That night, Bernard found sleep fleeting, at best. His mind wouldn't let him rest. He kept seeing images of Beck's mother in the months before she went missing.
She had lost a husband, and now a daughter. The darkness under her hollow eyes was a side effect of many sleepless nights. Blythe had always been known for her bubbly personality and off-beat sense of humor. Now, her smiles were few and far between. She began dropping weight; this is a feat for those who live at the North Pole, where the richest food imaginable is always at one's fingertips. She neglected herself, and everyone pretended not to see.
Everyone but Bernard.
After seeing her collapse on the job, he knew that hit conscience wouldn't let him stand idly by as she wasted away. He always made time to visit her. He brought her tea and food, since her cupboards always seemed to be empty. He tried to get her to eat, to put on some weight. He would try and pull some conversation out of the despondent elf. There was always mindless gossip, funny anecdotes from his work day; just light things to pull her out of her own head. Bernard never brought up Blythe's daughter, and neither did she. The truth was that he was terrified to. He didn't know what he would unlock my speaking Beck's name. He was terrified that this elf, who had always seemed so strong, so above any and all pain, was crumbling before his eyes.
He had to admit to himself; he was furious with Beck for leaving her mother. For leaving him to pick up the shell of a person that she had left behind. How could someone be so selfish?
One evening, Bernard came to visit late. Working directly under the head of Research and Development, his hours could frequently be unpredictable. He was basically an assistant, and his superior had had him filing paperwork all day. He grabbed some cookies from the kitchens and stuffed them into a paper bag before heading over.
He knocked on the door, and waited for her to shuffle over and answer it. Blythe had mentioned giving him a spare key, but she kept misplacing it. She had always been a bit scatterbrained. She opened the door to let him in, kissed him on the cheek, and promptly turned to walk back into the living room.
"Just put those on the kitchen counter."
So it was going to be one of those nights.
He followed her into the room. "You didn't come in to work today, Blythe. How do I know you've eaten?" He had eventually stopped addressing her as "Mrs. Adler," because it was too unfamiliar, too cold. In Bernard's opinion, once you peel someone off of their kitchen floor in order to get them to put clean clothes on and choke down some broth, you've reached a certain level of familiarity.
She had been coming into work less and less frequently. The decorating department was poised to replace her; she hadn't been in for three days straight. Her condition was declining. Bernard took a seat beside her on the sofa. Her perpetually young face was hollow and ashen.
"You know, you were the best thing that ever happened to her." She murmured, leaning her head back.
Bernard started. This was the first time he had heard her mention Beck since her suspension. She picked lint off of the grey sweater that hung from her fragile frame.
"I used to think that you two would end up together. Of course, that's silly. You two are such different people."
He stared at her, speechless. She, in turn, stared at the wall. Suddenly, she pitched forward, face in her hands.
"Blythe!" Bernard was alarmed. She waved him off.
"Oh, it's just another dizzy spell-" she tried to say, but her words were soon replaced by sobs. Bernard had nothing to say. All he could do was wrap a protective arm around her bony shoulders and let her weep into his neck. As he rubbed her back, he could feel each and every vertebra that protruded through her flesh. He found himself vacillating between tenderness and concern for the crumbling person in his arms, and unimaginable anger at the person who had caused it.
The next morning, Blythe was gone.
Bernard rolled over and continued chasing the rest he found so elusive.
On the floor below, Beck wasn't having the most pleasant evening, either.
She futilely flipped the light switch a few dozen times. The red head fumbled frantically in the dark, trying to use the dim, watery light filtering in through the window to find her way. She banged her shin on the coffee table and swore, fuming.
Beck made her way to the window, and started pulling the heavy curtains to one side when she felt something on the frame. She grabbed the protruding piece of metal and realized that it was a handle. She turned it and felt a click. Outside of the window, she could make out the shape of a railing. Her curious face illuminated by the Christmas lights in the town below, she struggled to push the window up. Once Beck managed to open it, she poked her head out and noticed a metal platform beneath her. Upon closer inspection, she discovered that the platform and railing were actually part of a fire escape that ran up the side of the building.
Looks like the Boss doesn't have it all figured out, after all.
Pulling the sweater tighter around herself, Beck timidly placed one leg outside and tested the stability of the structure. Slowly, tentatively, she put her weight on that foot and pulled the other leg behind her. She wobbled unsteadily for a few moments when her shoe caught on the windowsill, and her heart stopped for a moment. She freed her foot with a jerk. Crouching and clutching onto the railing, Beck refused to open her eyes until her pulse returned to normal.
Oh, my God. I am going to die falling off of a fire escape at the North Pole. I hope they don't think Bernard did it. It would be more of a political statement if I threw myself from my window.
Slowly, she opened one eye and peered around. Then the other. She seemed to be in one piece. Once Beck could bring herself to let go of the iron bars, she took stock of her situation. She looked up and it occurred to her that Bernard had the entire floor just above her. Curious, she slowly started to inch her way toward the stairs to the next level. She placed her foot on the first step.
The metal creaking noise sent her bolting back through her window.
She dragged herself into her bedroom, nursing her bruised ego. With nothing left to do but wait for the sun to come up, Beck fell into a fitful slumber.
Beck ran, Bernard's words ringing in her ears.
"I'm not worth it?"
She prayed that her heaving breath would drown out his voice. But mostly, she wanted to drown out her own.
"Girls like me don't go with losers." She didn't know why she had said it in the first place; she certainly hadn't meant it. She was furious with herself to have been caught with James. James, of all people. Had she forgotten who he was? Who she was?
And what about Bernard?
What about him?
The crack rang out like a gun shot. Her leg was under the ice before she had time to register the noise. The water temperature took her breath away. Panicked, she tried to crawl away from the fracture. Her fingers scrambled at the ice for purchase, trying to free her leg. She screamed for help. Her eyes widened like a frightened animal's as she heard another crack. She heard herself shriek.
Beck tried to hang onto the edge, to pull herself out, but the ice wasn't strong enough. It crumbled under her numb fingers. She sucked in air, but her lungs refused to expand. Beck could recall learning something in school about what to do if she found herself in freezing waters, but her fuzzy, terrified mind refused to let her remember exactly that was. She pushed out a weak, "Help!"
Her arms thrashed at the frigid water, struggling to keep her head up. She was getting tired. She tried screaming again, but it escaped as a mere wheeze. Her vision was spotty. Her limbs fought the water until she no longer had feeling in them, and just before she blacked out, a pair of steel-toed wing-tip shoes appeared in her vision.
Beck jerked awake, chest heaving. Her arms and legs were tangled in the silk and velvet bedclothes. She hadn't had that dream in years. Her earlier encounter with Eris felt imagined, unreal. Upon trying to turn on a lamp, she was proven wrong. She kicked the covers off, rubbing her eyes. She tried to bring herself back to the present, but was rewarded with a fresh rush of memories.
"Do you want to live?"
What the hell kind of question was that? Of course she had wanted to live!
"I need you to do something for me in return." She remembered an angular, bespectacled face hovering above her.
At the time, Beck's shell-shocked mind had been ready to accept any deal that could guarantee her immediate survival. Elves were eternally young, but they weren't enchanted enough to cheat death.
She had been woozy from oxygen deprivation and the shock of the water temperature, and had been cut badly by the ice. "Anything. Please," she had begged him. Anything to make the pain stop. She could recall the snow, tinted red.
Shakily, she had signed in blood.
The next thing that Beck remembered was waking up in her bedroom, with a note next to her: Don't forget our bargain.
The red head stood and shook herself, accepting the fact that she wasn't going to get any sleep that night. She squinted at the tiny bedside clock. It was almost four. Ugh.
She dragged herself into the living room, pausing as she passed the window. She wondered what Bernard was doing. She needed to remind herself that there was a world outside of her ever-growing nightmare. Without another thought, Beck pulled the sweater on over her pajamas, jerked up the windowpane, and crawled out of the window.
She paused when she reached the steps, but steeled herself and began to climb. The Head Elf's light was on. Upon closer inspection, Beck could see a warm, rustic-looking bedroom inside.
Bernard ran a hand through his curls and poured himself a cup of cocoa. His thoughts refused to let him rest. He wanted to hate her. The way she had looked at him when she saw the state of her former home.
"Where is my mom?" She had asked.
How dare she be shocked that her mother didn't put her entire life on hold for her? Of course, her life had been on hold; it had come to a screeching halt while Beck was gone. That was the worst part. And the fact that Beck seemed to have expected her to be waiting around to receive her upon return made him sick. Who was the one who took care of Blythe? Who was the one who saw the worst side of her? He was left to pick up the pieces once Beck's choices had caught up with her.
He took a long swig from his mug.
Even so, a small part of him felt for Beck. She was completely alone, painfully solitary. She had had no security net to fall back on when she returned. And, another part of Bernard, a larger part than he cared to admit, was ridden with guilt. He had done nothing as the years, the decades rolled by, as Beck was left alone in the human world.
He rested his forehead in his palm, elbow on the table, and allowed that, perhaps his bitterness at their falling-out, coupled with his watching Blythe fade away might have had something to do with it. The Arch Elf hadn't been proactive about Beck's return because in his eyes, she hadn't deserved to come back. Okay, so maybe he wasn't the best role-model for the idealistic elves of the North Pole. He chuckled mirthlessly to himself, before standing and padding back into his bedroom, mug in hand.
Beck took in the cozy room before her, her view bordered by the heavy velvet drapes. There were centuries-old tapestries on the walls, and the furniture was heavy and hand-crafted. The bed was enormous and plush. A grandfather clock silently stood watch over everything, flanked by huge bookshelves. Surprisingly, the majority of the décor was, in fact, not a red-and-green color scheme. Beck's apartment was decorated in a standardized style, predictable but appropriate for the North Pole. It was rich, but temporary. Bernard's dwelling was that of someone who had made this place a home.
Her breath fogged up the window, and she watched as the glass slowly cleared up. Beck was snapped from her reverie when the bedroom door opened. She ducked beneath the windowsill, holding her breath for what seemed like the fiftieth time that night.
When she dared to peek back inside, she had to bite her cheek to keep herself from laughing. Bernard was dressed in red and white striped flannel pajamas.
She tried to keep her composure, but it was just so hard when he looked just like a candy cane.
Beneath the window, Beck doubled over, shaking in silent laughter. Once she could compose herself, the red head poked her head back up. He was seated on the edge of the bed, staring at a photograph in his hand. His face was unreadable.
All of a sudden, Beck couldn't help but feel as if she was intruding (window-peeping aside). She crept away from the window with an acute sense of regret. It was an unfamiliar sensation, as she had always tried to live a life free of it.
Regret doesn't do anyone any favors, she told herself. So why be sorry? It won't change anything.
Still, she finally fell asleep that night, clutching an old grey sweater as if it would turn back the clock.
As my Thanksgiving break is drawing to a close, I hope everyone is having a safe and lovely start to their holiday season!
I hope you're all not too mad at me for taking so long to update, but, you know. College and stuff. But I'm not abandoning The Runaround. Beck is my muse!
I'm fairly certain that I'll have a new chapter or two up within the next month or so, since my semester is almost over. Then it's hello, month and a half-long Winter break!
Thank you guys so much for reading!
Reviews please! Critiques welcome!