Ho ho ho here we go again. I feel like I just finished last year's Christmas thing last week agsgshsg.
1) There's a few callbacks to This Is Us 2.0 ch17 "Merry Crisis" and ch24 "Vampires On Vacation" in here, as well as National Vampire's Christmas Vacation ch6 "Reindeer Games". If you have time to kill, feel free to reread those.
2) This story takes place about 10 months after Bloodline which is awkward because Bloodline's absolute FINAL chapter (the epilogue) isn't complete yet. However I can tell you with certainty that nothing in that epilogue will be relevant to this. As far as Mika and Kurda's arc is concerned, the plot has reached its end. So if you're up to date on Bloodline you're good to go — just be aware there is a line that spoils ch35 in a big way. If you haven't read Bloodline then I assume you've reached this page by accident because this won't make any sense to you. Thanks for dropping by regardless and have yourself a jolly holiday!
3) You'll notice I departed from my standard procedure and wrote this in present tense. 0/10 awful experience, do not recommend leaving your comfort zone to try new things.
4) Most importantly, this is dedicated to mikurda_verleth whose love and support never fail to rekindle the creative fire in my soul. I've been in a weird headspace and I almost didn't attempt a Christmas story at all — and then last week my talented friend unexpectedly gifted me with the gorgeous art you'll see at the end, and I felt a DiViNe CaLLiNg or whatever to cobble a few words together to accompany it.
5) And as always, the photo edits are created by me, for me. Idk I like them and that's enough.
6) Once again if you're reading this on ff dot net, I recommend switching to Archive Of Our Own (roxy_svl) for many reasons, mostly so you can see my cute edits and the beautiful fanart my friend made me !
Hope you guys enjoy this. Whatever you're celebrating this weekend, I hope it's peaceful and merry. xo
All is calm in their world tonight. All is bright. Kurda decides he could live here in this snow globe forever, breathing the same night air as the two people he loves so fiercely it derailed Destiny itself.
Behind them, a crisp full moon that seems to balance on the tip of Vampire Mountain as if hung by the gods themselves.
Ahead of them, a thick cluster of spruce trees standing as tall and straight as a line of mountain guards.
Around them, snowflakes falling slowly like endless shards of diamond dust.
Christmas is about a week away, not that it matters to most vampires. This isn't even the first Christmas since the world ended. But it is their first Christmas in the new world built from the charred, bloody rubble of what used to be. Kurda wasn't about to let it pass. So they're getting a tree and he's running point on the operation. He's walking hand-in-hand with Mika, who's sporting his Christmas sweater* under his cloak. Gracie darts ahead of them, disappearing and reappearing every few seconds — the novelty of flitting hasn't worn off yet.
*The term Christmas sweater is used loosely here. Kurda supposes it's technically red, but that's a generous descriptor considering it's such a dark shade of burgundy Kurda didn't even realize it wasn't black at first. Mika spent several minutes standing by the wardrobe staring at Kurda with an almost injurious level of disappointment, waiting for him to notice he'd dressed up for the occasion.
"I brought a measuring tape so we don't have a repeat of that one time." Kurda remarks with a grin as they draw nearer to the trees. He doesn't have to be any more specific than that. Mika rolls his eyes because he remembers it all too well. He huffs softly in defiance, but his grip around Kurda's hand doesn't loosen.
"I told you that tree would've fit in the room if we got a shorter stand." Mika defends himself as vehemently as he did twenty-seven years ago. "I just thought it would look better in the Hall of Princes. Paris always liked that kind of thing, he just wouldn't admit it. Plus a bit of morale goes along way with the staff."
Kurda laughs and lets his hip bump against Mika's as they walk. "Right. Because employee morale has always been priority number one for Sire Ver Leth."
Mika lets go of Kurda's hand — only to drape an arm around his shoulders and pull him closer for a quick kiss on the cheek. The fleeting warmth of his lips and the accompanying brush of stubble ignite a rush of blazing infatuation beneath Kurda's skin. Gods, he's so in love.
"Don't worry, Sire Smahlt. I'm leaving this one entirely in your capable hands." Says Mika, steel-grey eyes alight with amusement. "Pick whatever tree you want. I won't say a word, not even if it's a hundred feet tall."
True to his word, Mika doesn't object to the tree Kurda chooses. Whether that's because he's putting in a genuine effort to quell his argumentative instincts or because the tree Kurda chose is just that exceptional, it doesn't really matter at this point. Kurda even climbs to the top so he can deploy the measuring tape. Sure, he's covered in sap and he'll probably be spitting spruce needles for the rest of the week. But the tree is the perfect height, and full-figured to boot. No need to worry about repeating Treegate I. This is easily the best tree in the entire forest.
Mika's halfway through giving Gracie a brief overview of the proper way to hold an axe because that's the kind of thing he likes to talk about and the kind of thing she likes to learn about. Kurda makes a silent executive decision that, since the only victim here tonight will be plant matter, he's allowed to feel a little hot beneath his cloak at the sight of Mika handling a massive polished battle axe as effortlessly as a kitchen utensil.
The acute sizzle of attraction is thrilling but short-lived. It flatlines on sight as Mika passes the enormous axe to Gracie. Nobody warned Kurda that his tiny baby angel would be operating a hideous weapon of which the blade was almost wider and the handle almost taller than she was.
"Now wait a minute here." Kurda speaks up. He can't help himself. "Gracie, have you ever used one of those before?"
"Of course she hasn't." Says Mika in a lackadaisical manner that implies he's voluntarily sidestepping the point of Kurda's question. "Vanez doesn't start them on axes til the third year of training, and only if they've mastered basic staff work."
"And Master Hale says my staff work is progressing quickly." Gracie adds in the exact same tone. Kurda supposes it'd be too naive to assume this wasn't at least somewhat premeditated.
Let's get one thing straight. Kurda believes his daughter can do absolutely anything she puts her mind to. But he also believes in the laws of physics. So as far as safety goes, he doesn't feel reassured.
"Sorry." Kurda concedes, shooting each of them a disparaging grimace as he tries not to smile. "I forgot I'm the black sheep of the family for airing my concerns that an accidental decapitation might just ruin Christmas."
To Kurda, Mika offers a sympathetic nod of understanding. To Gracie, Mika adds a footnote that'll definitely be the difference between a peaceful Christmas and a bloody disaster:
"You heard your father. Don't ruin Christmas."
"Got it." Gracie replies with steely conviction. She's taking this as seriously as a heart attack. The little barbarian. Kurda looks to the sky and breathes a prayer to whichever entity is on duty to hear it; he's not picky.
"Gods bless us, everyone."
"It's just a tree. It can't fight back." Mika reasons as he gently steers Kurda away from the tree and hopefully out of the line of fire. With starlight glinting in his eyes and a reminiscent grin creeping across his face, Mika adds in an undertone, "Do you remember —"
"The time we went to that ridiculous axe-throwing place on vacation and you refused to leave the building til you taught me to land a bullseye." Kurda finishes the sentence as crisply as the snow beneath their boots, face warming at the memory.
"It's hard to say for sure, but that's a top contender for the moment I think I fell in love with you. Whether or not I realized it at the time is irrelevant." Mika chuckles wistfully and loops an arm around Kurda. "We should go back there sometime."
Kurda hums in agreement and leans into the comforting warmth of Mika's powerful frame. Mika's energy is no less magnetic when they're separated by multiple layers of winter clothing than when they're naked and all over each other in the coffin. And the light pressure of that big strong hand on Kurda's lower back triggers as much of a headrush now as it did that night in Lumber Jack's Axe Shack. They'd kiss each other for the first time later that week. Even if Kurda could go back in time and warn himself all those fleeting moments were catalysts for something bigger than he could've imagined… he wouldn't. Because then he wouldn't have this. He wouldn't have them.
And he's never letting them go again — as long as they all survive this Christmas unscathed.
"Hands further apart. Line your feet up with your shoulders. Look at the trunk, not the blade. Swing with your whole body, not just your arms." Mika coaches Gracie while visions of bloody snow and severed limbs dance in Kurda's head.
Gracie lines up like a golfer at a tee. Eyeballs the tree like it's an opposing army and she's all that stands against it. Swings the axe. Misses the tree by half a foot. The momentum drags her into a pirouette til the axe swings in a complete circle. Kurda yelps in alarm and claps his hands over his mouth. He can't help it and he's not sorry. Mika just grumbles "Fuck" under his breath and plants his forehead in a gloved palm. Gracie lets go. The axe lands in another tree ten feet to the left and Gracie lands face-down in a snow drift.
There's no visible blood and she's cussing fluently so Kurda composes himself and gives Mika a look. Nay, the look. Kurda doesn't have to say it. He says it anyway: "I don't know what you were expecting."
"I thought aim for the tree was too obvious to mention." Mika replies drily like he's reevaluating every decision he's ever made. "That's on me, I guess."
Gracie's fine, by the way. A true warrior to the core, she's already up and at it again with one foot braced against the tree (the collaterally damaged one, not the original target) as she tries with all her might to dislodge the stuck axe.
"You'll get more leverage if you move your hands further up the — no, your other up." Mika continues to instruct her because he still thinks he can make this a learning experience. Barbarianism — fun for the whole family!
"As fun as this has been, I for one don't wish to spend Christmas in the infirmary." Kurda takes a stand as his numbing extremities get the better of him. "Mika, be quiet. Gracie, let go of that awful thing and stand back. Further. Further. Thank you."
Kurda may not be a frequent flier in the sporting halls but he's still a seasoned vampire and don't you forget it. He frees the stuck axe with one deft yank and carries on to the main event. It's a hefty tree. Six times he swings the axe into the trunk. Six times the sharpened blade leaves a deep cut in the thick wood. He's breathless and sweaty from exertion when he pauses to admire how close he is to conquering the beast. One more chop should finish it. He straightens his back and pushes the wayward hair out of his eyes to see Mika staring at him with the sincerest lust Kurda has ever seen. He's practically drooling. Kurda, knowing better than anyone how much Mika appreciates the curve of a nice axe, just smirks with satisfaction…
…And proceeds to miss his final swing by such a gross margin (way worse than Gracie's attempt) the axe goes flying off into the darkness and Kurda himself staggers helplessly about til he regains his balance by crashing into the tree. His body finishes what the axe started. The tree goes down. Kurda goes with it.
The last thing Kurda hears before crash-landing in the snow drift is Mika's earnest shout of encouragement — "Great form, babe!" followed immediately by a much quieter but still audible remark to Gracie, "Don't laugh. He needs this."
Mika makes it all the way from the forest to the second-highest corridor of Vampire Mountain without allowing himself to cave to his basest impulses and laugh at the absurdity of the world. But he cannot deny the difficulty level is increasing.
For a few minutes Kurda just stands there by the doorway to the royal suite they share. Mika and Gracie stand a few feet back. While the height of the tree won't be an issue, it's the width that keeps it from fitting through the door unscathed. Sure they could shove it through with brute force, but at the cost of its volume and structural integrity. Kurda's got the tree propped up against his body and he seems to think he can shuffle it through if he manipulates the branches a certain way. A little to the left, now the right, okay maybe if he just grabs the thing in his arms and squeezes it as flat as he possibly —
"It's not going to fit. You could wrap the whole thing up and the door would still be too narrow." Gracie reports. Her vocabulary has come a long way in three decades, but her thesis is the same as the night of Treegate I when she delivered the somber verdict at age two: Tree too big.
"We can cut off a few of the bigger branches and make wreaths." Mika offers. Kurda's scathing stare of disdain could imply one of two things. One: Kurda doesn't realize Mika is referencing Kurda's own advice from Treegate I. Or two: he realizes it just fine and simply isn't amused. Knowing Kurda's memory is as sharp as the battle axe he wielded so magnificently, Mika suspects the latter.
Without taking his eyes off Mika's, Kurda readjusts his grip on the tree and shoves it through the door with all his might. And Mika knows better than anyone how much might is stored in that willowy body. There's an ominous crack of a branch and a flurry of needles flying in all directions, but the tree is through the door and in the room.
Kurda's lips curve into a grin of triumph, not unlike that of a young General prospect who's just emerged successfully from their final Trial of Initiation.
"I told you it was perfect." He pants. The torchlight dancing in his eyes lend the impression of slight mania. Festive mania, but mania nonetheless.
"And I told you I wouldn't have said a word either way." Mika replies evenly.
Miraculously they only lost one branch. Albeit such a large branch that Gracie decides she'll haul it back to her room, prop it up in a bucket and use it as a miniature Christmas tree of her own. But first, the family-sized version must be dealt with.
So begins the decorating. Gracie's executing a very specific visual aesthetic here because gods know Vampire Mountain doesn't have many opportunities to flex that sort of thing. Gone are the days when she'd clump three baubles on one branch and retire to play with an empty box. After being gently shooed out of her way a third time for interference, Mika decides to give up, get a pot of coffee going, and fetch a ladder instead. That's what he's good at. Besides, the star won't hang itself.
"That's the star? I remember it looking… like a star. Don't we have anything better?" Gracie wrinkles her nose as Kurda lifts their old wooden star from the box and holds it up with a level of reverential nostalgia his daughter does not share.
"Seba helped you make it when you were little!" Kurda protests, clutching the misshapen thing to his chest protectively as if afraid she might cast it into the fireplace. "It was made with love. It's perfect."
"I don't know. She's got a point." Mika contributes, glancing between them after taking a moment to weigh the pros and cons of offering his input. "The paint is so faded I don't even remember what colour it used to be."
"It was gold!" Says Kurda with a defiant little huff.
"Yeah." Mika half-heartedly agrees. "It was gold…"
Gracie takes a closer look through shrewd eyes. "Hmmm. That crack in the middle is new."
"About that… remember how I told you we did Mountain Christmas for the staff that first year after the war while you two were gallivanting across the globe?" Mika recounts, running a hand ruefully through his hair. "We put up a big tree in the Hall of Khledon Lurt. Someone might have borrowed the star. And someone might've used it for self-defense because there was a gods-damned spider in the box of ornaments."
"You can't talk about his family like that!" Gracie gasps with great indignation, gently placing her thumb and forefinger on either side of Lovely's head as he sits contentedly on her shoulder. (Of course he's been there the whole time. Where else would he be?)
Mika rolls his eyes and looks anywhere but the massive tarantula. "The spider was fine. Seba escorted it to safety and I fell twenty feet from the top of the tree. I was also fine. Not that anyone asked."
"Personally I think they should add that story to the rotation when they toast your legendary accomplishments at the Festival." Gracie replies with an arched eyebrow that has Kurda cackling and Mika not far behind. He respects razor sharp wit when he hears it— even when he's the punchline. But Gracie doesn't seem interested in salting the wound. She glances at the half-open door on the side of the room. It's a door she remembers well.
"You're still using my old room as a storage cavern, right?" She asks.
"The room was a storage cavern the whole time." Mika corrects her. "We just stored you in there for a few years."
"And if you ever want it back, you're always welcome." Kurda adds with that angelic, wholehearted earnestness that melted the layer of ice around Mika's soul long ago.
Nevertheless, Mika catches Gracie's eye, shakes his head and mouths "Absolutely not." He needn't have bothered. Gracie cringes at the mere notion of moving back in with her parents when she has a perfectly good cell on the other side of the mountain, down a corridor reserved for cubs and trainees. It's the vampiric equivalent of a college dormitory and she's never been happier.
Gracie proceeds to the storage cavern and asks with a level of interest Mika feels is disproportionate to the situation, "Can I dig through that box of junk?"
"It's your world. I just live in it." Mika shrugs. It's as true now as it's always been.
"Gods, I wish I'd been there to witness that spider debacle with the tree. The more stories I hear about that Christmas, the more I wish I'd just stayed in the mountain." Kurda laughs as he slips his hand beneath Mika's shirt to tickle his side. No amount of physical contact is too fleeting to ignite the familiar golden fire beneath Mika's skin.
"I think you've witnessed more than your fair share of my personal lowlights, actually. Don't get greedy at Christmas." Mika retorts without hesitation. Firelight dances in Kurda's eyes as his lips curve into a wicked grin all over again. To this day, those eyes and that smile still knock the air from Mika's lungs. Mika tilts Kurda's chin upwards with the brush of a forefinger and adds, "But you were exactly where you needed to be. Without those years, we wouldn't have this one. Or everything that's yet to come."
Kurda's eyes darken for a moment. He swallows, blinks several times and nods in agreement. Mika winces from guilt. He didn't mean to go back down memory lane like that. Their memory lane is dark and twisted. They visit it as often as they need to, some nights more than others. But nobody needs to go there tonight.
"I know. I just spent so long missing you. We'll never get those years back." Kurda murmurs at last. His voice is undercut with a shade of bitterness. Mika knows all too well how that tastes.
"We don't need those years back. We'll make better ones." Mika reminds him in a strained whisper. He pulls Kurda against his body and holds him, exhaling the ghosts of the past he'd accidentally invited in.
But the ghosts don't linger like they used to. They may not go far, and they'll inevitably return, but for now they take their leave. And Mika takes this moment to cling to the love of his life in the cozy orange glow while reflections of firelight dance in the tree baubles.
"I love you, Mika." Kurda breathes as he nestles his forehead against Mika's collarbone and slips a hand upwards to cup the back of Mika's neck. Skin to skin. Heart to heart. Soul to soul. Saying it out loud seems redundant when they can feel it in each other's bodies, but the words have aged like fine wine and they taste just as perfect.
"I love you, Kurda."
All is calm. All is bright. The coffee's almost finished brewing and it smells amazing. All that's missing is Gracie. She's still in the storage cavern. It really is astonishing to wander back through time and recall how spacious that tiny room seemed, back when she was tiny herself. Thirty-ish years later she's still a small person in the grand scheme of things. But she makes it sound like there's a convention of badgers moving in back there. Boxes shuffling, metal clunking, wood rattling, muted cusses interspersed throughout.
She emerges within minutes, grinning with the same borderline-vicious triumph that flashed across Kurda's face when he succeeded in wrangling the tree.
"There." Gracie declares, holding a gleaming object aloft. "New era, new tree topper. The old star gets to keep its job, and we don't have to look at it. Everyone wins"
Kurda's jaw drops and his luminous blues go wide in shock and awe as he asks, "You made that? Just now?!"
Mika picks it up and inspects it, handling it with great care despite how sturdy it seemed to be. She'd used the original wooden star as a base. On the front she'd used an old boot lace to attach the bronze rose – in laymans terms, the thing in the middle with the four points – from one of Kurda's old compasses that had fallen apart. There were a few of them in various states of disrepair back there. Kurda just never had the heart to toss them. Behind the rose she'd strapped four of Mika's smaller daggers. Like the compass, all of the blades had long since retired from active duty. Just last month Mika recalls glancing at them in passing and considering whether it might be time to 'donate' them to the sporting halls. Gracie had assembled the daggers into a star of their own; the points of which emerged between the points of the compass rose. And between the daggers and the rose, the original points of the misshapen wooden star were still slightly visible. It's multi-pronged masterpiece comprised of a little piece of each of them.
And as much as Mika loves Gracie's indomitable warrior spirit, this is what he's proudest of— her innate instinct to see beauty and potential even in the darkest corners of the world and light it the hell up. She sure didn't inherit that from the Ver Leth side.
"I'll keep Lovely out of the way if you promise not to drop it. Then I should get going. I told my friends I'd meet up with them at the bars tonight." Gracie adds, oblivious to Mika's internal commentary. And Kurda's, because Mika doesn't need telepathy to know he's thinking the same.
(And even though neither Mika nor Kurda will ever admit it because they treasure these hard-won moments of familial bliss after so many years of distance and division… they're both also thinking they're ready to have the room to themselves. Specifically the bearskin rug in front of the blazing fireplace).
"I already told you both, this is my night off. You started the job, you can finish it yourself." Mika retorts, handing the star back to her and battles through the strain of pride creeping into his voice, "Hope you're better with a ladder than you are with an axe."
Gracie props the ladder against the wall, as close to the tree as the voluminous branches will allow. Which isn't that close. She'll have to really lean over to get near the top. If visions of catastrophic safety hazards are dancing in your head, you're not the only one. Kurda's already at the base of the ladder to steady it. He glances over his shoulder to hit Mika with the Sire Smahlt stare. Not even a year on the job and it's already iconic.
"Have we learned nothing?" Kurda absconds him, while unable to stifle the hopeless laughter bubbling from his lips. "What happened to don't ruin Christmas?"
Mika smiles at them both, settles comfortably into his beloved desk chair and takes a sip of his coffee. He doesn't even have to pretend to care about all this Christmas business. This is home. They are his home.
"I changed my mind. I'm not worried. Even Desmond Tiny himself couldn't fuck this one up."
Kurda's entire face shifts. He catches Mika's eye with that same fierce smile and fires back:
"I think he knows better than to try."