video; cw: talk about suicide

[anewlanguage]

The end of the year, the holiday build-up, whatever it is, back home you could count on December and January being the peak suicide months. I always tried to plan my high-risk jobs around then; easier to get them written off as accidental deaths...or intentionally self-inflicted ones.

[He sighs, sips his drink (which is a soda for once)]

God, am I glad I'm retired. The trick to this place is, when you start feeling that.... It's like an urge to look over your shoulder, when you know you're being followed, right? That's what guilt's like. When you start to feel that, you have to figure out what you're going to do. And if any of you start thinking thoughts that maybe would get your warden or your inmate worried, just know that you're not the first person to feel it. And whatever it is that's tailing you, there's something better ahead of you, believe it or not.

For the record, though, now that I'm done pretending I like a good cry on my shoulder? I fuckin' hate holidays. Especially Christmas. It's those sweaters. Terrible....

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[routemistress]

[Iris sits up, narrows her eyes and tries to land the next one in his glass. If he's not going to entertain her by catching them, well, she'll entertain herself.]

Staying on my naughty list, obviously. You ever been to the North Pole? On Earth?

[anewlanguage]

[He laughs, shakes his head]

One of the few places I haven't been. Not a lot of call for assassins up there; penguins and polar bears tend to figure out their differences without someone like me.

[routemistress]

You find any penguins up there, one of you's taken a wrong turn at the equator, lovey. Remind me at midsummer, eh? I've got an old mate up there I 'aven't seen in way too long, and if I bring me own fancy man Mary won't start getting the wrong idea again.

[anewlanguage]

You know people who live there by choice?

[Well...of course she does. She's Iris. It's still incredulous.]

[routemistress]

Sort of goes with the job, in 'is case. It is beautiful up there, mind you; but they've just got done with their busy time and they generally spend January in Barbados. We go in summer we can 'ave barbecues. Well, on the ice, but still barbecues.

[anewlanguage]

[He stares at her a long moment, waitingfor her to crack, to laugh.]

Hey now, just because I don't like holidays doesn't mean you got to tease me...!

[routemistress]

I ever stop teasing you, my love, check for shapeshifters and demonic possession.

[She's smiling, but not in a way that says gotcha; it's more simple joy at sharing the weirdness that is her life.]

I'm not even from Earth. I only do 'olidays 'cause I'll take any excuse for a booze-up, me. But Christmas is a bit special 'cause I can get us backstage passes. As it were.

[anewlanguage]

[He sits up, and motions for her to come over.]

If you're yankin' my chain...

[Yeah trust Iris to revive a tiny bit of Christmas spirit.]

[routemistress]

[She comes over, parking herself straddlewise on Cain's lap, and puts her arms around his neck.]

Why, does it 'ave jingle bells on? As it 'appens, I'm not even embellishing this time. Panda and me got to ride a dimension shifting reindeer!

[anewlanguage]

I've seen reindeer, they're about the dumbest animal on four legs. How'd one get powers like that?

[routemistress]

Funny, that's what I asked Santa, the first time. Trade secret, apparently. I think 'e's been breeding 'em a very long time.

[She shrugs.]

But I do know 'ow that sleigh can drop off toys across 'alf a galaxy in one night; 'cause I 'elped 'im upgrade it.

[anewlanguage]

Oi, the North Pole is barely even halfway around the world for most of the planet. You saying he's an alien?

[routemistress]

No, just a bit mythological. Definitely belongs to planet Earth, does Santa. That's why 'e needed the upgrade, see? One planet, 'e could manage just fine - but after the 23rd century or so, when humans started spreading out? Poor bloke 'ad way too much on 'is plate.

[At close quarters, Iris is, perhaps, the tiniest bit wary of not being believed. It's almost vestigial, a little throwback reflex, because she trusts Cain absolutely to know when she's embellishing or plain inventing. She isn't, not this time; but this is half the reason Iris does occasionally spin bullshit. Too many people wouldn't believe her truths.]

Good thing 'e ran into me. Like it or not, Christmas is one of your planet's better exports.

[anewlanguage]

At least we do something right. 'Course it makes me wonder what about Mr. Easter Bunny.

[He's not sure he wants to know about the Easter bunny.]

How'd you bump into him?

[routemistress]

Oh, the bunny's an alien, right enough. Don't tell anyone, though, that's meant to be a secret.

[That may be a tale. Probably.]

Santa bumped into me. Rear-ended my bus in the Vortex, the daft old sod. So we got talking while I were towing the sleigh, like, and that's when I come up with the upgrade idea.

That part's a secret too, by the by. There's a few galactic powers'd be down on me like a ton of CIA operatives if they found that out. Oh, but we fixed that sleigh up lovely!

[This part of the story comes with unalloyed pleasure; but on its heels, Iris sobers up a little, and her eyes remain fixed on Cain's collarbone.]

Well, of course we 'ad to drink to it, didn't we? To celebrate! And really, nothing 'appened - to speak of.

Well, not much 'appened. Married man and all. It were really very innocent.

[It probably wasn't.]

[anewlanguage]

Darlin', you wouldn't know how to be innocent if you had a nun there holding your hand.

[He knows you too well, Iris.]

You didn't break up the Clauses did you?

[routemistress]

[It's not that she genuinely feared she would be judged; Iris knows Cain too well for that, too. But she relaxes perceptibly as she hides her face in the hollow of his throat.]

Not on purpose. Mary found one of my earrings on the back seat of the sleigh and jumped to conclusions. By the time I looked 'im up again a while later - Panda'd gone missing and the only clue I 'ad were a lot of suspiciously hi-tech talking panda toys - she'd thrown 'im out.

[She says nothing of regret, and there's none in her voice. If she were telling this story to anyone else, she'd be laughing, and the laughter's still there in the edges of her voice, in the twitch of her mouth against his skin.

The regret is deeper, a faded bonebruise that speaks softly out of the sag of her shoulders, the grateful way she clings to him. It's there all right, but Iris, like Cain, is someone who learned the knack of not living in it a long time ago.]

I did get 'em back together, mind you. One indiscretion and one overreaction's not enough to chuck away a good thing over. Plus the little matter of 'ow she'd kidnapped my Panda and planted temporal bombs in every Christmas stocking in the galaxy. That woman could 'old grudges professionally, she could.