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Ch. 4 – Power Struggle

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Bernard's mind was done thinking. It had suffered through enough holiday crap up to this point, and suffered through this accursed flu for hours. Decoding an elusive message in seven languages hadn't been that bad, but things built up. His head was hurting and he was tired. Now he had to explain not only a complicated past but the probable future, as much as he could foresee, to a human who stood on square one.

"Wait, what?" asked Scott, who had apparently snagged the radio from Judy. "Bernard, what's going on? Judy, do you know what he's talking about?"

The head elf screwed up his forehead and wondered how best to go about the next few moments. He didn't want to scare Santa off. Not that he thought that this Santa was a weak-hearted one; indeed, he was just about one of the best they'd ever had. But Bernard had no idea how courageous Scott was. He'd never been faced with a particularly perilous situation before. Closing his eyes, he put the radio to his face again.

"Judy, are you there?"

"Right here."

"Security's on high, right?"

"Right."

"Okay," he said, taking a breath. "I'm just gonna say this: I think Pete's back."

"You think…" she uttered, and then she took in a long breath. "But how?"

"Don't know how or when, I just have that feeling. I'd really, really like to be up there with you guys right now but I think I should wait until it's necessary." He waited for a reply, but none was forthcoming. He imagined Judy was probably speechless. He didn't blame her.

"That being said, I also think that if I'm not gonna go up there, Santa should be down here."

"But Bernard-"

"I know it's bad for Elfsburg, but if it is Pete, Santa's not safe when…" He trailed off, not wanting to complete the thought, even though he knew he'd have to within the next few moments.

"True," Judy replied, mercifully.

"And I need to tell him what's going on. If something happens before I get to explain everything, I need to be there. Rather he needs to be here."

"Woa, woa, woa, hold up a sec, guys," said Scott's voice on the other end. "I don't get any of this, what are you guys talking about? Please explain? Should I be panicking?"

"No," said Bernard. "No panicking. You need to get out of that cave in exactly four minutes. Be waiting by the North Pole. I'm going to come get you."

"Why by the North Pole? Can't you just-"

"Please, Santa. Just do it. I'll tell you everything once you're back here."

"O..kay. Alright. Four minutes." Santa's voice disappeared from the radio and Judy's returned.

"I'm going to go make sure everything's battened down. Keep in touch, alright?"

"I will." Bernard turned the radio off. Charlie was staring at him in a way that made him feel a bit like a gorilla in a zoo, like Charlie was waiting for him to do something fascinating and perhaps terrifying. Charlie could wait until Santa was here to hear it all too. Bernard's head felt like it was made of lead and he was having some troublingly serious problems with keeping himself from lying down on the couch. If he did that, he'd fall asleep, and then he'd be late for picking Santa up. About the last thing he wanted right now was Santa outside by himself.

Simply trying to convince himself not to lie down was making him more tired. He stood up, glancing at a clock. He didn't want to arrive early and freeze, but any waiting around on either of their parts might be dangerous for more reasons than the temperature. He paced the room, thinking that the ground seemed to be a bit more unstable now than usual. Maybe teleporting isn't the best idea, he thought, and then reminded himself that of course it wasn't the best idea. It was just the only thing he could do now.

"Bernard?" The elf had almost forgotten that Charlie was in the room.

"What?"

"What's going on? Why are you pacing?"

"Oh. I'm going to get your dad in three minutes."

"He's coming back?"

Gratefully, Bernard's response was cut off by the telephone ringing. Bernard moved to the phone before Charlie could, knowing he was probably being overly paranoid, but not wanting to take any risks, especially because this phone didn't have any caller ID. He picked it up, put it to his ear, and listened, Charlie watching with much interest. A pause, and then,

"Um… hello?" asked a female voice.

"Oh. Hey, Mrs. Miller."

"Bernard? Why are you awake? You should be sleeping!"

"I take it you wanted to talk to Charlie."

"Well, I just wanted to know how everything was going." Bernard's mind froze for a moment, torn between telling her that everything was going to hell in a handbasket and telling her that everything was just fine and thanks for the soup. He decided that things could get rather more complicated than he could handle if he had to tell the wife of Santa that the man's life was in danger.

"Everything's fine. I'm feeling a little better," he lied.

"Oh good. Did Charlie make it over safe?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Well… call me if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Mrs. Miller." He hung up. The phone call had forced his mind to clear for a moment. It was so inanely normal; a worried woman calling to see if he felt alright and if her son had arrived safely. He decided it was about what he'd needed to stabilize himself for the teleport, at least mentally. Physically he felt a bit iffy about it but there was nothing else to do. It had been three and a half minutes. He waved to Charlie and tried to pull together the right amount of energy to jump to the zeroeth northern latitude, shut his eyes, and willed himself to dissipate.

Bernard dissipated, but the usual tingly rush that came with teleporting was cut rather unexpectedly short by an electric jolt. His particles seemed to hit a wall, and he fell a short distance before smashing into icy ground, flipping over, and staring into a starry sky. His heart banging at his ribs like it was trying to escape by force, blood fwooshing in his ears. His joints were very unhappy about the situation, and were begging him to lie still, making his limbs feel as if they were stuffed with sand. When he tried to sit up a wave of dizziness and weakness pushed him back.

"Holy solstice," he said aloud. What just happened? This had never happened to him before; if a teleport was going to fail, it failed before the teleporter ever left the location, not in the middle of a move. His understanding of it was that the magic only worked if there was enough energy to do the whole jump. Maybe because I'm sick, he thought, although he had his doubts. Either way, any courage he'd gained by the little conversation with Mrs. Miller had now been replaced with a serious case of the nerves. What if he was stuck here now? Where was 'here'? What would happen to Santa, not to mention Charlie and the rest of the elves and the North Pole and perhaps the entire human race?

"Svak hjerte feiging," he grumbled, chiding himself. "Remember your job. Concentrate…" He sat up slowly and shifted into a crouch, one hand steadying himself on the ground. North Pole. North Pole. North-

Something gripped him tight around the lungs and yanked hard. His head snapped off and dissolved, following the rest of his particulated self close behind. He reassembled inelegantly in another bank of snow, immediately recognizing the peaks of ice as his final destination. The relief he would have felt was canceled out by the lingering feelings of the last teleport; he was still tingly, as if his particles hadn't yet figured out how to fit together again.

"What happened?" asked a voice behind him. Bernard stood unsteadily and turned to see Santa waiting, hunched into his red jacket.

"What do you mean?" he wheezed, trying to catch his breath.

"Big red sparks, not the usual little bronze glittery things. How are you feeling?"

"I don't want to talk about it now," he grumbled, and tried to suppress the worry that came with the thought of having to teleport back down to New York, this time with Santa in tow. He couldn't believe these problems had entirely to do with his illness; that left Peter's influence. Which meant that teleporting right now was extremely dangerous if he didn't do something. He closed his eyes and turned inward, drawing humming energy from a well that ran through his bones and asking it outward to replace the pathway he was about to use to get back to New York.

"What are you doing?" asked Santa.

"Securing a lane. Here," he said, and held out his hand. Santa took it, looking a bit unsure, but before he could question the intelligence of letting himself be teleported by a sick elf, they disappeared. Bernard felt Santa's own energy buzzing in his hand as they scattered apart, and an instant later they reassembled in the Miller's living room. Charlie was waiting on the sofa, arms crossed nervously, and he stood when they appeared. Bernard stumbled to a chair and sat down, letting the lane they'd used collapse back into his bones; it hit him hard, as if it were fleeing from something. Santa and Charlie were staring at him expectantly.

"Alright, you guys," he said. "Sit down. I don't really know how to tell you this, so I'm just gonna say stuff and it's probably not going to make any sense." They were giving him blank looks, so he plunged on. "There's this guy named Zwarte Piet but we call him Pete. He's got a superiority complex with humans, and a thousand years ago he convinced the Santa and Mrs. Clause that the human spirit didn't need to be rekindled, it needed to be snuffed."

"Snuffed?" said Santa with indignation. "Where did he get that from?"

"This is just the short version. Long version later. Anyways, we rebelled and overthrew them; Pete disappeared. We thought he was gone. I think that was his voice you heard in your head, Santa. The way you described it matches what he'd sound like. The message is a big metaphor; apparently he's found someone or something that will allow him to get what he wants, or at least he thinks it will." Bernard paused, unsure of what to say now. Everything he'd just told Charlie and Santa should have taken hours and hours to explain properly, and now the two humans were staring at him gape-jawed.

"Woa," managed Santa. "He… are you sure? That message was… I mean it was pretty abstract, it could mean anything…"

"I don't know exactly what he plans on doing, but it won't be good."

"How well do you know this guy?"

"For better or worse, pretty well."

"So… so what's going to happen?"

"Hah. Who knows? He might try to convince you or Carol that magic shouldn't be wasted on mortals. Or he might just try to kill you and then try to stop what we do at the North Pole."

"Kill me?" Santa asked faintly.

"Yeah. If you don't do what he wants, which you will not. If you stick by me I can keep that from happening, but he's going to be going after me too."

"So either way there's going to be a Pete and Bernard smackdown sometime in the near future?" asked Charlie, who was acting surprisingly lucid.

"A smackdown. Yes, that sounds appropriate," replied Bernard. Neither one of them seemed able to gather themselves for the barrage of questions he had been expecting, and the sense of release he'd been hoping for upon spilling all the beans failed to make an appearance. It was a disappointing feeling and he didn't know where to go from here; there was no sudden surge of determined energy, no sense of hope emanating from Santa, no epiphanies or solutions stepped forward to ease the situation. Yet the two humans looked to him for answers. Where else could they look?

"We're going to be fine, though," he said. "We've beaten this guy before, we can do it again." He offered them a smile while his mental state crumbled from the guilt of another lie and the lack of energy caused by flu and Peter's influence. It was a façade he knew he wouldn't be able to keep up, like trying to convincingly tell someone they were going to be fine while a zombie munched on their head and the Earth opened beneath their feet.

"I'll be right back," he said, and calmly headed for the bathroom. He had the impression that he'd somehow managed to give the two a false sense of hope, and he could hear them talking quietly as he shut himself into the bathroom. False hope was better than no hope, he told himself. His hands were trembling and he hated how the sight seemed to push him towards an ever-closer panic attack. His eyes were stinging as he fought for composure, the pressure of responsibility warping the moment into a battle for control.

The word 'necessity' sprang to his mind like a little knight in shining armor, and he grabbed a hold of it. I can't loose control. I can't, he told himself. He simply couldn't, or…

He couldn't. There wasn't really a choice.

A strange emptiness came with the calm that the word gave him. It saddened him at first, but the feeling didn't linger. The current goal, he knew, was functionality, not perspective. He reminded himself that he was an elf, not a human, and the thought was enough to knock him back to his feet. At least for now.