "I remember her laugh. I remember her hair."

His eyes drifted to Lydia at last as he continued. "I remember your eyes, your smile. I remember the way your eyebrows come together when you're mad at me. I remember that weird accent you have from growing up all over. I remember the smell of your blood on the ground and how cold your fingers were. I remember the sound of the last breath you ever took. I remember you died. Even if you survived somehow, I remember how that felt so don't stand there in front of me and pretend it's nothing."

He looked away, looked at anything but his two friends staring at him with those looks of abashed sympathy.

"And I'm not getting old," he muttered.

Lydia smiled, and at last, Bernard saw her.

"So you've accepted it? I'm here."

Bernard did not smile back. He looked her dead in the eyes. The pain she saw there chased the smile from her face, but she held his gaze.

"I want an explanation."

"You'll have it."

"How did you survive? Where did you go? Where have you been all these years? Why have you come back now? What happened to you?!"

"I will answer all your questions and more besides. But I haven't much time."

Bernard's brow furrowed. He looked at Quinton, who merely shrugged quizzically. They understood that this was a polite request that they not interrupt her, but neither of them could understand what rush there could be. Nevertheless, the three sat down, and Lydia began to tell her story.


A/N: I want to thank everyone who reviewed. It means a lot to me.

I feel obligated to mention the next chapter will be fairly long, unless I decide to split it. It may also take a while longer to come out for that reason. I'll try to get it done as quick as I can.

Chapter Title: "Good King Wenceslas"