Favoritism

By: Sugar Skulls

Summary: Scott's not the jolliest Santa the world has seen, and Bernard can be a bit Grinchy, too. It's a match made in a freakin' winter wonderland. Scott/Bernard drabbles.

The morning conversation was light and distracted, as always. Bernard seated himself beside Scott, as he always did, but barely spared him a glance or a word. Scott, as always, felt awkward eating in silence and struck up a conversation. Bernard, as always, was far more interested in his food than he was interested in Scott, but he was polite enough to respond and give him at least some attention.

The conversation that morning had turned to the history of Christmas and Santa Claus's role in the holiday. Bernard's answers were short, not going into detail unless Scott prodded. Eventually, Scott had gotten himself into the topic of the original Santa. Curiously, he asked if Bernard was around when Santa Claus first showed up. When Bernard slowly responded, "Yes…" Scott asked if they had been close.

Bernard, mouth full of eggs and his fork hovering just before his lips, froze. He glanced at Scott, then swallowed his food hugely, wincing as only partially-chewed things scraped down his esophagus.

"I'm not entirely comfortable with the turn this conversation has taken," Bernard said stiffly, and Scott wondered if Bernard's pointed ears had gone pink or if that was just the lights.

"What? Why?" Scott asked, confused. "All I asked was if you were close; it's not that difficult a question…"

"I didn't say it was a difficult question," Bernard said sharply, refusing to meet Scott's gaze as he threw down his napkin and stood up. "I'm just not going to answer it." He spared Scott a fleeting but very pointed look that added so drop it to the end of his sentence. He lifted his plate—still covered with food, which was unusual for Bernard—and made his way for the stacks of dirty dishes.

But now Scott was really curious. He, too, picked up his plate and followed the surly elf. Bernard glared at him, displeased with Scott's choice to come after him. He turned and stalked away, but Scott fell into step beside him.

"Why don't you want to answer?" he asked.

"Because it's personal," Bernard said, disgruntled. "So go away."

"I'm your boss," Scott reminded him with smug authority. "You can't tell me to go away."

Bernard shot him another annoyed look, because Scott was right. So he settled instead for looking as unapproachable as possible. It made the other elves give him a wide berth, but Scott was unaffected.

"Was he your dad or something?" he pressed nosily.

Bernard startled him with a brief, slightly hysterical little laugh before saying, "No."

Scott's eyebrows, which had hit his hairline at the bizarreness of Bernard's laugh, lowered and furrowed. Bernard pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly realizing that he wasn't doing a very good job at getting Scott disinterested.

"I have work to do," he said shortly, and as Scott opened his mouth, he pointed a finger at him fiercely, adding, "And so do you, Santa. So, once again, and with all due respect: Go – away."

Scott gave him a look of tolerant annoyance, but said nothing, because he did have things to do. He could always bother Bernard at lunchtime, anyway. Bernard relaxed a bit, now that Scott was giving up pestering him for the time being. But as he gave Scott his customary nod farewell and walked away, it didn't escape Scott's notice that his back was still impeccably straight, tense, and the tips of his ears were definitely glowing pink. Weird.

Well, now Scott had to get an answer.

And so he pestered. At every opportunity. If he crossed paths with Bernard while they were on duty, he asked him about the original Santa and him repeatedly. Bernard ignored, deflected, and refused to answer every time, and the only time Scott gave up a round of questioning was if he knew one of them really needed to get back to work or if Bernard was getting that look that implied he was honestly trying not to punch Scott out.

It wasn't until after dinner and all the elves were buzzing around saying their goodnights and scattering every which way for their rooms that Bernard finally caved.

"Okay, you know what?" Bernard snapped, whirling to glare up at him. "Fine. Fine! I'll tell you, if it gets you off my back!"

"Awesome. Cool," said Scott triumphantly.

"But keep in mind: Curiosity killed the cat," Bernard said severely.

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Uh, okay…why?"

"Because if you breathe a word about what I'm going to tell you to anyone, I will kill you." He didn't seemed to be kidding. Scott blinked. Bernard shifted uncomfortably, his face turning red. "The original Santa Claus…I…well, we were…uh…he…" He trailed off, not meeting Scott's eyes. He seemed to be considering simply running for the hills. But that just wasn't Bernard. The nervous, stuttering Bernard was strange enough on its own.

After a few moments of silence, Scott asked none-too-tactfully, "Why is your face so red? Is it that embarrassing?"

"No," Bernard said harshly, flaring up immediately, though his face still burned crimson. "I'm not…ashamed or anything, it's just…" He clenched his jaw tightly and crossed his arms stiffly, glancing around at the bustling elves surrounding them. Scott wondered why Bernard didn't just pull him into a secluded corner or something.

"The original Santa," Bernard began again, fixing his gaze on something somewhere to Scott's left, "was…we were, for lack of a better term…an item." He finally looked Scott in the eye, his cheeks practically on fire.

And Scott just stared. Bernard stared back, waiting. Several long, awkward seconds passed until Bernard finally dropped his eyes to the floor. Scott just stared.

A few more seconds ticked by, and Bernard looked up again, still looking distinctly uncomfortable, but most of the redness had left his cheeks, just a pink tinge remaining. In a tone that was closer to his usual brisk demeanor, but still quite nervous, he prodded, "Can we wrap this up soon? 'Cause I got places to be." It looked like he was trying to play this revelation off like he didn't really care what Scott thought; defiant, nonchalant, daring him to judge.

But his face flushed brightly again when Scott incredulously said, "Like, lovers?" A few passing elves cast him curious looks, and Bernard grit his teeth. He grabbed Scott's arm and dragged him away from the hubbub of the main workshop, leading Scott into an empty corridor. Suddenly Scott understood why Bernard chose to break the news somewhere where it wasn't just the two of them.

"Yes, lovers, okay?" Bernard hissed furiously, releasing him. "Happy now?"

"No!" Scott cried, horrified.

"Oh, don't give me any of that," Bernard said scornfully. "Do I need to remind you of Jenny Johnston's birthday party, ninth grade? Seven Minutes in Heaven with Bobby Duncan that went better than anticipated?"

It was Scott's turn to blush. "How do you even know about that!?"

"You weren't always Santa, Scott," Bernard said haughtily. "I kept an eye on you along with every other kid in the world, just like every elf here."

Scott tried not to think about that. "Well, whatever, I wasn't talking about the…sexual orientation aspect of your…relationship." Both of them turned red, neither one quite able to look at the other. "But, I mean…hell, Bernard, how old were you!?"

"That's my business," Bernard said, looking quite mortified.

"It's a little too late to worry about secrets, now that this is in the open!" Scott pointed out. Bernard scowled, embarrassed.

"Fine," he snapped. "Sixteen, alright?"

"And Santa?"

"The original Santa," Bernard, blushing even deeper. "You're Santa."

"Whatever!" Scott exclaimed. "How old was he?"

"Things were different back then," Bernard said evasively. "Bigger age gaps occurred in everyday marriages…not that we were married, but…"

"Oh God, he was an old geezer, wasn't he!?" Scott guessed. Bernard glared at him.

"Late thirties," he corrected testily. "The white beard has never been a sign of old age. Just a disguise for when he traveled every Christmas Eve. And in that time period, I was considered an adult, so you can stop looking at me like I'm some pedophile's victim." He gave Scott a stern stare. "It was a willing, mutual, healthy relationship. The only thing wrong with it was that homosexuality was much more taboo then than it is now."

The humiliated flush had drained from Bernard's face, and Scott's cheeks were slowly returning to a normal color.

"Well," he said awkwardly. "Well! That's, uh…then that's fine…I guess."

Bernard nodded briskly. "Good. I'm glad we that out of the way." His severe expression returned, and he said darkly, "But not a word. To anyone."

"I don't think anybody here would mind, though," Scott said. Bernard pursed his lips.

"I can't be too sure. And I don't want it spreading around that I used to be sleeping with my boss." Scott made startled choking sort of noise, but Bernard's expression was still composed and serious. Now that worst part of the discussion was over, and Scott had handled it fairly well, Bernard was merciless as he plowed on, "And if that isn't enough of incentive, then think about this: the original Santa and I never broke it off before he died. So, now that you're Santa, you are technically my boyfriend."

Heat flooded Scott's face and his eyes went wide. Bernard's eyes glinted roguishly as he strode past him without another word to retire for the night.

Muahaha.